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Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s A des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, it est film6 d partir de I'angle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 Works by Robert Louis Stevenson AN INLAND \ OVACiE KDI.NULKGH : I'lCTUKKSQUE NOIBS TKAVKLS WITH A OuNKKV VIRCilNIBLS IUKKISi,)l,E KAMILIAR STLDIES OK MEN ANO HOOKS NEW AKABIAN NIGHTS TRFASUKK ISLAND THE SILVERADO SQUATTERS A child's (iARI)EN OF VERSES PRINCE OTTO THE STRANGE CASE o|- DR. JEKVLL AND MR. HVUK KIDNAI'I'KD THE MKRRY MEN LNDER WOODS MEMORIES AND I'OKTRAIIS THE BLACK ARROW THE MASTER OK llALLANTKAE KATHER DAMIKV : AN OHEN LETTER BALLADS ACROSS THE PLAINS ISLAND NIGHTS EN'l EKTAINMENTS A FOOTNOTE TO HISTORY CATRIONA WEIR OF HERMISTON VAILIMA LETTERS FABLES SONGS OK TRAVEL ST. IVES IN THE SOUTH SEAS ESSAYS OK TRAVEL TALES AND FANTASIES THE ART OF WRITING LAV MORALS, ETC. PRAYERS WRITTEN AT VAILIMA A CHRISTMAS SERMON TALK AND TALKKRS With Mrs. Stevenson THE DVNA.MITER With Lloyd Osbourne THE WRONG BOX THE WRECKER IHE EBB-TIDE IDE LAY MORALS LAY M(JRALS A\I) oriIKH IVAPKRS HV K(>)HIKI IA)VI^ M'KVKNSON TORONTO JHK Ml^>()N HOOK COMPANY LIMITED pp 5 :; '^^ 1 S 77 LAY UOE FATHER THE PEN I. TH II. TH] III. TH] IV. RU: V. A I THE DAY COLLEGE I. EDI II. THE III. DEB IV. THE V. THE CRlTICISiMf 1. LOR] II. SALV III. BAr,S CONTENTS LAY MORALS - . . , FATHER DAMIEN - - . . THE PENTLAND RISING— I. THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLT II. THE BEGINNING III. THE MARCH OF THE RfCBELS- IV. RULLION GREEN V. A RECORD OF BJ.OOD THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW . COLLEGE PAPERS— I. EDINBURGH STUDENTS IN 1824 II. THE MODERN STUDENT CONSIDERED GENER- ALLY - ' . III. DEBATING SOCIETIES - . . . IV. THE PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS V. THE PHILOSOPHY OF NOMENCLATURE CRITICISxMS— I. LORD LYTTON'S ' FABLES IN SONG ' - II. SALVINI'S MACBETH - III. BAGSTER's ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' - vii i'A(;k I 65 89 93 97 103 lo8 "5 ^53 139 149 156 i6i 169 181 188 Vlll SKETCHES- CONTENTS I. THE SATIRIST _ . , II. NUITS BLANCHES III. THE WREATH OF IMMORTELLES IV. NURSES - . _ V. A CHARACTER THE GREAT NORTH ROAD— I. NANCE AT THE ' GREEN DRAGON ' - II. IN WHICH MR. ARCHER IS INSTALLED III. JONATHAN HOLDAWAY IV. MINGLING THREADS - - . V. LIFE IN THE CASTLE VI. THE BAD HALF-CROWN VII. THE BLEACHING-GREEN VIII. THE MAIL GUARD THE YOUNG CHEVALIER— PROLOGUE: THE WINE-SELLER's WIFE I. THE PRINCE - HEATHERCAT I. TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT II. FRANCIE - . _ III. THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE PACK 209 212 2l8 222 227 244 249 256 261 267 274 283 295 301 307 322 PACK 209 212 218 222 227 235 244 249 256 261 267 274 LAY MORALS 283 295 301 307 322 1870 tIJ7 Edinburgh in the spring of i>,ri,ui, i^nougnts ; but they contain murh thn* ts essentially characteristic of his mind Copyright in the United States of America. y LAY MORALS on ? of 'ken heir that i V CHAPTER I The problem of education is twofold: first to know and then to utter. Every one who liv^s any sem-' blance of an mner life thinks more nobly and pr^- foundly than he speaks; and the best of teachers can impart only broken images of the truth whfch another between two natures, and, what is worse between two experiences, is doubly relative The XtlnT"" '" Tt"'- " '^ ^- '"^^ hearer to dig It up again; and all speech, written or spoken IS in a dead language until it finds a wHIine anH prepared hearer. Such, moreover, is the^mpS of life, that when we condescend upon details in o^ advice, we may be sure we condescend on error an^ the best of education is to throw out some magnanf mous hints. No man was ever so poor thlit he could express aU he has in him by words looks or actions; his true knowledge is eternaUy incom nvumcable, for it is a knowledge of himself'^ andXs best wisdom comes to him by no process of the mind, but in a supreme self-dictation, which keens varying fro^ hour to hour in its dictates ^th the variation of events and circumstances A few men of picked nature, full of faith rm,-^„- and contempt for others, try earnestly 'lo'sTS 3 4 LAY MORALS as much as they can grasp of this inner law ■ but the vast njajonty when they come to advise the young must be content to retail certain doctrines which have been already retailed to them in their own ^t r •. ?™''y generation has to educate another which It has brought upon the stage. People who readily accept the responsibility of parentshfp hlv ing very different matters in their eye are ant tn feel rueful when that responsibihty falfs due WhI? are they to tell the child about life and conduct subjects on which they have themselves so few and such confused opinions ? Indeed, I do not know h! wl'i"' "^'^P'' '^' soonest mended; and yit sonie words to say in his own defence. Where does he find them ? and what are they when found ' As a matter of experience, and in nine hundred and ninety-nme cases out of a thousand, he ZlinsW mto,h,s wide-eyed brat three bad things: trterror tai^ the T"'""' f"^' ?°™"g fr""" t^'-t ^^ a foun- tain, the desire of wealth and applause Besides these, or what might be deduced as corollaries from these, ne will teach not much else of any effect" value: some dim notions of divinity, perLps and book-keeping, and how to wafk ''through '"f tn ^h^'n^" T^ ^^'l""' ^'^^ y°""g people are taught to be Christians. It may be want of penetration but I have not yet been able to perceive i^ As a"' honest man, whatever we teach, and be it good or evil it IS not the doctrine of Christ. What he taught (and in this he is like all other teachers worthy of the name) was not a code of rules, but a ruling^spirtt ; V ; but the e young. ?s which leir own another •pie who tip, hav- i apt to What conduct, few and '■ know; and yet ist find re does d? red and 1 instil 5 terror i foun- Besides s from fective s, and gh a aught ation. As an >od or aught of the ipirit ; y LAY MORALS - vreV'lvi' ^1^ \'P'"* "^ '^"^^' "^^ ^i^ws. but a Toward ft ' '^"^'^^^ ^^' "" ^"^^"^^ «f ^^i"^i. is buHt V. I ""'"^ considerations on which conduct IS bui t each man stands m a certain relation. He in his spirit which points in a certain direction It is ttols hf ' I'l ".^^^""' ^^^ P^^"^ ^^ the compass' teach us ".Th^^^^Z "m^ ^'^' ^^ ^^a* he has to of this thP '.^' ^'*^^^' ^'^ comprehended; out of this the specific precepts issue, and by this and this only, can they be explained and appHed ' And pSe rr^P J ^ u P^'^^^^" ^"^' "^ ^^e technical phrase, create his character. A historian confronted w h :Tart't^'T^ P°"'^^^^^' ^^ ^" ^^^- charged search Si rr'^^nT f ""' preoccupation; they must search all round and upon every side and erone fnr some central conception which is to exph^^^^ justify the mo.t extreme details; until that is found tt p'att a dssue' f f "f" ^' ^^ ^^^^^^^ ^ ^"^^ tne part a t ssue of fustian sentiment and big words- but once that is found, all enters into a plan a end Thl • T"^ ^'^^"i P^^"^ *^ P«^"*' fr«^ end to taken b v . ' T' l?'""^^^ ^'^^^^ will be gladly taken by a very humble artist ; but not even the terror of eternal fire can teach a business man to ^ttut^hrr'"" '' ^"^^ ^'""'^''^ e«ort"%l witnout this, all is vain; until we understand the whole, we shall understand none of the parts and otherv/ise we have no morP than broken irf i scattered words; the meaningTem^'^bS ^ LAY MORALS Cannot '""TnH ''" 'T'r '""^^ ^""^ """^ Mammon.- we can I " °'' 'y'**"" '' '° "=^'=h "s how ' r/« c«rW«« 0/ this world are wiser in their eenera- hon than th^e children of light.- Are they ? I Keen merchanTtfo'"' *!" "^^^"^^ ">''**''« Christ!:" Xirs th/r^ IP'"' P^^P'^'-^d exceedingly in his altairs, that honesty was the best policy that an author of repute had written a conclusive treatise How to make the best of both worlds.' Of both worlds mdeed ! Which am I to beheve then-CMst orthe author of repute ? ful "^tr "T"^':^ '"'■ '*' '"°'""^- ' Ask the Success- fu Merchant; mterrogate your own heart; and you will have to admit that this is not only a si ly but an immoral position. All we believe, aU we hope aU condrmTd" °7,?^'^" "' °"^ contemporariesTands condemned in this one sentence, or, if you tkke the other view, condemns the sent;nc; as^unwt^ and wasTnTb • i^'^^?"«;.thenofthe•sameSthat rhll ^^'f- y^'' ^'^''g'^ee "-ith Christ. Either S^n '"«,f nothing, or else he or we must be in the trom the New Testament, and finding a stranee echo • LeTbutlf ^f*;."""'' ^"^ ^'^^'^ ^y -Se • anv nulni? t tl^f =« f^ntences be rightly read from any pulpit m the land, and there would not be left one stone of that meeting-house upon another ' It may be objected that these are what are called us IS a ire them ammon. ' 1 us how f genera- iad been 'hristian ly in his that an treatise 3f both —Christ >uccess- nd you but an 3pe, all stands ike the se and id that Either ! in the 2 texts :e echo )gnise : i from be left called LAY MORALS y ' hard sayings '; and that a man, or an education sTm^^'o'f rr^ '"''^^^"'^^ ^^"^^^^" although" ve some of these saymgs upon one side. But this is a sTaTe It ifh^tt"'" ^^'^^"^^ ^^"^^ ^^ ^iffi-' t t^ state, It IS both easy and agreeable to receive and the mmd runs out to meet it ere the phrase be done The universe, m relation to what any man can say of it s plain patent and staringly comprehensibfe In unvovf '\^ ^''""^ ^""^ travailing ocean, unsounded, unvoyageable, an eternal mystery to man; or. let u; sidl' Vlw T 'J'^'l ^"^ impassable mountain, one side of which, and a few near slopes and foothilk we can dimly study with these mortal eyes. But wh^? any man can say of it, even in his highest utterance must have relation to this httle and plain corner which IS no less visible to us than to him. We ^e o&h" 'h' ^"^V'^'P' '' ^'^^ g^ h^^d if we cannot Ibstrus! fli demonstration. The longest and most abs ruse fhght of a philosopher becomes clear and ne^lr' '1'^^ ^^'^ ^^ " "^«"^^"^' When we suddenW perceive the aspect and drift of his intention. The longest argument is but a finger pointed; once we get 01^ own finger rightly parallel, and we see whit fhe kmn A A7^''.^'^^' ^' ^ "^^ ''^' «^ ^^ old street' amp^ And briefly, if a saying is hard to understand. It IS because we are thinking of something else. But to be a true disciple is to think of the same things as our prophet, and to think of different things in the same order. To be of the same mind with itTs not ': '" "'' ^'^ *l""^^ ^^ '^^ '^^' perspective; LL a"" T^^ '"^ ^ ^^'^ indifferent matters near at hand and not much debated; it is to follow him in his farthest flights, to see the force of his hyperboles 8 LAY MORALS lh«.«n i.oS;! ..■"';; ?'l«»"«tfe or tlmt if he be ind" :til?ar^lii^Tt:n'itt/T '"V'^^* a strppf latYiT. . +1, •y'-,""5 at all, it is a star and not wrote his book ^°'" *''"'" *'^^* *''<' ^"thor often"'chrit7fi"T ^"'^ *'"^"' =""• '"deed surprisingly ion that t at once declare, •elong to ree with . or that sayings d about Ige and en take e phil- 1 these system t steps some you be •e, nor ethat id not art of iithor singly com- sthe irows for it men con- :e or man who ")oks I^AV MORALS g «-ne sigut of heaven and confoss Thr. ^+u- i, dimmed intelli^encev T^fh" i^ ''''^" "^"^ "^^^t CHAPTER ir wnere a world of morals lies condensed the verv nif h must M. f P'^'^P*' engraved upon his mind nor omm.ts adultery, nor steals nor be^rs false ^■'■i::ufoVdX'''"^^'"^'^"^'''°"^^*^ Alas ! What is a precept ? It is at best an illustra brp;i:t'"T^^ :l *'^ '^^^ ^^^^^ can b"efa n?d theS whf.h' ^?'r' "^' ^"^y ^^^d' but kilhng; l}Ly } ""^ underlies, and cannot be uttered alone is true and helpful This is tHf. !''' J^^^^^^^' but familiar.fx. Ko. . ^"^^ *'^ Sickness; dav or^wn ii^ a cunning disenchantment; in a lain tops, and che most starthng words beein to fall seTatSto*^ 7 '^"^ -veral'repetition? " n ;:L' see a thing too often, you no longer see it ; il you hear a thmg too often, you no longer hear it. Our atten as^sau^'T *"•''' ^urprisedf and to carry a fort by assault or to gam a thoughtful hearing from the rnrk and"mu':;"'h T !i ^^*^ °' ^'">^' ^ fqlTifficul J ^^si^aX^'.';::.^'^^^--- T'^ it J, r.ubsage tor the common dments, sry pith I young is mind ice and ^ery far or kills, rs false cover a llustra- earned billing; ttered, ;kness ; t; in a moun- to fall If you u hear atten- Drt by eruck iculty The nmon LAY MORALS „ run of hearers; it has become mere words of course- pulp "irrt h"^'^^ ^'^' '^"^^^"^^ '^'''^' -^^ ^^^ coiUnue to n ^".^ possessed, but his hearers will rnowall h.?,r ' '"^ ^'" '*'^"^^^y ^^ P^'^^^.- they 1 " ho n T ' T^ '^' "^^ ^'^^ ^-^^ y^^ choose. It IS still the old bell and it cannot startle their com anatn ,|„rt. It is quite true, no doubt ; but it has has utn^;" '''' "^'■^^ '^ -^y "-" of us! Alas Mt thnf\ 1 1 u"'''^"'"^^' ^"'^ "Either more nor less- that while the spirit is true, the letter is eternally The shadow of a great oak lies abroad unon the eartlL But let a man set himself to mark out tho boundary with cords and pegs, and were he never so nimble and never so exact, what with the muldpliei v flees bW^^ the progression of the shaclras ? the cf/cuTtth/wrrt"^ '^"',/""^ ''' ^' h^^ "^ade uie circuit the whole figure will have changed Life may be compared, not to a single tree but to a ^rtat and complicated forest; circum^stance is more sw'fW xaTthin^;;:^' f'T' ^^"^"^^^ much m^^e li^ the tr.P. f.r r ' ^^ ^ surveyor; from day to day the trees fali and are renewed; the very essences are Heeting ts we louk; and the whole worMTfTeaves is wingin, tempest-tossed among the winds of Ifme Look now for your shadows. ^O man of fo mZ s this a place for you ? Have you fitted theTD^Tt sLllTu'ch TX t'^^' ^" '''' ^y^'^ ^' ^he it Xen snail such another be proposed for the iudlment of tTeUod'-'^tT ^^?"" ^^^- -d th^wte/o^ tne wood x:. filled with an innumerable multitude of 12 LAY MORALS shadows tumultuously tossed and chandn^- and at every gust the whole carpet leaps and bfcomes new Can you or your heart say more ? Look back now, for a moment, on your own bnVf tnlZZl''' "'^' ^"' ^^^^^"^^ y- li^d itTe^gfy in your own person, and had every step of condnrf meThlrdot r f ^"' ^^^^ "P°" your memo ;,t^^^ me what definite lesson does experience hand on from youth to manhood, or from both to a^e ? The sett W^ TS' Tht-^"'^^ ^^?^^ ^^ buTthe^hldow^l a aeiusion This is gone; that never truly was- and and CrinT '""'' .''^^°"' -cognitio^n "Tifn"' chanri^l if ,<="'':""'^ta"<=es change about your yesterday, is it still the best in this changed theatre of a to-morrow ? Will your own Past t™ly gutde And ?tr"K """■" "°''="* ''"d unexpected Fntm.t whft h^ 1 ' ^""^ J^^^ *" began to 4d tL*^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ an addition of no less than six hundred and fifty ?; and at mes new. wn brief feelingly conduct lory, tell on from 5 settled adow of as; and Times it your earthly le best theatre ^ guide iiture ? e, with 3r men seeing doing :h and score moral r deal iduct ; lother ws, to years made fifty LAY MORALS 13 others. They hoped to make a pocket-book of refer ence on morals, which should sLnd to We in some" game ot whist. The comparison is just and con demns the design; for those who play by rut wili TuTd lL"7 f ''" '^^"^"^^ P^^y-^'- and'^ou and tTe mo t H P^^^.^"' ^^"^^ ^" ^'^' t« the noblest and petty and h7,"v f^.^""'^^'' Yet if the Jews took a petty and huckstenng view of conduct; what view do we take ourselves, who callously leaVe vouth to go forth into the enchanted forest, L 11 oTspell and IS attorded by these five precepts ? Honour thy father and thy mother. Yes but does rtn ""IT "^'^ • ""^ ^^ '^' how long and how fir P~ :fthf ''iJ'' '^^ veiyitention and kilW t1 P/ohibition may be best fulfilled by of !h5" 1 r '.^f ^"^ '^'^^^"'^ ^^^^^^^O^- But some of the ugliest adulteries are committed in the beZf marriage and under the sanction of rehgbn andtw Thou Shalt not bear false witness. How ? by speech noXT^'lC'll \^^T'-}^y a smile ? ' rJoS To steal f }h. '".If '^ ' ^"' ^^^' ''' '<> ^'^^^ ^ 10 steal ^ It IS another word to be construed • anH who IS to be our guide ? The police wm give u^ one construction, leaving the word only tha feist mh.i iTpTec: Tutt^"^^'^^^ "^^^^ sLe?;t:uldTai m pieces, but surely we must take some higher sense Le^fo^^iaS "' 'r "^^^ *^^" ^ bafe subSt! In^lr! "'^"^'"^' s"^ely we wish mankind to prosper to h^e ZlT"'':^''^ *" ^*^^"g*h' and ourse^ to hve rightly in the eve of som^ mo- --ar-H~ potentate than a policeman. lTiyapp?;varor ^he 1.4 LAY MORALS disapproval of the police must be eternally indifferent to a man who is both valorous and good. There"s extreme discomfort, but no shame, in the condemna tion of he law. The law represents that morum ""orality which can be squeezed out of thTrucH and seek to be my own more stringent judge ?! observe with pleasure that no bravl man hfs ever hara'n:;^ "^ T^ '^''"^iderations. The Japanlse .nJ!, K^w''"'l'"°''^ sentimental feeling for this socia bond into which we all are born when we come we all indifferently share throughout our lives ■- but even to them, no more than to our wistern seTe the v'^r'',' "^"V^' '^^ °f *!>« state super" and w^hn^If ""^ °' .^"'y- W'**^""* hesitation and without remorse, they transgress the stiffest enacments rather than abstain from doing i^^ht But the accidental superior duty being thus fulfilled ^InnT" '■'*"■';; V" allegiance to the common duty of aU citizens; and hasten to denounce themselves- and value at an equal rate their just crime and 1'^: equally just submission to its punishment The evading of the poHce will not long satisfy an active conscience or a thoughtful head. But to show you how one or the other may trouble a man and what a vast extent of frontier is left unridden by this invaluable eighth commandment, let me teU you a few pages out of a young man's life. generous, flighty, as variable as youth itself but forh?,^'":.'°'"t.'^'S'' """'""^ -d «" the search for higher thoughts of life. I should tell you at n different There is >ndemna- modicum e ruck of Ti higher dge ? I has ever Japanese for this we come otection hves: — Western 2 super- :sitation stiffest ? right. ulfiUed, on duty iselves; id their isfy an But to a man, den by ne tell others ; If, but search ^ou at LAY MORALS j^ once that he thoroughly agrees with the eighth works, the New lestament among others and thi? pTrpl^^Uies^ TsT '' "^f.^"' ''' ^^^ ^""--y perplexities. As he was the son of man in a cfirtain the first the advantages of education nav he W stTnt wa'tchf r *'"°"^'', ^ ^"='^'y childhood by' con s ant watchfulness, comforts, and change of air- for all of which he was indebted to his father's wealth At college he met other lads more dilieent tiln struA hL !f *'"' '? '""*^'''' =""1 this inequality struck him with some force. He was at that age of as^tr^ W:- anX" '"1 '"^^*'^*'^^ -"-' - '"^e aspects ot hfe, and he spent much of his time sixanino ll^TT^^l- ^''^ ^" <='^^^es of man- and woS kmd In this way he came upon many dep?S ^^ _r. \ ^'^^ "^y inend s prmciple to sta^^ ^n-^v as often as he dared; for I fear he Ws no friend to i6 LAY MORALS {rShafot*?n"Th^1 tr^"''"^ "-' ^^'■"e home Others who h^ri ,.0 ^^^snea, and the scores of despised himself ,s an ,n Jl' discoveries, and crefure ofr^bacVstarrpt/r^teTol^ yo°un7S.rsta'tUi' "^^nt ~ *■>- ^- Ld ie «hi&^fr rigr^^^^^^^^^ more even and imnr^rfioT + """cbty, joined to a only unsettled Trid ri^ ^^^^my friend, who was ime home give over scores of t all. // ; and the yes. He •ies, and e and a ie could se brave iversity. lit? At ustice of goods ? vho had )erty to ^ belong )ut help led to a Id have orce of ght be d some )riation ho was fall of regard ^h in a ■ exist - ations. pangs. ' other /as hiQ LAY MORALS j fellows in"the wtSe ofi'ff "' •"'"^"^ ^^ainst his sentTt'g^ie": ^L^se t^'a ""^ 'T "'"'^^''^h' "« -- and then I tZl t ^ ™?''^ favourable climate; When t" tluS of alfZ'Tth" ""^ *'"'='^^^*- singular promisf imrilh! '^^°'^«'' yo"ng men of God's will tha Toln ni' A ^\l^new it was by thTs\ v^rr^ *'^' ^""""^'^ th'e poSty'^o circumstan^i i7 "°^'^"ioying issued from his i^ucumstances, its acceptance was thp a,>f ^f u" own will; and he had acceptedTgreedilv lonl,^' wo^uTdTo^Ch^i^j'^ ^ -y t-ub.er;i:;rffi tf.s .ais^tLro^rof w^t^^^^^^ nil!., he were st.ii (as perhaps he was) contentedly 2 i8 LAY MORALS llu^f % ^y "*''"' *'''"SS that to you seem black ll!r*hr l^,?^" '^^^'^ °™ ^""^8^ ^"d mountain- guide through hfe. There is an old story of a mote and a beam, apparently not true, but worthy perhaps of some consideration. I should, if I were you, give some consideration to these scruples of his, and if unlikely that there may be something under both. in the meantime you must hear how my friend acted Now "^r^iJrr"^'' ^^ ^"PP^^^d that he wouW die.' Now should be die, he saw no means of repaying this huge loan which, by the hands of his father nriankmd had advanced him for his sickness In' tha th ' 'ir'"^'^ K^^l '"""•^y- So he determined that the advance should be as smaU as possible; and so long as he continued to doubt his recovery lived in an upper room, and grudged himself all but necessanes. But so soon as he began to perceive a change for the better, he felt justified 7 pending ^ZtJ'^^L *° 'P'^*^ *"'' '^"ghten his return tf heal h, and trusted in the future to lend a help to rhdp"to hL" '"''"'' ""' °' ''' *^^^^->'- '^^'J '-* I do not say but that my friend was a little too curious and partial in his view; nor thought too Tsavl^JT^* "'"^ *°° ^'"'^ °' ^'' P"^"t^; but I do say that here are some scruples which tormented times give him a prick in the midst of his eniov- ments, and which after all have some foundatioifn justice and point, in their confused way, to Tme more honourable honesty within the reacA of maT And at least, ,s not this an unusual gloss upon the seem black mountain- ■ of a mote tiy perhaps 3 you, give his, and if or it is not ider both, end acted, tvould die. ' repaying lis father, mess. In Jtermined possible ; recovery, ?lf all but >erceive a spending eturn to I help to had lent iittle too ight too :s; but I rmented at odd s enjoy- ation in to some of man. oon the I LAY MORALS ^^ eightn commandment ? And w],5,f o * r Shalt not s<- al ' Wi+v, ^n ^'^\"^^"'^ic)ns .'' fhou '^'- => d.1. vvitn all my hoart Ri,+ t steahng ? ^ ^it^drr. j^ut am I disIbL't^?ot"L";sW """ f °"^ -■«- <" We end. You can mal e n^^ ''"^ transaction to an work, and then wilfully "ve? him a ro'l^- '"'"'' portion of the nrirp in lf»J 'certain pro- remainder in goo*^ we can si witfl f,"^ °"'y ^''e this man is a thief But if ThJ I """ "y" ">** tain proportion of thfh '""' 'Pe"ds a cer- tobacco!^ a certain otr, ' '" """"^'"S '^ PPe of and not of money,_is he any the less a th "o sre-S'm/^S^-L-3^^^^^^^^^^ cynicism, you pocket :o"mro' mt"ki:^ ™1"^'l'^'' your trouble. Is there any man so blTnd who caLo^; 20 LAY MORALS see that this is theft ? Again, if you carelessly culti- vate a farm, you have been playing fast anri Inni DC iLss bread m consequence, and for lack of that bread somebody will die next winter; a grim con side ation. And you must not hope to shuffle out of blame because you got less money for your less quantity of bread: for although a theft be nartlv pumshed .t is none the less a theft for hat ^ You took the farm against competitors; there were others rbfetr"thrt".^V^ ■•-P"-'^"''^ -'l "Hnsw ! able for the tale of loaves; but it was you who took >t. By the act you came under a tacit bargain wi?h mankmd to cultivate that farm with ™ur lest endeavour; you were under no superintendence you were on parole; and you have broke your bS and to all who look closely, and yourself amonfthe rest ,f you have moral eyesight, you are a thief.^ Or take the case of men of letters. Everv Diece nf work which is not as good as you ca/S it which you ha^e palmed off imperfect meaere^^ thought, niggardly in execution^ upon maXnd who IS your paymaster on parole a^d in a sense vo^ IZMZl^''^ °' ^'°^"^"'^ °^ untrue perfoC ance, should rise up against you in the court of vour a salary 'h '""'fT ''°" ^°' ^ ''^'''- H^vl^u a salary? If you trifle with your health and so render yoursel less capable for duty, and stiU touch, and still greedily pocket the emolument- accounts? do you by any time-honoured juggle deceit, or ambiguous process, gain more from those who deal with you than if you were bargainhg and essly culti- and loose there will 'k of that grim con- huffle out your less be partly lat. You ere others 3 answer- who took gjain with our best 2nce, you bargain, nong the lief. Or piece of iiake it, neagrely nankind nse your )erform- of your ave you and so tid still ment — double juggle, n those ing and LAY MORALS ^i draw your salary anS go thXlX'T''- '"" '*'" vres of this office or still i ,"«" '"«* 'ham iiianoeu- on flooding Te wor d Ih f°. ^°"'- P™'^'= ='"'' ^<"^P though you te7eofdltuV"'""°"' 8°°''^ ?- church, and a bTronlt u h .'"''■ ^"'' *'"-" ^'^^ at These may seem h^d Z 1 "'7™ ''"' '^ ""ef ? of the intei'Tn an'age wht the spirit 7^''^'''' -f so sparingly cultivated thTt all T ^ ''°"'''*y ducted upon lies and sn Vlii J^ business is con- that not a man bestowttw i'"'*r' °* *he trade, or honourableness of 13*!'°,*^°"^'';^ °",^ utility' if I thought less R,rt 1^ > ' """"'d say less and the r^ht of things T°l^"^ \° '"^ °"" ^^"^o" a thief myself and ?hat r " ™'y^™* that I am neighbours of the same guir"'°"'"^'^ ^"^P'^^* "^y b:so«:d" Zrt'itz'''. -'«-^^'i'-'S! aware, is what you andT /- ""'^ *''='*• ^ ="" ^«1 honest. But it^n ni^ '■ ?.""'^y ""^^^ ^y being the scrutiny ofconcfeneeF''' K^f ' •" *™« "«^ of all tribunals,-brf^earo,^rr"f '?'*"''' '^^ '°"'^'t ness it is not L t °"* °^ 'aw, whose busi- sand mifeo? right b?t't"™yl\''; "^ ""'''" ^ thou- so tragically won. th ? T^^^"^'^ ^^'"^ f™™ going whole jointed Tabrfc rft ■'?''7'" P"" d°^ thf even before a t'urt IftTW'^''^"'''"'''^- ^''^ 'ast days, our easy vi^fo^'lolSg^atTach 23 LAY MORALS otiier's tails, alike to good and evil, is beginning to be reproved and punished, and declared n^o honfsty at all but open theft and swindling; and simpletons who have gone on through life vvi h a q,^.?t on- saence may learn suddenly, from the lips of a udge he devV"v'"\f "'t ''^''' ""^y •'^ ^ '^"^ton.'of Did v™ f. ? * °"*^''' " ""^^ '^'•"y *° •"-' honest. and IZ.1 ,f TV ,""'' "'■''y ^^ ^'^ J"'^* ='"d kind a^ln^ • ""' y°" "^'"'' 'he whole duty of asp r ng man was as simple as a hornpipe ? and vou con d walk through life like a gentlemL^nd alero with no more concern than it takes to go to church ?ou "ha'd the '• tr'" • ^^^ y"' '" *his time you had the; eighth commandment I and what tTe worid i" "' ^°" "°"'" "°* "^^^^ "^"ken ilfor The truth is, that these commandments bv them preliris"' T: "" '" P"™'« i"^?--* " -"- pression is what you want, you have their whole spirit compressed into the golden rule; and yetThere expressed with more significance, since thrlw s here spiritually and net materially stated. Ind K h to Ir ""li"^ '^'"' ''" '=°'"™='nds, from the sixth to the ninth, are rather legal than ethical The police-court is their proper home. A magfs as yourself, but he can tell more or less whether vou have murdered, or stolen, or committed adulter/or n^ rn^dr"" '^f,"^ ^"', '''''^''^ *° "'-t -hich';^ as eood .s '' uT' ^7 """"Sh practical tests, are as good as can be found. And perhaps therefore he best condensation of the Je Jsh m^ral lawtTn the maxims of the priests, ' neminem tedere ' and ginning to lo honesty umpletons quiet con- jf a judge, custom of )e honest, and kind ' duty of ? and you id a hero, to church this time id, what :en it for by them- If com- ;ir whole yet there le law is d. And from the ethical. L magis- ?ighbour ther you Itery, or lich was ests, are lerefore, aw is in re ' and LAY MORALS 23 ' suum cuique tribuoro ' Ri,* ^n ^u- becomes only the mnro" 1 .u^" *^" granted, it thev tell t m^^lst^^^^^^^ *^^^^ while they can v r^ c %'n"f ^- "'^^^^^^ to do. ^ ^" anxious smner what o«^r"u's at^cd^ct'o^^^^ "h\"'^'"" '''' ^' -' -" not burst o^niushi^ttr We^'^^TV^' one and all and for all th.VfK ^^^ &^^"t them something above and t f^.u'"" ^^'*^^' '^ '' Christ vva! in general a .roT '^'' ^' '^'''''' shake mv Drivat,> i,,f'^ . ^ Mishna cannot myself ranTdefea,wf?H"*' "''' .""'S'^'^'^y of absolute for the 1 1 Ln^ casJ^^Vh"' "'^ f'^^.'-o"^ a judge of aDDp-il l,nt t j ^ '^'' moralist is not tr bunal HehL^^^t^ '"^^°'\''^ ^"l^" P'^^^^s at my law applies Can L """ "°' '^' '^"'- ''"t '^at the the ca^r And thus ZfinTrK^ ; "^'" ""' g^'"« counsels to varvinp Zl f ^''^"* ^'""8 ^^'"o"^ careful to LoidSnife^p^ep?' iftLiTTf' example, to divide a heritage ' i '"'/'ked, for t e best advice that he tmX is b"u I p^phrTse slnSy Cn/tTe^t'^'-^^ltl^ Vf - 0/co.e^usnes. 'if /ou'compSn^hafthrst *^"''" I have tailed to carry you^along with m'; iTTy *4 LAY MORALS argument For no definite precept can be „,ure dem ifke' h"*"*'""',''""^'' "^ *™"' --«^ ---P en- dent like the sun, and it was announced from heaven changing, that perhaps not twenty times, or perhans not twice in the ages, shall we find that nice consent of circumstances to which alone it can apply bf more •e resplen- •m heaven icate and T perhaps :e consent 5iy- 1 CHAPTER III and W.T' ^K "■"" =™tinient slumhers within us- place and ?hn 'I'' ^'"'"' <=°'""iodious dwelling- aXTp^f , ,!■ *?"""^ '""'■ "'''«^' and race in the so fe ?hat the hrr^l" °"' °' ^^"' ^he farthest deep hou^; fh K ?'^.'P«''-^<:ked seamen on the boom are tfl ^ ''*"^' ^'"* "^^ truncheon of a man"i„rontt:bJ,et"'F " ^""^^ ?"'P'''"' ^''^ no other it TJ^H' .^™" *° "' '"^^ ^ave known place oMSe ''''"^'^' '^ "^* ''^ «PP-"-g. But far stranger is the resident, man, a creature 25 26 LAY MORALS res.. I spiS,t^^--f-„ t^-- and touch and h;ar, to'ptuf ?h; suVrd^^/ bonfires o the Srle 1?^"' '"'' Portentous posterity and L 1. 'l'*'' °f *° '"^"'^fi* ""born l^usLcniy and ji-et knows himself for a niprs r,f „,, H^^nf ''T'i^^ '^"'^ *'>'^ creature of a few dav°" o" h?'ith"esrstr'"?*\''""' "••'^'' takes notS way and^ thfn H /■ "''""' '' ^^^culous in every IohLh ^ ^^^y'"S explanation or belief is vet StoucV'Hrh' ^'"^- .^"^ ^^" "^"^ extinguished do^'itUrso SSlyt^L^^ tb-uf a'"^ ^° r and may be stopped wit'h a^'pT' His wholXdy' d^si^^iXTetTeT^^^^^^^ '^T^ ^"^ '*^ "S rlrpnrrT,V (• ^ tamed and conquered bv a le cat dlf'h'' °!:,.\^P""kHng of cold Vw Wha? he calls death, wh.ch ,s the seeming arrest of every- of custom, its a body irding and n alchemy, is counten- s eyes, his oys to see and wind, stonishing Jn, to per- f physical of a bird, ks uncon- )ortentous lends, he ploughs, inquiries, self into s days to t unborn ce of un- few days. es notice in every ief, is yet nguished life so in- capsule, •le body, 5 winged -d by a What )f e\ ery- LAY MORALS 27 twisible hn^' 'r" ^'^^ ^"*^^"^ transformation of thousand .r'^^' ''' '"7'''* ^^" ^^"^ outwardly in a rom ^thin H ' Tn T^' ^P ^" '''''' ^^^^-^es Ws facui?L. ? '*'J^ \^'""^^ *« b^ ^ "^^n when nis faculties are already beginning to decline- he he^atrdr^^' 'r^^^ ^' ^^ posS"befor creaw rtn ^^ - ^'* *^*' '^^^' chimerical as thonlh I? ^^ "^ ^^^^^^* °^ his last end, Hves able bolv intoTr t^^' /^""^^^ ^^^^ his vulner! death wIk ^^ '^^^^ °^ ^^^' and daily affronts death with unconcern. He cannot take a step sTnsat^nr^.'l P.^'"'"'"- ^^'' ^if^ i^ a tissue o^ sensations, which he distinguishes as thev seem to ngT 7:i^''''''y ^-- himself or hrsurround^ mgs. He is conscious of himself as a iover or 1, fiefc'onSioS:* r!;'^'' "'^^'^^' -^hooses^ar/^^ i,^ inexhausHH. ' surroundings as it were of an inexhaustible purveyor, the source of asoects in ~deHg'ljts\n'cUro:ies''" "^'^ ^^^^ ^'"-"''"^ portant in the degree to which it moves him The tShe's," 7T' - ^"nifeVsteeT'^VS necessary bread. Does he think he is noUo;;d ?- 28 LAY MORALS IS he may have the woman not a joy for him in all the worid ^'"Vnr ^"T '' i^"c uibtmcTion between mater p1 anri i^^ j. • , we shall conclude that th? lil % u '"^"^^^^nal, has attentive valpf «; m Ki. •' sybarite, he he sweats, Z ^Su^^^ZV^'Zll ""' ""^""t' -e cvreL\;o"f,:;Shrtinr-'^"* - '" nof/?ouTded':nd":ut" *"°'°''' ^* '^^^'^ "'^ "e is the same bodv w^h M r"' T^''^' ''"* t''^' '" walking in a eardpn ^" - ?""' ^"^"^'^ °"« minatedbvthesun hJ '^"■°"f'y coloured and illu- chemistry breatWn^^ ! "!•' ^°"^ ^''*^ ^'='''«^^te himself bwSt of hk'*'"^ '''°"<^' ^'^<"^*i"g body by a'thou^rnd ^^l^^CZT:"^:^"' ""^^ and tlae uneven surface o't tpatt "n!,^*,'^ h'^C id there is leed, if we of reason, nmaterial, nan as an itinuation urn upon 3s of each barite, he breathes, so much i he even 3ut as it centred erations ; es of the or to an lis piety he turns with a is exist- web of at he is that in powers 3ld one id illu- iborate recting ing his e wind G time. LAY MORALS ^^ to sav or how am t + J M wnat am I Is tha^t truly a 4^ iXf""'^" '^^ *'''"§ ' ^^^ ? word ? or is it not 2 t ^°'T """^"'"g °f the What, tlien are wto count th. T'^^^ '^'' ' of a being s;, variously compo^de'drrt'V"'' ^"'^ tion much debated. SomTread hk 1/' • ^ ''""'■ tain intricacy of nerve anH IZ "/^ '" ^ <=*"■- digestions- others finH^ '"'='''''' °' successive heavonKi ° •>"" an ex ed piece of heaven blown upon and determined by the Ch of God; and both schools of theorists will . '"^''^* ' ."^ sea Ided ehildren at a wordTdoub " TeT dther hatwas^reUSraTd^U^^^^^^ a^nfpasirbuTariris'rcr<**\-ys'- and sanctifies ThuTit k n^/ '^''*"/;^^' heightens, satisfaction ends the cha„t!*.'^"^agedm lust, where ^rZ r-'^^^^ ^•-*' -^e Sfe^^'t li: aesire, and where age sirlcnp^o ^^ ^r: x- deface whaf »roo , ''^'^' /'/^™pss, or ahenation mav sen?;::e:i'"Trs s :g™:s .^Tiir^^^"^ *•'' S-rt^Sefar^t^^^^^^^^^^^ now unconscious of UselTIn fh» ■ "°^ '""""Phant. of appetite or nnin . • ° ^ "nmediate distress Sn ti7K" P^"' """' "^'"g unclouded above all i>o, to the man, his own central self fades anH !^ clear agam amid the tumult of he -n- 1?[ revolvmg Pharos in the night. It fs fo^gott^:'): t. 30 LAY MORALS unmoved among changes and storm ^ ^""^ bo™ and eats 'tLT"" "' '^ "^'^P'"^ "^^ t^^^* - "'" ""^ ''^ts, that generates and dies k hut +1.^ aggregate of the outer and lower sfdes of man Th;- exlts and ' f^' *." ^"<^ ''J' *'"<=h the indi^dual specialt'hTm: If'at ' t ""'"^'- '^ ^°"'^">'"S His ioys deligTt'his^'rrows Zn7him° IctrdW as to ,s interested or indifferent In 'the afftr- accordmg as they arise in an imperial war or in a bro>l conducted by the tributar/chieftlfns'f "h^ ramd. He may lose all, and this not suffer- he mav -^.tl^ts:?^:^i.--&1^1^ sttrwhttct^-,^,-^^^^ passaiS ^ anv tn't' "V" °"« °^ "^^ '"o^* rotable t- it will save time to V^Si r °J '"■"' '^'""'y' b'^* doing I intend no subTerfuL fo hr'"'''' ^^ ^° am indeed ready and ™„ ®!. ^^ ^ question; I the rigid conTet'ence rd"lav\" ide""^'/° ''"^'^^P* treachery of the reason Jm S™it'' f /' '^^ meamngs attached to the WOTdriS' ^" ^°™<^' ■s nght is that for which am, J? ."f^"'' ^V''^* ready to sacrifice TmmediaTe J T "'*''"" *^ «^«^ what is wrong is wW thf T ?"*?"' interests; rejects as infomprtib L t^th'tef' /!f^^-^* °^ nghteousness. ^^^ ''"'^d design of delnitTof That'ww'cf" '' *.° '^>' ^''"^ -» hope of intimately dictate J wV v. "^'" ."P°" *his theory S never be Vigorous ^ Lt f^rth^n"} ""^ '''"^'^"- ""* ^^n above all, fmposenporanotht"^"^? ' ^""^ "^^^^• has. then, a vision like^hat of tKe'e-3'' conscience communicable, and for "the mo^^S S^l':; 32 LAY MORALS none but its possessor. When many people per- ceive the same or any cognate facts, they agree upon a word as symbol; and hence we have such words as tree, star, love, honour, or death; hence also we have this word right, which, Hke the others, we all understand, most of us understand differently, and none can express succinctly otherwise. Yet even on the straitest view, we can make some steps towards comprehension of our own superior thoughts. For it is an incredible and most bewildering fact that a man, through hfe, is on variable terms with him- self; he is aware of tiffs and reconcihations; the intimacy is at times almost suspended, at times it is renewed again with joy. As we said before, his inner self or soul appears to him by successive revelations, and is frequently obscured. It is from a study of these alternations'that we can alone hope to discover, even dimly, what seems right and what seems wrong to this veiled prophet of ourself. All that is in the man in the larger sense, what we call impression as well as what we call intuition, so far as my argument looks, we must accept. It is not wrong to desire food, or exercise, or beautiful sur- roundings, or the love of sex, or interest which is the food of the mind. All these are craved ; all these should be craved; to none of these in itself does the soul demur; where there comes an undeniable want, we recognise a demand of nature. Yet we know that these natural demands may be superseded; for the demands which are common to mankind make but a shadowy consideration in comparison to the demands of the individual soul. Food is almost the first prerequisite; and yet a high char- people per- ^ agree upon such words nee also we thers, we all erently, and Yet even some steps or thoughts, ng fact that s with him- iations; the it times it is before, his ' successive It is from alone hope it and what irself. se, what we ntuition, so t. It is not autiful sur- st which is ;d; all these slf does the iable want, t we know superseded ; mankind :omparison . Food is high char- I LAY MORALS ,3 cne Doay rather than gain it in a mann.T which thp spirit disavows. Pascal laid aside mathematics Ongen doctored his body with a knife eve^vdav nTd^^es^nd^i nTh"^"^ ""'', Wstlmlest^ into thTKhigli'of HeTven" ™; T^""^ ""^'f the lessor anH loc u ^^^^5"- This is to supersede ine lesser and less harmonious affections bv remm ciation; and though by this ascetic path we mav^et ect'mr' Zrr' ^^^ ^^^^^^^ a^whore'aTpfr' lect man. But there is another way, to suoersedp sh.e in one des^ \^^: ^.r^^-J^.^t iUs^noT to hTh P^yf '^i '^'^"'' '* ^P°"^ his rfst! It IS not to be demed; the doctors will tell vou not slumZ; "\n fty^'fr^- «ke the wanfofTod o Spit the^tv;Lt;7t:i:r;a'rrr %'ii fir ; ? • ^' *''* ""a" '«"" to love a woman as a?ect1onV;th?f H l'"""^-' ^""^ '^ this^ndom detrmTnatLn'%'°ct,senrj; T^'^" ^ ''''''. facultips v^hJu „ "-o"*™^ ot all his powers and the otw Th= !,"P^^^«<1^^- adopts, and commands haDs h,^t\ ^t.'^'l"'"..'"''"^^^' strengthened, per- anTcharacter^ Tif'^''""^ """^ <=''^"g^« ^'l"^-^'- Now the view taught at the present time seems to me to want greatness; and the diahct m which a one .t can be intelligibly uttered is not the dialect of my soul It is a sort of postponement of life- nothing quite is, but something different is to be' ZIZ^}° i'^P °"'' 'y? "P"" ^^^ '"direct from the cradle to the gtave. We are to regulate our con- duct not by desire, but by a poHtic eye up"n the future; and to value acts as the/will bring us inonev or good opinion; as they will bring us, in one ord profit We must be what is called respectable, and offend no one by our carriage; it will not do to make oneself conspicuous— who knows ? even in virtue? says the Christian parent I And we must be what IS caled prudent and make money not only because it is pleasant to have money, but because that also is a part of respectability, and we cannot hope to be received in society without decent possessions. Received in society 1 as if that were the kingdom of heaven 1 There is dear Mr. So-and- so ;-look at him !_so much respected-so much looked up to-quite the Christian merchant I And we must cut our conduct as strictly as possible after the pattern of Mr. .So-and-so; and lay our whole 1 I too have and to that say to him r been upon ' view of life n upon the ■ done your le education time seems ct in v/hich the dialect ent of hfe; It is to be, :t from the :e our con- 3 upon the ? us money one ord, 'table, and not do to ? even in I we must oney; not oney, but y, and we )ut decent that were r. So-and- -so much It ! And lible after ur whole LAY MORALS t.iT !u '"\'"'. "'°"^y ""d be strictly decent Be sides these holy injunctions, which form bv Ar fh greater part of a youth's twining in our Christ an arTto'l ve"' T "' '•^^^' '"" "'her doc" ines We are to live just now as well as we can hnf c^,o at last into heaven, where we shatl bego^d * Wc aL' way fa's ^n°''^l '^' ""''^ '" '^ '^y disreputab e Hft'^^n'sunday" ' ""'""^ ^•'"^"- "^« ^ ^^--^ usltv m" nV,!"'"^''' ^' •'"^^ '"^«" '""owing gives tn l,^, If ^^"^ positions, without stepping fsMe to justify them on their own ground. It fs Sse we have been disgusted fifty times with^if t ;Sh:t'w?t^ 'r *T' ^^^^ crL^iSmi P^Sr^i^iranrtfjlt^r;^^^^^^^^^ quences instead of the immedfaf: fa^e o ThtJThe" ' ZL^^'ll "'' "^ °"' °"" =-'= would hive us vno Knows ? they may be on the right track- anH the more our patterns are in numSr th. k f. seems the chance- until if we hlT?^ ' ■ ''^"^'^ with a whole ci^dS'nati™, htr 'Tre'"srira majonty of chances that we must £ Sing rtht as we S fnTht"t' '* " ^^ ^^ "" "ev^Kave aspirtrdlleVrdlttvoVab? '^" °""' Stances in nrriAr +^ ^ ^ lavourable circum- whol y 'a. S right y Ind T ""<^ ^' °"^«'™^ hurry and Dre!s„rP nf « - ^^* ""'="' """■«■ *' '" the i hours of Sunday set ^^A'^ ^ h^XoCe^ 38 LAY MORALS This is not of course, all that is to be or even should be said for these doctrines. Only n the course of th,s chapter, the reader and I ha™ agreed upon a few catchwords, and been looking I' morals on a cer^am system; it was a pity to lose iin ^00^ tumty of testing the catchwords, and see L wheZ " by h.s system as well as by others, current^rocWncs could show any probable justificaiion. If he coc tnnes had come too badly out of the trial t would have condemned the system. Our sight o the world me^r-'theTrnot'h^ "'"" ""* ^ P^'-trian'lnr ' ment , there s nothmg new under the sun as Solo- h ^^y!' <^'«=^Pt the man himself; and thiugh that changes the aspect of everything else vet hf must di«e!^ntTd:. '''''' '' °'^- ^-^^- -'y '- a criHcfsm'"'' '"'""^ '"''"'**"'' '° """''■ ''^* "^ t"™ to oth'rsThinTnfl,-'""" \^''^ ^'' "y^^ "P™ what and hold tli ■"', ""thmkingly to lead the hfe and hold the pnnciples of the majority of his con temporaries, you must discredit in hi, Vel the one authoritative voice of his own .soul He may be a docile citizen; he wi'l never be a .an nl^'urs chattednfoT th""' '" f ''''"' "^'^ '^'"''e -d Chattering of other men better and worse than we Ire w? tI ^^ "^y •" "Sht : but so, before heaven that tnnlfT ""^^ ''"''^' ''"* ""^ '^"O"' '•>'». and by that knowledge we must stand or fall There is such a thir" is Ir-o'*-- '■- ■ mere is imn^ as lo^aiiy to a mans own better self; I on the possi- • be, or even Only, in the liave agreed ng at morals se an oppor- ing whether, ?nt doctrines If the doc- ial, it would of the world ■ rian instni- un, as Solo- though that 'et he must >nly from a t us turn to upon what 'ad the hfe of his con- ►'es the one • may be a It is ours, )abble and >e than we what hght )re heaven, so, and by There is >etter self; LAY MORALS 39 and from those who have not that, God help me Sun Z ''" ^' u'\''''''y '^ «^hers ? The'most rofnd ^tT ;"'^'''^''^' ^ ^^^*^'" "^«"^^"t turn round, at a certain pomt will hear no further areu- men . but stand unflinching by their own dumb, irrational sense of right. It is not only by steel or m\';tvr fulfiW.^' T^"P* ^"^ ^1--^^ '^-' the martyr fulfils the calling of his dear soul. Be glad ir" if' n .?* ^"'^ ^y -^"^h extremities. But t^te'iwon ' TV """'^^ '""^^^ themselves in one line lasst an 1 th. T''^ ^f ^^^ ^^"^ «^" ^^^^hful vassal and the ambassador of God-throw down the tZT/T'' ' '^^^'' '' "Sht.' Do you think you wav ^ L vfu^ T'''^^ • P^^haps in some dim way, like a child who delivers a message not fully nretn' '^' ^^ ""'' "P^"^"^ ^'^'' the straits o^ prejudice and preparing mankind for some truer st",n ,7'^^'f "tual grasp of truth; ' .aps, as you stand forth for your own judgment, you are covering a housand weak ones with your body; perhaps, by this declaration alone, you havo avoided the guiU unborn J^^T ^^^l^f humanity and the little ones muoh nnhl f ^''''^' \^^^''''' '^ ^' respectable, but much nobler to respect oneself and utter the voice of ^od God, If there be any God. speaks daily in a ani h?>5r^'. ^^ l^? '^"^"^^ ^^ ^^"' the tho^u^hts co^edtn 'f Ir'^ ^'''^ generation and each new- and rnn? ^Z ^"^^^^^^ "^^^^ ^P«" the universe and contain another commentary on the printed BiWes; every scruple, every true dissent,^very bet TnTth'^^'/^^K^ "'.^' '' " ^^"^^ «f God'; alpha"^ bet and thougli there is a grave responsibility for all who speak, is there none for those who unright- 40 LAY MORALS eously keep silence and conform ? Is not th^f .1. to conceal and rlnaV r^A'^ , ?^ ^"^* ^^so should we regard th?Ln . "'^""'"^ ' ^^^ ^ow your endefvow For when wn'''' '' '''" ■'°°'^ "^ first part and prereq^^site of truh S w^ *'^"* of things, by the neatness nf thl ^^*' ''^ ^'^^ °'^^^'' darkness and partiS .f * universe, by the inviolate secre^vor'^ t T"? ' <^''P<^"on<=e. by the revelations eTe^;Lan1s:SdfT" ^' •"°^* °P^" must be, wrongT WronL to th^ '""^ °^ *''^ ^6^= mankind; wrolg to God^ I^^ universe; wrong to and that pCer a„d n^r "^ ^^* '" ^""'l^^^ ^^"se, wishes truty must be riST' T^ ""'1°^ '"<>°' ^'•° and in the mea^nr. i^\^^^' "^ '^ "§''* *» himself. That let him"ofnaUsn/^^^'i*^ ""'^ ^^'*<'" a thoughtTor':ZrtrSn:"'th:t''r* ^r'"« IS worth, let him Drodaim n ' . f ' ^°'' "'''at it he be wrong so SsokTh. f T^ ^^'^''^- ^^hough insults. Fof^hetke of God' 'll"''''' °'^°" ^^ that stammering inlnt tr^S^*' "^''^tf^^ '* is, is not holds. Th^" ?Sthstr*^te' rtrrt'^st'v''^ ^"^'^ in a world of «niVif„,7 j , travesty, swamped what Tte^com^r.t^'^"T.''"^ confusion; and many, inTh^^^dX^'retlfdr '"f ' ^'^^ misinterpret. J^S^n, repeat, degrade, and usfd%o'ca°i &conf ^•■7'!^* "^^ Covenanters and wet blleUh^tTa^b™^ ;„* t^tt^^g i.icii. x-i.nci now lot that also And how 3 suppressed 3 orthodoxy the sun rose ilder of the the good of eceive that )y the order rse, by the nee, by the most open of the ages !; wrong to ther sense, inen, who to himself, I candour, ot sparing T what it ; although Dagon he - is, is not he people swamped sion; and tiold, the ade, and ^enanters liest gag now rj.nd n LAY MORALS ^j ""^A^'l^^. ^^^ *^^' ^o^t""e is perhaps the more redoubtable, because it harms all sorts of men not only the heroic and self-reliant, but the Xdient cowhke squadrons. A man, by this doctrine looks to consequences at the secondf or third, or fiftieth turn. «nH fK I' ^'' '"^' ^"^ ^^^ that, with wily moTtafbtk Th ' ^''' K^'" r *^^^^^' '"'^'^ this r viPw K, ; T ^""^ ""^y ^^ P^ht^^^l wisdom in such a view, but I am persuaded there can spring no i rZ """'"^ ''"^- . T" ^^^^ thus obliquely SZ iffe 1 IS the very recipe for moral slumber. Our indent on to us bv f hL w'^ ""' ^PP^^"'"' ^hich shall come years but on th 'I" t "J?"'*^ "^ ^ y^^^' «^ ^^^nty ^f? u\ *^^ ^""t itself; not on the approval of others but on the rightness of that act. At Iverv mstant at every step in hfe, the point has to be S 'oH T^ \f *^ '^ ^^^^^' h-ven has to b applaud af? ^\ '^''y '''^ ^"^ spirits must and smmd f h T '*'P ^' "™"'t ^^t down the foot must sav ' r^'h. """"P'*- '™^ have I done,' we must say, right or wrong, thir have I done iA un- fe^ned honour of intention, as to myself and God ' rlhtTr L t 'T^.^'^'^'"^' ^^ '^''' that it was right for us to do it. Any other profit than tnat oul T^'^ a kingdom or the woman I We unfe^^ted.""' ''^'' "P"^^* ^^^^^-' to leave me It is the mark of what we call a righteous decision that It IS made directly and for its own sake S menf --> -nd and hUy, having come to aLg^ee ment, tyrannically dictates conduct. There are two dispositions eternally opposed: that in whkh we 42 LAY MORALS andfhat i^" wh™K *'"« '^ ^™g ^"^ another right tW 'ha '^ ?T°* find^haf v^w in trj owX^ K:.ie^d Xr^4,^t ttrlfr flatly wkhwhanfhplH T""?; ^"^ often differs porate humr^ n the eo"! 'of ?.' •*I'°"«'^V°' ^'''- of law Am r t„ society or the code haveT^^nh, t ^ u"PP°"= "y^-^" ^ monster ? I examnle V .K?'','* '""'''=■ **>« Christian Gospels for in3 1 think"he7a:f ; ""T'' "" '-^^ -" ing in their s"eep^"'^°f P*'"?'^ ^--^ merely speak- evenin'scZoW^K' "T^"""^' '^ ^ "'^'''ke not. what concerns r j?hteousnp«c R^f+ ^^ <-iie waiK, is honour than dishonoTablelam seemindv hurtfnl ^^!, !^ Better useless or emoires Lh fin ^u"'''''' *^^" dishonour ruhn^ empires and hlhnff thf^ month- ^i ^h-- i - ^ LAY MORALS 43 the man must walk by what he sees, and leave the issue with God who made him and taught him by the fortune of his life. You would not dishonour yourself for money; which is at least tangible; would you do It, then, for a doubtful forecast in politics or another person's theory in morals ? So intricate is the scheme of our affairs, that no man can calculate the bearing of his own behaviour even on those immediately around him, how much less upon the world at large or on succeeding genera- tions ! To walk by external prudence and the rule ct consequences would require, not a man, but God. All that we know to -me us in this changing labyrinth is our soul w' ■ , fixed design of righteous- ness, and a few old pi tcepts which commend them- selves to that. The precepts are vague when we endeavour to apply them; consequences are more entangled than a wisp of string, and their confusion IS unrestingly in change; we must hold to what we know and walk by it. We must walk by faith indeed, and not by knowledge. You do not love another because he is wealthy or wise or eminently respectable: you love him because you love him; that is love, and any other only a derision and grimace. It should be the same with aJl our actions. If we were to conceive a perfect man, it snould be one who was never torn between conflicting impulses, but who, on the absolute con- sent ot all his parts and faculties, submitted in every nnrZ ^'" ^^? ^^ ^ self-dictation as absolute and unreasoned as that which bids him love one woman cnt^^ v' -° ^'' ^'^^ ^^^^^- ^^^ "^^ should not conceive him as sagacious, ascetical, playing off his 44 LAY MORALS Does It as'- the ^^^ i L-i^?^ '* ^^^^ ™oney ? believe no F^mv o™ ^' T^^'"'"' ""'^^ ? I money, I hope anH^ H. . P"*' ^ "'*"* ''"* «t«e but t J be good "°* ""^"^ *° ''^ decent at all. CHAPTER IV We have spoken of that supreme self-dictation which keeps varying from hour to hour in its dictates with the variation of events and circumstances. Now, for us, that is ultimate. It may be founded on some reasonable process, but it is not a process which we can follow or comprehend. And moreover, the dicta- tion is not continuous, or not continuous except in very lively and well-living natures; and between- whiles we must brush along without it. Practice is a more intricate and desperate business than the toughest theorising; life is an affair of cavalry, where rapid judgment and prompt action are alone possible and nght. As a matter of fact, there is no one so up- nght but he is influenced by the world's chatter; and no one so headlong but he requires to consider conse- quences and to keep an eye on profit. For the soul adopts all affections and appetites without exception, and cares only to combine them for some common purpose which shall interest all. Now, respect for the opinion of others, the study of consequences, and the desire of power and comfort, are all un- deniably factors in the nature of man; and the more undeniably since we find that, in our current doc- trines, they have swallowed up the others and are thought to conclude in themselves all the worthy parts of man. These, then, must also be suffered 45 ■' I 4^ LAY MORALS to the mind of each ^ "^ °'' '^^'''y P'^^'^t laws thS'affL T? • 7^ ^"^ ^'^- And hence the system of tWnls suDDort h • ™J"*° *''" ^*«™^> atmosphere s 'ne'e in ^1®. '"•"^"^'^ ^^"^ ^""^ial Money gives us food yi '"■/^"=* ""'^ ^""t'^'-- lie t^ Li • • ^"elter, and privacv; it oermife ve scruples, it gives us an opportunity to be n, much or bly present 5 mostly a ves. Other sly and so erceptions, rest; they ears them them, and hence the How-men, ures of a Uy before he eternal igh pro- fire of his stands in DwerfuUy -lilt with ery joint le social at alone 1 that or another, permits rsofthe enables is above [ife. If le loved ■; if we to be LAY MORALS 47 tuf'^^lT ^r' ^"^ ^"^^^ ^^^^g"^' ^^'^ i^ what will smooth the way to their accomplishment Penury is the worst slavery, and will soon lead to to^Z Tr'-^h' """^J: ^ "''^"'' '^ P^^s^PPoses a man ZrZ , u-^^ ^^" ^^ ^^^^^ h^ pleases, but perhaps please himself nowhere. He can buy a library or visi^ the whole world, but perhaps has nei her patience to read nor intelligence to see The table may be loaded and the appetite wanting; the purse may be full, and the heart empty. He may have gained the world and lost himself ; and with all a^dTi ^r"f ^ ^^"^' ^" " ^''^' ^'^'^ ^"d spacious and beautifm demesne he may live as blank a hfe as an.^ tattered ditcher. Without an appetite, n i^T/" ^'P^^,^t^«"' void of appreciation bank: hZ d T^ ^"J^ ^^P"' ^^'''' ^" ^'^ Sre^^ house, let him St and look upon his fingers. It is perhaps a rnore fortuna e destiny to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a millionaire. AlthouJ neither is to be despised, it is always betttr pdicy to learn an interest than to make a thousand pounds • for the money will soon be spent, or perhaps you may imnerkhl/" '^/"^^"^ '^' ^^* *^^ interest remains imperishable and ever new. To become a botanist art^ S t ' ' r '^ philosopher, an antiquary, or an artisc, is to enlarge one's possessions in the universe so^rt'o/ nrf "f ^^1!^^^^" '^^^^^' ^"^ ^^ ^ '-^ -" acres vT^l' *^f ^^ P"^^^^^^ ^ ^^^"^ of many acres You had perhaps two thousand a year before five hundf ;'"/. P"^"P^ >^^^ ^^^^ two^housand five hundred after ,t. That represents your gain m the one case. But in the other, you have thrown |i I r 48 LAY MORALS down a barrier which concealed significance and beauty. The Wind man has learned to see. The prisoner has opened up a window in his cell and beholds enchanting prospects; he will never again be a prisoner as he was; he can watch clouds and changing seasons, ships on the river, travellers on the road, and the stars at night; happy prisoner I his eyes have broken jail ! And again he who has learned to love an art or science has wisely laid up riches against the day of riches; if prosperity come, lie will not enter poor into his inheritance; he will not slumber and forget himself in the lap of money, or spend his hours in counting idle treasures, but be up and; briskly doing; he will have the true alchemic touch, which is not that of llidas, but which transmutes dead money into living delight and satisfaction. Eire et pas avoir—to be, not to possess— that is the problem of life. To be wealthy a nch nature is the first requisite and money but the second. To be of a quick and healthy blood, to share m all honourable curiosities, to be rich in admiration and free from envy, to rejoice greatly in the good of others, to love with such generosity of heart that your love is still a r^ear possession in absence or unkindness— these are the gifts of for- tune which money cannot buy and without which money can buy nothing. For what can a man possess, or what can he enjoy, except himself ? If he enlarge his nature, it is then that he enlarges his estates. If his nature be happy and valiant, he will enjoy the universe as if it were his park and orchard. But money is not only to be spent ; it has also to be earned. It is not merely a convenience or a 3nce or a LAY MORALS 49 necessary in social life; but it is the coin in which mankind pays his wages to the individual man. And from this side, the question of money has a very different scope and application. For no man can be honest who does not work. Service for ser- vice. If the farmer buys corn, and the labourer ploughs and reaps, and the baker sweats in his hot bakery, plainly you who eat must do something in IrZ Zl. r!t "''' ""^^^^ *^ '^^' ^« y^^' ^at, or to thank God upon your knees for the admirable constitution of society and your own convenient situation m its upper and more ornamental stories. Neither is it enough to buy the loaf with a sixpence- for then you are only changing the point of the inquiry; and you must first have bought the sixpence. Service for service: how have you bought your six- pences? A man of spirit desires certainty in a thing of such a nature; he must see to it that there IS some reciprocity between him and mankind • that he pays his expenditure in service; that he has not a lion s share in profit and a drone's in labour- and IS not a sleeping partner and mere costly incubus on the great mercantile concern of mankind Services differ so widely with different gifts, and some are so inappreciable to external tests, that this IS not only a matter for the private conscience, but one which even there must be leniently and trustfullv considered For remember how many serve man- Kind who do no more than meditate; and how many are precious to their friends for no more than a sweet and joyous temper. To perform the function of a man of letters it is not necessary to write; nay it is perhaps better to be a hving book. So long as we 4 I 50 LAY MORALS love we serve; so long as we are loved by others I would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend. The true ser- vices of life are inestimable in money, and are never paid. Kind words and caresses, high and wise thoughts, humane designs, tender behaviour to the weak and suffering, and all the chain ies of man's existence, are neither bought nor sold. Yet the deare.. and readiest, if not tho most just criterion of a man's services, is the wage that man- kind pays him or, bwefly, what he earns. There at least there can be no ambiguity. St. Paul is fully and freely entitled to his earnings as a tentmaker and Socrates fully and freely entitled to his earnings as a sculptor, although the true business of each was not only something different, but something which remained unpaid. A man cannot forget that he IS not superintended, and serves mankind on parole. He would like, when challenged by his own conscience, to reply; ' I have done so much work and no less, with my own hands and brain, and taken so much profit, and no more, for my own personal delight.' And though St. Paul, if he had possessed a private fortune, would probably have scorned to waste his time in making tents, yet of all sacrifices to public opinion none can be more easily pardoned than that by which a man, already spiritually useful to the world, should restrict the field of his chief usefulness to perform services more apparent, and possess a Hvehhood that neither stupidity npr mahce could call in question. Like all sacrifices to public opinion and mere external decency, this would certainly be wrong; for the LAY MORALS jj soul should rest contented with its own approval and mdissuadably pursue its own calling. Yet sotrlve and dehcate is the question, that I man may*' weU hesitate before he decides it for himself- he mav well fear that he sets too high a valuat bn on 1% own endeavours after good; he may well condescend upon a humbler duty, where others than him- wtge '"^'' '''' '""^^ '^"'' proportion the rich"at^hn,i! '"IV"'' ™? ^rP°"^''''"ty t'-'t the ricn are born. They can shufHe off the duty on no other; they are their own paymasters on parole and must pay themselves fair wages and no more ' For I suppose that m the course of ages, and through reform and civil war and invasion, mankind was pur suing some other and more general design than to set one or two englishmen of the nineteenth c"nturv beyond the reach of needs and duties. Society w2 scarce put together, and defended with so much eloquence and blood, for the convenience of two or three millionaires and a few hundred other person, of wealth and position. It is plain thafYf Cnk nd thus acted and suffered during all these generations they hoped some benefit, some ease, some we"l-' being, for themselves and their descendants- that f they supported law and order, it was to secure fair P ay for all; that if they denied themselves Tnth-^ present, they must have had some designs upon it future. Now, a great hereditary fortune is a miract of man s wisdom «nd mankind's forbearance it has not only been amassed and handed down it has been suffered to be ama«ed and h "r ™' l and surely in such a consFderation IrUifs^Hs' 52 L\Y MORALS possessor should find only a new spur to activity and honour, that with all this power of service he should no^ prove unserviceable, and that this mass of treasure should return in benents upon the race. It he had twenty, or thirty, or a hundred thousand at his banker's, or if all Yorkshire or all California were his to manage or to sell, he would still be morally penniless, and have the world to begin like Whittmgton, until he had found some way of serving mankmd. His wage is physically in his own hand; but, in honour, that wage must still be earned He IS only steward on parole of what is called his fortune. He must honourably perform his steward- ship. He must estimate his own services and allow himself a salary in proportion, for that will be one among his functions. And while he will then be free to spend that salary, great or little, on his own private pleasures, the rest of his fortune he but holds and disposes under trust for mankind; it is not his because he has not earned it; it cannot be his, be- cause his services have already been paid; but year by year it is his to distribute, whether to help in- dividuals whose birthright and outfit have been swallowed up in his, or to further public works and institutions. At this rate, short of inspiration, it seems hardly possible to be both rich and honest; and the million- aire IS under a far more continuous temptation to thieve than the. labourer who gets his shilling daily for despicable toils. Are you surprised ? It is even so. And you repeat it every Sunday in your churches. ' it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the i LAY MORALS 53 kingdom of God.' I have heard this and similar hf UTTTh^ '='""""'='' '^^y ^"-l brushedTron Grearhearf of H^P'""^.'^'^"^''"" ''>' '^e tender ureat-heart of the parish. One excellent clertrv- man told us that the ' eye of a needle ' meant a low partiU Itt™ ">™"g'' -hich eamels eould n^t pass till they were unloaded-which is vrr- likelv ust; and then went on, braNely confounding the to show that of course no rich person co.-W exi vet to carry his riches beyond thrgrave-v ,c? of course, he could not and never did.^ Various gr^'edv sinners of the congregation drank in the comforTable doctrine with relief. It was worth the while havin! Zn ' The R^h, *'"' '""1''^^ "■°™'"g ' ^Jf w"af plain. The Bible, as usual, meant nothing in oar- icular; it was merely an obscure and Tgira^ve school-copybook ; and if a man were only resectable he was a man after God's own heart '''P*'='^'''*' Alas ! I fear not. And though this matter of a man s services is one for his own conscience, there are some cases in which it is difficult to restrain the mmd from judging. Thus I shall be very easily n"fd,^d that a man has earned his daU^bS and if he has but a friend or two to whom his com-' suaded at once. But it will be very hard to per- llin wn IH w^u**- ^''*' ^' ^ to his friends, he or alto 1h^ '* ^%^''' f,^'*'^ P^"""^^^ to-mor/ow; tor as to the courtiers of luxury and power, I wil neither consider them fr«>r'"- n— i- r • - them at all "wu'Ti. '^ ""^' ""' U'deea consider tnem at all. What he does for mankind there are 1^ i'. i 54 LAY MORALS most likely hundreds who would do the same as effectually for the race and as pleasurably to them- selves, for the merest fraction of this monstrous wage. Why it is paid, I am, therefore, unable to conceive, and as the man pays it himself, out of funds in his detention, I have a certain backward- ness to think him honest. At least, we have gained a very obvious point- that what a man spends upon himself, he shall have earned by services to the race. Thence flows a prin- ciple for the outset of life, which is a little different from that taught in the present day. I am address- ing the middle and the upper classes ; those who have already been fostered and prepared for life at some expense; those who have some choice before them and can pick professions; and above all, those who are what is called independent, and need do nothing unless pushed by honour or ambition. In this par- ticular the poor are happy; among them, when a lad comes to his strength, he must take the work that offers, and can take it with an easy conscience But in the richer classes the question is complicated bv the number of opportunities and a variety of con- siderations. Here, then, this principle of ours comes m helpfully. The young man has to seek, not a road to weal+h, but an opportunity of service • not money, but honest work. If he has some strong pro- pensity, some calling of nature, come overweening interest m any special field of industry, inquiry or art, he will do right to obey the impulse; and that tor two reasons: the first external, because there he will render the best services; the second personal because a demand of his own nature is to Iiim with-' LAY MORALS jg ^"nVK! ""Jlf "T" '/ '^" '''^ '^*'^fi^'* ^"t'' the con- sent of h s other faculties and appetites. If he has no such elective taste, by the very principle on whlh he chooses any pursuit at all he must choose the most honest and serviceable, and not the mo^t hUlv remunerated We have here an external probfem not from or to ourself, but flowing from the con-' stitution of society; and we have our own soul Th Its fixed design of righteousness. All that ca* be itavtlt to'"tr"* *'!'^ f?^'<^" '" P™P«^ "^™" nd problem M th °' *''^ mdividual. Now, the problem to the poor is one of necessity to earn ratr"But*tJ"*' V'f^ '""^* ^^^ --uneratt™ iabour. But the problem to the rich is one of honour: having the wherewithal, they must find ^Itt *^\°"*• ''""^"'^^ he has not yet got it to ^^;^r:^t ''''-'' -''" '■ *--"- ^^ Of course, what is true of bread is true of luxuries ^d comforts whether for the body or the mTnd aswct of'?he Tf °" "^ '""""'^^ ^''^^ "^ to - new aspect of the whole question, and to a second pro- intM^f PT*""* d'^y' T- °f the easier classes, are hn„ ^ If".""^^" ^'"^ ^'=S''^<^« ^f'«'- meat. Ple- thora has fUled us with indifference; and we are habkualn™"! ''""' L° '""" "'* the'callosiTes o1 habitua opulence. Born into what is called a cer- tain rank, we live as the saying is, up to our s.atio^ We squander without enjoyment, because our fathers squandered. We eat of the best, not from delicacy 56 LAY MORALS _ 1 i but from brazen habit. We do not keenly enjoy or eagerly desire the presence of a luxury; we are un- accustomed to its absence. And not only do we jquander money from habit, but still more pitifully Jvaste it in ostentation. I can think of no more melancholy disgrace for a creature who professes either reason or pleasure for his guide, than to spend the smallest fraction of his income upon that which he does not desire; and to keep a carriage in which you do not wish to drive, or a butler of whom you are afraid, is a pathetic kind of folly. Money, being a means of happiness, should make both parties happy when it changes hands; rightly disposed, it should be twice blessed in its employment; and buyer and seller should alike have their 'twenty shil- lings' worth of profit out of every pound. Benjamin Franklin went through life an altered man, because he once paid too dearly for a penny whistle. My concern springs usually from a deeper source, to wit from having bought a whistle when I did not want one. I find I regret this, or would regret it if I gave myself the time, not only on personal but on moral and philanthropical considerations. For, first, in a world where money is wanting to buy books' for eager students and food and medicine for pining children, and where a large majority are starved m their most immediate desires, it is surely ba-e. stupid, and cruel to squai ler money when I am pushed by no appetite and enjoy no return of genuine satisfaction. My philanthropy is wide enough in scope to include myself; and when I have made myself happy, I have at least one good argu- m.en- .hat I have acted nghtly; but where that is LAY MORALS 57 not so, and I have bought and not enjoyed, my mouth IS closed, and I conceive that I have robbed the poor. And, second, anything I buy or use which I do not smcerely want or cannot vividly enjoy, dis- turbs the balance of supply and demand, and 'con- tributes to remove industrious hands from the pro- duction of what is useful or pleasurable and to keep them busy upon ropes of sand and things that are a weariness to the flesh. That extravagance is truly sinful, and a very silly sin to boot, in which we impoverish mankind and ourselves. It is another question for each man's heart. He knows if he can enjoy what he buys and uses; if he cannot, he is a dog in the manger; nay, if he cannot, I contend he is a thief, for nothing really belongs to a man which he cannot use. Proprietor is connected with propriety ; and that only is the man's which is proper to his wants and faculties. A youth, in choosing a career, must not be alarmed by poverty. Want is a sore thing, but poverty does not imply want. It remains to be seen whether with half his present income, or a third, he cannot, in the most generous sense, live as fully as at present. He is^^ fool who objects to luxuries; but he is also a fool who does not protest against the waste of luxuries on those who do not desire and cannot enjoy them. It remains to be seen, by each man who would live a true life to himself and not a merely specious life to society, how many luxuries he truly wants and to how many he merely submits as to a social propriety; and all these last he will immediately forswear. Let him do this, and he will be surprised to find how httie money it requires to keep him in complete nn i 58 i LAY MORALS Sty T/vel al"":;? "' ""'"f ^^ — • Life upon I Xct^zi ^'j^i^ rr ^1 sociaf decency ':^du? I^stlTLr '"^ ''?^'^'^ unless my hands are coW, or unless ?arh' ^'"^fu' a delight in them. Dress is mytwn affa" and 7h t ininrl Tf T J x , "^^^ ^^^^^ ^here I have a Tst be" Lt"id tr ir r r tT**^ r ^-^^^ further right bu't to refuT the invftado^ '''* "" There is a kmd of idea abroad that a man m„=t LAY MORALS 59 not care about, and spend nothing upon that. Ihere are not many people who can differentiate wines above a certain and that not at all a high price. Are you sure you are one of these ^ Are you sure you prefer cigars at sixpence each to pipes at some fraction of a farthing ? Are you sure you wish to keep a gig ? Do you care about where vou sleep, or are you not as much at your ease in a cheap lodging as in an Elizabethan manor-house ^ Do you en]oy fine clothes ? It is not possible to answer these questions without a trial; and there is nothing more obvious to my mind, Ihan that a man who has not experienced some ups and downs, and been forced to live more chepply than in his father's house, has still his education to begin Let the experiment be made, and he will find to his surprise that he has been eating beyond his appetite up to that hour; that the cheap lodging, the cheap tobacco, the rough country clothes, the plain table, have not only no power to damp his spirits, but perhaps give him as keen pleasure in i using as the dainties that he took, betwixt sleep and waking m his ormer callous and somnambulous submission to wealth. The true Bohemian, a creature lost to view under the imaginary Bohemians of literature, is exactly described by such a principle of lue. The Bohe- mian of the novel, who drinks more than is eood for him and prefers anything to work, and wears s --ange clothes, is for the most part a respectable ohemian, respectable in disrespectability, living io/ the outside, and an advenfiir^r •«„+ +},^ ^„_ ? mean lives wholly to himself, does what he wishes. 6o LAY MORALS j 'H J . r wnat will bring him m money or favour Yrm - iTv be the most respectable of men an i* vp^ f^ knowledge; he hL ha.l i^ "/ro^UtaeTtof "' m some contentment; and b.ncch'car^Z^ f°v"^ more, and shares his sov6^.^,n or m "hllW -^f ^ friend. The iDoor if i, „ ' shilhng with a . '."" Voor, II iiiuy are generoii level in [ suppose ti honour- instincts uit; in a ing man- ; and he doing so lis reach, le one in - ne which suppose LAY MORALS 6i he dojs fa 'J out of society, is that a cause of sorrow ? is your he^^rt so dead that you prefer the recognition of many to the love of a few ? Do you think society loves you ? Put it to the proof. Decline in mateiial expenditure, and you will find they care no more for you than for the Khan of Tartary You Will lose no friends. If you had any, you will keep them. Only those who were friends to your coat and equipage will disappear; the smiling faces will disappear as by enchantment; but the kind hearts will remain steadfastly kind. Are you so lost, are you so dead, are you so little sure of your own'soul and your own footing upon solid fact, that you prefer before goodness and happiness the counten- ance of sundry diners-out, who will flee from you at a report of rum, who will drop you with insult at a shadow of disgrace, who do not know you and do not care to know you but by sight, and whom you m your turn neither know nor care to know in a more human manner ? Is it not the principle of society, openly avowed, that friendship must not interfere with business; which being paraphrased, means simply that a consideration of monev goes before any consideration of affection known to this cold-blooded gang, that they have not even the honour of thieves, and will rook their nearest and dearest as readily as a stranger ? I hope I would go as lar as most to serve a friend; but I declare openly I would not put on my hat to do a pleasure to society. I may starve my appetites and control niy temper for the sake of those I love; but society shall take me as I choose to be. or ^o without me Neither they nor I will lose; for where there is no ili I ■;■■ J: i 62 LAY MORALS lov-e^ it is both laborious and unprofitable to asso- But it is obvious that if it is only right for a man o spend money on that which he can tr^lv and thoroughly enjoy, the doctrine applies with eaual imSsld nt/'^'fK ' '" '''' P°°^' '" "^'^ "an whX amassed many thousands as well as fn ih^ rrr^lltt precariously beginning life. aT" it may t aTed Is not this merely preparing misers, w^olre not the wh ch he cannnf ft.^ ''^ ^^l"'^' ^"^' ^""h^^. that hnlit i . . fully enjoy, does not belong to him but ,s a part»f mankind's treasure which he holds matZfitX^'^H ^o-ankind, then! it must t maae prohtable; and how th s should be done is once more a problem which each man must solve ihifh a^rVerl Ih ' "*!. ^ ^"^ considerations Mo 1 ^^ y obvious and may here be stated onetl'rticulr'V"^ """'^ '"^ ^--^'' "ut ev'ry manWnd^ He»r "^'^ '"^" "' *°™*" '^ «"« of mankind s dear possessions; to his or her iust brain wmcn, m a rigid sense, you do not want mav there h" ra'ce" tr ' '^^^ -^"^^ ^" ^^^"^ benSons To vnnr fvu '" P"''^*^ kindnesses. Your wife your children, your friends stand nearest to vnn and shou d be helned at fircf xk "^^^,^f ^^ y^u, ran h^ 1,+fT^ "^ipea at tu-st. There at least there- can be httle imposture, for you know their neces- sities of your own knowledg/ And consider, Tall LAY MORALS )le to asso- for a man truly and with equal m who has the youth be asked, ire not the this: that rther, that ng to him, 1 he holds t must be 3 done is, lust solve L right to [derations >e stated, but every is one of ist brain, i intrusts is a pos- blessings lot need, ly there- :tions to ur wife, to you, ist there- ir neces- er, if all 63 the world did as you did, and according to their means extended help in the circle of their affections, there would be no more crying want in times of plenty and no more cold, mechanical charity ^iven with a doubt and received with confusion. VVould not this simple rule make a new world out of the old and cruel one which we inhabit ? ■| [After two more sentences the fragment breaks off] FATHER DAMIEN r anc Yo: cou Bu and acq Gag fille sat wou Yoi] can( the chai Afte shal one the I bea FATHER DAMIEN AN OPEN LETTER TO THE REVEREND DR. HYDE OF HONOLULU Sydney, Ct t± February 25, i8go biR,— 1 1 may probably occur to you that we havp m.t and vis.ted, and convcr^d; on my side \^th inters ' You may remember that you have donTme several courtesies, for which I was prepared to bl gratefS But there are duties which come before graHtude' and offences which iustlv divide tril^Z S^^*""''^' acquaintances. YoJr letL tote rverend^H °B Gage IS a document which in mv ..irf.f « L , filled me with bread when i was sSg Uou h^d sat up to nurse my father when he fav TdyW would yet absolve me from the bonds ofgrattt^ud!" You know enough, doubtless, of the prSel nf canomsatmn to be aware that, a hundr 'd years afte the death of Damien, there will aonear f „f charged with the painful office otlL ^f ^. ^ ""^ After that noble brother of m^a^nd ota S' Xv fir ? P i • ^^^ circumstance is unusual that the devil ,^r i- • -— v-4-i.„ dxivL impruvciiicnts inaugu- FATHER DAMIEN go rated, which were the work of our Board of Health as occasion required and means were prov^ed He was not a pure man in his relations with women and he leprosy of which he died should be aMnbuted muchVr th' r*^ ^^'•«''^^»«^- Others have done much for the lepers, our own ministers, the govern- Catholic Idea of meriting eternal life.-Yours, etc 'C. M. HvDE.'i H. J° ^f ' fit'y ^'th a letter so extraordinary I must draw at the outset on my private knowledge oHhl sanatory and h.s sect. It may offend others scarcely you who have been so busy to collect, so bold to publish, gossip on your rivals. And this is perhaDs character of what you are to read : I conceive vou as eivUUvSw'hT"' '""' '""'* *"« -tSs civuity . with what measure you mete, with that shall It be measured you again; w^th you, it lit frl ote A A V^^ ''"?" °« *'>^ *°" »nd to plunge home And If m aught chat I shall say I should off^H others your colleagues, whom I re^s^ct and remem I amToJ f"'T ^- "="" ''"' °ff^^ them my". ntoests f^morir^'"'* ^ "'^ consideration of nterests tar more large; and such pain as can be inflicted by anything from me must be indeed Sflin^ when compared with the pain with whrhthevS your letter. It is not the hangman, but hecrimSal that bnngs dishonour on the house '^"'"■na'. You belong, sir, to a scct-I believe my sect and that m which my ancestors laho„r»H_,„hil "■-^"'' From the Sydne Presbyterian, October 26. 1889. 70 I'ATHKK DAMIKN ri U l-tinont, andlnusr^r be plain); ™aTlitr%'^ tlio course of their evangelicll c^ L thev-or ion nmny of the„,-grew rich. It may ^i '„e^s to yo° liat the houses of missionaries are a cause of mork ng on tlie streets of Honolulu. It ^U at lea ? be ^ws to you that when I returned your c Jfl tlu lie driver oi n,y cab commented on the size the aste, and the comfort of vour home i! ,! Old 'm:ThaT:ft ^^^^^'"'^ '-"y-rhad'Lr: 'ud, matt r nto prht" ^But V'""" "^^ '"^ ^^^ understand your letter to have been ™nned ?n f house winch could raise, and that ver^ustlv the envy and the comments of the passers-by fthnk to employ a phrase of yours which I admireHt hou^d be attributed ' to you that you havTnever visited the scene of Damien's life and delth H you had and had recalled it, and looked atut your &aVer^' ^^"' ''"'' ^^ ^^^^^ -uld hC !• exceptional le first mis- Iready self- y were em- nthusiasin ; more from i<; last they iod. This •r causes of nt alone is with. In ey— or too ?ws to you s of mock- it least be civil visit. 5 size, the It would i any one 'e to drag . how you it is need- u and me, e, should ined in a ustly, the I think dmire) it ive never eath. If )out your uld have FATHER DAMIEN 71 Your sect (and remember, as far as any sect avows me. It IS mme) has not done ill in a worldly sense in he Hawanan Kingdom. When calamUy befell their mnocent parishioners, when leprosy d/scended and took root m the Eight Islands. ^\uidpro ^ITwa to be looked for. To that prosperous ilsion. Tm to you, as one of its adornments, God had sent a last an opportunity. I know I am touching here Tvo.t^cnir "'"'1^ rr"^^'- ^ ^"^^ ^^at others of your colleagues look back on the inertia of your Church, and the intrusive and decisive heroism of Damien. with something almost to be called remorse I am sure it is so with yourself; I am persuaded your t^lr^ '!i'^r^ ^y ^ '"'^^^" ^"^y- "«t essentially gnoble, and the one human trait to be espied in rhanrr.r"'^"?- , ^^^ ^"^" ^^'"'^^"^ ^^^ the lost chance, the past day; of that which should have been conceived and was not; of the service due and not rendered. Tiw^ was, said the voice in your ear IndTthi'^'^^i "'''''^: "^ y^^ ^^^ ^^S^"^ ^"d writing; ^L rf ^^^,^^'^,^ ^"tten were base beyond parallel nlWn^'T Tn^^PPy *^ repeat-it is the only com- P iment I shall pay you-the rage was almost vir- h^r'' }' r' u"^^^" "^^ ^^^^ ^^'^^^' ^nd another has succeeded; when we have stood by, and another has stepped in; when we sit and grow bulky in our l^Z^'J 'i^^T"'; ^"^ ^ P^^^"' ^^"^o^th peasant steps into the battle, under the eyes of God, and succours the afflicted, and consoles the dying and IS himself afflicted in his turn, and dies upfn the field of honour-tb(. battle cannot be retrieved as your unhappy irritation has suggested. It i<. a lo«f oattie, and lost tor ever. One thing remained to 72 FATHER DAMIEN 'hi Vr'tr"^'^ '°"'' '"^^ honour of KeT tnat was what rcma ned to vnn ur. • expected to be Damiens a nC'n,, ^'^ ?°' ^" dutymorenarrowlv hem'»vir^ K- ^ ?"'^'''^« •>'= and none wiil -tl'slTJt' S tZt'n^t't^.^j a gentleman of your reverend nrnfll;! ., * *'" example from the fieWro? gattv ? wT ™t '" gentlemen compete for the favour nZ ' ^ ''^". *"'° one succeeds an^d the o her rreW ed 'ati T"" *^,^ nvaliy to do well: to he"p to edl !""?.•"? ^ examples. You haviL /;„ ' V^^^f' *<> set divine and D^amienl^ccSd'f rr^e'Tsho^r ^'f ^^^ occurred to vou fhaf ^rL ] should not have pigsty^Thlllie'rX'clirof kI™"'''^ » *"''* «lect who would not were the Jt°~y°"' *''« collect and propagate^rsio^!,!^!!'"^" °" «arth to would and did ^ ^ "■" volunteer who -Vwi^^ &n^rei!7,S - you >n the flesh the word pigsty, a hv^^rb^.l" fel'^^-^--" '^^^^^ .^* 'On honour; way. saving done aving done f the inert: are not all 3nceive his 3rts better; But will How me an When two y, and the id (as will le success- ^ated, it is his mouth ly closed, ii upon a et divine ce) failed, not have > silence; hat high our well- crowned in that you, the earth to eer who he flesh leap at at the FATHER DAMIEN 73 best. 'He had no hand in the reforms,' he was ' a coarse, dirty man ' ; these were your own words and you with fresh evidence. In a sense, it is even so tinn'^.i^^ ^^' T ^''^ '''""^ ^"P^^^^d ^ith a convent t^onal halo and conventional features; so drawn by men who perhaps had not the eye to remark or the S hlin ,T '^' i?^^^^d^^l' «r who perhaps were suchasTn. .l'""^ "'Y'^ ^y S^"^^^"^ admiration, such as I par y envy for myself-such as you, if you^ knl'Ti" T^r';T?^' '""^ ^" your'benTd i^nees. It is the least defect of such a method of portraiture that it makes the path easy for the devil's advocate, and leaves for the misuse of the slandlrer a considerable field of truth. For the truth that I enemy. The world, in your despite, may perhaos sTbsSinr ''T' ^'n^^"^ '''''' ^^ the'm^ans ^f substituting once for all a credible likeness for a wax nnli^^T''' J^'A^^ *^^"^ ^^^^^ ^* ^" remember you on the day when Damien of Molokai shall be naLd baint, it will be m virtue of one work: your letter to the Reverend H. B. Gage. ^ You may ask on what authority 1 speak. It was my inclement destiny to become acquainted not with Damien, but with Dr. Hyde. When I visited ^rave H, "' vf^^f " ^"^ ^^"^"^^ ^" ^^' ^^^^ing grave. But such information as I h.ve I athered on the spot in conversation with t/ios.^ who knew him well and long: some indeed wjio revered his memory; but others who had sparred and wrangled with him, who beheld him with no Hal- -^k. ^^Sl^ regarded him with small respect, and through whoS 74 FATHER DAMIEN ^:^: iJi^^S T -^" -°-~ be most comp etelv anH i**-r"f '"^^"^ " =«"'d Kalawao, which vouh«™ '*"''t'^«ly "nderstood- you hav^ ne^r so JTi? r^'7'''''<^' ^''°"' *hich yourself; for brief aTvn f ff'^^.^^oured to inform the mean, [; stumbl J? T /,'''" ''' y"" ^ave found tlie lepers.' Mo oLf",; V^^^^y. 'is devoted to lofty.a'^dmosTd folate isS*'!, "'"",',' •*'^'' ' S^^^"' side plunges airont of pSrrnMf''?''''''^"'"" profundity. This ranee of , lift f "^ "^ """'"='' the true eL and frontf r of the fsiinT '^On, *° ""*' spot there protects infn thl 'Siand. Only m one and nagged'^dXn, ^r^sv stonT ^ 'T'"'" *"^"g"^^^ the midst into a hUl wfth I T' I""^^'. and rising in bearing to the cliff tW t""^"^ '=''^*<""- t^e whole same rf lation as a br..t Z""^^"^' '' somewhat the you wm noTS to Sk ^uUhe i "^'^ *'''^ '^'"* map; you will be ahwi^ • J , '"^Per Station on a is thuscut ofl betw,^' iT'^f ^T '""'='' "^ ^olokai less than a ha» oTTess ?ha "', "'^ ^''P''^^' ^''^ther tenth-or, say 'a twen^.f^ '''!"'''■'• °'' * fi^'b, or a bm^t into' prbtVoTwitb; i°Vn:"r *™*= y°" with us the issue ^f your cafcuhtbr'"""' *° ^''"•^ withThrf:,rss*:flT:,i*\- r^"^ ^i^^ t-'" ropes could not drafvon^trh^jTi' °''"" ""'l ^ain- not even know ilsltuation n' f^' ^''"' ^'>'' -1° denounce sensato„ridescrip?ronssr?V?'''''"^^y -bs the while in your plSr^I^.^l^c^nSeS nunications ^one on me nowleclge I sre it could iderstood— bout wliich I to inform lave found on. ' Less devoted to the 'grey,' ts northern of unusual St to west, *nly in one triangular d rising in the whole swhat the 1 this hint ation on a f Molokai ', whether fifth, or a time you to share who talk •nd wain- . who do probably ing your /uictaiiia FATHER DAMIEN 75 Street. VVlien I was pulJed ashore there one earlv mornmg there sat with me in the boat two sisters'^ bidd „g arewelJ (in humble imitation of Dam en) to ih^i . ^ y°" t>e«" there, it is mv heMfl ™n?s us in th?^^"^"'^'? "' ""^y "^^^ ^"d then haJ^TrH ^ ^'^'"'''^ ^^ ^ nightmare-what a haggard eye you would have rolled over volir L would have understood that life in the lazaretto k an ordeal from which the nerves of fmanT '°rit shrmk, even as his eye quails under the bThtnes o the sun; you would have felt it was (even to da vl a t'hf "eafof noV-'bi' 'I "^ •'^" *° '^-' "" "^ -t tne lear ot possible mfection. That seems a Hffl^ thrii'tt Tr^"- T'*^ ^''^ p^"' tiTp^ity d atmosphere o lmr7""'^ surroundings, and the eraiefn whi ^ ku *'"",: '^"''^'^' ^'"d physical dis- grace m which he breathes. I do not think I am a daTsanTnXr^"^ ''"'''■' ""' ' -ter"recalUh thankfulness that Y am s;SZL;:'^' ST„' FATHER DAMIEN 76 my diary that I speak of mv stav as a ' ar\r.A- Penence ': I have once jotted n^hemaS'!.'^' rowtnp s the worH '• ^Ja ..ru '"^"^ margin, Har- at lasf towardlt,^ ^uter worid *?t^f « ^ore me myself, with a nerconcepUon'of tt^ '''^^""S to those simple words of the song- ^"" P^«gnancy. • -Tis the n>ost distressful country that ever yet was seen.' t^tttlTmerpS^d' L^rerhe-^rH '^^ new village built fh^ w -f i ! ' ^^^^utified; the under a ^Tl^T^tTZZ^^Xr!"'' ^^^ ^^ht pestilence; and looking forw^^d^w^h/ t'°"' ^'* with what pitiful sinWngs oTdrtid rn J '?""««• to a lifeti J of dressingresStumps" "^ '"""^ s^S^as^SiaCnTin^-eX^^^^^^ =us-ysi:rnd413S^^^^^^^ hoii, on its sad^hr^h:^': .'t^J!'^" T* abandon inding ex- in, ' Har- i bore me )eating to fegnancy, was seen.' red from fied; the 5p-Home - and the le tasks, here and rst night 3ne with courage, ^ knows) i^e, that and are Lve long md the rge and such a ngth in :he ini- t mon- stands called lenna; •andon ime to FATHER DAMIEN 77 their high calling, and can look forward as they go 1 ?1 ' *fjf.^«ati«"' and to rest. But Damifn shut-to with his own hand the doors of his own sepulchre. at^awT '"'"'' ''''"' P'^"^^^ '^^" "^y ^-^y A ' Damien is dead and already somewhat un- gratefully remembered in the field of his labours and sufferings. He was a good man, but very offi- Clous, says one. Another tells me he had fallen (as other pnests so easily do) into something of the ways and habits of thought of a Kanaka; but he had the wit to recognise the fact, and the good sense to laugh at ' [over] ' it. A plain man it seems he was ; 1 cannot find he was a popular.' B. ' After Ragsdale's death ' [Ragsdale was a lamous Luna, or overseer, of the unruly settlement! there followed a brief term of office by Father Damien which served only to publish the weakness ot that noble man. He was rough in his ways, and he had no control. Authority was relaxed ; Damien's Jile was threatened, and he was soon eager to resign ' C. Of Damien I begin to have an idea. He seems to have been a man of the peasant class, cer- tainly of the peasant type: shrewd, ignorant and bigoted, yet with an open mind, and capable of re- ceiving and digesting a reproof if it were bluntly administered; superbly generous in the least thing as weU as m the greatest, and as ready to give his last shirt (although not without human grumbling) as he had been to sacrifice his life; essentially indis- creet and officious; whirh rn^A^ v.;^ -. 4. ili-. colleague; domineering in all his ways, which mad 7S FATHER DAxMIEN athimandhemus?carrvo;,ft u" ?°>" '^"gl'ed of bribes He le irnpH?^ v, '"'''^' ''J' **>« ""eans ing; and set UD 21 ^™ " ""'"''■" '°^ doctor- oniis reg^Lr rCk. Shapr.ra?vH '"' "'"'^'"'^' all in the treatment "^f ^''^J^^ea'^Ttr"*'" ^* thing that he rlirl o„,i V ■ , "'^<^ase) the worst best and worst of th^ "'"■'^'"'y ^'"' ^^'-^^t- The his deallrw th Mr Cha^r " ""''' ^'^'^'y *" originally laid to.rr''r.w^?,"' f'°"^y' ''^ had tirelv for the l^nefit I ctf^'v '° '^^ " "^"^ ' «"• wisely; but after alon* pfa^nlaT^ T T" ^° "°* error fully and revised the Lt Vh' ^'^T^^"^ ^' the bovs' home t« in "t, ^'^^ ^^ state of controTin Zt nVv ^ ""' *'!' "='"" °f ^is lack of ideas of hySe BrotT ' '"'".'^ ^^^^ ^"^ ^^'^ " Damien??hhatow™' ''"- VWir 'th "" *' ,?" '* errors with ^rfect^ n^ht"^*"''' ''"^ ^"^^^'^ *« ^is gathered of ^uh ablt '■J^'^- , ^ """"^ ^ have brother and father ofn i''.'^ ?'=""■ ""ble human traits of his face b 11' h ' ""r^«^«°"s are the fellow- his martv;^^^ which we know him for our lessen 'or an'^S'lnd'^nt"! ""^ '^^^T'^ °°«'ing can can P^^^rly :^^^^^^^^^^^^ the spot peLt ^ htrco'^tioTttrr' - ^- S'^rrn'^^f'a^^^^^^^^^^ we, I and the world were already sufficiently IS, but yet 's laughed the means 3r doctor- remedies matter at :he worst est. The Mainly in ; he had )ut] 'en- ;n so not litted his state of 5 lack of md false call it 'uld say, e would e to his I have human are the for our dng can he spot as you )u, the almost : that I profile ciently FATHER DAMIEN y^ had opposed the fatherinhVlfe Yrurm:."'' "I" doceivod. or they build up thHmal: oV;™ ""St and sym'pa\h; frho^:: ma^y 'pofntH; J^c^'ll'^^"^*^ at one. and how widely our^app^ecilt.^'ns ^arv honesty of min^ % ;\ %*■ 1^ \\ 0^ 8o FATHER DAMIEN »y,Ui y»« l.« *,» m. . «TO.; I, ,„„id 1,™ Ana 1 take It, this is a type of our division- that you are one of those who haC^e an eye for fauUs and inem, and that, having found them, you make haste whth^h h'^I ''^^^^^"'"g virtues and the r"al sucSs which had alone introduced them to your know"ed?e It IS a dangerous frame of mind. That tou mit rt"hr*r'^.''T^""S'=^°"=' ''"d '"to what aSuaS hand-m-hand through the different phrases oTlou? letter, and candidly examine each from the St of view of Its truth, its appositeness, anTits chiSj;! Damien was coarse. 1 " '^ v*'^ possible. You make US sorry for the lep^, who had only a coarse old peasanUor their friend and father. But you, who were so ref^ed why were you not there, to cheer them with th^Ss of culture ? Or may I remind you that we havl some reason to doubt if John the Baptbt wire een teel; and in the case of Peter, on whose cl^ervo^i douMess dwell approvingly iA the p^lt no S at all he was a ' coarse, headstrong • fis£^ , yet even m our Protestant Bibles PeL is cSsaS! Damien was dirty. He was. Think of the poor lepers annoyed with this durty conirade ! But the clean Dr. Hyde w^at his food m a fine house. ^ ^* vould have : Catholics lints to be ful; not to mankind, ision; that faults and nd publish make haste eal success aiowledge, you may I situation please) go 3S of your the point s charity. y for the for their 5 refined, the lights we have vere gen- ireer you no doubt an! Yet 3d Saint. >^ed with le was at 8i FATHER DAMIEN Damien was headstrong hi/s^S^d" S'a^t^^'"' ^"<^ ' ^"-^ «°^ for Damien was bigoted, we should re^id it ^ lull T-^"* ^^- *"S°t^' *''»* believed his own reH^o ' vk '.V P™'* ' ^^^mien peasant ofl S i^^I°:ouM , .^' T"^^'^ °' ^ you do. For this i wonZ^lJ °"''^ '"PP°^ t''"* at^randtfde^^Sf^^^^^^^ wordsforbl^ni"hi' "l '°.^°." ^^*"y "^«an the of our CM.Lxl'^:t^'^,':y''^'- '"^P^lpits ffiaf vi\c. "' "^^u up lor imitation on the ot-ohtiH tKrherse'T "" ^°'""*"y- °- ^- HySe Damien <<,rf „„,; stay at the settlement, etc. toldSdrattr&^f,"irr ^ ^ ine bv these nr i^.JJ^ ? ^^^ ^^*^^^ ^or profit- eitU^^ntin^itre;!!-!'"! V^. In o — J •-.fu.xion aiiindara to issue 6 j' !| \.?- 82 FATHER DAMIEN from the house on Beretania Street: and I am con- vmced you will find yourself with fe; supporters Damien had no hand in the reforms, etc. I think even you will admit that I have ah-eadv been frank m my description of the man I am defend jng; but before I take you up upon this he^d Tw« be flanker st.ll, and tell you that perhaps nowhl" >n the worla can a man taste a more pleasurable sense of contrast than when he passes from DaSs HomelT '* ^^"''T '" **•<= "^^"t""' Bishop- Home at Kalaupapa. At this point, in my desire to Ca'thol ^f'°' y""' ^ *'" '^^^^'^ -"y ™'« and addu e Cathohc testimony. Here is a passage from mv diary about my visit to the Chinatown from whkh you will see how it is (even now) regarde^W Tts own officials: ' We went round all th! do^itories refectories, etc.-dark and dingy enoug. "ha superficial cleanliness, which he ■ [Mr. Dutior the &• ':Sd t "^Vk" " *° '^^f^"^- ■■ It is almos decent, said he; "the sisters will make that all right when we get them here. " ■ And yet I gathered far better than when he was there alone and had Ws fTj^'^V'^'^' ''^'^'^"^°*> ^^y- I h-ve now come far enough to meet you on a common ground of fart and I tell you that, to a mind not pre ud'ced bv jealousy all the reforms of the lazaretto and even those which he most vigorously opposed, aie properl v the work of Damien. They are the ev dence 0^ hk success; they are what his heroism provS from the reluctant and the careless. Many were befor^ h.m in the field, Mr. Meyer, for instanclof who e I am con- porters. /e already m defend- 3ad, I will 3 nowheie able sense Damien's 1 Bishop- ' desire to id adduce from my )m which id by its "^itories, •ith a tior, the is almost that all gathered -ad, and had his )w come : of fact; iiced by nd even )roperly e of his id from before F whose FATHER DAMIEN 53 . faithful work we hear too little- there hn,r. u many smce; and^some had more woTdly'^Ldom" though none had more devotion, than our sa^' lebbim country. At a blow, and with the nrir,. r.t Anittt'^r"" *^« P'=^<=« "'"^trious nd "public refo™ and died to bring S. i?^waThe. 'Th?^ How do you know that? Isthisthpnat„„ c^x. conversation in that house on Ctank St e" :'h^ch' the cabman env ed. driving na<;f ? r-t a\ -. the misconduct of the poo^r peasa^ nrf f *f f- ^^ under the cliffs of MolokaP ^ P'^''*' *^^^^"§^ Many have visited the station before mp- fi.. seem not to have heard the rumour wk't^^^ there I heard many shockinftairf^'n^f ^ ^^' were men speaki/, w.th^r S;tsr^/^ and I heard plenty of complaints of Damien Wh^v was this never mentioned ? and how camlTf" f ^ m the retirement of your clerical pa™? *' ^^" But I must not even seem to deceive you. This 84 FATHER DA MIEN Randal when I read ,t m your letter, was not new to ^nw T^ ^""'^ '^.^"0'" ^'^^'"' ^"^ I "^"st tell you how. There came to Samoa a man from Honolulu; ne m a public-house on the beach, volunteered the staten,ent that Damien had ' contracted the dTsease trom hiving connection with the female lepers ' • and I find a joy m telling you how the report was' wel- comed m a public-house. A man sprang to Ws flet • Ta'^Vn "'k^-^ *^ ^^"^ ^^^ "^"^^' bu't f?om what 1 heard I doubt if you would care to have him to dinner in Beretatiia Street. ' You miserable Httle -— (here is a word I dare not print, it would so shock your ears). ' You miserable htile _ ' he cried, If the story were a thousand times true, can't you see you are a million times a lower -1- for thX"" '?r* '^ • ' ^ ^''^ '^ ^«"^d be told of you that when the report reached you in your house perhaps after family worship, you had found in you; soul enough holy anger to receive it with the same expressions ; ay, even with that one which I dare not print ; it would not need to have been blotted away like Uncle Toby's oath, by the tears o? the recording angel; it would have been counted to you for your brightest righteousness. But you have dehberately chosen the part of the man from Hono- lulu, and you have played it with improvements of your own. The man from HonoluIu-mSle eermg creature-communicated the tale to a rude w]w.^!t IT """J^'"^ ^^"^"'^ ^" ^ public-house, where (I will so far agree with your temperance opinions) man is not always at his noblest; and the man from Honolulu had himself been drinking- dnnkmg. we may charitably fancy, to exc ' CACCbS. It lot new to st tell you Honolulu ; :eered the he disease >ers ' ; and was wel- 5 his feet ; rom what 'e him to Lble little would so •/ he rue, can't for Id of you IT house, d in your the same h I dare I blotted rs of the d to you ou have n Hono- ments of iserable, ) a rude c-house, iperance and the nking- CSb. It FATHER DAMIEN ^5 IZe'thT. ' V ^'^'^^^' '^' Reverend H. B up your letter (as a means of ^ace Derhins\ +r. ^ 1.I religious papers; where, after many months i found and read and wondered at if- .1/ T ' V°""^ now reproduced ittrl^' Z'J:,' f^Z' 'C opera4ns'°buih" '^''*'" ''''''■ "^ "^is "ycle of examineTn data I Th' ™"*"',! ^"^^ '^'^y^"S to rar„ t][l f I ^^"^ ""^n "'horn you would not fr^^rr^yr^rri-e--? Gage: the Apia bar-room, the Honolul™se suppose your story to be true^ I wUl suppoi' a^ te;V:r:tu"r;b^/"PS°^'"S ■*-*'^^'^a'-^^f^ ^rea and stumbled m his narrow path of dutv I P^ haps^?„°1h 'fJ' " :'^ ""^"^ '' hislsolat on of our common frailtv ' n To fu "^.^^^ tasted The least tender S' be mi^f Vtelf f.f '' l' incredulous to prayer Anrt»l? ti, * ' *''^,'"°st ' was to pen you? Jtlr to^e ^J^l^ r^t^°, .. avn of your own heart ? I will try yet once II 86 FATHER DAMIEN again to make it clearer. You had a father : suppose this tale were about him, and some informant brought It to you, proof in hand: I am not making too high an estimate of your emotional nature when I suppose you would regret the circumstance ? that you would feel the tale of frailty the more keenly since it shamed the author of your days ? and that the last thing you would do. would be to pubHsh it in the religious press? Well, the man who tried to do what Damien did is my father, and the father of the man in the Apia bar, and the father of all who love good- ness; and he was your father too, if God had given ou grace to see it. ^ 3r : suppose nt brought g too high 1 1 suppose you would it shamed thing you 3 rehgious do what f the mau ove good- bad given THE PENTLAND RISING A PAGE OF HISTORY 1666 wru '^ ^'*^H^ °^ witnesses lyes here. Who for Christ's interest did appear.' Inscription on Battlefield at Rullion Green THE PENTLAND RISING THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLT * "a't' passenger; take heed what thou dost see Ihis tomb doth show for what some men ddcH^ ' Monument, Greyfriars' ChurchyarT Elniurgh 1661-1668.1 ScTland"'!t''h.^ ^'"' ^^° I '^^g-^dy was enacted in Scotland the memory whereof has been in ereat lollowed It It js, as it were, the evening of the night wS °?r '"'' °f t™.;£;ht, dark indeed tons ^^L^k! \ *''" "°°"<*^y ^' >'-" compared with th,^ midnight gloom which followed. This fact of it, being the very threshold of persecution lends it however, an additional interest ' wel • ou'ttfrn '/ "' '^' P'^-'P'^ "gainst Episcopacy ^bv th» n T '"<:'-«a^d, ■ says Bishop Burnet by the new incumbents who were put in the Dlaces melnlnTf '"P^^f^"' ""-^ were^e'eraUy very mean and despicable in all respects. Thev were l\l a reproach and many of them were openly vicious. They . . were indeed the dreg and refuse of the Theater oj MctaMy. p. ,0; Edin. 1713. 89 )I 90 TflK PENTLAND RISING H con[em,'7'"'- ^}T °' *'"'''" ^^^o arose abovo temped l.aTth?"'^'' ^"' ""'" "^ ^"^'' v'"'™* outed ministers in the fields R„f tti "ff" ™ allowed in.i ft. But thi^, was not to be methlT ■"'',5.'"'"' P^Tsocutors at last fell on the every Sabb■^tha"n^' "'I"' '""l P--hioners' names Scot^ to thl „■ "V"''""S " '^"*' "f '""-'"ty shillings unable t^ nf T' '"™""' "^^ P«^'°"^ altogether Tr fi • .'^^■. ,^'^"'^'=' *^'^' landlords were fined lord • 'ma,"t"rT ' ?L''^"""' *^"^"*' '°^ ^l^-^i' 'and ioras , masters for their servants', servants for their masters, even though they themselves were pe fectly regular m their attendance And as the curates were allowed to fine with the sanction of anv pX?s::f ■■••;.* ""^ "^ ■•"^^-'^ thaT^ten th^ When r: "' ^^^'l '•>«■• dogs; Shocked the principles, scorned the scruples and blasphemed the religion of their humble hosts' and when they had reduced them to destitution sold the furniture and burned down the roof-tree wh ch was consecrated to the peasants by the name ofHome GiIbfrfSn/t:'p^ .°r """"■ ^"^""""^ '^OO' ^^ Bishop 'osc above zh violent tlie others idered at, refused to listen to > not to be '11 on the rs' names y' shillings this way Itogether 'ere lined eiv land- for their i^ere per- 1 as the m of any )ften the proven. , Bibles, upon, or wealth, rse and natched r dogs; es, and its; and sold the ich was Home. ■ Bishop THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLT 91 frl^'^^'i!*'''' ^'"™t'°" ••'''ch of those soldiers received wL;/?^ A ;/'""'"«'' **'-''^""S. according to quartering money for more men than were in realitv mnTf "u n'^r,"'' ^' "'^^ t™-^ it wTs no s ag pavi s fint"" V'™"« "■"" ^'^^'"S for money to pay his fines, and many others who were deeo in arrears, or who had attracted attention in some other way, were forced to flee from their homes aTd take refuge from arrest and imprisonment among the wild mosses of the uplands. 1 ^ ^ One example in particular we may cite: John Neilson, the Laird of Corsack, a worthy man was unfortunately for himself, a Nonconformist' First he was fined in four hundred pound. Scots and then though cessing he lost nineteen hundred and nmety-three pounds Scots. He was nertobl ged ?o leave his house and flee from place to place during Tw dre^'" '""/' V°'' '''' ^°'^- Hi^ wife ""d children were turned out of doors, and then his tenants were fined till they too were almost rled As a final stroke, they drove away all his cattle to Glasgow and sold them.^ Surely it was time tha? some hing were done to alleviate so much s^row t* overthrow such tyranny. ' *° About this time too there arrived in Galloway a person calling himself Captain Andrew Gray and advising the people to revolt. He displayed some documents purporting to be from the northern Covenanters, and stating that they were prepared to Crookohank s ChuKl, Htstory. 1751, second ed. p.'joa. 92 THE PENTLAND RISING was mad when he was drunk anri +w ' often/ said BishoD Burnr-r^M ¥* "^^^ ^^^5' ' Burnet, p. 348. ir southern rs was Sir ded for his fierce, but was very xned man, ^ no other le had no nmanded, n outrage rmination of insub- i on those I love no warres, I love no jarres, Nor strife's fire. May discord cease. Let's live in peace'; This I desire. II THE BEGINIS G If it must be Warre we must see (So fates conspire). May we not feel The force of steel: This I desire. T. Jackson, 1651.1 *• J"V-«.OWiN, 1051.* George Drn'Tindtw''^;.^^*^ '^' ^-P^' payment of ^s fines "o„ fhf iJd man-sT?''" *'' pay, they forced a large partv of w= "f'"^">S « thernUt on th- hT''"'"' ^^'^'"^ *° the bone by food Ty ^r" ceeded to the T" °"* ""^ "^"* °' themselves SudTnl, ""^^e mn to refresh room where thev wl^ T' P'°P'" ™^'>^'l »*<> the the soirersU^::^abou ^olo^st t\"e' \T ''"'"' ''''' on his own girdle. r^LT^lTJi^^-,^:i;to Fuller's Hislorie of ae Holy IVarre, fourth ed i6„ 93 "^ ' 94 THE PENTLAND RISING stand, and they repaired immediately to the scene of this gross outrage, and at first merely requested that he caphve should be released. On^theTefusal ot the two soldiers who were in ti,e front room, high words were given and taken on both sides, and he and maTe^tlf '°'V""^ ^" adjoining 'chamber nn» T<.t ^J^'' countrymen with drawn swords One of the latter, John M'Lellan of Barscob, drew a p stol and shot the corporal in the body. The pTels of tobacco-pipe with which it was loaded to the number of ten at^east, entered him and h^ was sn much disturbed that he never appears to have r'e? covered, for we f^^nd long afterwards a petition to Th» T^ ^".T"^ requesting . pension for him The other soldiers then laid down their arms the men"" "" — <>• -d the rebellion waT ^om! And now we must turn to Sir Tames Tnrn^r'= memoirs of himself; for, strange to iarthU ext'a ordinary man was remarkably fond of Hterary com- his own '/h"'' r*"' ^'''^'' '^' ^'""'i"g accoLt^f his own adventures just mentioned, a large number entl leTp ",? '^°'"* biographies, and a wo?k on war entitled Pallas Armata. The following are some of the shorter pieces: ■ Magick,' ■ Friendship °^lm pnsonment,' Anger,' ' Revenge,' ' Duells,' 'Cruelty ' A Defence of some of the Certn ,nies of the EngUsh L.turg,e.-to wit-Bowing at the Name of Jesus ?ooH t'IT^ rP'*'*'°° "^ *'•<' Lord's Prayer and Pieces Rotrtrr"'' °**''f °'"'°'°g*«' Of Sur plesses, Rotchets, Canonnicall Coats,' etc. From what we know of his character we Should expec" * Wodrow, vol. ii. p, 17. the scene requested le refusal om, high , and the chamber I swords. ), drew a he pieces [, to the e was so have re- tition to or him. :ms, the as com- Furner's s extra- ry com- ;ount of number on war, some of ,' 'Im- ruelty , ' English Jesus, er and )f Sur- From expect THE BEGINNING 'Anger ' and ' Cruelty ■ to be verv f,.ii , j • . t've. But what earthly riehth^ K /* '" ™" with ecclesiastical subJeciTtt hard t se ° ""^'"^ in&t on^ c"nce™*n':r*> '' ''"^^^^^^'^ -- was excessiyeTyT:Sffi^„^t?e™arSL''"^r '' attent on to it On th^ J ^'^s cnaracter, he paid no poral Dean°es wa^^broughTTnL^D''/^*"' ^''^- affirmed stoutlv th;.t h« vTf^l , ^^umfries, who to sign the Covenant ».'''" '''°* "'"^''"'^'"sing unlikely by thlafte^; J"l ''P"^''"^ singularif James Un'5; tlSt^ls'ttf'- '^ fourteen men inThetownZTv''/'" ^'^'^^^ ^ next morning to l^t ^^Ig-inTforXlier ^ ^* "- at DumfrierSoV'"^'!r '^ -^^'^ --ed of Corsack an^Grfy tho^'"'^ '^"J'^'' ^eilson siderable troop eSLdth. .'"''"''■ ^'^^ ^ »"- Sir James Seer's Tod^it Th' 'f ^"™™ded tween eight and nine & IhaTll"^ ">'■ "nwell, was still in bed but rose »t ^^^ ^""^ to the window. ^ "* °"^<= ^"^ went Neilson and some others cri,>H ■ v fair quarter.' ""lers cried. You may have be'a' prTsonTr Tefn'the?'"' "'"" J^'"-'' ' "- -" I being'Joldh'wevSrhVru^trthe'f "'=''••' «" or die, he came down and wZlt /if / P"'°"^^ night-shirt, Here G^a^sh^wei himself ''*'" .^'^ s.rous of killing him, but he wa» ™LT^'^'" -k. Howeyer, he was ta^en" awara'pl'^ ti i ;i2 il ¥> THE PENTLAND RISING Captain Gray mounting him on his own horse, though as Turner naively remarks, ' there was good reason for it for he mounted himself on a farre better one of mme.' A large coffer containing his clothes and money, together with all his papers were ta.-en away by the rebels. They robbed Master Chalmers, the Episcopalian minister of Dum- fries of his horse, drank the King's health at the market cross, and then left Dumfries. i * Sir J. Turner's Memoirs, pp. 148-50. ^n horse* was good n a farre lining his s papers, y robbed r of Dum- th at the III THE MARCH OF THE REBELS Epuaph on a Tombstone at Hamilton} On Friday the i6th, Baihe Irvine of Dumfries cam. to the Council at Edinburgh and ^avr^ in/ I were forced to take the oath of " kg a^ee a^^a,j lodgers were commanded to give in th^f; !^^ Sharpe, surrounded with aU tfele gua^Ss and ™r.'' cautions, trembled-trembled as he trTmW^ ? '^" against him must their chiefest hatred be dtU ^ against him their direst thunderbo ts be [^rtd' But even m his fear the anostafA Pr^oK u. .^^^' unrelenting, unpityinglyhSteS&nM: * A Cloud of Witnesses, p. 376 97 98 THE PENTLAND RISING manifesto no promise of pardon, no inducement to submission. He said, ' If you submit not you must itei'i '"''''' ^^'^'^' '" y°^ '"^^^* y«" "^^y Meantime the insurgents proceeded on their way. At Carsphairn they were deserted by Captain Gray who, doubtless in a fit of obhvion, neglected to leave behind him the coffer containing Sir James's money. VV ho he was is a mystery, unsolved by any historian • finli^flPl"! '^'''^ evidently forgeries-that, and his tmal flight, appear to indicate that he was an agent of the Royahsts, for either the King or the Duke of York was heard to say, ' That, if he might have his Trms '2 ^ '^'''^'^ ^^""^ ^^'^"^ ^" *""■" ''^^'^' ^"^ g^ *« Upon the i8th day of the month they left Cars- pnairn and marched onwards. Turner was always lodged by his captors at a good mn, frequently at the best of which their halting- place could boast. Here many visits were paid to him by the ministers and officers of the insurgent lorce. In his description of these interviews he dis- plays a vein of satiric severity, admitting any kind- ness that was done to him with some qualifying souvenir of former harshness, and gloating over any injury, mistake, or folly, which it was his chance to surfer or to hear. He appears, notwithstanding all this to have been on pretty good terms with his cruel phanaticks,' as the following extract suffi- ciently proves : ' Most of the foot were lodged about the church or churchyard, and order given to ring bells next morn- ' Wodrow. pp. 19. 20. 3 A Hind Let Loose, p. 123. ement to you must you may lieir way. lin Gray, I to leave s money, listorian ; and his an agent Duke of have his nd go to jft Cars- t a good halting- paid to isurgent > he dis- ly kind- alifying ver any ance to ding all ^th his t suffi- urch or : morn- p. 123. THE MARCH OF THE REBELS 99 M^ ^^^„a/ermon to be preached by Mr. Welch Maxwell of Morith, and Major M'Cullough invted me to heare " that phanatick sermon " (for soe they memhe called it) They said that preaching mght prove an effectual meane to turne me, whifh they heartihe wished. I answered to them that I was under guards, and that if they intended to heare that sermon, it was probable I might likewise for it was not hke my guards wold goe to'church and itve me alone at my lodgeings. Bot to what they said riZVTl'T' ^ '"^^ '^ ^^^^ ^' hard to turne a Turner. Bot because I founde them in a merrie humour, I said, if I did not come to heare Mr. Welch preach, then they might fine me in fortie shillings Scots, which was double the suome of what I had exacted from the phanatics.'i This took place at Ochiltree, on the 22nd day of the month The following is recounted by this pe?- sonage with malicious glee, and certainly, if authen- Ztll '" ^ T^ ^'■^^^ ^^ h°^ ^^^^ is n^ixed with wheat, and how ignorant, almost impious, persons were engaged in this movement; neverthefess we give t, for we wish to present with impartiahty all the alleged facts to the reader : ^ ' Towards the eveninr. Mr. Robinsone and Mr Crukshank gaue me £. lisite; I called for some ale purposehe to heare one of them blesse it. It fell Mr Robinsone to seeke the blessing, who said one of the most bombastick graces that ever I heard in my Hfe He summoned God AUmightie very imperiouslie to be iXTdTe "1h^'" that was hisLgLge). " And ^1, saia ne. tnnn wilt not h'^ r»iT- <^ 1 • ..HL iiuL Dx. oui occuiidane, we ^ Turner, p. 163. 100 THE PENTLAND RISING will not fight for thee at all, for it is not our cause bot thy cause; and if thou wilt not fight for our cause and thy oune cause, then we are not obhged to fight for It They say," said he, " that Dukes, paries, and Lords are coming with the King's General against us, bot they shall be nothing bot a threshing to us." This grace did more fullie satisfie me of the folly and injustice of their cause, then the ale did quench my thirst. '^ Frequently the rebels made a halt near some road- side alehouse, or in some convenient park where Colonel Wallace, who had now taken the command would review the horse and foot, auring which time Turner was sent either into the alehouse or round the shoulder of the hill, to prevent him from seeing the disorders which were hkely to arise. He was at last, on the 25th day of the month, between Douglas and Lanark, permitted to behold their evolutions. Ifound their horse did consist of four hundreth and fortie. and the foot of five hundreth and upwards. Ihe horsemen were armed for most part with suord and pistoll, some onlie with suord. The foot with musket, pike, sith (scythe), forke, and suord; and some with suords great and long.' He admired much the proficiency of their cavalry, and marvelled how they had attained to it in so short a time 2 ^ At Douglas, which they had just left on the mom- mg of this great wapinshaw, they were charged— awful picture of depravity !— with the theft of a Sliver spoon and a nightgown. Could it be expected that while the whole country swarmed with robbers ot every description, such a rare opportunity for ' Turner, p. 198. Ibid., p. 167. our cause t for our )t obliged It Dukes, e King's ing bot a ie satisfie then the me road- ie, where mmand, ich time )und the eing the was, at Douglas )lutions. eth and Lrds. . . . h suord ot with :d; and dmired trvelled J 2 5 mom- xged— '•t of a pected obbers ity for 67. THE MARCH OF THE REBELS 10 c fhnnf '/^''''^'^ ^' ^^'* ^y rogue^that among a thousand men, even though fighting for religion there should not be one Achan in the camp P At Lanark a declaration was drawn up and signed by the chief rebels. In it occurs the following: Ihe ]ust sense whereof '-the sufferings of the country- made us choose, rather to betake our- selves to the fields for self-defence, than to stay at home, burdened daily with the calamities of others miser°''i''' ^'^^ *^^ ^^^'' ""^ °'''' ^'^'^ approaching The whole body, too. swore the Covenant, to which ceremony the epitaph at the head of this chapter seems to refer. ir^'?'"'^ *i^f ^^^^^" ^^' approaching drove them from Lanark to Bathgate, where, on the evening of Monday the 26th. the wearied army stopped. But at twelve o clock the cry. which served them for a trumpet, of 'Horse! horse!' and 'Mount the pnsoner! resounded through the night-shrouded town and called the peasants from their well-earned rest to toil onwards in their march. The wind howled fiercely over the moorland; a close, thick, wetting ram descended. Chilled to the bone, worn out with long fatigue, sinking to the knees in mire, onward they marched to destruction. One by one the weary peasants fell oft from their ranks to sleep, and die in the rain-soaked moor, or to seek some house by the wayside wherein to hide till daybreak. One by one at first, then in gradually increasing numbers, at every shelter that was seen, whole troops left the waning squadrons, and rushed to * Wodrow, p. 102 THE PENTLAND RISING hide thomse ves from the ferocity of the temoest ro r,ght and left nought could be%lescried Ke b oad expanse of the moor, and the figures of their fellow-rebols, seen dimly through the murky nigh ploddmg onwards through the sinking moss Those t"o r°.,t?^ *°Sether_a miserable fe«Loft „ haied to rest themselves, and to allow their lagging com I^ain still r''%''^''"-- ™^" onwardfhey went ^ZC! P "/ fof assistance, reinforcement, and raT an/thrf ^^""- '^'°"^'' *^ ^'"'^- ^"'^1 the rain and the darkness— onward to their defeat at Pentland and their scaffold at Edinburgh It was ca culated that they lost one half of thdr army o„ that disastrous night-march. ^ Next night they reached the village of Colinton triaTftL'^r ^'^"^^^^^^ -^- '^^^y ^^^ted'^o; J- Turner Wodrow, and Church History by Tames Kirktr^n an outed minister of the period james iiirkton. i tempest, d but the 3S of their •ky night. s. Tliose en halted I'mg coin- hey went lent, and . and the defeat at It was army on 3ohnton, alted Tor Kirkton, IV RULLION GREEN ' Fr^!^ Covenanters with uplifted hands From Kemonstrators w|th^ssoc.atc tnd.. Good Lord, deliver us 1' loyalist Rhyme. KiKKTON, p 127 standing „und some objicf onThT^o.^d ^^r^as covered CtVh ^'''u '" **">'" '"'■•™'-. they dis- swXd ?„ . hi ^^li^^bent figure was a livid corpse, though? hat thk f*"""."^ winding-sheet.i mL^ Jzii "'* apparition was a portent of the deaths connected with the Pentland Ris7ng ' *''' ber 16^' ZvZtVlT"''^.- *<^ ^«* °^Novem. Green There 11 ""I"^ "'^'"'^"^ *° bullion uieen. mere they arnved about sunset Th^ position was a strong one. On the summirota bire b ttet^tnli'"'^ ''^"*'^"<^^ -'^ *-° hiLcks. and' n-i • HV"-- - -^^^^^^^^ sno^^;-!::^ "htrtr.?: ':^t"^.-.^; X •-" t.ii;j «-avairy, * Kirkton, p. 244. 103 <"■» THE PENILAND RISING tZ'^r.n''''''"' '-""',"°"t: "" ♦''« other Barscob and the Galloway gentlomen ; and in the centre Colonel Wal ace and the weak, half-armed infantry Thdr position was further strengthened by the depth of Z HulKuTn;"' *"^ '-'^ ^'^^--"'^^ -- "^ The sun going down behind the Pentlands cast goldenhghts and blue shadows on their snow-clad theTh^Vr'"*'''?,^ "''"'^'y ''"'" *he rich plain before snrinti f ?'"^ with rosy splendour the leafless, s-iow- sprmkled trees and fading gradually into shadow in the distance To the south, too, they beheld a deep shaded amphitheatre of heather and bracken the course of the Esk, near Penicuik, winding aboit at Maw Moss; and fading mto blue indistinctness in InJul^' ?"' '"''' heath-clad Peeblesshire hills. In sooth, that scene was fair, and many a yearnine glance was cast over that peaceful evening seen! 'nTwhcV?H* tZ' *'>^ ^^'"^'^ ^^=''*'^<' their'def::" mJw ^*^''f''' "'^^ '""''■ "'''"y a noble fellow trive ^'.^^T'^,/™"' '^^ blood-stained heather to stnve with darkemng eyeballs to behold that land- scape, over which, as over las life and his .•■,,,.,. tl,.. ^Wct^ing.' "'^'* '"" '' ^'<""" -- '-'"'«'-« ballfTopSd off Dalzell s buff coat and fell into his boot. With the cSded th^t^f " l" ^'^ ''"' ^'^^ NonconformTs cone uded that his adversary was rendered buUet- I^roof by enchantment, and, pulling some smaU with. Dalzell, seeing this, and supnosin? it i, like y, that Paton was putting in lafger bSls hiH behind his servant, who was kUled ^^ ' ^'^ of Walf^e" w' ™*P°f ' T^ ^°^^^ P- 3"9, -i^-uin. 1705. 108 e i: V d t: si F b it fie at ga fei th CO] A RECORD OF BLOOD 109 Clermont.^ stcr, re- tfter the e march zed out. )unding, But his •risoners m knew was the he rust- of their ^ere the ittle to ad out- d have oe; he 'ring in ver his bloody persecutions which, later, sent their red memorials to the sea by many a burn. By a merciful Provi- fhl fi f Ki "^^^ 'P^'^^ *^ ^^"^-he fell beneath Rnllfn. r ' ^"lu "'^ *^"' ^^y' ^^d P^^sed since Ruhon Green, the aged minister of God was gathered to his fathers. 1 When Sharpe first heard of the rebellion, he applied to Sir Alexander Ramsay, the Provost, for soldiers to guard his house. Dishking their occupation the soldiers gave him an ugly time of it. All the night through they kept up a continuous series of ' alarms and incursions,' ' cries of " Stand !" " Give fire !" ' etc which forced the prelate to flee to the Castle m the morning, hoping there to find the rest which IZtTw'"" u ^""''•' ^"^' ^^^^^^^' ^hen all danger to himself was past. Sharpe came out in his true colours, and scant was the justice hkel^ to be shown to the foes of Scotrish Episcopacy when the l^ff^ ^^' ^y- ^^' prisoners were lodged in Haddo s Hole, a part of St. Giles' Cathedral, where by the kindness of Bishop Wishart, to his credit be It spoken, they were amply supplied with food ^ Some people urged, in the Council, that the promise of quarter which had been given on the fie d of battle should protect the hves of the miser- able men. Sir John Gilmoure, the greatest lawyer gave no opinion-certainly a suggestive circumstance —but Lord Lee declared that this would not inter- t^ev^lent '4'^'t'^^L*^ ;^° '^ ^1^-^y ^xecurions they went. ^ To the number of thirty thev were condemned and executed; while two of them, Hugh 1 T^:_i-i. ii.Ilil.LU ** Ibtd., p. 247. ^ Ibid., p. 254. * Ibid., pp.*247, 248. no THE PENTLAND RISING M'Kail, a young minister, and Neilson of Corsack were tortured with the boots ^orsacK, an J'^hf^h 'h°^ *''°'' ""v" P'"^'"''^ ^^^o confiscated, and their bodies were dismembered and distributed Maiofrcuin^ V'll '=°""*^y' ■t'^^ he^ds of Major M Culloch and the two Gordons ' it wi of the tie Laird umfries ; empted, nan re- wounds day of ' would md re- ared to much rs, but ind his 1 other death, iot hke nister, s, and i arm, A RFXORD OF BLOOD m and read John iii. 8, and spoke upon it to the id miration of all. But most ^f all, ^^hen Mr M' Kalj died, there was such a lamentation as was never known in Scotland before; not one dry cheek up^n mircXTac^^^^^ '" ^'^ """^'^^^^^^ indows'in?^: ' Hereafter I will not talk with flesh nnH Ki i aT *''?' °". """ ^"''"'^ consigns Frlrt J all my fnends, whose company l.ath been "hfu^ o? X'" "^ P-'g ""■-§- I have done with th? tht eternal life, everlastmg love, everlastincr praise ever lastmg glory. Praise to Him that sit. ml thl throne, and to the Lamb for ever I Bl ss the Lord in t^Kr'; *^* ^"-'^ P^doned all ^y nfqmt es Bless Him n°*n""S°"- ^"<^ '^^l^^ all m^y d ^ s iiless Him, all ye His angels that excel in s^reneth Tor's: otystrir-^^* '" "'= P'~- bS^ hrT^" ^^""^ ascended the gallows ladder he again broke forth in the following lords of toucwL do crTatu:; i"d r" ' ''''" °« *° ^P-'' anTZ're to' creatures, and begin my intercourse with God which shal never be broken off. Farewell fa^h^r and and Tli 'TAr^ ""t"""^ '■ F-ewell the world and all dehghts ! Farewell meat and drink I TnT Fa herT' w?"' ""'^ ''^'^ '-Welcome God Mediator : the n "'"' '''"'' ^^^^"^ Christ, the Mediator of the new covenant ! Welcome blessed ^ Kirkton. p. 249. Naphtati, p. 205; Glasgow, 1721. 118 THE PENTLAND RISING i Spirit of grace and God of all consolation I Wei- come^ glory 1 Welcome eternal life I Welcome At Glasgow, too, where some were executed thev caused the soldiers to beat the drums and blow the trumpets on their closing ears. Hideous refinement of revenge . Even the last words which dropTom the hps of a dying man-words surely the most can ut'teT *'"' T' """""^^^'^ "'"^" "^"rtal nS can utter-even these were looked upon as poisoned and as poisonous. ■ Drown their last accents,' was the cry, ; lest they should lead the crowd to Ukl the.r part, or at the least to mourn their doom r But after all, perhaps it was more merciful than one wou d thmk-unintentionally so, of course; perhaps the storm of harsh and fiercely jubilant mLs. the clangmg of trumpets, the rattUng of drums, and the hootings and jeerings of an unfeeling mob wMch Trtal^fiibf '""'^ ""^""r ^"*''' ""^Sht. when the mortal fight was over, when the river of death was passed, add tenfold sweetness to the hymning of the llfreXt P^^^^^"'°^== *<> *••« shor'erwhifh they sol" 1''°"*"?!^™*'' *''" ""^'*y °f ^^^^ execut'.ons, fe,ed to th ,, ^' f.TJ'l'^' '^"""Sh these were con: toed to the shire of Mid-Lothian, pursued, captured SfnTh ''°'' ""''r "^ *^^ ™^^^"« fuitiv'^s who fell m their way. One strange story have we of these times of blood and persecution: Kirkton the histonan and popular tradition tell us alike of a flame which often would arise from the grave in a moss near Carnwath, of some of those poor r;bels ' Wodrow, p. 59. 8 Kirkton, p. 246. :ion ! Wel- VVelcome cuted, they id blow the refinement drop from the most rtal mouth s poisoned :ents/ was ^d to take ir doom 1' 1 than one y, perhaps loises, the s, and the 3b, which when the leath was ing of the hich they ecutions, vere con- ;aptured, ives who 'e we of kton the ike of a ve, in a r rebels: f6. A RECORD OF BLOOD 113 tL'h:uix:l;^^ him with its lurid glare ^^"^ '^ '"^^^^ Hear Daniel Defoe -i vio.ence';ra°/e aaHnd^''^" -supportable tremities of a wild cfeT^afr' whofani" H '"'^''^ "^''- them when thev read in tjl ?,/ Jf ^ '"'^''^<:t on oppression makes a ,^3^:^^ mad "f ''^^" '''^' ore were there no otTer oririnaT of th ■^"'^ '^^''■ known by the name of tL p^ " , *'^^ insurrection nothing but wC til ■ ?'f"^.°' Pentland, it was those times mTikt have ncf-?"]"'' oppressions of nature having dfctatedTn in '^'1 *° ^" *'^« ^orld, when illegallf and Irbit?=,i P'".?'" ? "«''* "' defence not justilabl^e dther bv tw^ T'^"^ *" " ""^""^^ God. or the laws of th^^ountry ''*"'' '""^ '^^= "' t'.o"fL'-'-;rf:^rofih°^t\^ old-world relirious Ss h! "" w 'r?'' ^* their merits, and the chilElence'o;' tl*''l"P ^' ^'^^'^ their determination 5e hnt % f ^':^''^■•y ^nd society-be charitahl/t T. °° "^'^ through all to what was good abo?tT^*o^''^'^"' ^"!" ''^* "« ^^-^ ^" be-'»ing in the easT refer tntr"^ l'' ^^ "^^'^^ ^ """'^ ■><>* ill ^ne least refer to the acute case of Mr HvnHman ZT^^ of a Sunday within the walls of om mdiyidualist Jerichc^but to the stealthy chaZ that has come over the snidt o* !=•"-':' h- ^? English legislation. A littl^ whi?e agof rndT^re "7 1I8 THK DAY AFTKK TO-MORROW m bonch of Government; we seemed to cry; ' keep her r'po rt" ™'""'^' ""' r '■■"""°* '"' ' but -me avoC „„r ^'- ',%•'"'"' '""''' f""' dechnes in tdvonr our legislation grows authoritative grows M "T^T'' 'r*'"^ "'*" ^'^ ""«-' and' new bel n^rh^ f ' ''.'''"T" "' '"^P«^t"rs, who now F t land Tt "I '"'"''• *" ''"'^"' «'« *''':« "^ rvhg tint b,^'^ \''^^' "■■ ^™"g' ^« "•= n«t trying tlidt, but one thing it is beyond doubt- it is ^a"cirwir' ^"" "'^ ^'^^"'^'*^'"^ '^ "- "w': tiif'f *^ V' ''^'^"'^ "=* " '""g while, and it may be un itZ^T^'^ '" ^' self-exclusive in%h Tng Ttuesf and d nt^f'n *"^'^' ^^^'"'''^ (""« a" "t^ef virtues) and dutifully served Mammon • so that ^::i^uTirZ ""'^ ^r"^*"""^'' '° aZireVt'h Dcnehts of freedom and common to all were triilv benehts of wealth, and took their value from ou^ neighbours- poverty. A few shocks ofTogic^ f^w disclosures (in the journalistic phrase) of what Z X imoll"f"™'^^*""^^' '^"^'-^^' orlhrpownlr may imply for operatives, tenants, or seamen anH Dole"„1 """"*r"y ''•^Sin to turn to that ither de rable Tn ■ l™"'f '":S ^^^^""y- ^'^'^o^^ *« be aesirable, involves kindness, wisdom and all tul him': a° tio^ "^^ ''" 'r '"^" - - W s e'n' mm m action has been, as of yore, only the master of many helots; and the slaves a;e still m^trdu drlv™ to'tf ''*■ '""''°"'^'^' '"^'"-^""y treated ar^d of famine 's" """t """^ workshops by the lash ot famine. So much, m other men's affairs we \v tids on the ' keep her but come L'clines in ve, grows and new who now B face of J are not ubt: it is 3 that we t may be rinciples, the long ill other so that e as the ire truly :om our c, a few 'hat the Downers en, and t other I, to be all the ve seen master :ed, 111- d, and le lash rs, we THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 119 have begun to see clearly; we have betrun to seH Pl7'^" 'rj"'"' °*^^^ "-"' -d from our sect in Parliament begin to discharge upon them h ck as arrows the host of our inspectors. ^The land: hi who"^' ^'k ''" '" '^"^ ^^^^^' ^^' manufacturer ; those who do business on land have lost all trust .0 the virtues of the shipowner; the professions look a: kance upon the retail traders and have even started teir co-operative stores to ruin them; and fn'm out the smoke-wreaths of Birmingham a finder h^ Sudlor^^'^'Pr " ''^ ^''' the'condemnXn each other ?""": ^'''' ^y P^^^^^' '^^ ^^ condemn ha?ourwh' 1 .r""' ^'''''^' '^' conclusion, that our whole estate is somewhat damnable. Thus p.ece by piece, each acting against his neighbour each sawing away the branch on which some othe; rlTdief ''T' '^ "^ ^PP^^ *" ^^^-^ -^ Social St c rcmed es, and yet not perceive that we are all kbourmg together to bri^ng in Socialism at Lge A tendency so stupid and so selfish is like to prove Ph M ^'^^' *^^^^ ^s every chance that our grand- children will see the day and taste the pleasures of anv nr^ " T'''''''^ ''' ^*^- ^" ant-heap than any previous human poHty. And this not in the least because of the voice of Mr. Hyndman or the ment' 1f1l^7?'\ '^?>^ ^^^ --' ^^-i- "o-! ment of the political soil, bearing forward on its of Ww/rnT?'^^ undisturbed, t'he proud camp of Whig and Tory. If Mr. Hyndman were a man of keen humour, which is far from my conception of his character, he might rest from his^tronhiF^l^p. look on: the walls of Jericho begin "already to 120 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW peaceable and blindfold evolution the X^'f „^ pir.sr^' '" ^^'-'-^ tacticA'^drd ti the det^k!ff l-^"""""""''* '^ *1'^'-^' besides, that with notable good humour ^,7^,^ '"PP""^' tl>rr;r':fid^s"ci;vrndttt:;^:;'' '-' "' a^picture of the one; a S^! ^XT.^';!,:1 will convince us of the weakness of the other Decay appears to have seized on the organ of noDuIa; government in every land; and thif hist ^^+^1 o"T"h: rh'r^"v*° "¥ *° " - "- orad: oi justice, the whole skem of our nriv^V affaire + be unravelled, and ask it, like I new MeS o take upon itself our frailties and play for us the Trthat i^f"" "' i?'^^^"^ "y °- own v?Aues frnL ■ ^"^ '"°'"^^- "^ *he case. We cannot trust ourselves to behave with decency we cannot trus our consciences; and the remed/ proposed is to elect a round number of our neighbou^^ n^t'- w rviJe war, , to which more and c to see a work of d dead to of course, sides, that •ceed) will arliament fatefully ow what ' it. We ground of supports xcuse is Jodies in 3 say of serve as ly paper 3 other, popular at the n oracle ffairs to siah, to us the virtues, cannot cannot •osed is ■nrp>+f TT 1" • '- J THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 12 1 much at random, and say to these: 'Be ve our conscience; make laws so wise, and continue^ fron year to year to admmister them so wisely, that thev shall save us from ourselves and make u rfghteous r^n 1 Tf """'^ ™*''°"* ^"d- Amen.' And who stl", K*""-^* ^^^ 2"*'=h Parliament and then seriously bring it such a task ? I am not advancW this as an argument against Socialism: once again truthsi'V""*?" '"•" "^y ■"'"^- There ^re frit truths in Socialism, or no one, not even Mr HvnH man, would be found to hold it; andlut cam"C did one-tenth part of what it off;rs, I for one shouW make It welcome. But if it is to come we mav as hT^^ thing to grasp is that our new polity will be designed and administered (to put it courteousTv! with something short of inspiration. It ,^11 ti "**'^.o'- ™ll grow, in a human parliament • and th^ nlre'^l'* T" ''^'''' ''"^^'^ cha^n^^i^ Zma: , t- u ■. y^'' Anarchists think otherwise from the':?udV of "hl?tP'"?H*'f* '""'^ "''^^ -' ---d " the study of history the lamp of human sympathy W^ If? ' *^'^"' r'-- "ew polity, with its new ZggL pad of Uiws, what headmarks must we look for if the life ? We chafe a good deal at that excellent thin^ IrX.T"*"'' ""T"^' '* """S^ '"t° °- -«airs th'e t^hfofficiarThe ffi^T "%^° '^' *"* ^™^ds. of sometWnf nf I . ?'• '" ^" '^"S'^'^es, is already something of a terror to many of us. I would nnV wilhngly have to do with even a police- onstableS any other spirit than that of kin'^ness I s«U re" member in my dreams the eye-glass of a c'" a?n a.acne at a certain embassy_an eye-glass that w^ 122 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW a standing indignity to all on whom it looked- and "rLinf ™-* .<^'-g«eable remembrance Is 'of a FranciSo it T-P"!'""".'" '^'^ "'y °f San tolk and what my neighbours accepted at the Dost man s hands-nay, what I took from him myselfl" dLIn tt*"*''"' *° ''"'''■ 'r^^ bourgeois re- sidmg m the upper parts of society, has but few opportun,t,es of tasting this pecuL bow" buT about the mcome-tax, as I have said or nerhans tt''handrf''"S"'^ '" '''' "^"^ "f -' em^sJ'L' luv s^ts hk l""^f" ."^ "^1^' '^y^-S'^^^' he occasL- ally sets his lips to it; and he may thus imagine lit mostf f/ *"'="'*y "^ ""Agination, without^hich most faculties are void) how it tastes to his poorer neighbours, who must drain it to the dregs. In everv trpoiicT*tith*tf*^.' r'n'''''' -We" S ine police, with the School Board officer in thp ocS t^ '" '''' ^'"^'''^™^- '""^y ''a™ equally the the man ^n^'T'"'**' ^''' "ght-hearted civiUty of everTlou of'^t'"' ^"^ "'■ "" «^Perimentahst in It harh?,f ; K ;r^ provinces of life, I may say It has but to be felt to be appreciated. Well this golden age of which we are speaking wi 1 be the golden age of officials. In all our concerns it wu! be their beloved duty to meddle, with what tret imagin?'*Tt°"/^"jir''!: ^"^'"^^ wmaM us to ^»ri^^ n ,^ '■''^'y ^''e^e gentlemen will be pemdically elected; they will therefore havT heir turn of being underneath, which does not alwavs sweeten men's conditions. The laws they will have to-dav"" and%:'"K7° "'!"''' «^^" tho^^^e know To-aay, and the body which ^« f^ ,.^„„i-^_ ^, . )VV •oked; and :e is of a ty of San ? working : the post- L myself — fgeois, re- 5 but few >owl ; but t* perhaps ibassy at occasion- nagine (if ut which lis poorer In every V^r, with ', in the ually the vihty of tahst in may say /ell, this be the s it will tat tact, d us to will be ^e their always ill have 'e know c their THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 123 SoTh^'f r^''" Tu'^'^' *^^" *^^ ^^i^^^h Parliament. manv .nrl r ^^"'"^ ^^ *^" blood-servitude to many and changing masters, and for all the slights that accompany the rule of jack-in-office IXi least ^.'iln' P^^g,^^,"^^^ be carried out with the least fulness, we shall have lost a thing, in most respects not much to be regretted, but as a moderator of oppression a thing nearly invaluable-the news- caDTtal .n? ^"d,^P«"dent journal is a creature of capital and competition ; it stands and falls with and rr' ff :i"'"'y ^^"^^ ^"^ ^» the abu es L^Hv tTv . ^l^^^' ^"^ ^' ^^^" ^^ the State has InH ^ aII '^' ^'"* *^ ^^thority and philanthropy and laid the least touch on private property the StTte r il ""^ ^"^^P^",d^"t iournal are n'^ambered St^te h^i ^^' Tl ^' ^^^^ things and so may State bakeries; but a State newspaper will never be a very trenchant critic of the State officials. iJut again, these officials would have no sinecure Crime would perhaps be less, for some of the motives of crime we may suppose would pass away. But if Socialism were carried out with any fulness there would be more contraventions. We see already new sins springing up like mustard-School Board sins whlVx ^^"% Merchant Shipping Act sin^none of which I would be thought to except against in uar- that Socialism can be a hard master even in the beginmng. If it go on to such heights as we hear proposed and lauded, if it come actually to its ideal ot the ant-hean. rnlpd wj+h iV.^« ;„.4.:^^%.j_ . , r.f ««,„ i ^ ■ ;:"' ''' ^^"" jLioiice, the number of new contraventions will be out of all proportion 124 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW multiplied Take the case of work alone Man is an .die animal. He is at least as mtemgent as the mended h m the ant s example. Of those who are found truly mdefatigable in business, some are tries'^kT' T *'" P'"^*'"^^ °f deligktfuTindus! tries hke gardenmg; some are studlnts artist, mventors, or discoverers, men lured forward bv uc IfT ?Tf' "I!'' '^' '''' ^'' those Tho live by games of skill or hazard-financiers, biUiard-n Ivers^ gamblers, and the like. But in unloved toifs even seduTous"^ C'/V""^f *^V"° -- is contfn^a^ y seaulous. Once elimmate the fear of starvation once ehminate or bound the hope of riches and we' shall see plenty of skulking and maUngering ' SocieTv pant^tlontT'^M"^ ""* ""^""y unhke' a cotton plantation m the old days; with cheerful, careless demoralised slaves, with elected overs-^er^ and i"th:blo1dt''''•^"''=^^'^''^°*■'^P°P"""--mbW n tile blood be purposeful and the soil strong such a h ap '^thTu'l^ """'' '""J^' ■"'^^^'l- ^ "-y'nt! neap, with full granaries and bng hours of leisure seers hands, and not in vain. For, when it comes the re^tT'*'"" "' '"'^ '"^^ ^°'"g hi^ own share T the rest doing more, prettiness of sentiment will be forgotten To dock the skulker's food is^ofen^lh many will rather eat haws and starve on petty Sr' ings than put their shoulder to the wheel for one" be°Tn tt^- ^°' ^"-^V-' ''''''■ *>>-' the thip Z inJ the overseer's hand; and his owl sense of justice and he superintendence of a chaotic ponular assembly will be the only checks on its emplo^>°S™t )W e. Man is :ent as the ain recom- >e who are some are ful indus- s, artists, rd by suc- o hve by 1-players, oils, even •ntinually arvation, 5, and we • Society a cotton careless, irs, and, ssembly. ?, such'a usy ant- ■ leisure, he over- t comes share or will be enough ; V pilfer- for one Slip will ense of )opular yment. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW T25 Now, you may be an industrious man and a eood Dr^FellThe ^'' T ^^"^' "^^ ^^^ ^^ ^-eYtTy' !^L .u^'^ inspector. It is admitted by private soldiers that the disfavour of a sergeant I an e vU not to be combated; offend the serleant, thev sav and ma brief while you will either be d sgraced «; have deserted. And the sergeant can ZZnZ appeal to the lash. But if these things go on we shall see, or our sons shall see, what it if to have offended an mspector. alsI^'vInVh^" unfortunate. But with the fortunate also even those whom the inspector loves it mav not be altogether well. It is con'cluded tlVL sYch a state 01 society, supposmg it to be financially sound the level of comfort will be high. It does not follow .' there are strange depths of idleness in man, a too easily-got sufficiency, as in the case of the sago- eaters often quenching the desire for all besides- and It IS possible that the men of the richest an -' thev dn..'' '^'" '"*^ '^""^^^- ^^t suppose they do not; suppose our tricksy ---^strument of human nature when we play upon it tnis ne^ tune should respond kindly; suppose no one to be damped and none exasperated by the new conditions, the whole enterpnse to be financially sound-a vaulting supposition-and all the inhabitants to dweU to^ gether m a golden mean of comfort: we have vet to ask ourselves If this be what man desire, or if it be what man will even deign^ to accept fo; a con- tinuance. It is certain that man loves to eat ?t IS not certain that he loves that only or that b^st He IS supposed to love comfort ; it i« not - 1 * at least, that he is faithful to. He is' supposed To 126 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW novel, thfaS y, lT!^re:t?^::iu'"''^' ^"^^ meals He does no^t tMnkrwheVLltnyrbut he thinks so again as soon as he is fed- anTrfn fr soon as we havp if f « ^ ,^ esreem, as Th^f f! u^l ' ^ ^ ^^^^^ prerequisite of living glow of hope, the shock of disappoinrment furiou^ contention with obstacles: these L the true eS for all vital spirits, these are what they seek alikTn )W he rather hope, the an regular ^ngry, but nd on the )uld never ler in that rs, it was ve have it steem, as of Hving. thing for common ^e is that Regular ■ do this al induc- all arts, of him- Study inbroken natures; bitterly continue itch for physical icy, the to look sk them :ets, the furious ie elixir a.iiKii m THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 12- their romantic enterprises and their unromantic dissipations. When they are taken in some pinch closer than the common, they cry. ' Catch me here again !' and sure enough you catch them there again —perhaps before the week is out. It is as old as Kobtnson Crusoe ; as old as man. Our race has not been strained for all these ages through that sieve of dangers that we call Natural Selection, to sit down with patience in the tedium of safety; the voices of Its fathers call it forth. Already in our society as it exists, the bourgeois is too much cottoned about for any zest m living; he sits in his parlour out of reach of any danger, often out of reach of any vicissitude but one of health ; and there he yawns . If the people m the next villa took pot-shots at him, he might be killed indeed, but so long as he escaped he would hnd his blood oxygenated and his views of the world brighter. If Mr. Mallock, on his way to the pub- hshers should have his skirts pinned to a wall by a javehn, it would not occur to him— at least for several hours— to ask if life were worth hving- and It such peril were a daily matter, he would ask it never more; he would have other things to think about, he A-ould be hving indeed— not lying in a box with cotton, safe, but immeasurably dull The aleatory, whether it touch life, or fortune, or renown --whether we explore Africa or only toss for half- pence—that IS what I conceive men to love best and that is what we are seeking to exclude from' men s existences. Of all forms of the aleatory, that which most commonly attends our working men— the danger of misery from want of work— is the least inspiriting: it does not whip the blood it 128 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW does not evoke the glory of contest; it is trade, but It IS passive; and yet, in so far as it is aleatory, and a peril sensibly touching them, it does truly season the men s lives Of those who fail, I do not speak —despair should be sacred; but to those who even modestly succeed, the changes of their life bring mterest: a job found, a shilHng saved, a dainty earned all these are wells of pleasure springing afresh for the successful poor; and it is not f?om these but from the villa-dweller that we hear com- plaints of the unworthiness of hfe. Much, then, as the average of the proletariat would gain in this new state of hfe they would also lose a certain some- tning, which would not be missed in the beginning but would be missed progressively and progressively lamented Soon there would be a looking back: there would be tales of the old world humming in young men s ear., tales of the tramp and the pedlar and the hopeful emigrant. And in the stall-fed life of the successful ant-heap— with its regular meals, regular duties, regular pleasures, an even course of life and fear excluded— the vicissitudes, delights and havens of to-day will seem of epic breadth This may seem a shallow observation; but the springs bv which men are moved lie much on the surface iJread I believe, has always been considered first, Dut the circus comes close upon its heels. Bread we suppose to be given amply; the cry for circuses will be the louder, and if the life of our descendants oe such as we have conceived, there are two beloved pleasures on which they will be likely to fall back- the pleasures of intrigue and of sedition. In all this I have supposed the ant-heap to be ow tragic, but satory, and ruly season ) not speak ? who even life bring , a dainty springing ) not from hear com- h, then, as in this new tain some- beginning, Jgressively :ing back: imming in he pedlar, all-fed Hfe lar meals, course of delights, th. This springs by 3 surface. 3red first, 3. Bread r circuses scendants 3 beloved ^all back: ap to be I THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 129 financially sound. I am no economist, only a writer of fiction; but even as such, I know one thing that bears on the economic question— I know the imper- fection of man's faculty for business. The Anar- chists, who count some rugged elements of common sense among what seem to me their tragic errors have said upon this matter all that I could wish to say and condemned beforehand great economical polities. So far it is obvious that they are right- they may be right also in predicting a period of communal independence, and they may even be right in thinking that desirable. But the rise of communes is none the less the end of economic equality, just when we were told it was beginning Communes will not be all equal in extent? nor in quality of soil, nor in growth of population; nor will the surplus produce of all be equally marketable. It will be the old story of competing interests, only with a new unit; and, as it appears to me, a new inevitable danger. For the merchant and the manufacturer, in this new world, will be a sovereign commune; it is a sovereign power that will see its crops undersold, and its manufactures worsted in the market. And all the more dangerous that the sovereign power should be small. Great powers are slow to stir; national affronts, even with the aid of newspapers, filter slowly into popular consciousness- national losses are so unequally shared, that one part ot the population will be counting its gains while another sits by a cold hearth. But in the sovereign commune all will be centraHsed and sensitive. When jealousy springs up, when (let us say) the commune ot Foole has overreached the commune of Dor- 9 130 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW niifth"'' r>*'°°,«^" «•"" like quicksilver through- out the body pohtic; each man in Dorchester will have to surfer directly in his diet and his dress; even the secretary who drafts the official correspond- who'h'I* h'* "^^n '°^'' '^'^ embittered, as a man who has dmed .11 and may expect to dine worse; tm L r " ^"'""T ?'««'-^Me between communes will take on much the same colour as a dispute between diggers in the lawless West, and will lead as directly to the arbitrament of blows. So that the establishment of the communal s stem will not only reintroduce all the injustices and heart-burnings of economic inequality, but will, in all human likeli- hood inaugurate a world of hedgerow warfare Dorchester will march on Poole, ShTrCelo"^- Chester, Wimborne on both; t.5 wa^^gons will be fired on as they follow the highway the Wains f K S^ r^ °* *'"^Se; and if we have not a return of ballad literature, the local press at least ^l" celebrate m a high vein the victory of Cerne Abbls or the reverse of Toller Porcorum. At leasVthS will not be dull; when I was younger, I couW have welcomed such a world with relief; but it is the Ne™ Old with a vengeance, and irresistibly suggests the growth of miUtary powers and the foundatS new empires. ^ jr through- hester will iress; even orrespond- , as a man ine worse; communes a dispute i will lead So that m will not t-burnings nan likeli- ' warfare. le on Dor- is will be he trains go armed t a return least will •ne Abbas least this >uld have the New- :gests the on of new I COLLEGE PAPERS COLLEGE PAPERS I EDINBURGH STUDENTS IN 1824 On the 2nd of January 1824 was issued the prospectus ot the Lapsus Lingua ; or, the College Toiler ; and on the 7th the first number appeared. On Friday the 2nd of April ' Mr. 1 oiler became speechless.' Its history was not all one success; for the editor (who applies to himself the words of lago, ' I am nothing It 1 am not critical ') overstepped the bounds of caution, and found himself seriously embroiled with the powers th tt were. There appeared in No. xvi. a most bitter satire upon Sir John Leslie, in which he was compcired to Falstaff, charged with puffing him- self, and very prettily censured for publishing only the first volume of a class-book, and making aU purchasers pay for both. Sir John Leslie took up the matter angrily, visited Carfrae the publisher, and threatened him with an action, till he was forced to turn the hapless Lapsus out of doors. The maltreated periodical found shelter in the shop of Hme Infirmary Street; and No. xvii. was duly issued from the new ofiice. No. xvii. beheld Mr. i «w^r s humiliation in whir- v. t^m+k f,,i,.-^ i--_. and not very credible assurances of respect and 133 134 COLLEGE PAPERS and advertises a new issue of No. xvi. with all objectionable matter omitted. This, with pleasing euphemism, he terms in a later advertisement, ' I rZ.rfV'^^r''^'^ '^^*^°"-' ™s was the ^nly remarkable adventure of Mr. Tatler's brief exist- ence; unless we consider as such a silly Chaldee manuscnpt m imitation of Blackwood, and a letter of reproof from a divinity student on the impiety aDnroLrTv'^''"/^"'^^"- "" laments the near approach of his end m pathetic terms. ' How shall 7nr f^rT^^P '"^'^'"* "^'^'^^^'' S^y^ ^^' ' to look inLr tf "'^^'' ''''' ^^^^^^^ little devil and his inestimable proof-sheet ? How shall we be able to pass No. 14 Infirmary Street and feel that all its attractions are over ? How shall we bid farewell tor ever to that excellent man, with the long great- coat, wooden leg and wooden board, who acts as our representative at tlie gate of Alma Mater?' iiut alas! he had no choice: Mr. Taller, whose career he says himself, had been successful, passed peacefully away, and has ever since dumbly implored the bringing home of bell and burial' Alter et idem. A very different affair was the Lapsus LtngucB from the Edinburgh University ^^f^ne. The two prospectuses alone, laid side by side, would indicate the march of luxury and the S -S *^^ P^P.^' ^"*y- The penny bi-weekly broadside of session 1823-4 was almost wholly dedicated to Momus. Epigrams, pointless letters amorous verses and University grievances are the continual burthen of the song. But Mr. Tatler was not v^ithout a vein of hearty humour; and his n question, ^i. with all th pleasing sement, ' a ) the only 3rief exist- iy Chaldee id a letter le impiety 5 the near How shall ?, ' to look /il and his be able to liat all its i farewell 3ng great- 10 acts as ! Mater?' er, whose 111, passed implored was the Jnivefsity laid side 7 and the 3i-weekly t wholly s letters,, 3 are the r. Tatler ; and his EDINBURGH STUDENTS IN 1824 135 pages afford what is much better: to wit, a good K: '' If T ^^' "^ '' *^^" ^^^- The 'students of those polite days msisted on retaining their hats of th. fT"'''''^'. «l^''' ^^^ ^ cab-stance in front 1* ,f^^^'' ^""^ ; Carriage Entrance ' was posted above the mam arch, on what the writer pleases to call coarse, unclassic boards.' The benches of the Speculative then, as now, were red; but all other Societies (the ' Dialectic ' is the only survivor met downstairs, m some rooms of which it is point- ^i^ '%M^^* ' "^*^^"^ ^^^ ^^^Id conveniently be made of them. However horrible these dungeons may have been, it is certain that they were%aid X'. ? v^i'f *°.^ ^'^""^y ^^^ *he taste of session i«23-4. which found enough calls upon its purse for porter and toasted cheese at Ambrose's, or cranberry tarts and gmger-wine at Doull's. Duelling was still a possibility; so much so that when two medicals hinf.H ?^ r^' ? ^^^"^ ^^^^'^' '^ ^as seriously hinted that single combat would be the result. Last and most wonderful of all. Gall and Spurzheim were m every one's mouth; and the Law student after having exhausted Byron's poetry and Scott's novels, informed the ladies of his belief in phren- oiogy. In the present day he would dilate on ' Red as a rose is she/ and then mention that he attends Old Greyfriars , as a tacit claim to intellectual muc^" ^"^ """* ^''°'^ *^^* *^^ 2.dY^.nce is But Mr. Tatler' s best performances were three short papers m which he hit off pretty smartly the Idiosyncrasies nf th'^ ' D-'vivh- ' ^h- '^'^- ?• I i-h^ 'T > ji" ■ ^'^^^"O'' i-nc medical, and the Law of session 1823-4. The fact that there 136 COLLEGE PAPERS ir^ was no notice of the ' Arts ' seems to suggest that they stood in the same intermediate position as thev do now— the epitome of student-kind. Mr. Tatter's satire is, on the whole, good-humoured, and has not grown superannuated in all its hmbs. His descriD- tTA^^i'"'P5 '^'"^ P^^"*^' ^^* there are certain iZ T T ^^^* ^PP^y ^^"^"y ^'^11 *« session i«70-i. He shows us the Divinity of the period- tall pale, and slender— his collar greasy, and his coat bare about the seams-' his ^hiteVckcloth serving four days, and regularly turned the third — th£ nm of his hat deficient in wool'— and 'a weighty volume of theology under his arm.' He was the man to buy cheap ' a snuff-box, or a dozen tZT}^' %^^^^-bladed knife, or a quarter of a He was n^riV ''.""y "^ '^' public sale-rooms. He was noted for cheap purchases, and for exceed- ing the legal tender in halfpence. He haunted ' the darkest and remotest corner of the Theatre Gallerv ' ir "^^f *ij,.l^^ f ^" issuing from ' aerial lodging- houses.' Withal, says mine author, ' there were many good pdnts about him : he paid his landlady's se Lr ^'^^'' """"* *^^'^ *° ^h"^^h ^^ Sunday, TaZ". T"""^' ^^^ "°* ^^*'" *^P^y' ^"d bought the The Medical, again, ' wore a white greatcoat and consequently talked loud -(there is sLething very o^^l?r '"„''* ':onseg„enay). He wore his hat on ton nf A ^J^'^.'^f ^'^*""' '"''^*"'=' ^"d went to the top of Arthur s Seat on the Sunday forenoon. He was as quiet in a debating society as he was loud wsterd/, T •• "/7^' '"'^''' ^"r exceed- nted ' the Gallery.' lodging- ere were mdlady's Sunday, ught the oat, and ing very s hat on t to the 3n. He 'as loud rudent : ottle of EDINBURGH STUDENTS IN 1824 137 claret with him (and claret was claret then, before the cheap-and-nasty treaty), and to-morrow he asks you for the loan of a penny to buy the last number 01 the Lapsus. ' J^t student of Law, again, was a learned man. we had turned over the leaves of Justinian's Insti- tutes, and knew that they were written in Latin. He was well acquainted with the title-page c ' Black- stone s Comr entaries, and argal (as the gravedigger m Haml ys) he was not a person to be laughed at. ' He att . . .1 the Parliament House in the character 01 a critic, and could give you stale sneers at all the celebrated speakers. He was the terror of essayists at the Speculative or the Forensic. In social quali- ties he seems to have stood unrivalled. Even in the police-office we find him shining with undiminished lustre. If a Charlie should find him rather noisy at an untimely hour, and venture to take him into custody, he appears next morning Hke a Daniel come to judgment. He opens his mouth to speak, and the divme precepts of unchanging justice and Scots law flow from his tongue. The magistrate hstens m amazement, and fines him only a couple of guineas. f yj^ Such then were our predecessors and their College Magazine. Barclay, Ambrose, Young Amos, and I^ergusson were to them what the Cafe, the Rainbow and Rutherford's are to us. An hour's reading in these old pages absolutely confuses us, there is so much that IS similar and so much that is different; the follies and amusements are so hke our own, and the manner of froHcking and enjoying are so changed, that one pauses and looks about him in philosophic COLLEGE PAPERS 138 1.W st"udeJ^'w ^"^y quadrangle is thick with imng students but in our eyes it swarms ajso with the phantasmal white greatcoats and tilted hatrof 1824. Two races meet : races alike and divers Two performances are played before our eyes; but LenervT. T""' ^S^^^ "^ impersonators, ItTs tv' !,T ."Tk- ^'°* ^"'^ P^^^'o" ^« the same. 11 : . °l ^'^^ 'P"^ ^Wiling whether seventy- one or twenty-four has the best of it ^ thP inH/"!r%v'"°'l'' "" ''"P^ t° gi^« a glance at the ca^t i^r'K'\°^*''' P^-^^"*' ^"'^ see whether the cast shaU be head or tail-whether we or the readers of the Lapsus stand higher in the balance hick with also with d hats of d divers. eyes; but lators, of the same, seventy- glance at whether ^e or the alance. II THE MODERN STUDENT CONSIDERED GENERALLY We have now reached the difficult portion of our task. Mr. Tatter, for all that we care, may have been as virulent as he liked about the students of a former day; but for the iron to touch our sacred selves, for a brother of the Guild to betray its most pnvy mfirmities, let such a Judas look to himself as he passes on his way to the Scots Law or the Diagnostic below the solitary lamp at the corner of the dark quadrangle. We confess that this idea alarms us. We enter a protest. We bind ourselves over verbally to keep the peace. We hope, more- over, that having thus made you secret to our misgivings, you will excuse us if we be dull, and set that down to caution which you might before have charged to the account of stupidity. The natural tendency of civihsation is to obliterate those distinctions which are the best salt of life. All the fine old professional flavour in language has evaporated. Your very gravedigger has forgotten his avocation in his electorship, and would quibble on the Franchise over Ophelia's grave, instead of more appropriately discussing the duration of .-.o..ies under j^iouiid. From this tendency, from this gradual attrition of Hfe, in which everything 139 140 COLLEGE PAPERS pointed and chaxacteristic is being rubbed down, till the whole ^vorld begins to slip between our fingers LTi^ ""*f "g-'i^aWe sands, from this.^we Mr. Tatler m his simple division of students into Law, Dwtmty and Medic can Dear, and iney halt m their walk to ^ particles: that land ir air,' sh for their ■that lights >nly means nsiderately Y pursue, incapable ecognition re chronic like Saul [824 there Igar, as we r of white Tent from t. These ladrangle. ur, which jars pain- ty beat a y march 1 a great ' perform manner, the same ur. The : greater walk to THE MODERN STUDENT 143 of Jacobs. y^e7lKoUoZyorZ^ii:^t^ Nor are the fast men less constrained Solem nity, even m dissipation is the nrcCl r.(\i, I S Ten whnl '""P^"" """*" °* °'d. Some of ste^ have but /.T 'h ^'''™''' ^''ve^^ng on the otw xi! ^ ^'^"'^^'' a<:quaintance with each nours and added a pleasant Va^ety t'o^Z S 144 COLLEGE PAPERS of close attention. But even these are too .evidently professional in their antics. They go about cogita- ting puns and inventing tricks. It is their vocation. Hal. They are the gratuitous jesters of the class- r'^om; and, like the clown when he leaves the stage, their merriment too often sinks as the bell rings the hour of Hberty, and they pass forth by the Post- Office, grave and sedate, and meditating fresh gambols for the morrow. This is the impression left on the mind of any observing student by too many of his fellows. They seem all frigid old men; and one pauses to think how such an unnatural state of matters is produced. We feel inclined to blamo for it the unfortunate absence of University feeling which is so marked a characteristic of our Edinburgh students. Academ- ical interests are so few and far between — students, as students, have so little in common, except a peevish rivalry— there is such an entire want of broad college sympathies and ordinary college friendships, that we fancy that no University in the kingdom is in so poor a plight. Our system is full of anomalies. A, who cut B whilst he was a shabby student, curries sedulously up to him and cudgels his memory for anecdotes about him when he becomes the great so-and-so. Let there be an end of this shy, proud reserve on the one hand, and this shuddering fine ladyism on the other; and we think we shall find both ourselves and the College bettered. Let it be a sufficient reason for mtercourse that two men sit together on the same benches. Let the great A be held excused for nodding to the shabby R in Princes Street, if he too v3vidently ibout cogita- leir vocation, of the class- es the stage, le bell rings by the Post- tating fresh nind of any lows. They ses to think is produced, unfortunate lo marked a ). Academ- 1 — students, n, except a ire want of ary college srsity in the r system is it he was a to him and t him when there be an one hand, other; and 23 and the : reason for n the same excused for trcet, if he / THE MODERN STUDENT 145 ^^"1/1^' u ^^^* ^^^^^"^ ^s ^ student.' Once this could be brought about, we think you would find the whole heart of the University beat faster We I L^'rowT T''^^ ^"^ ^/^'^°^ ^"^°"^ '^'' ^^^dents. Lfu t\ ""^ ^°"^^o" feelmgs, an increasing sym- pathy between class and cl ss. whose influence (in such a heterogeneous company as ours) might be of incalculable value in all branches of polftics and social progress. It would do more than this If we could find some method of making the University a real mother to her sons-something beyond a bmldmg of class-rooms, a Senatus and a lottery of somewhat shabby prizes-we should strike a death- Wow at the constrained and unnatural attitude of our bociety. At present we are not a united body but a loose gathering of individuals, whose inherent attraction is allowed to condense them into little knots afid coteries. Our last snowball riot read us a plain lesson on our condition. There was no party spirit— no unity of interests. A few who were mischievously inclined, marched off to the college of Surgeons in a pretentious file; but even before they reached their destination the feeble mspiration had died out in many, and their numbers were sadly thinned. Some followed strange gods in the direction of Drummond Street, and others slunk back to meek good-boyism at the feet of the Professors. The same is visible in better things AS you send a man to an English University that He may have his prejudices rubbed off, you mi^ht send him to Edinburgh that he may have them in- grained— rendered indelible— foster^^d Hv s^mpat^^" into living principles of his spirit. , And the reason 10 i I 146 CO^ LEGE PAPERS of It IS quite plain. From this absence of University feeling it comes that a man's friendships are always the direct and immediate results of these very prejudices. A common weakness is the best master of ceremonies in our quadrangle: a mutual vice is the readiest introdurtion. The studi .us associate with the studious alone—the dandies with the dandies. There is nothing to force thom to rub shoulders with the others; and so they grow day by day more wedded to their own original opinions and affections. They see through the same spec- tacles continually. All broad sentiments, all real catholic humanity expires; and the mind gets gradu- ally stiffened into one position— becomes so habitu- ated to a contracted atmosphere, that it shudders and wither, under the least draught of the free air that circulates in the general field of mankind Speciahsm in Society then is, we think, one cause of our present state. Specialism in study is another. We doubt whether this has ever been a good thing since the world began ; but we are sure it is much worse now than it was. Formerly, when a man became a specialist, it was out of affection for his subject. With u somewhat grand devotion he left all the world of Science to follow his true love • and he contrived to find that strange pedantic interest which inspired the man who ' Settled Hoti's business— let it be- Properly based Oun — Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De Dead from the waist down.' Nowadays it is quite different. Our pedantry wants even the saving clause of Enthusiasm. The election )f University •s are always these very best master itual vice is us associate s with the hem to rub y grow day nal opinions same spec- its, all real gets gradu- s so habitu- it shudders the free air mkind. :, one cause ' is another, good thing it is much len a man ion for his ion he left 3 love; and tic interest ntry wants he election THE MODERN STUDENT 147 is now matter of necessity and not of choice Know A rank unhea thy soil breeds a harvest of preTdicS' Feelmg h.mself above others in his one 1 t«e branrh hTsrjittatf r/t ^int*""''- - ^^ down on othT.r, H. • n'u'?'^" ''^'^ ^""^ ^o°^^ eated i^onlty, ttj'dfe ^'it "n^ Z^^'^ uigoT. iJilettante is now a term of reproach- hn^ onr^an ^^^^^^^ f"f -«- '<> "hl'h'no' stuaene \vt wi^'\^^;r?o"aranr l^Z^l a Tn^aTintTei"" 'n'J*^'* '*^ "^"t-*" ^^--^^r a general interest in all branches of knowledse not a commercial eagerness to excel in one ^ stimted w"'" '^"''^'T °" 'y^Pathies are con- stipated. We are apostles of our own caste and n,.V portant to ask whether the Senatus or the bodv^f anotherpape^welrst/s^m^ZgVSa^" II ' 148 COLLEGE PAPERS One other word, however, before we have done. What shall we be when we grow really old ? Of yore, a man was thought to lay on restrictions and acquire new deadweight of mournful experience with every year, till he looked back on his youth as the very summer of impulse and freedom. We please ourselves with thinking that it cannot be so with us. We would fain hope that, as we have begun in one way, we may end in another; and that when we are in fact the octogenarians that we seem at present, there shall be no merrier men on earth. It is pleasant to picture us, sunning ourselves in Princes Street of a morning, or chirping over our evening cups, with all the merriment that we wanted in youth. ; have done, ly old ? Of trictions and jerience with ^outh as the We please e so with us. Jegun in one when we are ■ at present, arth. It is is in Princes our evening 5 wanted in III DEBATING SOCIETIES A DEBATING Society is at first somewhat of a dis appointment. You do not often find the vouthful Demosthenes chewing his nehhTpc ir. 7t, youthful with von . r.r. ^ ^^."^ ms peDbies m the same room With you, or, even if you do, you will probablv think the performance httle to be admired.^ As a Lneml rule, the members speak shamefully ill. tL sKcts of debate are heavy; and so are the fines The Billnf &stridf of ^^ '^r^^^ nightmLs^^^otn lound astnde of a somnolent sederunt. The Greeks and Romans, too, are reserved as sort of ~7 «/./.^^ men to do all the dirty work of illusfraTon dutv on 11 • ^""^^^s^' Which I found doing G™ rob.^rr"5 '' " ^"'^^ ^" P^^"'^ haunt of borders Thl' '^""^ ^ ?'^f ^"^ ^^^' ^" *he Scottish ment or r^ r ? ^J^^ ^^'^"^^ ^^ ^^^king argu- thinrlrii ^l!'f -dour, you ^lls^rj^ thmgs to be laughed at in the deportment of yci [49 150 COLLEGE PAPERS Most laughable, perhaps, are your indefatigable stnvers after eloquence. They are of those who pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope,' and who, since they expect that ' the deficiencies of last sentence will be supplied by the next,' have been recommended by Dr. Samuel Johnson to ' attend to the History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia.' They are characterised by a hectic hopefulness. Nothing damps them. They rise from the ruins of one abortive sentence, to launch forth into another with unabated vigour. They have all the manner of an orator. From the tone of their voice, you would expect a splendid period— and lo ! a string of broken- backed, disjointed clauses, eked out with stammer- ings and throat-clearings. They possess the art (learned from the pulpit) of rounding an uneuphoni- ous sentence by dwelling on a single syllable—of stnking a balance in a top-heavy period by lengthen- mg out a word into a melancholy quaver. Withal they never cease to hope. Even at last, even vrhen they have exhausted all their ideas, even aft' r the would-be peroration has finally refused to perorate they remain upon their feet with their mouths open' waiting for ome further inspiration, like Chaucer's " widow s son in the dung-hole, after ' His throat was kit unto the nekk6 bone,' in vain expectation of that seed that was to be laid upon his tongue, and give him renewed and clearer utterance. These men may have something to say, if they could only say it— indeed they generally have; but the next class are people who, having nothing to sav indefatigable )f those who of hope,' and encies of last :,' have been to ' attend to sinia. ' They ss. Nothing ■uins of one another with nanner of an , you would ng of broken- th stammer- sess the art 1 uneuphoni- syllable — of by lengthen- ed Withal, :, even when 'en aft* r the to perorate, louths open, ^e Chaucer's' •one,' is to be laid and clearer say, if they y have; but hing to sav. DEBATING SOCIETIES 151 of wordf .w^ ^ ^f^^^ ^"^ ""'' ^"h'-PPy command ?LT % f^ ""^^'^ *^"^ *h^ prime nuisances of Ibsenrrof ^1 ^f'"' ^^^^ ''^ '^ '^^^^ ^^eir absence of matter by an unwholesome vitahty of del very. They look triumphantly round the roU tr„ L xJf ^ applause, after a torrent of diluted tlnZi argument, and returning again and agam to the same remark with the same sprightli- ness the same irritatmg appearance of novelty merely hmt at a few other varieties. There is your man who is pre-emmently conscientious, whose face beams with sincerity as he opens on the negative, and round'^fh! '" '^' affirmative at the end, looking round the room with an air of chastened pride There is also the irrelevant speaker, who rises, ei^ts a ]oke or two, and then sits down again, without ever attempting to tackle the subject of debate. AgaTn ^LnZ' """'' "^^r i"^' Pi^k-a-back on their famil^ themtl ' ''':u^ ^^''' ^^"^^y ^^'^^ "«'^^' identify themselves with some well-known statesman use his oTS; 'rV'"'^ ""T *^- patronage 'oT an oftenTr . . '"/ ^^"g^^^^s plan, and serves adoTa speTh''"^'' ^^ ^^^"^ ^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^« onf f.*^^^.' ' a striking failure may be reached with- trickr^n ""^ ^'"^1^'""" ^y ^"y ^^ ^^''^ ambitious tricks. Our own stature will be found high enough lures uT?nt/^.%T^" '' ^^^^^ simpletrnct lures us into a fatal parenthesis in the fourth from r,';:ro^'4'''"'''^ "^ T^ ^^^^^ disentan'le th" .nr^ad of uux aiscourse. A momentary flush tempts 152 COLLEGE PAPERS ij i us into a quotation; and we may be left helpless in the middle of one of Pope's couplets, a white film gathering before our eyes, and our kind friends charitably trying to cover our disgrace by a feeble round of applause. Amis lecteurs, this is a painful topic. It is possible that we too, we, the ' potent grave, and reverend ' editor, may have suffered these things and drunk as deep as any of the cup of shame- tul failure. Let us dwell no longer on so delicate a subject. Ir spite, however, of these disagreeables, I should recommend any student to suffer them with Spartan courage, as the benefits he receives should repay him an hundredfold for them all. The life of the de- bating society is a handy antidote to the life of the class-room and quadrangle. Nothing could be con- ceived more excellent as a weapon against many of those peccant humours that we have been railing against in the jeremiad of our last ' College Paper '-- particularly in the field of intellect. It is a sad sieht to see our heather-scented students, our boys of seventeen, coming up to College with determined "^^^"N^roues in speculation— having gauged the vanity of philosophy or learned to shun it as the " middle-man of heresy-^ company of determined, deliberate opmionists, not to be moved by a^^ the sleights of logic. What have such men t. i with study? If their minds are made up inevo bly why burn the ' studious lamp ' in search r* turther confirmation ? Every set opinion I hear a student deliver I feel a certain lowering of my regard He who studies, he who is yet employed in groping for his premises, should keep his mind fluent and «Sn<;i. ft helpless in a white film kind friends i by a feeble is a painful the ' potent, uffered these up of shame- ;o delicate a les, I should /ith Spartan d repay him : of the de- e hfe of the •iild be con- ist many of )een raihng ;e Paper ' — ' a sad sight ur boys of determined :auged the n it as the " letermined, by ai' the t^ t with rxevo. bly, r* turther a student gard. He jroping for and <;er)<;i- DEBATING SOCIETIES 153 tive, keen to mark flaws, and willing to surrender untenable positions. He should keep himself teaeh- t fo r f r.'' *H ^^P'=°s>ve farce of being taught. press t°h.?'' **"; ^°f' ^P'"* tl"^* we desirf to press the claims of debating societies. It is as a means of melting down this museum of prematoe petrifactions mto Hving and impressior .b!e souS we insist on their ^itility . If we .ould once prevail on our students to feel no shame in avowingan te"acf them^tf".': '"""'^^ ^"^ ^"''i^^*' « ^^'oZ teach them tnat it was unnecessary for every lad to h»ve his optmonette on every topic, we should have gone a far way towards bracing the intellectual tone debafin.?'"^'^'' °* '^"^'''- ^"'='de of opinion, and make friends with t '--m. We are taught to rai hfb a noh"">J\' ^•'"''^ ^^^''°" through,\nd th^n ment t T^ '"" f ^^^ '•■°"<=l"ding entertain- ment. We find men of talent far exceeding our own whose conclusions are widely different from ours and we are thus taught to distrust ourselves. But the best means of -ll towards catholicity is that wholesome rule which some folk are most^inclined W senir;;: T^" '^' '""■ "^ "^^'^ed si>eeches. fhTlm l^^""^^' commands; and you must take the affirmative or the negative, just as suits his best convenience. This tends to the most perfect liber* aiity. It IS no good hearing the arguments of an opponent, for in good verity you rarely follow them and even if you do take the trouble to listen, it"s "!';}^ '? f '*P.*'°"' s^^'-^h for weaknesses. This is pruvcu, I fear, lu every debate; when you hear each l:l , ^54 COLLEGE P.\PERS speaker arguing out his own prepared spScialiie (he never intended speaking, of c )urse, until some re- "^^ u^^\^^''-'\ ''''^^''''^ ^^^' ^ ^^y' his own coached up subject without the least at tendon, to what ha^ gone before, a,s utterly at sea about t\:Q drjft of his adversary's speech as Panurge when he ar^u-.d with Ihau-nast-, and merely linking his own prelection to the last by a few tiippant criticisms. Now as the rule stair.^' , you are saddled with the side you dis- approve, arid so you are forced, by regard for your OM^D fame, to argue out, to feel with/ to elaborate completely, the case as it stands agair st yourself- and what a fund of wisdom do you not turn up in this Idle digging of the vineyard ! How many new difticulties take form before your eyes ? Hovs^many superannuated arguments cripple finally into hmbo under the glance of your enforced eclecticism i Nor is this the only merit of Debating Societies. They tend also to foster taste, and to promote friend- ship between University men. This last, as we have had occasion before to say, is the great requirement of our student hfe; and it will therefore be no waste ot time If we devote a paragraph to this subject in its connection with Debating Societies. At present they partake too much of the nature of a digue l^nends propose friends, and mutual friends second them, until the society degenerates into a sort of family party. You may confirm old ac. 'ntances, but you can rarely make new ones. Yo i and your- self in the at) : sphere of your own ci i'].- itercourse. Now, this is unfortunate circun, . uice, which it seems to me might readily be rectified. Our Prin- cipal has shov.m himself so friendiy ir.vards all DEBATING SOCIETIES 155 ?n^TJ^^'''7'^?^' *^^* ^ ""^'''^^ *he hope of see- 1 Tw nn^ T.'''^ "" '7^"^" suggestion, which is not a new one with me, and which must often have been uZTsi'^D ^T'^'i heretofore-I mean, a real Umversity Debating Society, patronised by the benatus, presided over by the Professors, to which every one might gain ready admittance on sight of his matriculation ticket, where it would be a flvour student ^?l'f f ^ *^ 'P'^^' ^"^ ^h^^^ *he obscure be.fr« Vr^ * have another object for attendance besides the mere desire to save his fines: to wit the fZTv .^^""^ ^" ^'"^'^^^ *he favourable con- sideration of his teachers. This would be merely following in the good tendency, which has been so no iceable during all this session, to increase and multiply student societies and clubs of every sort. Nor would It be a matter of much difficulty The unitea societies would form a nucleus: one of the class-rooms at first, and perhaps afterwards the great hall above the hbrary, might be the place of mee^ting There would be no want of attendance or enthusiast, I am sure; for it is a very different thinj? to sneak and on't?"?H'^ '' ^ ^"^^^^ ^^^^ - ^^^ -^ h'ant and on the other in a public place, where a happy period or a subtle argument may do the speaker permanent service in after life. Such a clubS end perhaps, by rivalHng the ' Union ' at Cambridge or the Union ' at Oxford. ^ rouards all ir II : IV THE PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS i It is wonderful to think what a turn has been dven to our whole Society by the fact that we hve under the sign of Aquarius— that our climate is essentially wet. A mere arbitrary distinction, like the walking- swords of yore, might have remained the symbol of foresight and respectability, had not the raw mists and dropping showers of our island pointed the in- chnation of Society to another exponent of those virtues A ribbon of the Legion of Honour or a string of medals may prove a person's courage • a title may prove his birth; a professorial chair his study and acqmrement; but it is the habitual carriage of the umbrella that is the stamp of Respectabihty. The umbrella has become the acknowledged index of social position. Rot)inson Crusoe presents us with a touching in- stance of the hankering after them inherent in the " cmhsed and educated mind. To the superficial, the hot suns of Juan Fernandez may sufficiently account for his quaint choice of a luxury; but surely one who had borne the hard labour of a seaman under the tropics for all these years could have supported an wllfP^lZ-^P^'' ^^s written in collaboration with Tame hif^Zflir' u^'u ^^^.^P"^ted this is to be stated, though aKS?i-[&\t.TS"etT5 '^^:^'^ ^" aneasy chfir 156 LASi 5 been given e live under s essentially he walking- e symbol of 2 raw mists ited the in- it of those onour or a rage; a title r his study carriage of pectability. iged index )uching in- . rent in the irficial, the :ly account ly one who under the jported an with Jam e ted, though n easy chair THE PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS 157 fn am w,>^h*tl^°^*^ or a peaceful constitutional arm iL r ¥ """^^ ^"^^y- No, it was not this- the memory of a vanished respectability called f™ 1X7""'/ ■"-"»<=^tation, and the result wat-in uitiDrella. A pious castaway might have rie?ed nn , belfry and solaced his Sunday mofnings^thfhenJm- .cry of church-bells; but Crusoe was rlther a rao^ "t ex^mnle^of' f ' ""r ""^ '^^^-'""brena is as fine an unr/in ' ""'"^'' """'' '*"""§ *o express itself under adverse circumstances as we have ever met with. becomeTh. "°l "^' ^'^'l'"' *^^* "'<' "'"''^«"a bas tinn tV TT^'^ '°'^"""* ''^'^Se °' '"odern civilisa- tion-the Urim and Thummim of respectability. Its pregnant symboUsm has taken its rise in the most natural manner. Consider, for a moment when umbrellas were first introduced into tWs country, what manner of men would use them and what class would adhere to the useless but irna mentalcane. The first, without doubt, would be the hypochondriacal, out of solicitude for their health or the frugal, out of care for their raiment- the second, it IS equally plain, would include the fop the fool, and the Bobadil. Any one acquainte^w h maC^ 1 ^'''^- """^ knowing'out of what a^H wv," if '='"'=««■•? produced great revolutions, ar^d wholly new conditions of intercourse, sees from this simple thought how the carriage of an umbrella came to indic- te frugality, judidous regard for bodily welfar ., and scorn for mere outward adorn- ment, and. m one word, all those homely and solid virtues implied in the terra respectability. Not that the umbrella's costliness has nothing to do with Its great miuence. Its possession, besides sym- bolising (as we have already indicat .1) the chan-e r" 158 COLLEGE PAPERS from wild Esau to plain t^..,v ^welling in tents, implies a certain comfoicable provision of fortune- It is not every one that can expose twenty-six shilling's worth of property to so many chances of loss and tneft. So strongly do we feel on this point ind<;ed. that we arc almost incHned to consider all who possess really well-conditioned umbrellas as worthy of the Franchise. They have a qualifica- tion standing in their lobbies; they carry a sufficient stake m the common- weal below their arm. One who bears with him an unbrella— such a comr,li. cated structure of whalebone, of silk, and of cane, that It becomes a very microcosm of modern in- dustry—is necessarily a man of peace. A half-crown cane may be applied to an offender's head on a very moderate provocation; but a six-and-twcnty shilling silk is a possession too precious to be adventured in the shock of war. These arc b ,,' a fc^- glanr s at how umbrellas (in the general) caiae to their present high estate. But the true Umbrella-Philosopher meets with far stranger apphcal.oiiS as he gr, s about .he streets. Umbrellas, hke taces, acquire a certain syamathy with the individual who carri: • them: indeed uiey are far more capable c' betraying his trust; for whereas a face is given tr js far ready m ide, and all our power over it is : frowning, and laughing, and grimacing, during the first three or four decades of life, each umb- ella is selected from a whole shop- ful, as being most consonant to the purchaser's dis- position. An undoubted power of diagnosis rests with the practised Umbrella-Philosopher. you v/Iio hsp, and amble, an^l change the fashion of your countenances— you who conceal all these, how Httle THE PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS 159 do you think that yo,i left a proof of your weakness out thTu''^'*""'*-*^* «''«" now^s you shake out the folds to meet the thickening snow we read n Its ivory handle the outward and visibl'e^tn of cCr detctThr^u'r T 7^°^^^' gi"g^amTi? hvpocrisv nf ?h° ?^ ".''* ?',"' waistcoat, the hidden ZhZ\7- drckey'l But alas 1 even the the o llv of th/r'" ^"*^"°"- ^'^ '-'-t " and vne loiiy ot the human race have Hpcrrar^o^ +1, * Smf iriu' *? ^'•^^"''r' ^s^netrand J, • : ^ome umbrellas, from carelessness in selection are n. ,iov;"fh'at t"?*i^*'<= ^°' ■* -^ onty irw"i;ar: fr„„ '°^s that he displays his real nature) others 00, :ffi"" Pudendal motives, are chosen M^ un breUa ^? ''T" ' disposition. A mendadous ris„ n!^ *^" *?' Sreat moral degradation. Hypoc- fZ !"■ ^ '*'"'**=■■' '*^^« '^'^'ow a silk- while the ^ hZ dS*° 7'* "^'^ If e'°"^ friends a med noIVe' afdTthe" beTrf o ^t^'^"- ^^^ '* umbrellas that th'Ty SoutC t^e^rra t in their right hand ' ? ^ JdttSi:'. ^'caTof^^^b^r 'S:^^^^^^^^^^^^ thing) prevented the great bulk of theiTsublcts fiom having any at all, which was certainly a bad thing. We should be sorry to belie ethlt +1 Eastern legislator was a fo,.lIth° idea of an »risf atod m a nobody-and we have accordinglv taken exceedmg pains to find out the reason o this harsh restriction Wo ti>in1f ■— i- , "arsli .,i.-i 1 "'■ . I'-iuK vvc have succeeded- huf it 3,3 M. ■ i6o COLLEGE PAPERS the only man before ourselves who had taken a real grasp of the umbrella, we must be allowed to point out how unphilosophicallj^ the great man acted in this particular. His object, plainly, was to prevent any unworthy persons from bearing the sacred symbol of domestic virtues. We cannot excuse his Hmiting these virtues to the circle of his court. We must only remember that such was the feeling of the age in which he lived. Liberahsm had not yet raised the war-cry of the working classes. But here was his mistake: it was a needless regulation. Except in a very few cases of hypocrisy joined to a powerful intellect, men, not by nature umbrellarians, have tried again and again to become so by art, and yet have failed— have expended their patrimony in the purchase of umbrella after umbrella, and yet have systematically lost them, and have finally, with contrite spirits and shrunken purses, given up their vain struggle, and relied en theft and borrowing for the remainder of their hves. This is the most re- markable fact that v/e have had occasion to notice ; and yet we challenge the candid reader to call it in question. Now, as there cannot be any moral selection in a mere dead piece of furniture — as the umbrella cannot be supposed to have an affinity for individual men equal and reciprocal to that which men certainly feel toward individual umbrellas— we took the trouble of consulting a scientific friend as to whether there was any possible physical explanation of the phenomenon. He was unable to supply a plausible theory, or even hypothe ,; but we extract from his letter the following interesting passage relative to the physical peculiarities of umbrellas: 'Not the least important, and by far the most taken a real wed to point nan acted in IS to prevent the sacred )t excuse his > court. We ■eeUng of the ot yet raised ut here was on. Except o a powerful irians, have art, and yet " nony in the id yet have inally, with ^en up their arrowing for he most re- n to notice; to call it in any moral ure — as the affinity for that which brellas — we friend as to explanation supply a we extract ng passage umbrellas: the most THE PHILOSOPHY OF UMBRELLAS i6i curious property of the umbrella, is the energy which Thereto Z, '"^'^*^ '!"" atmospheric'^stri^a indeed it i.f '"meteorology hotter established- oTodst; le . i ".'u ""'y ""<= °" ^^'"<^h meteor- ologists are agreed— than that the carriage of an betft .^ r"""' "^"<=^^*'"" °f the air; ^L: if"t and is snr,rH ^''"f f •"^P''" '' '"8<^'y produced, and is soon deposited in the form of rain No theory, my friend continues, ' competent to explain this hygrometric law has been given ^as far as T ,m aTShe'r""^'^'' """l^' «'- '^er! xi", B^d an,^" fw I ™"*"'"e. however, to throw out the con- he slml '* *i" "" "'"""^^'''y f«""d to bdong to the same class of natural laws as that agreeable to which a slice of toast always descends with the buttered surface downwards.' But it is time to draw to a close. We could ey patiate much longer upon this topic, but want of space constrains us to leave unfinished thise few desultory remark^slender contributions toward^ a subject which has fallen sadly backward and which we grieve to say, was better understood by the to lav T i" ^^^ *''"" ^y "" '^'^ philosophers o1 „f.- '^i ■ i'o^^.ver, we have awakened in any rahonal mind an interest in the symbolism of um^ brellas-in any generous heart a more complete walk--or in any grasping spirit a pure notion of respectability strong enough to make him experidhis s.x-and-twenty shilling^we shall have deserved weU of the worii' to sav nothing of the ,>,.„,. ;„ j,,.. • persons employed in the manufacture of theartide II 11] •'I m — ^the one the other, iegree. Who would read i opinion of it he should I can only Pym and n who have 3r the most these have named, the d the other this matter poets have lakespeare, lat a con- 3 common- ot a Jones, one would imagine if to the en- word have ssible. In sness that evel of his 5ing above iiheld him the book- »-T^ +^ — ^ J PHILOSOPHY OF NOMENCLATURE 165 them, on the mere evidence of the fatal appellation And now, before I close this section, I must say one word as to punnable names, names that stand alone that have a significance and life apart from him that bears them. These are the bitterest of all. One friend of mine goes bowed and humbled through life under the weight of this misfortune ; for it is an awful thing when a man's name is a joke, when he cannot be mentioned without exciting merriment, and when even the intimation of his death bids fair to carrv laughter into many a home. So much for people who are badly named. Now tor people who are too well named, who go top-heavy A^^t""^' "^^"^ ^'^ baptized into a false position, and find themselves beginning life edipsed under the fame of some of the great ones of the past. A man for instance, called WilHam Shakespeare could never dare to write plays. He is thrown into too humbHng an apposition with the author of Hamlet. His own name coming after is such an anti-climax. ' The p^ys of William Shakespeare ' ? says the reader-^ O no ! The plays of William Shakespeare Cocker- ill, and he throws the book aside. In wise pursu- ance of such views, Mr. John Milton Hengler, who not long since delighted us in this favoured town, has never attempted to write an epic, but has chosen a new path, and has excelled upon the tight rope. A marked example of triumph over this is the case of Mr. l;ante Gabriel Rossetti. On the face of the mat.er, I should have advised him to imitate the pleasing modesty of the last-named gentleman, and confine his ambition to the sawdust. But Mr Kossetti has triumphed. He has even dared to i66 1 1 Hi. 1 H' f Wm' * H 1 H.^ % !ff V ■ ' 5 [I , If COLLEGE PAPERS *J2f^% ^'°'" ^'^ '"'e'^'y name-father; and the voice of fame supports him in his boldness. master ' A 1,S °"%'"'g''t ^^te a year upon this scarce suf^rifT ° '=°^P!'"^°" ''"d research could scarce suffice for its elucidation. So here if it nlpass you, we shall let it rest. Slight as these note hav' been I wou d that the great founder of the svS »nH t'lf^l *° ^^ *^"- How he had wame" have faC"i*'°^ his persuasive eloquencIwouW pX anH ? ' IT °^ ^f y= ^■"l ^hat a letter of £?.; ^u. =y™P^t''y ^vould not the editor have received before the month was out I Alas the tuZ was not to be. Walter Shandy died and was dilf lected by his fellow-countrymen. But, reader the ^U ^^amn™;' ''°'^- j"""" ^ Paternal'go^^^men wll stamp out. as seeds of national weakness all Sm'Ss^wm Tb"f' '"t ""^^ godfatherf 'and Interest n/t J °Y'^y ^""^ earnestly debate the to th. I . ^™'''f °"^' ^"-^ "°t r"sh bHndfold bitten a ' cTZh '" 'I^''' ''"^^ *''«^« *="' ^e wntten a Godfather's Assistant,' in shaoe of a .dictionary of names, with their concomitanTvirtues . and vices ; and this book shall be scattered broldcasf through the land, and shall be on theTable of eteTv one eligible for godfathership, until such a tWngls a fTom"offTh"';*°^"',^"PP^"^«<'" ^'>='" have clased jrom off the face pf the earth. ,( hi ;, ¥'il c; and the !SS. Upon this sarch could if it please notes have the system id warmed mce would a letter of iitor have , the thing was duly and neg- iader, the vernment kness, all 'hers and ebate the blindfold shall be ipe of a t virtues ►roadcast of every tiing as a e ceased m CRITICISMS CRITICISMS I LORD LYTTON'S ■ FABLES IN SONG ' ild found th' Y"^ ^^"°"' '" '^'' "'^ book of his. had found the form most natural to his talent In some ways, indeed, it may be held n erior o thiriikfr'^'^"^'-^ ■■ --^ '-k in vain for any? thmg like the temble mtensity of the night-scene in mZirlJ"' V ^ ^"^'' P^^ '^^^^ °' massive :nd rnemorable wntmg as appeared, here and there in the earlier work, and made it not altogether un worthyofits model, Hugo'si.^.„^o/«X? But It becomes evident, on the most hasty retrosoect Iboit for h hT'.*' '^'^' ^"^'"^^ ^^^ been feeling about for his definite medium, and was alreadv in the language of the child's gam^, growing hrt There mkh'^r rr t j,",<^'-«-fe' -"^ CwL that might be detached from their original setting and olw Tn .r ^^^'r ""°* ^"^y ''^^y *° define rigol S forth 1 """^ *T''" ^°™ ^""-^ '"o^^' precept IS set forth by means of a conception purely fantastic and usually somewhat trivial into thrh» JJp tN=-" .s something playful about it, that'wilfnot' support 170 CRITICISMS |*!f" a very exacting criticism, and the lesson mncf k^ looselv nr1r> f fy ^?™'' *° ^ "'"'■e and more wenl'^n and n'f 'f ^''y' ^'"P^'^hended as time went on, and so to degenerate in conception from this original type. That depended for much of Ts Sof ^h^tV ' r^ ''"' '^^' '* -^^ fa'ta He the point of the thing lay m a sort of humourous inannro of'thrde'i ^"V '\"^*r' -^"""gh ~i a:^^; tneory. Moreover, there lay, perhaps, at the bottom of this primitive sort of fable, a humai^tv a tended ness of rough truths ; so that at the end of sime s?orv m which vice or folly had met with its "estined punishment, the fabulist might be able to assure his onth:*^k:7' ''™ °/r" *° ''^^-^ tear^uUhTdren ?oVnte ol rwrtnie'^* *'^^ ""'' ''^ **>- ^y-- ^.■^.,"**-'"! ^f"^*' °^ '*<=*'<'" becomes lost with more sophisticated hearers and authors: a man isTo longer the dupe of his own artifice, and cannot deal nlfv fully with truths that are a matter of brtter concern to him ,n his hfe. And hence, in the proZss^" centralisation of modern thought, we sho^dTxpect the old form of fable to fall gradually into desuetude f abt'M^n'r"^t '''''''''"' "y ^"°*'>-- -S is'^a laoie m all points exceot that 0- is n-^ ^i^^^.^i-- LORD LYTTON'S ' FABLES IN SONG ' 171 '^^r.J^fJ'''' "T ''""■ ="'='' - -« should fabirfkn i •'"=*^'' "' '"•^^'ty: »s in any other brief act on ' "', .Td''"-'yi''g and animating the brief action, a moral idea; and as in any other fablT the object ,3 to bring this home to the readerlhroS the intellect rather than through the feelings so thft viVidhAf ^- ^ *'"' 1"'='=^' ■"'o should recognise Zth'lf k'!'"P °" ^"^'^ the little plot revolves me elv sothf h """' ''''^^ '"'^''^^'^^ "'^-'^ "efore he merely sought humourous situations. There will h, now a logical nexus between the moral expressed and he machinery employed to exp° ess '^ The machmery, m fact, as this change is develoced becomes less and less fabulous. We find oursefves in presence of quite a serious, if quite a CnTature haveThe^V'^'^*'^' J**^^^*"^' ^"-1 sometimfw: have the lesson embodied in a sober evervdTv narration, as in the parables of the New TesSent and sometimes merely the statement or at mosrthe left to res" f 'T^'J''' ^""''^ '" "f«- the rcX be ng and not':!^H '''-I^r''^^ '^<^ vague, troublesome^ and not yet defimtely moral sentiment which has XmenVoTthlf h^"' ^'^'^ '^ ^*^P -* ^he d" veiopment of this change, yet another is develooed • «ie moral tends to become more indetermin^K tft u\T^ *° '^ P°s5'We to append it in a tae Zi^T^""' "^ *^ P'^^^' ''S one might write the name below a caricature; and the fable begins to take rank with all other forms of cr< at. e iSnrl as something too ambitious, in snite o its i- 'f- f- - dimensions, to be resumed in any succinct formu;: 1 ')!i '« 1 [72 CRITICISMS —•'";; t' "^ "" ''^' - deepest an,, suggfstive in it most nnH ""l J' T *■"' "''<^'=^* ^ense that Lord Lvtton understands the term; there are exampll^'n hiVtwo pleasant volumes of all the forms already mentio,rH and even of another which can only be" tell' cTn:tTuc^lo^^ '^r'"'^ "*""?* Po-We lent™ o consrruction. Composure,' ' Kt d^tf^r^, ' o^^ several more, are merely similes poeScIly'elaK^r ^«th :, *'~' " *'''' pathetic story of the grand father and pandehild: the child, having reSured StT ^ 'rMt\T 'T"^".'* '"' *^" -i-'tercomes beautifnl ' X^^''^\"^^iy melted, and no longer remen .'• " n/!T *"""' *''' ^^^"dtather has jtst Xh he't h/n .t "^™* '^ '?""<^''= «' love-letters, t^l'^Vnegf^e^^ra;^^^^^^^^^ faded and sorrowfully disappointing as the leTcle .^^s inTh^ " r ""^ P°'=*''^^'^ worlfed Lt ; and yet iinneH /!Lk ^' *''''"■ ^'"^ ^o^e others, to be men- WhereveTh: h^s V* Y ^''^f"*''''^ ^^""^ ^* ^^ "eTt. wuerever he has really written after the old model there ,s something to be deprecated: in spite of aU the spirit and freshness insnftenf w^i,, ^ tion of that cheerful ac^'eptSon^of thingTLX"^; IMe out of 'plac" ''rZrTTvf "{^"^^'^"^ - l-ocentandp^riaiv^rkTaltr;^^^^^^^^ Lord Lytton's conscious and highly-colou7Jd stvle It may be bad taste, but sometiifes we should orelr BetTctr wr^oft ""r P-- -"-tion^anSl^ cewick by way of tad-piece. So that it is not among i LORD LYTTON'S ' FABLES IN SONG ' 173 those fables tliat conform most nearly to the old most widely differ from it, that we {, he most satisfactory examples of the author's m..,ner fables treTh' '"^*^' °' ingenuity, the metaphysical !^n 1 % V^^-^ost remarkable; such as that of the ^nd'"n t°rril""^ *"^' '" ^^' he who raised he 7Z'\ V ''* °' '''^ grocer's balance (' Cogito ergo sum ) who considered himself endowed with free- will reason, and an infallible practical judginenf the Shop, and find the weights false and the scales unequal- and the whole thing is broken up foroW oWt i;!P.'p' '""f- ^'=°- *" *he same ironical spint are Prometheus unbound,' the tale of the vainglorying of a champagne-cork and ' TeleoWv^ where a nettle justifies the ways of God to nettks while aU goes well with it, and, upon a change oHuck f.omptly changes its divinity 'geoiiucK, if vou wil^aHh'''''J' ^«" P'enty of the fabulous II you will, although, even here, there raav be two opinions possibh .ut there is another ZlpoiZ order of merit perhaps still higher, wherfwe'looktn Thus 1 h7 '"? P'^y^"! ^^'''''' ^*h Nature thus we have 'Conservation of Force'- where a t'rSh? 'f "^ f I '''"''" P-*"-. i-P^vt in insDirTd ^.n;i ^°f- ''"*""'' "'" """='<=• goes home „.T^l °^"'"*''^ ^ P"^""; ^"'l then a painter p"ctoe thus"l^"T f ''''', K""'"- P-"*^ Ser pictuie, thus hneally descended from- the first This foW °?,V''"*- "°' ^^^' ^« '•^^•'^ been u^d to ca fable. We miss the incredible element, th. no°n' of audacity with which the fabulist was wont to mock 'i i i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ // ^/ A f/. = 1.25 us US 1^ Ki 12.2 Ui IM L8 IIM. 111.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 iV ■1>^ <^ ^V-/-^^ m ■^ ,A^ ^ ^ u. k I « s li 174 CRITICISMS at his readers. And still more so is this the case with others. ' The Horse and the Fly ' states one of the unanswerable problems of life in quite a realistic and straightforward way. A fly startles a cab-horse, the coach is overset; a newly-marrif^d pair withm and the driver, a man with a wife and family are all killed. The horse continues to gallop off in the loose traces, and ends the tragedy by running over an only child ; and there is some httle pathetic detail here introduced in the telling, that makes the reader's indignation very white-hot against some one. It remains to be seen who that some one^'is to be; the fly ? Nay, but on closer inspection.^'it appears that the fly, actuated by maternal instinct was only seeking a place for her eggs: is maternai instinct, then, ' sole author of these mischiefs all ' ? Who's m the Right ?' one of the best fables in the book, is somewhat in the same vein. After a battle has been won, a group of officers assemble inside a battery, and debate together who should have the honour of the success; the Prince, the general staf^ the cavalry, the engineer who posted the battery in which they then stand talking, are successively named: the sergeant, who pointed the guns, sneers to himself at the mention of the engineer; and, close by, the gunner, who had applied the match, passes away with a smile of triumph, since it was through his hand that the victorious blow had' been dealt. Meanwhile, the cannon claims the honour over the gunner; the cannon-ball, who actually goes forth on the dread mission, claims it over the cannon, who remains idly behind ; the powder reminds the cannon- ball that, but for him, it would still be ly\n^ on the 8 his the case ' states one in quite a ly startles a named pair and family, gallop off in by running tie pathetic : makes the ainst some ome one'^is spection, it lal instinct, s maternal hiefs all ' ? .bles in the :er a battle >le inside a i have the neral staff, battery in iccessively ms, sneers and, close ch, passes is through een dealt. r over the 2^oes forth men, who le cannon- "g )n the LORD LYTTON'S 'FABLES IN SONG' 175 nowd^r ^'''''' ^"u 'u' "^^^'^ ^^P^ the discussion; powder, cannon-ball, and cannon would be al equally vam and meffectual without fire. Just then there comes on a shower of rain, which wets the lesson of dependence, by indicating the negative conditions which are as necessary fo? any effect in their absence, as is the presence of this great frater" claim priority over any other. But the fable does Should u"' ^T'^T' ^" ^^^ ^^^^^^1 strictness, it should^ It wanders off into a discussion as to which ihlf 'JT ^'^f ""'''' th^t 0^ the vanqmshed fire or that of the victorious ram. And the speech of the ram is charming: ^ • Lo with my little drops I bless again Rend Wh^ ^^^ ^.^^^' "T^^^^ *h°" ^idst blast ! ^ut call not Greatness what the Gods call Gui t Blossoms and grass from blood in battle spilt And poppied corn. I bring. ^ ' Mid mouldering Babels, to oblivion built My violets spring. ' Little by little my small drops have strength To deck with green delights the grateful earth.' And SO forth, not quite germane (it seems to me) to the matter in hand, but welcome for its own sake. ately v^th the emo ions There is, for instance, that of The Two Travellers,' which is profoundly moving in conception, although by no means as well written as some others. In this, one of the two, fearfuUv frost-bitten, saves his hfe out of the snow at the cost -t all txiai was comely in his body; just as, long frr" 176 CRITICISMS II 11 i !1 before, the other, who has now quietly resigned him- self to death, had violently freed himself from Love at the cost of all that was linest and fairest in his character. Very graceful and sweet is the fable (if so It should be called) in which the author sings the praises of that ' kindly perspective,' which lets a wheat-stalk near the eye cover twenty leagues of distant countrj', and makes the humble circle about a man's hearth more to him than all the possibihties of the external world. The companion fable to this IS also excellent. It tells us of a man who had, all his life through, entertained a passion for certain blue hills on the ikr horizon, and had promised him- self to travel thither ere he died, and become famihar with these distant friends. At last, in some poHtical trouble, he is banished to the very place of his dreams. He arrives there overnight, and, when he rises and goes forth in the moxuing, there sure enough are the blue hills, only now they have changed places with him, and smile across to him, distant as ever, from the old home whence he has come. Such a story might have been very cynically treated; but Tt IS not so done, the whole tone is kindly and con- solatory, and the disenchanted man submissively takes the lesson, and understand that things far away are to be loved for their own sake, and that the unattainable is not truly unattainable, when we can make the beauty of it our own. Indeed, throughout all these two volumes, though there is much practical scepticism, and much irony on abstract questions, this kmdly and consolatory spirit is never absent.' There is much that is cheerful and, after a see'ate fireside fashion, hopeful. No one will be discouraged isigned hirn- f from Love airest in his the fable (if Lor sings the ^hich lets a ■ leagues of circle about possibilities able to this ^ho had, all for certain >mised him- me familiar me political lace of his d, when he 5ure enough nged places int as ever, e. Such a "eated; but y and con- ibmissively things far id that the len we can hroughout h practical questions, ^er absent, r a seuate iscoiiraged LORD LYTTON'S ' FABLES IN SONG ■ i;, fuClnd*cL'°f >■■ ''"' ""' *?-■'■""<• "f ■'^" «"^ hope. wnd.L vague. It does not seem to iHco ^-..^^ depend much, of course, upon our own character ^nH not catch some reflection rfthT ameS h^;" '^° on our way. There is here n!!;^ ^ ^ "'''P "^ DrnrlamatL., V ° ""Pertinent and lying redeemed by a stroke of patho^ ^ '""'" wantin»f„"t^! T""^^' ^ '"PP°=^- *''='* ^« should find sno^^, whi.h forms the prelude to ' The Thistle 'is 12 i M ' 178 CRITICISMS full of spirit and of pleasant images. The speech of the forest m ' Sans Souci ' is inspired by a beautiful sentiment for nature of the modern sort, and pleases us more, I think, as poetry should please us, than anything in Chronicles and Characters. There are some admirable felicities of expression here and there; as that of the hill, whose summit _, ' Did print ine azure air with i^ines.* Moreover, I do not recollect in the author's former T^-n"//^'^P*'''^ ^^ *^^* sympathetic treatment of still life, which is noticeable now and again in the fables; and perhaps most noticeably, when he sketches the burned letters as they hover along tl e gusty flue, ' Thin, sable veils, wherein a restless spark Yet trembled.' But the description is at its best wher the subjects are unpleasant, or even grisly There are a few capital lines in this key on the last spasm of the battle before alluded to. Surely nothang could be better, in its own way, than the fish in The Last Cruise of the Arrogant,' ' the shadowy, side-faced, silent things,' that come butting and staring with lidless eyes at the sunken steam-engine And although, m yet another, we are told, pleasantly enough, how the water went down into the valleys where it set itself gaily to saw wood, and on into the plains, where it would soberly carry grain to town- yet the real strength of the fable is when it deals with the shut pool in which certain unfortunate raindrops are impnsoned among slugs and snails, and in the company of an old toad. The sodden contentment of the fallen acorn is strangely significant; and it is he speech of ^ a beautiful and pleases ise us, than There are d here and lor's former : treatment id again in y, when he r along the i a restless on is at its even grisly, on the last to. Surely lan the fish e shadowy, itting and am-engine. pleasantly he valleys, m into the 1 to town; deals with ! raindrops md in the ntentment ; and it is LORD LYTTON'S ' FABLES IN SONG ' 179 astonishing how unpleasantly we are startled bv the appearance of her horrible lover, the maggot And now for a last word, about the style This IS not easy to criticise. It is impossible to deny to it rapidity, spirit, and a full sound; the lines are never lame, and the sense is carried forward with an unin- teiTupted, impetuous rush. But it is not equal After passages of really admirable versification the author falls back upon a sort of loose, cavahv manner, not unlike the style of some of Mr. Brown- mgs minor pieces, and almost inseparable from wordiness, and an easy acceptation of somewhat cheap finish. There is nothing here of that com- pression which is the note of a really sovereign style It IS unfair, perhaps, to set a not remarkable passage trom Lord Lytton side by side with one of the signal masterpieces of another, and a very perfect poet • and yet it is interesting, when we see how the por- traiture of a dog, detailed through thirty odd lines IS frittered down and finally almost lost in the mere laxity of the style, to compare it with the clear simple, vigorous delineation that Burns, in four couplets, has given us of the ploughman's collie. It is interesting, at first, and then it becomes a httle irritating; for when we think of other passages so much more finished and adroit, we cannot help feel- ing, that with a little more ardour after perfection of form, criticism would have found nothing left for her to censure. A similar mark of precipitate work is the number of adjectives tumultuously heaped to- gether sometimes to help out the sense, and some- times (as one cannot but suspect) to help out the sound of the verses. I do not believe, for instance il i8o CRITICISMS that Lord Lytton himself would defend the hnes in which we are told how Laocoon ' Revealed to Roman crowds, now Christian grown. That Pagan anguish which in Parian stone. The Rhodian artist.' and so on. It is not only that this is bad in itself ; but that It IS unworthy of the company in which it is found- that such verses should not have appeared with the name of a good versifier like Lord Lytton. We must take exception also, in conclusion, to the excess of alliteration. Alliteration is so liable to be abused L a tr.Vf';; T""^^^ ^' *°^ 'P^""S of it; and yet it IS a tnck that seems to grow upon the author with ^ZtJ' K ^ rl\ ^"^ '" M^"^ ^^''^'' ^"^h as some in Demos, absolutely spoiled by the recurrence of one wearisome consonant. ii I II SALVINl'S MACBETH Salvini closed his short visit to Edinburgh bv a performance of Macbeth. It was, perhaps, from a sentiment of local colour that he chose to play the Scottish usurper for the first time before Scotsmen- and the audience were not insensible of the privilege' Few things, indeed, can move a stronger interest than to see a great creation taking shape for the first time. If It is not purely artistic, the sentiment is surely human. And the thought that you are before all the world, and have the start of so many others as eager as yourself, at least keeps you in a more unbearable suspense before the curtain rises, if it does not enhance the delight with which you follow the performance and see the actor 'bend up each corporal agent ' to realise a masterpiece of a few hours duration. With a player so variable ^s Saivini who trusts to the fedings of the moment for so much detail, and who, night after night, does the same thing differently but always well, it can never be safe to pass judgment after a single hearing. And this is more particularly true of last week's Macbeth ' lor the whole third act was marred by a grievously humourous misadventure. Several minutes too soon the ghost of Banquo joined the party, and after i8i l82 CRITICISMS having sat helpless a while at a table, was ignomini- ously withdrawn. Twice was this ghostly Jack-in- the-box obtruded on the stage before his time- twice removed ;,gain; and yet he showed so little hurry when he was really wanted, that, after an awkward pause, Macbeth had to begin his apostrophe to empty air The arrival of the belated spectre in the middle with a jerk that made him nod all over, was the last accident in the chapter, and worthily topped the whole. It may be imagined how lamely matters went throughout these cross purposes. M ^"u^Fi*! ^^ *^^^' ^""^ ^^"'^ ^^her hitches, Salvini's Macbeth had an emphatic success. The creation is worthy of a place beside the same artist 's Othello and Auli l^ *^^ simplest and most unsympathetic of the three ; but the absence of the finer lineaments of Hamlet is redeemed by gusto, breadth, and a head- bZr!!? .^' u ^ ^""f "^*h^"g Sre^^ in Macbeth beyond the royalty of muscle, and that courage which comes of strong and copious circulation The moral smallness of the man is insisted on from the hrst ,n the shudder of uncontrollable jealousy with which he sees Duncan embracing Banquo. He mav have some northern poetry of speech, but he has not rnuch logical understanding. In his dealings with the supernatural powers he is like a savage with his fetich, trusting them beyond bounds whHe all goes well, and whenever he is crossed, casting his belief aside and calling ' fate into the list.' For his wi}e Snlf ^f \^°^^ *han an agent, a frame of bone and sinew for her fiery spirit" to command. The nature of his feeling towards her is rendered with a most precise and delicate touch. He always yields to the i! as ignomini- tly Jack-in- time; twice little hurry m awkward )strophe to 'cctre in the 11 over, was hily topped ely matters s, Salvini's creation is )thello and ^mpathetic lineaments nd a head- 1 Macbeth ■t courage ion. The from the ousy with He may le has not ings with i with his e all goes his belief his wife, bone and le nature 1 a most ds to the SALVINI'S MACBETH 183 woman s fascmation ; and yet his caresses (and we know how much meaning Salvini can give to a caress) are snigularly hard and unloving. Sometimes he lays his hand on her as he might take hold of any one who happened to be nearest to him at a moment of excitement. Love has fallen out of this marriage bv the way, and left a curious friendship. Only once— at the very moment when she is showing herself so httle a woman and so much a high-spirited man- only once is he very deeply stirred towards her; and that hnds expression in the strange and horrible transport of admiration, doubly strange and horrible on Sal vim s lips—' Bring forth men-children only !' The murder scene, as was to be expected, pleased the audience best. Macbeth's voice, in the talk with his wife, was a thing not to be forgotten ; and when he spoke of his hangman's hand he seemed to have blood in his utterance. Never for a moment, even in the very article of the murder, does he possess his own soul. He is a man on wires. From first to last It IS an exhibition of hideous cowardice. For. after all, It IS not here, but in broad daylight v./n the exhilaration of conflict, where he can assure himself at every blow he has the longest sword and the heaviest hand, that this man's physical bravery can keep him up; he is an unwieldy ship, and needs plenty of way on before he will steer. In the banquet scene, while the first murderer gives account of what he has done, there comes a flash of truculent joy at the ' twenty trenched gashes on Banquo's head. Thus Macbeth makes welcome to his imagination those very details of physical uorror which are so soon to turn sour in ■ i ] 184 CRITICISMS him. As he runs out to embrace these cruel cir cumstances, as he seeks to realise to his m nd's eve the reassuring spectacle of his dead enemy L k dressmg out the phantom to terrify himseT^and h s imagnmt.on, playing the part of justic- ,s to ■ com T::;^' ""^TJ^^ the mgredie^„ts of U^s 'XZ^ father's sBiH « I f '''""'"'T °' H'^'"''-'* and his with whiVh th „ f "P"" '""'■ """^ the holy awe wirn wni( h that good man encountered thini>« „„t avddT "l '" ,'" P'"'-0Phy. it was n^fpoSfblc t* ritls .nd^LT '^^'•""'^If "-^^^ between the'^woappa? ntions and the two men haunted. But there are nm,« o be found Macbeth has a purely phyS dislike H fsTfSdo?r'^'"'"" ■ *-"tyt-nLdgash s.' He IS afraid of he knows not what. He is abilct anrt agam blustering. In the end he so far orgits Wm thi; ." *""f • ^"<^ '^'^ "^'"-^ °f what is before h m' that he rushes upon it as he would upon a ma™' When his wife tells him he needs repose the^e ^^ trrtm'and"^ '^""'"^\'" '""^ ^^ K^kl'aTou tne room, and, seeing noth ng, with an exnre^inn „f almost sensual relief, pluckslip heart eZl to go It IS written in Shakespeare, but should be read with the commentary of Salvini's voice and ex;rSron-- 0/ siam new opra ancor janciuUi '-' We are vet but young in deed.' Circle below circle He t looking with horrible satisfaction into the mou"h o hell. There may still be a prick to-day but to morrow conscience will be dead, and he may move untroubled in this element of blood ^ JV^\^tlT-^\ '"' *'^'' '°*^^t circle reached; and It IS Salvini s finest moment throughout the I I se cruel cir- > mind's eye tiemy, he is self; and his is to ' com- lis poisoned det and his he holy awe things not possible to e two appa- ire are none iical dislike led gashes. ' abject, and )rgets him- )efore him, an a man. e, there is )oks about pression of >ugh to go isitation ? read with ression : — ^e are yet e. He" is mouth of ; but to- lay move reached ; hout the SALVINI'S MACBETH 185 play. From the first he was admirably made up, and ooked Macbeth to the full as perfectly as ever he looked Othello. From the first moment he steps upon the; stage you can see this character is a creation to the fullest meaning of the phrase; for tho man before you is a type you know well already. A u""'7', '"''^^ ^^"""^"^ «" *^>^ heath, fair and red-bearded, sparing of gesture, full of pride and the sense of animal well-being, and satisfied after the battle like a beast who has eaten his fill. But in the fifth act there is a change. This is still the big, burly fleshly handsome-looking Thane; here is still the same face which in the earlier acts could be super- hcially good-humoured and sometimes rovally courteous. But now the atmosphere of blood which pervades the whole tragedy, has entered into the man and subdued him to its own nature; and an indescribable degradation, a slackness and puffiness has overtaken his features. He has breathed the air ot carnage, and supped full of horrors. Lady Mac- beth complains of the smell of blood on her hand- Macbeth makes no complaint— he has ceased to notice It now; but the same smell is in his nostrils A contained fury and disgust possesses him. He taunts the messenger and the doctor as people would taunt their mortal enemies. And, indeed, as he knows right well, every one is his enemy now, except fiis wife. About her he questions the doctor with something like a last human anxiety; and, in tones of grisly mystery, asks him if he can ' minister to a mind diseased.' When the news of her death is brought him, he is staggered and falls into a seat • bUL somehow it is not anything we can call grief that i86 •J he displays CRITICISMS r A ' ^ - ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ two of them against God and man; and now, when there is only one t makes perhaps less difference than he had expected And so her death is not only an affliction but one* ^hesptlth^^^Vr' h^^^^-bles in bitterness me speech that follovv^s, given with tragic cynicism nimselt. From that time forth there is nnfhin^ ^! k"? ^ ,.Ml-hound,' whom, with a stern glee we see ba,ted hke a bear and hunted down like^a woh: He IS inspired and set above fate by a demoniaca energy a lust of wounds and slaughter. Even Xr „1= I ? I- ^ *^^ "°' ''°™ of "'Oman, all virtue goes out of him; and though he sneaks snnnHin! rSe'^'^""' '""^ '^^' ^°^'^^* is SettTthaf The whole performance is, as I said, so full of gusto and a headlong unity; the personality of Macbfth is so sharp and powerful; and within these somewhat narrow hm.ts there is so much play and saliery thS so far as concerns Salvini himself, a third great si^r cess seems indubitable. Unfortunately however a" great actor cannot fiU more than a very smalHrartbn of the boards; and though Banquo's ghost wm probably be more seasonable in hi futufe app™" hons, there are some more inherent difficuWesKe fhZ' > TPl"y at large did not distingu sh themselves. Macduff, to the huge delight of the ^f "fi^i °"*-Ma^duff 'd the averagefanter The ladv who filled the principal female part has done better on other occasions, but I fear she has not metal for em against )nly one, it i expected. >n, but one bitterness, c cynicism ■ her as for is nothing Scotland, ' rn glee, we ike a wolf, lemoniacal Even after but when , all virtue sounding etter than 11 of gusto lacbeth is somewhat mcy that, ^reat suc- Dwever, a [1 fraction host will 3 appari- ies in the stinguish t of the The lady le better netal for SALVINI'S MACBETH 187 what she tried last week. Not to succeed in the sleep-walking scene is to make a memorable failure. As It was given, it succeeded in being wrong in art without being true to nature. And there is yet another difficulty, happily easy to reform, which somewhat interfered with the success of the performance. At the end of the incantation scene the Italian translator has made Macbeth fall msensible upon the stage. This is a change of questionable propriety from a psychological poii jf view; while in point of view of effect it leaves the stage for some moments empty of all business. To remedy this, a bevy of green ballet-girls came forth and pointed their toes about the prostrate king A dance of High Church curates, or a hornpipe by Mr. T. P. Cooke, would not be more out of the key • though the gravity of a Scots audience was not tj be overcome, and they merely expressed their dis- approbation by a round of moderate hisses, a similar irruption of Christmas fairies would most likely convulse a London theatre from pit to gallery with inextinguishable laughter. It is, I am told, the Italian tradition ; but it is one more honoured in the breach than the observance. With the total dis- appearance of these damsels, with a stronger Lady Macbeth, and, if possible, with some compression of those scenes in which Salvini does not appear and the spectator is left at the mercy of Macduifs and Duncans, the play would go twice as well, and we should be better able to follow and enjoy an admir- able work of dramatic art. ■- l ; III BAGSTER'S ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' I HAVE here before me an edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, bound in green, without a date and de scribed as ' illustrated by nearly three hundred en r;:7Ji::^^rr'T''^^^ o^tTetlsMe- ir IS lettered Bagster's Illustrated Edition ' and thfta le' '"/m?"'^ "^^'^SV' f--ng the firs pige "( the tale, a folding pictorial ' Plan of the Road ■ i J marked as • drawn by the late Mr. T. Conder^and engraved by J. Basire. No further information k anywhere vouchsafed; perhaps the pubhsher had udged the work too unimportant; and we are still t b'oTvTf'tf '*'!" "^ "°' "-^ °-^ '^^ woodcutf n he S T .' "T *° *' "^"^^ ''^'"d that drew The literal IJTT ■^''^7''' "'°"' '^''" P^^able. ihe literal particularity of mind which in the man laid down the flower-plots in the devil' garden and carefully introduced the court-house in fhe town "^ Vanity, ,s closely paralleled in many of the cuts and m both, the architecture of the buildings and the ZTa , y.J^^'"'''''' ^^ """^^ the author of :hese Illustrator of Bunyan.' They are not only good case ot th. cuts depicung the fight with ApollyoS ESS ' le Pilgrim's te, and de- lundred en- the outside lition/ and rst page of 2 Road ' is mder,' and irmation is ishers had ve are still oodcuts in that drew probable. I the map, irden, and le town of cuts; and s and the id entirely r of vhese e the best nly good :e Bagster, er; except Apollyon, BAGSTER'S • PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' 189 illustrations, like so many others; but they are like so tew, good illustrations of Bunyan. Their spirit in defect and quahty, is still the same as his own! Ihe designer also has lain down and dreamed a dream, as literal, as quaint, and almost as apposite as Bunyan's; and text and pictures make but the two sides of the same homespun yet impassioned story, lo do justice to the designs, it will be necessary to say, for the hundredth time, a word or two about the masterpiece which they adorn. All allegories have a tendency to escape from the purpose of their creators; and as the characters and incidents become more and more interesting in them- selves, the moral, which these were to show forth falls more and more into neglect. An architect may command a wreath of vine-leaves round the cornice of a monument; but if, as each leaf came from the chisel. It took proper Ufe and fluttered freely on the wall, and if the vine grew, and the building were hidden over with foliage and fruit, the architect would stand in much the same situation as the writer of allegories. The Faery Queen was an allegory I am wilHng to beheve; but it survives as an imagina- tive tale m incomparable verse. The case of Bunyan is widely different ; and yet in this also Allegory, poor nymph, although never quite forgotten, is some- times rudely thrust against the wall. Bunyan was fervently in earnest; with ' his fingers in his ears, he Thi''!'HT'^ designed by her brother, Mr. Jonathan Bagster. 1 90 CRITICISMS il ; f ran on, straight for his mark. He tells us himself m the conclusion to the first part, that he did not fear to raise a laugh; indeed, he feared nothing and said anything; and he was greatly served in this by a certain rustic privilege of his style, which, like the talk of strong uneducated men, when it does not impress by its force, still charms by its simplicity. The mere story and the allegorical design enjoyed perhaps his equal favour. He believed in both with an energy of faith that was capable of moving moun- tains. And we have to remark in him, not the parts where inspiration fails and is supplied by cold and merely decorative invention, but the parts where faith has grown to be credulity, and his characters become so real to him that he forgets the end of their creation. We can follow him step by step into the trap which he lays for himself by his own entire good faith and triumphant literahty of vision, till the trap c OSes and shuts him in an inconsistency. The allegories of the Interpreter and of the Shepherds of the Delectable Mountains are all actually performed M ^^^t^^^' ^^^""^^ *^^ pilgrims. The son of Mr. Great-grace visibly ' tumbles hills about with his words. Adam the First has his condemnation written visibly on his forehead, so that Faithlul reads It. At the very instant the net closes round the pilgrims the white robe falls from the black man's body. ^ Despair ' getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel ; It was m ' sunshiny weather ' that he had his fits ; and the birds in the grove about the House Beautiful, our country birds,' only sing their little pious verses 'at the spring, when the flowers appear and the sun shines warm.' ' I often.' sav^s Pip+y ' „« BAGSTER'S ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' 191 out to hear them; we also ofttimes keep them tame on our house.' The post between Beulah and the Celestial City sounds his horn, as ;, ^u may yet hear m country places. Madam Bubble, that 'tall comely dame, something of a swarthy complexion, in very pleasant attire, but old,' ' gives you a smile at the end of each sentence '—a real woman she; we all know her. Christiana dying ' gave Mr. Stand-fast a ring, tor no possible reason in the allegory, merely because the touch was human and affecting. Look at Great-heart, with his soldierly ways, garrison ways, as I had almost called them; with his taste in weapons; hi§ delight in any that ' he found to be a man of his hands '; his chivakous point of honour, letting Giant Maul get up again when he was down, a thing fairly flying in the teeth of the moral; above all, with his language in the inimitable tale of Mr Feanng: I thought I should have lost my man '— chicken-hearted '-' at last he came in, and I will say that for my lord, he carried it wonderful lovingly to him. This is no Independent minister; this is a stout honest, big-busted ancient, adjusting his shoulder-belts, twirling his long moustaches Is he speaks. Last and most remarkable, ' My sword ' says the dying Valiant-for-Truth, he in whom Great- heart delighted, ' my sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and m- courage and skill to htm that can get it: And after this boast more arrogantly unorthodox than was ever dreamed ot by the rejected Ignorance, we are told that ' all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side ' In every page the book is stamped with the same eneigy 01 vision and the same energy of beUef The = I I ; 192 CRITICISMS ^ntr^^^ flu'^^'ft'-''^ indifferently displayed in the spirit of the fighting, the tenderness of the pathos, the starthng vigour and strangeness of the incidents, the natural strain of the conversations, and the humanity and charm of the characters. Trivial talk over a meal, the dying words of heroes, the delights of Beulah or the Celestial City, Apollyon and my Lord Hategood, Great-heart, and Mr. Worldly-Wise- man, all have been imagined with the same clearness, ^r Ta tu''^ ""'^^ ^^"^^ &"^*« ^nd precision, all created in the same mixed element, of simplicity that faultless '"""''"' """"^ ^"^ *^'*' ^°' ''' P^^P^^^' i^ It was in much the same spirit that our artist sat down to his drawings. He is by nature a Bunyan of the pencil. He, too. will draw anything, from a butcher at work on a dead sheep, up to the courts of Heaven. ; A Lamb for Supper ' is the name of one of his designs. Their Glorious Entry ' of another. He has the same disregard for the ridiculous, and enjoys .c.omewhat of the same privilege of style, so that we are pleased even when we laugh the most. He IS literal to the verge of follv. If dust is to be w/lf . fl "!! *^^ unswept parlour, you may be sure it will fly abundantly ' in the picture. If Faithful is to he as dead ' before Moses, dead he shall he with a warrant-.dead and stiff hke granite; nay (and here the artist must enhance upon the symbolism of the author), it is with the identical stone tables of the law that Moses fells the sinner. Good and bad people, whom we at once distinguish in the text bv their names Hopeful, Honest, and Valiant-for- iruth, on the one hand, as against By-ends Sir iayed in the the pathos, le incidents, IS, and the Trivial talk the delights on and my >rldly-Wise- le clearness, •ecision, all plicity that purpose, is r artist sat a Bunyan tig, from a le courts of ime of one ►f another, ulous, and i style, so the most. 3t is to be be sure it faithful is lU lie with nay (and iboHsm of tables of i and bad le text by iliant-for- ends, Sir BAGSTER'S ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' 193 Having Greedy, and the Lord Old-man on the other, are m these drawings as simply distinguished by their costume. Good people, when not armed cap-d-pie, wear a speckled tunic girt about the waist, and low hats, apparently of straw. Bad people swagger in tail-coats and chimney-pots, a few with knee- breeches, but the large majority in trousers, and for all the world like guests at a garden-party. Worldly- Wiseman alone, by some inexplicable quirk, stands before Christian in laced hat, embroidered waistcoat, and trunk-hose. But above all examples of this artist's intrepidity, commend me to the print entitled ' Christian Finds it Deep.' ' A great darkness and horror,' says the text, have fallen on the pilgrim; it is the comfortless deathbed with which Bunyan' so strikingly concludes the sorrows and conflicts of his hero. How to represent this worthily the artist knew not ; and yet he was determined to represent it somehow. This was how he did: Hopeful is still shown to his neck above the water of death; but Christian has bodily disappeared, and a blot of solid blackness indicates his place. As you continue to look at these pictuies, about an inch square for the most part, sometimes printed three or more to the page, and each having a printed legend of its own, however trivial the event recorded, you will soon become aware of two things: first, that the man can draw, and, second, that he possesses the gift of an imagination. ' Obstinate reviles,' says the legend ; and you should see Obstinate reviling. ' He warily retraces his steps'; and there is Christian, posting through the plain, terror and speed in every muscle. ' Mercy yearns to go ' shows you a plain 13 194 CRITICISMS interior with packing going forward, and, right in the middle, Mercy yearning to go— every hne of the girl's figure yearning. In ' The Chamber called Peace ' we see a simple English room, bed with white curtains window valance and door, as may be found in many thousand unpretentious houses; but far off , through the open window, we behold the sun uprising out of a great plain, and Christian hails it with his hand: ' Where am I now I is this the love and care Of Jesus, for the men that pilgrims are I Thus to provide ! That \ should be forgiven ' And dwell already the next door to heaven !' A page or two further, from the top of the House ^eautiful, the damsels point his gaze toward the Delectable Mountains: ' The Prospect,' so the rut is ticketed— and I shall be surprised, if on less than a square inch of paper you can show rne one so wide and fair Down a cross road on an EngHsh plain, a cathedral city outlined on the horizon, a hazel shaw upon the left, comes Madame Wanton dancing with her fair enchanted cup, and Faithful, book in hand half pauses. The cut is perfect as a symbol; the giddy movement of the sorceress, the uncertain poise of the man struck to the heart by a temptation the contrast of that even plain of life whereon he journeys with the bold, ideal bearing of the wanton —the artist who invented and portrayed this had not merely read Bunyan, he had also thoughtfully lived. The Delectable Mountains-I continue skim- ming the first part— are not on the whole happily rendered Once, and once only, the note is struck when Christian and Hopeful are seen coming shoulder-high, through a thicket of green shrubs- BAGSTER'S ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' 195 box, perhaps or perfumed nutmeg; while behind It^st r'1 "' ri"*'^^' '^' '^"'^ ^t'^nd ranged against the sky. A little further, and we come tn En'chSTr'-' H ^T'^"'' '"^■s''* -^^ '■'" th: tnchanted Ground; where, in a few traits he has set down the latter end of such a numl e of the would-be good; where his allegory goes so deen thVi to people looking seriously on life^ it c uts S, ^e' 2".,T fT"""'""' "' *'^ '"-"^"ti- lies of cou e far out of the way of drawing; only one feat„rr+l!: Z^hn7 Tt. y somewhat represented in a symbol. The pilgrims are near the end: ' Two Miles Yet, says the legend. The road goes ploueWn^ m outstretTh °r ' ™"'"S f^^*' *' waKtwi?? outstretched arms, are already ank to the knees over the brow of the nearest hill; they have iust h:a'd a rattn "'* *^ -P^er two f from ove- ftead a great, piled, summer cumulus, as of a slum berous summer afternoon, beshado^s them ?wo Tand fVf K u' ''™'^^'=<'^- I" dealing w7th tie i. K 1, '."'f?**"" ^'^*'* '»g^' i" both parts miser! ably behind the text, but in the distant pr^nect of the Celestial City more than regains his t' In the i, belching eading his across the just sworn ot be long hot nether re, he has foot and fth shows IS reached lat deadly pon him, his mortal g mouth, one wing words of BAGSTER'S ' PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ' 201 the text. In the sixth and last, the trivial armed hgure of the pilgrim is seen kneeling with clasped hands on the betrodden scene of contest and among the shivers of the darts; while just at the margin the hmder quarters and the tail of Apollyon are whiGking off, indignant and discomfited. In one point only do these pictures seem to be ^"r'^^I ""^ *^^ *^^^' ^"^ *h^t point is one rather ot the difference of arts than the difference of artists Ihroughout his best and worst, in his highest and most divme imaginations as in the narrowest sallies of his sectarianism, the human-hearted piety of Bunyan touches and ennobles, convinces, accuses the reader. Through no art beside the art of words can the kindness of a man's affections be expressed m the cuts you shall find faithfully parodied the quamtness and the power, the triviality and the surprising freshness of the author's fancy; there you shall find him outstripped in ready symbohsm and the art of bringing things essentially invisible before the eyes: but to feel the contact of essential good- ness, to be made in love with piety, the book must be read and not the prints examined. Farewell should not be taken with a grudge- nor can I dismiss in any other words than those of grati- tude a series of pictures which have, to one at least been the visible embodiment of Bunyan from child- hood up, and shown him, through all his years, Greatheart lungeing at Giant Maul, and Apollyon breathing fire at Christian, and every turn and town a ong the road to the Celestial City, and that bright place Itself, seen as to a stave of music, shininrr af^r oft upon the hill-top, the candle of the world ^ im SKETCHES SKETCHES THE SATIRIST My companion enjoyed a cheap reputation for wit and insight. He was by habit and repute a satirist It he did occasionally condemn anything or anybody who richly deserved it, and whose demerits had hitherto escaped, it was simply because he con- demned everything and everybody. While I was with him he disposed of St. Paul with an epigram shook my reverence for Shakespeare in a neat anti- thesis, and fell foul of the Almighty Himself, on the score of one or two out of the ten commandments Mothing escaped his blighting censure. At every sentence he overthrew an idol, or lowered my estima- tion of a friend. I saw everything with new eye^ and could only marvel at my former blindness! How was It possible that I had not before observed A s false hair. B's selfishness, or C's boorish manners ? I and my companion, methought, walked the streets hke a couple of gods among a swarm of vermin- for every one we saw seemed to bear openly upon his brow the mark of the apocalyptic beast. I half expected that these miserable beings, like the peo-le of Lystra, would recognise their betters and force^us 205 ill 206 SKETCHES to the altar; in which case, warned by the fate of Pau and Barnabas, I do not know that my modesty would have prevailed upon me to decline But there was no need for such churlish virtue. More bhnded than the Lycaonians, the people saw no divniity m our gait; and as our temporary godhead lay more in the way of observing than healing their infirmities, we were content to pass them by in scorn. -^ I could not leave my companion, not from rei-ard or even from interest, but from a very natural feeling, inseparable from the case. To understand It, let us take a simile. Suppose yourself walking down the street with a man who continues to sprinkle the crowd out of a flask of vitriol You would be much diverted wich the grimaces and contortions of his victims; and at the same time you would fear to leave his arm until his bottle was empty, knowing that, when once among the crowd you would run a good chance yourself of baptism v'lth his bicing liquor. Now my companion's vitriol was inexhaustible. It was perhaps the consciousness of this the knowledge that I was being anointed already out of the vial- of his wrath, that made me fall to criti- cising the critic, whenever we had parted. After all, I thought, our satirist has just gone far enough into his neighbours to find that the outside IS false, without caring to go farther and discover what IS really true. He is content to find that things are not what they seem, and broadly general- ises from it that they do not exist at all He sees our virtues are not what they pretend they are • and the fate of ly modesty :line. But tue. More »le saw no y godhead aHng their lem by in om regard •y natural understand If walking itinues to :ioI. You laces and ; time you •ottle was he crowd, I baptism n's vitriol this, the eady out 1 to criti- gone far e outside discover ind that ' general- He sees are; and, THE SATIRIST 207 on the strength of that, he denies us the possession of virtue altogether. He has learnt theysTlesson that no man is wholly good; but he has no even suspected that there is another equally true to wit that no man is wholly bad. Like the inmate of a coloured star, he has eyes for one colour abne He has a keen scent after evil, but his nostrils are plugged against all good, as people plugged their toTlfh"'^ ^',^^ '^V ^' '' "^^^^ unreasonable to flee the knowledge of good like the infection of a horrible disease, and batten and grow fat in he real atmosphere of a lazar-house. This was my first hought , bat my second was not hke unto Tand I saw that our satirist was wise, wise in his generatbn hke the unjust steward. He does not want S' because the darkness is more pleasant. H^ does not wish to see the good, because he is happier without It. I recollect that when I walked ^^h Ad'am andV" ' ^''H^' '^™^ ^-1^^*^^"' ^^ ch as nf r. f f ''^ must have enjoyed when the savour of the fruit was still unfaded between their W stl' '%JT '"l^'j^l-^-^t be the man's habiS state. He has the forbidden fruit in his waistropf astf^ aTheT. "^^f.^l--" ^ god as%refand as long as he hkes. He has raised himself upon a tteTumiSiW '^ wr ^" '^"^"^' ^^ h-^ ^-ched the summit of ambition; and he envies neither Kine nor Kaiser Prophet nor Priest, content in an eleta tion as high as theirs, and much more easily a?ta tld Yes, certes, much more ea«ibr attain-H ". , ^: risen by climbing himself, buf by"tush?ng"oX?I 208 SKETCHES down. He has grown great in his own estimation, not by blowing himself out, and risking the fate of .Esop's frog, but simply by the habitual use of a diminishing glass on everybody else. And I think altogether that his is a better, a safer, and a surer recipe than most others. After all, however, looking back on what I have written, I detect a spirit suspiciously like his own. All through, I have been comparing myself with our satirist, and all through, I have had the best of the comparison. Well, well, contagion is as often mental as physical ; and I do not think my readers, who have all been under his lash, will blame me very much for giving the headsman a mouthful of his own sawdust. I stimation, he fate of [ use of a d I think id a surer at I have his own. f with our est of the as often '^ readers, 3 me very ful of his II NUITS BLANCHES If anyone should know the pleasure and pain of a sleepless night, it should be I. I remember, so lon^? ago, the sickly child that woke from his few hours' slumber with the sweat of a nightmare on his brow, to he awake and listen and long for the first signs of life among the silent streets. These nighis of pain and weariness are graven on my mind; and so when rLV^T ^^'"^ happened to me again, everything discole^^^ '''" ^^^ '^^^ '*^*^^'' ^ ^^^^^l^ct^on than a Weighed upon by the opaque and almost sensible darkness I listened eagerly for anything to break the sepulchral quiet. But nothing came, save per- haps, an emphatic crack from the old cabinet that was made by Deacon Brodie, or the dry rustle of the coals on the extinguished fire. It was a calm • or I know that I should have heard in the roar and clatter of the storm, as I have not heard it for so many years, the wild career of a horseman, always scouring up from the distance and passing swiftly below the window; yet always returning again from the place whence first he came, as though, baffled by some higher power, he had retraced his steps to gain im^petus for another and another attempt 209 14 13 210 SKETCHES As I lay there, there arose out of the utter stillness the rumbling of a carriage a very great way off, that drew near, and passed within a few streets of the house, and died away as gradually as it had arisen. This, too, was as a reminiscence. I rose and lifted a corner of the blind. Over the black belt of the garden I saw the long line of Queen Street, with here and there a lighted window. How often before had my nurse lifted me out of bed and pomted them out to me, while we wondered together if, there also, there were children that could not sleep, and if these lighted oblongs were signs of those that waited like us for the morning. I went out into the lobby, and looked down into the great deep well of the staircase. For what cause I know not, just as it used to be in the old days that the feverish child might be the better served, a peep of gas illuminated a narrow circle far below me But where I was, all was darkness and silence, save the dry monotonous ticking of the clock that came ceaselessly up to my ear. The final crown of it all, however, the last touch of reproduction on the pictures of my memory was the arnval of that time for which, all night through I waited and longed of old. It was my custom, as the hours dragged on, to repeat the question, ' When will the carts come in ?' and repeat it again and again until at last those sounds arose in the street that I have heard once more this morning. The road before our house is a great thoroughfare for early carts. I know not, and I never have known what they carry, whence they come, or whither they go. But I know that, long ere dawn, and for ter stillness ay off, that eets of the had arisen. Over the le of Queen low. How of bed and 2d together could not 'e signs of down into what cause I days that ^ed, a peep below me. lence, save that came last touch mory, was t through, :ustom, as m, ' When again and the street ling. The ghfare for ve known, T whither n, and for NUITS BLANCHES 211 hours together, they stream continuouslv ni«;f wif 1, JhXr%,? ^^^^ wTs^KS hoarilv t^^'"*r "'"'^'"S their whips and crying ftoarsely to their horses or to one another ■ and ,n\n» TZZVo "^""Kf '^^^l*'^^- harsh Sa'gZ; comes up to you tlirough the darkness There Z fn he TaJd^M K^' '^l ^'^ «' *e watchman tne 1 our de Nesle, they show that the horrihl» bect:;?h7dl '"'k**^ ."'^^*'""- ha ve fled Za^^ men u h ^ " breakmg and the ordinary life of Tn .1 ^^•';?,"S *° '^''^*'"- "=«" among the streets bv the ^" • '"' f '* ^" I f-^" ^^1^<=P. to be wakened by the officious knocking at mv door and T fin^ myseU^twelve years o.derfhan I h'ad rek^ed myse.l * See a short essay of De Q uincey's. Ill THE WREATH OF IMMORTELLES It is all very well to talk of death as ' a pleasant potion of immortality.' but the most of us, I suspect, are of ' queasy stomachs,' and find it none of the sweetest. 1 Th6 graveyard may be cloak-room to Heaven ; but we must admit that it is a very ugly and offensive vestibule in itself, however fair may be the life to which it leads. And though Enoch and Elias went into the temple through a gate which certainly may be called Beautiful, the rest of us have to find our way to it through Ezekiel's low-bowed door and the vault full of creeping things and all manner of abominable beasts. Nevertheless, there is a certain frame of mind to which a cemetery is, if not an anti- dote, at least an alleviation. If you are in a fit of the blues, go nowhere else. It was in obedience to this wise regulation that the other morning found me lighting my pipe at the entrance to Old Grey- friars', thoroughly sick of the town, the country, and myself. Two of the men were talking at the gate, one of them carrying a spade in hands still crusted with the soil of graves. Their very aspect was delightful to me; and I crept nearer to them, thinking to pick up ^ Religio Medici, Part li. 212 ES a pleasant », I suspect, lone of the ik-room to ry ugly and may be the ti and Elias h certainly ave to find d door and manner of s a certain ot an anti- in a fit of >edience to ling found Old Grey- e country, ite, one of d with the lightful to to pick up . THE WREATH OF IMMORTELLES 213 some snatch of sexton gossip, come ' talk fit for a charnel, 1 something, in fine, worthy of that fastid- ious logician, that adept in coroner's law, who has come down to us as the patron of Yaughan's liquor and the very prince of gravediggers. Scots people in general are so much wrapped up in their profession that I had a good chance of overhearing such con- vers:ition : the talk of fishmongers running usually on stockfish and haddocks; while of the Scots sexton u . IfP^""* ^*''^'^' ^"^ speeches that positively smell of the graveyard. But on this occasion I was doomed to disappointment. My two friends were tar into the region of generalities. Their profession was forgotten in their electorship. Politics had engulfed the narrower economy of grave-digging Na na, said the one, ' ye're a' wrang.' 'The English and Irish Churches,' answered the other in a tone as if he had made the remark before, and it had been called in question-' The English and Irish Churches have impoverished the country.' ' Such are the results of education,' thought I as I passed beside them and came fairly among the tombs. Here at least, there were no commonplace politics, no diluted this-morning's leader, to distract or offend me. The old shabby church showed, as usual. Its quaint extent of roofage and the relievo skeleton on one gable, still blackened with the fire ^u ^^/. years ago. A chill dank mist lay over all. Ihe Old Greyfriars' churchyard was in perfection that morning, and one could go round and reckon up the associations with no fear of vulgar interrup- tion. On this stnnp the C'^v^v^^*- 4 ■• - * Duchess of Mai ft. 214 SKETCHES that vault as the story goes, John Knox took hiding m some Reformation broil. From that window Burke the murderer looked out many a time across the tombs and perhaps o' nights let himself down over the sill to rob some new-made grave. Certainly he would have a selection here. The very walks have been carried over forgotten resting-places; and the whole ground is uneven, because (as I was once quamtly told) 'when the wood rots it stands to reason the soil should fall in,' which, from the law of gravitation, is certainly beyond denial. But it is round the boundary that there are the finest tombs The who e irregular space is, as it were, fringed with quaint old monuments, rich in death's-heads and scythes and hour-glasses, and doubly rich in pious epitaphs and Latin mottoes-rich in them to such an extent that their proper space has run over, and ^nAn^'^" ""Tlf '"^;^^"^ ^P *^^ ^h^^*^ «f columns and ensconced themselves in all sorts of odd corners among the sculpture. These tombs raise their backs against the rabble of squahd dwelling-houses, and every here and there a clothes-pole projects between two monuments its fluttering trophy of white and yellow and red. With a grim irony hey recall the banners in the Invalides,lnners as appropriate perhaps over the sepulchres of tailors Wh J. r"'' ^! !u''' ""^^^'^ ^^^^^ *h« dust of armies. \/hy they put things out to dry on that particular TreT^fh H^"' ^''^•*" ^"^"^"^- "The |rass was grey with drops of ram, the headstones black with moisture. Yet in despite of weather and common sense, there they hung between the tombs; and beyond them I could see through open windows into took hiding at window time across nself down Certainly i^ery walks places; and I was once stands to m the law il. But it lest tombs, inged with heads and h in pious m to such over, and )f columns id cornels lise their ig-houses, i projects rrophy of •im irony •anners as of tailors of armies, ^articular jrass was [ack with common lbs; and lows into THE WREATH OF IMMORTELLES 215 miserable rooms where whole families were born and fed, and slept and died. At one a girl sat sinrin^ mernly w,th her back t6 the grave/ard and ffom another came the shrill tones of a scddi^g woiLT flowed :r?ni? 'T "f ' *°^° ^^^^ ^ "" ^'^^^V seat C^ °i ""'^'^ '"'''^' "P°" *>><> «^''d°«'- seat. But you do not grasp the full connection between these houses of the dead and the living the houts"'?«rr"'^7* ^'^*«'y ^P"'^h^«^ -"d™'"^W houses, till lower down, where the road has sunk far below the surface of the cemetery, and the very roo s are scarcely on a level with its wall, you obslrve that a proprietor has taken advantage a ?all monu' lTs"ta^es vo f ' ^himney-stackigainst its back. It startles you to see the red, modern pots oeerinff over the shoulder of the tomb ^ ^ ^ away the drift of bones that permeates the thil brown soil; but my first disappointment had taught r« hI'^P'k '"'"/■"<"" G'^yfriars' sextons, anfl pa^ed him by in silence. A slater on the slope of a neighbouring roof eyed me curiously. A lean black cat, looking as if it had battened on strange meats slipped past me. A little boy at a window put his finger to his nose in so offensive a manner that I was old r^^^r T !"' *^' '""' '""^-^ g^^" the Just then I saw two women coming down a path m her arms Both had faces eaten with famine and hardened with sin, and both had reached th.. 44 01 degradation, much lower in a woman tlian a man, 2l6 SKETCHES when all care for dress is lost. As they came down they neared a grave, wh^re some pious friend or relative had laid a wreath of immortelles, and put a bell glass over it, as is the custom. The effect of that ring of dull yellow among so many blackened and dusty sculptures was more pleasant than it is in modern cemeteries, where every second mound can boast a similar coronal; and here, where it was the exception and not the rule, I could even fancy the drops of moisture that dimmed the covering were the tears of those who laid it where it was. As the two women came up to it, one of them kneeled down on the wet grass and looked long and silently through the clouded shade, while the second stood above her, gently oscillating to and fro to lull the muling baby. I was struck a great way off with something religious in the attitude of these two unkempt and haggard women; and I drew near faster, but still cautiously, to hear what they were saying. Surelv on them the spirit of death and decay had descended 1 had no education to dread here: should I not have couirnof f '"1"^ "^*"'' • ^^^' ' ^ pawnbroker place, for this was what the kneeling woman said to the woman upright-this and nothing more: 'Eh what extravagance!' ^ ' O nineteenth century, wonderful art thou indeed —wonderful, but wearisome in thy stale and deadlv uniformity. Thy men are more like numerals than men. They must bear their idiosyncrasies or their professions written on a placard about their neck like the scenery in Shakespeare's theatre Thv precepts of economy have pierced into the lowest ;ame down ' friend or and put a e effect of blackened lan it is in lound can it was the fancy the Ting were ;. As the eled down y through od above le muHng omething impt and but still • Surely iscended; not have ivnbroker :ommon- n said to re : ' Eh, u indeed d deadly als than or their sir neck, e. Thy 2 lowest THE WREATH OF IMMORTELLES 217 ranks oflife; and there is now a decorum in vice a I espec ability among the disreputable, a pure spiri? of Phihstmism among the waifs and strays of thv Bohemia, For lo ! thy very gravedigjers talk politics; and thy castaways kneel upon new graves to discuss the cost of the monument and gfumble at the improvidence of love. grumoie Such was the elegant apostrophe that I made as I went out of the gates again, happily satisfied in mv self, and eeling that I alone of all whom 1 had sTen was able to profit by the silent poem of these Jeen mounds and blackened headstones ^ I i] IV NURSES I KNEW one once, and the room where, lonely and old. she waited for death. It was pleasant enough, high up above the lane, and looking forth upon a hill- side, covered all day with sheets and yellow blankets, and With long lines of underclothing fluttering be- tween the battered posts. There were any number of cheap prints, and a drawing by one of ' her chil- dren,' and there were flowers in the window, and a sickly canary withered into consumption in an orna- mental cage. The bed, with its checked coverlid, was in a closet. A great Bible lay on the table • and her drawers were full of ' scones,' which it was her pleasure to give to young visitors such as 1 was then. You may not think this a melancholy picture; but the canary, and the cat, and the white mouse that she had for a while, and that died, were all indications of the want that ate into her heart. I think I know a little of what that old woman felt ; and I am as sure as if I had seen her that she sat many an hour in silent tears, with the big Bible open before her clouded eyes. If you could look back upon her Hfe, and feel the great chain that had linked her to one child after another, sometimes to be wrenched suddenly through, and sometimes, which is infinitely worse 218 NURSES 219 onely and it enough, pon a hill- blankets, tering be- y number ' her chil- )w, and a I an orna- coverlid, able ; and : was her was then, ture ; but Duse that dications k I know m as sure hour in ifore her and feel ne child suddenly y worse, nJll g^\^"a% o« through years of growing neglect, or perhaps growing dislike ! She had, like the mother, overcome that natural repugnance- repugnance which no man can conquer-towards the QK r T !. ?^^'^ ""^^^ °^ P""y o^ the earlier stage. She had spent her best and happiest years in tending, ch^M t.^".^ I'r^"^ *° ^^^^ ^^^ ^ mother thfs child with which she has no connection and to which off l&f 1 !"? ^^""^ ^'"^^' °^ P^* ^"^ off and oft, until he lost heart and turned to some one else, f/c if u.^'i ^^T""^ ^^'^ cve^.tnre that had wound ^self about her heart. And the end of it all-her fh! it ^^'^ y^''' ''^^'^*- Or, worse still, to see the child gradually forgetting and forsaking her, fostered m disrespect and neglect on the plea of growing manliness, and at last beginning to treat her as a servant whom he had treated a few years before wlf T !u 1^^ '^^' *^^^ ^^^1^ o^ *h« Psalm-book, which with gladness and love unutterable in her heart she had bought for him years ago out of her slender savings, neglected for some newer gift of his father, lymg m dust in the lumber-room or given away to a poor child, and the act applauded for its unfeeling chanty. Little wonder if she becomes hurt and angry, and attempts to tyrannise and to grasp her old power back again. We are not all patient Grizzels, by good fortune, but the most of us human beings with feelings and tempers of our own. ^ And so, in the end, behold her in the room that I descriDea. Very likely and very naturally, in some i 11 ia I II 220 SKETCHES fling of feverish misery or recoil of thwarted love, she has quarrelled with her old employers and the chil- dren are forbidden to see her or to speak to her; or at best she gets her rent paid and a little to herself, and now and then her late charges are sent up (with another nurse, perhaps) to pay her a short visit. How bright these visits seem as she looks forward to them on her lonely bed ! How unsatisfactory their reahsation, when the forgetful child, half wondering, checks with every word and action the outpouring of her maternal love ! How bitter and restless the memories that they leave behind ! And for the rest, what else has she ?— to watch them with eager eyes as they go to school, to sit in church where she can see them every Sunday, to be passed some day unnoticed in the street, or deliberately cut because the great man or the great woman are with friends before whom they are ashamed to recognise the old woman that loved them. When she goes home that night, how lonely will the room appear to her ! Perhaps the neighbours may hear her sobbing to herself in the dark, with the fire burnt out for want of fuel, and the candle still unht upon the table. And it is for this that they live, these quasi- mothersr— mothers in everything but the travail and the thanks, It is for this that they have remained virtuous in youth, living the dull life of a household servant. It is for this that they refused the old sweetheart, and have no fireside or offspring of their own. I believe in a better state of things, that there will oe no more nurses, and that every mother will nurse love, she the chil- o her; or herself, up (with Drt visit. '< forward isfactory ild, half :tion the itter and d! And ch them n church >e passed itely cut are with ecognise r will the urs may 1 the fire till unlit 3 quasi- vail and ^mained )usehold the old of their NURSES 221 her own offspring; for what can be more hirdenin^ and demorahsing than to call forth the tenderest eehngs of a woman's heart and cherish them your self as long as you need them, as long as your c^ifdren thwart and destroy them, whenever your own use for them is at an end. This may be Utonian bnHf IS always a little thing if one mothe? or two mother share theS Vf "^" ^^^^^^^^ '^ '"^^^^^^ snare their toil and have no part in their reward. M' lere will ill nurse A CHARACTER The man has a red, bloated face, and his figure is short and squat. So far there is nothing in him to notice, but when you see his eyes, you can read in these hard and shallow orbs a depravity beyond measure depraved, a thirst after wickedness, the pure, disinterested love of Hell for its own sake The other night, in the street, I was watching an omnibus passing with Ut-up windows, when I heard some one coughing at my side as though he would cough his soul out; and turning round, I saw him stopping under a lamp, with a brown greatcoat buttoned round him and his whole face convulsed. It seemed as if he could not Hve long; and so the sight set my mind upon a train of thought, as I finished my cigar up and down the lighted streets. He is old, but all these years have not yet quenched his thirst for evil, and his eyes still delight them- selves in wickedness. He is dumb; but he will not let that hinder his foul trade, or perhaps I should say, his yet fouler amusement, and he has pressed a slate into the service of corruption. Look at him and he will sign to you with his bloated head, and when you go to him in answer to the sign, thinking perhaps that the poor dumb man has lost his way, 222 A CHARACTER 223 of vice, nfs indu^trv i= , ^" '°™"^ '"^°* '^""'"y it not wonderful tw he' crtrl" "T'^"'' '' infirmities and dn ^,J tr'umph over his a tongue ? W.nH f^ an amount of harm without Pleasfrdess Sip'"Musrnot'*ti;r*""!f ' '^"'"^-• ::"icr'rhXrth^v^^^^^^^^^ he knows thai tW , m *^'"' '^""^^ ^'"'^ ^h^" this: of evilTnd thlt il hk ," P^'^^^-'-ted "ith the love ness: he recSs^l^ T " "'"* "P '" "^"^^d- mankind ofTsTatan^^ST^^P..'' ^' \'^* ^^P^ ^^ ^%y as we ^4hf ::;:ht;ern^:;ri:: hTne^i^ onl^fookeT:"" a"; H" *° 'r *^ "' wWchTe desires «nH ? ^'* "' ^ '^'l^^'' towards other dS m^fhastltTA"''' gratifications, so the captiva^e'd b'ortVh'e'eyeTof °s n » '^ '"' 'f f" devoteerwht^iorher"f::htot^."i^r' -<* "- THE GREAT NORTH ROAD 15 Na bio up( sm( eye ung me( woe caiK befc com and thic] head Pr was! she 1 greei bed i like a and i repai THE GREAT NORTH ROAD CHAPTER I NANCE AT THE ' GREEN DRAGON ' Nanc- Holdaway was on her knees before the fire blowing the green wood that voluminously smoked upon the dogs, and only now and then shot forth a smothered flame; her knees already ached and her eyes smarted, for she had been some whilo it this ungrateful task, but her mind was gon. .r away to meet the commg stranger. Now she met him in the wood, now at the castle gate, now in the kitchen by candle-light; each fresh presentment eclipsed the one before; a form so elegant, manners so sedate a countenance so brave and comel- . a voice so winning and resolute-sure such a man was never seen i Th! thick-coming fancies poured and brightened "in her head hke the smoke and flames upon the hearth Presently the heavy foot of her uncle Jonathan was heard upon the stair, and as he entered the room she bent the closer to her work. He glanced at th^ green fagots with a sneer, and looked askance at the bed and the white sheets, at the strip of carpet laid hke an island, on the great expanse of the stone floor and at the broken erlazine of tb*> r^^^men^ ^i— " ' repaired with paper. ^' ^ ^^""^^-7 227 228 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD ' Leave that fire a-be,' he cried. ' What, have 1 toiled all my life to turn innkeeper at the hind end ? Leave it a-be, I say.' ' La, uncle, it doesn't burn a bit; it only smokes,' said Nance, looking up from her position. ' You are come of decent people on both sides,' returned the old man. ' Who are you to blow the coals for any Robin-run-agate ? Get up, get on your hood, make yourself useful, and be oft to the " Green Dragon." ' ' I thought you was to go yourself,' Nance faltered. ' So did I,' quoth Jonathan ; ' but it appears I was mistook.' The very excess of her eagerness alarmed her, and she began to hang back. ' I think I would rather not, dear uncle,' she said. ' Night is at hand, and 1 think, dear, I would rather not.' ' Now you look here,' replied Jonathan, ' I have my lord's orders, have I not ? Little he gives me, but it's all my hvelihood. And do you fancy, if I disobey my lord, I'm likely to turn round for a lass like you ? No, I've that hell-fire of pain in my old knee, I wouldn't walk a mile, not for King George upon his bended knees.' And he walked to the window and looked down the steep scarp to where the river foamed in the bottom of the dell. Nance stayed for no more bidding. In her own room, by the glimmer of the twilight, she washed her hands and pulled on her Sunday mittens; adjusted her black hood, and tied a dozen times its cherry ribbons; and in less than ten minutes, with a flutter- ing heart and excellently bright eyes, she passed forth under the arch and over the bridge, into the t, have 1 ind end ? smokes,' th sides,' blow the >, get on >ff to the faltered, ars I was her, and d rather id, and 1 ' I have ives me, ncy, if I or a lass i my old f George '. to the o where her own shed her idjusted 5 cherry flutter- passed into the NANCE AT THE ' GREEN DRAGON ' 229 whST'"^i.'^^^r' °^ *^" ^'^''''- A well-marked wheel-track conducted her. The wood, which upon both sides of the river dell was a mere scrambHng IheleJ ^^''^' ^'^^".^"' "^^ ^«"y' boasted of the level of more considerable timber. Beeches came to a good growth, with here and there an oak; branch! ^'^'i" ""^^ P^^'"^ ^"^^^ ^ high arcade of branches, and nowran under the open sky in glades. frennpn/Tl ^'J^'^^^^^ ^^ese glades became more fnTfh!' *^^*"f^ ^g^« again to dedine in size, Lai of .llTh ^"^ degenerate into furzy coverts, thaf ft I T "^^^ \^''"S" ^^ elders; and beyond that the track came forth upon an open, rolling moorland, dotted with wind-bowed and scan?f bushes, and all golden blown with the winter, Uke a Sf ■ ,.l^ ''''^'" ^^^^"'* ^^^ S^^ the last red embers of the sunset burned under horizontal clouds- L In'!? ^ i '^T ^"^ '*^" ^"^ ^^^^ty, and the track loot with L""^^^^ ^''''''' "^'^'^ *' "^^^^^ ""^^^ ,u^Tu}^^! ^ ""^^^ b^y^^d the borders of the wood the hghts of the ' Green Dragon ' hove in sight and runnmg close beside them, very faint in the dying dusk the pale ribbon of the Great North Road It 7nV^^ u^^f *^' post-house that was presented to Nance Holdaway; and as she continued to draw near and the night to fall more completely, she ^ecame aware of an unusual brightness and bustle. ithfl'i Iff l*^^"^ '" *^^ y^^d, its lamps already lighted : light shone hospitably in the windows and tlml^l ?if" "l"?^'' "'^'^^"^ ^^^hts and shadows testified to the activity of servants bearing lanterns. 1 lie ciank of pails, the stamping of hoofs on the firm lU 230 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD causeway, the jingle of harness, and, last of all the energetic hissing of a groom, began to fall upon her ear. By the stir you would have thought the mail was at the door, but it was still too early in the night. The down mail was not due at the ' Green Dragon ' for hard upon an hour; the up mail from Scotland not before two in the black morning Nance entered the yard somewhat dazzled. Sam the tall ostler, was polishing a curb-chain with sand' the lantern at his feet letting up spouts of candle- hght through the holes with which its conical roof was peppered. ' Hey, miss,' said he jocularly, ' you won't look at me any more, now you have gentry at the castle.' Her cheeks burned with anger. ' That's my lord's chay,' the man continued, nod- ding at the chaise, ' Lord Windermoor's. Came all in a fluster— dinner, bowl of punch, and put the horses to. For all the world like a runaway match my dear-bar the bride. He brought Mr. Archer m the chay with him. ' 'Is that Holdaway ?' cried the landlord from the lighted entry, where he stood shading his eyes. ' Only me, sir,' answered Nance. ' O, you. Miss Nance,' he said. ' Well come in quick,^ my pretty. My lord is waiting ' for your And he ushered Nance into a room cased with' yellow wainscot and lighted by tall candles, where two gentlemen sat at a table finishing a bowl of punch. One of these was stout, elderly, and iras- cible, with a face like a full moon, well dyed with hquor, thick tremulous lips, a short, purple hand I Df all, the upon her the mail ly in the e ' Green nail from ing. 3d. Sam, ith sand, f candle- lical roof t look at castle. ' led, nod- Came all put the J match, . Archer rom the yes. come in or your ed with" i, where bowl of ad iras- ed with p hnnr! NANCE AT THE ' GREEN DRAGON ' 231 i"n J^'kki^' brandished a long pipe, and an abrupt and gobblmg utterance. This was my Lord Winder- ^^n""; 11 ^'.^^^"^Panion Nance beheld a younger, man tall, quiet, grave, demurely dressed, and wear- 1 ^l^f'f'^^' fo'- ^n that second she made sure that she had twice betrayed herself-betrayed by the involuntary flash of her black eyes her secret im- patience to behold this new companion, and, what was far worse, betrayed her disappointment in the realisation of her dreams. He, meanwhile, as if decor^uT'"'' ''''"*'"''^^ *' "'^^ her with unmoved ' O, a man of wood,' tnought Nance, this^' '^^^*'' ^^'"^ ^'^ lordship. 'Who is r. 'i"/m P^^^'^' T^ ^'''■^' ^ ^"^ Holdaway's niece,' replied Nance, with a curtsey. 'Should have been here himself,' observed his lordship. 'Well, you tell Holdaway that I'm aground, not a stiver-not a stiver. I'm running from the beagles-going abroad, tell Holdaway And he need look for no more wages: glad of 'em myself. If I could get 'em. He can live in the cast5^ If he hkes, or go to the devil. O, and here is Mr. Archer; and I recommend him to take him in— a friend of mine-and Mr. Archer will pay, as I wrote. fh^n V'^i'li^^* '"/^" ^^Sh* ^^ ^ P^^^ious good thing for Holdaway, let me tell you. and a set-off against the wages.' ' But O, my lord !' cried Nance, ' we live upon the wages, and what are we to do without ?' ' What am I to do ?— what am I to do ?' rephed 232 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD Lord Windermoor witJ some exasperation. ' I have no wages. And there is Mr. Archer. AndifHolda- way doesn't like it, he can go to the devil, and you with him !— and you with him !' ' And yet my lord,' said Mr. Archer, 'these good people will have as keen a sense of loss as you or I- deser^ve f ^^^^P^' ^'"^^ ^^^^ ^^^"'^ ^^"^ nothing to ' Deserve it ?' cried the peer. ' What ? What ? It a rascally highwayman comes up to me with a confounded pistol, do you say that I've deserved !l ^ J'^ul^r ^"^ ^ *^ *^" y«"' ^'^' that I was cheated— that I was cheated ?' ' You are happy in the belief,' returned Mr. Archer gravely. 'Archer, you would be the death of me t' ex- claimed his lordship. 'You know you're drunk- you know it, sir; and yet you can't get up a spark of animation.' ^ t- f ' I have drunk fair, my lord,' repHed the younger man ; but I own I am conscious of no exhilaration. ' It you had as black a look-out as me, sir,' cried the peer you would be very glad of a little innocent exhilaration, ^et me tell you, I am glad of it-glad ot It, and I omy wish I was drunker. For let me tell you It's a cruel hard thing upon a man of my time of life and my position, to be brought down to beggary because the world is full of thieves and rascals- thieves and rascals. What ? For all I know you may be a thief and a rascal yourself; and I would tight you for a pinch of snuff— a pinch of snuff' exclaimed his lordship. Here Mr. Archer turned to Nance MnlHa«ra,r „n> u a ' I have if Holda- and you lese good you or I ; )thing to What? e with a deserved It I was :. Archer le !' ex- drunk; a spark younger iration. ' r,' cried nnocent it— glad : me tell time of beggary iscals — )w, you ; would snuif,' ^ with a NANCE AT THE ' GREEN DRAGONj' 233 pleasant smile, so full of sweetness, kindness and to "r"- Mv'*' 1Z"' 'S'""'' ''^^ dreams Returned to her My good Miss Holdaway,' said he ' if von are wUlmg to show me the road, I km ^en eager to youSf • thtr '" "V°'"''*'P ^"<' myseirZpos: • wl; 5 ^ ??° **:"' *'^ '^ h'^ lordship's way.' What ? what ?' cried his lordship. ' My wav ' Ish no such a thing, my way ' " ' ^15°"^ ""y I"'''' "'""^ Archer; ' you and I very ^estTtt ? ""fj=*!"d «ach other; and let me lug^ gest. It is time that both of us were gone. The mail wil! soon be due. Here, then, my lord I take mv Srv L T ^ Pu?*' ^""^ ^ ^*"<=«re oiier of any services I may be able to render in the future. ' ^ v«, riS • <'^'='»""ed Lord Windermoor, ' I love you hke a son. Le' 's have another bowl.' renl^^ M ■a°''J'°*'' °" ^^^^- yo" ^i" «xcuse me,' "a pursuit •' '""" ^^'^" ^* ''^'*' ""^"'^ ^^' '^^''^ erItthooH ' Vu\ J''%!°'-d^hip, ■ this is a rank in- dlrkt tt ^^* '. J ™ '° SO firing away in the dark in the cold po'chaise, and not so much as a game o ecart6 possible, unless I stop and riavw^h ~ini w";.*V°^*""°"' ^"^ the whole^oun 5 ^^arming with thieves and rascals and highway- lor'/wh^ ^°"' lordship's pardon,' put in the land- he 'cha^sT^^b^?",'."-*"' '" *^d°°™ay to announce rne chaisq, but this part of the North Road is known for safety. There has not been a robWy to call a robbery, this five years' time. Furthe^ f) i'F fi ■■ f J 234 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD story/ hi :Ze7 '''' "^"" ^^'^'°"' ^^^ ^^^h^ 'Well then, if that's so.' concludecj my lord ' le' s have t' other bowl and a pack of cards ' My lord you forget,' said Archer, ' I might still ^^:"''^b"* ^t/s hardly possible for me to lose ' . Thmk Im a sharper?' inquired the peer. Gen leman's parole 's all I ask.' mp'if! Mr. Archer was proof against these blandish- ments, and said farewell gravely enough to Lord Wmdermoor, shakmg his hand and at the same time bowmg very low. ' You will never know,' saysTe the service yo^ have done me.' And with that and before my lord had finally taken up his meaning,' he had shpped about the table, touched Nance li. htly but imperiously on the arm, and left the room!' In face of the outbreak of his lordship's lamentations she made haste to follow the truant. ""^"'^'^^"^ 1 another lord, ' le' light still e.' he peer. blandish- to Lord ime time says he, ith that, neaning, :e lightly om. In ntations CHAPTER II IN WHICH MR. ARCHER IS INSfALLED The chaise had been driven round to the front door- the courtyard lay all deserted, and only lit bv a Ian.' rpid?: VdX' ""'Tf ■ ^^^-^h ^his^Nance iSsoiAt r^n ^^y.V^^^began to ascend the swell- IJ!aLu T"""" "^^^ ^ ^^^'^ *h^t somewhat flut- ^url oAt r";- ^^' ^^' "^* ^-^^^^id' but in the Mr Trrhir r^^'* P^''^^'' ^'^ Lord Windermoor Mr Archer had ascended to that pedestal on which ?el r'^lTL*'^*" ^"^*^^ him. The realfty he felt, excelled her dreams, and this cold night walk was the first romantic incident in her exp fence It was the rule in these days to see ^entl^mpn anTal'set'lf ^"r ''' ^^" '^ ^^ Kurpr" d and amused when her companion, who had socken so soberly, began to stumble and waver by her sMe would .et Tf '^^^■y divagations. Sometimes he Tnif ^^l t^'V'' ^^' *^^* ^he must edge away amnn. ^ ''' ^jj^^h clear out of the track and ploujh among deep heather. His courtesy and ira4v fTtSIv hLT'^'^'^""?:^*^^^^- «^ ^^ked h'er ho^ mooriand and' Ih' ""^f^"' '^' ^"^ ^^^ ^" ^P«" *he moorland, and when he learned they had to nass a wood expressed his pleasure. ' For,^said he ?! am passionately fond of trees. Trees and fair lawns 7f you cunsmer oi it rightly, are the ornaments of 235 236 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD nature, as palaces and fine approaches ' And here he stumbled into a patch of slough and nearly tell. The girl had hard work not to laugh but at heart she was lost in admiration for one who talked so elegantly. ^ Tliey had got to about a quarter of a mile from the Green Dragon,' and were near the summit :>f the rise, when a sudden rush of wheels arrested them lurning and looking back, they saw the post-house now much declined in brightness; and speeding away northward the two tremulous bright dots of my Lord Windermoor's chaise-lamps. Mr. Archer tollowed these yellow and unsteady stars until they dwindled into points and disappeared. ' There goes my only friend, ' he said. ' Death has cut of^ those that loved me, and change of fortune estranged my flatterers; and but for you, poor bank- rupt, my life is as lonely as this moor.' The tone of his voice affected both of them. Thev stood there on the side of the moor, and became thrillmgly conscious of the void waste of the night without a feature for the eye, and except for the tainting whisper of the carriage- whe. ]s without a murmur for the ear. And instantly, like a mockery, there broke out, very far away, but clear and jolly the note of the mail-guard's horn. ' Over the hills ' was his air. It rose to the two watchers on the moor with the most cheerful sentiment of human company and travel, and at the same time in and around the ' Green Dragon ' it woke up a great bustle of lights running to and fro and clattering hoofs Presently after, out of the darkness to southward" the mail grew near with a growing rumble. Its — ' And id nearly h, but at 10 talked from the it of the id them, st-house, speeding dots of • Archer itil they sath has fortune )r bank- They became 3 night, for the hout a ockery, d jolly, 3 hills ' on the human in and bustle hoofs, iward, i. Its MR. ARCHER IS INSTALLED 237 lamps were very large and bright, and threw their radiance forward in overlapping cones; the four cantermg horses swarmed and steamed; the b ^dv of the coach followed like a great shadow; and this ht picture slid with a sort of ineifectual swiftness over the black field of night, and was eclipsed bv the buildings of the ' Green Dragon. ' Mr. Archer turned abruptly and resumed his former walk; only that he was now more steady, kept better alongside his young conductor, and had fallen into a silence broken by sighs. Nance waxed very pitiful over his fate, contrasting an imaginary past of courts and great society, and perhaps the King himself, witn the tumbledown ruin in a wood to wh'ch she was now conducting him. ' You must try. sir, to keep your spirits up,' said she. To be sure this is a great change for one like you; but who knows the future ?' Mr. Archer turned towards her in the darkness and she could clearly perceive that he smiled upon her very kindly. ' There spoke a sweet nature, ' said he, and I must thank you for these words. But I would not have you fancy that I regret the past for any happiness found in it, or that I fear the simpHcity and hardship of the country. I am a man that has been much tossed about in hfe; now up, now down- and do you think that I shall not be able to support what you support— you who are kind, and therefore know how to feel pain; who are beautiful, and there- fore hope; who are young, and therefore (or am I the more mistaken ?) discontented ?' 'Nay, sir, not that, at least.' said Nance: ' not discontented. If I were to be discontented, how 238 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD should I look those that have real sorrows in the face ? I have faults enough, but not that fault • and I have my merits too. for I have a good opinion of myself. But for beauty, I am not so simple but that I can tell a banter from a compliment ' ' Nay, nay,' said Mr. Archer, ' I had half forgotten • gnef IS selfish, and I was thinking of myself and not of you, or I had never blurted out so bold a jjiece of praise. 'Tis the best proof of my sincerity. But come, now, I would lay a wager you are no coward ? ' ' Indeed, sir, I am not more afraid than another ' said Nance. ' None of my blood are given to fear.' ' And you are honest ?' he returned. ' I will answer for that,' said she. ' Well, then, to be brave, to be honest, to be kind, and to be contented, since you say you are so— is not that to fill up a great part of virtue ?' ' I fear you are but a flatterer,' said Nance, but she did not say it clearly, for what with bewilderment and satisfaction, her heart was quite oppressed. There could be no harm, certainly, in these grave compliments; but yet they charmed and frightened her, and to find favour, for reasons however obscure m the eyes of this elegant, serious, ;?,nd most un- fortunate young gentleman, was a giddy elevation, was almost an apotheosis, for a country maid. * But she was to be no more exercised; for Mr. Archer, disclaiming any thought of flattery, turned off to other subjects, and held her all through the wood in conversation, addressing her with an air of perfect sincerity, and Hstening to her answers with every mark of interest. Had open flattery con- tinued, Nance would have soon found refuse in Ponr} vs in the at fault; i opinion uple but >rgotten ; and not piece of :y. But oward ? ' mother, ' to fear. ' be kind, — is not but she lerment sed. e grave jhtened ►bscure, ost un- vation, d. • "or Mr. turned gh the 1 air of rs with y con- n p'ood Mk. ARCHER IS INSTALLED 239 taken nart in . "'^ ''"* *""« she had ever idea" '^ 1 was th?n"r''lr '""'"in^'fed by any dreamed of gent emei>?he * '*"" ^^'^ ^'^'^ ='"d deities knowing g^od'and^eX 7T.T''' "''« burst upon her fouTadi^nethoththn *^™, ^"^^^ sunrise: since she rr.,,!^ j ? ^ht, hope s glorious that she tToey^nshl^Zt"'*^"'^' ''"'" '* '^■- "^d Apollo, might she not t , '"'^'■'''* ^'''^ sorrowful Would ™t her sm^l i^^ ' °' T' '''' "»* '<=^™ng? Wasshenot infac? r .'"."^ P"* '°^'' ^"g^ ? but a tou^^h vtzr:^^:f §f - t^'*'"^ transformed, radiantly att^edbutln^r^ ^T'" quisitetaste-herfarB»r„ 1 *"" "ost ex- her tint ethereal sed ^'2h?^1' ^""^ '"°'*^ ^«fi"«d ; dehghtedwond:'i:?kin7^kf:bor '""" ^'^ ^^^^^t&ri ->re the traclc them the castle till u^^l' ^"^ '*«' '" ^0"* of covering with ts'broken^lf,'^''^"'' °° *'"^ "ight, tion of the bank and ?h ''^"'^'"'^"f ^ « bold projec where were ^^' ^UttTZV^^r^r ^"'' crevices of candlelight „ "^er and wmg, some upon her uncle and twafsrent*' '^Y '°"r death,' , to have Have a have all lide 'em. it is, and : through the left tie castle, 3W, occu- ng, with and two nd a few MR. ARCHER IS INSTALLED ,,, i" an iron fire ffi'^'r? ^f°^ fir« burned carved with figures ami ^„fh^^ "/'' ^"'^<=- "'*'y on either side ?here "1 , >, " '""?'"«• "''""'"l it bench in the ehimneycrnera'd^^^'l^"'^ ^ '*'™ fiuns, axes, lanterns ami „/„' » , °™ *'"' ^«'' • '"%' Jonathan looked about hfmrn'' °' " ''^^>' '^■" ^'' tern, and shrugged Wsshl^;, ^"''''"^ ^ P 'b'' 'a- gnmace. ■ Herf it^' he s^m''"' sj'th ' -'^"'^'S the floor, look at th» \„ , ^'^'^ the Q,„np on may be sure thit ^f« T' ''^''' ^^''''' moss you near that iire for to t,5'"'"'"^*"=''y- Try and get coat oft you^ack InTJ^"""' "'" '''"* the with a fa^e like yours as pal^t ^ fT' ''"'''"''" be afeard of a churchv^J^ t.'''"°"'-<=^"d'e' I'd decline,' says TonatW n '°"^'' ^""^ "■ galloping gloomy gus^:.J°or the ■coTd'"m':lh?^'".''^*'=^ ''"' your blood,' he added ^ '*"''^ ^"^ turn awS.'iMlV^'ll'aTf^''' .'My good Mr. Hold- candle face, and thT^nl vTer'ii *!""' '"""' *^"°*- vvith is the fear that I in/ ^ *"* y"" '"^P'^e me your private hours'' Bu^^Sk^r'-^ely upon that I am very little trnnW ^ ''*" promise you to hope that fhe"'e:m™STc:n'o«:'" '"^""V pay you the derangement" '"''>' ^*'" of that VyonU'Vr^''''"' ' ' -- thinking shook his head ^' '^ ^'' ^""'y ^■"^".' and h! Arch'^r'^'^l^t tL; we fa"" "° "'°-'' -" Mr. added With fce*rtr^,-^::,r"arit famf '' ' '*"^ o-s 1 am aware i6 242 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD that Miss Holdaway has matter to communicate, I will, if you permit, retire at once. To-night I must bivouac; to-morrow my trunk is to follow from the " Dragon." So if you will show me to my room I shall wish you a good slumber and a better awak- ening.' Jonathan silently gave the lantern to Nance, and she, turning and curtseying in the doorway, pro- . ceeded to conduct their guest up the broad winding staircase of the tower. He followed with a very brooding face. ' Alas !' cried Nance, as she entered the room, ' your fire black out,' and, setting down the lantern, she clapped upon her knees before the chimney and began to rearrange the charred and still smouldering remains. Mr. Archer looked about the gaunt apart- ment with a sort of shudder. The great height, the bare stone, the shattered windows, the aspect of the uncurtained bed, with one of its four fluted columns broken short, all struck a chill upon his fancy. From this dismal survey his eyes returned to Nance crouching before the fire, the candle in one hand and artfully puffing at the embers; the flames as they broke forth played upon the soft outhne of her cheek — she was alive and young, coloured with the bright hues of hfe, and a woman. He looked upon her, softening; and then sat down aiid continued to admire the picture. ' There, sir,' said she, getting upon her feet, ' your fire is doing bravely now. Good-night. ' He rose and held out his hand. ' Come,' said he, ' you are my only friend in these parts, and you must shake hands.' unicate, I ht I must from the y room I ;er awak- ince, and vay, pro- l winding h a very he room, 3 lantern, nney and Duldering nt apart- iight, the id of the columns is fancy, to Nance me hand lames as ne of her with the ced upon :inued to it, ' your said he, and you MR. ARCHER IS INSTALLED 243 it ^blushir^^'^ ^^"^ ^^""^ ''^'''' ^^'" ^^'^ ^""^ ""^^'^^ ' God bless you, my dear,' said he. And then, when he was alone, he opened one of the windows, and stared down into the dark valley A gentle wimpling of the river among stones ascended to his ear; the trees upon the other bank stood very black against the sky; farther away an owl was hooting. It was dreary and cold, and as he turned back to the hearth and the fine glow of fire, ,^rlTT I '^'.^ ^^ *^ ^^^'^"' ' ^hat an unfor- tunate destiny is mine !' He went to bed, but sleep only visited his pillow in uneasy snatches. Outbreaks of loud speech came up the staircase ; he heard the old stones of the castle '"'^A^u^'u! ^'""^y "^^^* ^*^ s^a^P reverberations, and the bed complained under his tossings. Lastly far on into the morning, he awakened from a doze to hear, very far off, in the extreme and breathless qmet, a waihng flourish on the horn. The down mail was drawing near to the ' Green Dragon.' He sat up m bed; the sound was tragical by distance and the modulation appealed to his ear like human speech. It seemed to call upon him with a dreary insistence-to call him "far away, to address him personally, and to have a meaning that he failed to seize. It was thus, at least, in this nodding castle m a cold, miry woodland, and so far from men and society, that the traffic on the Great North Road spoke to him in the intervals of slumber f 11 c^r #: CHAPTER III JONATHAN HOLD AWAY Nance descended the tower stair, pausing at every step. She was in no hurry to confront her uncle with bad news, and she must dwelJ a Httle longer on the rich note of Mr. Archer's voice, the charm of his kind words, and the beauty of his manner and person But, once at the stair-foot, she threw aside the spell and recovered her sensible and workaday self. Jonathan was seated in the middle of the settle a mug of ale beside him, in the attitude of one pre- pared for trouble; but he did not speak, and suffered her to fetch her supper and eat of it, with a very excellent appetite, in silence. When she had done she, too, drew a tankard of home-brewed, and came ^'^^.?}^^t?^ ^^^^^^^ ^" ^^^"* «^ ^'^ upon the settle. Well?' said Jonathan. ' My lord has run away,' said Nance. ' ' What ?' cried the old man. ' Abroad,' she continued; ' run away from credi- tors. He said he had not a stiver, but he was drunk enough. He said you might live on in the castle and Mr. Archer would pay you; but you was to look for no more wages, since he would be glad of them himself.' Jonathan's face contracted; the flush of a black. ^— anger mounted to the roots of his hair; he 244 ^ at every her uncle longer on irm of his id person. 3 the spell self. he settle, f one pre- d suffered :h a very lad done, md came he settle. )m credi- ^as drunk le castle, LS to look of them a black, hair; he JONATHAN HOLDAWAY 245 gave an inarticulate cry. leapt upon his feet, and began rapidly pacing the stone floor. At first he kept his hands behind his back in a tight knof then he began to gesticulate as he turned ' This man—this lord,' he shouted, ' who is he ? He was born with a gold spoon in his mouth, and I with a dirty straw. He rolled in his coach when he was a baby. I have dug and toiled and laboured smce I Nvas that high-that high.' And he shouted ^^'""iu- ,^?^,b^"t a"d broke, and full of pains. D ye think I don't know the taste of sweat ? Manv's the gal on I've drunk of it-ay, in ^he midwinter, toihng hke a slave. All through, what has my life been ? Bend, bend, bend my old creaking back till It would ache Hke breaking; wade about in the foul mire, never a dry stitch; empty belly, sore hands, hat off to my Lord Redface; kicks and ha'pence- and now, here, at the hind end, when I'm worn to my poor bones, a kick and done with it' He walked a little while in silence, and then, extending his hand, ' Now you, Nance Holdaway,' savs he you come of my blood, and you're a good girl' Whrn that man was a boy. I used to carry his gun toi him. I carried the gun all day on my two feet and many a stitch 1 had, and chewed a bullet for' He rode upon a horse, with feathers in his hat • but it was him that had the shots and took the game home. Did I complain? Not I. I knew mv station What did I ask, but just the chance to live and die honest ? Nance Holdaway, don't let them deny it to me— don't let them do it. I've been as poor as Job, and as honest as the dav but now, my girl, you mark these words of mine I'm getting tired of it.' m m 246 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD ' I wouldn't say such words, at least,' said Nance. You wouldn't ?' said the old man grimly. ' Well and did I when I was your age ? Wait till your back s broke and your hands tremble, and your eyes fail and you're weary of the battle and ask no more but to he down in your bed and give the ghost up hke an honest man; and then let there up and come some insolent, ungodly fellow—ah ! if I had him in these hands ! " Where's my money that you gambled? I should say. "Where's my money that you drank and diced ?" " Thief !" is what I would say; " Thief !" ' he roared, ' " Thief !" ' 'Mr. Archer will hear you if you don't take care,' said Nance, ' and I would be ashamed, for one, that he should hear a brave, old, honest, hard-working man hke Jonathan Holdaway talk nonsense like a boy ' Dye think I mind for Mr. Archer?' he cried shriUy, with a clack of laughter; and then he came close up to her, stooped down with his two palms upon his knees, and looked her in the eyes, with a strange hard expression, something like a smile. Do I mind for God, my girl ?' he said; ' that's what it s come to be now, do I mind for God ?' ' Uncle Jonathan,' she said, getting up and taking him by the arm; ' you sit down again, where you were sitting. There, sit still; I'll have no more of this; you 11 do yourself a mischief. Come, take a drmk of this good ale, and I'll warm a tankard for you. La, we'll pull through, you'll see. I'm young as you say, and it's my turn to carry the bundle' and don t you worry your bile, or we'll have sick' ness, too, as well as sorrow. ' D'ye think that I'd for^ottAp xr^,, ?' .«: j Jonathan, with something like a groan; and there- id Nance. 7. ' Well, till your your eyes : no more ghost up ind come d him in hat you Y money s what I tke care, ' one, that king man a boy.' he cried he came '^o palms >, with a a smile, t's what d taking lere you more of take a kard for I young, bundle; ve sick- •>' aid sax 1 there- JONATHAN HOLDAWAY 247 upon his teeth clicked to, and he sat silent with the tankard m his hand and staring straight before him. ^ Why, says Nance, setting on the ale to mull men are always children, they say, however old ' and if ever I heard a thing like this, to set to and make yourself sick, just when the money's failing Keep a good heart up; you haven't kept a good heart these seventy years, nigh hand, to break down about a pound or two. Here's this Mr. Archer come to lodge, that you disliked so much. Well, now you see It was a clear Providence. Come, let's think upon our mercies. And here is the ale mulling lovely; smell of it; I'll take ? drop myself, it smells so sweet. And, Uncle Jonathan, you let me say one word. You've lost more than money before now you lost my aunt, and bore it like a man. Bear this. ' His face once more contracted; his fist doubled and shot forth into the air, and trembled. * Let them look out !' he shouted. ' Here, I warn all men; I've done with this foul kennel ' knaves Let them look out !' ' Hush, hush ! for pity's sake,' cried Nance. And then all of a sudden he dropped his face into his hands, and broke out with a great hiccoughing dry sob that was horrible to hear. ' 0,' he cried 'my God, if my son hadn't left me, \1 my Dick was here !' and the sobs shook him; Nance sitting still and watching him, with distress. ' 0, if he were h re to help his father !' he went on again. ' If I J -d a son like other fathers, he would save me now, /Vx.en all is breaking down; O, he would save me i Ay, but where is he ? Raking taverns, a thief per- haps. My curse be on him !' he added, rising again into wrath. ^ U\ F is 248 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD Hush ! cried Nance, springing to lier feet : ' vour boy your dead wife's boy— Aunt Susan's baby that She loved— would you curse him ? 0, God forbid «' ihe energy of her address surprised him from I 's mood. He looked upon her, tearless nn.j confuted, .n^ T.^^ *"" my bed,' he said at last, and he ros.>, and, shakmg as with ague, but quite silent, lighted his candle, and kit the kitchen. ^ w^"^ !?^"!! 1 the pie;: .uit current of her dreams was all diverted. She bel.dd a golden city, where she asprred to dwell; she h-^ spoken with a deity and had told herself that sho ^igh, rise tcf ^S^ equal; and now the earJily ligaments that bound ner down had been tightened. She was hke a tree tookiag skyward, her roots were in the ground It seemed to her a thing so coarse, so rustic, to be thus concerned about a loss in money; when Mr. Archer, fallen from the sky-level of counts and nobles, faced his changed destiny with so immovable a courage. To weary of ho;iesty ; that, at least, no one could do, beheld m fancy her uncle, and the young lad, all laced and feathered, hand upon hip, bestriding his small horse. The opposition seemed to perpetlate itself from generation to generation; one side still doomed to the clumsy and the servile, the other born to beauty. She thought of the golden zones in which gentle men were bred, and figured with so excellent a grace; zones in which wisdom and smooth words white linen and slim hands, were the mark of the desired inhabitants; where low temptations were unknown, and honesty no virtu but a thing as natural as breathing. ^ ;et : ' your baby that i forbid !' from hrs confuted, i he rose, t, hghted r dreams y, where a deity, :o be his t bound ce a tree and. It ' be thus Archer, 3S, faced courage, ould do, and she lad, all 3ing his petuate ide still e other gentle Jlent a words, of the is were ling as CHAPTER IV MINGLING THREADS m.nf ""n'^l 'r'" ^"^^'^ ^'- Archer left his apart- Hfown ?" ^"^'"^ ^' ^^""^ ^"«*her door beside his own opening on a roofless corridor, and presently he was walking on the top of the ruins. ^On one hand he could look down a good depth into ?he green courtyard; on the other his eye roved along the downward course of the river, the wet wood! f IdeT.n.^' '^' '^f"^' ^"^S ^"^ blue, the mists golden and rosy m the sun, here and there the water and 3f ^''^'l ^" ''^'*^^^"- ^'' h^^rt expanded and softened to a grateful melancholy, and with his eye fixed upon the distance, and no thought of present danger, he continued to stroll along the elevated and treacherous promenade. ^ vard*^T"f 'f ^'". "'^ '^'^ *^ ^^^ ^^^"^ the court- standin^h r ^.^u' ^"^ '^^ ^" ^ ^^mpse Nance standing below with: hands clasped in horror and his own foot trembling on the margin of a gulf hZ'r^T' "^.^""^ ^^^"* ^^^^"^* ^ Pill^^' quaking from head to loot and covering his face with his hands; rHni^hf" f *?' *^ '"" "°^"^ by *he stair and r^oin him where he stood before he had changed a me of his position. ^ ' Ahj; he cried, and clutched her wrist : 'don't Ipa-e me. 1 he place rocks ; I have no head for altitudes. ' 249 \ .-1 ■ 6 K 250 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD ' Sit down against that pillar,' said Nance. ' Don't you be afraid; I won't leave you, and don't look up or down : look straight at me. How white you are ! ' ' The gulf,' he said, and closed his eyes again and shuddered. ' Why,' said Nance, ' what a poor cHmber you must be ! That was where my cousin Dick used to get out of the castle after Uncle Jonathan had shut the gate. I've been down there myself with him helping me. I wouldn't try with you, ' she said, and laughed merrily. The sound of her laughter was sincere and musical and perhaps its beauty barbed the offence to Mr! Archer. The blood came into his face with a quick jet, and then left it paler than before. ' It is a physical weakness,' he said harshly, ' and very droll no doubt, but one that I can conquer on necessity.' bee, I am. still shaking. Well, I advance to the battle- ments and look down. Show me your cousin's path. ' ' He would go sure-foot along that little ledge ' said Nance, pointing as she spoke; ' then out through the breach and down by yonder buttress. It is easier coming back, of course, because you see where you are going. From the buttress foot a sheep- walk goes along the scarp— see, you can follow it from here in the dry grass. And now, sir,' she added, with a touch of womanly pity ' I would come away from here if I were you, for indeed vou are not fit.' * Sure enough Mr. Archer's pallor and agitation had continued to increase; his cheeks were deathly his clenched fingers trembled pitifully. ' The weakness is physical,' he sighed, and had nearly fallen. Nan^*> ;. 'Don't t look up you are !' igain and nber you k used to had shut mth him said, and musical, e to Mr. I a quick ' It is a jry droll, lecessity, le battle- r's path.' e ledge,' through 3. It is se where I sheep- bllow it sir,' she [ would eed you ion had hly, his eakness MINGLING THREADS 251 led him from the spot, and he was no sooner back wall Lh''''"A^-'' *^^" ^" ^"" ^^^^ly ^g^i^st the wall and put his arm across his eyes. A cup of Zlr^L M *^ ?' ^'^"^^* ^^^ before he could descend to breakfast; and the perfection of Nance's dream was for the first time troubled Jonathan was waiting for them at table, with yellow, blood-shot eyes and a peculiar dusky com- plexion^ He hardly waited till they found their seats, before raising one hand, and stooping with his mouth above his plate, he put up a prayer for a blessing on the food and a spirit of gratitude in the eaters and thereupon, and without more civility, feU to But It was notable that he was no less speedily satisfied than he had been greedy to begin, tabir ^ ^"^^^ ^"""^ drummed upon the ' These are silly prayers,' said he, ' that they teach us. Eat and be thankful, that's no such wonder, bpeak to me of starving— there's the touch. You're a man, they tell me, Mr. Archer, that has met with some reverses ?' ' I have met with many,' replied Mr. Archer. Ha! said Jonathan. 'None reckons but the last. Now, see; I tried to make this girl here under- stand me. ' Uncle,' said Nance, ' what should Mr. Archer care for your concerns ? He hath troubles of his own and came to be at peace, I think. ' T ' ^}J^^^^^ ^^^^ h®^ understand me,' repeated Jonathan doggedly ; * and now F!! try you. Do you think this world is fair ?' ^ ' Fair and false !' quoth Mr. Archer. 252 THE GREAT NORT ^i VOM) The old man laughed immo.iciaLely. ' Good ' said he, very good, but what i mean is this: do vou know what it is to get up early and go to bed late, and never take so much as a holiday but four- an^ one of these your own marriage day, and i..c other three the funerals of folk you loved! and all that to have a quiet old age in shelter, and bread for your old belly, and a bea to lay your crazy bones upon, with a clear conscience?' ' Sir,' said Mr. Archer, with an inclination of his ?t,r i7^^ portray a very brave existence.' WeU, continued Jonathan, ' and in the end thieves deceive you, thieves rob and rook you thieves turn you out in your old age and sen i you begging. What have you got for all your honesty ? A fine return ! You that migiit have stole scores of pounds, there 3'ou are out in the rain with your rheumatics!' *^ Mr Archer had forgotten to eat; with his hand upon his chin he was studying the old man's coun- tenance. ' And you conclude ?' he asked. ' Conclude !' cried Jonathan. ' I con-lude ' 11 be upsides with them.' 'Ay,' said the other, 'we are all tempted to revenge.' ' You have lost money ?' asked Jonathan. ' A great estate,' said Archer quietly. ' See now !' says Jonathan, ' and where h\t^' Nay, I sometimes think that every onv is ' id his share of it but me, ' was the reply. ' All ng id hath paid his taxes with my patrimony: I was a sheep that left luy wool on every briar.' 'And you sit down under that?' rried fht^ o^^ man. ' Come now, Mr. Archer, you and me belong od/said do you )ed late, )ur- RTT^ ic OLHer that, to For your !S upon, n of his he end >k you, ind you mesty ? ^ scores :h your s hand s coun- ' 11 be ted to t?' is ' 1.6. ig id was a le old belong MINGLI?>IG THREADS 253 betttfrl ''''^""'' u""^ ^ ^"^^ ""'^"^-"0 "^an are both sore with it, why, here's my hand vvith a Thope' ' ^''"^ ^ "'^ ^"' y°"^^' ^"^ "« ««^"^e! Mr ^ArrhVr' '"'1^ "\««f ce, my friend,' returned 'fnr h 1 ' ' '^^y '^^^^ h'''"'^^ ^^^«ss the table; tor beheA^e me my sympathies are quite -quired to you. This life is an arena where we fi^nt with beasts; and indeed.' he added, sighing. 'I some- times marvel why we go down to it unafmed.' h.H W^ r^T.^"^ ^ ""^^^^"^ °^ ungreased axles p'^ntlv ,^T'Mf''.'"^^"^ *^^""^^h the wood; and ^infreX il' ^" ^°^^«I^^"^d, and the tall ostler S nl T^ ^^lu '^ '^""^^"6 one end of Mr. Archer's tiunk. The oth. was carried by an aged bee^ar Twentv ''T 'if'"" '"^^^" ^"^ welcome lor some twenty miles about .ider the name of ' Old Cumber- a nn nf ^', ^^VT ^ ^^^'^ "P^" ^ settle, with L^Fh^Ltlrf u^^ '''''''' ^^° ^^l^^d himself stm w^ h f ^f ^ ^ ^' ^'^^" *^ '"'^^^^^^" ^he company, till with half an eye on Nance, to whom in gallant heTold nf T'f ^ tf'T^'^ '^'^y ^^P ^f ^1^- First sfarfin ? if ^'u-'^!'^" *^'>^ ^^^ *^ g^t his Lordship rnni! . ^^e chaise; and how he had dropped a louieau of gold on the threshold, and th.' passage aJ tht^H^? ^1^- strewn with guinea^! At this )ld Jonathan looked at Mr. Archer. Next ^U'T' ^Tf *^ ^'^" ^^ ^ "^^^^ thrilling char- acter how the down mail had been stopped again near Gran tham by three men on horseback-a white and two bays; how thev had handkprrhjei «« t^--- laces; how loni ^he guard's blunderbuss missed fire! but he swore he had winged one of them with a 254 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD pistol; and how they had got clean away with seventy pounds in money, sonic valuable papers and a watch or two. .Brave! brave!' cried Jonathan in ecstasy. Seventy pounds ! O, it's brave i' • Well, I don't see thv ^reat bravery,' observed the ostler, misapprehending liim. ' Three men, and you may call that three to one. I'll call it br^ve when some one stops the mail single-handed; that's a risk ' And why should they hesitate ?' inquired Mr. Archer. The poor souls who are fallen to such a way of life, pray what have they to lose ? If thev get the money, well; but if a ball should put thera from their troubles, why. so better.' ' Well, sir.' said the ostler. ' I believe you'll find they won t agree with you. They count on a good lling you see; or who would risk it .?— And here's my best respects to you. Miss Nance.' ' And I forgot the part of cowardice,' resumed Mr. Archer. All men fear.' ' O, surely not !' cried Nance. ' All men,' reiterated Mr. Archer. 'Ay, that's a true word,' observed Old Cumber- land and a thief, anyway, for it's a coward's trade ' But these fellows, now,' said Jonathan, with a curious, appealing manner—' these fellows with their seventy pounds ! Perhaps. Mr. Archer, they were been robbed and tried to get their own again. What was that you said, about all England and the taxes ? One takes, another gives; why, that's almost fair. If I ve been rooked and robbed, and the coat taken on mv back, I call it plmr»ct fo,-». f^ j.„i ,, . . Ask Old Cumberland,' observed the ostler; ' you ^^ay with 2 papers, ecstasy. Tved the and you ve when s a risk.' ired Mr. ) such a If they ut them u'll find 1 a good i here's aed Mr. umber- trade.' with a th their y were ho had What taxes ? >t fair. taken Tier s. ; 'you MINGLING THREADS 255 ask Old Cumberland. Miss Nance !' and he bestowed a wmk upon his favoured fair one ' Why that ?' asked Jonathan. ' ' ^^ had his coat taken-ay, and his shirt too,' returned the ostler. rob^d'tlT • ' ""'"^ ^''"'*^'" "^^''^y- ' ^"^ y^^ 'That was I,' replied Cumberland, 'with a war- rant! I was a Well-to-do man when I was young ' Ay! See that!' says Jonathan. 'And you don t long for a revenge ?' ' Eh ! Not me !' answered the beggar. ' It's too long ago But if you'll give me another mug of th^t"*' ""^ ^'^^^^ ^^'^^' ^ "^"""'^ '^y "^ *^ ' And Shalt have ! And shalt have !' cried Jonathan. Or brandy even, if you like it better ' And as Cumberland did like it better, and the ostler chimed in, the party pledged each other in a dram of brandy before separating. As for Nance, she slipped forth into the ruins, partly to avoid the ostler's gallantries, partly to lament over the defects of Mr. Archer. Plainly he was no hero. She pitied him; she began to feel a protecting interest mingle with and almost super- sede her admiration, and was at the same time dis- appomted and yet drawn to him. She was, indeed conscious of such unshaken fortitude in her own heart, that she was almost tempted by an occasion to be bold for two. She saw herself, in a brave attitude, shielding her imperfect hero from the world; and she saw, like a piece of heaven his gratitude for her protection. i. CHAPTER V LIFE IN THE CASTLE From that day forth the life of these thre. . in the ram ran very smoothly Mr ! ' ^f ^"^"^ by the fire with a book anH L ,^^'^ "°«' ^at abroad. returaingTate; dead Tea^;^" nt"'^ ^^^^ was a mask; but it was half tT! ^' "'^ manner the even ten^r of hi^ gZi^ilT'^"'"^' '^""^^ revolutions of feeling IS"1 ™"*''y P™^°™d despair, of restlessnesrnf = ? ^!. ' ^""^'""^ <>' ""mb he would sarnotS b yotd"!,,^"'^^'"; ^"^ ^^^^^ and solemn compliments and th " n H '^""''tesies some fine evening Spth! u- T ' "" "^ ^ ^"dden, fall into a vein ofeStS^tl? o'f"; ""^ *°"'<^ wteresting events, the seS' nf f •.'•''^"Se and deeds of war, the mirarul^ ^ families, brave the visitation of th^ deTd m^"'"^"? °^ "™*'' would sit till the sm^ll hours wfth^ev""^ ^7 "°^'*' Jonathan applaudine thp ,,n»l . 7?^ "''<^« "Pe" •• many a slap of Cbig hanS T '""'*'"*' *^* pleased wit'h the nilltt'^'k^.r:' f ';J\^I«'. -<>- flections; and then ao-air, ,"^"^"<^^ and wise re- abstracti;>n, of hsfe.TiSmfnTofT'" ""'"^ °^ gies and long hours of siS ^On "I"*""* ^P°'°- after a week of mirelievS melancholv°"f,^' '""^ '^^^ to the • Green Dragon ' ^T^t^'u" ^^""^ "^^^ o^"> -^;>ent the aftpmr.r.», 2<:fi "" 256 with ree persons ^er now sat whole days fis manner t; through V profound ns of numb For days courtesies a sudden, he would range and es, brave of crime, her uncle ide open: ents with Lps, more wise re- ollow of it apolo- and then ent over on with LIFE IN THE CASTLE 257 the landlord and a bowl of punch, and returned as on the hrst night, devious in step but courteous and unperturbed of speech. If he seemed more natural and more at his ease It was when he found Nance alone; and, laying bv some of his reserve, talked before her rather than to her of his destmy, character and hopes. To Nance these interviews were but a doubtful privilege At times he would seem to take a pleasure in her presence to consult her gravely, to hear and to discuss her counsels; at times even, but these were rare and brief, he would talk of herself, praise the qualities that she possessed, touch indulgently on ner defects, and lend her books to read and even examine her upon her reading; but far more often he would fall into a half unconsciousness, put her a question and then answer it himself, drop into the veiled tone of voice of one soliloquising, and leave her at last as though he had forgotten her existence. it was odd too, that in aU this random converse, not a fact of iirs past life, and scarce a name, shoulcf ever cross his hp . A profound reserve kept watch upon his most unguarded moments. He spoke continually of himself, indeed, but still in enigmas; a veiled prophet of egoism. The base of Nance's feelings for Mr. Archer was admiration as for a superior being; and with this, fxfu u f "*' consciously or not, accorded happily. When he forgot her, she took the blame upon her- self. His formal politeness was so exquisite that this essential brutality stood excused. His compli- ments, besides, were always grave and rational- h'^ would offer reason for his praise, convict her of 17 258 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD 7e^\n^i "'r '^^^ suspicion. Nay, and the very hours when he forgot and remembered her alternately could by the ardent fallacies of youth te read m the hght of an attention. She miJLt be far from his confidence; but still she was nefrer i? yerhe'sLgM-it.""^ "'^'' '^"°" '>^-- P~' ^-' onf olTn'/ ''''• "P-r ^'' ^'<^^' ^^' -^""scious of rather Iff .^"If ™"ty. Beside this rather dismal, rather effeminate man, who recoiled from a worm who grew giddy on the castle wall, who b^reTo Mth*^ ^7\' l.'^'^ misfortunes. shTfelt steritl and shoulders taller in cheerful and ?he if * "'■''^'•- ^'"' ™"''' ""^k head in air along the most precarious rafter; her hand feared neithef the grossness nor the harshness of life's web but was thrust cheerfully, if need were, into the bria bush, and could take hold of any crawling horror Rum was mming the walls of her cottage, af already Wen .ifT'^/"'' subverted Mr. Archer's palace tev htn ''^t Vf" ^ ^"^^' countenance and a busy hand. She had got some washing, some rough seamstress work from the ■ Green Dralon,' and from another neighbour ten miles away acfoss the moo" hi; Kt u fj^erfully laboured, and from that height she could afford to pity the useless talents and poor attitude of Mr. Archer". It did not change her admiration, but it made it bearable. He wis 0^°"%^','" f" *^y^' "^"t '^'^ ^'^ '^bove htm fn one. She kept ,t to herself, and hugged it. When ustifv T""^ ."matures, she made long stories to justify, to nourish, and to forecast the course of her "' 11 r\3.o tniD piiVHte siipenorit}^ that made ray, and the embered her ies of youth >he might be i^as nearer it Tesence, but conscious of ther dismal, Dm a worm, /ho bore so es, she felt heerful and in air along ired neither 's web, but o the briar ling horror. , as already 3r's palace, ance and a iome rough , ' and from the moor, from that ess talents not change . He was ve him in t. When, stories to irse of her that made LIFE IN THE CASTLE 259 all rosy, that cut the knot, and that, at last, in some great situation, fetched to her knees the dazzling but imperfect hero. With this pretty exercise she beguiled the hours of labour, and consoled herself for Mr. Archer's bearing. Pity was her weapon and her weakness. To accept the loved one's faults, although it has an air of freedom, is to kiss the chain, and this pity it was which, lying nearer to her heart, lent the one element of true emotion to a fanciful and merely brain-sick love. Thus it fell out one day that she had gone to the ' Green Dragon,' and brought back thence a letter to Mr. Archer. He, upon seeing it, winced like a man under the knife: pain, shame, sorrow, and the most trenchant edge of mortification cut into his heart and wrung the steady composure of his face. ' Dear heart ! have you bad news ?' she cried. But he only replied by a gesture and fled to his room, and when, later on, she ventured to refer to It, he stopped her on the threshold, as if with words prepared beforehand. ' There are some pains,' said he, ' too acute for consolation, or I would bring them to my kind consoler. Let the memory of that letter, if you please, be buried.' And then as she continued to gaze at him, being, in spite of hei ^elf, pained by his elaborate phrase, doubtfully sincere m word and manner: ' Let it be enough,' he added haughtily, ' that if this matter wring my heart, it doth not touch my conscience. I am a man, I would have you to know, v;ho suffers undeservedly.' He had never spoken so directly: never with so convincing an emotion; and her heart thrilled" for 26o THE GREAT NORTH ROAD him. She could have taken his pains and died of them with ]oy. Meanwhile she was left without support Jona- than now swore by his lodger, and lived for him He was a fine talker. He knew the finest sight of stories; he was a man and a gentleman, take him tor all in all, and a perfect credit to Old England Such were the old man's declared sentiments, and sure enough he clung to Mr. Archer's side, hung upon his utterance when he spoke, and watched him with unwearying interest when he was silent And yet his feeling was not clear; in the partial wreck ot his mmd. which was leaning to decay, some after- thought was strongly present. As he gazed in Mr Archer s face a sudden brightness would kindle in his rheumy eyes, his eyebrows would lift as with a sudden thought, his mouth would open as though to speak, and close again on silence. Once or twice he even called Mr. Archer mysteriously forth into the dark courtyard, took him by the button, and laid a demonstrative finger on his chest; but there his Ideas or his courage failed him; he would shufflmgly excuse himself and return to his position by the fire without a word of explanation. ' The good man was growing old,' said Mr. Archer with a suspicion of a shrug. But the good man had his Idea, and even when he was alone the name of Mr Archer fell from his lips continually in the course of mumbled and gesticulative conversation and died of port. Jona- '■ed for him. lest sight of n, take him Id England, iments, and side, hung matched him ilent. And irtial wreck some after- azed in Mr. d kindle in t as with a as though ice or twice forth into 'utton, and ; but there he would lis position ion. ' The rcher with an had his mie of Mr. e course of I CHAPTER VI THE BAD HALF-CROWN However early Nance arose, and she was no slug- gard, the old man, who had begun to outlive the earthly habit of slumber, would usually have been up long before, the fire would be burning brightly, and she would see him wandering among the ruins,' lantern in hand, and talking assiduously to himself! One day, however, after he had returned late from' the market town, she found that she had stolen a march upon -that indefatigable early riser. The kitchen was all blackness. She crossed the castle- yard to the wood-cellar, her steps printing the thick hoar-frost. A scathing breeze blew out of the north- east and slowly carried a regiment of black and tattered clouds over the face of heaven, which was already kindled with the wild light of morning, but where she walked, in shelter of the ruins, the flame of her candle burned steady. The extreme cold smote upon her conscience. She could not bear to think this bitter business fell usuall}^ to the lot of one so old as Jonathan, and made de^-p€--ate resolu- tions to be earlier in the future. The fire v/as a good blaze before he entered, limp- ing dismally into the kitchen. ' Nance,' said he, • I be all knotted up with the rheumatics; will you 261 262 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD rub me a bit ?' She came and rubbed him where and how he bade her. ' This is a cruel thing that old age should be rheumaticky/ said he. ' When I was young I stood my turn of the teethache like a man ! for why ? because it couldn't last for ever- but these -heumatics come to live and die with you' Your aunt was took before the time came; never had an ache to mention. Now I lie all night in my smgle bed, and the blood never warms in me • this knee of mme it seems like lighted up with rheu- matics; It seems as though you could see to sew by It; and all the strings of my old body ache, as if devils was pulling 'em. Thank you kindly that's someways easier now, but an old man, my dear has little to look for; it's pain, pain, pain to the end of the business, and I'll never be rightly warm again till I get under the sod,' he said, and looked down at her with a face so aged and weary that she had nearly wept. ' I lay awake all night,' he continued; ' I do so mostly, and a long walk kills me. Eh, deary me to think that life should run to such a puddle i And I remember long syne when I was strong, and the blood all hot and good about me, and I loved to run, too— deary me, to run ! Well, that's all by. You d better pray to be took early, Nance, and not live on till you get to be like me, and are robbed in your grey old age, your cold, shivering, dark old age that's like a winter's morning'; and he bitterly shuddered, spreading his hands before the lire. ' Come now,' said Nance, ' the more you say the less you'll like it. Uncle Jonathan; but if I were you i would be proud for to have lived all your days THE BAD HALF-CROWN 263 honest and beloved, and come near the end with your good name: isn't that a fine thing to be proud of ? Mr. Archer was telling me in some strange land they used to run races each with a lighted candle, and the art was to keep the candle buniing. Well, now, I thought that was like life: a man's good conscience is the flame he gets to carry, and if he comes to the winning-post with that still burn- ing, why, take it how you will, the man's a hero- even if he was low-born like you and me.' ' Did Mr. Archer tell you that ?' asked Jonathan. ' No, dear,' said she, ' that's my own thought about it. He told me of the race. But see, now,' she continued, putting on the porridge, ' you say old age is a hard season, but so is youth. You're half out of the battle, I would say; you loved my aunt and got her, and buried her, and some of these days soon you'll go to meet her; and take her my love and tell her I tried to take good care of you; for so I do, Uncle Jonathan.' Jonathan struck with his fist upon the settle. I D'ye think I want to die, ye vixen ?' he shouted. ' I want to live ten hundred years.' This was a mystery beyond Nance's penetration, and she stared in wonder as she made the porridge. ' I want to live,' he continued, ' I want to live and to grow rich. I want to drive my carriage and to dice in hells and see the ring, I do. Is this a life that I lived ? I want to be a rake, d'ye under- stand ? I want to know what things are like. I don't want to die like a blind kitten, and me seventy-six.' ' O fie !' said Nance. HHR^ 1 ^^^Hli "3 ^^^^Ki T "!S ^^^^hJ« '3 ^H^^^pI a tI ^^■Ui • § ^^^Hl 'f^a ^^H; -1 i'l ^^gy )am — 264 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD The old man thrust out his jaw at her with th» grimace of an irreverent schoolboy. Upon that aid face It seemed a blasphemy. Then he took o.ffl c^tenr ^^« '?*'^^^ Purse.\nd emptyi™*it the p^^es r '^ir"'''."^^^" '" '=°™' ''"d^ecoun denly he lea Jlfl ""'^ ^^=^'"'"'"6 each, and sud- screwed 'Tad f O ZoTf l"'" k'k^."^' '' ''^ o?Ws dece^er T?"'* '^''"^'"' '^"'''^^ °" '^e hfad V le sotZtv w?' '^'' ^''" =''"*■ fo^ to him this viie solemn ty was prayer. He held up the bad poor Aunt Susan were to hear I Th^^ u ' be listening' \r.A u-u .. ' ^"^"^' she may en.otiSVoit1ira\r-S1S^^^^^^^ His eyes followed her fin^f^r rT i i ! 1. for a H+fi« +u- 1 • , , nnger. tie looked there THE BAD HALF-CROWN 265 face, and after some seconds of rumination he de- spatched Nance upon an errand. ' Mr. Archer,' said he, as soon as they were alone together, ' would you give me a guinea-piece for 'Why, sir, I believe I can,' said Mr. Archer. And the exchange was just eftected when Nance re-entered the apartment. The blood shot into her lace. ' What's to do here ?' she asked rudely Nothing, my dearie,' said old Jonathan, with a touch of whine. j What's to do ?' she said again. ' Your uncle was but changing me a piece of sold ' returned Mr. Archer. ^ ' 'Let me see what he hath given you, Mr. Archer ' replied the girl. ' I had a bad piece, and I fear it IS mixed up among the good.' ' Well, well,' replied Mr. Archer, smiling. ' I must take the merchant's risk of it. The money is now mixed.' "^ ' I know my piece,' quoth Nance. ' Come, let me see your silver,. Mr. Archer. If I have to get it by a theft I'll see that money,' she cried. ' Nay, child, if you put as much passion to be honest as the world to steal, I must give way, though I betray myself,' said Mr. Archer. ' There it is as I received it.' Nance quickly found the bad half-crown. ' Give him another,' she said, .ooking Jonathan in the face; and when that had been done, she walked *i!~ ~jj'"" -^"^"^^j 'I"-- lluiig Liic guuiy piece into the reddest of the fire. Its base constituents began 266 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD immediately to run; even as she watched it the disc crumbled, and the lineaments of the King became confused. Jonathan, who had followed close behind beheld these changes from over her shoulder, and nis face darkened sorely. ' Now,' said she, ' come back to table, and to-day It IS I that shall say grace, as I used to do in the old times, day about with Dick ' ; and covering her eyes with one hand, ' O Lord,' said she with deep emotion, 'make us thankful; and, O Lord, deliver us from evil ! For the love of the poor souls that watch for us in heaven, O deliver us from evil ' CHAPTER VII THE BLEACH ING-GREEN The year moved on to March; and March, though it blew bitter keen from the North Sea, yet bhnked kindly between whiles on the river dell. The mire dried up in the closest covert; life ran in the bare branches, and the air of the afternoon would be suddenly s .eet with the fragrance of new grass. Above and below the castle the river crooked like the letter ' S.' The lower loop was to the left, and embraced the high and steep projection which was crowned by the ruins; the upper loop enclosed a lawny promontory, fringed by thorn and willow. It was easy to reach it from the castle side, for the river ran in thib part very quietly among innumer- able boulders and over dam-like walls of rock. The place was all enclosed, the wind a stranger, the turf smooth and solid; so it was ch. ., ;n by Nance to be her bleaching-green. One day she brought a bucketful of linen, and had but begun to wring and lay them out when Mr. Archer stepped from the thicket on the far side, drew very deliberately near, and sat down in silence on the grass. Nance looked up to greet hin^ with a smile, but finding her smile was not returr^- - -he fell into embarrassment and stuck the more busily 267 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) % // {./ ^ ^t% :/, 1.0 1.25 s '^ Ilia 1^ 12.0 us U 11.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14530 (716) 872-4503 ■6^ iV \\ ^ z ^ 268 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD worfflnnTP'°^n'"!- ^^" "' ^°™^"' th. whole world looks well at any work to which thev are accustomed; but the girl was ashamed of wha^ she thai so wn h.^''^'^^''' ^''^''' °f '^^ sun-bonnet arms wHrh T *""■' ^"'^ '^^^""''^ <>' her bare arms which were her greatest beauty. Nausicaa,' said Mr. Archer at lact ' t fi„j like Nausicaa.' • ^rcner at last, I find you • And who was she ?■ asked Nance, and lauehed IIT: °'^T''' ".!; '""P'y and embarrassed Sh that sounded in Mr. Archer's ears, indeed like r"Sy *° '" °"" '"'^ *'»« '="' grossn^ss of replied. A king, being shipwrecked, found her wrecked'- ^^''^ ''^°'" .^^*"'"'y I" t°°' -=^' w" wrecked, he contmued, plucking at the grass There was never a more desperate castaway-to fall from polite life, fortune, a shrine of honour a Sul V dfT"''-/"*'? ^"""Sly taken up and faithfully discharged; and to fall to this— idleness poverty, inutility, remorse.' He seemed to have is "wf presence, but here he remembered her again. Nance,' said he, ' would you have a man sit down and suffer or rise up and strive r doingT'' '""^ '^''^' ' ' "'°"''* ''''^^y^ '■**'^^'' ^« him ' Ha !' said Mr. Archer, ' but yet you speak from to T^ ""' knowledge. Conceive a mardamned to a choice of only evil-misconduct upon either hfm hTt ^^='"'1 "^hind him, and yet naught befo^ t ten ?■ ''"'• "°"' "'""'^ y°" =ay i i )AD n, the; whole lich they are 1 of what she le sun-bonnet i of her bare ' I find you and laughed rassed laugh, indeed, like grossness of islands,' he , found her 0, was ahip- the grass, istaway — to f honour, a ien up and s — idleness, 3d to have mbered her lave a man tier see him speak from m damned pon either ight before d you say THE BLEACHING-GREEN 269 J •' I would say that he was much deceived, Mr. Archer,' returned Nance. ' I would say there was a third choice, and that the right one.' ' I tell you,' said Mr. Archer, ' the man I have in view hath two ways open, and no more. One to wait, like a poor mewling baby, tiU Fate save or ruin him; the other to take his troubles in his hand, and to perish or be saved at once. It is no point of morals; both are wrong. Either way this step- child of Providence must fall; which shall he choose, by doing or not doing ?' ' Fall, then, is what I would say,' replied Nance. ' Fall where you will, but do it ! For O, IVIr. Archer,' she continued, stooping to her work, ' you that are good and kind, and so wise, it doth sometimes go against my heart to see you live on here like a sheep in a turnip-field ! If you were braver ' and here she paused, conscience-smitten. ' Do I, indeed, lack courage ?' inquired Mr. Archer of himself. ' Courage, the footstool of the virtues, upon which they stand ? Courage, that a poor private carrying a musket has to spare of; that does not fail a weasel or a rat; that is a brutish faculty ? I to fail there, I wonder ? But what is courage, then ? The constancy to endure oneself or to see others suffer? The itch of ill-advised activity: mere shuttle-wittedness, or to be still and patient ? To inquire of the significance of words is to rob ourselves of what we seem to know, and yet, of all things, certainly to stand still is the least heroic. Nance,' he said, 'did yon ever hear of Hamlet ?' ' Never,' said Nance. 270 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD < >' 'Tis an old play.' returned Mr. Archer, ' and frequently enacted. This while I have been talking Hamlet. You must know this Hamlet was a Prince among the Danes,' and he told her the play in a very good style, here and there quotirg a verse or two with solemn emphasis. ' It is strange,' said Nance ; ' he was then a very poor creature ?' ^ Arphif* T ^^^^ ^^ ^^"-^ "'^^ *^"'' said Mr. Arcner Look at me, am I as poor a creature ?' thnuX\''f^u\^''i ''^^* '^' '^^ ^^s the familiar thought of all her hours; the tall figure very plainly habited m b ack, the spotless ruffles, the slim hands the long, well-shapen, serious, shaven face, the wide and somewhat thin-lipped mouth, the dark eves that were so full of depth and change and colour He was gazmg at her with his brows a little knit* his kilee ''^''" ''''^ ^^""^ ^""^ *^^* ^^^"""^ ""^'^^"^ ^" ' Ye look a man !' she cried, ' ay, and shon .e a great one ! The more shame to you to lie herr> Idle like a dog before the fire.' ' My fair Holdaway,' quoth Mr. Archer, ' vou are much set on action. I cannot dig, to be^ I am ashamed.' He continued, looking at her with^ haf-absent fixity, 'Tis a strange thmg, certainly! that in my years of fortune I should never taste happiness, and now when I am broke, enjov so much of It, for wa. I ever happier than to-day ? «n,^^ .l^""^'' '?^^^'' *h^ s*^^^^^ pleasanter in w^ \ 1/t' "''^^^'' th^ h^^-^t "i«r<^ at peaces Why should I not sink ? To dig-why, after all. It should be easy. To take a mate, loo ? Love ^"-i IS THE BLEACHING-GREEN 271 of all grades since Jupiter; love fails to none- and children '—but here he passed his hand suddenly over his eyes. 'O fool and coward, fool and coward!' he said bitterly; 'can you forget your f( ' ters ? You did not know that I was fettered, Nance ?' he asked, again addressing her. But Nance was somewhat sore. ' 1 know you keep talking,' she said, and, turning half away from him, began to wring out a sheet across her shoulder. ' I wonder you are not wearied of your voice. When the hands lie abed the tongue takes a walk.' Mr. Archer laughed unpleasantly, rose and moved to the water's edge. In this part the body of the river poured across a little narrow fell, ran some ten feet very smoothly over a bed of pebbles, then getting wind, as it were, of another shelf of rock which barred the channel, began, by imperceptible degrees, to separate towards either shore in dancing currents, and to leave the miadle clear and stag- nant. The set towards either side was nearly equal ; about one half of the whole water plunged on the side of the castle, through a narrow gullet; about one half ran lipping past the margin of the green and slipped across a babbling rapid. ' Here,' said Mr. Archer, after he had looked for some time at the fine and shifting deniarcation of these currents, ' come here and see me try mv fortune.' ^ ^ ' I am not like a man,' said Nance; ' I have no time to waste.' Come here,' he said again. ' I ask you seriously. Nance. We are not always childish when we seem so.' 272 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD She drew a lie tie nearer. ' w!if ?w ^t"nT'*' *^ '^^^ ^^"^^•' s^id Nance. mp Z; "^"^.^'"^^ } ^^sh to have the odds against me not only the other channel but yon stagnant water m the midst shall be for lying st^ll. S see ' T hL ^ .f«."t\"^^d, pulling up a withered rush. at fh!f r.u ^'^^- ^ '^^" P^t ^^^h separately at the top of the upper fall, and according as they go^by your way or by the other I shall guide my of hir ^ho^S^'^^^ "^' '^^"^^' "^^^ ^ "^^— ^ ' I do not think it so/ said Mr. Archer. forfnn. *^k"'' '^^ '•^^^,"^^d, ' if you are to try your lortune, why not evenly ?' ' Nay,' returned Mr. Archer with a smile, ' no man can put complete reliance in blind fate- he must still cog the dice.' By this time he had got upon the rock beside the upper fall, and. bidding her look out, dropped a piece of rush into the middle of the intake The rusty fragment was sucked at once over the fall came up again far on the right hand, leaned eve^ more and more m the same direction, and disap- peared under the hanging grasses on the castle side. One. said Mr. Archer, ' one for standing still ' But the next launch had a different fate, and alter hanging for a while about the edge of the stag- nant water steadily approached the bleaching-green and danced down the rapid under Nance's eyes DAD vo channels — 2,' said Nance, returned Mr, e odds against yon stagnant till. You see athered rush, ch separately rding as they lall guide my I a movement ler. e to try your a smile, iind fate; no he ck beside the t, dropped a intake. The ver the fall, leaned ever , and disap- e castle side, ding still.' nt fate, and 3 of the stag- aching-green ce's eyes. THE BLEACHING-GREEN 273 ' One for me,' she cried with some exultation; and then she observed that Mr. Archer had grown pale, and was kneeling on the rock, with his hand raised like a person petrified. ' Why,' said she. ' you do not mmd it, do you ?' ' Does a man not mind a throw of dice by which a fortune hangs ?' said Mr. Archer, rather hoarsely. And this is more than fortune. Nance, if you have any kindness for my fate, put up a prayer before I launch the next one.' * A prayer,' she cried, ' about a game like this ? 1 would not be so heathen.' ' Well,' said he, ' then without,' and he closed his eyes and dropped the piece of rush. This time there was no doubt. It went for the rapid as straight as any arrow. '^Action then !' said Mr. Archer, getting to his teec; and then God forgive us,' he added, almost to himself. ' God forgive us, indeed,' cried Nance, ' for wast- mg the good daylight ! But come, Mr. Archer, if I see you look so serious I shall begin to think you was in earnest.' ' Nay,' he said, turning upon her suddenly, with a full smile; ' but is not this good advice ? I have consulted God and demigod; the nymph of the river, and what I far more admire and trust, my blue-eyed Minerva. Both have said the same. My own heart was telling it already. Action, then, be mine; and into the deep sea with all this paralysing casuistry. I am happy to-day for the first time.' 18 CHAPTER VIII THE MAIL GUARD Somewhere about two in the morning a squall had burst upon the castle, a clap of screaming wind that made the towers rock, and a copious drift of rain that streamed from the windows. The wind soon blew itself out, but the day broke cloudy and drippmg, and when the little party assembled at breakfast their humours appeared to have changed with the change of weather. Nance had been broodmg on the scene at the river-side, applying It m various ways to her particular aspirations, and the result, which was hardly to her mind, had taken the colour out of her cheeks. Mr. Archer, too, was somewhat absent, his thoughts were of a mingled stram; and even upon his usually impassive coun- tenance there were betrayed successive depths of depression and starts of exultation, which the girl translated in terms of her own hopes and fears. But Jonathan was the most altered : he was strangely silent, hardly passing a word, and watched Mr. Archer with an eager and furtive eye. It seemed as if the idea that had so long hovered before him had now taken a more solid shape, and, while it still attracted, somewhat alarmed his imagination. 274 i g a squall had ling wind that > drift of rain he wind soon ! cloudy and assembled at have changed ce had been ide, applying mirations, and id, had taken her, too, was of a mingled passive coun- ^e depths of hich the girl s and fears, vas strangely ivatched Mr. It seemed /ered before shape, and, alarmed his ' THE MAIL GUARD 275 At this rate, conversation languished into a silence which was only broken by the' gentle and ghoX no ses of the ram on the stone roof and about luthlt held of rums; and they were all relieved when the note of a man whistling and the sound of appro\ch mg footsteps in the grassy court announc d fvS It was the ostler from the ■ Green Dragon ' brinlrW con":cV:Lf;,- ^'^'r- ^'^"^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^cro'T^rcf houX tw * ^'^V'-''''^ T'" ^* *'eht of it; and she thought that she knew why, for the sprawling gross black characters of the address werfeasifdltin! guishable from the fine writing on the fomier let "r vrifh a nJ f ' ,**"'" 5'^'^ °^"^'' ^a' d°^^n to table ' I h"aV":^tt?ntrd rs^iSt".^'' -'' '^■ on M^"'r ^^P''<^''f a Po'ite interest, but'hereye was on Mr Archer, who was reading his letter with a face "0 f^t-^f '^^''"^indifference that she was tempted to suspect him oj assumption it Ih^fifr""""''* ""? "'*'"'"• ' "°t been the like of fh^e sfotr. ''""^ ''' '^'""'^ ^^" ^'°PI-<» ^' the h»-'?l*''^"'^ u"P **' ^* '^'^ "P' ''"t at this moment .7 starld b"^ th " '''"' '"T"'- """i *f-'- Archer, a t startled by the noise, made so sudden a movement that one comer of the sheet tore off and staved between his finger and thumb. It was some IMe .me before the old man was sufficiently recovered to beg the ostler to go on, and he still kept coughing and crymg and rubbing his eyes. Mr. Archer "^ 276 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD his side, laid the letter down, and, putting his hands m his pocket, listened gravely to the tale. Yes,' resumed Sam, ' the North Mail was stopped by a smgle horseman; dash my wig, but I admire him ! There were four insides and two out, and poor Tom Oglethorpe, the guard. Tom showed himself a man; let fly his blunderbuss at him; had him covered, too, and could swear to that; but the Captain never let on, up with a pistol and fetched poor Tom a bullet through the body. Tom, he squelched upon the seat, all over blood. Up comes the Captain to the window. " Oblige me," says he, " with what you have." Would you believe it ? Not a man says cheep !— not them. " Thy hands over thy head." Four watches, rings, snuff-boxes, seyen-and-forty pounds overhead in gold. One Dicksee, a grazier, tries it on : gives him a guinea. "Beg your pardon," says the Captain, " I think too highly of you to take it at your hand. I will not take less than ten from such a gentleman." This Dicksee had his money in his stocking, but there was the pistol at his eye. Down he goes, of^s with his stocking, and there was thirty golden guineas. " Now," says the Captain, " you've tried it on with me, but I scorns the advantage. Ten I said," he says, " and ten I take." So, dash my buttons, I call that man a man !' cried Sam in cordial admira- tion. ' Well, and then ?' says Mr. Archer. ' Then,' resumed Sam, ' that old fat faggot Engle- ton, him as held the ribbons and drew up like a lamb when he was told to, picks up his cattle, and drives off again. Down they came to the ' ' Dragon, ' ' i DAD ting his hands tale. il was stopped but I admire two out, and Tom showed s at him; had that; but the )1 and fetched ly. Tom, he d. Up comes me," says he, u believe it ? " Thy hands ), snuff-boxes, 1 gold. One lim a guinea. " I think too i. I will not sman." This ig, but there oes, offs with Iden guineas, ied it on with 1 I said," he ly buttons, I rdial admira- faggot Engle- 3w up like a is cattle, and le " Dragon," THE MAIL GUARD 277 all singing like as if they was scalded, and poor Tom saymg nothmg. You would 'a' thought thcv haTl aJl lost the King's crown to hear them^ D vn gets by the arm. this is a most abominable thine " he says. Down gets a Major Clayton, and gets the old man by the other arm. ' We've been robbed "he cries, 'robbed!" Down gets the othe^ and all around the old man telling their story, and wha they had lost and how they was all as good as ruined; till at last Old Engleton says, says he ''How about Oglethorpe?" says he. '' Av '• savs Z others, " how about the guard ?" Well with that hi' \"Tv^ """^ ^°""' ^' "h^^^ -^ a rag and al blooded like a sop. I thought he was dead. WeU he ain't dead; but he's dying, I fancy.' ' ' Fon/?.l^^/''''T'^^*^^'' ■ " ^^'^ Jonathan, c;. . c 1 ''^- ^ "^'^^ '^ ^^^ ^en forty,' cried seT^nn. r ^ P^'*^ ^^ T''^ ^"™^^ I "^ver did Z^?f "Jf ^""^"^ *^'"^ ^^' P^^' Tom. But us that are the servants on the road have all the risk and none of the profit.' ;And this brave fellow,' asked Xi. Archer v^rv quietly ' this Oglethorpe-how is he now^' ^ Well, sir with my respects, I take it he has a hole bang through him.' said Sam. 'The doctor itTad t'" ^''' ""^'^ '^' '^^" ^"^ht and early 1 It had been a passenger. But, doctor or no, I'lli make a good ^ess that Tom won't see to-mo/row. Z^^'sZ:tu::^7' ^'^ ^^^^ ^^-^^ ^°^ ^^^^ ^- ' Did Tom see him that did it ?' a«;Ved Ton-t»^— •Well, he saw him,' replied Sam, 'but'norto 278 THE GREAT NORTH ROAD swear by. Said he was a very tall man. and very big, and had a 'andkcrrhief about his face, and a very quick shot, and sat his horse like a thorough gentleman, as he is.' ' A gentleman !' cried Nance. ' The dirty knave !' ' Well, I calls a man like that a gentleman,' returned the ostler; ' that's what I mean by a gentleman.' ' You don't know much of them, then,' said Nance. ' A gentleman would scorn to stoop to such a thing. I call my uncle a better gentleman than any thief.' ' And you would be right,' said Mr. Archer. ' How many snuff-boxes did he get ?' asked Jonathan. ' O, dang me if I know,' said Sam; ' I didn't take an inventory.' ' I will go back with you, if you please,' said Mr. Archer. ' I should like to see poor Oglethorpe. He has behaved well.' • At your service, sir,' said Sam, jumping to his feet. ' I dare to say a gentleman like you would not forget a poor fellow like Tom— no, nor a plain man like me, sir, that went without his sleep to nurse him. And excuse me, sir,' added Sam, ' you won't forget about the letter neither ?' ' Surely not,' said Mr. Archer. Oglethorpe lay in a low bed, one of several in a long garret of the inn. The rain soaked in places through the roof and fell in minute drops; there was but one small window; the beds were occupied by servants, the air of the garret was both close and chilly. Mr. ArcI.er's heart sank at the threshold to nan. and very is face, and a ke a thorough dirty knave !' a gentleman,' [ mean by a I, then,' said to stoop to ter gentleman Archer. get ?' asked I didn't take sase,' said Mr. lethorpe. He imping to his ce you would ), nor a plain his sleep to id Sam, ' you f several in a ked in places >ps; there was occupied by )th close and ; threshold to THE MAIL GUARD 279 see a man lying perhaps mortally hurt in so poor a sick-room, and as he drew near the low bed he took his hat off. The guard was a big, blowsy, innoccnt- lookmg soul witli a thick lip and a broad nose, comically turned up; his checks were crimson, and when Mr. Archer laid a hnger on his brow ae found him burning with fever. 'I fear you suffer much,' he said, with a catch in his voice, as he sat down on the bedside. ' I suppose I do, sir,' returned Oglethorpe; ' it is main sore.' ' I am used to wounds and wounded men,' re- turned the visitor. ' I have been in the wars' and nursed brave fellows before now; and, if you will suffer me, I propose to stay beside you till the doctor comes.' ' It is very good of you, sir, I am sure,' said Ogle- thorpe. ' The trouble is they won't none of them let me drink.' ' If you will not tell the doctor,' said Mr. Archer. ' I will give you some water. They say it is bad for a green wound, but in the Low Countries we all drank water when we found the chance, and I could never perceive we were the worse for it.' ' Been wounded yourself, sir, perhaps ?' called Oglethorpe. ' Twice,' said Mr. Archer, ' and was as proud of these hurts as any lady of her bracelets. 'Tis a fine thing to smart for one's duty; even in the pangs of it there is contentment.' ' Ah, well !' replied the guard. ' if you've been shot yourself, that explains. But as for content- ment, why, sir, you see, it smarts, as you say. And 28o THE GREAT NORTH ROAD then, I Lave a good wife, you see, and a bit of a brat— a little thing, so high.' ' Don't move,' said Mr. Archer. 'No, sir. I will not, and thank vou kindly,' said Oglethorpe. ' At York they are. A very good lass IS my wife— far too good for me. And the little rascal— well, I don't know how to say it, but he sort of comes round you. If I were to go, sir, it would be hard on my poor girl— main hard on her !' ' Ay, you must feel bitter hardly to the rogue that laid you here,' said Archer. 'Why, no, sir, more against Engleton and the passengers,' replied the guard. 'He played his hand, if you come to look at it; and I wish he had shot worse, or me better. And yet I'll go to my grave but what I covered him,' he cried. ' It looks like witchcraft. I'll go to my grave but what he was drove full of slugs like a pepper-box.' ' Quietly,' said Mr. Archer, ' you must not excite yourself. These deceptions are very usual in war; the eye, in the moment of alert, is hardly to be trusted, and when the smoke blows away vou see the man you fired at, taking aim, it may be, at yourself. You should observe, too, that you were in the dark night, and somewhat dazzled by the lamps, and that the sudden stopping of the mail had ]oIted you. In such circumstances a man may miss ay even with a blunderbuss, and no blame attach to his marksmanship.' . . . OAD and a bit of a u kindly,' said very good lass And the little ^ it, but he sort 0, sir, it would on her !' the rogue that ;leton and the le played his I wish he had I'll go to my led. ' It looks ; but what he 30X.' Lust not excite usual in war; hardly to be away you see it may be, at that you were azzled by the f the mail had nan may miss, blame attach THE YOUNG CHEVALIER THE YOUNG CHEVALIER PROLOGUE THE wine-seller's WIFE There was a wine-seller's shop, as you went down to the river in the city of the Anti-popes. There a man was served with good wine of the country and plain country fare; and the place being clean and quiet, with a prospect on the river, certain gentlemen who dwelt in that city in attendance on a great personage made it a practice (when they had any silver in their purses) to come and eat there and be private. They called the wine-seller Paradou. He was built more like a bullock than a man, huge in bone and brawn, high in colour, and with a hand like a baby for size. Marie- Madeleine was the name of his wife; she was of Marseilles, a city of entrancing women, nor was any fairer than herself. She was tall, being almost of a height with Paradou; full- girdled, point-device in every form, and with an ex- quisite delicacy in the face; her nose and nostrils a delight to look at from the fineness of the sculpture, her eyes inclined a hair's-breadth inward, her colour between dark and fair, and laid on even like a flower's. A faint rose dwelt in it, as though she had 283 284 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER been found unawares bathing, and had blushed from head to foot. She was of a grave countenance, rarely smiling; yet it seemed to be written upon every part of her that she rejoiced in life. Her hus- band loved the heels of her feet and the knuckles of her fingers; he loved her like a glutton and a brute; his love hung about her like an atmosphere; one that came by chance into the wine-shop was aware ot that passion; and it might be said that by the strength of it the woman had been drugged or spell- bound. She knew not if she loved or loathed him- he was always in her eyes like something monstrous --monstrous in his love, monstrous in his person, horrific but imposing in his violence; and her senti- ment swung back and forward from desire to sick- ness. But the mean, where it dwelt chiefly, was an apathetic fascination, partly of horror; as of Europa in mid ocean with her bull. On the loth November 1749 there sat two of the toreign gentlemen in the wine-seller's shop. They were both handsome men of a good presence, richly dressed. The first was swarthy and long and lean, with an alert, black look, and a mole upon his cheek. 1 he other was more fair. He seemed very easy and sedate, and a little melancholy for so young a man, but his smile was charming. In his grey eyes there was much abstraction, as of one recalling fondly that which was past and lost. Yet there was strength and swiftness in his limbs ; and his mouth set straight across his face, the under lip a thought upon side, like that of a man accustomed to resolve. These two talked together in a rude outlandish speech that iio frequenter of that wine-shop understood. The ■1 THE WINE-SELLER'S WIFE 285 swarthy man answered to the name of Ballanirae ; ne ot the dreamy eyes was sometimes called Balmile and sometimes my Lord, or my Lord Gladsmuir ; but when the title was given him, he seemed to put It by as if in jesting, not without bitterness The niistral blew in the city. The first day of that wmd they say in the countries where its voice is heard, it blows away all the dust, the second all the stones, and the third it blows back others from the mountains. It was now come to the third day outside the pebbles flew like hail, and the face of the river was puckered, and the very building-stones in tne walls of houses seemed to be curdled with the savage cold and fury of that continuous blast. It could be heard to hoot in all the chimneys of the city; It swept about the wine-shop, filling the room with eddies; the chill and gritty touch of it passed between the nearest clothes and the bare flesh; and the two gentlemen at the far table kept their mantles loose about their shoulders. The roughness of these .^ Ju'i ^' ^""'^ *^^y ^^^^ Pl^in travellers' cloaks that had seen service, set the greater mark of rich- ness on what showed below of their laced clothes- tor the one was in scarlet and the other in violet and white like men come from a scene of ceremony as indeed they were. ^ ' It chanced that these fine clothes were not without their influence on the scene which followed, and which makes the prologue of our tale. For a long time Balmile was in the habit to come to the wine- shop and eat a meal or drink a measure of wine- sometimes with a comrade; more often alone, when he would sit and dream and drum upon the table 286 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER and the thoughts would show in the man's face in httle glooms and lightenings, like the sun and the clouds upon a water. For a long time Marie-Made- leme had observed him apart. His sadness, the beauty of his smile when by any chance he remem- bered her existence and addressed her, the changes of his mind signalled forth by an abstruse play of feature, the mere fact that he was foreign and a thing detached from the local and the accustomed, insen- sibly attracted and affected her. Kindness was ready in her mind; it but lacked the touch of an occasion to effervesce and crystallise. Now Balmile had come hitherto in a very poor plain habit; and this day of the mistral, when his mantle was just open, and she saw beneath it the glancing of the violet and the velvet and the silver, and the cluster- ing fineness of the lace, it seemed to set the man in a new light, with which he shone resplendent to her fancy. The high inhuman note of the wind, the violence and continuity of its outpouring, and the fierce touch of it upon man's whole periphery, accelerated the functions of the mind. It set thoughts whirling, as It whirled the trees of the forest; it stirred them up m flights, as it stirred up the dust in chambers. As brief as sparks, the fancies glittered and succeeded each other in the mind of Marie-Madeleine; and the grave man with the smile, and the bright clothes under the plain mantle, haunted her with incon- gruous explanations. She considered him, the un- known, the speaker of an unknown tongue, the hero (iis she placed him) of an unknown romance, the dweller upon unknown memories. She recalled him THE WINE-SELLER'S WIFE 287 sitting there alone, so immersed, so stupefied: vet dav IZTZ f r "•?* ^'"P''*• She re'^alled one «^th nfr?. 1- .•?™^'"''' ^ '°"S time motionless, with parted hps, like one in the act of starting up lookTd'fnnT'l'' Vf '"^>'- ^"y °- ^'- '""^t have looked foolish; but not he. She tried to conceive she for^e'Srr V """^^^ 'V^'^ ^''"^ entranced him n everv thf fl '' P'"' '''" '^"^"^ ^^ "> hersel m every light of heroism and greatness and misfor- tune; she brooded with petulant intensity on all she knew and guessed of him. Yet, though she was umlalT\'° t'P- '^' ^^' ^'"' unashamed. s7l she h.T* ;, **"' "^e^Shts were still disinterested; tl^eoill" T^ 'I' '*"Se at which-beside the and^to lin "■ f ''°™ '™ '°^« t° contemplate tehold th^rrT.P'^"" **'" ™^g^ °f ourself and Dehold them together with delight beWnVr^i'*' v^'u the counter, her hands clasped wal her f. ^K ' ^1' '^'"'^'^^'' P^^^^d agahist the wall, her feet braced out. Her face was bright with the wind and her own thoughts; as a fire in f s Ji lar day of tempest glows and brightens on a hearth so she seemed to glow, standing there, and to breathe ZZ'IZ " ^^, '"^^ "''' ti-e'Ballantrae had tne wife, and his eyes were true to her I perceive your reason for carrying me to this very draughty tavern,' he said .t last. ^ I believe it is propinquity,' returned Balmile. carH R^ ^^ dark,' said Ballantrae, 'but have a care ! Be more frank with me, or I will cut you out. I go through no form of qualifyipp mv thr-a* which would be commonplace and not'conscienW: 288 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER There is only one point in these campaigns: that is the degree of admiration offered by the man ; and to our hostess I am in a posture to make victorious love.' ' If you think you have the time, or the game worth the candle.' replied the other with a shrug. ' One would suppose you were never at the pains to^observe her,' said Ballantrae. ' I am not very observant,' said Balmile. * She seems comely.' ' You very dear and dull dog !' cried Ballantrae; ' chastity is the most besotting of the virtues. Why, she has a look in her face beyond singing ! I believe, if you was to push me hard, I might trace it home to a trifle of a squint. What matters ? The height of beauty is in the touch that's wrong, that's the modulation in a tune. 'Tis the devil we all love; I owe many a conquest to my mole ' — he touched it as he spoke with a smile, and his eyes glittered;— ' we are all hunchbacks, and beauty is only that kind of deformity that I happen to admire. But come ! Because you are chaste, for which I am sure I pay you my respects, that is no reason why you should be blind. Look at her, look at the delicious nose of her, look at her cheek, look at her ear, look at her hand and wrist — look at the whole baggage from heels to crown, and tell me if she wouldn't melt on a man's tongue.' As Ballantrae spoke, half jesting, half enthusiastic, Balmile was constrained to do as he was bidden. He looked at the woman, admired her excellences, and was at the same time ashamed for himself and his companion. So it befell that when Marie-Madeleine R igns: that is man ; and to :e victorious or the game ith a shrug, at the pains Imile. ' She . Ballantrae; •tues. Why, ! I believe, race it home The height ^, that's the 'e all love; I e touched it glittered ; — ily that kind But come ! 1 sure I pay ou should be s nose of her, at her hand rom heels to t on a man's enthusiastic, bidden. He ellences, and iself and his ie-Madeleinc I THE WINE-SELLER'S WIFE 289 raised her eyes, she met those of the subject of her ontemplations fixed directly on herself Juh a look hat IS unmistakable, the look of a person measuring ^eJon'tLfT'^'r'"'^' '° "''^^^ the faUeT.' pression, that his glance was instantly and miiltilv withdrawn. The blood beat back upon hef heart tefo X sTfl" ' ''" f ^"^"^ ''-■'-'"^ flashed cea a wanton knHfl.7 '" -^"'^ l''^'^^' '° ^^ ^""^ "ke aL ilt f ^ ^Sam on the instant like a nymph And at that moment there chanced an interruoTion' which not only spared her embarrassment "Ssei ?nM*tr''""*r °° ^'' "°«' articulate love Into the wine-shop there came a French gentle- man, arrayed m the last refinement of the fSon hough a little tumbled by his passage in the 3' It was to be judged he had come from thHame formal gathering at whi-h the others h^d preceded withrcer^rSrsetrtsr^ "P '° ^=^"-*- *i, ^If I*' ^^"^ y°" ^""^ •' h« cried in French ' I thought I was to miss you altogether ' The Scotsmen rose, and Ballantrae, after the first greetings, laid his hand on his companion' shoulder My lord/ said he, ' allow me to present to vou one of my best friends and one of ou? bSt soldiers the Lord Viscount Gladsmuir ' soldiers, period *''° '"'""'* '"'*'' *''" ''^''°'"^'" «'^g^"c« °' the ' Monseigneur,- said Balmile, ' je n'ai pas la MUn- hon de rn'affuUer d'un litre que la mauvlise fortun de man rot »e me fermet pas de porter comm^. il IT I- mappelle. pour vous servir, Blair de Balmile tSid 19 ago THE YOUNG CHEVALIER I I court.' [My lord, I have not the effrontery to cumber myself with a title which the ill fortunes of my king will not suffer me to bear the way it should be. I call myself, at your service, plain Blair of Balmile.] ' Monsieur le Vicomte ou monsieur Bldr' de Balmail,' replied the newcomer, ' le nam n'y fait rien, et Von connait vos beaux f aits. ' [The name matters nothing, your gallant actions are known.] A few more ceremonies, and these three, sitting down together to the table, called for wine. It was the happiness of Marie-Madeleine to wait unobserved upon the prince of her desires. She poured the wine, he drank of it ; and that link between them seemed to her, for the moment, close as a caress. Though they lowered their tones, she surprised great names pass- ing in their conversation, names of kings, the names of de Gesvre and Belle-Isle ; and the man who dealt in these high matters, and she who was now coupled with him in her own thoughts, seemed to swim in mid air in a transfiguration. Love is a crude core, but it has singular and far-reaching fringes; in that passionate attraction for the stranger that now swayed and mastered her, his harsh incomprehen- sible language, and these names of grandees in his talk, were each an element. The Frenchman stayed not long, but it was plain he left behind him matter of much interest to his companions; they spoke together earnestly, their heads down, the woman of the wine-shop totally forgotten; and they were still so occupied when Paradou returned. This man's love was unsleeping. The even bluster even bluster THE WINE-SELLER'S WIFE 291 of the mistral, with which he had been combating some hours, had not suspended, though it had em- Dittered that predominant passion. His first look was for his wife, a look of hope and suspicion, menace and humility and love, that made the over-blooming brute appear for the moment almost beautiful She returned his glance, at first as though she knew him not, then with a swiftly waxing coldness of intent- and at last, without changing their direction, she had closed her eyes. There passed across her mind during that period much that Paradou could not have understood had It been told to him in words : chiefly the sense of an enlightening contrast betwixt the man who talked of kings and the man who kept a wine-shop, betwixt the love she yearned for and that to which she had been long exposed like a victim bound upon the altar. There swelled upon her, swifter than the Khone, a tide of abhorrence and disgust. She had succumbed to the monster, humbling herself below animals; and now she loved a hero, aspiring to the semi-divine. It was in the pang of that humiliating thought that she had closed her eyes. Paradou— quick as beasts are quick, to translate silence— felt the insult through his blood; his in- articulate soul bellowed within him for revenge He glanced about the shop. He saw the two indifferent gentlemen deep in talk, and passed them over- his fancy flymg not so high. There was but one other present, a country lout who stood swallowing his wme, equally unobserved by all and unobserving- to him he dealt a glance of murderous suspicion, and turned direct upon his wife. The wine-shop had THE YOUNG CHEVALIER lam liJti'Aerto, a space of shell r, the scene of a few ceremonial passages and some whispered conversa- tion, in the howling river of the wind; the clock had not yet ticked a score of times since Paradou's ap- pearance; and now, as he suddenly gave tongue, it seemed as though the mistral had entered at his heels. ' What ails you, woman ?' he cried, smiting on the counter. ' Nothing ails me,' she replied. It was strange; but she spoke and stood at that moment like a lady of degree, drawn upward by her aspirations. ' You speak to me, by God, as though you scorned me I' cried the husband. The man's passion was always formidable ; she had often looked on upon its violence with a thrill, it had been one ingredient in her fascination; and she was now surprised to behold him, as from afar off, gesticulating but impotent. His fury might be dangerous like a torrent or a gust of wind, but it was inhuman; it might be feared or braved, it should never be respected. And with that there came in her a sudden glow of courage and that readiness to die which attends so closely upon all strong passions. * I do scorn you,' she said. ' What is that ?' he cried,. ' I scorn you,' she repeated, smiling. ' You love another man !' said he. * With all my soul,' was her reply. The vine-seller roared aloud so that the house rang jn , as )k ^vHh it. ' Is inii li'': ?' he cried, using a foul word, commoa ?n tiie Sout'i, and ho seized the young 1 R :ene of a few ed conversa- he clock had aradou's ap- vii tongue, it itered at his niting on the was strange; it like a lady tions. . you scorned ible ; she had h a thrill, it ion ; and she rom afar off, y might be d, but it was id, it should lere came in readiness to 3ng passions. it the house a foul word, I the young THE WINE-SELLERS WIFE 293 countryman and dashed him to the ground. There fledTrom h' "^^ "Ik'"^^^ ^^ ^^"^^ '"'^^'^'^ ' *hen " countv ' t r^'' '^" "'"'^ ^"^"fi^^l P«^^«" in the hands^ ^n 1 ?^^"^^7 "^^^:^"^<^ had escaped from his hands, :,pla,hing the wine high upon the wall wrtivinTh'^'M'- '^"^ y^^'' he^oared to his ^jf . giv ng her the same name in the feminine and he aimed at her the deadly missile. She exited It. motionless, with radiant eyes ^^^P^^ctecl But before it sped, Paradou was met by another fronted "^'t.'^' the unconscious rivals st';>od on' aoia^eVl I J'"" ^^'"l *^ '^y ^' '^^' "^^n^^nt which appeared the more formidable. In Paradou the we'f stTr^'d •; 7' '"^^t"* ^^P^h^ of trSmt b hi^ fh '"'y' *^" ^^^* ^^ destruction raged 1^11. ^' T "^^^ "^* ^ ^^^ture in his face but it talked murder. Balmile had dropped his cloak he stature, girt in-mmd and body; all his resources all ^h^oiZur'VV'' ^^"^^"^^ ^" his face'the nor fhLf f ^T*^"" 'P^^"' ^here was no blow menf^hP T'/* ''^f ^^^ ^"^"^^^ to its last ele- S;^ v,^'"'*''^^' ^"^^ *^^ h^^^ wine-seller slowly lowered his weapon. Balmile was a noble he a pTrLlTairi^""' T'^V"" ^" honourabi:' cause' hk vinl ^X. P^'^^P' ^^S^" to be ashamed of his violence. Of a sudden, at least, the tortured of^rfo^m' ^"^"^'^ ^^^"^ ^^^ ^^«P in the footstTps of his former victim, to whose continued flight his reappearance added wings. ^ .nH\'''''"if n?^^"''^'^ appeared between her husband and herself. Marie-Ma Hpl<.,n^ +.o„.f.._„j ._ ^^^'^'"lu pvpc n^r^;^u4.u ,---""■"• ---^^i^icircu Lo mm her eyes. It might be her last moment, and she fed upon I 294 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER that face; reading there inimitable courage and il- limitable valour to protecc. And when the momen- tary peril was gone by, and the champion turned a little awkwardly towards her whom he had rescued, it was to meet, and quail before, a gaze of admiration more distinct than words. He bowed, he stam- mered, his words failed him ; he who had crossed the floor a moment ago, like a young god, to smite, re- turned like one discomfited; got somehow to his place by the table, muffled himself again in his dis- carded cloak, and for a last touch of the ridiculous, seeking for anything to restore his countenance, drank of the wine before him, deep as a porter after a heavy lift. It was little wonder if Ballantrae, reading the scene with malevolent eyes, laughed out loud and brief, and drank with raised glass, ' To the champion of the Fair.' Marie-Madeleine stood in her old place within the counter; she disdained the mocking laughter; it fell on her ears, but it did not reach her spirit. For her, the world of living persons was all resumed again into one pair, as in the days of Eden ; there was but the one end in life, the one hope before her, the one thing needful, the one thing possible — to be his. lR urage and il- 1 the momen- pion turned a had rescued, of admiration 3d, he stam- id crossed the to smite, re- lehow to his lin in his dis- he ridiculous, countenance, a porter after f Ballantrae, , laughed out id glass, ' To ce within the lighter; it fell rit. For her, isumed again ;here was but ; her, the one to be his. CHAPTER I THE PRINCE That same night there was in the city of Avi^on a young man in distress of mind. Now he sat, now walked m a high apartment, full of draughts and ! n At 1 • 6''"^^^ ^^"^^^ "'^^^ the darkness visible ; and the light scarce sufficed to show upon the wall where they had been recently and rudely nailed a few miniatures and a copper medal of the young man s head. The same was being sold that year in London to admiring thousands. The original was lair; he had beautiful brown eyes, a beautiful bright open face; a ittle feminine, a little hard, a little weak; still full of the light of youth, but already beginning to be vulgarised; a sordid bloom come upon It, the lines coarsened with a touch of pufhness He was dressed, as for a gala, in peach-colour and silver; his breast sparkled with stars and was bright with ribbons ; for he had held a levee in the afternoon he sat wi^h . \ ^^^f'^y P^^^"" ^"^«^"^t^- Now ne sat with a bowed head, now walked precipitately to and fro, now went and gazed from the uncurtained window where the wind was still blowing, and the lights winked in the darkness. The bells of Avipnnn r^c^ tnf" ' ->- V - -o ■■>^-'\. iiii\j auiij' as 1113 was gazing; and the high notes and the deep tossed and 295 296 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER drowned, boomed suddenly near or were suddenly swallowed up, in the current of the mistral. Tears sprang in the pale blue eyes; the expression of his face was changed to that of a more active misery it seemed as if the voices of the bells reached, and touched and pained him, in a waste of vacancy where even pain was welcome. Outside in the night they continued to sound on, swelling and fainting; and the listener heard in his memory, as it were their harmonies, joybells clashing in a northern city, and the acclamations of a multitude, the cries of battle, the gross voices of cannon, the stridor of an animated life. And then all died away, and he stood face to face with himself in the waste of vacancy, and a horror came upon his mind, and a faintness on his brain, such as seizes men upon the brink of cliffs. On the table, by the side of the candle, stood a tray of glasses, a bottle, and a silver bell. He went thither swiftly, then his hand lowered first above the bell, then settled on the bottle. Slowly he filled a glass, slowly drank it out; and, as a tide of animal warmth recomforted the recesses of his nature, stood there smiling at himself. He remembered he was young; the funereal curtains rose, and he saw his life shme and broaden and flow out majestically, like a nver sunward. The smile still on his lips, he lit a second candle and a third; a fire stood ready built m a chimney, he lit that also; and the fir-cones and the gnarled olive billets were swift to break in flame and to crackle on the hearth, and the room bright- ened and enlarged about him like his hopes. To and fro, to and fro, he went, his hands lightly clasped, his breath deeply and pleasurably taken. Victory R 3re suddenly stral. Tears ession of his re, misery ; it cached, and of vacancy in the night md fainting; it were their Jm city, and ies of battle, an animated tood face to ancy, and a tness on his k of cliffs, die, stood a 1. He went st above the y he filled a ie of animal ature, stood ired he was 5 saw his life . cally, like a lips, he lit ready built ir-cones and 3ak in flame oom bright- es. To and itly clasped, n. Victory THE PRINCE 297 nXn^tf '"^1°"^ •=■■' ■ S'^'y "''^ his dress. And vlTrl '^^u *"hadows closed upon the solitary walk of ?h/' 1 "^Tu^"*^ candlelight, the stone Sd th. lP"*"!f1*.'''°*"'^ •'o™ ''^■■^ '^nd cold; faiW ilw^lu'l *"™Ph '<'0'"«d up the actual desD^; hrnt ■ /, °"^ '^''*'"^ °f 'he flight, exile, St^' fr !? °'i°""''' '"""ning faces, empty f^.h„ ' l^ estranged. The memory of his faf herrose m his mind; he, too, estranged and defied fepair sharpened into wrath. Therl was one who S;2nthf ?'''/" *' ^^^- ^''° had staked his life ex^rienr. o?;l^ '"*''P"'"' ^ '"^" °f ^^tio° and coS roo^ 7r° "'• *''" '=^'"P- 'he court, the an old "^T" K^^^ '" ^"^P' direction from an old pompous gentleman in a home in Italy and n^a mS "^ f'f '^ ' ^ P^''^ ^ing, if h"^ had not a martial son to lean upon ! A king at all ? St Nin''* ^^v. ^ ^^^"^^ (°^ ^" P<=°P'e) joined me at he thn K.'' ^A""^ •""'■* °f ^ -"an than my papa I" a ienadW J ''^■''™ "' <^°"'"'=<^ '" his blood and Al? 2^ f ^°^ him-and he died for my papa ! Hm^f /r *"■"' "'l^^"^ '^' <^y"g- *"d I lay for h^the , L°'%"'°"'^= "" '^^ ™" ^"d skulked in calk m. r! f ■ ^""^ "°* *'<' "'""'^ ">« his advice ! calls me Carluccio-me, the man of the house the • The onfv'k*'"' ""%''' ^^^^' "-^ g™""d hfe Lth The only king m Europe ! Who else ? Who has fnd^'^H ^"^^--fd except me ? who has lain and ru^ Bruce 'noT*^ '" ''"^^"' ="'''^'='^- "'^^ =' -~nS an::sLt zVei^^trA^^r-^i'^^^^^^^ the glass to the brim, Td-rrnkVl ^g . dtmnaS 298 THE YOUNG CHEVALIER Ah, if he had the power of Louis, what a king were here ! The minutes followed each other into the past, and still he persevered in this debilitating cycle of emo- tions, still fed the fire of his excitement with driblets of Rhine wine : a boy at odds with life, a boy with a spark of the heroic, which he was now burning out and drowning down in futile reverie and solitary excess. From two rooms beyond, the sudden sound of a raised voice attracted him. 'By . . .' R a king were ;he past, and ycle of emo- ivith driblets I boy with a burning out and solitary I sound of a HEATHERCAT HEATHERGAT CHAPTER I TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT The period of tliis tale is in the heat of the killim- time ; the scene laid for the most part in solitary hills and morasses, haunted only by the so-called Moun- tain Wanderers, the dragoons that came in chase of them, the women that wept on their dead bodies, and the wild birds of the moorland that have cried there since the beginning. It is a land of many rain- clouds; a land of much mute history, written there m pre-historic symbols. Strange green raths are to be seen commonly in the country, above all by the kirkyards; barrows of the dead, standing stones; beside these, the faint, durable footprints and hand- niarks of the Roman; and an antiquity older perhaps than any, and still living and active— a complete Celtic nomenclature and a scarce-mingled Celtic population. These rugged and grey hills were once included m the boundaries of the Caledonian Forest Merlm sat here below his apple-tree and lamented Gwendolen; here spoke with Kentigern; here fell into his enchanted trance. And the legend of his slumber seems to body forth the story of that Celtic 301 302 HEATHERCAT race, deprived for so many centuries of their authen- tic speech, surviving with their ancestral inheritance of melancholy perversity and patient, unfortunate courage. The Traquairs of Montroymont {Mons Romanus, as the erudite expound it) had long held their seat about the head-waters of the Dule and in the back parts of the moorland parish of Balweary. For two hundred years they had enjoyed in these upland quarters a certain decency (almost to be named dis- tinction) of repute ; and the annals of their house, or what is remembered of them, were obscure and bloody. Ninian Traquair was ' cruallie slochtered ' by the Crozers at the kirk-door of Balweary, anno 1482. Francis killed Simon Ruthven of Drumshore- land, anno 1540; bought letters of slayers at the widow and heir, and, by a barbarous form of com- pounding, married (without tocher) Simon's daughter Grizzel, which is the way the Traquairs and Ruth- vens came fijst to an intermarriage. About the last Traquair and Ruthven marriage, it is the business of this book, among many other things, to tell. The Traquairs were always strong for the Cove- nant; for the King also, but the Covenant first; and it began to be ill days for Montroymont when the Bishops came in and the dragoons at the heels of them. Ninian (then laird) was an anxious husband of himself and the property, as the times required, g,nd it may be said of him, that he lost both. He was heavily suspected of the Pentland Hills rebellion. When it came the length of Bothwell Brig, he stood his trial before the Secret Council, and was convicted of talking with some insurgents by the wayside, the heir authen- 1 inheritance unfortunate ^s Romanus, Id their seat in the back ■y. For two hese upland ; named dis- eir house, or Dbscure and slochtered ' weary, anno Drumshore- lyers at the Drm of com- n's daughter 3 and Ruth- )out the last the business to tell. T the Cove- nt first ; and it when the the heels of )us husband es required, t both. He lis rebellion, •ig, he stood as convicted vayside, the TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT 303 subject of the conversation not very clearly appear- mg, and of the reset and maintenance of one Gale a gardener man, who was seen before Bothwell with a musket and afterwards, for a continuance of months, delved the garden at Montroymont. Matters went very ill with Ninian at the Council- some of the lords were clear for treason; and even the boot was talked of. But he was spared that torture; and at last, having pretty good friendship among great men, he came off with a fine of seven thousand marks, that caused the estate to groan In this case as in so many others, it was the wife that made the trouble. She was a great keeper of conventicles; would ride ten miles to one, and when she was fined, rejoiced greatly to suffer for the Kirk • but It was rather her husband that suffered. She had their only son, Francis, baptized privately bv the hands of Mr. Kidd; there was that much the more to pay for ! She could neither be driven nor wiled into the parish kirk; as for taking the sacrament at the hands of any Episcopalian curate, and tenfold more at those of Curate Haddo, there was nothing further troni her purposes; and Montroymont had to put his hand m his pocket month by month and year by year. Once, indeed, th€ little lady was cast in prison ajid the laird, worthy, heavy, uninterested man, had to ride up and take her place; from which he was not discharged under nine months and a Sharp hne It scarce seemed she had any gratitude to him ; she came out of gaol herself, and plunged immediately deeper in conventicles, resetting re- cusants, and all her old, expensive follv. onlv with greater vigour and openness, because Montrcymont 304 HEATHERCAT was safe in the Tolbooth and she had no witness to consider. When he was liberated and came back, with his fingers singed, in December 1680, and late in the black night, my lady was from home. He came into the house at his alighting, with a riding- rod yet in his hand; and, on the servant-maid telling him, caught her by the scruff of the neck, beat her violently, flung her down in the passage-way, and went upstairs to his bed fasting and without a light. It was three in the morning when my lady returned from that conventicle, and, hearing of the assault (because the maid had sat up for her, weeping), went to their common chamber with a lantern in hand and stamping with her shoes so as to wake the dead; it was supposed, by those that heard her. from a design to have it out with the good man at once. The house-servants gathered on the stair, because it was the main interest with them to know which of these two was the better horse ; and for the space of two hours they were heard to go at the matter, hammer and tongs. Montroymont alleged he was at the end of possibilities; it was no longer within his power to pay the annual rents ; she had served him basely by keeping conventicles while he lay in prison for her sake ; his friends were weary, and there was nothing else before him but the entire loss of the family lands, and to begin life again by the wayside as a common beggar. She took him up very sharp and high: called upon him, if he were a Christian ? and which he most considered, the loss of a few dirty, miry glebes, or of his soul ? Presently he was heard to weep, and my lady's voice to go on continually like a running burn, only the words indistinguish- witness to came back, 80, and late home. He ith a riding- maid telling ck, beat her ge-way, and hout a light. ,dy returned the assault eping), went em in hand Ice the dead ; her. from a lan at once, r, because it 3W which of the space of the matter, jged he was 2r within his . served him lay in prison id there was loss of the the wayside ) very sharp L Christian ? : a few dirty, le was heard continually 1 distinguish- TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT 305 able; whereupon it was supposed a victory for hor ladyship, and the domestics took themselves to bed 1 he next day Traquair appeared like a man who had gone under the harrows, and his lady wife thence- forward contmued in her old course without the least aeflection. Thenceforward Ninian went on his way without complamt. and suffered his wife to go on hers without remonstrance. He still minded his estate, of which It might be said he took daily a fresh farewell, and counted It already lost; looking ruefully on the acres and the graves of his fathers, on the moorlands where the wild-fowl consorted, the low. gurgling pool of the trout, and the high, windy place of the calling cur- lews—things that were yet hie for the d and would be another's to-morrow; coming ba again, and sitting ciphering till the dusk at his approaching ruin which no device of arithmetic could postpone beyond a year or two. He was essentially the simple ancient man, the farmer and landholder; he would have been content to watch the seasons come and go, and his cattle increase, until the limit of age; he would have been content at any time to die, if he could have left the estates undiminished to an heir-male of his ancestors, that duty standing fivst in his instinctive calendar. A-.d now he saw everywhere the image of the new proprietor come to meet him, and so sowing and reaping, or fowling for his pleasure on the red moors, or eating the very gooseberries in the Place garden; and saw always, on the other hand the figure of Francis go forth, a beggar, into the broad world. It was in vain the poor gentleman sought to 20 MUUH 306 HEATHERCAT moderate; took every test and took advantage of every indulgence ; wont and drank with the dragoons in Balweary; attended the communion and came regularly to the church to Curate Haddo, with his son beside him. The mad, raging, Presbyterian zealot of a wife at home made all of no avail ; and indeed the house must have fallen years before if it had not been for the secret indulgence of the curate, who had a great symp ithy with the laird and winked hard at the doings in Montroymont. This curate was a man very ill reputed in the countryside, and indeed in all Scotland. ' Infamous Haddo ' is Shield's expression. But Patrick Walker is more copious, ' Curate Hall Haddo,' says he, sub voce Peden, ' or Hell Haddo, as he was more justly to be called, a pokeful of old condemned errors and the filthy vile lusts of the flesh, a published whoremonger, a common gross drunkard, continually and godlessly scraping and skirling on a fiddle, continually breath- ing flames against the remnant of Israel. But the Lord put an end to his piping, and all these offences were composed into one bloody grave.' No doubt this was written to excuse his slaughter; and I have never heard it claimed for Walker that he was either a just witness or an indulgent judge. At least, in a merely human character, Haddo comes off not wholly amiss in the matter of these Traquairs: not that he showed any graces of the Christian, but had a sort of Pagan decency, which might almost tempt one to be concerned about his sudden, violent, and unprepared fate. dvantage of he dragoons 1 and came do, with his i'resbyterian > avail; and 3 before if it f the curate, and winked This curate tryside, and Haddo ' is kcr is more he, sub voce justly to be ors and the horemonger, nd godlessly lally breath- il. But the tiese offences No doubt ; and I have le was either it least, in a les off not aquairs: not ian, but had Imost tempt violent, and CHAPTER II FRANCIE ^ut^'^l^ was eleven years old. shy, secret, and rather childish o his age, though not backward in schooling which had been pushed on far by a private governor, one M Brair, a forfeited minister harboured in that capacity at Montroymont. The boy. already much employed in secret by his mother, was the most apt hand conceivable to run upon a message, to carry tood to lurking fugitives, or to stand sentry on the skyline abov(i a conventicle. It seemed no place on the moorlands was so naked but what he would find cover there; and as he knew every hag. boulder, and heather-bush m a circuit of seven miles about Mont- roymont, there was scarce any spot but what he could leave or approach it unseen. This dexterity had won him a reputation in that part of the country; and among the many children employed in these dangerous affairs, he passed under the by-name of Heathercat. How much his father knew of this employment might be doubted. He took much forethought for the boy's future, seeing he was like to be left so poorly, and would sometimes assist at his lessons sighmg heavily, yawning deep, and now and a^^ain patting Francie on the shoulder if he seemed to be 307 f 308 HEATHERCAT doing ill, by way of a private, kind encouragement. But a great part of the day was passed in aimless wanderings with his eyes sealed, or in his cabinet sitting bemused over the particulars of the coming bankruptcy; and the boy would be absent a dozen times for once that his father would observe it. On 2nd of July 1682 the boy had an errand from his mother, which must be kept private from all, the father included in the first of them. Crossing the braes, he hears the clatter of a horse's shoes, and claps down incontinent in a hag by the wayside. And presently he spied his father come riding from one direction, and Curate Haddo walking from another; and Montroymont leaning down from the saddle, and Haddo getting on his toes (for he was a little, ruddy, bald-pated man, more like a dwarf), they greeted kindly, and came to a halt within two fathoms of the child. ' Montroymont,' the curate said, ' the deil's in 't but I'll have to denunciate your leddy again.' ' Deil's in 't indeed !' says the laird. ' Man ! can ye no induce her to come to the kirk ?' pursues Haddo; ' or to a communion at the least of it ? For the conventicles, let be ! and the same for yon solemn fule, M'Brair : I can blink at them. But she's got to come to the kirk, Montroymont.' ' Dinna speak of it,' says the laird. ' I can do nothing with her.' * Couldn't ye try the stick to her ? it works won- ders whiles,' suggested Haddo. ' No ? I'm wae to hear it. And I suppose ye ken where you're going ?' ' Fine !' said Montroymont. ' Fine do I ken where: bankrup'cy and the Bass Rock !' FRANCIE )uragement. i in aimless his cabinet the coming ent a dozen erve it. jrrand from rom all, the 'rossing the shoes, and [le wayside, riding from liking from m from the or he was a e a dwarf), within two ! deil's in 't igain.' ) the kirk ?' the least of he same for them. But ont.' ' I can do works won- I'm wae to I're going ?' do I ken 309 ^' Praise to my bones that I never married !' cried the curate. ' Well, it's a grievous thing to me to fL'." '^i^ ho-e^dung dotn that was here ^fo ^ my wth.^ ^' """'^"^y '"" '^y '' ^^' ^ith ' No more they can, Haddo !' says the laird. ' A good friend ye've been to me, first and last. I can give you that character with a clear conscience ' rrJu'^^F^'i *^^y separated, and Montroymont rode briskly down into the Dule Valley. But of the curate Francis was not to be quit so easily He went on with his little, brisk steps to the corner of a dyke, and stopped and whistled and waved upon a iassie that was herding cattle there. This Janet M Clour was a big la^s, being taller than the curate; and what made her look the more so. she was kilted very high. It seemed for a while she would not come and Francie heard her calling Haddo a ' daft auld fule, and saw her running and dodging him among the whins and hags till he was fairly blown. i u 1.^^.^^'* ^^ ^^*' ^ ^^"^^ ^'^^ his plaid-neuk and holds It up to her; whereupon she came at once into a composition, and the pair sat, drinking of the bottle and daffing and laughing together, on a mound of heather. The boy had scarce heard of these vanities, or he might have been minded of a nymph and satyr, if anybody could have taken long- leggit Janet for a nymph. But they seemed to he huge friends, he thought ; and was the more surprised when the curate had taken his leave, to see the lassie tting stones after him with screeches of laughter, and Haddo turn about and caper, and shake hk <;faff at her, and laugh louder than herself. A wonderful 310 HEATHERCAT merry pair, they seemed; and when Francie had crawled out of the hag, he had a great deal to con- sider in his mind. It was possible they were all fallen in error about Mr. Haddo,he reflected — having seen him so tender with Montroymont, and so kind and playful with the lass Janet; and he had a temp- tation to go out of his road and question her herself upon the matter. But he had a strong spirit of duty on him; and plodded on instead over the braes till he came near the House of Cairngorm. There, in a hollow place by the burnside that was shaded by some birks, he was aware of a barefoot boy, perhaps a matter of three years older than himself. The two approached with the precautions of a pair of strange dogs, looking at each other queerly. ' It's ill weather on the hills,' said the stranger, giving the watchword. ' For a season,' said Francie, ' but the Lord will appear.' ' Richt,' said the barefoot boy; ' wha're ye frae ?' * The Leddy Montroymont,' says Francie. ' Ha'e, then !' says the stranger, and handed him a folded paper, and they stood and looked at each other again. ' It's unco het,' said the boy. ' Dooms het,' says Francie. ' What do they ca' ye ?' says the other. * Francie,' says he. ' I'm young Montroymont. They ca' me Heathercat.' ' I'm Jock Crozer,' said the boy. And there was another pause, while each rolled a stone under his foot. ' Cast your jaiket and I'll fecht ye for a bawbee,' cried the elder boy with sudden violence, and dramatically throwing back his jacket. ancie had ;al to con- ^ were all i — having id so kind id a temp- ler herself rit of duty ; braes till 'here, in a ihaded by I, perhaps The two of strange ; stranger, Lord will ye frae ?' nded him d at each troymont. there was 3r his foot. . bawbee,' ince, and FRANCIE 311 ' Na, I've nae time the now,' said Francie, with a sharp thrill of alarm, because Crozer was much the heavier boy. ' Ye 're feared. Heathercat indeed !' said Crozer. for among this infantile army of spies and messen- gers, the fame of Crozer had gone forth and was re- sented by his rivals. And with that they separated. On his way home Francie was a good deal occupied with the recollection of this untoward incident. The challenge had been fairly offered and basely refused; the tale would be carried all over the country, and the lustre of the name of Heathercat be dimmed. But the scene between Curate Haddo and Janet M'Clour had also given him much to think of: and he was still puzzling over the case of the curate, and why such ill words were said of him, and why, if he were so merry-spirited, he should yet preach so dry, when coming over a knowe, whom should he see but Janet, sitting with her back to him, minding her cattle ! He was always a great child for secret, stealthy ways, having been employed by his mother on errands when the same was necessary; and he came behind the lass without her hearing. ' Jennet,' says he. ' Keep me,' cries Janet, springing up. you, Maister Francie ! Save us, what a gied me.' ' Ay, it's me,' said Francie. ' I've been thinking, Jennet; I saw you and the curate a while back ' ' Brat !' cried Janet, and coloured up crimson; and the one moment made as if she would have stricken him with a ragged stick she had to chase her bestial with, and the next was begging and praying that he ' O, it's fricht ye 312 HEATHERCAT )f would mention it to none. It was ' nae body's busi- ness, whatever/ she said; ' it would just stavt a clash in the country ' ; and there would be nothing left for her but to drown herself in Dule Water. ' Why ?' says Francie. The girl looked at him and grew scarlet again. ' And it isna that, anyway,' continued Francie. * It was just that he seemed so good to ye — like our Father in heaven, I thought; and I thought that mebbe, perhaps, we had all been wrong about him from the first. But I'll have to tell Mr. M'Brair; I'm under a kind of a bargain to him to tell him all.' ' Tell it to the divil if ye like for me !' cried the lass. ' I've naething to be ashamed of. Tell M'Brair to mind his ain affairs,' she cried again: ' they'll be hot eneugh for him, if Haddie likes !' And so strode off, shoving her beasts before her, and ever and again looking back and crying angry words to the boy, where he stood mystified. By the time he had got home his mind was made up that he would say nothing to his mother. My Lady Montroymont was in the keeping-room, read- ing a godly book; she was a wonderful frail little wife to make so much noise in the world and be able to steer about that patient sheep her husband; her eyes were like sloes, the fingers of her hands were like tobacco-pipe shanks, her mouth shut tight like a trap; and even when she was the most serious, and still more when she was angry, there hung about her face, the terrifying semblance of a smile. ' Have ye gotten the billet, Francie ?' said she; and when he had handed it over, and she had read and i^urned it, * Did you see anybody ?' she asued. ody's busi- tavt a clash ling left for t again, d Francie. ; — like our Dught that about him •• M'Brair; ill him all.' ed the lass. M'Brair to :y'll be hot strode off, and again ) the boy, was made ther. My Dom, read- l little wife be able to i ; her eyes were like ght like a rious, and about her said she; ; had read he asivcd. FRANCIE 313 ' I saw the laird,' said Francie. ' ^%^f^^ '^^ you, though ?' asked his mother. Ueil a fear,' from Francie aith^'^ tI? 't ^\%^"^d- ' What's that I hear ? an a brandTnr .^"""k ^'''^'''^ "'"' ^^^^ ^ broughten forth a brand for the burnmg, a fagot for hell-fire ?' heJZ17r r'^' T'^"^' '^'^ ^"^"^i^- ' I humbly beg the Lords pardon, and yours, for my wicked- ; H'm, ' grunted the lady. ' Did ye see nobody else ?' an^^ ' J^^^T' ^t^^, Francie, with the face'^of an MrVvT'P* J?^^. ^r^'' that gied me the billet.' J ock Crozer !' cried the lady. ' I'll Crozer them I Crozers indeed ! What next ? Are wrto re^s^^ the hves of a s-ifering remnant in Crozers / The wav of it" 1''^" ^T ^^"^^"^' -^ i^ I had my way of It, they wouldna want it long. Are vou tp^i^^^"-' ''^-'^ -^"'^^ youfforebearat ; You see, he was bigger 'n me,' said Francie. Jock Crozer!' continued the lady. 'That'll be Clement's son, the biggest thief and reiver in 'the countiyside. To trust a note to him ! But I'? jve we two wir^ ""TT '? ^"^y Whitecross when we two forgather. Let her look to herself ! I have on fhe Lord'Td' '''''-'''.^'''^ ^-"nes, that complil taiJliL f h. ^ "T'"^ ^^^^ *^^ ^''^' ^"d comes or ttel f "^^n^ght to the conventicle. The one or the other ! is what I say: hell or heaven-Haddie's abornmations or the pure word of God dreeping from the hps of Mr. Arnot, ^ ^ ^^^£,Joney from the honeycomb That dieepeth, sweeter far." ' ^!| 314 HEATHERCAT My lady was now fairly launched, and that upon two congenial subjects : the deficiencies of the Lady Whitecross and the turpitudes of the whole Crozer race — which, indeed, had never been conspicuous for respectability. She pursued the pair of them for twenty minutes on the clock with wonderful anima- tion and detail, something of the pulpit manner, and the spirit of one possessed. ' O hellish compliance !' she exclaimed. ' I would not suffer a compiler to break bread with Christian folk. Of all the sins of this day there is not one so God- defying, so Christ- humiliating, as damnable compliance ' : the boy standing before her meanwhile, and brokenly pur- suing other thoughts, mainly of Haddo and Janet, and Jock Crozer stripping off his jacket. And yet, with all his distraction, it might be argued that he heard too much : his father and himself being ' com- pilers ' — that is to say, attending the church of the parish as the law required. Presently, the lady's passion beginning to decline, or her flux of ill words to be exhausted, she dismissed her audience. Francie bowed low, left the room, closed the door behind him: and then turned him about in the passage-way, and with a low voice, hut a prodigious deal of sentiment, repeated the name of the evil one twenty times over, to the end of which, for the greater efficacy, he tacked on * damnable ' and ' hellish.' Fas est ah hoste doceri — disrespect is made more pungent by quotation; and there is no doubt but he felt relieved, and went upstairs into his tutor's chamber with a quiet mind. M'Brair sat by the cheek of the peat-fire and shivered, for he had a quartan ague and this was his day. The great night- I that upon )f the Lady hole Crozer conspicuous of them for rful anima- lanner, and )mpliance !' compiler to the sins of \, so Christ- ': the boy )kenly pur- and Janet, And yet, led that he )eing ' com- urch of the I to decHne, le dismissed : the room, turned him V voice, hut the name of id of which, damnable ' iisrespect is there is no airs into his Brair sat by or he had a great night- FRANCIE 315 cap and plaid, the dark unshaven cheeks of the man and the white, thin hands that held the plaid abn,?; F^ancif wI'^'^h' T^^ ^ sorrowful p-c'tut ' Bu i^rancie knew and loved him: came strai^hf in Pre^bvterv h ^?" ^* *?! ^^^'^^e with Hadcio; the aJtti^t 7 had licensed both on the same day; and at th,s tale told with so much innocency by the bov the heart of the tutor was commoved ^ ^' Woe upon him ! Woe upon that man r he cried O the unfaithful shepherd! O the hireW ami qTo''st r^^"u ■ ^'""^^y -^"-^ hot fof-1 ?w u Jh^ shameless limmer ! And true it is hat lie could repose me in that nasty, stink'ng hole dr:w^rz*M°"?""> ''°"' "'^''•^ your 4*:; tharrZ w!T ^°"^ '■«"''""'' her for it !_or to that cold unbieldy, marine place of the Bass Rork which with my delicate kis? would t Itr^S^t have a d, tv T ^ "'!,''*"* ™ "^ ^'"''^ ^"i^^- I to H.ddo ^- »*•■ ^ ''"'y *° '"y God, to myself, and rif r 'f "'f '*''^"Sth, I will perform it.' tall Ih K ''■'t'^ly. discharged Francie to repeat the from fh , " *""! '" 'he future to avert his v^ eyes from the domgs of the curate. • You must go to his 'tnn '^"^^'7' '°'"' "P°" him there!- says te pt hZhv rf '• ..A^^^iyo^'^^yes, dose your ears,' pass him by like a three days' corp. He is like that poirno' rT' ^^^"■''-' which defiles-yea c^=yTo'^hfbVfm*i:7^" -'^' -- haJdly and swordsman : and it was his^pleas J.^ to ^alk ^Hh 3i6 HEATHERCAT his son over the braes of the moorfowl, or to teach him arms in the back court, when they made a mighty comely pair, the child being so lean, and light, and active, and the laird himself a man of a manly, pretty stature, his hair (the periwig being laid aside) showing already white with many anxieties, and his face of an even, flaccid red. But this day Francie's heart was not in the fencing. ' Sir,' says he, suddenly lowering his point, ' will ye tell me a thing if I was to ask it ?' ' Ask away,' says the father. ' Well, it's this,' said Francie: ' Why do you and me comply if it's so wicked ? ' Ay, ye have the cant of it too !' cries Montroy- mont. ' But I'll tell ye for all that. It's to try and see if we can keep the rigging on this house, Francie. If she had her way, we would be beggar-folk, and hold our hands out by the wayside. When ye hear her — when ye hear folk ' he corrected himself briskly, ' call me a coward, and one that betrayed the Lord, and I kenna what else, just mind it was to keep a bed to ye to sleep in and a bite for ye to eat. — On guard !' he cried, and the lesson proceeded again till they were called to supper. ' There's another thing yet,' said Francie, stopping his father. * There's another thing that I am not sure that I am very caring for. She — she sends me errands.' ' Obey her, then, as is your bounden duty/ said Traquair. ' Ay, but wait till I tell ye,' says the boy. ' If I was to see you I was to hide.' Montroymont sighed. ' Weil, and that's good of >r to teach y made a lean, and . man of a : being laid anxieties, t this day oint, ' will o you and Montroy- to try and e, Francie. r-folk, and en ye hear elf briskly, [ the Lord, keep a bed 3n guard !' n till they e, stopping I am not e sends me duty,* said )oy. ' If I t's good of FRANCIE 317 ^Z ^Zi '^'f ^'- ' ^^^" ^^'' that I ken of ihir doings \utf^ LK"^'' ""^ ^^^ ^'' thing you can do 1 ust to obey her, and see and be a good son ?o her the same as ye are to me, Francie ' At the tenderness of this expression the heart nf Francie swelled within his bosom, Tnd his remorse was poured out. ' Faither !' he cri;d, ' I saM'' deT'' beebhral R f i ^^^'" ^^^^^''^ ^" "^^t; they're beeblical. But I didna say them beeblically; I said them for sweir words-that's the truth of it^' Hout, ye silly bairn !' said the father ' dinna do It nae mair, and come in by to your supper 'Ind he took the boy, and drew him close^o him a TC:it7l''7 "T' ''^^"^^ *^^ d-^' -^'h some! pa^ofTov'eS^^ "' ""'*' ''^' ' ^^^^^^ ^tween a an?h "h ""i f^ ^'?^^' ^^' ^^'"^^ ^^ the afternoon, and h,.d a long advismg with Janet on the brae«^ where she herded cattle' What passed was ne^e Lrt^^esTh-^ '"' *'^ 'T "^P^ ^^'^-^y* --d fen on her knees to him among the whins. The same night as soon as it was dark, he took the road agabfor Balweary. In the Kirkton, where the dmgoons quartered, he saw many lights, and heard the no'se was highly offensive to his mind. He gave it the Tttast bv 'th'"T^ 'T""' ""'''''' ^"^ --"down' soh^lZ, "^f t""-.^^^^' where the manse stands af £T. ir'""*^^^^^^ He tapped at the back door, and the old woman called upon him to come in, and guided him thrmmh the hou'-^toX study, as they still called it, though there w^Ht^^^^^ 3i8 HEATHERCAT T \l enough study there in Haddo's days, and more song- books than theology. ' Here's yin to speak wi' ye, Mr. Haddie !' cries the old wife. And M'Brair, opening the door and entering, found the little, round, red man seated in one chair and his feet upon another, A clear fire and a tallow dip lighted him barely. He was taking tobacco in a pipe, and smiling to himself; and a brandy-bottle and glass, and his fiddle and bow, were beside him on the table. * Hech, Patey M'Brair, is this you ?' said he, a trifle tipsily. ' Step in by, man, and have a drop brandy : for the stomach's sake ! Even the deil can quote Scripture— eh, Patey ?' ' I will neither eat nor drink with you,' replied M'Brair. 'I am come upon my Masters errand: woe be upon me if I should anyways miixe the same. Hall Haddo, I summon you to quit this kirk which you encumber.' ' Muckle obleeged !' says Haddo, winking. ' You and me have been to kirk and market to- gether,' pursued M'Brair; ' we have had blessed seasons in the kirk, we have sat in the same teaching- rooms and read in the same book; and I know you still retain for me some carnal kindness. It would be my shame if I denied it; I live here at your mercy and by your favour, and glory to acknowledge it. You have pity on my wretched body, which is but grass, and must soon be trodden under: but O, Haddo ! how much greater is the yearning with which I yearn after and pity your immortal soul ! Come now, let us reason together ! I drop all points FRANCIE nore song- die !' cries ing, found lir and his :allow dip •acco in a idy-bottle )eside him >aid he, a ve a drop le deil can 1,' replied s errand: th*^ same. :irk which narket to- id blessed ; teaching- know you It would our mercy wledge it. lich is but r: but O, ning with >rtal soul ! ) all points 319 of controversy, weighty though these be- I fnkp your defaced and damnified kirk on your own tenns and I ask you. Are you a worthy minister ?Th; nounTr "r" ^PP--^J-s; Lw can ;ou pro Dimg torrit the elements," and not anail ? a panshioner may be summoned to-night -^you mav VoTnadd: wTatT^ "^^^^^'^^^ orgfs 'a^l":^ i^^^ t?3^htrs=rp;^ -: rSnr thef .^ ' ^'^ — ns^sho^ld L^ beUer'^pLro'f hf'f '^' '^ f composure and the crieH ^' P ^^"'P'^'- ^h^^'s this of it ?' he ZfL , ^ '"'' ""^^^ *^"" "^y "^^bours. I never set up to be speeritual; I never did. I'm a plain canty creature; godliness is cheerfulness, sLVh^^^^ me my fiddle and a dram, and I wouldna^^haira vo'Af fifT\V"'^ question,' said M'Brair: 'Are L'::^ so";;]' V'" ''^^ ^"^^ ^^-^^ ' ^^ to carry and ;Fit.P Blethers! As fit's yoursel',' cried Haddo ' Wrl'h^eTmaf t ' ^f ^"^^^--^ ?' -id M'B^S?; vvreicnea man, trampler upon God's rovpnanfc cruafier of your Lord afresh. ^I wiU ding you ?o the Janet M^^C r''' ^°^ ^'~"* *'^<> ^^"^ ~^ H»^T^'' ."^Jf^ ^''°"* '^^'' • "-hat do I ken >■ cries mg, I te 1 ye: daffing, and nae mair: a ,.ipr» of «un l>ke 1 im no denying but what I'm fond of un' 320 HEATHERCAT sma' blame to me ! But for onything sarious — hout, man, it might come to a deposeetion 1 I'll sweir it to ye. Where's a Bible, till you hear me sweir ?' ' There is nae Bible in your study,' said M'Brair severely. And Haddo, after a few distracted turns, was con- strained to accept the fact. ' Weel, and suppose there isna ?' he cried, stamp- ing. ' What mair can ye say of us, but just that I'm fond of my joke, and so's she ? I declare to God, by what I ken, she might be the Virgin Mary — if she would just keep clear of the dragoons. But me I na, deil haet o' me !' * She is penitent at least,' says M'Brair. ' Do you mean to actually up and tell me to my face that she accused me ?' cried the curate. ' I canna just say that,' replied M'Brair. ' But I rebuked her in the name of God, and she repented before me on her bended knees.' ' Weel, I daursay she's been ower far wi' the dragoons, ' said Haddo. 'I never denied that. I ken naething by it.' ' Man, you but show your nakedness the more plainly,' said M'Brair. ' Poor, blind, besotted crea- ture — and I 3ee you stoytt .ng on the brink of dis- solution : your light out, and your hours numbered. Awake, man !' he shouted with a formidable voice, * awake, or it be ower late.' ' Be damned if I stand this !' exclaimed Haddo, casting his tobacco-pipe violently on the table, where it was smashed in pieces. ' Out of my house with ye, or I'll call for the dragoons.' The bpeenc oi liic i^oru m upon mc. Said rair IS — hout, I'll sweir e sweir ?' I M'Brair was con- i, stamp- ; that I'm 3 God, by y — if she But me ! ne to my ;e. 'But I repented • wi' the . that. I the more tted crea- ik of dis- umbered. ble voice, d Haddo, he table, my house U iVi JDiiiir FRAXCIE 321 the door behind ^iml^^th troT th " '''""""' curate. The next T nr.i' a .1 ^^ *^*' pursuing thek.Kjo's:d"rh*t'r;„tfs c^^^^^^^^^ abode unmolested in the house oSroy^l^" 21 i. CHAPTER III THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE This was a bit of steep broken hill that overlooked upon the west a moorish valley, full of ink-black pools. These presently drained into a burn that made off, with little noise and no celerity of pace, about the corner of the hill. On the far side the ground swelled into a bare heath, black with juni- pers, and spotted with the presence of the standing stones for which the place was famous. They were many in that part, shapeless, white with lichen — ^you would have said with age : and had made their abode there for untold centuries, since first the heathens shouted for their installation. The ancients had hallowed them to some ill religion, and their neigh- bourhood had long been avoided by the prudent before the fall ot day; but of late, on the upspringjng of new requirements, these lonely stones on the moor had again become a place of assembly. A watchful picket on the Hill-end commanded all the northern and eastern approaches; and such was the disposi- tion of the ground, that by certain cunningly posted sentries the west also could be made secure against surprise: there was no place in the country where a conventicle could meet with more quiet of mind or a more certain retreat open, in the case of intcr- 32: s^erlooked ink-black )urn that ' of pace, ■ side the vith juni- standing 'hey were hen — ^you leir abode heathens ents had eir neigh- ! prudent •springing the moor watchful northern e disposi- ;ly posted re against :ry where t of mind ; of inter- THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE 3^3 frl"'! 1'°"" *^' ^'^^'^"'- The minister spoke from a knowe close to the edge of the ring and mt^Vu-^^ ^^"'^^ °' y°''^- When they pitched a tent (which was often in wet weather upon a com XrrS '' "" "^^^-^ °-^ the huSatTd whv An A\ ^^ "'"' °' Anes-Eirand, none knew why And the congregation sat partly clustered on the slope below, and partly among the idolltrou^ Lst ^o A f "^'r ^"^ ^^" -J^^'fi^d to give a wanted n'fT '^°'*"''^' ^''^ ^^ere beef any mndf^L .* **'^ congregations assembled under conditions at once so formidable and romance as oTthrfaHhfui°God "^r^"'^- ^"^y -~ ■-' or tne laitWul, God, who had averted His face from heaveX'^T*™' °* '^' ""''^'^' ^«" ^aned "^ heaven to observe, with swelling symoathv tZ tdifh h" ?~"''r'^ '■='""-' O^ri^tw ^ X ;u*Vi " ^ ^t«™*' wounds, with dropping tears Idoo^^^hv'Tl <"r'^.^*^'"y ^^aliselLf Sy adopted by Protestant imaginations) was dimly sud- minister. And over against them was the armv of StaartTto t- 'T *''' T" ^'^-'^^ -dTame Stuart, on to Kmg Lewie and the Emperor- and thp scarlet Pope, and the muckle black *^v[l' Wmslw peering out the red mouth of hell in an ecst™roi hate and hope. • One pull more !' he seemed to cr^! Mr. UH fo%'„*.T" ^i '3i *he three BaLnL of ance of powers and principalities looking^n atThe 324 HEATHERCAT last conflict of good and evil, it was scarce possible to spare a thought to those old, infirm, debile, ab agendo devils whose holy place they were now violating. There might have been three hundred to four hun- dred present. At least there were three hundred horses tethered for the most part in the ring; though some of the hearers on the outskirts of the crowd stood with their bridles in their hand, ready to mount at the first signal. The circle of faces was strangely characteristic; long, serious, strongly marked, the tackle standing out in the lean brown cheeks, the mouth set and the eyes shining with a fierce enthu- siasni; the shepherd, the labouring man, and the rarer laird, stood there in their broad blue bonnets or laced hats, and presenting an essential identity of type. From time to time a long-drawn groan of adhesion rose in this audience, and was propagated like a wave to the outskirts, and died away among the keepers of the horses. It had a name; it was called ' a holy groan.* A squall came up; a great volley of flying mist went out before it and whelmed the scene; the wind stormed with a sudden fierceness that carried away the minister's voice and twitched his tails and made him stagger, and turned the congregation for a moment into a mere pother of blowing plaid-ends and prancing horses; and the rain followed and was dashed straight into their faces. Men and women panted aloud in the shock of that violent shower- bath; the teeth were bared along all the line in an involuntary grimace; plaids, mantles, and riding- coats were proved vain, and the worshippers felt the THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE 325 r^tlL'*''T- """ ^^^'' ""^^^^ fl^^h. The minister. rnntnT^ ^'' F^^} ^"^ '^'"' ^«i^^' continued to sSl In^fr^^'l^ *'^TP^ ^^^^ *he rising of the squall and the dashing of the rain. ' In that day ye may go thirty mile and not hear a crawing cock/ he said; ' and fifty mile and not ge t 11 ^T P'P^ ' ^"^ ^" ^""^^^^ "^"^ and not see Sco^an^t ^T'; ^^'. *!!^^^'" ^^ "^^thing in all Scotland but deid men's banes and blackness, and the hvmg anger of the Lord. O, where to find a fii r^f'""' "^^^'^ *^ ^"^ ^ ^'^^^ f^^m the wind of thankJT? %^"^'^' ' "i^ y' "^" ^^"'^ ^ ^i"d ? Be- fhfc K . ""^^ ^ ^""^ ^ temporary dispensation ; this IS but a puii ot wind, this is but a s^t of rain west 'LnT';^ ^^^'^'?; *^^^^'^ ^ ^^-^ bow in tTe west, and the sun will take the crown of the causeway again, and your things '11 be dried upon ye and your flesh will be warm upon your angerV ' "'""' '^'' ' ^'' '^' ^">^ ^^ *^Lord^s His rhetoric was set forth with an ear-piercing rin'n^'or'cf"!^ ^^''' *^^* sometimes crashed lik! cannon. Such as it was, it was the gift of all hill- preachers, to a singular degree of likeness or identity Their images scarce ranged beyond the red horizon o the moor and the rainy hill-top, the shepherd and his sheep, a fowling-piece, a spade, a pipe, a dung- h 11 a crowing cock, the shining and the withdrawll ot tne sun An occasional pathos of simple hu- manity and frequent patches of big Biblical words relieved the homely tissue. It was a poetry Ipart ! Weak, austere, but genuine, and redolent of the 326 HEATHERCAT I ■' A little befc :e the coming of the squall there was a different scene enacting at the outposts. For the most part, the sentinels were faithful to their im- portant duty; the Hill-end of Drumlowe was known to be a safe meeting-place; and the out- pickets on this particular day had been somewhat lax from the beginning, and grew iaxer during the inordinate length of the discourse. Francie lay there in his appointed hiding-hole, looking abroad between two wiiin-bushes. His view was across the course of the burn, then over a piece of plain moorland, to a gap between two hills; nothing moved but grouse, and some cattle who slowly traversed his field of view, heading northward: he heard the psalms, and sang words of his own to the savage and melancholy music ; for he had his own design in hand, and terror and cowardice prevailed in his bosom- alternately, like the hot and the cold fit of an ague. Courage was uppermost during the singing, which he accompanied through all its length with this impromptu strain : ' And I will ding Jock Crozer down No later than the day.' Pre ',ently the voice of the preacher came to him in wafts, at the wind's will, as by the opening and shut- ting of a door; wild spasms of screaming, as of some undiscerned gigantic hill-bird stirred with inordinate passion, succeeded to intervals of silence; and Francie heard them with a critical ear. ' Ay,' he thought at last, ' he'll do; he has the bit in his mou' fairly.' He had observed that his friend, or rather his THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE 327 enemy Jock Crozer, had been established at a very cntical part of the line of outposts; namely wS nerve him to battle it was this. The post was im- called the key to the position; and it was whfre th^ X" rch^/- h' if "i!!"l'> " *^^ most naturll to whv h.H^f^- * ''"'"'^ ''^^« '^<'" Heathercafs; why had It been given to Crozer ? An exquisite fea,^ of what should be the answer passed^Ch Ws marrow every time he faced the questior Was ? possible that Crozer could have boasted "that there c":dit'Th^^ t™^'' '° his-HeathercarsI't ciedit ? that his honour was publicly sullied > AH the word went dark about him at the thought- he sank without a struggle into the midn ghtTol of despair; and every time he so sank, he brough^back with him-not drowned heroism Indeed but hdf- drowned courage by the locks. His hear beat very towards that of Crozer. Something pulled him back '"clr-', Tu' ir 1 -^"^y- *>"* ^ remembrance of Crozer s build and hateful readiness of fist. Duty ™*h fw f'"'^ '*■ P"'"*^^ him forward on the rueful his nam'.* ^r"" *'T,'""S- °"*y "^^^e him reTem and hrhl ""T ^^^^- ^* ^^' "^k of broken bones; and his bones and every tooth in his head ached by him that If he were hurt, he should disgrace himsel by weeping. He consoled himself, bfy^lTke wTth the consideration that he was not yet commitTed; i t I p II 328 HEATHERCAT he could easily steal over unseen to Crozer's post, and he had a continuous private idea that he would very probably steal back again. His course took him so near the min'ster that he could hear some of his words : ' What news, minister, of Claver'se ? He's going round like a roaring rampaging lion. . . .' BILLING AND SONS, LTD., I'RINTEKS, GUILDFORD rozer's post, lat he would course took tiear some of : Claver'se ? nglion. . . .' FOKD