Sir J aiue$ Matthew Barrie was born' In Klrrtemuir, Scotland, on May 9, I860. He was educated at Dumfries academy and at Edinburgh university, where h re- ceived an M. A. degree. Although he was destined for the teaching profes- sion by his parents, he had ambitions to write, and somewhat Inevitably Joined the staff of a Nottingham daily. [t appears that Barrie was unpopular with his fellow scribes, for the reason that his as yet unconquered timidity and reserve and his abstemious habits kept him from making friends with them. He occupied his leisure and much of hia sleeping time with writing. He sent sketches to London papers, and when they finally got to be accepted more or less regularly, he went to the capital and found employment as London cor- respondent of the Edinburgh Dispatch. In London he had a few lean years, In which he lived in a garret. His first novel, a sentimental piece about water- cress and a shipwreck, failed to Interest the publishers and it yet remains In manuscript. His first published novel, " Better Dead," did not attract atten- tion ; but when " Auld Llcht Idylls " was published Barrie became a personage. Barrie (or Sir James, s!nc 1913, when he was honored with a baronetcy) achieved his first stage success with " Walker, London," In which Mls,e Mary Ansell made her debut as a star. Miss Arisell shortly afterward became Mrs. Barrie. They had no children and lived In apparent happiness until 1908, when Gilbert Cannan, a young novelist and j playwright, at Barrie's Invitation came 1 to live at the Barrie home. Cannan was ostensibly employed as his benefactor's secretary, but actually was given a home and leisure for writing, because of Barrie's Interest in the young man's abilities. Mrs. Barrie also interested herself In Cannan and later admitted to her hus- band that she loved the younger man. Barrie offered to forgive all If she would renounce Cannan. ' She refused. He ap- n'.ied for a divorce. There was a ma, testimony as to misconduct on the part of Mrs. Barrie and Cannan, but the judge 'topped the proceedings early to avoid further scandal and granted the divorce. Mrs. Barrie and Cannan were married. Barrie gave the couple a Louse and a large sum 9f money. Cannan's version of the affair Is re- lated In his novel, " Peter Homunculus." The married life of Cannan and Mrs. Barrie was stormy and short lived. After she had nursed him through a seri- ous illness, he said he wanted no more to do with her, that she was a drag upon his career, and admitted infidelity to her In. Barrie-Cannan then sued for and -on restitution of conjugal rights Ru- mors have It that Sir James and his former wife are often seen together now that they may be remarried. A J A WINDOW IN THRUMS. BY J. M. BARRIE, duthor of " A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 52-58 DUANE STEEET, NEW YORK. :TESSE Y SYBIT D.. SELENE JOHNSON VYN STRATFORD ...JANE HAVEN LFRED PINNER .A. O. HUH AN JOHN TAYLOR ,RGE A. WARD ~ CONTENTS. CHAPTBX PAGE I. The House on the Brae 7 II. On the Track of the Minister 15 III. Preparing to Receive Company 22 IV. Waiting for the Doctor 28 V. A Humorist on His Calling 36 VI. Dead This Twenty Years 45 VII. The Statement of Tibbie Birse 55 VIII. A Cloak with Beads 62 IX. The Power of Beauty 72 X. A Magnum Opus 78 XL The Ghost Cradle 84 XII. The Tragedy of a Wife 93 XIII. Making the Best of It 100 XIV. Visitors at the Manse 107 XV. How Gavin Birse put it to Mag Lownie 115 XVI. The Son from London 123 XVII. A Home for Geniuses 135 XVIIL Leeby and Jamie 141 XIX. The Tale of a Glove 151 XX. The Last Night 160 XXL Jess Left Alone 168 XXII. Jamie's Home-Coming. 175 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER I. THE HOUSE ON THE BRAE, ON the bump of green round which the brae twists, at the top of the brae, and within cry of T'nowhead Farm, still stands a one-story house, whose whitewashed walls, streaked with the dis- coloration that rain leaves, look yellow when the snow comes. In the old days the stiff ascent left Thrums behind, and where is now the making of a suburb was only a poor row of dwellings and a manse, with Hendry's cot to watch the brae. The house stood bare, without a shrub, in a gar- den whose paling did not go all the way round, the potato pit being only kept out of the road, that here sets off southward, by a broken dyke of stones and earth. On each side of the slate- colored door was a window of knotted glass. Ropes were flung over the thatch to keep the roof on in wind, 7 8 A WINDOW IN- THRUMS. Into this humble abode I would take any one who cares to accompany me. But you must not come in a contemptuous mood, thinking that the poor are but a stage removed from beasts of bur- den, as some cruel writers of these days say ; nor will I have you turn over with your foot the shabby horse-hair chairs that Leeby kept so speck- less, and Hendry weaved for years to buy, and Jess so loved to look upon. I speak of the chairs, but if we go together into the "room " they will not be visible to you. For a long time the house has been to let. Here, on the left of the doorway, as we enter, is the room, without a shred of furniture in it except the boards of two closed-in beds. The flooring is not steady, and here and there holes have been eaten into the planks. You can scarcely stand upright beneath the decaying ceiling. Worn boards and ragged walls, and the rusty ribs fallen from the fireplace, are all that meet your eyes, but I see a round, un- steady, waxcloth-covered table, with four books lying at equal distances on it. There are six prim chairs, two of them not to be sat upon, backed against the walls, and between the window and the fireplace a chest of drawers, with a snowy coverlet. On the drawers stands a board with colored marbles for the game of solitaire, and I have only to open the drawer with the loose handle to bring out the dambrod. In the carved wood frame over the window hangs Jamie's por- A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 9 trait ; in the only other frame a picture of Daniel in the den of lions, sewn by Leeby in wool. Over the chimney-piece with its shells, in which the roar of the sea can be heard, are strung three rows of birds' eggs. Once again we might be expect- ing company to tea. The passage is narrow. There is a square hole between the rafters, and a ladder leading up to it. You may climb and look into the attic, as Jess liked to hear me call my tiny garret-room. I am stiffer now than in the days when I lodged with Jess during the summer holiday I am trying to bring back, and there is no need for me to ascend. Do not laugh at the newspapers with which Leeby papered the garret, nor at the yarn Hendry stuffed into the windy holes. He did it to warm the house for Jess. But the paper must have gone to pieces and the yarn rotted decades ago. I have kept the kitchen for the last, as Jamie did on the dire day of which I shall have to tell. It has a flooring of stone now, where there used only to be hard earth, and a broken pane in the window is indifferently stuffed with rags. But it is the other window I turn to, with a pain at my heart, and pride and fondness too, the square foot of glass where Jess sat in her chair and looked down the brae. Ah, that brae ! The history of tragic little Thrums is sunk into it like the stones it swallows in the winter. We have all found the brae long 10 A WIN DO IV IN THRUMS. and steep in the spring of life. Do you remember how the child you once were sat at the foot of it and wondered if a new world began at the top ? It climbs from a shallow burn, and we used to sit on the brig a long time before venturing to climb. As boys we ran up the brae. As men and women, young and in our prime, we almost forgot that it was there. But the autumn of life comes, and the brae grows steeper ; then the winter, and once again we are as the child paus- ing apprehensively on the brig. Yet are we no longer the child ; we look now for no new world at the top, only for a little garden and a tiny house, and a hand-loom in the house. It is only a garden of kail and potatoes, but there may be a line of daisies, white and red, on each side of the narrow footpath, and honeysuckle over the door. Life is not always hard, even after backs grow bent, and we know that all braes lead only to the grave. This is Jess' window. For more than twenty years she had not been able to go so far as the door, and only once while I knew her was she ben in the room. With her husband, Hendry, or their only daughter, Leeby, to lean upon, and her hand clutching her staff, she took twice a. day, when she was strong, the journey between her bed and the window where stood her chair. She did not lie there looking at the sparrows or at Leeby redding up the house, and I hardly ever A WINDOW IN THRUMS. n heard her complain. All the sewing was done by her ; she often baked on a table pushed close to the window, and by leaning forward she could stir the porridge. Leeby was seldom off her feet, but I do not know that she did more than Jess, who liked to tell me, when she had a moment to spare, that she had a terrible lot to be thankful for. To those who dwell in great cities Thrums is only a small place, but what a clatter of life it has for me when I come to it from my school- house in the glen. Had my lot been cast in a town I would no doubt have sought country parts during my September holiday, but the school- house is quiet even when the summer takes brakes full of sportsmen and others past the top of my footpath, and I was always light-hearted when Craigiebuckle's cart bore me into the din of Thrums. I only once stayed during the whole of my holiday at the house on the brae, but I knew its inmates for many years, including Jamie, the son, who was a barber in London. Of their ancestry I never heard. With us it was only some of the articles of furniture, or perhaps a snuff-mull, that had a genealogical tree. In the house on the brae was a great kettle, called the boiler, that was said to be fifty years old in the days of Hendry's grandfather, of whom nothing more is known. Jess' chair, which had carved arms and a seat stuffed with rags, had been Snecky 12 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. Hobart's father's before it was hers, and old Snecky bought it at a roup in the Tenements. Jess' rarest possession was, perhaps, the christening robe that even people at a distance came to bor- row. Her mother could count up a hundred per- sons who had been baptized in it. Every one of the hundred, I believe, is dead, and even I cannot now pick out Jess and Hendry's grave ; but I heard recently that the christening robe is still in use. It is strange that I should still be left after so many changes, one of the three or four who can to-day stand on the brae and point out Jess' window. The little window commands the incline to the point where the brae suddenly jerks out of sight in its climb down into the town. The steep path up the commonty makes for this elbow of the brae ; and thus, whichever way the traveller takes, it is here that he comes first into sight of the window. Here, too, those who go to the town from the south get their first glimpse of Thrums. Carts pass up and down the brae every few minutes, and there comes an occasional gig. Seldom is the brae empty, for many live beyond the top of it now, and men and women go by to their work, children to school or play. Not one of the children I see from the window to-day is known to me, and most of the men and women I only recognize by their likeness to their parents. That sweet-faced old woman with the shawl on A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 13 her shoulders may be one of the girls who was playing at the game of palaulays when Jamie stole into Thrums for the last time ; the man who is leaning on the commonty gate gathering breath for the last quarter of the brae may, as a bare- footed callant, have been one of those who chased Cree Queery past the poor-house. I cannot say ; but this I know, that the grandparents of most of these boys and girls were once young with me. If I see the sons and daughters of my friends grown old, I also see the grandchildren spinning the peerie and hunkering at I-dree-I-dree I- droppit-it as we did so long ago. The world remains as young as ever. The lovers that met on the commonty in the gloaming are gone, but there are other lovers to take their place, and still the commonty is here. The sun had sunk on a fine day in June, early in the century, when Hendry and Jess, newly married, he in a rich moleskin waistcoat, she in a white net cap, walked to the house on the brae that was to be their home. So Jess has told me. Here again has been just such a day, and somewhere in Thrums there may be just such a couple, setting out for their home behind a horse with white ears instead of walking, but with the same hopes and fears, and the same lovelight in their eyes. The world does not age. The hearse passes over the brae and up the straight burying-ground road, but still there is a cry for the christening robe. I 4 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. Jess' window was a beacon by night to travel- lers in the dark, and it will be so in the future when there are none to remember Jess. There are many such windows still, with loving faces behind them. From them we watch for the friends and relatives who are coming back, and some, alas ! watch in vain. Not every one re- turns who takes the elbow of the brae bravely, or waves his handkerchief to those who watch from the window with wet eyes, and some return too late. To Jess, at her window always when she was not in bed, things happy and mournful and terrible came into view. At this window she sat for twenty years or more looking at the world as through a telescope ; and here an awful ordeal was gone through after her sweet, untarnished soul had been given back to God. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 15 CHAPTER IL ON THE TRACK OF THE MINISTER. ON the afternoon of the Saturday that carted me and my two boxes to Thrums, I was ben in the room playing Hendry at the dambrod. I had one of the room chairs, but Leeby brought a chair from the kitchen for her father. Our door stood open, and as Hendry often pondered for two minutes with his hand on a "man," I could have joined in the gossip that was going on but the house. "Ay, weel, then, Leeby," said Jess, suddenly, "I'll warrant the minister '11 no be preachin' the morn. " This took Leeby to the window. "Yea, yea," she said (and I knew she was nodding her head sagaciously) ; I looked out at the room window, but all I could see was a man wheeling an empty barrow down the brae, "That's Robbie Tosh," continued Leeby, " an' there's nae doot 'at he's makkin' for the minister's, for he has on his black coat. He'll be to row the minister's luggage to the post-cart Ay, an' that's Davit Lunan's barrow. I ken it by the shaft's Z 6 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. bein' spliced wi' yarn. Davit broke the shaft at the saw-mill " " He'll be gaen away for a curran (number of) days," said Jess, "or he would juist hae taen his bag. Ay, he'll be awa to Edinbory, to see the lass." " I wonder wha'll be to preach the morn tod, it'll likely be Mr. Skinner, frae Dundee ; him an' the minister's chief, ye ken." "Ye micht gang up to the attic, Leeby, an' see if the spare bedroom vent (chimney) at the manse is gaen. We're sure, if it's Mr. Skinner, he'll come wi' the post frae Tilliedrum the nicht, an' sleep at the manse." "Weel, I assure ye," said Leeby, descending from the attic, "it'll no be Mr. Skinner, for no only is the spare bedroom vent no gaen, but the blind's drawn doon frae tap to fut, so they're no even airin' the room. Na, it canna be him ; an' what's mair, it'll be naebody 'at's to bide a' nicht at the manse." " I wouldna say that ; na, na. It may only be a student ; an' Marget Dundas (the minister's mother and housekeeper) michtna think it neces- sary to put on a fire for him. " "Tod, I'll tell ye wha it'll be. I wonder I didna think o' 'im sooner. It'll be the lad Wilkie ; him 'at's mither mairit on Sam'l Duthie's wife's brither. They bide in Cupar, an' I mind 'at when the son was here twa or three year syne he was A WINDOW IN THRUMS. if juist gaen to begin the diveenity classes in Glesca. " " If that's so, Leeby, he would be sure to bide wi' Sam'l. Hendry, hae ye heard 'at Sam'l Duthie's expeckin' a stranger the nicht ? " "Haud yer tongue," replied Hendry, who was having the worst of the game. "Ay, but I ken he is, "said Leeby triumphantly to her mother, "for ye mind when I was in at Johnny Watt's (the draper's) Chirsty (Sam'l's wife) was buy in' twa yards o f chintz, an I couldna think what she would be wantin' 't for ! " "I thocht Johnny said to ye 'at it was fora present to Chirsty 's auntie ? " " Ay, but he juist guessed that ; for, though he tried to get oot o' Chirsty what she wanted the chintz for, she wouldna tell 'im. But I see noo what she was after. The lad Wilkie '11 be to bide wi' them, and Chirsty had bocht the chintz to cover the arm-chair wi'. It's ane o' thae hair- bottomed chairs, but terrible torn, so she'll hae covered it for 'im to sit on. " " I wouldna wonder but ye're richt, Leeby ; for Chirsty would be in an oncommon fluster if she thocht the lad's mither was likely to hear 'at her best chair was torn. Ay, ay, bein' a man, he wouldna think to tak aff the chintz an' hae a look at the chair withoot it. " Here Hendry, who had paid no attention to the conversation, broke in : 2 l8 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "Was ye speirin' had I seen Sam'l Duthie? I aw 'im yesterday buyin' a fender at Will'um Crook's roup." "A fender ! Ay, ay, that settles the queistion," said Leeby ; " I'll warrant the fender as for Chirsty's parlor. It's preyed on Chirsty's mind, they say, this fower-and-thirty year 'at she doesna hae a richt parlor fender." "Leeby, look! That's Robbie Tosh wi' the barrow. He has a michty load o' luggage. Am thinkin' the minister's bound for Tilliedrum. " "Na, he's no, he's gaen to Edinbory, as ye micht ken by the bandbox. That'll be his Blither's bonnet he's takkin' back to get altered. Ye'll mind she was never pleased wi' the set o' the flowers. " "Weel, weel, here comes the minister himsel', an' very snod he is. Ay, Marget's been puttin' new braid on his coat, an' he's carryin' the sma' black bag he bocht in Dundee last year : he'll hae's nicht-shirt an' a comb in't, I dinna doot. Ye micht rin to the corner, Leeby, an' see if he cries in at Jess McTaggart's in passin'. " "It's my opeenion," said Leeby, returning excitedly from the corner, ' ' 'at the lad Wilkie's no to be preachin' the morn, after a'. When I gangs to the corner, at ony rate, what think ye's the first thing I see but the minister an' Sam! Duthie meetin' face to face ? Ay, weel, it's gospel am tellin' ye when I say as Sam'l A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 19 flung back his head an' walkit richt by the minister 1 " ' ' Losh keep's a', Leeby ; ye say that ? They maun hae haen a quarrel." "I'm thinkin' we'll hae Mr. Skinner i' the poopit the morn after a'." "It may be, it may be. Ay, ay, look, Leeby, whatna bit kimmer's that wi' the twa jugs in her hand? " "Eh! Ou, it'll be Lawyer Ogilvy's servant lassieky gaen to the farm o' T'nowhead for the milk. She gangs ilka Saturday nicht. But what did ye say twa jugs ? Tod, let's see ! Ay, she has so, a big jug an' a little ane. The little ane '11 be for cream ; an', sal, the big ane's bigger na usual." "There maun be something gaen on at the lawyer's if they're buyin' cream, Leeby. Their reg'lar thing's twopence worth o' milk." "Ay, but I assure ye that sma' jug's for cream, an' I dinna doot mysel' but 'at there's to be fower- pence worth o' milk this nicht." "There's to be a puddin* made the morn, Leeby. Ou, ay, a' thing points to that ; an' we're very sure there's nae puddins at the lawyer's on the Sabbath onless they hae company." "I dinna ken wha' they can hae, if it be na that brither o' the wife's 'at bides oot by Aber- deen. " "Na it's no him, Leeby; na, na. He's no 10 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. weel to do, an' they wouldna be buyin' cream for 'im." "I'll run up to the attic again, an' see if there's ony stir at the lawyer's hoose. " By and by Leeby returned in triumph. "Ou, ay," she said, "they're expectin' vees- itors at the lawyer's, for I could see twa o' the bairns dressed up to the nines, an' Mistress Ogilvy doesna dress at them in that way for naething." ' ' It far beats me though, Leeby, to guess wha's comin' to them. Ay, but stop a meenute, I wouldna wonder, no, really I would not wonder but what it'll be " "The very thing 'at was passin' through my head, mother." " Ye mean 'at the lad Wilkie '11 be to bide wi' the lawyer i'stead o' wi' Sam'l Duthie ? Sal, am thinkin' that's it. Ye ken Sam'l an' the lawyer married on cousins ; but Mistress Ogilvy ay lookit on Chirsty as dirt aneath her feet. She would be glad to get a minister, though, to the hoose, an' so I warrant the lad Wilkie '11 be to bide a' nicht at the lawyer's. " " But what would Chirsty be doin' gettin' the chintz an' the fender in that case ? " " Ou, she'd been expectin' the lad, of course. Sal, she'll be in a michty tantrum aboot this. I wouldna wonder though she gets Sam'l to gang owcr to the U. P.'s." Leeby went once more to the attic. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. *1 "Ye'rewrang, mother, "she cried out " Wha- ever's to preach the morn is to bide at the manse, for the minister's servant's been at Baker Duffs buyin' short-bread half a lippy, nae doot." " Are ye sure o' that, Leeby ? " "Oh, am certain. The servant gaed in to Duffs the noo, an' as ye ken fine, the manse fowk doesna deal wi' him, except they're wantin' short- bread. He's Auld Kirk." Leeby returned to the kitchen, and Jess sat for a time ruminating. "TheladWilkie," she said at last, triumphantly, "'11 be to bide at Lawyer Ogilvy's ; but he'll be gaen to the manse the morn for a tea-dinner." " But what," asked Leeby, " aboot the milk an' the cream for the lawyer's ? " "Ou, they'll be hae'n a puddin' for the supper the nicht. That's a michty genteel thing, I've heard. " It turned out that Jess was right in every particular. 32 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER IIL PREPARING TO RECEIVE COMPANY. LEEBY was at the fire brandering a quarter of steak on the tongs, when the house was flung into consternation by Hendry's casual remark that he had seen Tibbie Mealmaker in the town with her man. " The Lord preserve's ! " cried Leeby. Jess looked quickly at the clock. " Half fower ! " she said excitedly. "Then it canna be dune," said Leeby, falling despairingly into a chair, "for they may be here ony meenute." " It's most michty," said Jess, turning on her husband, ' ' 'at ye should tak' a pleasure in bringin' this hoose to disgrace. Hoo did ye no tell's suner ? " " I fair forgot," Hendry answered, " but what's a' yer steer ? " Jess looked at me (she often did this) in a way that meant, "What a man is this I'm tied to ! " " Steer 1" she exclaimed. "Is't no time we was makkin' a steer ? They'll be in for their tea ony meenute, an' the room no sae muckle as A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 23 sweepit. Ay, an' me lookin' like a sweep ; an* Tibbie Mealmaker 'at's sae partikler genteel seein' you sic a sicht as ye are ! " Jess shook Hendry out of his chair, while Leeby began to sweep with the one hand, and agitatedly to unbutton her wrapper with the other. "She didna see me," said Hendry, sitting down forlornly on the table. "Getaff that table !" cried Jess. "Seehaud o' the besom," she said to Leeby. " For mercy's sake, mother," said Leeby, "gie yer face a dicht, an' put on a clean mutch." "I'll open the door if they come afore you're ready," said Hendry, as Leeby pushed him against the dresser. "Ye daur to speak aboot openin' the door, an' you sic a mess ! " cried Jess, with pins in her mouth. " Havers !" retorted Hendry. "A man canna be aye washin' at 'imsel'." Seeing that Hendry was as much in the way as myself, I invited him upstairs to the attic, whence we heard Jess and Leeby upbraiding each other shrilly. I was aware that the room was speck- less ; but for all that, Leeby was turning it upside down. "She's aye ta'en like that," Hendry said to me, referring to his wife, "when she's expectin' company. Ay, it's a peety she car.na tak' things cannier." 84 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "Tibbie Mealmaker must be some one of im- portance ? " I asked "Ou, she's naething by the ord'nar' ; but ye see she was mairit to a Tilliedrum man no lang syne, an' they're said to hae a michty grand establishment. Ay, they've a wardrobe spleet new ; an' what think ye Tibbie wears ilka day ? " I shook my head. "It was Chirsty Miller 'at put it through the toon," Hendry continued. " Chirsty was in Tilliedrum last Teisday or Wednesday, an' Tibbie gae her a cup o' tea. Ay, weel, Tibbie telt Chirsty 'at she wears hose ilka day. " "Wears hose?" "Ay. It's some michty grand kind o' stockin'. I never heard o't in this toon. Na, there's nae- body in Thrums 'at wears hose. " "And who did Tibbie get?" I asked; for in Thrums they say, " Wha did she get?" and "Whadidhetak?" "His name's Davit Curly. Ou, a crittur fu' o' maggots, an' nae great match, for he's juist the Tilliedrum bill-sticker. " At this moment Jess shouted from her chair (she was burnishing the society teapot as she spoke), "Mind, Hendry McQumpha, 'at upon nae condition are ye to mention the bill-stickin' afore Tibbie ! " "Tibbie," Hendry explained to me, "is * A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 25 terrible vain tid, an' doesna think the bill-stickin' genteel Ay, they say 'at if she meets Davit in the street wi' his paste-pot an' the brush in his hands she pretends no to ken 'im." Every time Jess paused to think she cried up orders, such as " Dinna call her Tibbie, mind ye. Always address her as Mistress Curly. " ' ' Shak' hands wi' baith o' them, an' say ye hope they're in the enjoyment o' guid health." "Dinna put yer feet on the table." " Mind, you're no' to mention 'at ye kent they were in the toon. " "When onybody passes ye yer tea say, ' Thank ye.'" "Dinna stir yer tea as if ye was churnin' butter, nor let on 'at the scones is no our ain bakin'. " " If Tibbie says onything aboot the china yer no' to say 'at we dinna use it ilka day." "Dinna lean back in the big chair, for it's broken an' Leeby's gi'en it a lick o' glue this meenute. " "When Leeby gies ye a kick aneath the table, that'll be a sign to ye to say grace. " Hendry looked at me apologetically while these instructions came up. "I winna dive my head wi sic nonsense," he said ; " it's no' for a man body to be sae crammed fu' o' manners." 26 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "Come awa' doon," Jess shouted to him, " an' put on a clean dickey." " I'll better do 't to please her," said Hendry, "though for my ain part I dinna like the feel o' a dickey on week-days. Na, they mak's think it's the Sabbath." Ten minutes afterward I went downstairs to see how the preparations were progressing. Fresh muslin curtains had been put up in the room. The grand footstool, worked by Leeby, was so placed that Tibbie could not help seeing it ; and a fine cambric handkerchief, of which Jess was very proud, was hanging out of a drawer as if by acci- dent. An antimacassar lying carelessly on the seat of a chair concealed a rent in the horse-hair, and the china ornaments on the mantelpiece were so placed that they looked whole. Leeby's black merino was hanging near the window in a good light, and Jess' Sabbath bonnet, which was never worn, occupied a nail beside it. The tea-things stood on a tray in the kitchen bed, whence they could be quickly brought into the room, just as if they were always ready to be used daily. Leeby, as yet en dishabille, was shaving her father at a tremendous rate, and Jess, looking as fresh as a daisy, was ready to receive the visitors. She was peering through the tiny window-blind looking for them. "Be cautious, Leeby," Hendry was saying, A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 2 j when Jess shook her hand at him. "Wheesht," she whispered ; " they're comin'." Hendry was hustled into his Sabbath coat, and then came a tap at the door, a very genteel tap. Jess nodded to Leeby, who softly shoved Hendry into the room. The tap was repeated, but Leeby pushed her father into a chair and thrust Barrow's Sermons open into his hand. Then she stole about the house, and swiftly buttoned her wrapper, speak- ing to Jess by nods the while. There was a third knock, whereupon Jess said, in a loud, Englishy voice : " Was that not a chap (knock) at the door? " Hendry was about to reply, but she shook hel fist at him. Next moment Leeby opened the door. I was upstairs, but I heard Jess say : " Dear me, if it's not Mrs. Curly and Mr. Curly ! And hoo are ye ? Come in, by. Weel, this is, indeed, a pleasant surprise ! " A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER IV. WAITING FOR THE DOCTOR. JESS had gone early to rest, and the door of her bed in the kitchen was pulled to. From her window I saw Hendry buying dulse. Now and again the dulseman wheeled his slimy boxes to the top of the brae, and sat there stolidly on the shafts of his barrow. Many passed him by, but occasionally some one came to rest by his side. Unless the customer was loquacious, there was no bandying of words, and Hendry merely unbuttoned his east-trouser pocket, giving his body the angle at which the pocket could be most easily filled by the dulseman. He then deposited his halfpenny, and moved on. Neither had spoken ; yet in the country they would have roared their predictions about to-morrow to a ploughman half a field away. Dulse is roasted by twisting it round the tongs fired to a red-heat, and the house was soon heavy with the smell of burning seaweed. Leeby was at the dresser munching it from a broth-plate, while Hendry, on his knees at the fireplace, gin- A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 29 gerly tore off the blades of dulse that were stick- ing to the tongs, and licked his singed fingers. " Whaur's yer mother ? " he asked Leeby. "Ou," said Leeby, "whaur would she be but in her bed ? '" Hendry took the tongs to the door, and would have cleaned them himself, had not Leeby (who often talked his interfering ways over with her mother) torn them from his hands. " Leeby ! " cried Jess at that moment. "Ay," answered Leeby, leisurely, not noticing, as I happened to do, that Jess spoke in an agitated voice. "What is't?" asked Hendry, who liked to be told things. He opened the door of the bed. "Yer mothers no weel," he said to Leeby. Leeby ran to the bed, and I went ben the house. In another two minutes we were a group of four in the kitchen, staring vacantly. Death could not have startled us more, tapping thrice that quiet night on the window-pane. " It's diphtheria J " said Jess, her handa trembling as she buttoned her wrapper. She looked at me, and Leeby looked at me. "It's no ! it's no ! " cried Leeby, and her voice was as a fist shaken at my face. She blamed me for hesitating in my reply. But ever since this malady left me a lonely dominie for life, diph- 30 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. theria has been a knockdown word for me. Jess had discovered a great white spot on her throat I knew the symptoms. "Is't dangerous?" asked Hen dry, who once had a headache years before, and could still refer to it as a reminiscence. "Them 'at has 't never recovers," said Jess, sitting down very quietly. A stick fell from the fire, and she bent forward to replace it. "They do recover !" cried Leeby, again turn- ing angry eyes on me. I could not face her ; I had known so many who did not recover. She put her hands on her mother's shoulders. "Mebbe ye would be better in your bed," sug- gested Hen dry. No one spoke. "When I had the headache," said Hendry, "I was better in my bed." Leeby. had taken Jess' hand a worn old hand that had many a time gone out in love and kind- ness when younger hands were cold. Poets have sung and fighting men have done great deeds for hands that never had such a record. "If ye could eat something," said Hendry, "I would gae to the flesher's for 't. I mind when I had the headache, hoo a small steak " ' Gae awa for the doctor, rayther, " broke in Leeby. Jess started, for sufferers think there is less A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 31 hope for them after the doctor has been called in to pronounce sentence. "I winna hae the doctor," she said, anx- ioxisly. In answer to Leeby's nods, Hendry slowly pulled out his boots from beneath the table, and sat looking at them, preparatory to putting them on. He was beginning at last to be a little scared, though his face did not show it. "I winna hae ye," cried Jess, getting to her feet, " gaen to the doctor's sic a sicht. Yer coat's a' yarn." "Havers," said Hendry, but Jess became frantic. I offered to go for the doctor, but while I was upstairs looking for my bonnet I heard the door slam. Leeby had become impatient and darted off herself, buttoning her jacket probably as she ran. When I returned to the kitchen, Jess and Hendry were still by the fire. Hendry was beat- ing a charred stick into sparks, and his wife sat with her hands in her lap. I saw Hendry look at her once or twice, but he could think of noth- ing to say. His terms of endearment had died out thirty-nine years before with his courtship. He had forgotten the words. For his life he could not have crossed over to Jess and put his arm round her. Yet he was uneasy. His eyes wandered round the poorly-lit room. "Will ye hae a drink o' water? " he asked. $1 A WINDOW IN- THRUMS. There was a sound of footsteps outside. "That'll be him," said Hendry, in a whisper. Jess started to her feet, and told Hendry to help her ben the house. The steps died away, but I fancied that Jess, now highly strung, had gone into hiding, and I went after her. I was mistaken. She had lit the room-lamp, turning the crack in the globe to the wall. The sheep-skin hearth-rug, which was generally carefully packed away beneath the bed, had been spread out before the empty fireplace, and Jess was on the arm-chair hurriedly putting on her grand black mutch with the pink flowers. "Iwasjuist makkin' mysel' respectable," she said, but without life in her voice. This was the only time I ever saw her in the room. Leeby returned panting to say that the doctor might be expected in an hour. He was away among the hills. The hour passed reluctantly. Leeby lit a fire ben the house, and then put on her Sabbath dress. She sat with her mother in the room. Never before had I seen Jess sit so quietly, for her way was to work until, as she said herself, she was ready "to fall into her bed." Hendry wandered between the rooms, always in the way when Leeby ran to the window to see if that was the doctor at last. He would stand gaping in the middle of the room for five min- A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 33 utes, then slowly withdraw to stand as drearily but the house. His face lengthened. At last he sat down by the kitchen fire, a Bible in his hand. It lay open on his knee, but he did not read much. He sat there with his legs outstretched, looking straight before him. I believe he saw Jess young again. His face was very solemn, and his mouth twitched. The fire sank into ashes unheeded. I sat alone at my attic window for hours, waiting for the doctor. From the attic I could see nearly all Thrums, but, until very late, the night was dark, and the brae, except immediately before the door, was blurred and dim. A sheet of light canopied the square as long as a cheap Jack paraded his goods there. It was gone before the moon came out. Figures tramped, tramped up the brae, passed the house in shadow and stole silently on. A man or boy whistling seemed to fill the valley. The moon arrived too late to be of service to any wayfarer. Everybody in Thrums was asleep but ourselves, and the doctor who never came. About midnight Hendry climbed the attic stair and joined me at the window. His hand was shaking as he pulled back the blind. I began to realize that his heart could still overflow. " She's waur," he whispered, like one who had lost his voice. For a long time he sat silently, his hand on the 3 34 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. blind. He was so different from the Hendry I had known that I felt myself in the presence of a strange man. His eyes were glazed with staring at the turn of the brae where the doctor must first come into sight. His breathing became heavier till it was a gasp. Then I put my hand on his shoulder, and he stared at me. " Nine-and-thirty years come June," he said, speaking to himself. For this length of time, I knew, he and Jess had been married. He repeated the words at in- tervals. " I mind " he began, and stopped. He was thinking of the spring-time of Jess' life. The night ended as we watched ; then came the terrible moment that precedes the day the moment known to shuddering watchers by sick beds, when a chill wind cuts through the house, and the world without seems cold in death. It is as if the heart of the earth did not mean to con- tinue beating. " This is a fearsome nicht, " Hendry said hoarsely. He turned to grope his way to the stairs, but suddenly went down on his knees to pray. . . . There was a quick step outside. I arose in time to see the doctor on the brae. He tried the latch, but Leeby was there to show him in. The door of the room closed on him. From the top of the stair I could see into the dark passage, and make out Hendry shaking at A WINDOW IN THRUMS, 35 tiie door. I could hear the doctor's voice, but not the words he said. There was a painful silence, and then Leeby laughed joyously. "It's gone," cried Jess; "the white spot's gone ! Ye juist touched it, an' it's gone ! Tell Hendry." But Hendry did not need to be told. As Jess spoke I heard him say, huskily : "Thank God ! " and then he tottered back to the kitchen. When the doctor left, Hendry was still on Jess' arm- chair, trembling like a man with the palsy. Ten minutes afterward I was preparing for bed, when he cried up the stair : "Come awa' doon." I joined the family party in the room : Hendry was sitting close to Jess. ' ' Let us read, " he said, firmly, ' ' in the fourteenth of John." 36 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER V. A HUMORIST ON HIS CALLING. AFTER the eight o'clock bell had rung, Hendry occasionally crossed over to the farm of T'nowhead and sat on the pig-sty. If no one joined him he scratched the pig, and returned home gradually. Here what was almost a club held informal meet- ings, at which two or four, or even half a dozen assembled to debate, when there was any one to start them. The meetings were only memorable when Tammas Haggart was in fettle, to pro- nounce judgments in his well-known sarcastic way. Sometimes we had got off the pig-sty to separate before Tammas was properly yoked. There we might remain a long time, planted round him like trees, for he was a mesmerizing talker. There was a pail belonging to the pig-sty, which some one would turn bottom upward and sit upon if the attendance was unusually numer- ous. Tammas liked, however, to put a foot on it now and again in the full swing of a harangue, and when he paused for a sarcasm I have seen the pail kicked toward him. He had the wave A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 37 of the arm that is so convincing in argument, and such a natural way of asking questions, that an audience not used to public speaking might have thought he wanted them to reply. It is an undoubted fact that, when he went on the plat- form, at the time of the election, to heckle the colonel, he paused in the middle of his questions to take a drink out of the tumbler of water which stood on the table. As soon as they saw what he was up to, the spectators raised a ringing cheer. On concluding his perorations, Tammas sent his snuff-mull round, but we had our own way of passing him a vote of thanks. One of the com- pany would express amazement at his gift of words, and the others would add, "Man, man," or, " Ye co we a' Tammas, " or, "What a crittur ye are ! " all which ejaculations meant the same thing. . A new subject being thus ingeniously in- troduced, Tammas again put his foot on the pail. "I tak' no creedit," he said, modestly, on the evening, I remember, of Willie Pyatt's funeral, "in bein' able to speak wi' a sort o' faceelity on topics 'at I've made my ain. " "Ay," said T'nowhead, "but i'ts no the faceel- ity o' speakin' 'at taks me. There's Davit Lu- nan 'at can speak like as if he had learned it aff a paper, an* yet I canna thole 'im." "Davit," said Hendry, "doesna speak in a wy 'at a body can follow 'im. He doesna gae even on. Jess says he's juist like a man ay at the 38 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. cross-roads, an' no sure o' his way. But the stock has words, an' no ilka body has that." "If I was bidden to put Tammas' gift in a word," said T'nowhead, "I would say 'at he had a wy. That's what I would say." "Weel, I suppose I have," Tammas admitted, "but, wy or no wy, I couldna put a point on my words if it wasna for my sense o' humor. Lads, humor's what gies the nip to speakin'." "It's what maks ye a sarcesticist, Tammas," said Hendry ; "but what I wonder at is yer say- in' the humorous things sae aisy like. Some says ye mak them up aforehand, but I ken that's no true." "No only is't no true," said Tammas, "but it couldna be true. Them 'at says sic things, an', weel I ken you're meanin' Davit Lunan, hasna nae idea o' what humor is. It's a thing 'at spouts oot o' its ain accord. Some o' the maist humor- ous things I've ever said cam' oot, as a body may say, by themsel's. " "I suppose that's the case," said T'nowhead, "a' yet it maun be you 'at brings them up ? " "There's no nae doubt aboot its bein' the case," said Tammas, "for I've watched mysel' often. There was a vara guid instance occurred sune after I married Easie. The earl's son met me one day, aboot that time, i* the Tenements, an' he didna ken 'at Chirsty was deid, an' I married again. 'Well, Haggart,' he says, in his frank wy. A WINDOW iff THRUMS. & 'and how is your wife?' 'She's vara weel, sir, I maks answer, 'but she's no the ane >ju mean.' ' "Na, he meant Chirsty," said Hendry. " Is that a' the story ? " asked T'nowhead. Tarn mas had been looking at us queerly. " There's no nane o' ye lauchin'," he said, " but I can assure ye the earl's son gaed east the toon lauchin' like onything." "But what vvas't he lauched at?" " Ou," said Tammas, " a humorist doesna ttll whaur the humor comes in." "No, but when you said that, did ye mean it to be humorous ? " "Amnosayin' I did, but as I've been tellin' ye, humor spouts oot by itsel'. " "Ay, but do ye ken noo what the earl's son gaed away lauchin' at ? " Tammas hesitated. "I dinna exactly see't," he confessed, "but that's no an oncommon thing. A humorist would often no ken 'at he was ane if it wasna by the wy he maks other fowk lauch. A body canna beex- peckit baith to mak' the joke an' to see't Na, that would be doin' twa fowks' wark." "Weel, that's reasonable enough, but I've often seen ye lauchin," said Hendry, "langaforo other fowk lauched." " Nae doubt," Tammas explained, "an' that's because humor has twa sides, just like a penny- 40 A WINDOW IN THRUMS, piece. When I say a humorous thing mysel' I'm dependent on other fowk to tak note o' the humor o't, bein' mysel' ta'en up wi' the makkin' o't. Ay, but there's things I see an' hear 'at maks me lauch, an' that's the other side o' humor." "I never heard it put sae plain afore," said T'nowhead, "an', sal, am no nane sure but what am a humorist too." " Na, na, no you, T'nowhead," said Tammas hotly. " Weel," continued the farmer, " I never set up for bein' a humorist, but I can juist assure ye'at I lauch at queer things too. No lang syne I woke up i' my bed lauchin' like onything, an' Lisbeth thocht I wasna weel. It was something I dreamed 'at made me lauch ; I couldna think what it was, but I lauched richt. Was that no fell like a humorist ? " "That was neither here nor there," said Tam- mas. "Na, dreams dinna coont, for we're no responsible for them. Ay, an' what's mair the mere lauchin's no the important side o' humor, even though ye hinna to be telt to lauch. The important side's the other side, the sayin' the hu- morous things. I'll tell ye what : the humorist's like a man firm' at a target he doesna ken whether he hits or no till them at the target tells 'im." "I would be of opeenion," said Hendry, who A WINDOW Itt THRUMS. 41 was one of Tammas' most stanch admirers, "'at another mark o' the rale humorist was his seein' humor in all things ? " Tammas shook his head a way he had when Hendry advanced theories. " I dinna haud wi' that ava," he said. " I ken fine 'at Davit Lunan gaes aboot sayin' he sees hu- mor in everything, but there's nae surer sign 'at he's no a genuine humorist. Na, the rale humor- ist kens vara weel 'at there s subjects withoot a spark o' humor in them. When a subject rises to the sublime it should be regairded philosophically, an' no humorously. Davit would lauch at the grandest thochts, whaur they only fill the true hu- morist wi' awe. I've found it necessary to rebuke 'im at times whaur his lauchin' was oot o' place. He pretended aince on this vara spot to see hu- mor i' the origin o' cock-fightin'. " "Didhe, man ?" said Hendry; "Iwasnahere. But what is the origin o' cock-fechtin' ? " " It was a' i' the Cheap Magazine," said. T'now- head. "Was I sayin' it wasna? " demanded Tammas. " It was through me readin' the account oot o' the Cheap Magazine 'at the discussion arose." "But what said the Cheapy was the origin o' cock-fechtin' ? " "T'nowhead '11 tell ye," answered Tammas; "he says I dinna ken." "I never said naething o' the kind," returned 4 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. Tnowhead, indignantly ; " I mind o' ye readitt 't oot fine." "Ay, weel," said Tammas, "that's a' richt Ou, the origin o' cock-fightin' gangs back to the time o' the Greek wars, a thoosand or twa years syne, mair or less. There was ane, Miltiades by name, 'at was the captain o' the Greek army, an' one day he led them doon the mountains to attack the biggest army 'at was ever gathered thegither." " They were Persians," interposed T'nowhead, " Are you tellin' the story, or am I ? " asked Tammas. "I kent fine 'at they were Persians. Weel, Miltiades had the matter o' twenty thoosand men wi' 'im, and when they got to the foot o' the mountain, behold there was two cocks fechtin'." "Man, man," said Hendry, "an' was there cocks in thae days ? " " Ondoubtedly," said Tammas, "or hoo could thae twa hae been fechtin' ? " "Ye have me there, Tammas," admitted Hen- dry. "Ye're perfectly richt." "Ay, then, "continued the stone-breaker, "when Miltiades saw the cocks at it wi' all their micht, he stopped the army and addressed it. ' Behold ! ' he cried, at the top o' his voice, ' these cocks do not fight for their household gods nor for the mon- uments of their ancestors, nor for glory, nor for liberty, nor for their children, but only because the one will not give way unto the other.'" "It was nobly said," declared Hendry; "na, A WIMDOW IM THRUMS. 43 cocks wouldna hae sae muckle understandin 1 as to fecht for thae things. I wouldna wonder but what it was some laddies 'at set them at ane another." " Hendry doesna see what Miltydes was after," said T'nowhead. " Ye'vetaen't up wrang, Hendry," Tammas ex- plained. " What Miltiades meant was 'at if cocks could fecht sae weel out o' mere deviltry, surely the Greeks would fecht terrible for their gods an' their bairns an' the other things." "I see, I see; but what was the monuments o' their ancestors?" "Ou, that was the gravestanes they put up i* their kirkyards." " I wonder the other billies would want to tak them awa. They would be a michty wecht." "Ay, but they wanted them, an' nat'rally the Greeks stuck to the stanes they paid for." "So, so, an' did Davit Lunan mak oot 'at there was humor in that? " " He do so. He said it was a humorous thing to think o' a hale army lookin' on at twa cocks fechtin'. I assure ye I telt 'im 'at I saw nae humor in't. It was ane o' the most impressive sichts ever seen by man, an' the Greeks was sae inspired by what Miltiades said 'at they s T .veepit the Persians oot o' their country." We all agreed that Tammas' was the genuine humor. 44 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "An* an enviable possession it is," said Hen- dry. "In a wy," admitted Tammas, "but no in a' wys. " He hesitated, and then added in a low voice : "As sure as death, Hendry, it sometimes taks> grip o' me i' the kirk itsel', an' I can hardly keep frae lauchin'." A WltiZOW W THKUM& 45 CHAPTER VI. DEAD THIS TWENTY YEARS. IN the lustiness of youth there are many who cannot feel that they, too, will die. The first fear stops the heart. Even then they would keep death at arm's length by making believe to dis- own him. Loved ones are taken away, and the boy, the girl, will not speak of them, as if that made the conqueror's triumph the less. In time the fire in the breast burns low, and then in the last glow of the embers, it is sw-eeter to hold what has been than to think of what may be. Twenty years had passed since Joey ran down the brae to play. Jess, his mother, shook her staff fondly at him. A cart rumbled by, the driver nodding on the shaft. It rounded the cor- ner and stopped suddenly, and then a woman screamed. A handful of men carried Joey's dead body to his mother, and that was the tragedy of Jess' life. * V Twenty years ago, and still Jess sat at the window, and still she heard that woman scream. Every other living being had forgotten Joey; ever, to Hendry he was now scarcely a name, 46 A WINDOW Itf THRUMS. but there were times when Jess' face quivered ant* her old arms went out for her dead 607. "God's will be done," she said, "but oh! I grudged Him my bairn terrible sair. I dinna want him back noo, an' ilka day is takkin' me nearer to him, but for monyalang year I grudged him sair, sair. He was juist five minutes gone, an' they brocht him back deid, my Joey." On the Sabbath day Jess could not go to church, and it was then, I think, that she was with Joey most. There was often a blessed serenity on her face, when we returned, that only comes to those who have risen from their knees with their prayers answered. Then she was very close to the boy who died. Long ago she could not look out from her window upon the brae, but now it was her seat in church. There on the Sabbath even- ings she sometimes talked to me of Joey. " It's been a fine day," she would say, "juist like that day. I thank the Lord for the sunshine noo, but oh ! I thocht at the time I couldna look at the sun shinin' again." " In all Thrums," she has told me, and I know it to be true, " there's no a better man than Hendry. There's them 'at's cleverer in the wys o' the world, but my man, Hendry McQtimpha, never did naething m all his life 'at wasna weel intended, an' though his words is common, it's to the Lord he looks. I canna think but what Hendry ' pleasin' to God. Oh, I dinna ken what A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 47 to say wi' thankfulness to him when I mind hoo guid he's been to me. There's Leeby 'at I couldna hae done withoot, me bein' sae silly (weak bodily), an' ay, Leeby's stuck by me an' gien up her life, as ye micht say, for me. Jamie " But then Jess sometimes broke down. " He's so far awa," she said, after a time, "an* aye when he gangs back to London after his holidays he has a fear he'll never see me again, but he's terrified to mention it, an' I juist ken by the wy he taks haud o' me, an' comes runnin' back to tak haud o' me again. I ken fine what he's thinkin', but I daurna speak. " Guid is no word for what Jamie has been to me, but he wasna born till after Joey died. When we got Jamie, Hendry took to whistlin' again at the loom, an' Jamie juist filled Joey's place to him. Ay, but naebody could fill Joey's place to me. It's different to a man. A bairn's no the same to him, but a fell bit o' me was buried in my laddie's grave. "Jamie an' Joey was never nane the same nature. It was aye something in a shop Jamie wanted to be, an' he never cared muckle for his books, but Joey hankered after being a minister, young as he was, an' a minister Hendry an' me would hae done our best to mak him. Mony, rnony a time after he came in frae the kirk on the Sabbath he would stand up at this very window and wave his hands in a reverent way, juist like 48 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. the minister. His first text was to be ' Thou God seest me.' " Ye'll wonder at me, but I've sat here in the lang fore-nichts dreamin' 'at Joey was a grown man noo, an' 'at I was puttin' on my bonnet to come to the kirk to hear him preach. Even as far back as twenty years an mair I wasna able to gang aboot, but Joey would say to me, ' We'll get a carriage to ye, mother, so 'at ye can come and hear me preach on "Thou God seest me.'" He would say to me, ' It doesna do, mother, for the minister in the pulpit to nod to ony o' the fowk, but I'll gie ye a look an' ye'll ken it's me.' Oh, Joey, I would hae gien you a look too, an' ye would hae kent what I was thinkin'. He often said, ' Ye'll be proud o' me, will ye no, mother, when ye see me comin' sailin' alang to the pulpit in my gown ? ' So I would hae been proud o' him, an' I was proud to hear him speakin' o't. 'The other fowk,' he said, 'will be sittin' in their seats wonderin' what my text's to be, but you'll ken, mother, an" you'll turn up to "Thou God seest me," afore I gie oot the chapter.' Ay, but that day he was coffined, for all the minister prayed, I found it hard to say ' Thou God seest me.' It's the text I like best noo, though, an' when Hendry an' Leeby is at the kirk, I turn't up often, often in the Bible. I read frae the begin- nin' o' the chapter, but when I come to 'Thou God. seest me,' I stop. Na, it's no 'at there's ony A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 4.9 rebellion to the Lord in my heart noo, for I ken He was lookin' doon when the cart gaed over Joey, an' He wanted to tak my laddie to Himsel'. But juist when I come to ' Thou God seest me,' I let the book lie in my lap, for aince a body's sure o' that they're sure o' all. Ay, ye'll laugh, but I think, mebbe juist because I was his mother, 'at though Joey never lived to preach in a kirk, he's preached frae ' Thou God seest me ' to me. I dinna ken 'at I would ever hae been sae sure o' that if it hadna been for him, an' so I think I see 'im sailin' doon to the pulpit juist as he said he. would do. I seen him gien me the look he spoke o' ay, he looks my wy first, an' I ken it's him. Naebody sees him but me, but I see him gien me the look he promised. He's so terrible near me, an' him dead, 'at when my time comes I'll be rale willin' to go. I dinna say that to Jamie, because he all trembles ; but I'm auld noo, an' I'm no nane loth to gang." Jess' staff probably had a history before it be- came hers, for, as known to me, it was always old and black. If we studied them sufficiently we might discover that staves age perceptibly, just as the hair turns gray. At the risk of being thought fanciful, I dare to say that in inanimate objects, as in ourselves, there is honorable and shameful old age, and that to me Jess' staff was a symbol of the good, the true. It rested against her in the window, and she was so helpless with- 4 50 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. out it when on her feet, that to those who saw much of her, it was part of herself. The staff was very short, nearly a foot having been cut, as I think she once told me herself, from the original, of which to make a porridge thieval (or stick with which to stir porridge), and in moving Jess leant heavily on it. Had she stood erect, it would not have touched the floor. This was the staff that Jess shook so joyfully at her boy the forenoon in May, when he ran out to his death. Joey, however, was associated in Jess' memory with her staff, in less painful ways. When she spoke of him she took the dwarf of a staff in her hands and looked at it softly. " It's hard to me," she would say, " to believe 'at twa an' twenty years hae come and gone since the nicht Joey hod (hid) my staff. Ay, but Hen- dry was straucht in thae days by what he is noo, an' Jamie wasna born. Twa an' twenty years come the back end o' the year, an' it wasna thocht 'at I could live through the winter. ' Ye'll no last mair than anither month, Jess/ was what my sister Bell said, when she came to see me, and yet here I am, aye sittin' at my window, an' Bell's been i' the kirkyard this dozen years. "Leeby was saxteen month younger than Joey, an' mair quiet like. Her heart was juist set on helpin' aboot the hoose, an' though she was but fower year auld she could kindle the fire an' redd up (clean up) the room. Leeby'e A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 51 been my savin' ever since she was fower year auld Ay, but it was Joey 'at hung aboot me maist, an' he took notice 'at I wasna gaen out as I used to do. Since sune after my marriage I've needed the stick, but there was days 'at I could gang across the road an' sit on a stane. Joey kent there was something wrang when I had to gie that up, an' syne he noticed 'at I couldna even gang to the window unless Hendry kind o' carried me. Na, ye wouldna think 'at there could hae been days when Hendry did that, but he did. He was a sort o' ashamed if ony o' the neighbors saw him so affectionate like, but he was terrible taen up aboot me. His loom was doon at T'nowhead's, Bell's father's, an' often he cam' avva up to see if I was ony better. He did- na lat on to the other weavers 'at he was comin' to see what like I was. Na, he juist said he'd forgotten a pirn, or his cruizey lamp, oronything Ah, but he didna mak nae pretence o' no carin' for me aince he was inside the hoose. He came crawlin' to the bed, no to wauken me if I was sleepin', an' mony a time I made belief 'at I was, juist to please him. It was an awfu' business on him to hae a young wife sae helpless, but he wasna the man to cast that at me. I mind o' sayin' to him one day in my bed, 'Ye made a poor bargain, Hendry, when ye took me.' But he says, 'Not one soul in Thrums '11 daur say that to me but yersel', Jess. Na, na, my dawtv. $2 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. you're the wuman o' my choice ; there's juist one wuman i' the warld to me, an' that's you, my am Jess.' Tvva an' twenty years syne. Ay, Hendry called me fond like names, thae no everyday names. What a straucht man he was I " The doctor had said he could do no more for me, an' Hendry was the only ane 'at didna gie me up. The bairns, of course, didna understan', and Joey would come into the bed and play on the top o' me. Hendry would hae ta'en him awa, but I liked to hae 'im. Ye see, \ve was lang married afore we had a bairn, an' though I couldna bear ony other weight on me, Joey didna hurt me, somehoo. I liked to hae 'im so close to me. " It was through that 'at he came to bury my staff. I couldna help often thinkin' o' what like the hoose would be when I was gone, an' aboot Leeby an' Joey left so young. So, when I could say it without greetin', I said to Joey 'at I was goin' far awa, an' would he be a terrible guid lad- die to his father and Leeby when I was gone ? He aye juist said, 'Dinna gang, mother, dinna gang,' but one day Hendry came in frae his loom, and says Joey, 'Father, whaur's my mother gaen to, awa frae us ? ' I'll never forget Hendry's face. His mouth juist opened an' shut twa or three times, an' he walked quick ben to the room. I cried oot to him to come back, but he didna come, so I sent Joey for him. Joey came runnin' back A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 53 to me savin', ' Mother, mother, am awfu' fleid (frightened), for my father's greetin' sair. ' "A" thae things took a haud o' Joey, an' he ended in gien us a fl g (Light). I was sleepin' ill at the time, an' Hendr was ben sleepin' in the room wi' Leeby, Joey bein' wi' me. Ay, weel, one nicht I wok up in the dark an' put oot my hand to 'im, an' he wasna there. I sat up wi' a terrible start, an' syne I kent by the cauld 'at the door maun be open. I cried oot quick to Hendry, but he was a soond sleeper, an' he didna hear me. Ay, I dinna ken hoo I did it, but I got ben to the room an' I shook him up. I was near daft wi' fear when I saw Leeby wasna there either. Hendry couldna talc it in a' at aince, but sune he had his trousers on, an' he made me lie down on his bed. He said he wouldna move till I did it, or I wouldna hae dune it. As sune as he was oot o' the hoose crying their names I sat up in my bed listenin'. Sune I heard speakin', an' in a minute Leeby comes runnin' in to me, roarin' an' greetin'. She was barefeeted, and had juist her nichtgown on, an' her teeth was chatterin'. I took her into the bed, but it was an hour afore she could tell me onything, she was in sic a state. "Sune after Hendry came in carryin' Joey. Joey was as naked as Leeby, and as cauld as lead, but he wasnagreetin'. Instead o' that he was awfu' satisfied like, and for all Hendry threatened to lick him he wouldna tell what he an' Leeby had been 54 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. doin'. He says, though, says he, " Ye'll no gang awa noo, mother ; no, ye'll bide noo." My bonny laddie, I didna fathom him at the time. " It was Leeby 'at I got it frae. You see, Joey had never seen me gaen ony gait vvithoot my staff, an' he thocht if he hod it I wouldna be able to gang away. Ay, he planned it all oot, though he was but a bairn, an' lay watchin' me in my bed till I fell asleep. Syne he creepit oot o' the bed, an' got the staff, and gaed ben for Leeby. She was fleid, but he said it was the only wy to mak me 'at I couldna gang awa. It was juist ower there whaur thae cabbages is 'at he dug the bole wi' a spade, an' buried the stafi Hendry dug it up next mornin'." A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 55 CHAPTER VII. THE STATEMENT OF TIBBIE BIRSE. ON a Thursday Pete Lownie was buried, and when Hendry returned from the funeral Jess asked if Davit Lunan had been there. "Na," said Hendry, who was shut up in the closet-bed, taking off his blacks, "I heard tell he wasna bidden." "Yea, yea," said Jess, nodding to me signifi- cantly. "Ay, weel," she added, "we'll be hae'n Tibbie ower here on Saturday to deave's (weary us) to death aboot it." Tibbie, Davit's wife, was sister to Marget, Pete's widow, and she generally did visit Jess on Satur- day night to talk about Marget, who was fast be- coming one o' the most fashionable persons in Thrums. Tibbie was hopelessly plebeian. She was none o' your proud kind, and if I entered the kitchen when she was there she pretended not to see me, so that, if I chose, I might escape with- out speaking to the like of her. I always grabbed her hand, however, in a frank way. On Saturday Tibbie made her appearance. ^OITS the rapidity of her walk, and the way she 56 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. was sucking in her mouth, I knew that she had strange things to unfold. She had pinned a gray shawl about her shoulders and wore a black mutch over her dangling gray curls. "It's you, Tibbie," I heard Jess say, as the door opened. Tibbie did not knock, not considering herself grand enough for ceremony, and indeed Jess would have resented her knocking. On the other hand, when Leeby visited Tibbie, she knocked as politely as if she were collecting for the precen- tor's present. All this showed that we were su- perior socially to Tibbie. " Ay, hoo are ye, Jess ? " Tibbie said. "Muckle aboot it," answered Jess; "juist aff an' on ; ay, an' hoo hae ye been yersel' ? " " Ou," said Tibbie. I wish I could write "ou" as Tibbie said it. With her it was usually a sentence in itself. Sometimes it was a mere bark, again it expressed indignation, surprise, rapture ; it might be a check upon emotion or a way of leading up to it, and often it lasted for half a minute. In this in- stance it was, I should say, an intimation that if Jess was ready Tibbie would begin. "So Pete Lownie's gone, "said Jess, whom I could not see from ben the house. I had a good glimpse of Tibbie, however, through the open doorways. She had the armchair on the south side, as she would have said, of the fireplace. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 57 "He's awa," assented Tibbie, primly. I heard the lid of the kettle dancing, and then came a prolonged " ou." Tibbie bent forward to whisper, and if she had anything terrible to tell I was glad of that, for when she whispered I heard her best. For a time only a murmur of words reached me, distant music with an "ou" now and again that fired Tibbie as the beating of his drum may rouse the martial spirit of a drummer. At last our visitor broke into an agitated whisper, and it was only when she stopped whispering, as she did now and again, that I ceased to hear her. Jess evidently put a question at times, but so politely (for she had on her best wrapper) that I did not catch a word. "Though I should be struck deid this nicht, " Tibbie whispered, and the sibilants hissed be- tween her few remaining teeth, "I wasna sae muckle as speired to the layin' oot. There was Mysy Cruikshanks there, an' Kitty Webster 'at was nae friends to the corpse to speak o', but Marget passed by me, me 'at is her ain flesh an' blood, though it mayna be for the like o' me to say it. It's gospel truth, Jess, I tell ye, when I say 'at for all I ken officially, as ye micht say, Pete Lownie may be weel and hearty this day. If I was to meet Marget in the face I couldna say he was deid, though I ken 'at the wricht coffined him ; na, an' what's mair, I wouldna gie Marget the satisfaction o' hearin' me say it No, Jess, \ 58 A WINDOW M THRUMS. tell ye, I dinna pertend to be on an equalty wi' Marget, but equalty or no equalty, a body has her feelings, an' lat on 'at I ken Pete's gone I will not. Eh ? Ou, weel. . . . " Na faag 'na ; na, na. I ken my place better than to gang near Marget. I dinna deny 'at she's grand by me, and her keeps a bakehoose o' her ain, an' glad am I to see her doin' sae weel, but let me tell ye this, Jess, ' Pride goeth before a fall.' Yes, it does, it's Scripture; ay, it's nae mak-up o' mine, it's Scripture. And this I will say, though kennin' my place, 'at Davit Lunan is as dainty a man as is in Thrums, an' there's no one 'at's better behaved at a bural, being particu- larly wise-like (presentable) in's blacks, an' them spleet new. Na, na, Jess, Davit may hae his faults an' tak a dram at times like anither, but he would shame naebody at a bural, an' Marget deleeberately insulted him, no speirin' him to Pete's. What's mair, when the minister cried in to see me yesterday, an' me on the floor washin', says he, 'So Marget's lost her man,' an' I said, ' Say ye so, na ? ' for let on 'at I kent, and neither me at the laying oot nor Davit Lunan at the funeral, I would not. " ' Davit should hae gone to the funeral,' says the minister, 'for I doubt not he was only omit- ted in the invitations by a mistake.' " Ay, it was weel meant, but, says I, Jess, says I, ' As lang as am livin' to tak chairg o ' A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 59 'im, Davit Lunan gangs to nae burals 'at he's no bidden to. An' I tell ye,' I says to the minister, ' if there was one body 'at had a richt to be at th bural o' Pete Lownie, it was Davit Lunan, him bein' my man an' Marget my ain sister. Yes,' says I, though am no o' the boastin' kind, ' Davit had maist richt to be there next to Pete 'imsel'. Ou, Jess. . . . "This is no a maitter I like to speak aboot ; na, I dinna care to mention it, but the neighbors is nat'rally ta'en up aboot it, and Chirsty Tosh was sayin' what I would wager 'at Marget hadna sent the minister to hint 'at Davit's bein' over- lookit in the invitations was juist an accident ? Losh, losh, Jess, to think 'at a woman could hae the michty assurance to mak' a tool o' the very minister ! But, sal, as far as that gangs, Marget would do it, an' gae twice to the kirk next Sab- bath, too ; but if she thinks she's to get ower me like that, she tak's me for a bigger fule than I tak her for. Na, na, Marget, ye dinna draw my leg (deceive me). Ou, no. . . . "Mind ye, Jess, I hae no desire to be friends wi* Marget. Naething could be farrer frae my wish than to hae helpit in the layin' oot ' Pete Lownie, an' I assure ye, Davit wasna 'Keen to gang to the bural. 'If they dinna want me to their burals,' Davit says, 'they hae nae mair to do than to say sae. But I warn ye, Tibbie,' he says, ' if there's a bural frae this hoose, b* 60 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. it your bural, or be it my bural, not one o' the family o' Lownies casts their shadows upon the Corp.' Thae was the very words Davit said to me as we watched the hearse frae the sky- licht Ay, he bore up wonderfu', but he felt it, Jess he felt it, as I could tell by his takkin' to drink again that very nicht Jess, Jess. . . . "Marget's getting waur an' waur? Ay, ye may say so, though I'll say naething ag'in her mysel'. Of coorse am no on equally \vi' her, especially since she had the bell put up in her hoose. Ou, I hinna seen it mysel', na, I never gang near the hoose, an', as mony a body can tell ye, when I do hae to gang that wy I mak' my feet my friend. Ay, but as I was sayin', Marget's sae grand noo 'at she has a bell in the hoose. As I understan', there's a rope in the wast room, an' when ye pu' it a bell rings in the east room. Weel, when Marget has company at their tea in the wast room, an' they need mair watter or scones or onything, she rises an' rings the bell. Syne Jean, the auldest lassie, gets up frae the table an' lifts the jug or the plates, an' gaes awa ben to the east room for what's wanted. Ay, it's a wy o' doin, 'at's juist like the gentry, but I'll tell ye, Jess, Pete juist fair hated the soond o' that bell, an' there's them 'at says it was the death o' 'im. To think o' Marget ha'en sic an establishment ! . A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 6 1 " Na, I hinna seen the mournin', I've heard o't. Na, if Marget doesna tell me naething, am no the kind to speir naething, an' though I'll be at the kirk the morn, I winna turn my heid to look at the mournin'. But it's fac, as death I ken frae Janet McQuhatty 'at the bonnet's a' crape, an' three yairds o' crape on the dress, the which Marget calls a costume. . . . Ay, I wouldna wonder but what it was hale watter the morn, for it looks michty like rain, an' if it is it'll serve Marget richt, an' mebbe bring doon her pride a wee. No 'at I want to see her humbled, for, in coorse, she's grand by the like o' me. Ou, but . 6a A WINDOW IN THRUMS, CHAPTER VIII. A CLOAK WITH BEADS. ON week-days the women who passed the win- dow were meagrely dressed ; mothers in draggled winsey gowns, carrying infants that were arm- fuls of grandeur. The Sabbath clothed every one in her best, and then the women went by with their hands spread out. When I was with Hen- dry, cloaks with beads were the fashion, and Jess sighed as she looked at them. They were known in Thrums as the Eleven and a Bits (threepenny bits), that being their price at Kyowowy's on the square. Kyowowy means finicky, and ap- plied to the draper by general consent. No doubt it was very characteristic to call the cloaks by their market value. In the glen my scholars still talk of their school-books as the tupenny, the fowerpenny, the saxpenny. They finish their education with the tenpenny. Jess' opportunity for handling the garments that others of her sex could finger in shops, was when she had guests to tea. Persons who merely dropped in and remained to tea, got their meal, as a rule, in the kitchen. They had noth- A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 63 ing on that Jess could not easily take in as she talked to them. But when they came by special invitation, the meal was served in the room, the guests' things being left on the kitchen bed. Jess not being able to go ben the house, had to be left with the things. When the time to go arrived, these were found on the bed, just as they had been placed there, but Jess could now tell Leeby whether they were imitation, why Bell Elshioner's feather went far round the bon- net, and Chirsty Lownie's reason for always hold- ing her left arm fast against her side when she went abroad in the black jacket. Ever since My Hobart's eleven and a bit was left on the kitchen bed, Jess had hungered for a cloak with beads. My's was the very marrow of the one T'novv- head's wife got in Dundee for ten-and-sixpence ; indeed, we would have thought that 'Lisbeth's also came from Kyowowy's, had not Sanders Elshioner's sister seen her go into the Dundee shop with T'nowhead (who was loth), and hung about to discover what she was after. Hendry was. not quick at reading faces like Tammas Haggart, but the wistful look on Jess* face when there was talk of eleven and a bits had its meaning for him. "They're grand to look at, no doubt," I have heard him say to Jess, "but they're richt an- noyin'. That new wife o' Peter Dickie's had ane on in the kirk last Sabbath, an' wi* her sittin' 64 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. juist afore us I couldna listen to the sermon for try-in' to count the beads. " Hendry made his way into these gossips unin- vited, for his opinions on dress were considered contemptible, though he was worth consulting on material. Jess and Leeby discussed many things in his presence, confident that his ears were not doing their work ; but every now and then it was discovered that he had been hearkening greedily. If the subject was dress, he might then become a little irritating. " Oh, they're grand," Jess admitted ; " they set a body aff oncommon." "They would be no use to you," said Hendry, "for ye canna wear them except ootside." "A body doesna buy cloaks to be wearin' at them steady," retorted Jess. "No, no, but you could never wear yours though ye had ane. " "I dinna want ane. They're far ower grand for the like o* me. " "They're no nae sic thing. Am thinkin' ye're juist as fit to wear an eleven and a bit as My Ho- bart" " Weel, mebbe I am, but it's oot o' the question gettin' ane, they're sic a price." "Ay, an' though we had the siller, it would surely be an awfu' like thing to buy a cloak 'at ye could never wear ? " "Ou, but I dinna want ane," A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 65 Jess spoke so mournfully that Hendry became enraged. "It's most michty," he said, "'at ye would gang an' set yer heart on sic a completely use- less thing. " "I hinna set my heart on't. " "Dinna blether. Ye've been speakin' aboot thae eleven and a bits to Leeby, aff an' on, for twa month." Then Hendry hobbled off to his loom, and Jess gave me a look which meant that men are trying at the best, once you are tied to them. The cloaks continued to turn up in conversation, and Hendry poured scorn upon Jess' weakness, telling her she would be better employed mend- ing his trousers than brooding over an eleven and a bit that would have to spend its life in a drawer. An outsider would have thought that Hendry was positively cruel to Jess. He seemed to take a delight in finding that she had neglected to sew a button on his waistcoat. His real joy, however, was the knowledge that she sewed as no other woman in Thrums could sew. Jess had a genius for making new garments out of old ones, and Hendry never tired of gloating over her clever- ness so long as she was not present. He was always athirst for fresh proofs of it, and these were forthcoming every day. Sparing were his words of praise to herself, but in the evening he generally had 3 smoke with me in the attic, and 5 66 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. then the thought of Jess made him chuckle till his pipe went out. When' he smoked he grunted as if in pain, though this really added to the enjoy- ment. "It doesna matter," he would say to me, "what Jess turns her hand to, she can mak ony mortal thing. She doesna need naeteachin' ; na, juist gie her a guid look at onything, be it clothes, or furniture, or in the bakin' line, it's all the same to her. She'll mak another exactly like it. Ye canna beat her. Her bannocks is so superior 'at a Tilliedrum woman took to her bed after tastin' them, an' when the lawyer has company his wife gets Jess to mak some bannocks for her an' syne pretends they're her ain bakin'. Ay, there's a story aboot that. One day the auld doctor, him 'at's deid, was at his tea at the lawyer's, an' says the guidwife, ' Try the cakes, Mr. Riach ; they're my own bakin'.' Weel, he was a fearsomely out- spoken man, the doctor, an' nae suner had he the bannock atween his teeth, for he didna stop to swallow't, than he says, 'Mistress Geddie,' says he, ' I wasna born on a Sabbath. Na, na, you're no the first grand leddy ? at has gien me bannocks as their ain bakin' 'at was baked and fired by Jess Logan, her 'at's Hendry McQumpha's wife.' Ay, they say the lawyer's wife didna ken which wy to look, she was that mortified. It's juist the same wi' sewin'. There's wys o' ornamentin' christenin' robes an' the like 'at's kent to naebody A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 67 but hersel' ; an' as for stockin's, weel though I've seen her mak sae mony, she amazes me yet. I mind o' a furry waistcoat I aince had. Weel, when it was fell dune, do you think she gae it awa to some gaen aboot body (vagrant) ? Na, she made it into a richt neat coat to Jamie, wha was a bit laddie at the time. When he grew out o' it, she made a slipbody o't for hersel'. Ay, I dinna ken a' the different things it became, but the last time I saw it was ben in the room, whaur she'd cov- ered a footstool wi' 't. Yes, Jess is the cleverest crittur I ever saw. Leeby's handy, but she's no a patch on her mother. " I sometimes repeated these panegyrics to Jess. She merely smiled, and said that men haver most terribly when they are not at their work. Hendry tried Jess sorely over the cloaks, and a time carne when, only by exasperating her, could he get her to reply to his sallies. "Wha wants an eleven an' a bit? " she retorted now and again. "It's you 'at wants it," said Hendry promptly. "Did I ever say I wanted ane ? What use could I hae for't ? " "That's the question," said Hendry. "Ye canna gang the length o' the door, so ye would never be able to wear't. " "Ay, weel," replied Jess, "I'll never hae the chance o' no bein' able to wear't, for, hooever muckle I wanted it, I couldna get it. " 68 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. Jess' infatuation had in time the effect of mak- ing Hendry uncomfortable. In the attic he de- livered himself of such sentiments as these : "There's nae understandin' a woman. There's Jess 'at hasna her equal for cleverness in Thrums, man or woman, an' yet she's fair skeered about thae cloaks. Aince a woman sets her mind on something to wear, she's mair onreasonable than the stupidest man. Ay, it micht mak them hum- ble to see hoo foolish they are syne. No, but it doesna do't. " If it was a thing to be useful noo, I wouldna think the same o't, but she could never wear't. She kens she could never wear't, an' yet she's juist as keen to hae't. "I dinna like to see her so wantin' a thing, an' no able to get it. But it's an awfu' sum, eleven an' a bit. " He tried to argue with her further. "If ye had eleven an' a bit to fling awa, ''he said, "ye dinna mean to tell me 'at ye would buy a cloak instead o' cloth for a gown, or a flannel for petticoats, or some useful thing ? " "Assure as death," said Jess, with unwonted vehemence, "if a cloak I could get, a cloak I would buy." Hendry came up to tell me what Jess had said. "It's a michty infatooation," he said, " but it shows hoo her heart's set on thae cloaks." A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 69 "Ainceye had it," he argued with her, "ye would juist hae to lock it awa in the drawers. Ye would never even be seein' 't." "Ay, would I," said Jess. " I would often tak it oot an' look at it. Ay, an' I would aye ken it was there. " "But naebody would ken ye had it but yersel'," said Hendry, who had a vague notion that this was a telling objection. "Would they no?" answered Jess. "It would be a' through the toon afore nicht. " "Weel, all I can say," said Hendry, "is 'at ye're terrible foolish to tak the want o' sic a use- less thing to heart. " "Am no takkin' 't to heart," retorted Jess, as usual. Jess needed many things in her days that pov- erty kept from her to the end, and the cloak was merely a luxury. She would soon have let it slip by as something unattainable had not Hendry encouraged it to rankle in her mind. I cannot say when he first determined that Jess should have a cloak, come the money as it liked, for he was too ashamed of his weakness to admit his project to me. I remember, however, his saying to Jess one day : "I'll warrant ye could mak a cloak yersel' the marrow o' thae eleven and a bits, at half the price ? " " It would cost," said Jess, "sax an' saxpence, 70 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. exactly. The cloth would be five shillin's, an' the beads a shillin'. I have some braid 'at would do fine for the front, but the buttons would be sax- pence. " ' ' Ye're sure o' that ? " " I ken fine, for I got Leeby to price the things in the shop.'' ' ' Ay, but it maun be ill to shape the cloaks richt. There was a queer cut aboot that ane Peter Dickie's new wife had on." "Queer cut or no queer cut," said Jess, "I took the shape o' My Hobart's ane the day she was here at her tea, an' I could mak' the identical o't for sax and sax." "I dinna believe't," said Hendry, but when he and I were alone he told me: "There's no a doubt she could mak it. Ye heard her say she had ta'en the shape? Ay, that shows she's rale set on a cloak." Had Jess known that Hendry had been saving up for months to buy her material for a cloak, she would not have let him do it. She could not know, however, for all the time he was scraping together his pence he kept up a ring-ding-dang about her folly. Hendry gave Jess all the wages he weaved except three pence weekly, most of which went in tobacco and snuff. The dulseman had perhaps a halfpenny from him in the fort- night. I noticed that for a long time Hendry neither smoked nor snuffed, and I kne\v that for A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 71 years he had carried a shilling in his snuff-mull. The remainder of the money he must have made by extra work at his loom by working harder, for he could scarcely have worked longer. It was one day shortly before Jamie's return to Thrums that Jess saw Hendry pass the house and go down the brae when he ought to have come in to his brose. She sat at the window watching for him, and by and by he reappeared, carrying a parcel. " Whaur on earth hae ye been?" she asked, " an' what's that you're carryin'? " " Did ye think it was an eleven an' a bit ? "said Hendry. " No, I didna," answered Jess indignantly. Then Hendry slowly undid the knots of the string with which the parcel was tied. He took off the brown paper. " There's yer cloth," he said, "an' here's one an' saxpence for the beads an' the buttons.'' While Jess still stared he followed me ben the house. " It's a terrible haver," he said, apologetically, "but she had set her heart on't" CHAPTER IX. THE POWER OF BEAUTY. ONE evening; there was such a gathering at the pig-sty that Hendry and I could not get a board to lay our backs against. Circumstances had pushed Pete Elshioner into the place of honor that belonged by right of mental powers to Tammas Haggart, and Tammas was sitting rather sullenly on the bucket, boring a hole in the pig with his sarcastic eye. Pete was passing round a card, and in time it reached me. "With Mr. and Mrs. David Alexander's compliments," was printed on it, and Pete leered triumphantly at us as it went the round. " Weel, what think ye? " he asked, with a pre- tence at modesty. " Ou," said T'nowhead, looking at the others like one who asked a question, " ou, I think ; ay, ay." The others seemed to agree with him all but Tammas, who did not care to tie himself down to an opinion. " Ou ay," T'nowhead continued, more confi- dently, "it is so, deceededly. " A WINDOW IN THRUMS. )$ "Ye'll no ken," said Pete, chuckling, "what it means ? " " Na," the farmer admitted, " na, I canna say lexac'ly ken that." " I ken, though," said Tammas in his keen way. " Weel, then, what is't ? " demanded Pete, who had never properly come under Tammas' spell. " I ken," said Tammas. " Got wi't, then." " I dinna say it's lyin' on my tongue," Tammas replied in a tone of reproof, "but if ye'll juist speak awa aboot some other thing for a meenute or twa, I'll tell ye syne." Hendry said that this was only reasonable, but we could think of no subject at the moment, so we only stared at Tammas and waited. " I fathomed it," he said at last, " as sune as my een lichted on't. It's one o' the bit cards 'at grand fowk slip 'aneath doors when they mak calls, an' their friends is no in. Ay, that's what it is." " I dinna say ye're wrang," Pete answered a little annoyed. "Ay, weel, lads, of course David Alexander's oor Dite as we called 'im, DiteElshio- ner, an' that's his wy o' signifyin' to us 'at he's married." " I assure ye," said Hendry, " Dite's doin' the thing in style." " Ay, we said that when the card arrived," Pete admitted. 74 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. " I kent," said Tammas, " 'at that was the wy grand fowk did when they got married. I've kent it a lang time. It's no nae surprise to me." " He's been lang in marry in'," Hookey Crewe said. " He was thirty at Martinmas," said Pete. " Thirty, was he? " said Hookey. "Man, I'd buried twa wives by the time I was that age, an' was castin' aboot for a third. " "I mind o' them," Hendry interposed. ' ' Ay, " Hookey said, ' ' the first twa was angels. " There he paused. ' ' An' so's the third, " he added, ' ' in many respects. " "But wha's the woman Dite's ta'en ? " T'now- head or some one of the more silent members of the company asked of Pete. "Ou, we dinna ken wha she is," answered Pete; "but she'll be some Glasca lassie, for he's there noo. Look, lad, look at this. He sent this at the same time; it's her picture." Pete produced the silhouette of a young lady, and handed it round. "What do ye think? " he asked. "I assure ye ! " said Hookey. "Sal," said Hendry, even more charmed, "Dite's done weel. " " Lat's see her in a better licht," said Tammas. He stood up and examined the photograph nar- rowly, while Pete fidgeted with his legs. " Fairish," said Tammas at last. " Ou, ay ; no A WINDOW IN THRUMS. f$ what I would selec' mysel', but a dainty bit stocky ! Ou, a tasty crittury I ay, an' she's weel in order. Lads, she's a fine stoot kimmer." "I conseederher a beauty," said Pete aggres- sively. "She's a' that," said Hendry. " A' I can say," said Hookey, " is 'at she tak's me most michty." "She's no a beauty," Tammas maintained; "na, she doesna juist come up to that ; but I dinna deny but what she's weel-faured. " "What faut do ye find wi' her, Tammas?" asked Hendry. "Conseedered critically, "said Tammas, holding the photograph at arm's length, ' ' I would say 'at she let's see, noo ; ay, I would say 'at she's de- feecient in genteelity." "Havers," said Pete. "Na," said Tammas, "no when conseedered critically. "Ye see she's drawn lauchin' ; an' the genteel thing's no to lauch, but juist to put on a bit smirk. Ay, that's the genteel thing." "A smile, thay ca' it," interposed T'now- head. " I said a smile," continued Tammas. "Then there's her waist. I say naething ag'in her waist, speakin' in the ord'nar meanin' ; but, conseedered critically, there's a want o' suppleness, as ye micht say, about it. Ay, it doesna compare wi' the waist o' " [Here Tammas mentioned a 76 A frltfDOW 2N TtiRUMS. young lady who had recently married into a local county family.] "That was a pretty tiddy," said Hookey. "Ou, losh, ay ! it made me a kind o' queery to look at her." " Ye're ower kyowowy (particular), Tammas," said Pete. "It maybe, Pete," Tammas admitted; "but I maun say I'm fond o' a bonny-looken wuman, an' no easy to please ; na, I'm nat'rally ane o' the critical kind." "It's extror'nar," said T'nowhead, "what a poo'er beauty has. I mind when I was a callant readin' aboot Mary Queen o' Scots till I was fair mad, lads ; yes, I was fair mad at her bein' deid. Ou, I could hardly sleep at nichts for thinking o' her." " Mary was spunky as weel as a beauty," said Hookey, " an' that's the kind I like. Lads, what a persuasive tid she was ! " "She got roond the men," said Hendry ; "ay, she turned them roond her finger. That's the warst o' thae beauties." "Idinna gainsay, "said T'nowhead, "but what there was a little o' the deevil in Mary, the crit- tur." Here T'nowhead chuckled, and then looked scared. "What Mary needed, " said Tammas, "was a strong man to manage her." A WtNtiOW IX THRUMS. - ft '* Ay, man, but it's ill to manage thae beauties. They gie ye a glint o' their een, an' syne whaur are ye ? " "Ah, they can be managed," said Tammas complacently. "There's naebody nat'rally safter wi' a pretty stocky o' bit wumany than mysel' ; but for a' that, if I had been Mary's man, I would hae stood nane o' her tantrums. ' Na, Mary, my lass,' I would hae said, 'this winna do; na, na, ye're a bonny body, but ye maun mind 'at man's the superior ; ay, man's the lord o' creation, an 1 so ye maun juist sing sma'. That's hoo I would hae managed Mary, the speerity crittur 'at she was. " " Ye would hae haen yer wark cut oot for ye, Tammas." "Ilka mornin'," pursued Tammas, "I would hae said to her: 'Mary,' I would hae said, ' wha's to wear thae breeks the day, you or me ? Ay, syne I would hae ordered her to kindle the fire, or if I had been the king of coorse I would hae telt her instead to ring the bell an' hae the cloth laid for the breakfast. Ay, that's the wy to mak' the like o' Mary respec' ye." Pete and I left them talking. He had written a letter to David Alexander, and wanted me to "back "it A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER X. A MAGNUM OPUS. Two Bibles, a volume of sermons by the learned Dr. Isaac Barrow, a few numbers of the Cheap Magazine, that had strayed from Dunfermline, and a " Pilgrim's Progress," were the works that lay conspicuous ben in the room. Hendry had also a copy of Burns, whom he always quoted in the complete poem, and a collection of legends in song and prose, that Leeby kept out of sight in a drawer. The weight of my box of books was a subject Hendry was very willing to shake his head over ; but he never showed any desire to take off the lid. Jess, however, was more curious ; indeed, she would have been an omnivorous devourer of books had it not been for her conviction that reading was idling. Until I found her out, she never allowed to me that Leeby brought her my books one at a time. Some of them were novels, and Jess took about ten minutes to each. She confessed that what she read was only the last chapter, owing to a consuming curiosity to know whether "she got him." A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 79 She read all the London parts, however, of "The Heart of Midlothian, "because London was where Jamie lived, and she and I had a discussion about it which ended in her remembering that Thrums once had an author of its own. " Bring oot the book," she said to Leeby ; "it was put awa i' the bottom drawer ben i' the room sax year syne, an' I sepad it's there yet. " Leeby came but with a faded little book, the title already rubbed from its shabby brown covers. I opened it, and then all at once I saw before me again the man who wrote and printed it and died. He came hobbling up the brae, so bent that his body was almost at right angles to his legs, and his broken silk hat was carefully brushed as in the days when Janet, his sister, lived. There he stood at the top of the brae, panting. I was but a boy when Jimsy Duthie turned the corner of the brae for the last time, with a score of mourners behind him. While I knew him there was no Janet to run to the door to see if he was coming. So occupied was Jimsy with the great affair of his life, which was brewing for thirty years, that his neighbors saw how he missed his sister better than he realized it himself. Only his hat was no longer carefully brushed, and his coat hung awry, and there was sometimes little reason why he should go home to dinner. It is for the sake of Janet who adored him that So A WINDOW IN THRUMS. we should remember Jimsy in the days before r.he died. Jimsy was a poet, and for the space of thirty years he lived in a great epic on the Millennium. This is the book presented to me by Jess, that lies so quietly on my topmost shelf now. Open it, however, and you will find that the work is en- titled, "The Millennium : an Epic Poem, in Twelve Books : by James Duthie." In the little hole in his wall where Jimsy kept his books there was, I have no doubt for his effects were rouped before I knew him except by name a well-read copy of "Paradise Lost." Some people would smile perhaps, if they read the two epics side by side, and others might sigh, for there is a great deal in "The Millennium " that Milton could take credit for. Jimsy had educated himself, after the idea of writing something that the world would not willingly let die came to him, and he began his book before his education was complete. So far as I know, he never wrote a line that had not to do with "The Millennium." He was ever a man sparing of his plural tenses, and "The Millennium" says "has" for "have"; a vain word, indeed, which Thrums would only have permitted as a poetical license. The one original character in the poem is the devil, of whom Jimsy gives a picture that is startling and graphic, and received the approval of the Auld Licht minister. By trade Jimsy was a printer, a master-printer A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 8 1 with no one under him, and he printed and bound his book, ten copies in all, as well as wrote it. To print the poem took him, I dare say, nearly as long as to write it, and he set up the pages as they were written, one by one. The book is only printed on one side of the leaf, and each page was produced separately like a little hand-bill. Those who may pick up the book but who will care to do so ? will think that the author or his printer could not spell but they would not do Jimsy that injustice if they knew the circumstances in which it was produced. He had but a small stock of type, and on many occasions he ran out of a letter. The letter e tried him sorely. Those who knew him best say that he tried to think of words without an e in them, but when he was baffled he had to use a little a or an o instead. He could print correctly, but in the book there are a good many capital letters in the middle of words, and sometimes there is a note of interro- gation after "alas" or "woe's me," because all the notes of exclamation had been used up. Jimsy never cared to speak about his great poem even to his closest friends, but Janet told how he read it out to her, and that his whole body trembled with excitement while he raised his eyes to heaven as if asking for inspiration that would enable his voice to do justice to his writing. So grand it was, said Janet, that her stocking would slip from her fingers as he read and Janet's 6 82 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. stockings, that she was always knitting when not otherwise engaged, did not slip from her hands readily. After her death he was heard by his neighbors reciting the poem to himself, generally with his door locked. He is said to have de- claimed part of it one still evening from the top of the commonty like one addressing a multitude and the idlers who had crept up to jeer at him fell back when they saw his face. He walked through them, they told, with his old body straight once more, and a queer light playing on his face. His lips are moving as I see him turning the cornerof the brae. So he passed from youth to old age, and all his life seemed a dream, except that part of it in which he was writing, or printing, or stitching, or binding " The Millennium. " At last the work was completed. "It is finished," he printed at the end of the last book. "The task of thirty years is over." It is indeed over. No one ever read "The Millennium." I am not going to sentimentalize over my copy, for how much of it have I read? But neither shall I say that it was written to no end. You may care to know the last of Jimsy, though in one sense he was blotted out when the last copy was bound. He had saved one hun- dred pounds by that time, and being now neither able to work nor to live alone, his friends cast about for a home for his remaining years. He A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 83 was very spent and feeble, yet he had the fear that he might be still alive when all his money was gone. After that was the workhouse. He covered sheets of paper with calculations about how long the hundred pounds would last if he gave away for board and lodgings ten shillings, nine shillings, seven and sixpence a week. At last, with sore misgivings, he went to live with a family who took him for eight shillings. Less than a month afterwards he died. 84 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER XI. THE GHOST CRADLE. OUR dinner hour was 1 2 o'clock, and Hendry, for a not incomprehensible reason, called this meal his brose. Frequently, however, while I was there to share the expense, broth was put on the table, with beef to follow in clean plates, much to Hendry's distress, for the comfortable and usual practice was to eat the beef from the broth-plates. Jess, however, having three whole white plates and two cracked ones, insisted on the meals being taken genteelly, and her husband, with a look at me, gave way. "Half a pound o' boiling beef, an' a penny bone," was Leeby's almost invariable order when she dealt with the flesher, and Jess had always neighbors poorer than herself, who got a plateful of the broth. She never had anything without remembering some old body who would be the better of a little of it. Among those who must have missed Jess sadly after she was gone was Johnny Proctor, a half- witted man who, because he could not work, re- mained straight at a time of life when most A WINDOW IN" THRUMS. 85 iveavers, male and female, had lost some inches of their stature. For as far back as my memory goes, Johnny had got his brose three times a week from Jess, his custom being to walk in without ceremony, and, drawing a stool to the table, tell Leeby that he was now ready. One day, however, when I was in the garden putting some rings on a fishing-wand, Johnny pushed by me, with no sign of recognition on his face. I addressed him, and, after pausing undecidedly, he ignored me. When he came to the door, in- stead of flinging it open and walking in, he knocked primly, which surprised me so much that I followed him. "Is this whaur Mistress McQumpha lives?" he asked, when Leeby, with a face ready to receive the minister himself, came at length .to the door. I knew that the gentility of the knock had taken both her and her mother aback. "Hoots, Johnny," said Leeby, "what haver's this? Come awa in." Johnny seemed annoyed- "Is this whaur Mistress McQumpha lives ? " he repeated. "Say 'at it is," cried Jess, who was quicker in the uptake than her daughter. "Of course this is whaur Mistress McQumpha lives," Leeby then said, "as weel ye ken, for ye had yer dinner here no twa hours syne." "Then," said Johnny, " Mistress Tully's com- 86 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. pliments to her, and would she kindly lend the christenin'-rbbe an' also the tea-tray, if the same be na needed ? " Having delivered his message as instructed, Johnny consented to sit down until the famous christening-robe and the tray were ready, but he would not talk, for that was not in the bond. Jess' sweet face beamed over the compliment Mrs. Tully, known on ordinary occasions as Jean McTaggart, had paid her, and, after Johnny had departed laden, she told me how the tray, which had a great bump in the middle, came into her possession. " Ye've often heard me speak aboot the time when I was a lassie workin' at the farm o' the Bog? Ay, that was afore me an' Hendry kent ane anither, an' I was as fleet on my feet in thae days as Leeby is noo. It was Sam'l Fletcher 'at was the farmer, but he maun hae been gone afore you was mair than born. Mebbe, though, ye ken 'at he was a terrible invalid, an' for the hinmost years o' his life he sat in a muckle chair nicht an' day. Ay, when I took his dinner to 'im, on 'at very tray at Johnny cam for, I little thocht 'at by- an'-bye I would be sae keepit in a chair mysel'. "But the thinkin' o' Sam'l Fletcher's case is ane o' the things 'at maks me awfu' thankfu' for the lenient wy the Lord has aye dealt wi' me ; for Sam'l couldna move oot o' the chair, aye sleepin' in't at nicht, an' I can come an' gang between A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 87 mine an' my bed. Mebbe, ye think I'm no much better off than Sam'l, but that's a terrible mistak. What a glory it would hae been to him if he could hae gone frae one end o' the kitchen to the ither I Ay, I'm sure o' that. "Sam'l was rale weel liked, for he was saft- spoken to everybody, an' fond o' ha'en a gossip wi' ony ane 'at was aboot the farm. We didna care sae muckle for the wife, Eppie Lownie, for she managed the farm, an' she was fell hard an' terrible reserved we thocht, no even likin' ony body to get friendly wi' the mester, as we called Sam'l. Ay, we made a richt mistak." As I had heard frequently of this queer, mourn- ful mistake made by those who considered Sam'l unfortunate in his wife, I turned Jess on the main line of her story. " It was the ghost cradle, as they named it, 'at I meant to tell ye aboot. The Bog was a bigger farm in thae days than noo, but I daursay it has the new steadin' yet. Ay, it winna be new noo, but at the time there was sic a commotion aboot the ghost cradle, they were juist puttin' the new steadin' up. There was sax or mair masons at it, wi' the lads on the farm helpin', an' as they were all sleepin' at the farm, there was great stir aboot the place. I couldna tell ye hoo the story aboot the farm's bein' haunted rose, to begin wi', but I mind fine hoo fleid I was ; ay, an' no only me, but every man-body an' woman-body on the 88 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. farm. It was aye late 'at the soond began, an' we never saw naething we juist heard it The masons said they wouldna hae been sae fleid if they could hae seen't, but it never was seen. It had the soond o' a cradle rockin', an' when we lay in our beds hearkenin', it grew louder an' louder till it wasna to be borne, an' the women- folk fair skirled wi' fear. The mester was intimate wi' a' the stories aboot ghosts an' water-kelpies an' sic like, an' we couldna help listenin' to them. But he aye said 'at ghosts 'at was juist heard an' no seen was the maist fearsome an' wicked. For all there was sic fear ower the hale farm-toon 'at naebody would gang ower the door alane after the gloamin' cam, the mester said he wasna fleid to sleep i' the kitchen by 'imsel'. We thocht it richt brave o' 'im, for ye see he was as helpless as a bairn. "Richt queer stories rose aboot the cradle, an' travelled to the ither farms. The wife didna like them ava, for it was said 'at there maun hae been some awful murder o' an infant on the farm, or we wouldna be haunted by a cradle. Syne folk began to mind 'at there had been nae bairns born on the farm as far back as onybody kent, an' it was said 'at some lang syne crime had made the Bog cursed. "Dinna think 'at we juist lay in our beds or sat round the fire shakin' wi' fear. Everything 'at could be dune was dune. In the daytime, A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 89 when naething was heard, the masons explored a' place i' the farm, in the hope o' findin' oot 'at the sound was caused by sic a thing as the wind playin' on the wood in the garret. Even at nichts, when they couldna sleep wi' the soond, I've kent them rise in a body and gang all ower the house wi' lichts. I've seen them climbin' on the new steadin', crawlin' alang the rafters haudin' their cruizey lamps afore them, an' us women- bodies shiverin' wi' fear at the door. It was on ane o' thae nichts 'at a mason fell off the rafters an' broke his leg. Weel, sic a state was the me? in to find oot what it was 'at was terrifyin' them sac muckle, 'at the rest o' them climbed up at aince to the place he'd fallen frae, thinkin' there was something there 'at had fleid 'im. Buf. though they crawled back an' forrit there was naething ava. " The rockin' was louder, we thocht, after that nicht, an' syne the man said it would go on till somebody was killed. That idea took a richt haud o' them, an' twa ran awa back to Tillie- drum, whaur they had come frae. They gaed thegither i' the middle o' the nicht, an' it was thocht next mornin' 'at the ghost had spirited them awa. "Ye couldna conceive hoo low-spirited we all were after the masons had gien up hope o' findin' a nat'ral cause for the soond. At ord'nary times there's no ony mair lichtsome place than a farm after the men hae come in to their supper, but at 90 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. the Bog we sat dour an' sullen ; an' there wasna a mason or a farm-servant 'at would gang by 'imsel' as far as the end o' the hoose whaur the peats was keepit. The mistress maun hae saved some siller that spring through the Egyptians (gypsies) keepin' awa, for the farm had got sic an ill name 'at nae tinkler would come near't at nicht. The tailorman an' his laddie, 'at should hae bidden wi' us to sew things for the men, walkit off fair skeered one morn in', an' settled doon at the farm o' Craigiebuckle fower mile awa, whaur our lads had to gae to them. Ay, I mind the tailor's sendin' the laddie for the money owin' him ; he hadna the speerit to venture again with- in soond o' the cradle 'imsel'. The men on the farm, though, couldna blame 'im for that. They were just as flichtered themsels, an' mony a time I saw them hittin' the dogs for whinin' at the soond. The wy the dogs took on was fearsome in itsel', for they seemed to ken, aye when nicht cam on/ at therockin' would sune begin, an' if they werena chained they cam' runnin' to the hoose. I hae heard the hale glen fu, as ye micht say, wi' the whinin' o' dogs, for the dogs on the other farms took up the cry, an' in a glen ye can hear soonds terrible far awa' at nicht. "As lang as we sat i' the kitchen, listenin' to what the mester had to say aboot the ghosts in his young days, the cradle would be still, but we were nae suner awa' speeritless to our beds than A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 91 it began, an' sometimes it lasted till mornin'. We lookit upon the mester almost vvi' awe, sittin' there sae helpless in his chair, an' no field to be left alane. He had lang white hair, an' a saft bonny face 'at would hae made 'im respeckit by onybody, an' aye when we speired if he wasna fleid to be left alane, he said, ' Them 'at has a clear conscience has naething to fear frae ghosts.' "There was some 'at said the curse would never leave the farm till the house was razed to the ground, an' it's the truth I'm tellin' ye when I say there was talk among the men aboot settin't on fire. The mester was richt stern when he heard o' that, quotin' frae Scripture in a solemn wy 'at abashed the masons, but he said 'at in his opeenion there was a bairn buried on the farm, an' till it was found the cradle would go on rockin'. After that the masons dug in a lot o' places lookin' for the body, an' they found some queer things, too, but never nae sign o' a murdered litlin'. Ay, I dinna ken what would hae happened if the commotion had gaen on muckle langer. One thing I'm sure o' is 'at the mistress would hae gaen daft she took it a' sae terrible to heart. "I lauch at it noo, but I tell ye I used to tak' my heart to my bed in my mouth. If ye hinna heard the story, I dinna think ye'll be able to guess what the ghost cradle was." I said I had been trying to think what the tray had to do with it 9 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "It had everything to do wi't,"said Jess ; "an* if the masons had kent hoo that cradle was rockit, I think they would hae killed the mester. It was Eppie 'at found oot, an' she telt naebody but me, though mony a ane kens noo. I see ye canna mak it oot yet, so I'll tell ye what the cradle was. The tray was keepit against the kitchen wall near the mester, an' he played on't wi his foot. He made it gang bump, bump, an the soond wasjuist like a cradle rockin'. Ye could hardly believe sic a thing would hae made that din, but it did, an' ye see we lay in our beds hearkenin' for't. Ay, when Eppie telt me, I could scarce believe 'at that guid devout-lookin' man could hae been sae wicked. Ye see, when he found hoo terrified we a' were, he keepit it up. The wy Eppie found out i' the tail o' the day was by wonderin' at 'im sleepin' sae muckle in the daytime. He did that so as to be fresh for his sport at nicht What a fine releegious man we thoucht'im, too ! " Eppie couldna bear the very sicht o' the tray after that, an' she telt me to break it up ; but I keepit it, ye see. The lump i' the middle's the mark, as ye may say, o' the auld man's foot." A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 93 CHAPTER XII. THE TRAGEDY OF A WIFE. WERE Jess still alive to tell the life-story of Sam'l Fletcher and his wife, you could not hear it and sit still. The ghost cradle is but a page from the black history of a woman who married, to be blotted out from that hour. One case of the kind I myself have known, of a woman so good mated to a man so selfish that I cannot think of her even now with a steady mouth. Hers was the tragedy of living on, more mournful than the tragedy that kills. In Thrums the weavers spoke of ' ' lous- ing " from their looms, removing the chains, and there is something woeful in that. But pity poor Nanny Coutts, who took her chains to bed with her. Nanny was buried a month or more before I came to the house on the brae, and even in Thrums the dead are seldom remembered for so long a time as that. But it was only after Sanders was left alone that we learned what a woman she had been, and how basely we had wronged her. She was an angel, Sanders went about whining when he had no longer a woman to ill-treat. He had 94 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. this sentimental way with him, but it lost its effect after we knew the man. "A deevil couldna hae deserved waur treat- ment," Tammas Haggartsaidto him ; "gangoot o' my sicht, man ! " "I'll blame mysel' till I die," Jess said, with tears in her eyes, "for no understandin' puir Nanny better." So Nanny got sympathy at last, but not until her forgiving soul had left her tortured body. There was many a kindly heart in Thrums that would have gone out to her in her lifetime, but we could not have loved her without upbraiding him, and she would not buy sympathy at the price. What a little story it is, and how few words are required to tell it ! He was a bad husband to her, and she kept it secret. That is Nanny's life summed up. It is all that was left behind when her coffin went down the brae. Did she love him to the end, or was she only doing what she thought her duty ? It is not for me even to guess. A good woman who suffers is altogether beyond man's reckoning. To such heights of self-sacrifice we cannot rise. It crushes us ; it ought to crush us on to our knees. For us who saw Nanny, infirm, shrunken, and so weary, yet a type of the noblest womanhood, suffering for years, and misunderstood her to the end, what expiation can there be? I do not want to storm at the man who made her life so burdensome. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 95 Too many years have passed for that, nor would Nanny take it kindly if I called her man names. Sanders worked little after his marriage. He had a sore back, he said, which became a torture if he leant forward at his loom. What truth there was in this I cannot say, but not every weaver in Thrums could " louse " when his back grew sore. Nanny went to the loom in his place, filling as well as weaving, and he walked about, dressed better than the common, and with cheerful words for those who had time to listen. Nanny got no approval even for doing his work as well as her own, for they were understood to have money, and Sanders let us think her merely greedy. We drifted into his opinions. Had Jess been one of those who could go about, she would, I think, have read Nanny better than the rest of us, for her intellect was bright, and always led her straight to her neighbors' hearts. But Nanny visited no one, and so Jess only knew her by hearsay. Nanny's standoffish- ness, as it was called, was not a popular virtue, and she was blamed still more for trying to keep her husband out of other people's houses. He was so frank and full of gossip, and she was so reserved. He would go everywhere, and she nowhere. He had been known to ask neighbors to tea, and she had shown that she wanted them away, or even begged them not to come. We were not accustomed to go behind the face of a 96 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. thing, and so we set down Nanny's inhospitality to churlishness or greed. Only after her death, when other women had to attend him, did we get to know what a tyrant Sanders was at his own hearth. The ambition of Nanny's life was that we should never know it, that we should continue extolling him, and say what we chose about her- self. She knew that if we went much about the house and saw how he treated her, Sanders would cease to be a respected man in Thrums. So neat in his dress was Sanders, that he was seldom seen abroad in corduroys. His blue bonnet for everyday wear was such as even well- to-do farmers only wore at fair-time, and it was said that he had a handkerchief for every day in the week. Jess often held him up to Hendry as a model of courtesy and polite manners. " Him an' Nanny's no weel matched, "she used to say, " for he has grand ideas, an' she's o' the commonest. It maun be a richt trial to a man wi' his fine tastes to hae a wife 'at's wrapper's never even on, an' wha doesna wash her mutch aince in a month." It is true that Nanny was a slattern, but only because she married into slavery. She was kept so busy washing and ironing for Sanders that she ceased to care how she looked herself. What did it matter whether her mutch was clean ? Weaving and washing and cooking, doing the work of a breadwinner as well as of a housewife, hers was A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 97 soon a body prematurely old, on which no wrapper would sit becomingly. Before her face, Sanders would hint that her slovenly ways and dress tried him sorely, and in company at least she only bowed her head. We were given to respecting those who worked hard, but Nanny, we thought, was a woman of means, and Sanders let us call her a miser. He, was always anxious, he said, to be generous, but Nanny would not let him assist a starving child. They had really not a penny beyond what Nanny earned at the loom, and now we know how Sanders shook her if she did not earn enough. His vanity was responsible for the story about her wealth, and she would not have us think him vain. Because she did so much, we said that she was as strong as a cart-horse. The doctor who attended her during the last week of her life dis- covered that she had never been well. Yet we had often wondered at her letting Sanders pit his own potatoes when he was so unable. " Them 'at's strong, ye see, "Sanders explained, " doesna ken what illness is, an' so it's nat'ral they shouldna sympathize wi' onweel fowk. Ay, I'm rale thankfu' 'at Nanny keeps her health. I often envy her." These were considered creditable sentiments, and so they might have been had Nanny uttered them. Thus easily Sanders built up a reputation for never complaining. I know now that he was 7 98 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. a hard and cruel man who should have married a shrew ; but while Nanny lived I thought he had a beautiful nature. Many a time 1 have spoken with him at Hendry's gate, and felt the better of his heartiness. "I mauna complain," he always said; "na, we maunjuist fecht awa." Little, indeed, had he to complain of, and little did he fight away. Sanders went twice to church every Sabbath, and thrice when he got the chance. There was no man who joined so lustily in singing or looked straighter at the minister during the prayer. I have heard the minister say that Sanders' con- stant attendance was an encouragement and a help to him. Nanny had been a great church- goer when she was a maiden, but after her mar- riage she only went in the afternoons, and a time came when she ceased altogether to attend. The minister admonished her many times, telling her, among other things, that her irreligious ways were a distress to her husband. She never replied that she could not go to church in the forenoon, because Sanders insisted on a hot meal being waiting him when the services ended. But it was true that Sanders, for appearances' sake, would have had her go to church in the afternoon. It is now believed that on this point alone did she refuse to do as she was bidden. Nanny was very far from perfect, and the reason she forsook the A WINDOW IX THRUMS. 99 kirk utterly was because she had no Sabbath clothes. She died as she had lived, saying not a word when the minister, thinking it his duty, drew a cruel comparison between her life and her hus- band's. "I got my first glimpse into the real state of affairs in that house," the doctor told me one night on the brae, the day before she died. "You're sure there's no hope for me ? " she asked wistfully, and when I had to tell the truth she sank back on the pillow with a look of joy.'* Nanny died with a lie on her lips. "Ay," she said, " Sanders has been a guid man to me." loo A WINDOW IN THRUMS. CHAPTER XIIL MAKING THE BEST OF IT. HENDRY had a way of resuming a conversation where he had left off the night before. He would revolve a topic in his mind, too, and then begin aloud, "He's a queer ane," or, "Say ye so?" which was at times perplexing. With the whole day before them, none of the family was inclined to waste strength in talk ; but one morning when he was blowing the steam off his porridge, Hendry said, suddenly : " He's hame again." The women-folk gave him time to say to whom he was referring, which he occasionally did as an after-thought. But he began to sup his porridge, making eyes as it went steaming down his throat "I dinna ken wha ye mean," Jess said, while Leeby, who was on her knees rubbing the hearth- stone a bright blue, paused to catch her father's answer. " Jeames Geogehan," replied Hendry, with the horn spoon in his mouth. Leeby turned to Jess for enlightenment A WINDOW IN THRUMS. IO1 "Geogehan," repeated Jess; "what! no little Jeames 'at ran awa ? " "Ay, ay, but he's a muckle stoot man 1100, an' gey gray. " "Ou, I dinna wonder at that. It's aguidforty year since he ran off." " I waurant ye couldna say exact hoo langsyne it is ? " Hendry asked this question because Jess was notorious for her memory, and he gloried in put- ting it to the test. ' ' Let's see, " she said. "But wha is he?" asked Leeby. "I never kent nae Geogehans in Thrums." " Weel, it's forty-one years syne come Michael- mas," said Jess. " Hoo do ye ken?" "I ken fine. Ye mind his father had been lickin' 'im, an' he ran awa in a passion, cryin' oot 'at he Would never come back ? Ay, then, he had a pair o' boots on at the time, an' his father ran after 'im an' took them aff 'im. The boots was the last 'at Davie Mearns made, an' it's fully ane- an'-forty years since Davie fell ower the quarry on the day o' the hill-market. That settles't. Ay, an' Jeames'll be turned fifty noo, for he was comin' on for ten year auld at that time. Ay, ay, an' he's come back ! What a state Eppie'll be in!" "Tell's wha he is, mother." loa A WINDOW IN THRUMS. "Od, he's Eppie Outline's son. Her man was William Geogehan, but he died afore you was born, an' as Jeames was their only bairn, the name o' Geogehan's been a kind o' lost sicht o', Hae ye seen him, Hendry ? Is't true 'at he made a fortune in thae far-awa countries ? Eppie'll be blavvin' aboot him richt?" "There's nae doot aboot the siller," said Hendry, " for he drove in a carriage frae Tillie- drum, an' they say he needs a closet to hang his claes in, there's sic a heap o' them. Ay, but that's no a' he's brocht, na, far frae a'." " Dinna gang awa till ye've telt's a' aboot 'im. What mair has he brocht ? " "He's brocht a wife," said Hendry, twisting his face curiously. "There's naething surprisin' in that." "Ay, but there is, though. Ye see, Eppie had a letter frae 'im no mony weeks syne, sayin' 'at he wasna deid, an' he was comin' hame wi' a fortune. He said, too, 'at he was a single man, n f she's been boastin' aboot that, so ye may think 'at she got a surprise when he hands a. wuman oot o' the carriage." "An' no a pleasant ane," said Jess. " Had he been leein'?" "Na, he was single when he wrote, an' single when he got the length o' Tilliedrum. Ye see, he fell in wi' the lassie there, an' juist gaed clean aff his heid aboot her. After managin' to withstand A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 103 the women o' foreign lands for a' thae years, he gaed fair skeer aboot this stocky at Tilliedrum. ' She's juist seventeen year auld, an' the auld fule sits wi' his airm round her in Eppie's hoose, though they've been mairit this fortnicht." "The doited fule," said Jess. Jeames Geogehan and his bride became the talk of Thrums, and Jess saw them from her window several times. The first time she had only eyes for the jacket with fur round it worn by Mrs. Geogehan, but subsequently she took in Jeames. "He's tryin' to carry't aff wi' his heid in the air," she said, "but I can see he's fell shame- faced, an' nae wonder. Ay, I sepad he's mair ashamed o't in his heart than she is. It's an aw- ful like thing o' a lassie to marry an auld man. She had dune't for the siller. Ay, there's pounds' worth o' fur aboot that jacket." "They say she had siller hersel'," said Tibbie Birse. " Dinna tell me," said Jess. "I ken by her wy o' carryin' hersel' 'at she never had a jacket like that afore." Eppie was not the only person in Thrums whom this marriage enraged. Stories had long been alive of Jeames' fortune, which his cousins' children were some day to divide among them- selves, and as a consequence these young men and women looked on Mrs. Geogehan as a thie 164 ^ WIXDOW Itt THRUMS. "Dinna bring the wife to our hoose, Jeames," one of them told him, "for we would be fair ashamed to hae her. We used to hae a respect for yer name, so we couldna look her i' the face." "She's mair like yer dochter than yer wife," said another. "Na," said a third, " naebody could mistak her for yer dochter. She's ower young-like for that." " Wi' the siller you'll leave her, Jeames," Tam- mas Haggart told him, "she'll get a younger man for her second venture." All this was very trying to the newly-married man, who was thirsting for sympathy. Hendry was the person whom he took into his confidence. " It may hae been foolish at my time o' life," Hendry reported him to have said, " but I couldna help it. If they juist kent her better they couldna but see 'at she's a terrible takkin' crittur." Jeames was generous ; indeed, he had come home with the intention of scattering largess. A beggar met him one day on the brae, and got a shilling from him. She was waving her arms triumphantly as she passed Hendry's house, and Leeby got the story from her. "Eh, he's a fine man that, an' a saft ane," the woman said. "I juist speired at 'im hoo his bonny wife was, an' he oot wi' a shillin' ! " Leeby did not keep this news to herself, and soon it was through the town. Jeames' face be- gan to brighten. A WltiDOW Iti THRUMS. lo$ *' They're comin' round to a mair sensible wy o' lookin' at things," he told Hendry. "I was walkin' wi' the wife i' the buryin'-ground yester- day, an' we met Kitty McQueen. She was ane o' the warst agin me at first, but she telt me i' the buryin'-ground 'at when a man marrit he should please 'imsel'. Oh, they're comin' round." What Kitty told Jess was : "I minded o' the tinkler wuman 'at he gae a shillin' to, so I thocht I would butter up at the auld fule too. Weel, I assure ye, I had nae suner said 'at he was rale wise to marry wha he likit than he slips a pound note into my hand. Ou, Jess, we've ta'en the wrang wy wi' Jeames. I've telt a' my bairns 'at if they meet him they're to praise the wife terrible, an' I'm far mista'en if that doesna mean five shillin's to ilka ane o' them." Jean Whamond got a pound note for saying that Jeames' wife had an uncommon pretty voice, and Davit Lunan had ten shillings for a judicious word about her attractive manners. Tibbie Birse invited the newly-married couple to tea (one pound). "They're takkin' to her, they're takkin'to her,' Jeames said, gleefully. "I kent they would come round in time. Ay, even my mother, 'at was sae mad at first, sits for hours noo aside her, haudin' her hand. They're juist insepa- rable." Io6 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. The time came when we had Mr. and Mrs. Geogehan and Eppie to tea. " It's true enough," Leeby ran ben to tell Jess, "'at Eppie an' the wife's fond o' ane another. I wouldna hae believed it o' Eppie if I hadna seen it, but I assure ye they sat even at the tea-table haudin' ane another's hands. I waurant they're doin't this meenute." "I vvasna born on a Sabbath," retorted Jess. " Na, na, dinna tell me Eppie's fond o' her. Tell Eppie to come but to the kitchen when the tea's ower. " Jess and Eppie had half an hour's conversation alone, and then our guests left. It's a richt guid thing," said Hendry, "'at Eppie has ta'en sic a notion o' the wife." " Ou, ay," said Jess. Then Hendry hobbled out of the house. " What said Eppie to ye ? " Leeby asked her mother. " Juist what I expeckit," Jess answered. "Ye see, she's dependent on Jeames, so she has to butter up at him." " Did she say on y thing aboot haudin' the wife's hand sae fond-like ? " " Ay, she said it was an awfu' trial to her, an' 'at it sickened her to see Jeames an* the wife baith believin' 'at she likit to do't " A WINDOW IN THRUMS. to; CHAPTER XIV. VISITORS AT THE MANSE. ON bringing home his bride, the minister showed her to us, and we thought she would do when she realized that she was not the minister. She was a grand lady from Edinburgh, though very frank, and we simple folk amused her a good deal, especially when we were sitting cowed in the manse parlor drinking a dish of tea with her, as happened to Leeby, her father, and me, three days before Jamie came home. Leeby had refused to be drawn into conver- sation, like one who knew her place, yet all her actions were genteel and her monosyllabic replies in the Englishy tongue, as of one who was, after all, a little above the common. When the minister's wife asked her whether she took sugar and cream, she said politely, "If you please" (though she did not take sugar), a reply that con- trasted with Hendry's equally well-intended answer to the same question. "I'm nopartikler," was what Hendry said. rlendry had left home glumly, declaring that toS A WINDOW itf THRUMS. the white collar Jess had put on him would throttle him ; but her feikieness ended in his surrender, and he was looking unusually perjink. Had not his daughter been present he would have- been the most at ease of the company, but her manners were too fine not to make an impression upon one who knew her on her every-day behavior, and she had also ways of bringing Hendry to himself by a touch beneath the table. It was in church that Leeby brought to perfection her manner of looking after her father. When he had confidence in the preacher's soundness, he would sometimes have slept in his pew if Leeby had not had a watchful foot. She wakened him in an instant, while still looking modestly at the pulpit ; however reverently he might try to fall over, Leeby's foot went out. She was such an artist that I never caught her in the act. All I knew for certain was that, now and then, Hendry suddenly sat up. The ordeal was over when Leeby went upstairs to put on her things. After tea Hendry had become bolder in talk, his subject being minis- terial. He had an extraordinary knowledge, got no one knew where, of the matrimonial affairs of all the ministers of these parts, and his stories about them ended frequently with a chuckle. He always took it for granted that a minister's marriage was womanhood's great triumph, and that the particular woman who got him must be A WLWdW tti ftiRUMS. 16$ | very clever. Some of his tales were even more curious than he thought them, such as the one Leeby tried to interrupt by saying we must be going-. "There's Mr. Pennycuick, noo," said Hendry, shaking his head in wonder at what he had to tell; "him 'at's minister at Tilliedrum. Weel, when he was a probationer he was michty poor, an' ane day he was walkin' into Thrums fraeGlen Quharity, an' he tak's a rest at a little housey on the road. The fowk didna ken him ava, but they saw he was a minister, an' the lassie was sorry to see him wi' sic an auld hat. What think ye she did?" "Come away, father," said Leeby, re-entering the parlor ; but Hendry was now in full pursuit of his story. " I'll tell ye what she did," he continued. "She juist took his hat awa, an' put her father's new ane in its place, an' Mr. Pennycuick never kent the differ till he landed in Thrums. It was ter- rible kind o' her. Ay, but the auld man would be in a michty rage when he found she had swappit the hats. " "Come away," said Leeby, still politely, though she was burning to tell her mother how Hendry had disgraced them. "The minister," said Hendry, turning his back on Leeby, "didna forget the lassie. Na, as sune as he got a kirk, he married her. Ay, she got her 1 10 A WINDOW IN THRUM^. reward He married her. It was rale noble of 'im." I do not know what Leeby said to Hendry when she got him beyond the manse gate, for I stayed behind to talk to the minister. As it turned out, the minister's wife did most of the talking, smiling good - humoredly at country gawkiness the while. "Yes," she said, "I am sure I shall like Thrums, though those teas to the congregation are a little trying. Do you know, Thrums is the only place I was ever in where it struck me that the men are cleverer than the women." She told us why. "Well, to-night affords a case in point. Mr. McQumpha was quite brilliant, was he not, in comparison with his daughter? Really, she seemed so put out at being at the manse that she could not raise her eyes. I question if she would know me again, and I am sure she sat in the room as one blindfolded. I left her in the bedroom a minute, and I assure you, when I returned she was still standing on the same spot in the centre of the floor." I pointed out that Leeby had been awestruck. " I suppose so," she said ; " but it is a pity she cannot make use of her eyes, if not of her tongue. Ah, the Thrums women are good, I believe, but their wits are sadly in need of sharpening. I dare say it comes of living- in so small a place.' A WINDOW IN THRUMS. m I overtook Leeby on the brae, aware, as I saw her alone, that it had been her father whom I passed talking toTammas Haggart in the square. Hendry stopped to have what he called a tove with any likely person he encountered, and, in- deed, though he and I often took a walk on Satur- days, I generally lost him before we were clear of the town. In a few moments Leeby and I were at home to give Jess the news. " Whaur's yer father?" asked Jess, as if Hen- dry's way of dropping behind was still unknown to her. "Ou, I left him speakin' to Gavin Birse," said Leeby. " I daur say he's awa to some hoose. " " It's no very silvendy (safe) his comin' ower the brae by himsel'," said Jess, adding in a bitter tone of conviction, "but he'll gang in to no hoose as lang as he's so weel dressed. Na, he would think it boastfu'." I sat down to a book by the kitchen fire ; but, as Leeby became communicative, 1 read less and less. While she spoke she was baking bannocks with all the might of her, and Jess, leaning for- ward in her chair, was arranging them in a semi- circle round the fire. "Na," was the first remark of Leeby's that came between me and my book, "it is no new furniture." "But there was thre cart-loads o't, Leeby, 112 A WINDOW IN THRUMS. sent on frae Edinbory. Tibbie Birse helpit to lift it in, and she said the parlor furniture beat a'." "Ou, it's substantial, but it is no new. I sepad it had been bocht cheap second-hand, for the chair I had was terrible scratched like, an' what's mair, the airm-chair was a heap shinnier than the rest. " "Ay, ay, I wager it had been new stuffed. Tibbie said the carpet cowed for a' grandeur." "Oh, I dinna deny it's a guid carpet ; but if it's been turned once it's been turned half a dozen times, so it's far frae new. Ay, an' forby, it was rale threadbare aneath the table, so ye may be sure they've been cuttin't an' puttin' the worn pairt whaur it would be least seen." " They say 'at there's twa grand gas brackets i' the parlor, an' a wonderfu' gasoliery i' the dinin'-room." "We wasna i' the dinin'-room, so I ken naeth- ing aboot the gasoliery ; but I'll tell ye what the gas brackets is. I recognized them immediately. Ye mind the auld gasoliery i' the dinin'-room had twa lichts ? Ay, then, the parlor brackets is made oot o' the auld gasoliery. " "Weel, Leeby, as sure as ye' re standin' there, that passed through my head as sune as Tibbie mentioned them ! " "There's nae doot about it. Ay, I was in ane o' the bedrooms, too ! " A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 113 "It would be grand?" " I wouldna say 'at it was partikler grand, but there was a great mask (quantity) o' things in't, an' near everything was covered wi' cretonne. But the chairs dinna match. There was a very bonny-painted cloth alang the chimney what they call a mantelpiece border, I warrant." "Sal, I've often wondered what they was." " Weel, I assure ye they winna be ill to mak, for the border was juist nailed upon a board laid on the chimney. There's naething to hender's makkin' ane for the room. " "Ay, we could sew something on the border instead o' paintin't. The room lookit weel, ye say ? " "Yes, but it was economically furnished. There was nae carpet below the wax-cloth ; na, there was nane below the bed either." " Was't a grand bed ? " " It had a fell lot o' brass aboot it, but there was juist one pair o' blankets. I thocht it was gey shabby, ha'en the ewer a different pattern frae the basin ; ay, an' there was juist a poker in the fire- place there was nae tangs." "Yea, yea ; they'll haebut one set o' bedroom fire-irons. The tangs'll be in anither room. Tod, that's no sae michty grand for Edinbory. What like was she hersel' ? " "Ou, very ladylike and saft spoken. She's a canty body an' frank. She wears her hair low on 8 114 * WINDO W IN THR VMS. the left side to hod (hide) a scar, an' there's twa warts on her richt hand." " There hadna been a fire i' the parlor? " "No, but it was ready to licht. There was sticks and paper in't. The paper was oot o' a dressmaker's journal." "Ye say so? She'll mak her ain frocks, I sepad. " When Hendry entered to take off his collar and coat before sitting down to his evening meal of hot water, porter, and bread mixed in a bowl, Jess sent me off to the attic. As I climbed the stairs I remembered that the minister's wife thought Leeby in need of sharpening. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 115 CHAPTER XV. HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE. IN a wet day the rain gathered in blobs on the road that passed our garden. Then it crawled into the cart-tracks until the road was streaked with water. Lastly, the water gathered in heavy yellow pools. If the on-ding still continued, clods of earth toppled from the garden dyke into the ditch. On such a day, when even the dulseman had gone into shelter, and the women scudded by with their wrappers over their heads, came Gavin Birse to our door. Gavin, who was the Glen Quharity post, was still young, but had never been quite the same man sine > some amateurs in the glen ironed his back for rheumatism. I thought he had called to have a crack with me. He sent his compliments up to the attic, however, by Leeby, and would I come and be a witness ? Gavin came up and explained. He had taken off his scarf and thrust it into his pocket, lest the rain should take the color out of it. His boots cheeped, and his shoulders had risen to his ears. He stood steaming before my fire. H 6 A WINDOW IN THRUMS, "If it's no' ower muckle to asky,"h said, "I would like yc for a witness." "A witness! But for what do you need a witness, Gavin ? " "I want ye," he said, "to come wi' me to Mag's, and be a witness." Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged for a year or more. Mag was the daughter ot Janet Ogilvy, who was best remembered as the body that took the hill (that is, wandered about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr. Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted a call to another church. "You don't mean to tell me, Gavin," I asked, "that your marriage is to take place to-day ? " By the twist of his mouth I saw that he was only deferring a smile. "Far frae that," he said. "Ah, then, you have quarrelled, and I am to speak up for you ? " "Na, na," he said, "I dinna want ye to do that above all things. It would be a favor if ye could gie me a bad character." This beat me, and, I dare say, my face showed it. "I'm no' juist what ye would call anxious to marry Mag noo," said Gavin, without a tremor. I told him to go on. " There's a lassie oot at Craigiebuckle," he ex- plained, " workin' on the farm Jeanie Luke by name. Ye may hae seen her ? " "What of her ? " I asked, severely. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 1 1 7 "Weel," said Gavin, still unabashed, "I'm thinkin' noo 'at I would rather hae her." Then he stated his case more fully. "Ay, I thocht I liked Mag oncommon till I saw Jeanie, an' I like her fine yet, but I prefer the other ane. That state o' matters canna gang on forever, so I came into Thrums the day to settle't one wy or another." "And how," I asked, " do you propose going about it ? It is a somewhat delicate business." "Ou, I see nae great difficulty in't. I'll speir at Mag, blunt oot, if she'll let me aff. Yes, I'll put it to her plain. " " You're sure Jeanie would take you ? " "Ay ; oh, there's nae fear o' that." " But if Mag keeps you to your bargain? " "Weel, in that case there's nae harm done." " You are in a great hurry, Gavin ? '' "Ye may say that ; but I want to be married The wifie I lodge wi' canna last lang, an' I would like to settle doon in some place." "So you are on your way to Mag's now?" "Ay, we'll get her in atween twal' and ane." " Oh, yes ; but why do you want me to go with you ? " " I want ye for a witness. If she winna let me aff, weel an' guid ; an' if she will, it's better to hae a witness in case she should go back on her word." Gavin made his proposal briskly, and as coolly 1 1 8 A WINDO W IN THR UMS. as if he were only asking me to go fishing ; but 1 did not accompany him to Mag's. He left the house to look for another witness, and about an hour afterward Jess saw him pass with Tarn mas Haggart. Tammas cried in during the evening to tell us how the mission prospered. "Mind ye," said Tammas, a drop of water hanging to the point of his nose, " I disclaim all responsibility in the business. I ken Mag weel for a thrifty, respectable woman, as her mither was afore her, an' so I said to Gavin when he came to speir me." "Ay, mony a pirn has 'Lisbeth filled to me," said Hendry, settling down to a reminiscence. "No to be o\ver hard on Gavin," continued Tammas, forestalling Hendry, "he took what I said in guid part ; but aye when I stopped speakin, to draw breath, he says, 'The question is, will ye come wi' me ? ' He was michty made up in 's mind." "Weel, ye went wi' him," suggested Jess, who wanted to bring Tammas to the point. "Ay," said the stone-breaker, " but no in sic a hurry as that." He worked his mouth round and round, to clear the course as it were for a sarcasm. "Fowk often say," he continued, "'at 'am quick beyond the ordinar' in seein' the humorous side o' things." Here Tammas paused and looked at us. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. n0 "So ye are, Tammas," said Hen dry. " Losh, ye mind hoo ye saw the humorous side o' me wearin' a pair o' boots 'at wisna marrows ! No, the ane had a toe-piece on, an' the other hadna." " Ye juist wore them sometimes when ye was delvin'," broke in Jess ; "ye have as guid a pair o' boots as ony in Thrums." "Ay, but I had worn them/' said Hendry, " at odd times for mair than a year, an' I had never seen the humorous side o' them. Weel, as fac as death (here he addressed me), Tammas had juist seen them twa or three times when he saw the humorous side o' them. Syne I saw their humorous side, too, but no till Tammas pointed it oot." "That was naething," said Tammas, "nae- thing ava to some things I've done." "But what aboot Mag? " said Leeby. "We wasna that length, was we? '' said Tam- mas. " Na, we was speakin' aboot the humorous side. Ay, wait a wee, I didna mention the humorous side for naething." He paused to reflect. "Oh, yes," he said at last, brightening up. "I was sayin' to ye hoo quick I was to see the humorous side o' onything. Ay, then, what made me say that was 'at in a clink (flash) I saw the humorous side o' Gavin's position." "Man, man," said Hendry, admiringly, "an what is 't ? " 180 A WINDOW IN THRUMS, "Oh, it's this : there's something humorous in speirin' a woman to let ye aff so as ye can be married to another woman." "I daur say there is," said Hendry, doubt- fully. " Did she let him aff? " asked Jess, taking the words out of Leeby's mouth. "I'm comin' to that," said Tammas. "Gavin proposes to me after I had ha'en my laugh " "Yes," cried Hendry, banging the table with his fist, "it has a humorous side. Ye're richt again, Tammas." "I wish ye wadna blatter (beat) the table, "said Jess, and then Tammas proceeded : "Gavin wanted me to tak paper an' ink an' a pen wi' me, to write the proceedin's doon, but I said, ' Na, na, I'll tak paper, but nae ink nor nae pen, for there'll be ink an' a pen there. ' That was what I said." "An' did she let him aff? " asked Leeby. " Weel," said Tammas, " aff we goes to Mag's hoose, an' sure enough Mag was in. She was alane, too ; so Gavin, no to waste time, juist sat doon for politeness' sake, an' sune rises up again ; an' says he, ' Marget Lownie, I hae a solemn question to speir at ye, namely this, Will you, Marget Lownie, let me, Gavin Birse, aff?" " Mag would start at that ? " "Sal, she was braw an' cool. I thocht she maun hae got wind o' his intentions aforehand. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. 12 1 for she juist replies, quiet-like, ' Hoo do ye want aff, Gavin?' " 'Because,' says he, like a book, 'my affec- tions has undergone a change.' " ' Ye mean Jean Luke ? ' says Mag. " 'That is wha I mean,' says Gavin, very strait- forrard." " But she didna let him aff, did she ? " " Na, she wasna the kind. Says she, ' I wonder to hear ye, Gavin, but 'am no goin' to agree to naething o 1 that sort' " 'Think it ower,' says Gavin. " 'Na, my mind's made up,' said she. "'Ye would sune get anither man,' he says earnestly. " ' Hoo do I ken that ? 'shespeirs, rale sensibly, I thocht, for men's no sae easy to get " ' Am sure o' 't,' Gavin says, wi' michty con- viction in his voice, ' for ye're bonny to look at, an' weel kent for bein' a guid body.' t " ' Ay,' says Mag, ' I'm glad ye like me, Gavin, for ye have to tak me. ' " "That put a clincher on him," interrupted Hen dry. "He was loth to gie in," replied Tammas, so he says, 'Ye think 'am a fine character, Marget Lownie, but ye're very far mista'en. I woulclna wonder but what I was lossin' my place some o' thae days, an' syne whaur would ye be ? Mar- get Lownie,' he goes on,' 'am n at 'rally lazy an' 122 A WINDOW IM ?HRVMS. fond o' the drink. As sure as ye stand there, 'am a reg'lar deevil I ' ' "That was strong language," said Hen dry, but he would be wantin' to fleg (frighten) her ? " "Juist so, but he didna manage 't, for Mag says : ' We a' hae oor faults, Gavin, an' deevil or no deevil, ye're the man for me ! " "Gavin thocht a bit, "continued Tammas, "an* syne he tries her on a new tack. 'Marget Lownie,' he says, ' ye're father's an auld man noo, an' he has naebody but yersel' to look after him. I'm thinkin' it would be kind o' cruel o' me to tak' ye awa frae him ? ' ' "Mag wouldna be ta'enin wi'that ; she wasna born on a Sawbath," said Jess, using one of her favorite sayings. ' ' She wasna, " answered Tammas. ' ' Says she, ' Hae nae fear on that score, Gavin ; my father's fine willin' to spare me ! ' ' "An' that ended it?" "Ay, that ended it." ' ' Did ye tak' it doon in writin' ? " asked Hen dry. "There was nae need," said Tammas, handing round his snuff-mull. " No, I never touched paper. When I saw the thing was settled, I left them to their coortin'. They're to tak a look at Snecky Hobart's auld hoose the nicht. It's to let." A WINDOW IN TUMJM& CHAPTER XVL THE SON FROM LONDON. IN the spring of the year there used to come to Thrums a painter from nature, whom Hendry spoke of as the drawer. He lodged with Jess in my attic, and when the weavers met him they said, "Weel, drawer," and then passed on, grin- ning. Tammas Haggart was the first to say this. The drawer was held a poor man because he straggled about the country looking for subjects for his draws ; and Jess, as was her way, gave him many comforts for which she would nut charge. That, I dare say, was why he painted for her a little portrait of Jamie. When the drawer came back to Thrums he always found the painting in a frame in the room. Here I must make a confession about Jess. She did not in her secret mind think the portrait quite the thing, and as soon as the drawer departed it was removed from the frame to make way for a calendar. The deception was very innocent, Jess being anxious not to hurt the donor's feelings. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. To those who have the artist's eye, the picture, which hangs in my school-house now, does not show a handsome lad, Jamie being short and dapper, with straw-colored hair, and a chin that ran away into his neck. That is how I once re- garded him, but I have little heart for criticism of those I like, and despite his madness for a season, of which, alas ! I shall have to tell, I am always Jamie's friend. Even to hear any one disparag- ing the appearance of Jess' son is to me a pain. All Jess' acquaintances knew that in the begin- ning of every month a registered letter reached her from London. To her it was not a matter to keep secret. She was proud that the help she and Hendry needed in the gloaming of their lives should come from her beloved son, and the neigh- bors esteemed Jamie because he was good to his mother. Jess had more humor than any other woman I have known, while Leeby was but sparingly endowed ; yet, as the month neared its close, it was the daughter who put on the humorist, Jess thinking money too serious a thing to jest about Then if Leeby had a moment for gossip, as when ironing a dicky for Hendry, and the iron was a trifle too hot, she would look archly at me before addressing her mother in these words : "Will he send, think ye? " Jess, who had a conviction that he would send, affected surprise at the question. " Will Jamie send this montn, y MCQTIML CHAPTER IV. MY PIPES. IN a select company of scoffers my brier was known as the Mermaid. The mouth-piece was a cigarette-holder, and months of unwearied prac- tice were required before you found the angle at which the bowl did not drop off. This brings me to one of the many advantages that my brier had over all other pipes. It has given me a reputation for gallantry, to which without it I fear I could lay no claim. I used to have a passion for repartee, especially in the society of ladies. But it is with me as with many other men of parts whose wit has ever to be fired by a long fuse : my best things strike me as I wend my way home. This imbittered my early days ; and not till the pride of youth had been tamed could I stop to lay in a stock of repartee on likely subjects the night before. Then my pipe helped me. It was the apparatus that carried me to my prettiest compliment. Having exposed my pipe in some prominent place where it could hardly escape notice, I took measures for insuring a visit from a lady, young, graceful, accomplished. Or I might have it ready for a chance visitor. On her arrival, I conducted her to a seat near my pipe. It is not good to hurry on to the repartee at once ; so I talked for a time of the weather, the theaters, the new novel. I kept my eye on her; and by and 70* MY LAD Y NICO TINS. by she began to look about her. She observed the strange-looking pipe. Now is the critical moment. It is possible that she may pass it by without remark, in which case all is lost ; but experience has shown me that four times out of six she touches it in assumed horror, to pass some humorous remark. Off tumbles the bowl. "Oh," she exclaims, "see what I have done ! I am so sorry!" I pull myself together. "Ma- dame," I reply calmly, and bowing low, "what else was to be expected ? You came near my pipe and it lost its head ! " She blushes, but cannot help being pleased ; and I set my pipe for the next visitor. By the help of a note-book, of course I guarded myself against paying this very neat compliment to any person more than once. However, after I smoked the Arcadia the desire to pay ladies compliments went from me. Journeying back into the past, I come to a time when my pipe had a mouth-piece of fine amber. The bowl and .the rest of the stem were of brier, but it was a gentlemanly pipe, without silver mountings. Such tobacco I reveled in as may have filled the pouch of Pan as he lay smok- ing on the mountain-sides. Once I saw a beau- tiful woman with brown hair, in and out of which the rays of a morning sun played hide- and-seek, that might not unworthily have been compared to it. Beguiled by the exquisite Arcadia, the days and the years passed from me in delicate rings of smoke, and I content- edly watched them sailing to the skies. How continuous was the line of those lovely circles, and how straight ! One could have passed an iron rod through them from end to end. But one Mr LADY N1CO TINA. $03 day I had a harsh awakening. I bit the amber mouth-piece of my pipe through, and life was never the same again. It is strange how attached we become to old friends, though they be but inanimate objects. The old pipe put aside, I turned to a meerschaum, which had been presented to me years before, with the caution that I must not smoke it unless I wore kid gloves. There was no savor in that pipe for me. I tried another brier, and it made me unhappy. Clays would not keep in with me. It seemed as if they knew I was hanker- ing after the old pipe and went out in disgust. Then I got a new amber mouth-piece for my first love. In a week I had bitten that through too, and in an over-anxious attempt to file off the ragged edges I broke the screw. Moralists have said that the smoker who has no thought but for his pipe never breaks it ; that it is he only who while smoking concentrates his mind on some less worthy object that sends his teeth through the amber. This may be so ; for I am a phi- losopher, and when working out new theories I may have been careless even of that which inspired them most. After this second accident nothing went well with me or with my pipe. I took the mouth- pieces out of other pipes and fixed them on to the Mermaid. In a little while one of them be- came too wide ; another broke as I was screw- ing it more firmly in. Then the bowl cracked at the rim and split at the bottom. This was an annoyance until I found out what was wrong and plugged up the fissures with sealing-wax. The wax melted and dropped upon my clothe* after a time ; but it was easily renewed. 104, #Y LADY NICOTINE. It was now that I had the happy thought of bringing a cigarette-holder to my assistance. But of course one cannot make a pipe-stem out of a cigarrette-holder all at once. The thread you wind round the screw has a disappointing way of coming undone, when down falls the bowl, with an escape of sparks. Twisting a piece of paper round the screw is an improve- ment ; but, until you have acquired the knack, the operation has to be renewed every time you relight your pipe. This involves a sad loss of time, and in my case it afforded a butt for the dull wit of visitors. Otherwise I found it satis- factory, and I was soon astonishingly adept at making paper screws. Eventually my brier be- came as serviceable as formerly, though not, perhaps, so handsome. I fastened on the holder with sealing-wax, and often a week passed with- out my having to renew the joint. It was no easy matter lighting a pipe like mine, especially when I had no matches. I always meant to buy a number of boxes, but somehow I put off doing it. Occasionally I found a box of vestas on my mantel-piece, which some caller had left there by mistake, or sympa- thizing, perhaps, with my case ; but they were such a novelty that I never felt quite at home with them. Generally I remembered they were there just after my pipe was lighted. When I kept them in mind and looked forward to using them, they were at the other side of the room, and it would have been a pity to get up for them. Besides, the most convenient medium for lighting one's pipe is paper, after all ; and if you have not an old envelope in your pocket, there is probably a photograph standing on the MY LADY NICOTINE. 20$ mantel-piece. It is convenient to have the maga- zines lying handy ; or a page from a book hand- made paper burns beautifully will do. To be sure, there is the lighting of your paper. For this your lamp is practically useless, standing in the middle of the table, while you are in an easy-chair by the fireside ; and as for the tape-and-spark contrivance, it is the introduction of machinery into the softest joys of life. The fire is best. It is near you, and you drop your burning spill into it with a minimum waste of energy. The proper fire for pipes is one in a cheerful blaze. If your spill is carelessly constructed the flame runs up into your fingers before you know what you are doing, so that it is as well to marry and get your wife to make spills for you. Before you begin to smoke, scatter these about the fireplace. Then you will be able to reach them without rising. The irritating fire is the one that has burned low when the coals are more than half cinders, and cling to each other in fear of death. With such a fire it is no use attempting to light a pipe all at once. Your better course now is to drop little bits of paper into the likely places in the fire, and have a spill ready to apply to the one that lights first. It is an anxious moment, for they may merely shrivel up sullenly without catching fire, and in that case some men lose their tempers. Bad to lose your temper over your pipe No pipe really ever rivaled the brier in my affections, though I can recall a mad month when I fell in love with two little meerschaums, which I christened Romulus and Remus. They lay to- gether in one case in Regent Street, and it was with difficulty that I could pass the shop without going in. Often I took side streets to escape their 2 o6 MY LAD Y NICOTINE, glances, but at last I asked the price. It startled me, and I hurried home to the brier. I forget when it was that a sort of compromise struck me. This was that I should present the pipes to my brother as a birthday gift. Did I really mean to do this, or was I only trying to cheat my conscience? Who can tell? I hurried again into Regent Street. There they were, more beautiful than ever. I hovered about the shop for quite half an hour that day. My indecision and vacillation were pitiful. Buttoning up my coat, I would rush from the window, only to find myself back again in five minutes. Sometimes I had my hand on the shop door. Then I tore it away and hurried into Oxford Street. Then I slunk back again. Self whispered. " Buy them for your brother." Conscience said, "Go home." At last I braced myself up for a magnificent effort, and jumped into a 'bus bound for London Bridge. This saved me for the time. I now began to calculate how I could become owner of the meerschaums prior to dispatching them by parcel-post to my brother without pay- ing for them. That was my way of putting it. I calculated that by giving up my daily paper I should save thirteen shillings in six months. After all, why should I take in a daily paper? To read through columns of public speeches and police cases and murders in Paris is only to squan- der valuable time. Now, when I left home I promised my father not to waste my time. My father had been very good to me ; why, then, should I do that which I had promised him not to do ? Then, again, there were the theaters. During the past six months I had spent several pounds on theaters. Was this right ? My mother. MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 207 who has never, I think, been in a theater, strongly advised me against frequenting such places. I did not take this much to heart at the time. Theaters did not seem to me to be immoral. But, after all, my mother is older than I am ; and who am I, to set my views up against hers ? By avoid- ing the theaters for the next six months, I am (already), say, three pounds to the good. I had been frittering away my money, too, on luxuries ; and luxuries are effeminate. Thinking the matter over temperately and calmly in that way, I saw that I should be thoughtfully saving money, in- stead of spending it, by buying Romulus and Remus, as I already called them. At the same time, I should be gratifying my father and my mother, and leading a higher and a nobler life. Even then I do not know that I should have bought the pipes until the six months were up, had I not been driven to it by jealousy. On my life, love for a pipe is ever like love for a woman, though they say it is not so acute. Many a man thinks there is no haste to propose until he sees a hated rival approaching. Even if he is not in a hurry for the lady himself, he loathes the idea of her giving herself, in a moment of madness, to that other fellow. Rather than allow that, he proposes himself, and so insures her happi- ness. It was so with me. Romulus and Remus were taken from the window to show to a black- bearded, swarthy man, whom I suspected of de- signs upon them the moment he entered the shop. Ah, the agony of waiting until he came out ! He was not worthy of them. I never knew how much I loved them until I had nearly lost them. As soon as he was gone I asked if he had priced them, and was told that he had. He was to call 208 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. again to-morrow. I left a deposit of a guinea, hurried home for more money, and that night Romulus and Remus were mine. But I never really loved them as I loved my brier. CHAPTER V. MY TOBACCO-POUCH. I ONCE knew a lady who said of her husband that he looked nice when sitting with a rug over him. My female relatives seemed to have the same opinion of my tobacco-pouch ; for they never saw it, even in my own room, without put- ting a book or pamphlet over it. They called it " that thing," and made tongs of their knitting- needles to lift it ; and when I indignantly returned it to my pocket, they raised their hands to signify that I would not listen to reason. It seemed to come natural to other persons to present me with new tobacco-pouches, until I had nearly a score lying neglected in drawers. But I am not the man to desert an old friend that has been with me everywhere and thoroughly knows my ways. Once, indeed, I came near to being unfaithful to my tobacco-pouch, and I mean to tell how partly as a punishment to myself. The incident took place several years ago. Gilray and I had set out on a walking tour of the Shakespeare country ; but we separated at Strat- ford, which was to be our starting-point, because he would not wait for me. I am more of a Shakesperean student than Gilray, and Stratford affected me so much that I passed day after day MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 209 smoking reverently at the hotel door ; while he, being of the pure tourist type (not that I would say a word against Gilray) wanted to rush from one place of interest to another. He did not un- derstand what thoughts came to me as I strolled down the Stratford streets ; and in the hotel, when I lay down on the sofa, he said I was sleeping, though I was really picturing to myself Shakes- peare's boyhood. Gilray even went the length of arguing that it would not be a walking tour at all if we never made a start ; so, upon the whole, I was glad when he departed alone. The next day was a memorable one to me. In the morn- ing I wrote to my London tobacconist for more Arcadia. I had quarreled with both of the Strat- ford tobacconists. The one of them, as soon as he saw my tobacco-pouch, almost compelled me to buy a new one. The second was even more annoying. I paid with a half sovereign for the to- bacco I had got from him ; but after gazing at the pouch he became suspicious of the coin, and asked if I could not pay him in silver. An insult to my pouch I considered an insult to myself; so I returned to those shops no more. The evening of the day on which I wrote to London for to- bacco brought me a letter from home saying that my sister was seriously ill. I had left her in good health, so that the news was the more distressing. Of course I returned home by the first train. Sit- ting alone in a dull railway compartment, my heart was filled with tenderness, and I recalled the occasions on which I had carelessly given her pain. Suddenly I remembered that more than once she had besought me with tears in her eyes to fling away my old tobacco-pouch. She had always said that it was not respectable. In the 14 2 1 o MY LAD Y NICO TINE. bitterness of self-reproach I pulled the pouch from my pocket, asking myself whether, after all, the love of a good woman was not a far more precious possession. Without giving myself time to hesi- tate, I stood up and firmly cast my old pouch out at the window. I saw it fall at the foot of a fence. The train shot on. By the time I reached home my sister had been pronounced out of danger. Of course I was much relieved to hear it, but at the same time this was a lesson to me not to act rashly. The retention of my tobacco-pouch would not have retarded her recovery, and I could not help picturing my pouch, my oldest friend in the world, lying at the foot of that fence. I saw that I had done a wrong in casting it from me. I had not even the consolation of feeling that if any one found it he would cherish it, for it was so much damaged that I knew it could never appeal to a new owner as it appealed to me. I had intended telling my sister of the sacrifice made for her sake ; but after seeing her so much better, I left the room without doing so. There was Arcadia Mixture in the house, but I had not the heart to smoke. I went early to bed, and fell into a troubled sleep, from which I awoke with a shiver. The rain was driving against my window, tapping noisily on it as if calling on me to awake and go back for my tobacco-pouch. It rained far on into the morning, and I lay miserably, seeing nothing be- fore me but a wet fence, and a tobacco-pouch among the grass at the foot of it On the following afternoon I was again at Stratford. So far as I could remember, I had flung away the pouch within a few miles of the station ; but I did not look for it until dusk. I MY LADY NICO TINE. * 1 1 felt that the porters had their eyes on me. By crouching along hedges I at last reached the rail- way a mile or two from the station, and began my search. It may be thought that the chances were against my finding the pouch ; but I re- covered it without much difficulty. The scene as I flung my old friend out at the window had burned itself into my brain, and I could go to the spot to-day as readily as I went on that occasion. There it was, lying among the grass, but not quite in the place where it had fallen. Ap- parently some navvy had found it, looked at it, and then dropped it. It was half full of water, and here and there it was sticking together ; but I took it up tenderly, and several times on the way back to the station I felt in my pocket to make sure that it was really there. I have not described the appearance of my pouch, feeling that to be unnecessary. It never, I fear, quite recovered from its night in the rain, and as my female relatives refused to touch it, I had to sew it together now and then myself. Gilray used to boast of a way of mending a hole in a tobacco-pouch that was better than sewing. You put the two pieces of gutta-percha close to- gether, and then cut them sharply with scissors. This makes them run together, he says, and I believed him until he experimented upon my pouch. However, I did not object to a hole here and there. Wherever I laid that pouch it left a small deposit of tobacco, and thus I could gener- ally get together a pipeful at times when other persons would be destitute. I never told my sister that my pouch was once all but lost, but ever after that, when she complained that I had never even tried to do without it, I smiled tenderly. * 1 2 MY LADY NICO TINE. CHAPTER VL MY SMOKING-TABLK. HAD it not been for a bootblack at Charing Cross I should probably never have bought the smoking-table. I had to pass that boy every morning. In vain did I scowl at him, or pass with my head to the side. He always pointed derisively (as I thought) at my boots. Probably my boots were speckless, but that made no differ- ence ; he jeered and sneered. I have never hated any one as 1 loathed that boy, and to escape him I took to going round by the Lowther Arcade. It was here that my eye fell on the smoking-table. In the Lowther Arcade, if the attendants catch you looking at any article for a fraction of a second, it is done up in brown paper, you have paid your money, and they have taken down your address before you realize that you don't want anything. In this way I became the owner of my smoking-table, and when I saw it in a brown-paper parcel on my return to my chambers I could not think what it was until I cut the strings. Such a little gem of a table no smokers should be without ; and I am not ashamed to say that I was in love with mine as soon as I had fixed the pieces together. It was of walnut, and consisted mainly of a stalk and two round slabs not much bigger than dinner-plates. There were holes in the center of these slabs for the stalk to go through, and the one slab stood two feet from the floor, the other a foot higher. The lower slab MY LAD Y NICO TIN'S. 13 was fitted with a walnut tobacco-jar and a pipe rack, while on the upper slab were exquisite little recesses for cigars, cigarettes, matches, and ashes. These held respectively three cigars, two ciga- rettes, and four wax vestas. The smoking-table was an ornament to any room ; and the first night I had it I raised my eyes from my book to look at it every few minutes. I got all my pipes to- gether and put them in the rack ; I filled the jar with tobacco, the recesses with three cigars, two cigarettes, and four matches ; and then I thought I would have a smoke. I swept my hand con- fidently along the mantelpiece, but it did not stop at a pipe. I rose and looked for a pipe. I had half a dozen, but not one was to be seen none on the mantel-piece, none on the window-sill, none on the hearth-rug, none being used as book- markers. I tugged at the bell till William John came in quaking, and then I asked him fiercely what he had done with my pipes. I was so obviously not to be trifled with that William John, as we called him, because some thought his name was William, while others thought it was John, very soon handed me my favorite pipe, which he found in the rack on the smoking-table. This in- cident illustrates one of the very few drawbacks of smoking-tables. Not being used to them, you forgot about them. William John, however, took the greatest pride in the table, and whenever he saw a pipe lying on the rug he pounced upon it and placed it, like a prisoner, in the rack. He was also most particular about the three cigars, the two cigarettes, and the four wax vestas, keep- ing them carefully in the proper compartments, where, unfortunately, I seldom thought of looking for them. 314 MY LADY NICO TINE. The fatal defect of the smoking-table, however, was that it was generally rolling about the floor the stalk in one corner, the slabs here and there, the cigars on the rug to be trampled on, the lid of the tobacco-jar beneath a chair. Every morn- ing William John had to put the table together. Sometimes I had knocked it over accidentally. I would fling a crumpled piece of paper into the waste-paper basket. It missed the basket but hit the smoking-table, which went down like a wooden soldier. When my fire went out, just because I had taken my eyes off it for a moment, I called it names and flung the tongs at it. There was a crash the smoking-table again. In time I might have remedied this ; but there is one weakness which I could not stand in any smok- ing-table. A smoking-table ought to be so con- structed that from where you are sitting you can stretch out your feet, twist them round the stalk, and so lift the table to the spot where it will be handiest. This my smoking-table would never do. The moment I had it in the air it wanted to stand on its head. Though I still admired smoking-tables as much as ever, I began to want very much to give this one away. The difficulty was not so much to know whom to give it to as how to tie it up. My brother was the very person, for I owed him a letter, and this, I thought, would do instead. For a month I meant to pack the table up and send it to him ; but I always put off doing it, and at last I thought the best plan would be to give it to Scrymgeour, who liked elegant furniture. As a smoker, Scrymgeour seemed the very man to appreciate a pretty, useful little table. Besides, all I had to do was to send William John down M Y LAD Y NICO TINE. 215 with it. Scrymgeour was out at the time; but we left it at the side of his fireplace as a pleasant surprise. Next morning, to my indignation, it was back at the side of my fireplace, and in the evening Scrymgeour came and upbraided me for trying, as he most unworthily expressed it, " to palm the thing off on him." He was no sooner gone than I took the table to pieces to send it to my brother. I tied the stalk up in brown paper, meaning to get a box for the other parts. William John sent off the stalk, and for some days the other pieces littered the floor. My brother wrote me saying he had received something from me, for which his best thanks ; but would I tell him what it was, as it puzzled everybody ? This was his impatient way ; but I made an effort, and sent off the other pieces to him in a hat-box. That was a year ago, and since then I have only heard the history of the smoking-table in fragments. My brother liked it immensely ; but he thought it was too luxurious for a married man, so he sent it to Reynolds, in Edinburgh. Not knowing Reynolds, I cannot say what his opinion was ; but soon afterward I heard of its being in the possession of Grayson, who was charmed with it, but gave it to Pelle, because it was hardly in its place in a bachelor's establishment. Later a town man sent it to a country gentleman as just the thing for the country; and it was after- ward in Liverpool as the very thing for a town. There I thought it was lost, so far as I was con- cerned. One day, however, Boyd, a friend of mine who lives in Glasgow, came to me for a week, and about six hours afterward he said that he had a present for me. He brought it into my sitting-room a bulky parcel and while he was 2 16 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. undoing the cords he told me it was something quite novel ; he had bought it in Glasgow the day before. When I saw a walnut leg I started ; in another two minutes I was trying to thank Boyd for my own smokir. g-table. I recognized it by the dents. I was too much the gentleman to in- sist on an explanation from Boyd ; but, though it seems a harsh thing to say, my opinion is that these different persons gave the table away be- cause they wanted to get rid of it William John has it now. CHAPTER VIL OILRAY. GILRAY is an actor, whose life I may be said to have strangely influenced, for it was I who brought him and the Arcadia Mixture together. After that his coming to live on our stair was only a matter of rooms being vacant. We met first in the Meredith's house-boat, the "Tawny Owl," which was then lying at Molesey. Gilray, as I soon saw, was a man trying to be miserable, and finding it the hardest task in life. It is strange that the philosophers have never hit upon this profound truth. No man ever tried harder to be unhappy than Gilray ; but the luck was against him, and he was always forgetting himself. Mark Tapley succeeded in being jolly in adverse circumstances ; Gilray failed, on the whole, in being miserable in a delightful house- boat. It is, however, so much more difficult to keep up misery than jollity that I like to think of MY LAD Y NICOTINE. a 1 7 his attempt as what the dramatic critics call succts d'estime. The "Tawny Owl" lay on the far side of the island. There were ladies in it ; and Gilray's misery was meant tt> date from the moment when he asked one of them a question, and she said "No.'' Gilray was strangely unlucky during the whole of his time on board. His evil genius was there, though there was very little room for him, and played sad pranks. Up to the time of his asking the question referred to, Gilray meant to create a pleasant impression by being jolly, and he only succeeded in being as depressing as Jaques. Afterward he was to be unutterably miserable ; and it was all he could do to keep himself at times from whirling about in waltz tune. But then the nearest boat had a piano on board, and some one was constantly playing dance music. Gilray had an idea that it would have been the proper thing to leave Molesey when she said "No;" and he would have done so had not the barbel fishing been so good. The barbel fishing was altogether unfortunate at least Gilray's passion for it was. I have thought and so sometimes has Gilray that if it had not been for a barbel she might not have said "No." He was fishing from the house-boat when he asked the question. You know how you fish from a house-boat. The line is flung into the water and the rod laid down on deck. You keep an a eye on it. Barbel fishing, in fact, reminds one of the independent sort of man who is quite will- ing to play host to you, but wishes you clearly to understand at the same time that he can do with- out you. "Glad to see you with us if you have nothing better to do ; but please yourself," is 2 18 MY LADY NICOTINE. what he says to his friends. This is also the form of invitation to barbel. Now it happened that she and Gilray were left alone in the house-boat. It was evening ; some Chinese lanterns had been lighted, and Gilray, though you would not think it to look at him, is romantic. He cast his line, and, turning to his companion, asked her the question. From what he has told me he asked it very properly, and all seemed to be going well. She turned away her head (which is said not to be a bad sign) and had begun to reply, when a woful thing happened. The line stiffened, and there was a whirl of the reel. Who can withstand that music? You can ask a question at anytime, but, even at Molesey, barbel are only to be got now and then. Gilray rushed to his rod and be- gan playing the fish. He called to his companion to get the landing net. She did so ; and after playing his barbel for ten minutes Gilray landed it. Then he turned to her again, and she said "No." Gilray sees now that he made a mistake in not departing that night by the last train. He over- estimated his strength. However, we had some- thing to do with his staying on, and he persuaded himself that he remained just to show her that she had ruined his life. Once, I believe, he repeated his question ; but in reply she only asked him if he had caught any more barbel. Considering the surprisingly fine weather, the barbel fishing, and the piano on the other boat, Gilray was perhaps as miserable as could reasonably have been ex- pected. Where he ought to have scored best, however, he was most unlucky. She had a ham- mock swung between two trees, close to the boat, and there she lay, holding a novel in her hand. MY LADY NICO TINE. 2 19 From the hammock she had a fine view of the deck, and this was Gilray's chance. As soon as he saw her comfortably settled, he pulled a long face and climbed on deck. There he walked up and down, trying to look the image of despair. When she made some remark to him, his plan was to show that, though he answered cor- dially, his cheerfulness was the result of a terrible inward struggle. He did not contrive to accom- plish this if he was waiting for her observation ; but she sometimes took him unawares, starting a subject in which he was interested. Then, for- getting his character, he would talk eagerly or jest with her across the strip of water, until with a start he remembered what he had become. He would seek to recover himself after that ; but of course it was too late to create a really lasting impression. Even when she left him alone, watching him, I fear, over the top of her novel, he disappointed himself. For five minutes or so everything would go well ; he looked as dejected as possible ; but as he felt he was succeeding he became so self-satisfied that he began to strut. A pleased expression crossed his face, and instead of allowing his head to hang dismally, he put it well back. Sometimes, when we wanted to please him, we said he looked as glum as a mute at a funeral. Even that, however, defeated his object, for it flattered him so much that he smiled with gratification. Gilray made one great sacrifice by giving up smoking, though not indeed such a sacrifice as mine, for up to this time he did not know the Arcadia Mixture. Perhaps the only time he really did look as miserable as he wished was late at night when we men sat up for a second last pipe 220 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. before turning in. He looked wistfully at us from a corner. Yet as She had gone to rest, cruel fate made this of little account. His gloomy face saddened us too, and we tried to entice him to shame by promising not to mention it to the ladies. He almost yielded, and showed us that while we smoked he had been holding his empty brier in his right hand. For a moment he hesi- tated, then said fiercely that he did not care for smoking. Next night he was shown a novel, the hero of which had been "refused." Though the lady's hard-heartedness had a terrible effect on this fine fellow, he " strode away blowing great clouds into the air. " ' ' Standing there smoking in the moonlight," the authoress says in her next chapter, "De Courcy was a strangely romantic figure. He looked like a man who had done everything, who had been through the furnace and had not come out of it unscathed." This was precisely what Gilray wanted to look like. Again he hesitated, and then put his pipe in his pocket. It was now that I approached him with the Arcadia Mixture. I seldom recommend the Arcadia to men whom I do not know intimately, lest in the after years I should find them unworthy of it But just as Aladdin doubtless rubbed his lamp at times for show, there were occasions when I was ostentatiously liberal. If, after try- ing the Arcadia, the lucky smoker to whom I presented it did not start or seize my hand, or otherwise show that something exquisite had come into his life, I at once forgot his name and his existence. I approached Gilray, then, and without a word handed him my pouch, while the others drew nearer. Nothing was to be heard MY LADY NICOTINE. i but the water oozing out and in beneath the house-boat. Gilray pushed the tobacco from him, as he might have pushed a bag of dia- monds that he mistook for pebbles. I placed it against his arm, and motioned to the others not to look. Then I sat down beside Gilray, and almost smoked into his eyes. Soon the aroma reached him, and rapture struggled into his face. Slowly his fingers fastened on the pouch. He filled his pipe without knowing what he was do- ing, and I handed him a lighted spill. He took perhaps three puffs, and then gave me a look of reverence that I know well. It only comes to a man once in all its glory the first time he tries the Arcadia Mixture but it never altogether leaves him. ' ' Where do you get it ? " Gilray whispered, in hoarse delight. The Arcadia had him for its own. HARRIOT. I HAVE hinted that Harriot was our sentimental member. He was seldom sentimental until after midnight, and then only when he and I were alone. Why he should have chosen me as the pail into which to pour his troubles I cannot say. I let him talk on, and when he had ended I showed him plainly that I had been thinking most of the time about something else. Whether Harriot was entirely a humbug or the most con- scientious person on our stair, readers may de- 222 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. cide. He was fond of argument if you did not answer him, and often wanted me to tell him if I thought he was in love ; if so, why did I think so; if not, why not. What makes me on reflec- tion fancy that he was sincere is that in his state- ments he would let his pipe go out. t Of course I cannot give his words, but he would wait till all my other guests had gone, then softly lock the door, and returning to the cane chair empty himself in some such way as this : " I have something I want to talk to you about. Pass me a spill. Well, it is this. Before I came to your rooms to-night I was cleaning my pipe, when all at once it struck me that I might be in love. This is the kind of shock that pulls a man up and together. My first thought was, if it be love, well and good ; I shall go on. As a gentle- man I know my duty both to her and to myself. At present, however, I am not certain which she is. In love there are no degrees ; of that at least I feel positive. It is a tempestuous, surging passion, or it is nothing. The question for me, therefore, is, Is this the beginning of a tempestu- ous, surging passion ? But stop ; does such a passion have a beginning ? Should it not be in flood before we know what we are about ? I don't want you to answer. "One of my difficulties is that I cannot reason from experience. I cannot say to myself, Dur- ing the spring of 1886, and again in October, 1888, your breast has known the insurgence of a tempestuous passion. Do you now note the same symptoms? Have you experienced a sudden sinking at the heart, followed by thrills of exultation ? Now I cannot even say that my appetite has fallen off, but I am smoking more MY LADY NICO TINE. 223 than ever, and it is notorious that I experience sudden chills and thrills. Is this passion ? No, I am not done ; I have only begun. " In 'As You Like it,' you remember, the love symptoms are described at length. But is Rosa- lind to be taken seriously ? Besides, though she wore boy's clothes, she had only the woman's point of view. I have consulted Stevenson's chapters on love in his delightful 'Virginibus Puerisque,' and one of them says, 'Certainly, if I .could help it, I would never marry a wife who wrote.' Then I noticed a book published after that one, and entitled, ' The New Arabian Nights, by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson.' I shut 'Virginibus Puerisque' with a sigh, and put it away. "But this inquiry need not, I feel confident, lead to nothing. Negatively I know love ; for I do not require to be told what it is not, and I have my ideal. Putting my knowledge together and surveying it dispassionately in the mass, I am inclined to think that this is really love. "I may lay down as Proposition I. that surg- ing, tempestuous passion comes involuntarily. You are heart-whole, when, as it were, the gates of your bosom open, in she sweeps, and the gates closes. So far this is a faithful description of my case. Whatever it is, it came "without any desire or volition on my part, and it looks as if it meant to stay. What I ask myself is first, What is it ? secondly, Where is it? thirdly, Who is it? and fourthly, What shall I do with it ? I have thus my work cut out for me. "What is it? I reply that I am stumped at once, unless I am allowed to fix upon an object definitely and precisely. This, no doubt, is argu- 224- MY LAD Y NICOTINE. ing in a circle ; but Descartes himself assumed what he was to try to prove. This, then, being permitted, I have chosen my object, and we can now go on again. What is it? Some might evade the difficulty by taking a middle course. You are not, they might say, in love as yet, but you are on the brink of it. The lady is no idol to you at present, but neither is she indifferent. You would not walk four miles in wet weather to get a rose from her ; but if she did present you with a rose, you would not willingly drop it down an area. In short you have all but lost your heart. To this I reply simply, love is not a process, it is an event. You may unconsciously be on the brink of it, when all at once the ground gives way beneath you, and in you go. The difference between love and not-love, if I may be allowed the word, being so wide, my inquiry should produce decisive results. On the whole, therefore, and in the absence of direct proof to the contrary, I believe that the passion of love does possess me. "Where is it? This is the simplest question of the four. It is in the heart. It fills the heart to overflowing, so that if there were one drop more the heart would run over. Love is thus plainly a liquid : which accounts to some extent for its well-recognized habit of surging. Among its effects this may be noted : that it makes you miserable if you be not by the loved one's side. To hold her hand is ecstasy, to press it, rapture. The fond lover as it might be myself sees his beloved depart on a railway journey with appre- hension. He never ceases to remember that engines burst and trains run off the line. In an agony he awaits the telegram that tells him she MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 225 has reached Shepherd's Bush in safety. When he sees her talking, as if she liked it, to another man, he is torn, he is rent asunder, he is dis- membered by jealousy. He walks beneath her window till the policeman sees him home ; and when he wakes in the morning, it is to murmur her name to himself until he falls asleep again and is late for the office. Well, do. 1 experience such sensations, or do I not ? Is this love, after all ? Where are the spills ? "I have been taking for granted that I know who it is. But is this wise? Nothing puzzles me so much as the way some men seem to know, by intuition, as it were, which is the woman for whom they have a passion. They take a girl from among their acquaintance, and never seem to understand that they may be taking the wrong one. However, with certain reservations, I do not think I go too far in saying that I know who she is. There is one other, indeed, that I have sometimes thought but it fortunately happens that they are related, so that in any case I can- not go far wrong. After I have seen them again, or at least before I propose, I shall decide defi- nitely on this point. * 'We have now advanced as far as Query IV. Now, what is to be done ? Let us consider this calmly. In the first place, have I any option in the matter, or is love a hurricane that carries one hither and thither as a bottle is tossed in a chop- ping sea? I reply that it all depends on myself. Rosalind would say no ; that we are without con- trol over love. But Rosalind was a woman. It is probably true that a woman cannot conquer love. Man, being her ideal in the abstract, is irresistible to her in the concrete. But man, 226 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. being an intellectual creature, can make a mag- nificent effort and cast love out. Should I think it advisable, I do not question my ability to open the gates of my heart and bid her go. That would be a serious thing for her ; and, as man is powerful, so, I think, should he be merciful. She has, no doubt, gained admittance, as it were, furtively ; but can I, as a gentleman, send away a weak, confiding woman who loves me simply because she cannot help it? Nay, more, in a pathetic case of this kind, have I not a certain responsibility ? Does not her attachment to me give her a claim upon me? She saw me, and love came to her. She looks upon me as the noblest and best of my sex. I do not say I am ; it may be that I am not. But I have the child's happiness in my hands ; can I trample it beneath my feet? It seems to be my plain duty to take her to me. " But there are others to consider. For me, would it not be the better part to show her that the greatest happiness of the greatest number should be my first consideration ? Certainly there is nothing in a man I despise more than conceit in affairs of this sort. When I hear one of my sex boasting of his ' conquests,' J turn from him in disgust. 'Conquest' implies effort; and to lay one's self out for victories over the other sex always reminds me of pigeon-shooting. On the other hand, we must make allowances for our position of advantage. These little ones come into contact with us ; they see us, athletic, beautiful, in the hunting-field or at the wicket ; they sit beside us at dinner and listen to our brilliant conversation. They have met us, and the mischief is done. Every man except, perhaps, yourself and Jimmy MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 227 knows the names of a few dear girls who have lost their hearts to him some more, some less. I do not pretend to be in a different position from my neighbors, or in a better one. To some slight extent I may be to blame. But, after all, when a man sees cheeks redden and eyes brighten at his approach, he loses prudence. At the time he does not think what may be the consequences. But the day comes when he sees that he must take heed what he is about. He communes with himself about the future, and if he be a man of honor he maps out in his mind the several courses it is allowed him to follow, and chooses that one which he may tread with least pain to others. May that day for introspection come to few as it has come to me. Love is, indeed, a madness in the brain. Good-night." When he finished I would wake up, open the door for Harriot, and light him to his sleeping- chamber with a spill. CHAPTER IX JIMMY. WITH the exception of myself, Jimmy Moggridge was no doubt the most silent of the company that met so frequently in my rooms. Just as Harriot's eyebrows rose if the cane chair was not empty when he strode in, Jimmy held that he had a right to the hearth-rug, on which he loved to lie prone, his back turned to the company and his eyes on his pipe. The stem was a long cherry- wood, but the bowl was meerschaum, and Jimmy, 228 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. as he smoked, lay on the alert, as it were, to see the meerschaum coloring. So one may strain his eyes with intent eagerness until he can catch the hour-hand of a watch in action. With tobacco in his pocket Jimmy could refill his pipe without moving, but sometimes he crawled along the hearth-rug to let the firelight play more exqui- sitely on his meerschaum bowl. In time, of course, the Arcadia Mixture made him more and more like the rest of us, but he retained his individual- ity until he let his bowl fall off. Otherwise he only differed from us in one way. When he saw a match-box he always extracted a few matches and put them dreamily into his pocket. There were times when, with a sharp blow on Jimmy's person, we could doubtless have had him blazing like a chandelier. Jimmy was a barrister though this is scarcely worth mentioning and it had been known to us for years that he made a living by contributing to the "Saturday Review." How the secret leaked out I. cannot say with certainty. Jimmy never forced it upon us, and I cannot remember any paragraphs in the London correspondence of the provincial papers coupling his name with "Saturday" articles. On the other hand, I dis- tinctly recall having to wait one day in his cham- bers while Jimmy was shaving, and noticing accidentally a long, bulky envelope on his table, with the " Saturday Review's " mystic crest on it. It was addressed to Jimmy, and contained, I con- cluded, a bundle of proofs. That was so long ago as 1885. If further evidence is required, there is the undoubted fact, to which several of us could take oath, that, at Oxford, Jimmy was notorious for his sarcastic pen nearly being sent MY LAD Y NICOTINE. z 2$ down, indeed, for the same. Again, there was the certainty that for years Jimmy had been en- gaged upon literary work of some kind. We had been with him buying the largest-sized scribbling paper in the market ; we had heard him mutter- ing to himself as if in pain ; and we had seen him correcting proof-sheets. When we caught him at them he always thrust the proofs into a drawer which he locked by putting his leg on it for the ordinary lock was broken and remaining in that position till we had retired. Though he rather shunned the subject as a rule, he admitted to us that the work was journalism and not a sarcastic history of the nineteenth century, on which we felt he would come out strong. Lastly, Jimmy had lost the brightness of his youth, and was be- come silent and moody, which is well known to be the result of writing satire. Were it not so notorious that the thousands who write regularly for the " Saturday" have reasons of their own for keeping it dark and merely ad- mitting the impeachment with a nod or smile, we might have marveled at Jimmy's reticence. There were, however, moments when he thawed so far as practically to allow, and everyone knows what that means, that the "Saturday" was his chief source of income. " Only," he would add, " should you be acquainted with the editor, don't mention my contributions to him." From this we saw that Jimmy and the editor had an under- standing on the subject, though we were never agreed which of them it was who had sworn the other to secrecy. We were proud of Jimmy's connection with the press, and every week we discussed his latest article. Jimmy never told us, except in a roundabout way, which were his 230 MY LAD Y MICOTIME. articles ; but we knew his style, and it was quite exhilarating to pick out his contributions week by week. We were never baffled, for "Jimmy's touches" were unmistakable; and, "Have you seen Jimmy this week in the ' Saturday' on Lewis Morris?" or, "I say, do you think Buchanan knows it was Jimmy who wrote that ? " was what we said when we had lighted our pipes. Now I come to the incident that drew from Jimmy his extraordinary statement. I was smok- ing with him in his rooms one evening, when a clatter at his door was followed by a thud on the floor. I knew as well as Jimmy what had happened. In his pre-" Saturday" days he had no letter-box, only a slit in the door ; and through this we used to denounce him on certain occasions when we called and he would not let us in. Lately, how- ever, he had fitted up a letter-box himself, which kept together if you opened the door gently, but came clattering to the floor under the weight of heavy letters. The letter to which it had suc- cumbed this evening was quite a package, and could even have been used as a missile. Jimmy snatched it up quickly, evidently knowing the contents by their bulk ; and I was just saying to myself, ' ' More proofs from the ' Saturday, ' " when the letter burst at the bottom, and in a moment a score of smaller letters were tumbling about my feet. In vain did Jimmy entreat me to let him gather them up. I helped, and saw, to my bewilderment, that all the letters were addressed in childish hands to formation from a friend in India. He had also, I remember, a romantic notion that Africa might be civijized by the Arcadia Mixture. As I shall explain presently, his devotion to the Arcadia very nearly married him against his will ; but first I must describe his boudoir. We always called it Scrymgeour's boudoir after it had ceased to deserve the censure, just as we called Moggridge Jimmy because he was Jimmy to some of us as a boy. Scrymgeour deserted his fine rooms in Bays water for the inn some months after the Arcadia Mixture had recon- structed him, but his chambers were the best on our stair, and with the help of a workman from the Japanese Village he converted them into an Oriental dream. Our housekeeper thought little of the rest of us while the boudoir was there to be gazed at, and even William John would not spill the coffee in it. When the boudoir was ready for inspection, Scrymgeour led me to it, and as the door opened I suddenly remembered that my boots were muddy. The ceiling was a great Japanese Christmas card representing the heavens ; heavy clouds floated round a pale moon, and with the dusk the stars came out. The walls, instead of being papered, were hung with a soft Japanese cloth, and fantastic figures frolicked round a fireplace that held a bamboo fan. There was no mantelpiece. The room was very small ; but when you wanted a blue velvet desk to write on, you had only to press a spring against the wall ; and if you leaned upon the desk the Jap- anese workmen were ready to make you a new one. There were springs everywhere, shaped like birds and mice and butterflies; and when 234 MY LADY NICOTINE. you touched one of them something was sure to come out. Blood-colored curtains separated the room from the alcove where Scrymgeour was to rest by night, and his bed became a bath by simply turning it upside down. On one side of the bed was a wine-bin, with a ladder running up to it. The door of the sitting-room was a sym- phony in gray, with shadowy reptiles crawling across the panels ; and the floor dark, mysteri- ous presented a fanciful picture of the infernal regions. Scrymgeour said hopefully that the place would look cozier after he had his pictures in it ; but he stopped me when I began to fill my pipe. He believed, he said, that smoking was not a Japanese custom ; and there was no use taking Japanese chambers unless you lived up to them. Here was a revelation. Scrymgeour pro- posed to live his life in harmony with these rooms. I felt too sad at heart to say much to him then, but, promising to look in again soon, I shook hands with my unhappy friend and went away. It happened, however, that Scrymgeour had been several times in my rooms before I was able to visit him again. My hand was on his door- bell when I noticed a figure I thought I knew lounging at the foot of the stair. It was Scrym- geour himself, and he was smoking the Arcadia. We greeted each other languidly on the doorstep, Scrymgeour assuring me that "Japan in London " was a grand idea. It gave a zest to life, banish- ing the poor, weary conventionalities of one's surroundings. This was said while we still stood at the door, and I began to wonder why Scrym- geour did not enter his rooms. "A beautiful night ! " he said, rapturously. A cruel east wind was blowing. He insisted that evening was the MY LADY MCOTIN&. 2$$ time for thinking and that east winds brace you up. Would I have a cigar ? I would if he asked me inside to smoke it. My friend sighed. "I thought I told you," he said, " that I don't smoke in my chambers. It isn't the thing." Then he explained, hesitatingly, that he hadn't given up smoking. "I come down here," he said, "with my pipe, and walk up and down. I assure you it is quite a new sensation, and I much prefer it to lolling in an easy-chair." The poor fellow shivered as he spoke, and I noticed that his great- coat was tightly buttoned up to the throat. He had a hacking cough and his teeth were chatter- ing. "Let us go in," I said ; "I don't want to smoke." He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and opened his door with an affectation of gayety. The room looked somewhat more home-like now, but it was very cold. Scrymgeour had no fire yet. He had been told that the smoke would blacken his moon. Besides, I question if he would have dared to remove the fan from the fire- place without consulting a Japanese authority. He did not even know whether the Japanese burned coal. I missed a number of the articles of furniture that had graced his former rooms. The easels were gone ; there were none of the old canvases standing against the wall, and he had exchanged his comfortable, plain old screen for one with lizards crawling over it. "It would never have done," he explained, "to spoil the room with English things, so I got in some more Japanese furniture." I asked him if he had sold his canvasss ; whereupon he signed me to follow him to the wine-bin. It was full of them. There were no 236 MY LADY NICOTINE. newspapers lying about ; but Scrymgeour hoped to manage to take one in by and by. He was only feeling his way at present, he said. In the dim light shed by a Japanese, lamp, I tripped over a rainbow-colored slipper that tapered to the hee and turned up at the toe. "I wonder you can get into these things," I whispered, for the place depressed me ; and he answered, with sim- ilar caution, that he couldn't. "I keep them lying about," he said, confidentially ; "but after I think nobody is likely to call I put on an old pair of English ones." At this point the house- keeper knocked at the door, and Scrymgeour sprung like an acrobat into a Japanese dressing- gown before he cried ' ' Come in ! " As I left I asked him how he felt now, and he said that he had never been so happy in his life. But his hand was hot, and he did not look me in the face. Nearly a month elapsed before I looked in again. The unfortunate man had now a Japanese rug over his legs to keep out the cold, and he was gazing dejectedly at an outlandish mess which he called his lunch. He insisted that it was not at all bad ; but it had evidently been on the table some time when I called, and he had not even tasted it. He ordered coffee for my benefit, but I do not care for coffee that has salt in it instead of sugar. I said that I had merely looked in to ask him to an early dinner at the club, and it was touching to see how he grasped at the idea. So complete, however, was his sub- jection to that terrible housekeeper, who believed in his fad, that he dared not send back her dishes untasted. As a compromise I suggested that he could wrap up some of the stuff in paper and drop it quietly into the gutter. We sallied forth, MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 237 and I found him so weak that he had to be as- sisted into a hansom. He still maintained, how- ever, that Japanese chambers were worth mak- ing some sacrifice for ; and when the other Arca- dians saw his condition they had the delicacy not to contradict him. They thought it was con- sumption. If we had not taken Scrymgeour in hand I dare not think what his craze might have reduced him to. A friend asked him into the country for ten days, and of course he was glad to go. As it happened, my chambers were being repa- pered at the time, and Scrymgeour gave me per- mission to occupy his rooms until his return. The other Arcadians agreed to meet me there nightly, and they were indefatigable in their efforts to put the boudoir to rights. Jimmy wrote letters to editors, of a most cutting nature, on the moon, breaking the table as he stepped on and off it, and we gave the butterflies to William John. The reptiles had to crawl off the door, and we made pipe-lights of the Japanese fans. Harriot shot the candles at the mice and birds ; and Gilray, by improvising an entertainment be- hind the blood-red curtains, contrived to give them the dilapidated appearance without which there is no real comfort. In short, the boudoir soon assumed such a homely aspect that Scrym- geour on his return did not recognize it. When he realized where he was he lighted up at once. 2^8 ^y LAD Y N2COTIN&. CHAPTER XL HIS WIFE'S CIGARS. THOUGH Pettigrew, who is a much more suc- cessful journalist than Jimmy, says pointedly of his wife that she encourages his smoking instead of putting an end to it, I happen to know that he has cupboard skeletons. Pettigrew has been married for years, and frequently boasted of his wife's interest in smoking, until one night an ac- cident revealed the true state of matters to me. Late in the night, when traffic is hushed and the river has at last a chance of making itself heard, Pettigrew's window opens cautiously, and he casts something wrapped in newspaper into the night. The window is then softly closed, and all is again quiet. At other times Pettigrew steals along the curbstone, dropping his skeletons one by one. Nevertheless, his cupboard beneath the bookcase is so crammed that he dreams the lock has given way. The key is always in his pocket, yet when his children approach the cupboard he orders them away, so fearful is he of something happening. When his wife has retired he some- times unlocks the cupboard with nervous hand, when the door bursts gladly open, and the things roll on to the carpet. They are the cigars his wife gives him as birthday presents, on the an- niversary of his marriage, and at other times, and such a model wife is she that he would do any- thing for her except smoke them. They are Cele- bros, Regalia Rothschilds, twelve and six the MY LADY NICO TINE. 239 hundred I discovered Pettigrew's secret one night, when, as I was passing his house, a pack- age of Celebros alighted on my head. I demand- ed an explanation, and I got it on the promise that I would not mention the matter to the other Arcadians. ' ' Several years having elapsed, " said Pettigrew, "since I pretended to smoke and enjoy my first Celebro, I could not now undeceive my wife it would be such a blow to her. At the time it could have been done easily. She began by making trial of a few. There were seven of them in an en- velope ; and I knew at once that she had got them for a shilling. She had heard me saying that eightpence is a sad price to pay for a cigar I prefer them at tenpence and a few days afterward she produced her first Celebros. Each of them had, and has, a gold ribbon round it, bearing the legend, ' Non plus ultra.' She was shy and timid at that time, and I thought it very brave of her to go into the shop herself and ask for the Celebros, as advertised; so I thanked her warmly. When she saw me slipping them into my pocket she looked disappointed, and said that she would like to see me smoking one. My reply would have been that I never cared to smoke in the open air, if she had not often seen me do so. Besides, I wanted to please her very much ; and if what I did was weak I have been severely punished for it. The pocket into which I had thrust the Celebros also contained my cigar- case ; and with my hand in the pocket I covertly felt for a Villar y Villar and squeezed it into the en- velope. This I then drew forth, took out the cigar, as distinguished from the Celebros, and smoked it with unfeigned content. My wife watched me 240 MY LADY NICOTINE. eagerly, asking six or eight times how I liked it. From the way she talked of fine rich bouquet and nutty flavor I gathered that she had been in con- versation with the tobacconist, and I told her the cigars were excellent. Yes, they were as choice a brand as I had ever smoked. She clapped her hands joyously at that, and said that if she had not made up her mind never to do so she would tell me what they cost. Next she asked me to guess the price ; I answered eighty shillings a hun- dred ; and then she confessed that she got the seven for a shilling. On our way home she made arch remarks about men who judged cigars simply by their price. I laughed gayly in reply, begging her not to be too hard on me ; and I did not even feel uneasy when she remarked that of course I would never buy those horridly expen- sive Villar y Villars again. When I left her I gave the Celebros to an acquaintance against whom I had long had a grudge we have not spoken since but I preserved the envelope as a pretty keepsake. This, you see, happened shortly before our marriage. " I have had a consignment of Celebros every month or two since then, and, dispose of them quietly as I may, they are accumulating in the cupboard. I despise myself; but my guile was kindly meant at first, and every thoughtful man will see the difficulties in the way of a confession now. Who can say what might happen if I were to fling that cupboard door open in presence of my wife ? I smoke less than I used to do ; for if I were to buy my cigars by the box I could not get them smuggled into the house. Besides, she would know I don't say how, I merely make the statement that I had been buying cigars. So I MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 241 get half a dozen at a time. Perhaps you will sympathize with me when I say that I have had to abandon my favorite brand. I cannot get Villar y Villars that look like Celebros, and my wife is quicker in those matters than she used to be. One day, for instance, she noticed that the cigars in my case had not the gold ribbon round them, and I almost fancied she became suspi- cious. I explained that the ribbon was perhaps a little ostentatious ; but she said it was an intima- tion of nutty flavor : and now I take ribbons off the Celebros and put them on the other cigars. The boxes in which the Celebros arrive have a picturesque design on the lid and a good deal of lace frilling round the edge, and she likes to have a box lying about. The top layer of that box is cigars in gold ribbons, placed there by myself, and underneath are the Celebros. I never get down to the Celebros. "For a long time my secret was locked in my breast as carefully as I shall lock my next week's gift away in the cupboard, if I can find room for it ; but a few of my most intimate friends have an inkling of it now. When my friends drop in I am compelled to push the Celebro box toward them, and if they would simply take a cigar and ask no questions all would be well ; for, as I have said, there are cigars on the top. But they spoil everything by remarking that they have not seen the brand before. Should my wife not be present this is immaterial, for I have long had a reputa- tion of keeping good cigars. Then I merely re- mark that it is a new brand ; and they smoke, probably observing that it reminds them of a Ca- bana, which is natural, seeing that it is a Cabana in disguise. If my wife is present, however, she 16 242 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. comes forward smiling, and remarks, with a fond look in my direction, that they are her birthday present to her Jack. Then they start back and say they always smoke a pipe. These Celebros were making me a bad name among my friends, so I have given a few of them to understand I don't care to put it more plainly that if they will take a cigar from the top layer they will find it all right. One of them, however, has a personal ill-will to me because my wife told his wife that I preferred Celebro cigars at twelve and six a hundred to any other. Now he is expected to smoke the same ; and he takes his revenge by ostentatiously offering me a Celebro when I call on him." CHAPTER XII. GILRAY'S FLOWER-POT. I CHARGE Gilray's unreasonableness to his ig- noble passion for cigarettes ; and the story of his flower-pot has therefore an obvious moral. The want of dignity he displayed about that flower- pot, on his return to London, would have made any one sorry for him. I had my own work to look after, and really could not be tending his chrysanthemum all day. After he came back, however, there was no reasoning with him, and I admit that I never did water his plant, though always intending to do so. The great mistake was in not leaving the flower-pot in charge of William John. No doubt I readily promised to attend to it, but Gilray de- ceived me by speaking as if the watering of a MY LADY NICOTINE. 2 43 plant was the merest pastime. He had to leave London for a short provincial tour, and, as I see now, took advantage of my good nature. As Gilray had owned his flower-pot for several months, during which time (I take him at his word) he had watered it daily, he must have known he was misleading me. He said that you got into the way of watering a flower-pot regu- larly just as you wind up your watch. That cer- tainly is not the case. I always wind up my watch, and I never watered the flower-pot. Of course, if I had been living in Gilray's rooms with the thing always before my eyes I might have done so. I proposed to take it into my chambers at the time, but he would not hear of that. Why ? How Gilray came by this chrysanthemum I do not inquire ; but whether, in the circum- stances, he should not have made a clean breast of it to me is another matter. Undoubtedly it was an unusual thing to put a man to the trouble of watering a chrysanthemum daily without giv- ing him its history. My own belief has always been that he got it in exchange for a pair of boots and his old dressing-gown. He hints that it was a present ; but, as one who knows him well, I may say that he is the last person a lady would be likely to give a chrysanthemum to. Besides, if he was so proud of the plant he should have stayed at home and watered it himself. He says that I never meant to water it, which is not only a mistake, but unkind. My plan was to run downstairs immediately after dinner every evening and give it a thorough watering. One thing or another, however, came in the way. I often remembered about the chrysanthemum while I was in the office ; but even Gilray could 244 MY LAD Y NTCO TINE. hardly have expected me to ask leave of absence merely to run home and water his plant. You must draw the line somewhere, even in a govern- ment office. When I reached home I was tired, inclined to take things easily, and not at all in a proper condition for watering flower-pots. Then Arcadians would drop in. I put it to any sensible man or woman, could I have been expected to give up my friends for the sake of a chrysan- themum ? Again, it was my custom of an even- ing, if not disturbed, to retire with my pipe into my cane chair, and there pass the hours commun- ing with great minds, or, when the mood was on me, trifling with a novel. Often when I was in the middle of a chapter Gilray's flower-pot stood #p before my eyes crying for water. He does not believe this, but it is the solemn truth. At those moments it was touch and go, whether I watered his chrysanthemum or not. Where I lost myself was in not hurrying to his rooms at once with a tumbler. I said to myself that I would go when I had finished my pipe ; but by that time the flower-pot had escaped my memory. This may have been weakness ; all I know is that I should have saved myself much annoyance if I had risen and watered the chrysanthemum there and then. But would it not have been rather hard on me to have had to forsake my books for the sake of Gilray's flowers and flower- pots and plants and things. What right has' a man to go and make a garden of his chambers ? All the three weeks he was away, Gilray kept pestering me with letters about his chrysanthe- mum. He seemed to have no faith in me a de- testable thing in a man who calls himself your friend. I had promised to water his flower-pot ; Mr LAD Y NICO TIN& 245 and between friends a promise is surely sufficient It is not so, however, when Gilray is one of them. I soon hated the sight of my name in his handwriting. It was not as if he had said out- right that he wrote entirely to know whether I was watering his plant. His references to it were introduced with all the appearance of after- thoughts. Often they took the form of post- scripts : ' ' By the way, are you watering my chrysanthemum?" or, "The chrysanthemum ought to be a beauty by this time ; " or, "You must be quite an adept now at watering plants." Gilray declares now that, in answer to one of these ingenious epistles, I wrote to him saying that " I had just been watering his chrysanthe- mum." My belief is that I did no such thing ; or, if I did, I meant to water it as soon as I had finished my letter. He has never been able to bring this home tome, he says, because he burned my correspondence. As if a business man would destroy such a letter. It was yet more annoying when Gilray took to post-cards. To hear the postman's knock and then discover, when you are expecting an important communication, that it is only a post-card about a flower-pot that is really too bad. And then I consider that some of the post-cards bordered upon insult One of them said, ' ' What about chrysanthemum ? reply at once." This was just like Gilray's overbear- ing way ; but I answered politely, and so far as I knew, truthfully, "Chrysanthemum all right" Knowing that there was no explaining things to Gilray, I redoubled my exertions to water his flower-pot as the day for his return drew near. Once, indeed, when I rang for water, I could not for the life of me remember what I wanted it 246 MY LADY NICO TINE. for when it was brought. Had I had any fore- thought I should have left the tumbler stand just as it was to show it to Gilray on his return. But, unfortunately, William John had misunderstood What I wanted the water for, and put a decanter down beside it. Another time I was actually on the stair rushing to Gilray's door, when I met the houskeeper, and, stopping to talk to her, lost my opportunity again. To show how honestly anx- ious I was to fulfill my promise, I need only add that I was several times awakened in the watches of the night by a haunting consciousness that I had forgotten to water Gilray's flower-pot. On these occasions I spared no trouble to remember again in the morning. I reached out of bed to a chair and turned it upside down, so that the sight of it when I rose might remind me that I had something to do. With the same object I crossed the tongs and poker on the floor. Gilray main- tains that instead of playing " fool's tricks " like these ("fool's tricks ! ") I should have got up and gone at once to his rooms with my water-bottle. What ? and disturbed my neighbors ? Besides, could I reasonably be expected to risk catching my death of cold for the sake of a wretched chrys- anthemum ? One reads of men doing such things for young ladies who seek lilies in danger- ous ponds or edelweiss on overhanging cliffs. But Gilray was not my sweetheart, nor, I feel certain, any other person's. I come now to the day prior to Gilray's return. I had just reached the office when I remembered about the chrysanthemum. It was my last chance. If I watered it once I should be in a position to state that, whatever condition it might be in, I had ccrt.inly been watering it. I jumped MY LAD Y N1CO TINE. 247 into a hansom, told the cabby to drive to the inn, and twenty minutes afterward had one hand on Gilray's door, while the other held the largest water-can in the house. Opening the door I rushed in. The can nearly fell from my hand. There was no flower-pot ! I rang the bell. " Mr. Gilray's chrysanthemum ! " I cried. What do you think William John said? He coolly told me that the plant was dead, and had been flung out days ago. I went to the theater that night to keep myself from thinking. All next day I con- trived to remain out of Gilray's sight. When we met he was stiff and polite. He did not say a word about the chrysanthemum for a week, and then it all came out with a rush. I let him talk. With the servants flinging out the flower-pots faster than I Could water them, what more could I have done ? A coolness between us was inevit- able. This I regretted, but my mind was made up on one point : I would never do Gilray a favor again. CHAPTER XIII. THE GRANDEST SCENE IN HISTORY. THOUGH Scrymgeour only painted in water- colors, I think I never looked at his pictures he had one superb idea, which we often advised him to carry out. When he first mentioned it the room became comparatively animated, so much struck were we all, and we entreated him to retire to Stratford for a few months before beginning the picture. His idea was to paint Shakespeare smoking his first pipe of the Arcadia Mixture, 248 MY LADY NICO TINE. Many hundreds of volumes have been written about the glories of the Elizabethan age, the sub- lime period in our history. Then were English- men on fire to do immortal deeds. High aims and noble ambitions became their birthright. There was nothing they could not or would not do for England. Sailors put a girdle round the world. Every captain had a general's capacity; every fighting-man could have been a captain. All the women, from the queen downward, were heroines. Lofty statesmanship guided the conduct of affairs, a sublime philosophy was in the air. The period of great deeds was also the period of our richest literature. London was swarming with poetic geniuses. Immortal dramatists wandered in couples between stage doors and taverns. All this has been said many times ; and we read these glowing outbursts about the Elizabethan age as if to the beating of a drum. But why was this period riper for magnificent deeds and noble literature than any other in English history? We all know how the thinkers, historians, and critics of yesterday and to-day answer that ques- tion ; but our hearts and brains tell us that they are astray. By an amazing oversight they have said nothing of the Influence of Tobacco. The Elizabethan age might be better named the begin- ning of the smoking era. No unprejudiced per- son who has given thought to the subject can question the propriety of dividing our history into two periods the pre-smoking and the smoking. When Raleigh, in honor of whom England should have changed its name, introduced tobacco into this country, the glorious Elizabethan age began. I am aware that those hateful persons called Original Researchers now maintain that Raleigh was not My LAD Y NICO TINE. 249 the man ; but to them I turn a deaf ear. I know, I feel, that with the introduction of tobacco Eng- land woke up from a long sleep. Suddenly a new zest had been given to life. The glory of exist- ence became a thing to speak of. Men who had hitherto only concerned themselves with the narrow things of home put a pipe into their mouths and became philosophers. Poets and dramatists smoked until all ignoble ideas were driven from them, and into their place rushed such high thoughts as the world had not known before. Petty jealousies no longer had hold of statesmen, who smoked, and agreed to work together for the public weal. Soldiers and sailors felt, when engaged with a foreign foe, that they were fight- ing for their pipes. The whole country was stirred by the ambition to live up to tobacco. Every one, in short, had now a lofty ideal con- stantly before him. Two stories of the period, never properly told hitherto, illustrate this. We all know that Gabriel Harvey and Spenser lay in bed discussing English poetry and the forms it ought to take. This was when tobacco was only known to a select few, of whom Spenser, the friend of Raleigh, was doubtless one. That the two friends smoked in bed I can not doubt. Many poets have done the same thing since. Then there is the beautiful Armada story. In a famous Armada picture the English sailors are represented smoking ; which makes it all the more surprising that the story to which I refer has come down to us in an incorrect form. Ac- cording to the historians, when the Armada hove in sight the English captains were playing at bowls. Instead of rushing off to their ships on receipt of the news, they observed, " Let us first 250 MY LADY XICOT1N&. finish our game. " I can not believe that this is what they said. My conviction is that what was really said was, "Let us first finish our pipes " surely a far more impressive and memorable remark. This afternoon Marlowe's "Jew of Malta " was produced for the first time ; and of the two men who have just emerged from the Blackfriars Theater one is the creator of Barabas. A marvel to all the " piperly makeplaies and make-bates," save one, is "famous Ned Alleyn ; " for when money comes to him he does not drink till it be done, and already he is laying- by to confound the ecclesiastics, who say hard things of him, by founding Dulwich College. "Not Roscius nor ^Esope," said Tom Nash, who was probably in need of a crown at the time, "ever performed more in action. " A good fellow he is withal ; for it is Ned who gives the supper to-night at the "Globe," in honor of the new piece, if he can get his friends together. The actor-manager shakes his head, for Marlowe, who was to meet him here, must have been seduced into a tavern by the way ; but his companion, Robin Greene, is only wondering if that is a bailiff at the corner. Robin of the " ruffianly haire, " utriusque academics in artibus magister, is nearing the end of his tether, and might call to-night at shoemaker Islam's house nearDowgate, to tell a certain "bigge, fat, lusty wench " to prepare his last bed and buy a garland of bays. Ned must to the sign of the "Saba" in Gracious Street, where Burbage and " honest gamesom Armin," are sure to be found ; but Greene durst not show himself in the street without Cutting Ball and other choice ruffians as a body-guard. Ned is content to leave them MY LADY NICOTINE. 451 behind ; for Robin has refused to be of the com- pany to-night if that "upstart Will" is invited too, and the actor is fond of Will. There is no more useful man in the theater, he has said to "Signior Kempino"this very day, for 'touching up old plays ; and Will is a plodding young fel- low, too, if not overbrilliant. Ned Alleyn goes from tavern to tavern, picking out his men. There is an ale-house in Seacoal Lane the same where ladylike George Peele was found by the barber, who had subscribed an hour before for his decent burial, "all alone with a peck of oysters " and here Ned is detained an unconscionable time. Just as he is leaving with Kempe and Cowley, Armin and Will Shakespeare burst in with a cry for wine. It is Armin who gives the orders, but his companion pays. They spy Alleyn, and Armin must tell his news. He is the bearer of a challenge from some merry souls at the "Saba"to the actor-manager; and Ned Alleyn turns white and red when he hears it. Then he laughs a confident laugh, and accepts the bet. Some theater-goers, flushed with wine, have dared him to attempt certain parts in which Bentley and Knell vastly please them. Ned is incredulons that men should be so willing to fling away their money ; yet here is Will a witness, and Burbage is staying on at the " Saba" not to let the challengers escape. The young man of twenty-four, at the White Horse in Friday Street, is Tom Nash ; and it is Peele who is swearing that he is a monstrous clever fellow, and helping him to finish his wine. But Peele is glad to see Ned and Cowley in the doorway, for Tom has a weakness for reading aloud the good things from his own manuscripts. 252 MY LADY NICOTINE. There is only one of the company who is not now sick to death of Nash's satires on Martin Marpre- late ; and perhaps even he has had enough of them, only he is as yet too obscure a person to say so. That is Will ; and Nash detains him for a moment just to listen to his last words on the Mar- prelate controversy. Marprelate now appears "with a wit worn into the socket, twingling- and pinking like the snuff of a candle; quan- tum mutatus ab illo I how unlike the knave he was before, not for malice but for sharpness. The hogshead was even come to the hauncing, and nothing could be drawne from him but dregs. " Will says it is very good ; and Nash smiles to himself as he puts the papers in his pockets and thinks vaguely that he might do something for Will. Shakespeare is not a university man, and they say he held horses at the doors of the Globe not long ago ; but he knows a good thing when he hears it. All this time Marlowe is at the Globe, wondering why the others are so long in coming ; but not wondering very much for it is good wine they give you at the Globe. Even before the feast is well begun Kit's eyes are blood-shot and his hands unsteady. Death is already seeking for him at a tavern in Deptford, and the last scene in a wild, brief life starts up before us. A miser- able ale-house, drunken words, the flash of a knife, and a man of genius has received his death-blow. What an epitaph for the greatest might-have-been in English literature : Christo- pher Marlowe, slain by a serving-man in a drunken brawl, aged twenty-nine ! " But by the time Shakespeare had reached his fortieth birthday every one of his fellow playwrights round that table had rushed to his death. MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 253 The short stout gentleman who is fond of mak- ing jokes, and not particular whom he confides them to, has heard another good story about Tarleton. This is the low comedian Kempe, who stepped into the shoes of flat-nosed, squinting Tarleton the other day, but never quite manages to fill them. He whispers the tale across Will's back to Cowley, before it is made common prop- erty, and little fancies, as he does so, that any immortality he and his friend may gain will be owing to their having played, before the end of the sixteenth century, the parts of Dogberry and Verges in a comedy by Shakespeare, whom they are at present rather in the habit of patronizing. The story is received with boisterous laughter, for it suits the time and place. Peele is in the middle of a love song when Kit stumbles across the room to say a kind word to Shakespeare. That is a sign that George is not yet so very tipsy ; for he is a gallant and a squire of dames so long as he is sober. There is not a maid in any tavern in Fleet Street who does not think George Peele the properest man in London. And yet, Greene being absent, scouring the streets with Cutting Ball whose sister is mother of poor Fortunatus Greene Peele is the most dissolute man in the Globe to-night. There is a sad little daughter sitting up for him at home, and she will have to sit wearily till morning. Mario w'es praises would sink deeper into Will's heart if the author of the "Jew of Malta" were less unsteady on his legs. And yet he takes Kit's words kindly, and is glad to hear that "Titus Andronicus," pro- duced the other day, pleases the man whose praise is most worth having. Will Shakespeare looks up to Kit Marlowe, and "Titus Andronicus " ia 254 MY LAD Y NrcO TIME. the work of a young playwright who has tried to write like Kit. Marlowe knows it and he takes it as something of a compliment, though he does not believe in imitation himself. He would re- turn now to his seat beside Ned Alleyn ; but the floor of the room is becoming unsteady, and Ned seems a long way off. Besides Shakespeare's cup would never require refilling if there were not some one there to help him drink. The fun becomes fast and furious ; and the landlord of the Globe puts in an appearance, os- tensibly to do his guests honor by serving them himself. But he is fearful of how the rioting may end, and, if he dared, he would turn Nash into the street, Tom is the only man there whom the landlord if that man had only been a Boswell personally dislikes ; indeed, Nash is no great favorite even with his comrades. He has a bit- ter tongue, and his heart is not to be mellowed by wine. The table roars over his sallies, of which the landlord himself is dimly conscious that he is the butt, and Kempe and Cowley wince under his satire. Those excellent comedians fall out over a trifling difference of opinion ; and handsome Nash he tells us himself that he was handsome, so there can be no doubt about it maintains that they should decide the dispute by fisticuffs without further loss of time. While Kempe and Cowley threaten to break each other's heads which, indeed, would be no great matter if they did it quietly Burbage is reciting vehe- mently, with no one heeding him ; and Marlowe insists on quarelling with Armin about the exist- ence of a Deity. For when Kit is drunk he is an infidel. Armin will not quarrel with anybody, and Marlowe is exasperated. MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 255 But where is Shakespeare all this time ? He has retired to a side-table with Alleyn, who has another historical play that requires altering. Their conversation is of comparatively little im- portance ; what we are to note with bated breath is that Will is filling a pipe. His face is placid, for he does not know that the tobacco .Ned is handing him is the Arcadia Mixture. I love Ned Alleyn, and like to think that Shakespeare got the Arcadia from him. For a moment let us turn from Shakespeare at this crisis in his life. Alleyn has left him and is paying the score. Marlowe remains where he fell. Nash has forgotten where he lodges, and so sets off with Peele to an ale-house in Pye Cor- ner, where George is only too well known. Kempe and Cowley are sent home in baskets. Again we turn to the figure in the corner, and there is such a light on his face that we shade our eyes. He is smoking the Arcadia, and as he smokes the tragedy of Hamlet takes form in his brain. This is the picture that Scrymgeour will never dare to paint. I know that there is no mention of tobacco in Shakespeare's plays, but those who smoke the Arcadia tell their secret to none, and of other mixtures they scorn to speak. CHAPTER XIV. MY BROTHER HENRY. STRICTLY speaking I never had a brother Henry, and yet I can not say that Henry was an impos- tor. He came into existence in a curious way, 256 MY LADY NICOTINE. and I can think of him now without malice as a child of smoke. The first I heard of Henry was at Pettigrew's house, which is in a London suburb. so conveniently situated that I can go there and back in one day. I was testing some new Caba- nas, I remember, when Pettigrew remarked that he had been lunching with a man who knew my brother Henry. Not having any brother but Alex- ander, I felt that Pettigrew had mistaken the name. "Oh, no," Pettigrew said; "he spoke of Alex- ander too." Even this did not convince me, and I asked my host for his friend's name. Scuda- mour was the name of the man, and he had met my brothers Alexander and Henry years before in Paris. Then I remembered Scudamore, and I probably frowned, for I myself was my own brother Henry. I distinctly recalled Scudamour meeting Alexander anY MCOTI&M. 463 fifth would tell us where he would see the boy before he went across for him. Then there would be silence again. Eventually some one would put an ulster over his night-shirt, and sternly announce his intention of going over and taking the boy's life. Hearing this, the others at once dropped off to sleep. For a few days we managed to trick the boy by pulling up our blinds and so conveying to his mind the impression that we were getting up. Then he had not our break- fast ready when we did get up, which naturally enraged us. As soon as he got on board that boy made his presence felt. He was very strong and energetic in the morning, and spent the first half hour or so in flinging coals at each other. This was his way of breaking them ; and he was by nature so patient and humble that he rather flattered him- self when a coal broke at the twentieth attempt. We used to dream that he was breaking coals on our heads. Often one of us dashed into the kitchen, threatening to drop him into the river if he did not sit quite still on a chair for the next two hours. Under these threats he looked suffi- ciently scared to satisfy anybody ; but as soon as all was quiet again he crept back to the coal-bunk and was at his old games. It didn't matter what we did, the boy put a stop to it We tried whist, and in ten minutes there was a "Hoy, hie, ya-ho!." from the oppo- site shore. It was the boy come back with the vegetables. If we were reading, " Ya-ho, hie ! " and some one had to cross for that boy and the water-can. The boy was on the tow-path just when we had fallen into a snooze ; he had to be taken across for the milk immediately we had 264 MY LAD Y NICOTJNJL lighted our pipes. On the whole it was an open question whether it was not even more annoying 1 to take him over than to go for him. Two or three times we tried to be sociable and went into the village together ; but no sooner had we begun to enjoy ourselves than we remembered that we must go back and let the boy ashore. Tennyson speaks of a company making believe to be merry while all the time the spirit of a departed one haunted them in their play. That was exactly the effect of the boy on us. Even without the boy I hardly think we should have been a sociable party. The sight of so much humanity gathered in one room became a nuisance. We resorted to all kinds of subterfuges to escape from each other; and the one who finished breakfast first generally managed to make off with the dingey. The others were then at liberty to view him in the distance, in mid- stream, lying on his back in the bottom of the boat ; and it was almost more than we could stand. The only way to bring him back was to bribe the boy into saying that he wanted to go across to the village for bacon or black lead or sardines. Thus even the boy had his uses. Things gradually got worse and worse. I re- member only one day when as many as four of us were on speaking terms. Even this tempor- ary sociability was only brought about in order that we might combine and fall upon Jimmy with the more crushing force. Jimmy had put us in an article, representing himself as a kind of superior person who was making a study of us. The thing was of such a gross caricature, and so dull, that it was Jimmy we were sorry for rather than ourselves. Still, we gathered round him in MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 265 a body and told him what we thought of the matter. Affairs might have gone more smoothly after this if we four had been able to hold to- gether. Unfortunately, Jimmy won Harriot over, and next day there was a row all round, which resulted in our division into five parties. One day Pettigrew visited us. He brought his Gladstone bag with him, but did not stay over night. He was glad to go ; for at first none of us, I am afraid, was very civil to him, though we afterward thawed a little. He returned to London and told every one how he found us. I admit we were not prepared to receive company. The house-boat consisted of five apartments a saloon, three bedrooms, and a kitchen. When he boarded us we were distributed as follow : I sat smoking in the saloon, Marriot sat smoking in the first bedroom, Gilray in the second, Jimmy in the third, and Scrymgeour in the kitchen. The boy did not keep Scrymgeour company. He had been ordered on deck, where he sat with his legs crossed, the picture of misery because he had no coals to break. A few days after Pettigrew's visit we fol- lowed him to London, leaving Scrymgeour behind, where we soon became friendly again. CHAPTER XVL THE ARCADIA MIXTURE AGAIN. ONE day, some weeks after we had left Scrym- geour's house-boat, I was alone in my rooms, very busy smoking, when William John entered with a telegram. It was from Scrymgeour, and *66 Mr LAD y wcottiriL said, " You have got me into a dreadful fness Come down here first train." Wondering what mess I could have got Scrym- geour into, I good-naturedly obeyed his summons, and soon I was smoking placidly on the deck of the house-boat, while Scrymgeour, sullen and nervous, tramped back and forward. I saw quickly that the only tobacco had something to do with his troubles, for he began by announcing that one evening soon after we left him he found that we had smoked all his Arcadia. He would have dispatched the boy to London for it, but the boy had been all day in the village buying a loaf, and would not be back for hours. Cookham cigars Scrymgeour could not smoke ; cigarettes he only endured if made from the Arcadia. At Cookham he could only get tobacco that made him uncomfortable. Having recently be- gun to use a new pouch, he searched his pockets in vain for odd shreds of the Mixture to which he had so contemptibly become a slave. In a very bad temper he took to his dingey, vowing for a little while that he would violently break the chains that bound him to one tobacco, and after- ward, when he was restored to his senses, that he would jilt the Arcadia gradually. He had pulled some distance down the river, without regarding the Cliveden Woods, when he all but ran into a blaze of Chinese lanterns. It was a house-boat called let us change its name to the " Heathen Chinee." Staying his dingey with a jerk, Scrymgeour looked up, when a wonderful sight met his eyes. On the open window of an apparently empty saloon stood a round tin of tobacco, marked " Arcadia Mixture." Scrymgeour sat gaping. The only sound to be MY LADY #ICO f n#JL heard, except a soft splash of water under the house-boat, came from the kitchen, where a ser- vant was breaking crockery for supper. The ro- mantic figure in the dingey stretched out his hand and then drew it back, remembering that there was a law against this sort of thing. He thought to himself, "If I were to wait until the owner returns, no doubt a man who smokes the Arcadia would feel for me." Then his fatal horror of ex- planations whispered to him, "The owner may be a stupid, garrulous fellow who will detain you here half the night explaining your situation." Scrymgeour, I want to impress upon the reader, was, like myself, the sort of a man who, if asked whether he did not think "InMemoriam" Mr. Browning's greatest poem, would say Yes, as the easiest way of ending the conversation. Obvi* ously he would save himself trouble by simply annexing the tin. He seized it and rowed off. Smokers, who know how tobacco develops the finer feelings hardly require to be told what hap- pened next. Suddenly Scrymgeour remembered that he was probably leaving the owner of the " Heathen Chinee" without any Arcadia Mixture. He at once filled his pouch, and, pulling softly back to the house-boat, replaced the tin on the window, his bosom swelling with the pride of those who give presents. At the same moment a hand gripped him by the neck, and a girl, some- where on deck, screamed. Scrymgeour's captor, who was no other than the owner of the "Heathen Chinee," dragged him fiercely into the house-boat and stormed at him for five minutes. My friend shuddered as he thought of the explanations to come when he was allowed to speak, and gradually he realized that 268 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. he had been mistaken for some one else appar- ently for some young blade who had been carry- ing on a clandestine flirtation with the old gentle- man's daughter. It will take an hour, thought Scrymgeour, to convince him that I am not that person, and another hour to explain why I am really here. Then the weak creature had an idea : " Might not the simplest plan be to say that his surmises are correct, promise to give his daughter up, and row away as quickly as possible ? " He began to wonder if the girl was pretty ; but saw it would hardly do to say that he reserved his defense until he could see her. "I admit," he said, at last, "that I admire your daughter ; but she spurned my advances, and we parted yesterday forever." "Yesterday ! " "Or was it the day before?" "Why, sir, I have caught you red-handed ! " "This is an accident," Scrymgeour explained, " and I promised never to speak to her again." Then he added, as an after-thought, "however painful that may be to me." Before Scrymgeour returned to his dingey he had been told that he would be drowned if he came near that house-boat again. As he sculled away he had a glimpse of the flirting daughter, whom he described to me briefly as being of such engaging appearance that six yards was a trying distance to be away from her. "Here," thought Scrymgeour that night over a pipe of the Mixture, "the affair ends; though I dare say the young lady will call me terrible names when she hears that I have personated her lover. I must take care to avoid the father now, for he will feel that I have been following him. JVY LAD Y NICOTXNM. 269 Perhaps I should have made a clean breast of it ; but I do loathe explanations." Two days afterward Scrymgeour passed the father and daughter on the river. The lady said "Thank you," to him with her eyes, and, still more remarkable, the old gentleman bowed. Scrymgeour thought it over. " She is grateful to me," he concluded, "for drawing away suspicion from the other man, but what can have made the father so amiable ? Suppose she has not told him that I am an impostor, he should still look upon me as a villain ; and if she has told him, he should be still more furious. It is curious, but no affair of mine." Three times within the next few days he encountered the lady on the tow-path or else- where with a young gentleman of empty counte- nance, who, he saw, must be the real Lothario. Once they passed him when he was in the shadow of a tree, and the lady was making pretty faces with a cigarette in her mouth. The house-boat " Heathen Chinee" lay but a short distance off, and Scrymgeour could see the owner gazing after his daughter placidly, a pipe between his lips. " He must be approving of her conduct now," was my friend's natural conclusion. Then one forenoon Scrymgeour traveled to town in the same compartment as the old gentleman, who was exceedingly frank, and made sly remarks about romantic young people who met by stealth when there was no reason why they should not meet openly. "What does he mean?" Scrymgeour asked himself, uneasily. He saw terribly elabor- ate explanations gathering and shrunk from them. Then Scrymgeour was one day out in a punt, when he encountered the old gentleman in a canoe. The old man said, purple with passion, HY LADY tiico'rtA^. that he was on his way to pay Mr. Scrymgeour a business visit. "Oh, yes," he continued, "I know who you are ; if I had not discovered you were a man of means I would not have let the thing go on, and now I insist on an explanation." Explanations 1 They made for Scrymgeour's house-boat, with almost no words on the young man's part ; but the father blurted out several things as that his daughter knew where he was going when he left the " Heathen Chinee," and that he had an hour before seen Scrymgeour making love to another girl. "Don't deny it!" cried the indignant father; "I recognized you by your velvet coat and broad hat" Then Scrymgeour begun to see more clearly. The girl had encouraged the deception, and had been allowed to meet her lover because he was supposed to be no adventurer but the wealthy Mr. Scrymgeour. She must have told the fellow to get a coat and hat like his to help the plot. At the time the artist only saw all this in a jumble. Scrymgeour had bravely resolved to explain everything now ; but his bewilderment may be conceived when, on entering his saloon with the lady's father, the first thing they saw was the lady herself. The old gentleman gasped, and his daughter looked at Scrymgeour imploringly. " Now," said the father fiercely, " explain I " The lady's tears became her vastly. Hardly knowing what he did, Scrymgeour put his arm round her. "Well, go on," I said, when at this point Scrymgeour stopped. " There is no more to tell," he replied ; "you MY LAD y NICOTINE. 27 1 see the girl allowed me to well, protect her and and the old gentleman thinks we are engaged." " I don't wonder. What does the lady say? " " She says that she ran along the bank and got into my house-boat by the plank, meaning to see me before her father arrived and to entreat me to run away." "With her?" "No, without her." " But what does she say about explaining mat- ters to her father ? " " She says she dare not, and as for me, I could not. That was why I telegraphed to you." " You want me to be intercessor ? No, Scrym- geour ; your only honorable course is marriage." "But you must help me. It is all your fault, teaching me to like the Arcadia Mixture." I thought this so impudent of Scrymgeour that I bade him good-night at once. All the men on the stair are still confident that he would have married her had the lady not cut the knot by elop- ing with Scrymgeour's double. CHAPTER XVIL THE ROMANCE OF A PIPE-CLEANEX. WE continued to visit the "Arcadia," though only one at a time now, and Gilray, who went most frequently, also remained longest. In other words, he was in love again, and this time she lived at Cookham. Harriot's love affairs I pushed from me with a wave of my pipe, but Gilray 's second case was serious. 272 MY LADY NICO TINE. In time, however, he returned to the Arcadia Mixture, though not until the house-boat was in its winter quarters. I witnessed his complete re- covery, the scene being his chambers. Really it is rather a pathetic story, and so I give the telling of it to a rose, which the lady once presented to Gilray. Conceive the rose lying, as I saw it, on Gilray's hearth-rug, and then imagine it whisper- ing as follows : "A wire was round me that white night on the river when she let him take me from her. Then I hated the wire. Alas ! hear the end. "My moments are numbered ; and if I would expose him with my dying sigh, I must not senti- mentalize over my own decay. They were in a punt, her hand trailing in the water, when I became his. When they parted that night at Cookham Lock he held her head in his hands, and they gazed in each other's eyes. Then he turned away quickly ; when he reached the punt again he was whistling. Several times before we came to the house-boat in which he and another man lived, he felt in his pocket to make sure thai; I was still there. At the house-boat he put me in a tumbler of water out of sight of his friend, and frequently he stole to the spot like a thief to look r.t me. Early next morning he put me in his button-hole, calling me sweet names. When his friend saw me, he too whistled, but not in the same way. Then my owner glared at him. This happened many months ago. "Next evening I was in a garden that slopes to the river. I was on his breast, and so for a moment was she. His voice was so soft and low as he said to her the words he had said to me the night before, that I slumbered in a dream. When My LAD Y NICO TINE. 273 I awoke suddenly he was raging at her, and she cried. I know not why they quarreled so quickly, but it was about some one whom he called 'that fellow,' while she called him a ' friend of papa's.' He looked at her for a long time again, and then said coldly that he wished her a very good-even- ing. She bowed and went toward a house, hum- ming a merry air, while he pretended to light a cigarette made from a tobacco of which he was very fond. Till very late that night I heard him walking up and down the deck of the house-boat, his friend shouting to him not to be an ass. Me he had flung fiercely on the floor of the house- boat. About midnight he came downstairs, his face white, and, snatching me up, put me in his pocket. Again we went into the punt, and he pushed it within sight of the garden. There he pulled in his pole and lay groaning in the punt, letting it drift, while he called her his beloved and a little devil. Suddenly he took me from his pocket, kissed me, and cast me down from him into the night. I fell among reeds, head down- ward ; and there I lay all through the cold, horrid night. The gray morning came at last, then the sun, and a boat now and again. I thought I had found my grave, when I saw his punt coming towaid the reeds. He searched everywhere for me, and at last he found me. So delighted and affectionate was he that I forgave him my suffer- ings, only I was jealous of a letter in his other pocket, which he read over many times, murmur- ing that it explained everything. " Her I never saw again, but I heard her voice. He kept me now in a leather case in an inner pocket, where I was squeezed very flat What they said to each other I could not catch ; but I 18 274 MY LAD Y NICOTINE. understood afterward, for he always repeated to me what he had been saying to her, and many times, he was loving, many times angry, like a bad man. At last came a day when he had a letter from her containing many things he had given her, among them a ring on which she had seemed to set great store. What it all meant I never rightly knew, but he flung the ring into the Thames, calling her all the old wicked names and some new ones. I remember how he rushed to her house, along the bank this time, and that she asked him to be her brother ; but he screamed denunciations at her, again speaking of ' that fellow,' and saying that he was going to-morrow to Manitoba. "So far as I know, they saw each other no more. He walked on the decks so much now that his friend went back to London, saying he could get no sleep. Sometimes we took long walks alone ; often we sat for hours looking at the river, for on those occasions he would take me out of the leather case and put me on his knee. One day his friend came back and told him that he would soon get over it, he himself having once had a similar experience ; but my master said no one had ever loved as he loved, and muttered 'Vixi, vixi' to himself till the other told him not to be a fool, but to come to the hotel and have something to eat. Over this they quarreled, my master hinting that he would eat no more ; but he eat heartily after his friend was gone. "After a time we left the house-boat, and were in chambers in a great inn. I was still in his pocket, and heard many conversations between him and people who came to see him, and he would tell them that he loathed the society of MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 275 women. When they told him, as one or two did, that they were in love, he always said that he had gone through that stage ages ago. Still, at nights he would take me out of my case, when he was alone, and look at me ; after which he walked up and down the room in an agitated man- ner and cried, ' Vixi.' "By and by he left me in a coat that he was no longer wearing. Before this he had always put me into whatever coat he h#d on. I lay neg- lected, I think, for a month, until one day he felt the pockets of the coat for something else, and pulled me out. I don't think he remembered what was in the leather case at first ; but as he looked at me his face filled with sentiment, and next day he took me with him to Cookham. The winter was come, and it was a cold day. There were no boats on the river. He walked up the bank to the garden where was the house in which she had lived ; but the place was now deserted. On the garden gate he sat down, taking me from his pocket ; and here, I think, he meant to recall the days that were dead. But a cold, piercing wind was blowing, and many times he looked at his watch, putting it to his ear as if he thought it had stopped. After a little he took to flinging stones into the water, for something to do ; and then he went to the hotel and stayed there till he got a train back to London. We were home many hours before he meant to be back, and that night he went to a theater. "That was my last day in the leather case. He keeps something else in it now. He flung me among old papers, smoking-caps, slippers, and other odds and ends into a box, where I have remained until to-night A month or more ago 276 MY LADY NICO TINE. he rummaged in the box for some old letters, and coming upon me unexpectedly, he jagged his finger on the wire. 'Where on earth did you come from ? he asked me. Then he remembered, and flung me back among the papers with a laugh. Now we come to to-night. An hour ago I heard him blowing down something, then stamp- ing his feet. From his words I knew that his pipe was stopped. I heard him ring a bell and ask angrily who had gone offwith his pipe-cleaners. He bustled through the room looking for them or for a substitute, and after a time he cried aloud, ' I have it ; that would do ; but where was it I saw the thing last ? ' He pulled out several drawers, looked through his desk, and then opened the box in which I lay. He tumbled its contents over until he found me, and then he pulled me out, exclaiming, ' Eureka ! ' My heart sunk, for I understood all as I fell leaf by leaf on the hearth- rug where I now lie. He took the wire off me and used it to clean his pipe. " CHAPTER XVIIL WHAT COULD HE DO? THIS was another of Harriot's perplexities of the heart. He had been on the Continent, and I knew from his face, the moment he returned, that I would have a night of him. " On the 4th of September," he began, playing agitatedly with my tobacco-pouch, which was not for hands like his, "I had walked from Spondinig to Franzenshohe, which is a Tyrolese MY LADY NICOTINE. 277 inn near the top of Stelvio Pass. From the inn to a very fine glacier is only a stroll of a few minutes ; but the path is broken by a roaring stream. The only bridge across this stream is a plank, which seemed to give way as I put my foot on it I drew back, for the stream would be called one long water-fall in England. Though a passionate admirer of courage, I easily lose my head myself, and I did not dare to venture across the plank. I walked up the stream, looking in vain for another crossing, and finally sat down on a wilderness of stones, from which I happened to have a good view of the plank. In parties of two and three a number of tourists strolled down the path ; but they were all afraid to cross the bridge. I saw them test it with their alpenstocks ; but none would put more than one foot on it. They gathered there at their wit's end. Suddenly I saw that there was some one on the plank. It was a young lady. I stood up and gazed. She was perhaps a hundred yards away from me ; but I could distinctly make out her swaying, girlish figure, her deer-stalker cap, and the ends of her boa (as, I think, those long, furry things are called) floating in the wind. In a moment she was safe on the other side ; but on the middle of the plank she had turned to kiss her hand to some of her more timid friends, and it was then that I fell in love with her. No doubt it was the very place for romance, if one was sufficiently clad ; but I am not 'susceptible,' as it is called, and I had never loved before. On the other hand, I was always a firm believer in love at first sight, which, as you will see immediately, is at the very root of my present sufferings. "The other tourists, their fears allayed, now 278 MY LADY NICO TINE. crossed the plank, but I hurried away anywhere ; and found myself an hour afterward on a hillside, surrounded by tinkling cows. All that time I had been thinking of a plank with a girl on it. I returned hastily to the inn, to hear that the hero- ine of the bridge and her friends had already driven off up the pass. My intention had been to stay at Franzenshohe over night, but of course I at once followed the line of carriages which could be seen crawling up the winding road. It was no difficult matter to overtake them, and in half an hour I was within a few yards of the hind- most carriage. It contained her of whom I was in pursuit Her back was toward me, but I rec- ognized the cap and the boa. I confess that I was nervous about her face, which I had not yet seen. So often had I been disappointed in ladies when they showed their faces, that I muttered Jimmy's aphorism to myself : ' The saddest thing in life is that most women look best from the back.' But when she looked round all anxiety was dispelled. So far as your advice is concerned, it cannot matter to you what she was like. Briefly, she was charming. "I am naturally shy, and so had more difficulty in making her acquaintance than many travelers would have had. It was at the baths of Bormio that we came together. I had bribed a waiter to seat me next her father at dinner; but, when the time came, I could say nothing to him, so anxious was I to create a favorable impression. In the evening, however, I found the family gathered round a pole, with skittles at the foot of it They were wondering how Italian skittles was played, and, though I had no idea, I volun- teered to teach them. Fortunately none of them MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 279 understood Italian, and consequently the ex- postulations of the boy in charge were disregarded. It is not my intention to dwell upon the never-to- be-forgotten days ah, and still more the evenings we spent at the baths of Bormio. I had loved her as she crossed the plank ; but daily now had I more cause to love her, and it was at Bormio that she learned I say it with all humility to love me. The seat in the garden on which I proposed is doubtless still to be seen, with the chair near it on which her papa was at that very moment sitting, with one of his feet on a small table. During the three sunny days that followed, my life was one delicious dream, with no sign that the awakening was at hand. "So far I had not mentioned the incident at Franzenshohe to her. Perhaps you will call my reticence contemptible ; but the fact is, I feared to fall in her esteem. I could not have spoken of the plank without admitting that I was afraid to cross it ; and then what would she, who was a heroine, think of a man who was so little of a hero? Thus, though I had told her many times that I fell in love with her at first sight, she thought I referred to the time when she first saw me. She liked to hear me say that I believed in no love but love at first sight ; and, looking back, I can recall saying it at least once on every seat in the garden at the baths of Bormio. "Do you know Tirano, a hamlet in a nest of vines, where Italian soldiers strut and women sleep in the sun beside baskets of fruit ? How happily we entered it ; were we the same persons who left it within an hour ? I was now traveling with her party ; and at Tirano, while the others rested, she and I walked down a road between 8o MY LADY WCOTlttR. vines and Indian corn. Why I should then have told her that I loved her for a whole day before she saw me I cannot tell. It may have been something she said, perhaps only an irresistible movement of her head ; for her grace was ever taking me by surprise, and she was a revelation a thousand times a day. But whatever it was that made me speak out, I suddenly told her that I fell in love with her as she stood upon the plank at Franzenshohe. I remember her stopping short at a point where there had probably once been a gate to the vineyard, and I thought she was angry with me for not having told her of the Franzenshohe incident before. Soon the pallor of her face alarmed me. She entreated me to say it was not at Franzenshohe that I first loved her, and I fancied she was afraid lest her behavior on the bridge had seemed a little bold. I told her it was divine, and pictured the scene as only an anxious lover could do. Then she burst into tears, and we went back silently to her relatives. She would not say a word to me. " We drove to Sondrio, and before we reached it I dare say I was as pale as she. A horrible thought had flashed upon me. At Sondrio I took her papa aside, and, without telling him what had happened, questioned him about his impressions of Franzenshohe. ' You remember the little bridge," he said, ' that we were all afraid to cross ; by Jove 1 I have often wondered who that girl was that ventured over it first.' "I hastened away from him to think. My fears had been confirmed It was not she who had first crossed the plank. Therefore it was not she with whom I had fallen in love. Nothing could be plainer than that I was in love with the MY LADY NICOTINE. a8l wrong person. All the time I had loved another. But who was she ? Besides, did I love her ? Certainly not. Yes, but why did I love this one ? The whole foundation of my love had been swept away. Yet the love remained. Which is absurd. "At Colico I put the difficulty to her father ; but he is stout, and did not understand its magnitude. He said he could not see how it mattered. As for her, I have never mentioned it to her again ; but she is always thinking of it, and so am I. A wall has risen up between us, and how to get over it or whether I have any right to get over it, I know not. Will you help me and her?" "Certainly not," I said. CHAPTER XIX. PRIMUS. PRIMUS is my brother's eldest son, and he once spent his Easter holidays with me. I did not want him, nor was he anxious to come, but circum- stances were too strong for us, and, to be just to Primus, he did his best to show me that I was not ''in his way. He was then at the age when boys begin to address each other by their surnames. I have said that I always took care not to know how much tobacco I smoked in a week, and there- fore I may be hinting a libel on Primus when I say that while he was with me the Arcadia dis- appeared mysteriously. Though he spoke re- spectfully of the Mixture as became my nephew he tumbled it on to the table, so that he might make a telephone out of the tins, and he had a passion for what he called "snipping cigars." 282 MY LADY NICOTINE. Scrymgeour gave him a cigar-cutter which was pistol-shaped. You put the cigar end in a hole, pull the trigger, and the cigar was snipped. The simplicity of the thing fascinated Primus, and after his return to school I found that he had broken into my Cabana boxes and snipped nearly three hundred cigars. As soon as he arrived Primus laid siege to the heart of William John, captured it in six hours, and demoralized it in twenty-four. We who had known William John for years, considered him very practical, but Primus fired him with tales of dark deeds at ' ' old Poppy's '' which was Primus's handy name for his preceptor and in a short time William John was so full of romance that we could not trust him to black our boots. He and Primus had a scheme for seizing a lugger and be- coming pirates, when Primus was to be captain, William John first lieutenant, and old Poppy a prisoner. To the crew was added a boy with a catapult,- one Johnny Fox, who was another victim of the tyrant Poppy, and they practiced walking the plank at Scrymgeour's window. The plank was pushed nearly half-way out at the window, and you walked up it until it toppled and you were flung into the quadrangle. Such was the romance of William John that he walked the plank with his arms tied, shoutingscornfully, by re- quest, "Captain Kidd, I defy you ! ha, ha ! the buc- caneer does not live who will blanch the cheeks of Dick, the Doughty Tar ! " Then William John disappeared, and had to be put in poultices. While William John was in bed slowly recover- ing from his heroism, the pirate captain and Johnny Fox got me into trouble by stretching a string across the square, six feet from the ground, MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 383 against which many tall hats struck, to topple in the dust. An improved sling from the Lowther Arcade kept the glazier constantly in the inn. Primus and Johnny Fox strolled into Holburn, knocked a bootblack's cap off, and returned with lumps on their foreheads. They were observed one day in Hyde Park whither it may be feared they had gone with cigarettes running after sheep from which ladies were flying, while street arabs chased the pirates, and a policeman chased the street arabs. The only book they read was the "Comic History of Rome," the property of Gilray. This they liked so much that Primus papered the inside of his box with pictures from it. The only authors they consulted me about were "two big swells " called Descartes and James Payn, of whom Primus discovered that the one could always work best in bed, while the other thought Latin and Greek a mistake. It was the intention of the pirates to call old Poppy's attention to these gen- tlemen's views. Soon after Primus came to me I learned that his school-master had given him a holiday task. All the ' ' fellows" in his form had to write an essay entitled "My Holidays, and How I Turned Them to Account," and to send it to their pre- ceptor. Primus troubled his head little about the task while the composition of it was yet afar off ; but as his time drew near he referred to it with indignation, and to his master's action in pre- scribing it as a "low trick." He frightened the housekeeper into tears by saying that he would not write a line of the task, and, what was more, he would "cheek" his master for imposing it-, and I also heard that he and Johnny had some thought of writing the essay in a form suggested 384 *Y LA&Y NICOTINE. by their perusal of the " Comic History of Rome." One day I found a paper in my cham- bers which told me that the task was nevertheless receiving 1 serious consideration. It was the in- structions given by Primus's master with regard to the essay, which was to be "in the form of a letter," and " not less than five hundred words in length." The writer, it was suggested, should give a general sketch of how he was passing his time, what books he was reading, and "how he was making the home brighter." I did not know that Primus had risen equal to the occasion until one day after his departure, when I received his epistle from the school-master, who wanted me to say whether it was a true statement. Here is Primus's essay on his holidays and how he made the home brighter : " RESPECTED SIR, I venture to address you on a subject of jeneral interest to all engaged in education, and the subject I venture to address you on is, 'My Hollidays and How I Turned Them to Account.' Three weeks and two days has now elapsed since I quitted your scholastic establishment, and I quitted your scholastic es- tablishment with tears in my eyes, it being the one of all the scholastic establishments I have been at that I loved to reside in, and everybody was of an amiable disposition. Hollidays is good for making us renew our studdies with redoubled vigor, the mussels needing to be invigorated, and I have not overworked mind and body in my hollidays. I found my uncle well, and drove in a handsome to the door, and he thought I was much improved both in appearance and manners ; and I said it was jew to the loving care of my MY LADY NICOTINE. teacher making improvement in appearance and manners a pleasure to the youth of England. My uncle was partiklarly pleased with the im- provement I had made, not only in my appear- ance and manners, but also in my studies ; and I told him Casear was the Latin writer I liked best, and quoted 'veni, vidi, vici/ and some others which I regret I cannot mind at present. With your kind permission I should like to write you a line about how I spend my days during the holli- days ; and my first way of spending my days during the hollidays is whatsoever my hands find to do doing it with all my might ; also setting my face nobly against hurting the fealings of others, and minding to say, before I go to sleep, ' Something attempted, something done, to earn a night's repose,' as advised by you, my esteemed communicant. I spend my days during the holli- days getting up early, so as to be down in time for breakfast, and not to give no trouble. At breakfast I behave like a model, so as to set a good example ; and then I go out for a walk with my esteemed young friend, John Fox, whom I chose carefully for a friend, fearing to corrupt my morals by holding communications with rude boys. TheJ. Fox whom I mentioned is esteemed by all who knows him as of a unusually gentle disposition ; and you know him, respected sir, yourself, he being in my form, and best known in regretble slang as ' Foxy.' We walks in Hyde Park admiring the works of nature, and keeps up our classics when we see a tree by calling it 'arbor* and then going through the declensions ; but we never climbs trees for fear of messing the clothes bestowed upon us by our beloved parents in the sweat of their brow ; and we scorns to fling 286 MY LADY NICO TINE. stones at the beautiful warblers which fill the atmosfere with music. In the afternoons I spend my days during the hollidays talking with the housekeeper about the things she understands, like not taking off my flannels till June 15, and also praising the matron at the school for seeing about the socks. In the evening I devote myself to whatever good cause I can think of ; and I always take off my boots and put on my slippers, so as not to soil the carpet. I should like, re- spected sir, to inform you of the books I read when my duties does not call me elsewhere ; and the books I read are the works of William Shakespeare, John Milton, Albert Tennyson, and Francis Bacon. Me and John Fox also reads the ' History of Rome,' so as to prime ourselves with the greatness of the past ; and we hopes the glori- ous examples of Romulus and Remus, but espe- cially Hannibal, will sink into our minds to spur us along. I am desirous to acquaint you with the way I make my uncle's home brighter ; but the 500 words is up. So looking forward eagerly to resume my studdies, I am, respected sir, your dilligent pupil." CHAPTER XX PRIMUS TO HIS UNCLE. THOUGH we all pretended to be glad when Primus went, we spoke of him briefly at times, and I read his letters aloud at our evening meet- ings. Here is a series of them from my desk. Primus was now a year and a half older, and hi spelling had improved. MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 287 I. November i6/h. DEAR UNCLE, Though I have not written to you for a long time I often think about you and Mr. Gilray and the rest and the Arcadia Mixture, and I beg to state that my mother will have in- formed you I am well and happy but a little over- worked, as I am desirous of pleasing my preceptor by obtaining a credible position in the exams, and we breakfast at 7 : 30 sharp. I suppose you are to give me a six-shilling thing again as a Christmas present, so I drop you a line not to buy something I don't want, as it is only thirty-nine days to Christmas. I think I'll have a book again, but not a fairy tale or any of that sort, nor the "Swiss Family Robinson," nor any of the old books. There is a rattling story called "Kid- napped," by H. Rider Haggard, but it is only five shillings, so if you thought of it you could make up the six shillings by giving me a football belt. Last year you gave me "The Formation of Char- acter," and I read it with great mental improve- ment and all that, but this time I want a change, namely, (i) not a fairy tale, (2) not an old book, (3) not mental improvement book. Don't fix on anything without telling me first what it is. Tell William John I walked into Darky and settled him in three rounds. Best regards to Mr. Gilray and the others. IL November iqth. DEAR UNCLE, Our preceptor is against us writ- ing letters he doesn't see, so I have to carry the paper to the dormitory up my waistcoat and write there, and I wish old Poppy smoked the Arcadia *8S MY LADY tfZCOTWE. Mixture to make him more like you. Never mind about the football belt, as I got Johnny Fox's for two white mice ; so I don't want " Kidnapped," which I wrote about to you, as I want you to stick to six-shilling book. There is one called "Dead Man's Rock" that Dickson Secundus has heard about, and it sounds well ; but it is never safe to go by the name, so don't buy it till I hear more about it If you see biographies of it in the newspapers you might send them to me, as it should be about pirates by the title, but the author does not give his name, which is rather suspi- cious. So, remember, don't buy it yet, and also find out price, whether illustrated, and how many pages. Ballantyne's story this year is about the fire-brigade ; but I don't think I'll have it, as he is getting rather informative, and I have one of his about the fire-brigade already. Of course I don't fix not to have it, only don't buy it at present Don't buy " Dead Man's Rock " either. I am working diligently, and tell the housekeeper my socks is all right We may fix on "Dead Man's Rock," but it is best not to be in a hurry. in. November 24/h. DEAR UNCLE, I don't think I'll have "Dead Man's Rock," as Hope lias two stories out this year, and he is a safe man to go to. The worst of it is that they arethree-and-six each, and Dick- son Secundus says they are continuations of each other, so it is best to have them both or neither. The two at three-and-six would make seven shil- lings, and I wonder if you would care to go that length this year. I am getting on first rate with IfY LAD Y NICOTINE. 189 my Greek, and will do capital if my health does not break down with over-pressure. Perhaps if you bought the two you would get them for 6s. 6d. Or what do you say to the houskeeper's giving me a shilling of it, and not sending the neckties ? IV. November z6th. DEAR UNCLE, I was disappointed at not hear- ing from you this morning, but conclude you are very busy. I don't want Hope's books, but I think I'll rather have a football. We played Glou- cester on Tuesday and beat them all to sticks (five goals two tries to one try ! ! !). It would cost 75. 6d., and I'll make up the one-and-six myself out of my pocket-money ; but you can pay it all just now, and then I'll pay you later when I am more flush than I am at present. I'd better buy it myself, or you might not get the right kind, so you might send the money in a postal order by return. You get the postal orders at the nearest post-office, and inclose them in a letter. I want the football at once, (i) Not a book of any kind whatever; (2) a football, but I'll buy it myself; (3) price 75. 6d. ; (4) send postal order. v. November DEAR UNCLE, Kindly inform William John that I am in receipt of his favor of yesterday prox., and also your message, saying am I sure it is a foot- ball I want. I have to inform you that I have changed my mind and think I'll stick to a book (or two books according to price), after all Dick- '9 ago MY LADY NICOTINE. son Secundus has seen a newspaper biography of "Dead Man's Rock" and it is ripping, but un- fortunately, there is a lot 'in it about a girl. So don't buy "Dead Man's Rock" forme. I told Fox about Hope's two books and he advises me to get one of them (35. 6d.), and to take the rest of the money (zs. 6d.) in cash, making in all six shillings. I don't know if I should like that plan, though fair to both parties, as Dickson Secundus once took money from his father instead of a book and it went like winking with nothing left to show for it ; but I'll think it over between my scholastic tasks and write to you again, so do nothing till you hear from me, and mind I don't want football. VI. December $d. DEAR UNCLE, Don't buy Hope's books. There is a grand story out by Jules Verne about a man who made a machine that enabled him to walk on his head through space with seventy-five illus- trations ; but the worst of it is that it costs half a guinea. Of course I don't ask you to give so much as that ; but it is a pity it costs so much, as it is evidently a ripping book, and nothing like it. Ten-and-six is a lot of money. What do you think ? I inclose for your consideration a news- paper account of it, which says it will fire the imagination and teach boys to be manly and self- reliant. Of course you could not give it to me ; but I think it would do me good, and am work- ing so hard that I have no time for physical exer- cise. It is to be got at all book-sellers. P. S.- Fox has read "Dead Man's Rock," and likes it A I. MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 29 1 VIL December 4/k. DEAR UNCLE, I was thinking about Jules Verne's book last night after I went to bed, and I see a way of getting it which both Dickson Secundus and Fox consider fair. I want you to give it to me as my Christmas present for both this year and next year. Thus I won't want a present from you next Christmas ; but I don't mind that so long as I get this book. One six- shilling book this year and another next year would come to I2S. , and Jules Verne's book is only IDS. 6d., so this plan will save you is. 6d. in the long run. I think you should buy it at once, in case they are all sold out before Christmas. VIII. December ^th. MY DEAR UNCLE, I hope you hav'n't bought the book yet, as Dickson Secundus has found out that there is a shop in the Strand where all the books are sold cheap. You get threepence off every shilling, so you would get a ten-and-six book for ys. io^d. That will let you get me a cheapish one next year, after all. I inclose the address. IX. December fth. DEAR UNCLE, Dickson Secundus was looking to-day at "The Formation of Character," which you gave me last year, and he has found out that it was bought in the shop in the Strand that I wrote you about, so you got it for 4s. 6d. We have been looking up the books I got from you at other Christmases, and they all have the stamp on 292 MY LADY NICOTINE. them which shows they were bought at that shop. Some of them I got when I was a kid, and that was the time you gave me 23. and $s. 6d. books ; but Dickson Secundus and Fox have been helping me to count up how much you owe me, as follows : Nominal Price, f.. s. d. Price Paid. t. J. 1880 1881 1882 1883 1884 1885 1886 " Sunshine and Shadow " o 2 2 3 3 3 o o 6 6 6 o o I I 2 2 3 4 6 6 f " Honesty Jack " " The Boy Makes the Man "... " Great Explorers " . " Shooting the Rapids " " The Formation of Character ". i o 5 *9 6 J 9 1)1 o 6 4# Thus 6s. 4j^d. is the exact sum. The best plan will be for you not to buy anything for me till I get my holidays, when my father is to bring me to London. Tell William John I am coming. P. S. I told my father about the Arcadia Mix- ture, and that is why he is coming to London. CHAPTER XXI. ENGLISH-GROWN TOBACCO. PETTIGREW asked me to come to his house one evening and test some tobacco that had been grown in his brother's Devonshire garden. I had so far had no opportunity of judging for myself whether this attempt to grow tobacco on English M Y LAD Y NICOTIXB. 293 soil was to succeed. Very complimentary was Pettigrew's assertion that he had restrained him- self from trying the tobacco until we could test it in company. At the dinner-table while Mrs. Pet- tigrew was present we managed to talk for a time of other matters ; but the tobacco was on our minds, and I was glad to see that, despite her raillery, my hostess had a genuine interest in the coming experiment. She drew an amusing pict- ure, no doubt a little exaggerated, of her husband's difficulty in refraining from testing the tobacco until my arrival, declaring that every time she entered the smoking-room she found him staring at it. Pettigrew took this in good part, and in- formed me that she had carried the tobacco sev- eral times into the drawing-room to show it proudly to her friends. He was very delighted, he said, that I was to remain over night, as that would give us a long even-'ag to test the tobacco thoroughly. A neighbor of hie had also been ex- perimenting ; and Pettigrew, who has a consider- erable sense of humor, told me a diverting story about this gentleman and his friends having passed judgment on home-grown tobacco after smoking one pipe of it ! We were laughing over the ridiculously unsatisfactory character of this test (so-called) when we adjourned to the smoking- room. Before we did so Mrs. Pettigrew bade me good-night. She had also left strict orders with the servants that we were on no account to be disturbed. As soon as we were comfortably seated in our smoking-chairs, which takes longer than some people think, Pettigrew offered me a Cabana. I would have preferred to begin at once with the tobacco ; but of course he was my host, and I 294 MY LADY MICGTINE, put myself entirely in his hands. I noticed that, from the moment his wife left us, he was a little excited, talking more than is his wont. He seemed to think that he was not doing his duty as a host if the conversation flagged for a moment, and what was still more curious, he spoke of everything except his garden tobacco. I em- phasize this here at starting, lest any one should think that I was in any way responsible for the manner in which our experiment was conducted. If fault there was, it lies at Pettigrew's door. I remember distinctly asking him not in a half- hearted way, but boldly to produce his tobacco. I did this at an early hour of the proceedings, immediately after I had lighted a second cigar. The reason I took that cigar will be obvious to every gentleman who smokes. Had I declined it, Pettigrew might have 'thought that I disliked the brand, which would have been painful to 'him. However, he did not at once bring out the to- bacco ; indeed, his precise words, I remember, were that we had lots of time. As his guest I could not press him further. Pettigrew smokes more quickly than I do, and he had reached the end of his second cigar when there was still five minutes of mine left. It dis- tresses me to have to say what followed. He hastily lighted a third cigar, and then, unlock- ing a cupboard, produced about two ounces of his garden tobacco. His object was only too plain. Having just begun a third cigar he could nor be expected to try the tobacco at present, but there was nothing to prevent my trying it. I regarded Pettigrew rather contemptuously, and then I looked with much interest at the tobacco. It was of an inky color. When I looked up I MY LADY NICOTINE. 295 caught Pettigrew's eye on me. He withdrew it hurriedly, but soon afterward I saw him looking in the same sly way again. There was a rather painful silence for a time, and then he asked me if I had anything to say. I replied firmly that I was looking forward to trying the tobacco with very great interest. By this time my cigar was reduced to a stump, but, for reasons that Petti- grew misunderstood, I continued to smoke it. Somehow our chairs had got out of position now, and we were sitting with our backs to each other. I felt that Pettigrew was looking at me covertly over his shoulder, and took a side glance to make sure of this. Our eyes met, and I bit my lip. If there is one thing I loathe, it is to be looked at in this shame-faced manner. I continued to smoke the stump of my cigar until it scorched my under-lip, and at intervals Pettigrew said, without looking round, that my cigar seemed everlasting. I treated his innuendo with contempt ; but at last I had to let the cigar- end go. Not to make a fuss, I dropped it very quietly ; but Pettigrew must have been listening for the sound. He wheeled round at once, and pushed the garden tobacco toward me. Never, perhaps, have I thought so little of him as at that moment. My indignation probably showed in my face, for he drew back, saying that he thought I "wanted to try it." Now I had never said that I did not want to try it. The reader has seen that I went to Pettigrew's house solely with the ob- ject of trying the tobacco. Had Pettigrew, then, any ground for insinuating that I did not mean to try it ? Restraining my passion, I lighted a third cigar, and then put the question to him bluntly. Pid he, or did he not, mean to try that tobacco? 296 MY LAD Y NICOTItfE. I dare say I was a little brusque ; but it must be remembered that I had come all the way from the inn, at considerable inconvenience, to give the tobacco a thorough trial. As is the way with men of Pettigrew's type, when you corner them, he attempted to put the blame on me. "Why had I not tried the to- bacco," he asked, "instead of taking a third cigar ? " For reply, I asked bitingly if that was not his third cigar. He admitted it was, but said that he smoked more quickly than I did, as if that put his behavior in a more favorable light. I smoked my third cigar very slowly, not be- cause I wanted to put off the experiment ; for, as every one must have noted, I was most anx- ious to try it, but just to see what would happen. When Pettigrew had finished his cigar and I thought he would never be done with it he gazed at the garden tobacco for a time, and then took a pipe from the mantelpiece. He held it first in one hand, then in the other, and then he brightened up and said he would clean his pipes. This he did very slowly. When he had cleaned all his pipes he again looked at the garden to- bacco, which I pushed toward him. He glared at me as if I had not been doing a friendly thing, and then said, in an apologetic manner, that he would smoke a pipe until my cigar was finished. I said "All right " cordially, thinking that he now meant to begin the experiment ; but conceive my feelings when he produced a jar of the Ar- cadia Mixture. He filled his pipe with this and proceeded to light it, looking at me defiantly. His excuse about waiting till I had finished was too pitiful to take notice of. I finished my cigar in a few minutes, and now was the time when I MY LAD y NICOTINE. 297 would have liked to begin the experiment. As Pettigrew's guest, however, I could not take that liberty, though he impudently pushed the garden tobacco toward me. I produced my pipe, my intention being only to half fill it with Arcadia, so that Pettigrew and I might finish our pipes at the same time. Custom, however, got the better of me, and inadvertently I filled my pipe, only noticing this when it was too late to remedy the mistake. Pettigrew thus finished before me ; and though I advised him to begin on the garden to- bacco without waiting for me, he insisted on smoking half a pipeful of Arcadia, just to keep me company. It was an extraordinary thing that, try as we might, we could not finish our pipes at the same time. About 2 A. M. Pettigrew said something about going to bed ; and I rose and put down my pipe. We stood looking at the fireplace for a time, and he expressed regret that I had to leave so early in the morning. Then he put out two of the lights, and after that we both looked at the garden to- bacco. He seemed to have a sudden idea; for rather briskly he tied the tobacco up into a neat paper parcel and handed it to me, saying that I would perhaps give it a trial at the inn. I took it without a word, but opening my hand suddenly I let it fall. My first impulse was to pick it up ; but then it struck me that Pettigrew had not no- ticed what had happened, and that, were he to see me pick it up, he might think that I had not taken sufficient care of it. So I let it lie, and, bidding him good-night, went off to bed. I was at the foot of the stair when I thought that, after all, I should like the tobacco, so I returned. I could not see the package anywhere, but some- 298 MY LADY NICOTINE. thing was fizzing up the chimney, and Pettigrew had the tongs in his hand. He muttered some- thing about his wife taking up wrong notions. Next morning that lady was very satirical about our having smoked the whole two ounces. CHAPTER XXII. HOW HEROES SMOKE. ON a tiger-skin from the ice-clad regions of the sunless north, recline the heroes of Ouida, rose- scented cigars in their mouths ; themselves glori- ously indolent and disdainful, but, perhaps, hud- dled a little too closely together on account of the limited accommodation. Strathmore is here. But I never felt sure of Strathmore. Was there not less in him than met the eye ? His place, Whiteladies, was a home for kings and queens ; but he was not the luxurious, magnanimous creat- ure he feigned to be. A host may be known by the cigars he keeps ; and, though it is perhaps a startling thing to say, we have good reason for believing that Strathmore did not buy good cigars. I question very much whether he had many Ha- vanas, even of the second quality, at Whiteladies ; if he had, he certainly kept them locked up. Only once does he so much as refer to them when at his own place, and then in the most general and suspicious way. "Bah!" he ex- claims to a friend ; "there is Phil smoking these wretched musk-scented cigarettes again ! they are only fit for Lady Georgie or Eulalie Papellori. What taste, when there are my Havanas and MY LADY NICOTINE. 299 cheroots ! " The remark, in whatever way con- sidered, is suggestive. In the first place, it is made late in the evening, after Strathmore and his friend have left the smoking-room. Thus it is a safe observation. I would not go so far as to say that he had no Havanas in the house ; the likelihood is that he had a few in his cigar-case, kept there for show rather than use. These, if I understand the man, would be a good brand, but of small size perhaps Reinas and they would hardly be of a well-known crop. In color they would be dark say maduro and he would ex- plain that he bought them because he liked full- flavored weeds. Possibly he had a Villar y Vil- lar box with six or eight in the bottom of it ; but boxes are not cigars. What he did provide his friends with was Manillas. He smoked them himself, and how careful he was of them is seen on every other page. He is constantly stopping in the middle of his conversation to "curl a loose leaf round his Manilla;" when one would have expected a hero like Strathmore to fling away a cigar when its leaves began to untwist, and light another. So thrifty is Strathmore that he even laboriously ' ' curls the leaves round his cigarettes " he does not so much as pretend that they are Egyptian ; nay, even when quarreling with Errol his beloved friend (whom he shoots through the heart), he takes a cigarette from his mouth and " winds a loosened leaf" round it. If Strathmore's Manillas were Captain Generals they would cost him about 245. a hundred. The probability, however, is that they were of inferior quality; say, iys. 6d. It need hardly be said that a good Manilla does not constantly require to have its leaves "curled." When Errol goes 300 MY LADY NICOTINE. into the garden to smoke, he has every other minute to "strike a fusee ; " from which it may be inferred that his cigar frequently goes out. This is in itself suspicious. Errol, too, is more than once seen by his host wandering in the f rounds at night, with a cigar between his teeth, trathmore thinks his susceptible friend has a love affair on hand ; but is it not at least as probable an explanation that Errol had a private supply of cigars at Whiteladies, and from motives of delicacy did not like to smoke them in his host s presence? Once, indeed, we do see Strath- more smoking a good cigar, though we are not told how he came by it. When talking of the Vavasour, he "sticks his penknife through his Cabana," with the object, obviously, of smoking it to the bitter end. Another lady novelist, who is also an authority on tobacco, Miss Rhoda Broughton, contemptuously dismisses a claimant for the heroship of one of her stories, as the kind of man who turns up his trousers at the foot. It would have been just as withering to say that he stuck a penknife through his cigars. There is another true hero with me, whose creator has unintentionally misrepresented him. It is he of "Comin' thro' the Rye," a gentleman whom the maidens of the nineteenth century will not willingly let die. He is grr.r.f!. no doubt ; and yet, the more one thinks about him, the plainer it becomes that had the heroine married him she would have been bitterly disenchanted. In her company he was magnanimous, god-like, prodi- gal ; but in his smoking-room he showed himself in his true colors. Every lady will remember the scene where he rushes to the aeroine's home and implores her to return with him to the bedside of MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 301 his dying wife. The sudden announcement that his wife whom he had thought in a good state of health is dying, is surely enough to startle even a miser out of his niggardliness, much less a hero; and yet what do we find Vasher doing? The heroine, in frantic excitement, has to pass through his smoking-room, and on the table she sees what? " A half-smoked cigar." He was in the middle of it when a servant came to tell him of his wife's dying request ; and, before hasten- ing to execute her wishes, he carefully laid what was left of his cigar upon the table meaning of course, to relight it when he came back. Though she did not think so, our heroine's father was a much more remarkable man than Vasher. He "blew out long, comfortable clouds " that made the whole of his large family "cough and wink again." No ordinary father could do that. Among my smoking-room favorites is the hero of Miss Adeline Sergeant's story, "Touch and Go." He is a war correspondent ; and when he sees a body of the enemy bearing down upon him and *he wounded officer whom he has sought to save, he imperturbably offers his com- panion a cigar. They calmly smoke on while the foe gallop up. There is something grand in this, even though the kind of cigar is not men- tioned. I see a bearded hero, with slouch hat and shepherd's crook, a clay pipe in his mouth. He is a Bohemian ever a popular type of hero ; and the Bohemian is to be known all the world over by the pipe, which he prefers to a cigar. The tall, scornful gentleman who leans lazily against the door, "blowing great clouds of smoke into the air," is the hero of a hundred novels. That 302 MY LAD Y NICOTINE. is how he is always standing when the heroine, having need of something she has left in the draw- ing-room, glides down the stairs at night in her dressing-gown (her beautiful hair, released from its ribbons, streaming down her neck and shoulders), and comes most unexpectedly upon him. He is young. The senior, over whose face "a smile flickers for a moment " when the heroine says something naive, and whom she (entirely mis- understanding her feelings) thinks she hates, smokes unostentatiously ; but though a little in- clined to quiet " chaff," he is a man of deep feel- ing. By and by he will open out and gather her up in his arms. The scorner's chair is filled. I see him, shadow-like, a sad-eyed, blast gentleman, who has been adored by all the beauties of fifteen seasons, and yet speaks of woman with a con- temptuous sneer. Great, however, is love ; and the vulgar little girl who talks slang will prove to him in our next volume that there is still one peerless beyond all others of her sex. Ah, a wondrous thing is love ! On every side of me there are dark, handsome men, with something sinister in their smile, " casting away their cigars with a muffled curse." No novel would be com- plete without them. When they are foiled by the brave girl of the narrative, it is the recognized course with them to fling away their cigars with a muffled curse. Any kind of curse would do, but muffled ones are preferred. MY LAD Y NICO TINE. 303 CHAPTER XXIII. THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS-EVE. A FEW years ago, as some may remember, a startling ghost paper appeared in the monthly organ of the Society for Haunting Houses. The writer guaranteed the truth of his statement, and even gave the name of the Yorkshire manor house in which the affair took place. The article and the discussion to which it gave rise agitate?! me a good deal, and I consulted Pettigrew about the advisability of clearing up the mystery. The writer wrote that he " distinctly saw his arm pass through the apparition and come out at the other side," and indeed I still remember his saying so next morning. He had a scared face, but I had presence of mind to continue eating my rolls and marmalade as if my brier had nothing to do with the miraculous affair. Seeing that he made a " paper" of it, I suppose he is justified in touching up the incidental details. He says, for instance, that we were told the story of the ghost which is said to haunt the house just before going to bed. As far as I remember, it was only mentioned at luncheon, and then skeptically. Instead of there being snow falling outside and an eerie wind wailing through the skeleton trees, the night was still muggy. Lastly, I did not know, until the journal reached my hands, that he was put into the room known as the Haunted Chamber, nor that in that room the fire is noted for casting weird shadows upon the walls. This, however, may be so. The legend of the 304 MY LADY NICO TINE. manor house ghost he tells precisely as it is known to me. The tragedy dates back to the time of Charles I., and is led up to by a pathetic love story, which I need not give. Suffice it that for seven days and nights the old steward had been anxiously awaiting the return of his young master and mistress from their honeymoon. On Christmas-eve, after he had gone to bed, there was a great clanging of the door-bell. Flinging on a dressing-gown, he hastened downstairs. According to the story, a number of servants watched him, and saw by the light of his candle that his face was an ashy white. He took off the chains of the door, unbolted it, and pulled it open. What he saw no human being knows ; but it must have been something awful, for, without a cry, the old steward fell dead in the hall. Perhaps the strangest part of the story is this : that the shadow of a burly man, holding a pistol in his hand, entered by the open door, stepped over the steward's body, and, gliding up the stairs, dis- appeared, no one could say where. Such is the legend. I shall not tell the many ingenious ex- planations of it that have been offered. Every Christmas-eve, however, the silent scene is said to be gone through again ; and tradition declares that no person lives for twelve months at whom the ghostly intruder points his pistol. On Christmas day the gentleman who tells the tale in a scientific journal created some sensation at the breakfast-table by solemnly asserting that he had seen the ghost. Most of the men present scouted his story, which may be condensed into a few words. He had retired to his bedroom at a fairly early hour, and as he opened fie door his candle-light was blown out. He tried to get a M Y LAD Y NICO TINE. 305 light from the fire, but it was too low, and event- ually he went to bed in the semi-darkness. He was wakened he did not know at what hour by the clanging of a bell. He sat up in bed, and the ghost story came in a rush to his mind. His fire was dead, and the room was consequently dark ; yet by and by he knew, though he heard no sound, that his door had opened. He cried out, "Who is that ?" but got no answer. By an effort he jumped up and went to the door, which was ajar. His bedroom was on the first floor, and looking up the stairs he could see nothing. He felt a cold sensation at his heart, however, when he looked the other way. Going slowly and without a sound down the stairs, was an old man in a dressing-gown. He carried a candle. From the top of the stairs only part of the hall is visible, but as the apparition disappeared the watcher had the courage to go down a few steps after him. At first nothing was to be seen, for the candle-light had vanished. A dim light, however, entered by the long, narrow windows which flank the hall door, and after a moment the on-looker could see that the hall was empty. He was mar- veling at this sudden disappearance of the steward, when, to his horror, he saw a body fall upon the hall door within a few feet of the door. The watcher cannot say whether he cried out, nor how long he stood there trembling. He came to him- self with a start as he realized that something was coming up the stairs. Fear prevented his taking flight, and in a moment the thing was at his side. Then he saw indistinctly that it was not the figure he had seen descend. He saw a younger man, in a heavy overcoat, but with no hat on his head. He wore on his face a look of extravagant triumph. 20 306 MY LADY NICOTINE. The guest boldly put out his hand toward the figure. To his amazement his arm went through it. The ghost paused for a moment and looked behind it. It was then the watcher realized that it carried a pistol in its right hand. He was by this time in a highly strung condition, and he stood trembling lest the pistol should be pointed at him. The apparition, however, rapidly glided up the stairs and was soon lost to sight. Such are the main facts of the story, none of which I contradicted at the time. I cannot say absolutely that I can clear up this mystery, but my suspicions are confirmed by a good deal of circumstantial evidence. This will not be understood unless I explain my strange infirmity. Wherever I went I used to be troubled with a presentiment that I had left my pipe behind. Often, even at the dinner-table, I paused in the middle of a sentence as if stricken with sudden pain. Then my hand went down to my pocket. Sometimes, even after I felt my pipe, I had a con- viction that it was stopped, and only by a des- perate effort did I keep myself from producing it and blowing down it. I distinctly remember once dreaming three nights in succession that I was on the Scotch express without it. More than once, I know, I have wandered in my sleep, look- ing for it in all sorts of places, and after I went to bed I generally jumped out, just to make sure of it. My strong belief, then, is that I was the ghost seen by the writer of the paper. I fancy that I rose in my sleep, lighted a candle, and wandered down to the hall to feel if my pipe was safe in my coat, which was hanging there. The light had gone out when I was in the hall. Probably the body seen to fall on the hall floor MY LADY NIC '0 TINE. 37 was some other coat which I had flung there to get more easily at my own. I cannot account for the bell ; but perhaps the gentleman in the Haunted Chamber dreamed that part of the affair. I had put on the overcoat before reascending ; in- deed, I may say that next morning I was sur- prised to find it on a chair in my bedroom, also to notice that there were several long streaks of candle-grease on my dressing-gown. I conclude that the pistol, which gave my face such a look of triumph, was my brier, which I found in the morning beneath my pillow. The strangest thing of all, perhaps, is that when I awoke there was a smell of tobacco smoke in the bedroom. CHAPTER XXIV. NOT THE ARCADIA. THOSE who do not know the Arcadia may have a mixture that their uneducated palate loves, but they are always ready to try other mixtures. The Arcadian, however, will never help himself from an outsider's pouch. Nevertheless, there was one black week when we all smoked the ordinary to- baccoes. Owing to a terrible oversight on the part of our purveyor, there was no Arcadia to smoke. We ought to have put our pipes aside and existed on cigars ; but the pipes were old friends, and desert them we could not. Each of us bought a different mixture, but they tasted alike and were equally abominable. I fell ill. Doctor South- wick, knowing no better, called my malady by a learned name, but I knew to what I owed it. 308 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. Never shall I forget my delight when Jemmy broke into my room one day with a pound tin of the Arcadia. Weak though I was, I opened my window, and seizing the half-empty packet of tobacco that had made me ill, hurled it into the street. The tobacco scattered before it fell, but I sat at the window gloating over the packet, which lay, a dirty scrap of paper, where every cab might pass over it. What I call the street is more strictly a square, for my windows were at the back of the inn, and their view was somewhat plebeian. The square is the meeting-place of five streets, and at the corner of each the paper was caught up in a draught that bore it along to the next. Here, it may be thought, I gladly forgot the cause of my troubles, but I really watched the paper for days. My doctor came in while I was still staring at it, and instead of prescribing more medicine, he made a bet with me. It was that the scrap of paper would disappear before the dissolution of the government. I said it would be fluttering around after the government was dissolved, and if I lost, the doctor was to get a new stethoscope. If I won, my bill was to be accounted discharged. Thus, strange as it seemed, I had now cause to take a friendly in- terest in paper that I had previously loathed. Formerly the sight of it made me miserable ; now I dreaded losing it. But I looked for it when I rose in the morning, and I could tell at once by its appearance what kind of night it had passed. Nay, more : I believed I was able to decide how the wind had been since sundown, whether there had been much traffic, and if the fire-engine had been out. There is a fire-station within view of he windows, and the paper had a specially \ MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 309 crushed appearance, as if the heavy engine ran over it However, though I felt certain that I could pick my scrap of paper out of a thousand scraps, the doctor insisted on making sure. The bet was consigned to writing on the very piece of paper that suggested it. The doctor went out and captured it himself. On the back of it the conditions of the wager were formally drawn up and signed by both of us. Then we opened the window and the paper was cast forth again. The doctor solemnly promised not to interfere with it, and I gave him a convalescent' sword of honor to report progress honestly. Several days elapsed, and I no longer found time heavy on my hands. My attention was divided between two papers, the scrap in the square and my daily copy of the "Times." Any morning the one might tell me that I had lost my bet, or the other that I had won it ; and I hurried to the window fearing that the paper had migrated to another square, and hoping my ' ' Times " might contain the information that the government was out. I felt that neither could last very much longer. It was remarkable how much my interest in pol- itics had increased since I made this wager. The doctor, I believe, relied chiefly on the scavengers. He thought they were sure to pounce upon the scrap soon. I did not, however, see why I should fear them. They came into the square so seldom, and stayed so short a time when they did come, that I disregarded them. If the doctor knew how much they kept away he might say I bribed them. But perhaps he knew their ways. I got a fright one day from a dog. It was one of those low-looking animals that infest the square occasionally in half dozens, but seldom 3 1 MY LADY NICO TINE. alone. It ran up one of the side streets, and be- fore I realized what had happened it had the paper in its mouth. Then it stood still and looked around. For me that was indeed a trying mo- ment. I stood at the window. The impulse seized me to fling open the sash and shake my fist at the brute ; but luckily I re- membered in time my promise to the doctor. I question if man was ever so interested in mongrel before. At one of the street corners there was a house to let, being meantime, as I had reason to believe, in the care of the wife of a police con- stable. A cat was often to be seen coming up from the area to lounge in the doorway. To that cat I firmly believe I owe it that I did not then lose my wager. Faithful animal ! it came up to the door, it stretched itself ; in the act of doing so it caught sight of the dog, and put up its back. The dog, resenting this demonstration of feeling, dropped the scrap of paper and made for the cat. I sunk back into my chair. There was a greater disaster to be recorded next day. A working-man in the square, looking about him for a pipe-light, espied the paper frisk- ing near the curb-stone. He picked it up with the obvious intention of lighting it at the stove of a wandering vender of hot chestnuts who had just crossed the square. The working-man fol- lowed, twisting the paper as he went, when good luck again ! a young butcher almost ran into him, and the loafer, with true presence of mind, at once asked him for a match. At any rate a match passed between them ; and, to my infinite relief, the paper was flung away. I concealed the cause of my excitement from William John. He nevertheless wondered to see MY LAD Y NICOTINE. 31 1 me run to the window every time the wind seemed to be rising, and getting anxious when it rained. Seeing that my health prevented my leaving the house, he could not make out why I should be so interested in the weather. Once I thought he was fairly on the scent. A sudden blast of wind had caught up the paper and whirled it high in the air. I may have uttered an ejaculation, for he came hurrying to the window. He found me pointing unwittingly to what was already a white speck sailing to the roof of the fire-station. "Is it a pigeon ? " he asked. I caught at the idea. "Yes, a carrier-pigeon," I murmured in reply; "they sometimes, I believe, send messages to the fire-stations in that way." Coolly as I said this, I was conscious of grasping the window-sill in pure nervousness till the scrap began to flutter back into the square. Next it was squeezed between two of the bars of a drain. That was the last I saw of it, and the following morning the doctor had won his stethoscope only by a few hours, however, for the government's end was announced in the evening papers. My defeat discomfited me for a little, but soon I was pleased that I had lost I would not care to win a bet over any mixture but the Arcadia. CHAPTER XXV. A FACE THAT HAUNTED MARRIOT. "Tnis is not a love affair," Harriot shouted, apologetically. He had sat the others out again, but when I 312 MY LAD Y NICO TINE. saw his intention I escaped into my bedroom, and now refused to come out. "Look here," he cried, changing his tone, "if you don't come out I'll tell you all about it through the keyhole. It is the most extraordinary story, and I can't keep it to myself. On my word of honor it isn't a love affair at least, not exactly. " I let him talk after I had gone to bed. " You must know," he said, dropping cigarette ashes onto my pillow every minute, "that some time ago I fell in with Jack Goring's father, Col- onel Goring. Jack and I had been David and Jonathan at Cambridge, and though we had not met for years, I looked forward with pleasure to meeting him again. He was a widower, and his father and he kept joint house. But the house was dreary now, for the colonel was alone in it. Jack was off on a scientific expedition to the Pacific ; all the girls had been married for years. After dinner my host and I had rather a dull hour in the smoking-room. I could not believe that Jack had grown very stout. ' I'll show you his photograph/ said the colonel. An album was brought down from a dusty shelf, and then I had to admit that my old friend had become positively corpulent. But it is not Jack I want to speak about. I turned listlessly over the pages of the album, stopping suddenly at the face of a beauti- ful girl. You are not asleep, are you ? " I am not naturally sentimental, as you know, and even now I am not prepared to admit that I fell in love with this face. It was not, I think, that kind of attraction. Possibly I should have passed the photograph by had it not suggested old times to me old times with a veil over them, for I could not identify the face. That I MY LADY NICOTINE. 3'3 had at some period of my life known the original I felt certain, but I tapped my memory in vain. The lady was a lovely blonde, with a profusion of fair hair, and delicate features that were Roman when they were not Greek. To describe a beau- tiful woman is altogether beyond me. No doubt this face had faults. I fancy, for instance, that there was little character in the chin, and that the eyes were ' melting ' rather than expressive. It was a vignette, the hands being clasped rather fancifully at the back of the head. My fingers drummed on the album as I sat there pondering ; but when or where I had met the original I could not (Jecide. The colonel could give me no in- formation. The album was Jack's, he said, and probably had not been opened for years. The photograph, too, was an old one ; he was sure it had been in the house long before his son's mar- riage, so that (and here the hard-hearted old gen- tleman chuckled) it could no longer be like the original. As he seemed inclined to become witty at my expense, I closed the album, and soon afterward I went away. I say, wake up ! "From that evening the face haunted me. I do not mean that it possessed me to the exclusion of everything else, but at odd moments it would rise before me, and then I fell into a reverie. You must have noticed my thoughtfulness of late. Often I have laid down my paper at the club and tried to think back to the original. She was prob- ably better known to Jack Goring than to myself. All I was sure of was that she had been known to both of us. Jack and I had first met at Cam- bridge. I thought over the ladies I had known there, especially those who had been friends of Goring's. Jack had never been a ' lady's man ' 3 1 4 MY LADY NICO TINE. precisely : but, as he used to say, comparing himself with me, ' he had a heart.' The annals of our Cambridge days were searched in vain. I tried the country house in which he and I had spent a good many of our vacations. Suddenly I remembered the reading-party in Devonshire but no, she was dark. Once Jack and I had a romantic adventure in Glencoe in which a lady and her daughter were concerned. We tried to make the most of it ; but in our hearts we knew, after we had seen her by the morning light, that the daughter was not beautiful. Then there was the French girl at Algiers. Jack had kept me hanging on in Algiers a week longer than we meant to stay. The pose of the head, the hands clasped behind it, a trick so irritatingly familiar to me was that the French girl ? No, the lady I was struggling to identify was certainly English. I'm sure you're asleep. " A month elapsed before I had an opportunity of seeing the photograph again. An idea had struck me which I meant to carry out. This was to trace the photograph by means of the photog- rapher. I did not like, however, to mention the subject to Colonel Goring again, so I contrived to find the album while he was out of the smoking- room. The number of the photograph and the address of the photographer were all I wanted ; but just as I had got the photograph out of the album my host returned. I slipped the thing quickly into my pocket, and he gave me no chance of replacing it. Thus it was owing to an accident that I carried the photograph away. My theft rendered me no assistance. True, the pho- tographer's name and address were there ; but when I went to the place mentioned it had dis- MY LADY NICO TINE. 315 appeared to make way for ' residential chambers. ' I have a few other Cambridge friends here, and I showed some of these the photograph. One, I am now aware, is under the impression that I am to be married soon, but the others were rational. Grierson, of the War Office, recognized the por- trait at once. ' She is playing small parts at the Criterion,' he said. Finchley, who is a promising man at the bar, also recognized her. ' Her por- traits were in all the illustrated papers five years ago,' he told me, ' at the time when she got twelve months.' They contradicted each other about her, however, and I satisfied myself that she was neither an actress at the Criterion nor the adventuress of 1883. It was, of course, con- ceivable that she was an actress, but if so her face was not known in the fancy stationers' windows. Are you listening? "I saw that the mystery would remain un- solved until Jack's return home ; and when I had a letter from him a week ago, asking me to dine with him to-night, I accepted eagerly. He was just home, he said, and I would meet an old Cambridge man. We were to dine at Jack's club, and I took the photograph with me. I recog- nized Jack as soon as I entered the waiting-room of the club. A very short, very fat, smooth-faced man was sitting beside him, with his hands clasped behind his head. I believe I gaped 'Don't you remember Tom Rufus,' Jack asked, ' who used to play the female part at the Cam- bridge A. D. C. ? Why, you helped me to choose his wig at Fox's. I have a photograph of him in costume somewhere at home. You might recall him by his trick of sitting with his hands clasped behind his head.' I shook Rufus's hand. I 3l6 MY LAD Y NICOTINE. went in to dinner, and probably behaved myself. Now that it is over I cannot help being thankful that I did not ask Jack for the name of the lady before I saw Rufus. Good-night. I think I've burned a hole in the pillow. " CHAPTER XXVI. ARCADIANS AT BAY. I HAVE said that Jimmy spent much of his time in contributing to various leading waste-paper baskets, and that of an evening he was usually to be found prone on my hearth-rug. When he entered my room he was ever willing to tell us what he thought of editors, but his meerschaum with the cherry-wood stem gradually drove all passion from his breast, and instead of upbraid- ing more successful men than himself, he then lazily scribbled letters to them on my wall-paper. The wall to the right of the fireplace was thick with these epistles, which seemed to give Jimmy relief, though William John had to scrape and scrub at them next morning with india-rubber. Jimmy's sarcasm to which that wall-paper can probably still speak generally took this form : To G. BUCKLE, ESQ. , Columbia Road, Shoreditch. SIR, I am requested by Mr. James Moggridge, editor of the " Times," to return you the inclosed seven manuscripts, and to express his regret that there is at present no vacancy in the sub-editorial Aty LADY NKOTIN& 3 1 7 department of the " Times" such as Mr. Buckle kindly offers to fill. Yours faithfully, P. R. (for J. Moggridge, Ed. "Times"). To MR. JAMES KNOWLES, Brick Lane, Spitalfields. DEAR SIR, I regret to have to return the in- closed paper, which is not quite suitable for the "Nineteenth Century." I find that articles by unknown men, however good in themselves, at- tract little attention. I inclose list of contributors for next month, including, as you will observe, seven members of upper circles, and remain your obedient servant, J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. "Nineteenth Century." To MR. W. POLLOCK, Mile-End Road, Stepney. SIR, I have on two previous occasions begged you to cease sending daily articles to the " Satur- day." Should this continue we shall be reluct- antly compelled to take proceedings against you. Why don't you try the ' ' Sporting Times ? " Yours faithfully, . J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. ' ' Saturday Review. " To Messrs. SAMPSON, Low & Co., Peabody Build- ings, Islington. DEAR SIRS, The manuscript which you for- warded for our consideration has received care- ful attention ; but we do not think it would prove a success, and it is therefore returned to you here- with. We do not care to publish third-rate books. We remain yours obediently, J. MOGGRIDGE & Co. , (late Sampson, Low & Co. ). 318 MY LADY NICOTINE. To H. QUILTER, ESQ., P. O. Bethnal Green. SIR, I have to return your paper on Universal Art. It is not without merit ; but I consider art such an important subject that I mean to deal with it exclusively myself. With thanks for kindly appreciation of my new venture, I am yours faithfully, J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. "Universal Review." To JOHN MORLEY, ESQ. , Smith Street, Blackwall. SIR, Yes, I distinctly remember meeting you on the occasion to which you refer, and it is nat- uarally gratifying to me to hear that you enjoy my writings so much. Unfortunately, however, I am unable to accept your generous offer to do Lord Beaconsfield for the " English Men of Let- ters " series, as the volume has been already ar- ranged for. Yours sincerely, J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. " English Men of Letters " series. To F. C. BURNAND, ESQ., Peebles, N. B. SIR, The jokes which you forwarded to "Punch "on Monday last are so good that we used them three years ago. Yours faithfully, J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. "Punch.** To Mr. D'OYLEY CARTE, Cross Stone Buildings. Westminster Bridge Road. DEAR SIR, The comic opera by your friends Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan which you have submitted to me, as sole lessee and manager of MY LADY NICO TINE. 3 1 9 the Savoy Theater, is now returned to you un- read. The little piece, judged from its title-page, is bright and pleasing, but 'I have arranged with two other gentlemen to write my operas for the next twenty-one years. Faithfully yours, J. MOGGRIKGE, Sole Lessee and Manager, Savoy Theater. To JAMES RUSKIN, ESQ., Railway Station Hotel, Willisden. SIR, I warn you that I will not accept any more copies of your books. I do not know the individual named Tennyson to whom you refer ; but if he is the scribbler who is perpetually send- ing me copies of his verses, please tell him that I read no poetry except my own. Why can't you leave me alone? J. MOGGRIDGE, Poet Laureate. These letters of Jimmy's remind me of our famous competition, which took place on the night of the Jubilee celebrations. When all the rest of London (including William John) was in the streets, the Arcadians met as usual, and Scrym- geour, at my request, put on the shutters to keep out the din. It so happened that Jimmy and Gilray were that night in wicked moods, for Jimmy, who was so anxious to be a journalist, had just had his seventeenth article returned from the "St. John's Gazette," and Gilray had been "slated" for his acting of a new part, in all the leading papers. They were now disgracing the tobacco they smoked by quarreling about whether critics or editors were the more disreputable class, 320 MY LADY NICOTfNE. when in walked Pettigrew, who had not visited us for months. Pettigrew is as successful a jour- nalist as Jimmy is unfortunate, and the paltor of his face showed how many Jubilee articles he had written during the past two months. Petti- grew offered each of us a Splendidad (his wife's new brand), which we dropped into the fireplace. Then he filled my little Remus with Arcadia, and sinking weariedly into a chair, said : " My dear Jimmy, the curse of journalism is not that editors won't accept our articles, but that they want too many from us." This seemed such monstrous nonsense to Jimmy that he turned his back on Pettigrew, and Gilray broke in with a diatribe against critics. "Critics," said Pettigrew, "are to be pitied rather than reviled. " Then Gilray and Jimmy had a common foe. Whether it was Pettigrew's appearance among us or the fire-works outside that made us unusually talkative that night I cannot say, but we became quite brilliant, and when Jimmy began to give us his dream about killing an editor, Gilray said that he had a dream about criticising critics ; and Pettigrew, not to be outdone, said that he had a dream of what would become of him if he had to write any more Jubilee articles. Then it was that Harriot suggested a competition. "Let each of the grumblers," he said, "describe his dream, and the man whose dream seems the most exhilarating will get from the judges a Jubi- lee pound-tin of the Arcadia." The grumblers agreed, but each wanted the others to dream first At last Jimmy began as follows : MY LADY NICO TINE. 33 1 CHAPTER XXVIL JIMMY'S DREAM. I SEE before me (said Jimmy, savagely) a court, where I, James Moggridge, am arraigned on a charge of assaulting the editor of the "St. John's Gazette," so as to cause death. Little interest is manifested in the case. On being arrested I had pleaded guilty, and up to to-day it had been an- ticipated that the matter would be settled out of court. No apology, however, being forthcom- ing, the law has to take its course. The defense is that the assault was fair comment on a matter of public interest, and was warranted in sub- stance and in fact On making his appearance in the dock the prisoner is received with slight cheering. Mr. John Jones is the first witness called for the prosecution. He says : I am assistant editor of the "St. John's Gazette." It is an evening newspaper of pronounced Radical views. I never saw the prisoner until to-day, but I have frequently communicated with him. It was part of my work to send him back his articles. This often kept me late. In cross-examination the witness denies that he has ever sent the prisoner other people's articles by mistake. Pressed, he says, he may have done so once. The defendant generally in- closed letters with his articles, in which he called attention to their special features. Sometimes these letters were of a threatening nature, but there was nothing unusual in that 31 322 My LADY NICO TINE. Cross-examined : The letters were not what he would call alarming. He had not thought of taking any special precautions himself. Of course, in his position, he had to take his chance. So far as he could remember, it was not for his own sake that the prisoner wanted his articles published, but in the interests of the public. He, the prisoner, was vexed, he said, to see the paper full of such inferior matter. Witness had fre- quently seen letters to the editor from other dis- interested contributors couched in similar lan- guage. If he was not mistaken, he saw a number of these gentlemen in court. (Applause from the persons referred to). Mr. Snodgrass says : I am a poet. I do not compose during the day. The strain would be too great. Every evening I go out into the streets and buy the latest editions of the evening journals. If there is anything in them worthy commemoration in verse, I compose. There is generally something. I cannot say to which paper I send most of my poems, as I send to all. One of the weaknesses of the "St. John's Gazette" is its poetry. It is not worthy of the name. It is doggerel. I have sought to improve it, but the editor rejected my contributions. I continued to send them, hoping that they would educate his taste. One night I had sent him a very long poem which did not appear in the paper next day. I was very indignant, and went straight to the office. That was on Jubilee-day. I was told that the editor had left word that he had just gone into the country for two days. (Hisses. ) I forced my way up the stairs, however, and when I reached the top I did not know which way to go. There were a number of doors with " No admit- MY LADY NICO TINE. 3*3 tance" printed on them. (More hissing.) I heard voices in altercation in a room near me. I though that was likely to be the editor's. I opened the door and went in. The prisoner was in the room. He had the editor on the floor and was jumping on him. I said, "is that the edi- tor?" He said, "Yes," I said, "Have you killed him?" He said, "Yes," again. I said, " Oh ! " and went away. That is all I remember of the affair. Cross-examined : It did not occur to me to in- terfere. I thought very little of the affair at the time. I think I mentioned it to my wife in the evening ; but I will not swear to that. I am not the Herr Bablerr who compelled his daughter to marry a man she did not love, so that I might write an ode in celebration of the nuptials. I have no daughter. I am a poet. The foreman printer deposes to having had his attention called to the murder of the editor about three o'clock. He was very busy at the time. About an hour afterward he saw the body and put a placard over it. He spoke of the matter to the assistant editor, who suggested that they had better call in the police. That was done. A clerk in the counting-house says : I distinctly remember the afternoon of the murder. I can recall it without difficulty, as it was on the follow- ing evening that I went to the theater a rare occurrence with me. I was running up the stairs when I met a man coming down. I recognize the prisoner as that man. He said, "I have kilied your editor." I replied, " Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself." We had no further conversation. J. O'Leary is next called. He says : I am an MY LAD Y NJCO TINE. Irishman by birth. I had to fly my country when an iniquitous Coercion Act was put in force. At present I am a journalist, and I write Fenian letters for the "St. John's Gazette." I remember the afternoon of the murder. It was the sub- editor who told me of it. He asked me if I would write a "par " on the subject for the fourth edition. I did so ; but as I was in a hurry to catch a train it was only a few lines. We did him fuller justice next day. Cross-examined : witness denies that he felt any elation on hearing that a new topic had been supplied for writing on. He was sorry rather. A policeman gave evidence that about half-past four on Jubilee-day he saw a small crowd gather round the entrance to the offices of the "St. John's Gazette." He thought it his duty to inquire into the matter. He went inside and asked an office-boy what was up. The boy said he thought the editor had been murdered, but advised him to inquire upstairs. He did so, and the boy's assertion was confirmed. He came down again and told the crowd that it was the editor who had been killed. The crowd then dispersed. A detective from Scotland Yard explains the method of the prisoner's capture. Moggridgo wrote to the superintendent saying that he would be passing Scotland Yard on the following Wed- nesday on business. Three detectives, including witness, were told off to arrest him, and they succeeded in doing so. (Loud and prolongad ap- plause.^ The judge interposes here. He fails, he says, to see that this evidence is relevant. So far as he can see, the question is not whether a murder has MY LADY NICOTWM. 325 been committed, but whether, under the circum- stances, it is a criminal offense. The prisoner should never have been tried here at all. It was a case for the petty sessions. If the counsel can- not give some weighty reason for proceeding with further evidence, he will now put it to the jury- After a few remarks from the counsel for the prosecution and the counsel for the defense, who calls attention to the prisoner's high and unblem- ished character, the judge sums up. It is for the jury, he says, to decide whether the prisoner has committed a criminal offense. That was the point ; and in deciding it the jury should bear in mind the desirability of suppressing merely vexa- tious cases. People should not go to law over trifles. Still, the jury must remember that, with- out exception, all human life was sacred. After some further remarks from the judge, the jury (who deliberate for rather more than three-quarters of an hour) return a verdict of guilty. The pris- oner is sentenced to a fine of five florins, or three days' imprisonment CHAPTER XXVHi GILRAY'S DREAM. me (said Gilray, with glowing face) invited to write a criticism of the Critics' Dra- matic Society for the " Standard. " I select th "Standard," because that paper has treated me most cruelly. However, I loathe them all. My dream in the following criticism : 326 MY LADY NICOTINM. What ia the Critics' Dramatic Society? W found out on Wednesday afternooon, and, as we went to Drury Lane in the interests of the public, it is only fair that the public should know too. Besides, in that case we can all bear it together. Be it known, then, that this Dramatic Society is composed of "critics" who gave "The School for Scandal " at a matinee on Wednesday just to show how the piece should be played. Mr. Augustus Harris had "kindly put the theater at their disposal," for which he will have to answer when he joins Sheridan in the Elysian Fields. As the performance was by far the worst ever perpetrated, it would be a shame to deprive the twentieth century of the programme. Some of the players, as will be seen, are too well known to escape obloquy. The others may yet be abl to sink into oblivion. Sir Peter Teazle MR. JOHN RUSKIN. Joseph Surface MR. W. E. HENLEY. Charles Surface MR. HARRY LABOUCHERE. Crabtree MR. W. ARCHER. Sir Benjamin Backbite MR. CLEMENT SCOTT. Moses MR. WALTER SICHEL. Old Rowley MR. JOSEPH KNIGHT, Sir Oliver MR. W. H. POLLOCK. Trip MR. G. A. SALA. Snake MR. MOY THOMAS. Sir Harry Bumper (with song) MR. GEORGE MOORE. Servants, Guests, etc., MESSRS. SAVILLE CLARKE, JOSKPH HATTON, PERCY FITZGERALD, etc. Assisted by, Lady Teazle Miss ROSIE LE DKNK. Mrs. Candour Miss JENNY MONTALBAN. Lady Sneerwell Miss ROSALIND LABELLK. (The Hon. Mrs. Major TURNLEY). Maria...., Miss JONES. It was a sin of omission on the part of the UY LADY NICOTINE, 3*7 Critics' Dramatic Society not to state that the piece played was "a new and original comedy" in many acts. Had they had the courage to do this, and to change the title, no one would even have known. On the other hand, it was a sin of commission to allow that Professor Henry Morley was responsible for the stage management ; Mr. Morley being a man of letters whom some worthy people respect. But perhaps sins of omission -ind commission counterbalance. The audience was put in a bad humor before the performance began, owing to the curtain's rising fifteen min- utes late. However, once the curtain did rise, it was an unconscionable time in falling. What is known as the "business" of the first act, includ- ing the caterwauling of Sir Benjamin Backbite and Crabtree in their revolutions round Joseph, was gone through with a deliberation that was cruelty to the audience, and just when the act seemed over at last these indefatigable amateurs began to dance a minuet. A sigh ran round the theater at this a sigh as full of suffering as when a minister, having finished his thirdly and lastly, starts off again, with, "I cannot allow this op- portunity to pass." Possibly the Critics' Dramatic Society are congratulating themselves on the un- deniable fact that the sighs and hisses grew beauti- fully less as the performance proceeded. But that was because the audience diminished too. One man cannot be expected to sigh like twenty ; though, indeed, some of the audience of Wednes- day sighed like at least half a dozen. If it be true that all men even critics have their redeeming points and failings, then was there no Charles and no Joseph Surface at this unique matinee. For the ungainly gentleman 3*8 my LAD y NICOTINE. who essayed tne part of Charles mad, or rather meant to make, him spotless ; and Mr. Henley'* Joseph was twin-brother to Mr. Irving's Mephis- topheles. Perhaps the idea of Mr. Labouchere and his friend, Mr. Henley, was that they would make one young man between them. They "ound it hard work. Mr. Labouchere has yet to learn that buffoonery is not exactly wit, and that Charles Surfaces who dig their uncle Olivers in the libs, and then turn to the audience for ap- plause, are among the things that the nineteenth century can do without. According to the pro- gramme, Mr. George Moore the Sir Harry Bum- per was to sing the song, " Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen." Mr. Moore did not sing it, but Mr. Labouchere did. The explanation of 'his, we understand, was not that Sir Harry's heart failed him at the eleventh hour, but that Mr Labouchere threatened to fling up his part unless the song was given to him. However, Mr. Moore heard Mr. Labouchere singing the song, and that was revenge enough for any man. To Mr. Henley the part of Joseph evidently presented no serious difficulties. In his opinion, Joseph is a whining hypocrite who rolls his eyes when he wishes to look natural. Obviously he is a slavish admirer of Mr. Irving. If Joseph had taken his snuff as this one does, Lady Sneerwell would have sent him to the kitchen. If he had made love to Lady Teazle as this one does, she would have suspected him of weak intellect. Sheri- dan's Joseph was a man of culture : Mr. Henley's is a buffoon. It is not, perhaps, so much this gentleman's fault as his misfortune that his acting is without either art or craft ; but then he was not compelled to play Joseph Surfac*. Indeed, A/7 LAD Y NTCO TIME. 3 19 w may go further, and say that if he ! a man with friends he must have been dissuaded from it. The Sir Peter Teazle of Mr. Ruskin reminded us of other Sir Peter Teazles probably because Sir Peter is played nowadays with his courtliness omitted. Mr. William Archer was the Crabtree, or rather Mr. Archer and the prompter between them. Until we caught sight of the prompter we had credited Mr. Archer with being a ventriloquist given to casting his voice to the wings. Mr. Clement Scott the Sir Benjamin Backbite was a ventriloquist, too, but not in such a large way as Mr. Archer. His voice, so far as we could make out from an occasional rumble, was in his boots, where his courage kept it company. There was no more ambitious actor in the cast than Mr. Pollock. Mr. Pollock was Sir Oliver, and he gave a highly original reading of that old gentleman. What Mr. Pollock's private opinion of the character of Sir Oliver may be we cannot say ; it would be worth an interviewer's while to find out. But if he thinks Sir Oliver was a wind- mill, we can inform him at once that he is mis- taken. Of Mr. Sichel's Moses all that occurs to us to say is that when he let his left arm hang down and raised the other aloft, he looked very like a tea-pot. Mr. Joseph Knight was old Row- ley. In that character all we saw of him was his back ; and we are bound to admit that it was un- exceptional. Sheridan calls one of his servants Snake and the other Trip. Mr. Moy Thomas tried to look as like a snake as he could, and with some success. The Trip of Mr. Sala, however, was a little heavy, and when he came between the audi- ence and the other actors there was a temporary 330 MY LAD Y NICOTINE. eclipse. As for the minor parts, the gentleman who personated them gave a capital rendering of supers suffering from stage fever. Wednesday is memorable in the history of the stage, but we would forget it if we could. CHAPTER XXIX. PETTIGREW'S DREAM. MY dream (said Pettigrew) contrasts sadly with those of my young friends. They dream of re- venge, but my dream is tragic. I see my editor writing my obituary notice. This is how it reads : Mr. Pettigrew, M, A., whose sad death is re- corded in another column, was in his forty-second year (not his forty-fourth, as stated in the evening papers), and had done a good deal of Jubilee work before he accepted the commission that led to his death. It is an open secret that he wrote seventy of the Jubilee sketches which have ap- peared in this paper. The pamphlet now selling in the streets for a penny, entitled "Jubilees of the Past," was his. He wrote the introductory chapter to "Fifty Years of Progress," and his "Jubilee Statesmen " is now in a second edition. The idea of a collection of Jubilee odes was not his, but the publisher's. At the same time, his friends and relatives attach no blame to them. Mr. Pettigrew shivered when the order was given to him, but he accepted it, and the general impres- sion among those who knew him was that a man who had survived "Jubilee Statesmen" could do MY LADY NICOTINE. 33* anything. As it turns out, we had overestimated Mr. Pettigrew's powers of endurance. As "The Jubilee Odes" will doubtless yet be collected by another hand, little need be said here of the work. Mr. Pettigrew was to make his col- lection as complete as the limited space at his disposal (two volumes) would allow ; the only original writing in the book being a sketch of the various schemes suggested for the celebration of the Jubilee. It was .this sketch that killed him. On the morning of the 2yth, when he intended begin- ning it, he rose at an unusually early hour, and was seen from the windows of the house pacing the garden in an apparently agitated state of mind. He eat no breakfast One of his daughters states that she noticed a wild look in his eyes during the morning meal ; but, as she did not remark on it at the time, much stress need not be laid on this. The others say that he was unusually quiet and silent. All, however, noticed one thing. Generally, when he had literary work to do, he was anxious to begin upon his labors, and spent little time at the breakfast-table. On this occasion he sat on. Even after the breakfast things were removed he seemed reluctant to adjourn to the study. His wife asked him several times if he meant to begin "The Jubilee Odes" that day, and he always replied in the affirmative. But he talked nervously of other things ; and to her sur- prise though she thought comparatively little of it at the time drew her on to a discussion on summer bonnets. As a rule, this was a subject which he shunned. At last he rose, and, going slowly to the window, looked out for a quarter of an hour. His wife asked him again about " The Jubilee Odes," and he replied that he meant to 33* MT LAD Y NICOTINE. begim directly. Thn he went round th morn- ing-room, looking at the pictures on the walls as if for the first time. After that he leaned for a little whil against th mantelpiece, and then, as if an idea had struck him, began to wind up the clock. He went through the house winding up the clocks, though this duty was usually left to a servant ; and when that was over he came back to the breakfast-room and talked about Waterbury watches. His wife had to go t to the kitchen, and he followed her. On their way back they passed the nursery, and he said he thought he would go in and talk to the nurse. This was very unlike him. At last his wife said that it would soon be luncheon time, and then he went to the study. Some ten minutes afterward he wandered into the dining-room, where she was arranging some flowers. He seemed taken aback at seeing her, but said, after a moment's thought, that the study door was locked and he could not find the key. This astonished her, as she had dusted the room herself that morning. She went to see and found the study door standing open. When she re- turned to the dining-room he had disappeared. They searched for him everywhere, and event- ually discovered him in the drawing-room, turn- ing over a photograph album. He, then went back to the study. His wife accompanied him, and, as was her custom, filled his pipe for him. He smoked a mixture to which he was passion- ately attached. He lighted his pipe several times, but it always went out. His wife put a new nib into his pen, placed some writing material on the table, and then retired, shutting the door behind her. About half an hour afterward Mrs. Pettigrew HfY LADY NICOTINK, 333 aent ne of th children to the study on a trifling- rrand. As hs did not return she followed him. She found him sitting on his fathers knee, where she did not remember ever having seen him be- fore. Mr. Pettigrew was holding his watch to the boy's ears. The study table was littered with several hundreds of Jubilee odes. Other odes had slipped to the floor. Mrs. Pettigrew asked how he was getting on, and her unhappy hus- band replied that he was just going to begin. His hands were trembling, and he had given up trying to smoke. He sought to detain her by talking about the boy's curls ; but she went away, taking the child with her. As she closed the door he groaned heavily, and she reopened it to ask if he felt unwell. He answered in the nega- tive, and she left him. The last person to see Mr. Pettigrew alive was Eliza Day, the house- maid. She took a letter to him between twelve and one o'clock. Usually he disliked being dis- turbed at his writing ; but this time, in answer to her knock, he cried eagerly, "Come in ! " When she entered he insisted on her taking a chair, and asked her how all her people were, and if there was anything he could do for them. Several times she rose to leave, but he would not allow her to do so. Eliza mentioned this in the kitchen when she returned to it. Her master was natu- rally a reserved man who seldom spoke to his servants, which rendered his behavior on this occasion the more remarkable. As announced in the evening papers yesterday, the servant sent to the study at half-past one to see why Mr. Pettigrew was not coming to lunch, found him lifeless on the floor. The knife clutched in his hand showed that he had done the fatal 334 *W LADY NICOTINE. deed himself ; and Dr. Southwick, of Hyde Park, who was on the spot within ten minutes of the painful discovery, is of opinion that life had been extinct for about half an hour. The body was lying among Jubilee odes. On the table were a dozen or more sheets of " copy," which, though only spoiled pages, showed that the deceased had not succumbed without a struggle. On one he had begun, "Fifty years have come and gone since a fair English maiden ascended the throne of England." Another stopped short at, "To every loyal Englishman the Jubil " A third sheet commenced with, ' ' Though there have been a number of royal Jubilees in the history of the world, probably none has awakened the same interest as " and a fourth began, " 1887 will be known to all future ages as the year of Jub " One sheet bore the sentence, " Heaven help me ! " and it is believed that these were the last words the deceased ever penned. Mr. Pettigrew was a most estimable man in private life, and will be greatly missed in the circles to which he had endeared himself. He leaves a widow and a small family. It may be worth adding that when discovered dead there was a smile upon his face, as if he had at last found peace. He must have suffered great agony that forenoon, and his death is best looked upon as a happy release. Harriot, Scrymgeour and I awarded the tin of Arcadia to Pettigrew, because he alone of the competitors seemed to believe that his dream might be realized. J/y LAD* NICOTItf*. XS CHAPTER XXX. THE MURDER IN TH INN. SOMETIMES I think it is all a dream, and that I did not really murder the waits. Perhaps they are living still. Yet the scene is very vivid before me, though the affair took place if it ever did take place so long ago that I cannot be ex- pected to remember the details. The time when I must give up smoking was drawing near, so that I may have been unusually irritable, and de- termined, whatever the cost, to smoke my last pound tin of the Arcadia in peace. I think my brier was in my mouth when I did it, but after the lapse of months I cannot say whether there were three of them or only two. So far as I can remember, I took the man with the beard first. The incident would have made more impres- sion on me had there been any talk about it So far as I could discover, it never got into the papers. The porters did not seem to think it any affair of theirs, though one of them must have guessed why I invited the waits upstairs. He saw me open the door to them ; he was aware that this was their third visit in a week ; and only the night before he had heard me shout a warning to them from my inn window. But of course the porters must allow themselves a certain discretion in the performance of their duties. Then there was the pleasant gentleman of the next door but two, who ran against me just as I was toppling the second body over the railing. We were not acquainted, but I knew him as the man who had MY LAD Y NICOTINM. flung a water-jug at the waits the night before. He stopped short when he saw the body (it had rolled out of the sofa-rug), and looked at me sus- piciously. "He is one of the waits," I said. " I beg your pardon," he replied, "I did not under- stand." When he had passed a few yaras he turned round. "Better cover him up, " he said; "our people will talk." Then he strolled away, an air from "The Grand Duchess" lightly trol- ling from his lips. We still meet occasionally, and nod if no one is looking. "I am going too fast, however. What I meant to say was that the murder was premeditated. In the case of a reprehensible murder I know this would be considered an aggravation of the offense. Of course, it is an open question whether all mur- ders are not reprehensible ; but let that pass. To my own mind I should have been indeed deserving of punishment had I rushed out and slain the waits in a moment of fury. If one were to give way to his passion every time he is interrupted in his work or his sleep by bawlers our thoroughfares would soon be choked with the dead. No one values human life or understands its sacredness more than I do. I merely say that there may be times when a man, having stood a great deal and thought it over calmly, is justified in taking the law into his own hands always supposing he can do it decently, quietly, and without scandal. The epidemic of waits broke out early in Decem- ber, and every other night or so these torments came in the still hours and burst into song beneath my windows. They made me nervous. I was more wretched on the nights they did not come than on the nights they came ; for I had begun to listen for them, and was never sure they had gone MY LADY WCOTUfM. jjy into another locality before four o'clock in the morning:. As for their songs, they were more like music-hall ditties than Christmas carols. So one morning it was, I think, the 23d of December I warned them fairly, fully, and with particulars, of what would happen if they disturbed me again. Having given them this warning, can it be said that I was to blame at least, to any considerable extent ? Christmas-eve had worn into Christmas morn- ing before the waits arrived on that fateful occa- sion. I opened the window if my memory does not deceive me at once, and looked down at them. I could not swear to their being the persons whom I had warned the night before. Perhaps I should have made sure of this. But in any case these were practiced waits. Their whine rushed in at my open window with a vigor that proved them no tyros. Besides, the night was a cold one, and I could not linger at an open casement I nodded pleasantly to the waits and pointed to my door. Then Iran downstairs and let them in. They came up to my chambers with me. As I have said, the lapse of time prevents my re- membering how many of them there were ; three, I fancy. At all events, I took them into my bed- room and strangled them one by one. They went off quite peaceably ; the only difficulty was in the disposal of the bodies. I thought of laying them on + .he curb-stone in different passages ; but I was afraid the police might not see that they were waits, in which case I might be put to inconvenience. So I took a spade and dug two (or three) large holes in the quadrangle of the inn. Then I carried the bodies to the place in my rug, one at a time, hoved them in and covered them up. A close II 33* MY LADY NICO TINE. observer might have noticed in that part of tht quadrangle, for some time after, a small mound, such as might be made by an elbow under the bedclothes. Nobody, however, seems to have descried it, and yet I see it often evn now in my dreams. CHAPTER XXXI. THE PERILS OF NOT SMOKING. WHEN the Arcadians heard that I had signed an agreement to give up smoking they were first in- credulous, then sarcastic, then angry. Instead of coming, as usual, to my room, they went one night in a body to Pettigrew's, and there, as I afterward discovered, a scheme for "saving me" was drawn up. So little did they understand the firmness of my character, that they thought I had weakly yielded to the threats of the lady referred to in my first chapter, when, of course, I had only yielded to her arguments, and they agreed to make an appeal on my behalf to her. Petti- grew, as a married man himself, was appointed intercessor, and I understand that the others not only accompanied him to her door, but waited in an alley until he came out. I never knew whether the reasoning brought to bear on the lady was of Pettigrew's devising, or suggested by Jimmy and the others, but it was certainly unselfish of Petti- grew to lie so freely on my account. At the time, however, the plot enraged me, for the lady con- ceived the absurd idea that I had sent Pettigrew to her. Undoubtedly it was a bold stroke. Petti- grew'* scheme was to play upon his hostess'* J*r LAD v NICO TINS. attachment for me by hinting to her that if I gave up smoking I would probably die. Finding her attentive rather than talkative, he soon dared to assure her that he himself loathed tobacco and only took it for his health. "By the doctor's orders, mark you," he said, impressively; *' Doctor Southwick, of Hyde Park." She expressed polite surprise at this, and then Pettigrew, believing he had made an impression, told his story as concocted. "My own case," he said, "is one much in point. I suffered lately from sore throat, accom- panied by depression of spirits and loss of appe- tite. The ailment was so unusual with me that I thought it prudent to put myself in Doctor South- wick's hands. As far as possible I shall give you his exact words ! " 'When did you give up smoking?* he asked, abruptly, after examining my throat " 'Three months ago,' I replied, taken by sur- prise ; ' but how did you know I had given it up ? ' " ' Never mind how I know,' he said, severely ; ' I told you that, however much you might desire to do so, you were not to take to not smoking. This is how you carry out my directions.' " ' Well/ I answered, sulkily, ' I have been feel- ing so healthy for the last two years that I thought I could indulge myself a little. You are aware how I abominate tobacco.' "'Quite so, 1 he said, 'and now you see the result of this miserable self-indulgence. Two years ago I prescribed tobacco for you, to be taken three times a day, and you yourself admit that it made a new man of you. Instead of feel- ing thankful, you complain of the brief unplea* 34* antness that accompanies its consumption, and now, in the teeth of my instructions, you give it up. I must say the ways of patients are a con- stant marvel to me. ' " 'But how,' I asked, 'do you know that my reverting to the pleasant habit of not smoking is the cause of my present ailment?' ' ' ' Oh J ' he said, ' you are not sure of that your- self, are you ? " " ' I thought,' I replied, ' there might be a doubt about it ; though of course I have not forgotten what you told me two years ago.' " ' It matters very little,' he said, ' whether you remember what I tell you if you do not follow my orders. But as for knowing that indulgence in not smoking is what has brought you to this state, how long is it since you noticed these symptoms ? ' "'I can hardly say,' I answered. 'Still, I should be able to think back. I had my first sore throat this year the night I saw Mr. Irving at the Lyceum, and that was on my wife's birthday, the 3d of October. How long ago is that? ' " 'Why, that is more than three months ago. Are you sure of the date ? ' "'Quite certain,' I told him; 'so, you see, I had my first sore throat before I risked not smok- ing again. ' " 'I don't understand this,' he said. ' Do you mean to say that in the beginning of May you were taking my prescription daily ? You were not missing a day now and then forgetting to order a new stock of cigars when the others were done, or flinging them away before they were half smoked? Patients do such things.' '"No, I assure you I compelled myself to moke. At least' Mr LAD Y NlCOttf*. 34* " 'At least what? Come, now, if I am to b of any service to you, there must be no reserve.' " 'Well, now that I think of it, I was only smoking one cigar a day at that time.' " 'Ah ! we have it now/ he cried. 'One cigar a day, when I ordered you three I I might have guessed as much. When I tell non-smokers that they must smoke or I will not be answerable for the consequences, they entreat me to let them break themselves of the habit of not smoking gradually. One cigarette a day to begin with, they beg of me, promising to increase the dose by degrees. Why, man, one cigarette a day is poison ; it is worse than not smoking.' " ' But that is not what I did.' "'The idea is the same,' he said. 'Like the others, you make all this moan about giving up completely a habit you should never have acquired. For my own part, I cannot even understand wher the subtle delights of not smoking come in. Com- pared with health, they are surely immaterial ? ' " ' Of course, I admit that' " 'Then, if you admit it, why pamper your- self? ' " 'I suppose because one is weak in matters of habit. You have many cases like mine ? ' " ' I have such cases every week,' he told me ; ' indeed, it was having so many cases of the kind that made me a specialist in the subject When I began practice I had not the least notion how common the non-tobacco throat, as I call it, is.' " ' But the disease has been known, has it not, for a long time ? ' " ' Yes,' he said ; ' but the cause has only been discovered recently. I could explain the malady to you scientifically, as many medical men would prefer to do, but you are better to have it in plain English.' " ' Certainly ; but I should like to know whe- ther the symptoms in other cases have been in every way similar to mine.' " ' They have doubtless differed in degree, but not otherwise,' he answered. ' For instance, you say your sore throat is accompanied by depres- sion of spirits.' " ' Yes; indeed the depression sometimes pre- cedes the sore throat.' " 'Exactly. I presume, too, that you feel most depressed in the evening say, immediately after dinner?' " ' That is certainly the time I experience the depression most.' " ' The result,' he said, ' if I may venture on somewhat delicate matters, is that your depres- sion of spirits infects your wife and family, even your servants ? ' " ' That is quite true,' I answered. ' Our home has by no means been so happy as formerly. When a man is out of spirits, I suppose, he tends to be brusque and undemonstrative to his wife, and to be easily irritated by his children. Cer- tainly that has been the case with me of late.' " 'Yes,' he exclaimed, 'and all because you have not carried out my directions. Men ought to see that they have no right to indulge in not smoking, if only for the sake of their wives and families. A bachelor has more excuse, perhaps ; but think of the example you set your children in not making an effort to shake this self-indulgence off. In short, smoke for the sake of your wife and family, if you won't smoke for the sake of your health,"' 1/Y LADY NICOTINE. 343 I think this is pretty nearly the whole of Petti- Brew's story, but I may add that he left the house in depression of spirits, and then infected Jimmy and the others with the same ailment, so that they should all have hurried in a cab to the house of Dr. Southwick. " Honestly," Pettigrew said, " I don't think she believed a word I told her." "If she had only been a man," Harriot sighed, " we could have got round her." " ' How ? " asked Pettigrew. " 'Why, of course," said Harriot, "we could have sent her a tin of the Arcadia. " CHAPTER XXXIL MY LAST PIPE. THE night of my last smoke drew near without any demonstration on my part or on that of my friends. I noticed that none of them was now comfortable if left alone with me, and I knew, I cannot tell how, that though they had too much delicacy to refer in my presence to my coming happiness, they often talked of it among them- selves. They smoked hard and looked covertly at me, and had an idea that they were helping me. They also addressed me in a low voice, and took their seats noiselessly, as if some one were ill in the next room. "We have a notion," Scrymgeour said, with an effort, on my second last night, "that you would rather we did not feast you to-morrow evening ? " " Oh; I. want nothing of that kind," I aaid 344 MY LADY NICOTINE. "So I fancied," Jimmy broke in. "Thos things are rather a mockery, but of course if you thought it would help you in any way " "Or if there is anything else we could do for you," interposed Gilray, " you have only to men- tion it" Though they irritated rather than soothed me, I was touched by their kindly intentions, for at one time I feared my friends would be sarcastic. The next night was my last, and I found that they had been looking forward to it with genuine pain. As will have been seen, their custom was to wander into my room one by one, but this time they came together. They had met in the boudoir, and came up the stair so quietly that I did not hear them. They all looked very sub- dued, and Harriot took the cane chair so softly that it did not creak. I noticed that after a fur- tive glance at me each of them looked at the cen- ter table, on which lay my brier, Romulus and Remus, three other pipes that all had their merits, though they never touched my heart until now, my clay tobacco-jar, and my old pouch. I had said good-bye to these before my friends came in, and I could now speak with a comparatively firm voice. Harriot and Gilray and Scrymgeour signed to Jimmy, as if some plan of action had been arranged, and Jimmy said huskily, sitting upon the hearth-rug : "Pettigrew isn't coming. He was afraid ht would break down." Then we began to smoke. It was as yet too early in the night for my last pipe, but soon I re- gretted that I had not arranged to spend this night alone. Jimmy was the only one of the Arcadians who had been at school with me, and he was full UY LADY KICOTINR. 345 ef reminiscences which he addressed to the other* just as if I were not present "He was the life of the old school," Jimmy said, referring to me, "and when I shut my eyes I can hear his merry laugh as if we were both in knickerbockers still." "What sort of character did he have among the fellows ? " Gilray whispered. "The very best. He was the soul of honor, and we all anticipated a great future for him. Even the masters loved him ; indeed, I question if he had an enemy." "I remember my first meeting with him at the university," said Harriot, "and that I took to him at once. He was speaking at the debating society that night, and his enthusiasm quite car- ried me away." " And how we shall miss him here, " said Scrym- geour, "and in my house-boat 1 I think I had better sell the house-boat. Do you remember his favorite seat at the door of the saloon ? " "Do you know," said Harriot, looking a little scared, " I thought I would be the first of our lot to go. Often I have kept him up late in this very room talking of my own troubles, and little guessing why he sometimes treated them a little testily." So they talked, meaning very well, and by and by it struck one o'clock A cold shiver passed through me, and Harriot jumped from his chair. It had been agreed that I should begin my last pipe at one precisely. Whatever my feelings were up to this point I had kept them out of my face, but I suppose a change came over me now. I tried to lift my brier from the table, but my hand shook and the pipe 346 MY LADY NICOTW&. tapped, tapped on the deal like an auctioneer's hammer. " Let me fill it," Jimmy said, and he took my old brier from me. He scraped it energetically so that it might hold as much as possible, and then he filled it. Not one of them, I am glad to remember, proposed a cigar for my last smoke, or thought it possible that I would say farewell to tobacco through the medium of any other pipe than my brier. I liked my brier best. I have said this already, but I must say it again. Jimmy handed the brier to Gilray, who did not surrender it until it reached my mouth. Then Scrymgeour made a spill, and Harriot lighted it. In another moment I was smoking my last pipe. The others glanced at one another, hesitated, and put their pipes into their pockets. There was little talking, for they all gazed at me as if something astounding might happen at any moment. The clock had stopped, but the ventilator was clicking. Although Jimmy and the others saw only me, I tried not to see only them. I conjured up the face of a lady, and sh smiled encouragingly, and then I felt safer. But at times her face was lost in smoke, or suddenly it was Marriot's face, eager, doleful, wistful. At first I puffed vigorously and wastefully, then I became scientific and sent out rings of smoke so strong and numerous that half a dozen of them were in the air at a time. In past days I had often followed a ring over the table, across chairs, and nearly out at the window, but that was when I blew one by accident and was loath to let it go. Now I distributed them among my friends, who let them slip away into the looking-glass. I think I had almost forgotten what I was doing MY LADY NICO TINE. 347 and where I was when an awful thing happened. My pipe went out ! "There are remnants in it yet," Jimmy cried, with forced cheerfulness, while Gilray blew the ashes off my sleeve, Harriot slipped a cushion behind my back, and Scrymgeour made another spill. Again I smoked, but no longer recklessly. It is revealing no secret to say that a drowning man sees his whole past unfurl before him like a panorama. So little, however, was I, now on the eve of a great happiness, like a drowning man, that nothing whatever passed before me. I lost sight even of my friends, and though Jimmy was on his knees at my feet, his hand clasping mine, he disappeared as if his open mouth had swallowed the rest of his face. I had only one thought that I was smoking my last pipe. Unconsciously I crossed my legs, and one of my slippers fell off; Jimmy, I think, slipped it onto my foot. Harriot stood over me, gazing into the bowl of my pipe, but I did not see him. Now I was puffing tremendously, but no smoke came. The room returned to me, I saw Jimmy clearly, I felt Harriot overhead, and I heard them all whispering. Still I puffed ; I knew that my pipe was empty, but still I puffed. Gilray's fingers tried to draw my brier from my mouth, but I bit into it with my teeth, and still I puffed. When I came to I was alone. I had a dim consciousness of having been shaken by several hands, of a voice that I think was Scrymgeour's saying that he would often write to me though my new home was to be within the four-mile radius and of another voice that I think was Jimmy's, telling Harriot not to let me see him breaking down. But though I had ceased to 34* UY LADY N1CO TIX. puff, my brier was still in my mouth ; and, i- deed, I found it there when William John shook me into life next morning. My parting with William John was almost sadder than the scene of the previous night. I rang for him when I had tied up all my treasures in brown paper, and I told him to give the tobac- co-jar lo Jimmy, Romulus to Harriot, Remus to Gilray, and the pouch to Scrymgeour. Will- iam John bore up till I came to the pouch, when he fairly blubbered. I had to hurry into my bed- room, but I mean to do something yet for Will- iam John. Not even Scrymgeour knew so well as he what my pouch had been to me, and till I die I shall always regret that I did not give it to William John. I kept my brier. CHAPTER XXXIIL WHEN MY WIFE IS ASLEEP AND ALL THE KOUS1 1C STILL. PERHAPS the heading of this paper will deceive some readers into thinking that I smoke nowa- days in camera. It is, I know, a common jest among smokers that such a promise as mine is seldom kept, and I allow that the Arcadians tempt me still. But never shall it be said of me with truth that I have broken my word. I smoke no more, and, indeed, though the scenes of my bachelorhood frequently rise before me in dreams painted as Scrymgeour could not paint them, I am glad, when I wake up, that they are only dreams. Those selfish days are done, and I see that though they were happy days, the happiness was a mistake. As for the struggle that is sup- J/y LADY NICOTINE. $49 posed to take place between a man and tobacco, after he sees smoking in its true colors, I never experienced it. I have not even any craving for the Arcadia now, though it is a tobacco that should only be smoked by our greatest men. Were we to present a tin of it to our national heroes, instead of the freedom of the city, they would probably thank us more. Jimmy and the others are quite unworthy to smoke it ; indeed, if I had my way they would give up smoking alto- gether. Nothing, perhaps, shows more com- pletely how I have severed my bonds than this : that my wife is willing to let our friends smoke in the study, but I will not hear of it. There shall be no smoking in my house ; and I have determined to speak to Jimmy about smoking out at our spare bedroom window. It is a mere contemptible pretense to say that none of the smoke comes back into the room. The curtains positively reek of it, and we must have them washed at once. I shall speak plainly to Jimmy because I want him to tell the others. They must understand clearly on what terms they are received in this house, and if they prefer making chimneys of themselves to listening to music, by all means let them stay at home. Bui when my wife is asleep and all the house is still, I listen to the man through the wall. At such times I have my brier in my mouth, but there is no harm in that, for it is empty. I did not like to give away my brier, knowing no one who understood it, and I always carry it about with me now to remind me of my dark past When the man through the wall lights up I put my cold pipe in my mouth and we have a quiet hour together. 3$0 MY LADY NICO TINE. I have never, to my knowledge, seen the man through the wall, for his door is round the corner, and besides, I have no interest in him until half- past eleven p. M. We begin then. I know him chiefly by his pipes, and them I know by his taps on the wall as he knocks the ashes out of them. He does not smoke the Arcadia, for his temper is hasty, and he breaks the coals with his foot. Though I am compelled to say that I do not con- sider his character very lovable, he has his good points, and I like his attachment to his brier. He scrapes it, on the whole, a little roughly, but that is because he is so anxious to light up again, and I discovered long ago that he has signed an agree- ment with his wife to go to bed at half-past twelve. For some time I could not understand why he had a silver rim put on the bowl. I noticed the change in the tap at once, and the natural con- clusion would have been that the bowl had cracked. But it never had the tap of a cracked bowl. I was reluctant to believe that the man through the wall was merely some vulgar fellow, and I felt that he could not be so, or else he would have smoked his meerschaum more. At last I understood. The bowl had worn away on one side, and the silver rim had been needed to keep the tobacco in. Undoubtedly this was the ex- planation, for even before the rim came I was a little puzzled by the taps of the brier. He never seemed to hit the wall with the whole mouth of the bowl, but of course the reason was that he could not At the same time I do not exonerate him from blame. He is a clumsy smoker to burn his bowl at one side, and I am afraid he lets the stem slip round in his teeth. Of course, I se that the mouthpiece is loose, but a piece of blot- ting-paper would remedy that MY LAD Y NICO TIttM. j$ i His meerschaum is not such a good one as Jimmy's. Though Jimmy's boastfulness about his meerschaum was hard to bear, none of us ever denied the pipe's worth. The man through the wall has not a cherry-wood stem to his meer- schaum, and consequently it is too light. A ring has been worn into the palm of his left hand, owing to his tapping the meerschaum there, and it is as marked Jimmy's ring, for, though Jimmy tapped more strongly, the man through the wall has to tap oftener. What I chiefly dislike about the man through the wall is his treatment of his clay. A clay, I need scarcely say, has an entirely different tap from a meerschaum, but the man through the wall does not treat these two pipes as if they were on an equality. He ought to tap his clay on the palm of his hand, but he seldom does so, and I am strongly of opinion that when he does, it is only because he has forgotten that this is not the meerschaum. Were he to tap the clay on the walls oron the ribs of the fireplace he would smash it, so he taps it on a coal. About this there is something contemptible. I am not complaining because he has little affection for his clay. In face of all that has been said in honor of clays, and knowing that this statement will occasion an outcry against me, I admit that I never cared for clays myself. A rank tobacco is less rank through a church-warden, but to smoke the Arcadia through a clay is to incur my contempt, and even my resentment. But to disbelieve in clays is one thing and to treat them badly is another. If the man through the wall has decided, after reflection and experiment, that his clay is a mis- take, I say let him smoke it no more ; but so long as he does smoke it I would have it receive con sideration from him. I very much question whether, if he reads his heart, he could learn from it that he loves his meerschaum more than his clay, yet because the meerschaum cost more he taps . on his palm. This is a serious charge to bring against any man, but I do not make it lightly. The man through the wall smokes each of these three pipes nightly, beginning with the brier. Thus he does not like a hot pipe. Some will hold that he ought to finish with the brier, as it is his favor- ite, but I am not of that opinion. Undoubtedly, I think, the first pipe is the sweetest ; indeed I feel bound to make a statement here. I have an un- easy feeling that I never did justice to meer- schaums, and for this reason : I only smoked them after my brier was hot, so that I never gave them a fair chance. If I had begun the day with a meer- schaum, might it not have shown itself in a new light? That is a point I shall never be able to decide now, but I often think of it, and I leave the verdict to others. Even though I did not know that the man through the wall must retire at half-past twelve, his taps at that hour would announce it. He then gives each of his pipes a final tap, not briskly as before, but slowly, as if he was thinking between each tap. I have sometimes decided to send him a tin of the only tobacco to smoke, but on the whole I could not undertake the responsibility of giving a man whom I have only studied for a few months such a testimonial. Therefore when his last tap says good-night to me, I take my cold brier out of my mouth, tap it on the mantelpiece, cmile sadly, and go to bed. THE END. A 000115164 e