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 C. K. OGDEN 
 THE 
 
 COTTAGERS 
 
 OF 
 
 GLENBURNIE; 
 
 A TALE 
 FOR THE FARMER'S INGLE-NOOK. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH HAMILTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLES OF EDUCATION, 
 MEMOIRS OF MODERN PHILOSOPHERS, StC. &C. 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure, 
 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR MANNERS AND MILLER; 
 
 T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND, AND WILLIAM MIILF.R. 
 
 ALBEMARLE-STREET, LONDON. 
 
 1810.
 
 Prirted by Walker and Greig, 
 Edinburgh.
 
 rrurr ^JB^ART 
 
 N DNTT^^rTY OF C/ UFOPNT^- 
 
 TO 
 
 HECTOR MACNEILL, Esq. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 Independently of all considerations of 
 esteem or' friendsJiip, I know not to whom the 
 Cottagers of Glenburnie could be with 
 such propriety inscribed, as to the Author of the 
 Skaith of Scotland. 
 
 To the genius displayed in that adniircd produc- 
 tion of the Scottish nnise, this humbler coniimsiliou 
 of dull prose has indeed no pretensions.; but if it 
 shall be admitted, that the writers have been influ- 
 enced by similip- motives, I shall be satisfied with 
 Ihe share of approbation that nmsl inevitably fol- 
 low. Had I adhered to the plan on which thost^ 
 sketches were originally forniod, luid publislntl 
 Ihem as separate pieces, iu foini and size rcsemblinjr
 
 the tracts in the " Cheap Repository," I should 
 have had no apjirehensions concerning the justice 
 of the sentence to be passed upon them ; for then 
 they would have had little chance of falling into 
 ■other hands than those of the class of persons for 
 whose use they were infended. This exclusive per- 
 usal is, however, a happiness which no author has 
 a right to expect ; and which, to confess the tnith, 
 no author would very highly relish. For though 
 we were to be assured, that of the number of 
 readers in this reading age, one half read only with 
 the intention of gratifying their vanity, by shewing 
 their skill in })icking out the faults, yet who would 
 not prefer going through the ordeal of this soi- 
 disant criticism, to the mortification of not being 
 read at all ? 
 
 Of the mode of criticism now in vogue, I believe 
 your opinion coincides exactly with my own. We 
 do not consider it as originating in the pride, or 
 spleen, or malignity of the persons by whom it has 
 been most freely exercised, but in a mistaken notion 
 of the species of vigour and energy attached to the 
 censorial character, and essential to the dignity of 
 the critic's office. It is under this misconception, 
 that persons of highly cultivated talents sometimes 
 cwndesceud lo nrake use of the contemptuous sneer.
 
 \ 
 
 the petty cdxW, the Fjuilesque representation, 
 though modes of criticism in which they may easily 
 be outdone by the vulgar and illiterate. But surely 
 when men of genius and learning seem thus to 
 admit, that the decisions they pronounce stand in 
 weed of other support than the justice and good 
 ^ense in which they are founded, they forget tlie 
 consvquences that may follow. They forget, that 
 the tone of ill-nature can never be in unison with 
 the emotions that arise from the admiration of what 
 is beautiful ; and that as far as they, by the uiflu- 
 cncc of their example, contribute to give this tone 
 to the }>ublic nu'nd, they corrupt the public taste, 
 and give a bias that is inimical to its progress in 
 refinenient. But however the preval^ice of this 
 style of animadversion may, in a general view, be 
 lamented, it is not by authors of such trifling pro- 
 ductions as the present, that it ought to be con- 
 demned : for, is it not some consolation to reflect, 
 that let the meanest performance be judged with 
 what asperity, or spoken of with what contempt it 
 may, it cannot be more severely judged, or more 
 contemptuously treated, than works acknowledged 
 to possess merit of the highest order ? Let then the 
 critics do their worst ; I have found a cure for 
 every wound they can inflict on my vanity. But 
 a3
 
 iheie iive others besides professed critics, concern- 
 ing whose opinion of the propriety or tendency of 
 tliis little work, I confess myself to be jnost anxi- 
 ous, — and those are, the well-wishers to the im- 
 provement of their country. 
 
 A wanii attachment to tlie country of our ances- 
 tors, naturally produces a lively interest in all that 
 ronccrns its happiness and prosperity ; but though 
 in this attachment few of the children of Caledonia 
 are deficient, widely different are the views taken of 
 the manner in which it ought to be displayed. 
 
 In the oj)inion of vulgar minds, it ought to pro- 
 duce a blind and indiscriminate partiality for na- 
 tional modes, luajiners, and customs ; and a zeal 
 that kindles into rage at whoever dares to suppose 
 that our country has not, in every instance, reached 
 )ierfection. Every hint at the necessity of further 
 imjuovemeut, is, by such persons, deemed a libel 
 on all that has been already done ; and the exposi- 
 tion of what is fiuilty, though with a view to its 
 amendment, an unpardonable offence. From rea- 
 ders of this description, you will soon perceive, 1 
 cannot hope for fjuarter. Nor is it to readers of 
 this description alone, that the intention with which 
 my Cottage Tale is written, will ai)j)ear erroneous 
 or absurd.
 
 The politician, who measures the interests of his 
 country by her preponderance in the scale of em- 
 pire, regards all consideration ior individual happi- 
 ness as a weakness ; and by the man who thinks 
 riches and happiness synonymous, all that does not 
 directly tend to increase the influx of wealth, is 
 held in contempt. Each of these dictates to the 
 o})inions of numbers. In the school of the former, 
 the political value of the various classes in society 
 is judged of by their political influence ; and in that 
 of the latter, their imporlsnce is appreciated by 
 their power of creating wealth. It is the few by 
 whom these privileges are possessed, that are ob- 
 jects of consideration Jn the eyes of both. The 
 great mass of the people are, in their estimation, as 
 so many teeth in the wheels of a piece of machi- 
 nery, of no farther value than as they serve to faci- 
 litate its movements. Tso wonder if, in their eyes, 
 a regard to the moral 'capacities and feelings of such 
 implements, should appear visionar> and romantic. 
 Not less so, perhaps, than to the war-contri\ing 
 sage, at the time he coolly calculates how many of 
 his countrymen may, without national inconveni- 
 ence, be spared for slaughter ! 
 
 Happily, there are others, to v»hom the prospe- 
 rity of their country is no less dear, though its in-
 
 teiests are viewed by them through a very difl'ereut 
 medium. National happiness they consider as the 
 aggregate of the sum of individual happiness, and 
 individual virtue. The fraternal tie, of which they 
 feel the influence, binds them, not exclusively to 
 the poor or to the affluent — it embraces the inte- 
 rests of all. Every improvement in the arts, which 
 tends to give additional grace to the elegant enjoy- 
 ments of the wealthy ; every discovery made by 
 their countrymen in science ; every step attained in 
 the progress of literature, or philosophy — is to them 
 a subject of heartfelt gratulation. But while they 
 delight in observing the effects of increasing pros- 
 perity with which they are surrounded, they forget 
 not the claims of a class more numerous than that 
 of the prosperous. They forget not that the plea- 
 sures of the heart, and of the understanding, as well 
 as those of the senses, were intended by Providence 
 to be iu some degree enjoyed by all ; and there- 
 fore, that in the pleasures of the heart and the un- 
 derstanding, all are entitled to particii)ate. Persons 
 of this mode of thinking, do not fancy the wlwle 
 duties of charity to be comprised in some efforts 
 towaids prolonging the sensiti\e existence of those 
 who, without such relief, nuist perish; nor do they 
 «;onsider extreme indigence as Ihe only object on
 
 which their benevolence ought to be exerted ; nor 
 the physical wants of the lower orders, as the only 
 wants that ought to be sui)j)1ied. Nothing by which 
 the moral habits, or domestic comforts of their bre- 
 thren of any rank, can be materially injured or 
 promoted, can to such minds be indifferent. Pre- 
 cious in their eyes are the gleams of joy that illu- 
 mine the poor man's cottage ; sacred the peace 
 that reigns in it ; doubly sacred tlie virtues by 
 which alone that peace can be established or secur- 
 ed. By mhids such as these, my motives will not 
 be misinterpreted. By one such mind, at least, I 
 assure myself they will be judged of, with the in- 
 dulgence due to so many years of friendship. 
 
 May this be accepted as a testimony of the sin- 
 cerity with which that friendship has ever beea 
 returned by, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 Your obedient and faithful 
 humble servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 George Street, "^ 
 
 May .5. 1808. \
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 An Arrival - . - . Page l 
 
 CHAP. H. 
 
 Dissertation on Dress — Antiquated Precepts — 
 Histoiy of Mrs Mason's Cliildhood - 13 
 CHAP. HI. 
 History of Mrs Mason continued - 33 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 History of Mrs Mason continued - 55 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 ^Irs Mason's Story concluded - - 75 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 Domestic Sketches — Picture of Glenbumie — 
 View of a Scotch Cottage in the last cen- 
 tury - - - - 85 
 
 CHAP. vn. 
 
 \ peep behind the Curtain — Hints on Garden- 
 ing .... io5 
 CHAP. VHI. 
 Family Sketches - i - 119
 
 xu ^ 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Domestic Rebellion - - - 143 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 Containing a useful Prescription - l6l 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 An Escape from Earthly Cares and Sorrows 17 6 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 The Doctrine of Liberty and Equality stripped 
 of all Seditious Import, - - 1 8.f 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 The Force of Prejudice - - 194 
 
 CHAP. XIV. - - 210 
 CHAP. XV. 
 A Marriage, and a Wedding - - 223 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 An vmexpected Meeting between old Acquain- 
 tances . - - - 246 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 Receipt for making a thorough Servant — 
 Thoughts on Methodism - - 26l 
 CHAP. XVIII. 
 Hints conceruuig the Duties of a Schoolmaster 275 
 Conclusion . . - _ 297 
 Appendix ^ _ _ - 305
 
 THE 
 
 COTTAGERS OF GLENBURNIE. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 An Arrival. 
 
 In the fine summer of the year 17 88, as Mr 
 Stewart of Gowan-brae, and his two daughters, 
 were one morning sitting down to breakfast, 
 they were told by the servant, that a gentle- 
 woman was at the door, who desired to speak 
 with Mr Stewart on business. "She comes 
 in good time," said Mr Stewart ; " but do you 
 know who she is ?" *' No, Sir," returned the 
 servant, " she is quite a stranger, and speaks 
 Englified, and is very lame, but has a wonderous 
 pleasant countenance." Mr Stewart, without 
 further inquiry, hastened to the door, while 
 the young ladies continued the interrogations. 
 
 A
 
 " Did she come in her own carriage or in a 
 hack?" asked Miss Stewart. *' She came 
 riding on a double horse," replied the lad. 
 *' Riding double!" cried Miss Stewart, re- 
 suming her seat, " I thought she had been a 
 lady. — Come, Mary, let us have our break- 
 fast. — My goodness ! I hope papa is not bring- 
 ing the woman here." 
 
 As she spoke, the door opened, and Mr Stew- 
 art entered with the stranger leaning on his 
 arm. Her respectful salute was returned by 
 Miss Stewart with that sort of reserve which 
 young ladies, who are any-wise doubtful of 
 being entitled to all that they assume, are apt 
 to put on when addressing themselves to stran- 
 gers, of whose rank they are uncertain ; but, 
 by her sister Mary, it was returned with a 
 frankness which shewed that she did not fear 
 being demeaned by an act of courtesy. 
 
 *' Indeed you must breakfast with us, my 
 good Mrs Mason," said Mr Stewart, placing a 
 chair ; *' my daughters have often heard of 
 you from their mother. They are no stran- 
 gers either to your name or character ; and 
 therefore must be prepared to shew you esteem 
 and respect." 
 
 Miss Stewart coloured, and drew up her 
 head very scornfully ; of which Mrs Mason 
 took no notice, but humbly thanking the good
 
 gentleman for his kindness, added, " that he 
 could scarcely imagine how much pleasm^e 
 it gave her, to see the children of one whom 
 she had so loved and honoured ; and she was 
 loved and honoured by all who knew her,'* 
 continued she. " Both the young ladies re- 
 semble her : may they be as like her in their 
 minds as in their persons !" 
 
 '* God grant they may !" said the father, 
 sighing, " and I hope her friends will be 
 theirs through life." 
 
 Miss Stewart, who had been all this time 
 looking out of the window, began her break- 
 fast, without taking any notice of what was 
 said ; but Mary, who never heard her mother 
 spoken of without sensible emotion, bowed 
 to Mrs Mason, with a look expressive of her 
 gratitude ; and observing, with compassion, 
 how much she appeared exhausted by the fa- 
 tigue of travelling, urged the necessity of her 
 taking refreshment and repose. Mr Stewart 
 warmly seconded his daugh.ter's invitation, 
 who, having learned that Mrs Mason had 
 travelled night and day in the stage-coach, 
 
 and only stopped at , until a horse could 
 
 be prepared to bring her forward to Gowan- 
 brae, was anxious that she should devote the re- 
 mainder of the day to rest. The weary stranger 
 thankfully acceded to the kind proposal ; and
 
 4 
 
 Mary perceiving how lame she was, offered her 
 assistance to support her to her room, and 
 ■conducted her to it with all that respectful 
 kindness, which age or indisposition so natu- 
 rally excite in an artless mind. 
 
 When Mary returned to the parlour, she 
 found her father at the door, going out ; he 
 gave her a smile of approbation, as he passed, 
 and kindly tapping her on the neck, said, 
 " She was a dear good lassie, and a comfort 
 to his heart." 
 
 Miss Bell, who thought that every praise 
 bestowed on her sister, conveyed a reproach 
 to her, now broke silence, in evident displea- 
 sure with all the party. 
 
 " She was sure, for her part, she did not 
 know what people meant by paying such 
 people so much attention. But she knew 
 well enough it was all to get their good words ; 
 but, for her part, she scorned such meanness. 
 She scorned to get the good word of any one, 
 by doing what was so improper." 
 
 " And wliat, my dear Bell, is improper in 
 what I have now done ?" said Mary, in a mild 
 tone of expostulation. 
 
 ** Improper !" returned her sister, " I don't 
 know what you call improper, if you think it 
 proper to keep company with a servant; and 
 to make as much fuss about her, too, as if
 
 slie were a lady. Improper, indeed ! And 
 when you know, too, that Captain Mollins- 
 was to come here to-day ; and that I hoped 
 my father would ask him to dinner. But my 
 friends are never to be minded ; they are to be 
 turned out to make room for every trumpery 
 person you choose to pick up !" 
 
 " Indeed, sister, you do me injustice," said 
 Mary ; " you know I did not bring Mrs 
 Mason here ; but when I heard her namcy. T 
 recollected all that our dear mother had often 
 told us of her extraordinary worth ; and I 
 thought,, if it had pleased God to have spared 
 her, how glad she would have been to have 
 seen one she so mtich esteemed ; for, though 
 ray mother was born in a higher station, and 
 bred to higher views than we have any right 
 to, she had no i^ride, and treated all who were 
 worthy of her notice with kindness." 
 
 " Yes," replied Miss Bell, " it was her 
 only fault. She was a woman of family : 
 and, with her connexions, if she had held her 
 liead a little higher, and never taken notice of 
 people because of their being good, and such 
 stuff, she might have lived in a genteeler stile. 
 I am sure she gave as much to poor people 
 every year, as might have given handsome 
 dinners to half the gentry in the country : 
 and, to curry favour with my father, you en-
 
 G 
 
 courage him in the same mean ways. But I see 
 through your mean arts, Miss, and I despise 
 them." 
 
 " Indeed, sister, I have no arts," said Mary ; 
 " I wish to follow the example that was set 
 us by the best of mothers, and I am sure we 
 cannot have a better model for oiir conduct." 
 
 " Do as you please, Miss I" cried her sister, 
 choking with rage ; and, leaving the room, 
 slapped the door after her, with a violence 
 which awaked their guest, and brought their 
 father up from his study to iee what was the 
 matter. He found Mary in tears, and instant- 
 ly conjectured the cause of the uproar. " I see 
 how it is," said he ; '' Bell has been giving 
 vent to the passion which I saw brewing in her 
 breast, from the moment that I brought this 
 worthy woman into the room. The ridicu- 
 lous notions that she has got about gentility, 
 seem to have stifled every good feeling in her 
 mind. But it is my own fault. This is the 
 eiFect of sending her, on account of these ac- 
 complishments, to that nursery of folly and 
 impertinence, where she learned nothing but 
 vanity and idleness." 
 
 *' Indeed, Sir," said Mary, ** my sister is 
 very accomplished, and very genteel ; and it 
 is natural that slie should wish to get into gen- 
 lecl company, to which she thinks our taking
 
 notice of people in an inferior station presents 
 an obstacle." 
 
 " Then she thinks very foolishly, and very 
 absurdly," replied Mr Stewart. " My father 
 was an honest man, and therefore I am not, 
 ashan-ied of my origin ; but, were I ashamed 
 of it, could I by that make any one forget it ? 
 Does not all the country know that I am but 
 a farmer's son ? and though, by being factor 
 on the estate of Longlands, I have been brought 
 into the company of higher people, it is by 
 my character, and not by my situation, that I 
 have gained a title to their respect. Depend 
 upon it, Mary, that as long as people in our 
 private station rest their claim to respect upon 
 the grounds of upright conduct, and unble- 
 mished virtue, they will not fail to meet with 
 the attention they deserve ; and, that the vain 
 ambition of being esteemed richer or greater 
 than we really are, is a contemptible mean- 
 ness, and will not fail to expose us to many 
 mortifications. What, in reality, can be more 
 mean than to be ashamed of noticino- a deserv- 
 ing person, because they are poor? — unless, 
 indeed, it be the meanness of courting-, the 
 favour of one who is rich and wicked." 
 
 Mary expressed her assent ; and Mr Stewart 
 proceeded. " As to Mrs Mason," said he, 
 ** she was, it is true, but a servant in the house
 
 of Lord Longlands ; and was brought up by 
 the old lady from a child to be a servant. 
 Your mother was then in the house, in a state 
 of dependence, as a poor relation ; and would 
 have found her situation miserable, had it not 
 been alleviated by the kind attentions of this 
 good girl, Betty Mason, who performed for 
 her many friendly offices, essential to her com- 
 fort ; and was, in sickness, her sole support 
 rind consolation : for the old lady, though pride 
 made lier treat my wife as a relation, so far 
 as to give her a seat at her table, was a woman 
 of a coarse and selfish mind, and gave herself 
 little trouble about the feelings or comforts of 
 any one. What my poor dear angel suffered, 
 while she was in that great house, was well 
 known to me, and went to my heart. When 
 seized with a fever, at a time the house was 
 full of company, she was so neglected, that 
 she would inevitably have lost her life, but 
 tor the care of Mason, who watched her night 
 and day. She always called her her preserver; 
 and can we, my dear Mary, forget the obliga- 
 tion ? No, no, never shall one who shewed 
 kindness to her, find aught but kindness at 
 Gow/an-brae. Tell your sister, that I say so ; 
 and that if she does not choose to treat Mrs 
 Mason as my guest ought to be treated, she 
 bad better keep her room. — But who comes
 
 9 
 
 here ? A fine gentleman, I think. Do yon 
 know' who he is ?" " I never saw him, Sir," 
 returned Mary ; " but I suppose it is a Cap- 
 tain Mollins, whom my sister met with, when 
 she went to the ball with Mrs Flinders." 
 
 *' Mrs Flinders is a vain giddy woman," 
 said Mr Stewart, " and I do not like any one 
 the better for being of her acquaintance j but 
 I will not prejudge the merits of the gentle- 
 man." Captain Mollins was then shewn in, 
 and was received by Mr Stewart with a grave 
 civility, which might have embarrassed some 
 people ; but the captain was not so easily 
 abashed, saying, that he had the honour of 
 bringing a message for Miss Stewart from Mrs 
 Flinders. He took his seat, and began talking 
 of the weather, with all the ease of an old ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Miss Stewart, who, in expectation of the 
 captain's visit, had changed her dress, walked 
 into the room, with a smile, or rather simper,^ 
 on her countenance ; through which an acute 
 observer would, however, have seen the re- 
 mains of the recent storm. Her eyes sparkled, 
 but her eyebrows were not yet unbent to the 
 openness of good humour ; her voice was, 
 however, changed to tlie tone of pleasure ; 
 and so much wit did she find in the eaptain's 
 conversation, that every sentence he uttered 
 A 3
 
 10 
 
 produced a laugh. They had, indeed, all the 
 laugh to themselves ; for as they only spoke 
 about the ball, and as neither Mr Stewart nor 
 Mary had been there, they could have no clue 
 to the meaning of the many brilliant things 
 that were said. But when the old gentleman 
 heard the captain ask his daughter, whether 
 she was not acquainted with some of the 
 quizzes whom he had seen speak to her, and 
 saw his daughter blush indignant at the charge, 
 he thought it time to ask for an explanation-; 
 and begged the captain to inform him of whom 
 he spoke. 
 
 The captain turned off the question w^th a 
 laugh — saying, '* he was only rallying Miss 
 Stewart about a gentleman in a green coat, 
 who had the assurance to ask her to dance — 
 one of the town's people — and you know. Sir, 
 what a vulgar set they are, he, he, he !" 
 
 " O, shockingly vulgar indeed," said Miss 
 Stewart ; *' but we have no acquaintance with 
 them, I assure you — zee visit none but the 
 families In the country." 
 
 Then you have no remorse for your cruelty 
 to that poor Mr Fraser," cried the captain. 
 ** He looked so mortified when you refused 
 him — I shall never forget it, he, he, he !" 
 
 ** Ha, ha, ha, — Well, you are so comical," 
 said Miss Stewart, endeavouring to prevent
 
 11 
 
 her father, who was about to speak ; but the 
 old gentleaian would be lieard. " Was it 
 Mr Fraser, did you say. Sir, tliat asked my 
 daughter P" 
 
 *' Yes, Fraser, Fraser, that was his name, I 
 think — a little squat vulgar fellow — one you 
 probably don't know." 
 
 ** But I do know him, Sir," returned Mr 
 Stewart ; '' that little fat vulgar fellow is my 
 nephew. Sir — my daughter's cousin-german ; 
 a man of whose notice she ought to be proud, 
 for he is respected as a benefactor to the whole 
 neighbourhood. Were she to be ashamed to 
 acknowledge her relationship to such a man, 
 because he wears plain manners, and a plain 
 coat, I should be ashamed of her. Had my 
 nephew been less successful in business than 
 he has been, he would have still merited 
 esteem ; for though of no high birth, he pos- 
 sesses the heart, and soul, and spirit of a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " Very true. Sir — very true, indeed," said 
 the captain, with undaunted assurance, " Mr 
 Fraser is a very worthy man j he gives excel- 
 lent dinners ; I have the honour of knowing 
 him intimately ; have dined with him twice a 
 
 week, ever since I have been at ; a very 
 
 worthy man indeed. I believe he dines with 
 Mrs Flinders to-day, and will probably see
 
 12 
 
 Miss Stewart home ; for I hope she wont mor- 
 tify her friend, by refusing her invitation." 
 
 Miss Stewart looked at her father, who 
 was exceedingly averse from the proposal. At 
 length, however, she carried her point, as she 
 generally did j for Mr Stewart, though he 
 saw, and hourly felt, the consequence of his 
 indulgence, wanted the firmness that was ne- 
 cessary to enforce obedience, and to guide the 
 conduct of this froward and se^f-willed child.
 
 13 
 
 CHAP. IL 
 
 Dissertation on Dress. — Antiquated Precepts, 
 liistorif of Mrs Mason's Cliildhood. 
 
 Mr Stewart being called away on busi- 
 ness, left it in charge with his daughter Mary, 
 to prevent the departure of their guest during 
 his absence ; a commission which she gladly 
 undertook, to execute, saying, that she would 
 watch for the moment of her awakening, in 
 the adjoining room. In going to it she pass- 
 ed the door of her sister's apartment, which 
 stood a-jar, as was indeed its usual state ;, for 
 she had, among her other accomplishments, 
 acquired such a habit of slapping it after her, 
 that the spring of the lock was always broken. 
 
 Mary, hearing herself called on, entered, 
 and asked, if she could render her any assist- 
 ance in dressing. " O yes," cried Bell, " if 
 you will only come and help me to find my 
 things J I don't know, I am sure, where they
 
 u 
 
 are all gone to, I have looked all these 
 drawers through, and I cannot find a single 
 pair of stockings fit to put on. What shall I 
 do ! I have nothing fit to wear. O me ! what 
 shall I do?" 
 
 *' What ! nothing fit to wear, among all 
 these heaps of clothes I" said Mary, " I be- 
 lieve, few girls in the country have such a 
 well-stored wardrobe. We, at any rate, have 
 no reason to complain, as we always find my 
 father"— 
 
 " My father !" interrupted Bell, " I am 
 sure my father would never let us wear any 
 thing in the fashion, if he could. But what 
 should he know about dress at Gowan-brae ? I 
 wonder you have not more spirit than to fall in 
 with his old-fashioned notions." 
 
 " My father wishes us always to be dressed 
 according to our station, and our fortune," re- 
 turned Mary ; " and I think it a pity such 
 notions should ever be out of fashion." 
 
 " But they are," said Bell, " and that's 
 enough. Who thinks of being so mean as to 
 confess, that they cannot afford any thing ex- 
 pensive? I wish you saw how the young ladies 
 in Edinburgh dress ! I don't mean those who 
 have fortunes, for there is nothing in that ; but 
 those who have not a sliilling to depend on. 
 Yet they are all so fine, that one is ashamed to
 
 be seen beside them ! Look there, and see 
 whether I have one decent thing to put on." 
 
 **• Indeed, your things are very good," re- 
 turned Mary, " if you would be persuaded to 
 keep them properly. I wonder you would not 
 do it for the sake of having a comfortable 
 room ; for it is always so strewed with litter, 
 that one never can find a chair to sit down on ;. 
 and think how your things must be spoiled 
 by the dust." 
 
 *' But who can be at the trouble of fold- 
 folding their things as you do," cried Bell ; 
 *' and besides, it is so like an old maid. Well, 
 now that you have put that gown in order, I 
 think it will do ; and now, if you would let 
 me have your new cap, I should \)e quite 
 sinart." 
 
 " And why not wear your own ? It is sure- 
 ly the same, if not better than mine is." 
 
 " O no," returned Miss Bell, " it is all torn 
 to pieces." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, I forgot to put it in the box ; and 
 so it met with a misfortune. How could I 
 help it ? I am sure I never saw such a thing in 
 my life ; nor any one else. These vile little 
 terrier puppies ! I never kne^ the like of 
 them ; but they are just kept about the house 
 to plague me. I had only lain down upon my
 
 16 
 
 bed to read a novel I got from Mrs Flinders, 
 when I heard the nasty things come into the 
 room ; but I could not be at the trouble to put 
 them out, I was so interested in the book. Little 
 did I think it was my cap they were tearing 
 to pieces, all the while they went bouncing and 
 jumping about the room. Whurt, whurt ! 
 cried one ; Wouf, wouf ! cried the other ; but 
 I still read on, till I was so much affected by 
 the story, that I was obliged to get up to look 
 for my pocket-handkerchief — when, lo ! the 
 first thing I beheld was the fragments of my 
 poor cap ! not one morsel of it together. The 
 lace torn into perfect scraps, and the ribbon 
 quite useless ! Do now, let me have your cap, 
 like a good creature, and I promise to take care 
 of it." 
 
 Mary, who was indeed a good creature, could 
 refuse her sister nothing, when she spoke to 
 her with temper. She brought her the cap, 
 and assisted her in dressing her hair for it ; but 
 could not avoid taking the opportunity of giv- 
 ing her a few cautionary hints, with regard to 
 forming hasty intimacies with the strangers slie 
 met at Mount Flinders. Bell was instantly in 
 arms in defence of her friend's associates, who 
 Were all c.icessiveii/ genteel ; but liappily the 
 carriage v/as at the door, and the coachman so 
 impatient, that she had no time for a further
 
 17 
 
 discussion. She was no sooner gone than Mary 
 went to inquire for her guest ; and as the 
 cordial invitation she carried her, was given 
 with evident good will, it was accepted of in 
 the spirit of gratitude. 
 
 Mr Stewart did not return till the evening 
 of the following day 5 but, in the interim, the 
 time past cheerfully. The conversation often 
 turned upon a topic that was ever interesting 
 to the heart of Mary — the virtues of her 
 mother, on which she delighted to expatiate ; 
 she likewise spoke of her brothers, who had 
 been recommended by her mother to her par- 
 ticular care. " I deeply feel," said Mary, 
 " the importance of the trust ; and I daily 
 pray to God for strength to execute it : but 
 what, alas ! can I do for my brothers, but give 
 them the best advice I can, when they are at 
 home with me, and write to them when they 
 are at school ? They are indeed very good boys, 
 and never refuse to attend to what I say, un- 
 less in regard to the respect I wish them to pay 
 my sister. But she is constantly finding fault 
 wi;;h some of them ; and is, I fear, so jealous 
 of their attachment to me, that she will never 
 love them as she ought, which often makes me 
 very unhappy ; for I have been used to hear 
 my mother say, that young men generally turn- 
 ed out well, who had a peaceful happy home :
 
 18 
 
 und besides, what can be so delightful as a fa- 
 mily of love !" 
 
 *' True," replied Mrs Mason, '' it is one of 
 the characteristics of heaven. But in this life, 
 my dear Miss Mary, every one must have their 
 trials ; and were it not for the contrariety of 
 dispositions and tempers, how few trials should 
 we have to encounter in domestic life ! To 
 yield to those who, in their turn, yield to us, 
 is an easy task, and would neither exercise 
 our patience, nor forbearance, nor fortitude j 
 and are not these most precious virtues ?" 
 
 *' How like that is to my good mother !" 
 cried Mary, *' O, Mrs Mason, if I had always 
 such a friend as you beside me, to put me in 
 m.ind of my duty, and to support me in perform- 
 ing it, I think I should never sink under it, as 
 I sometimes do." 
 
 " And have you not a friend, a guide, and a 
 supporter, in Him who called you to these tri:ds 
 of your virtue ? Consider, my dear young lady, 
 it is your Heavenly Father who has set the 
 task, — perform it as unto Him, and when you 
 have to encounter opposition, or injustice, you 
 will no longer find them intolerable." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," replied Mary ; 
 " I fear I do not always reflect so much on this 
 as I ought. I shall, however, endeavour to 
 Jkeep it more in mind for the future. But tell
 
 19 
 
 me, Mrs Mason, how it is that you come to 
 think so justly — so like my dear mother ? You 
 must, like her, have had the advantage of an 
 excellent education. And yet, pardon me, for 
 I suppose I have been misinformed, but I un- 
 derstood that you were not, when young, in a 
 situation in which you could be supposed to re- 
 ceive the benefit of much instruction. I now 
 see you have had greater advantages than I 
 imagined." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs Mason, smiling, *' my 
 advantages indeed were great. I had a good 
 mother, who, when I was a little child, taught 
 me to subdue my own proud spirit, and to be 
 tractable and obedient. Many poor people 
 think, that their children will learn this time 
 enough, when they go into the world ; and that 
 as they will meet with hardships when they 
 grow up, it would be a pity to make them suffer, 
 by contradicting them when they are little. 
 But what does a child suffer fronx the correction 
 of a judicious parent, in comparison of what 
 grown people suffer from their passions ? My 
 inother taught me the only true road to obe- 
 dience, in the love and fear of God. I learn- 
 ed from her to read, but she read ill herself, 
 and could not instruct me in a proper method ; 
 nor could she afford to send me to school, for 
 she was reduced to extreme poverty. She died
 
 20 
 
 when I was ten years old, and I thank God for 
 enabling me to add to the comforts of the last 
 year of her life by my industry." 
 
 " Why, what could you do for her at that 
 tender age?" said Mary, "you were but a 
 little child." 
 
 " I was so. Miss," replied Mrs Mason, 
 *' but I could knit stockings, though I wore 
 none ; and ha'v^nor knit a pair for the gar- 
 dener's wife at Hill Castle, I was recom- 
 mended by her to the housekeeper, who had 
 the gout in her feet, and wanted a pair knit of 
 lambs wool, to wear in the winter. I hap- 
 pened to please her ; and when she paid me, 
 she not only gave me twopence over and above 
 the price, but a bit of sweet-cake, which I 
 immediately put in my pocket, saying, I would 
 take it to my mother. This brought on some 
 questions, the result of which was an order to 
 come to the castle daily for my mother's din- 
 ner. Never, never, shall I forget the joy of 
 heart with which I went home witla these 
 glad tidings ; nor the pious gratitude with 
 which my mother returned her thanks to God 
 for this unlooked-for mercy 1 She hoped that 
 I would gain the favour of my benefactoi"s by 
 mj diligence and industry, and she was not 
 disappointed. The housekeeper spoke of me 
 to her lady, who desired that when I nexl
 
 2J 
 
 came I might be taken up to her room, 
 that she might see me. Her orders were 
 obeyed next day, and, with trembling linabs 
 and a beating heart did I approach her. She 
 asked me several questions, and was so well 
 satisfied with my answers, that she said she 
 was sure I was a good girl, and that she woiild 
 give me education to make me a good servant, 
 and that I should live at the castle under the 
 care of Jackson. Seeing me hesitate, she 
 looked angry, and asked me if I was too proud 
 to be a servant under Jackson ^" " O no," 
 I cried, " I would be happy to do any thing 
 for Mrs Jackson, but I cannot leave my mo- 
 ther. She is not ible to leave her bed, and I 
 do every thing for her ; she has no one but 
 me to help her." 
 
 " It is very true, my lady," said the house- 
 keeper ; and she then gave such an account of 
 all I did for my mother, as seemed to astonish 
 the old lady, who, in a gentler tone, said, that I 
 was a good girl, a very good girl ; and should 
 come to live with her when my mother died, 
 which could be at no great distance. The pos- 
 sibility of my mother's death had never before 
 occurred to me ; and when my lady put half- 
 a-crown into my hand, which she said was to 
 serve for earnest. Hooked at it with horror, con- 
 sidering it as making a sort of bargain for my
 
 mother's life. With tears running down my 
 cheeks, I begged her to take back the money, 
 for that I should be ready to serve her by 
 night or day, for what she pleased to give 
 me ; but she refused, and telling me I was a 
 little fool, bade me take the silver to my mo- 
 ther, and say, that she should have as much 
 every week. " Your ladyship will not long 
 be troubled with the pensioner," said the 
 housekeeper ; " for I am much mistaken, if 
 she has many weeks to live." I was so struck 
 at hearing this sad sentence, that I went home 
 with a heavy heart, and complained to my 
 mother of her having concealed from me that 
 she was so very ill. She said she knew how 
 much I had to do, that my exertions were be- 
 yond my strength ; and therefore she had not 
 had the heart to afflict me, with speaking 
 of her situation. But she saw that her trust 
 in Providence had not been in vain. The 
 Lord, who had through life so graciously sup- 
 plied her wants, had heard her prayers in be- 
 half of her child. " Yes," repeated she, *' my 
 prayers have been answered in peace. I know 
 that my Redeemer liveth : continue to serve 
 him, my dear bairn ; and though we now 
 part, we shall hereafter meet in joy." She 
 continued some time apparently engaged in 
 fervent prayer. At length her lips ceased to
 
 move, and I thought she had fallen asleep. 
 I made up our little fire, and, having said my 
 prayers, gently crept to bed. She was then 
 gone, but I did not know that her soul had 
 fled. Cold as she was, I did not think it was 
 the coldness of death ! But when I awoke in 
 the morning, and found that she no longer 
 breathed, and saw that her face was altered, 
 though it still looked mild and pleasing, I 
 was seized with inexpressible terror. This 
 did not, however, last ; I recollected that God 
 was still present with me, and, casting myself 
 on my knees before Him, I held up my little 
 hands to implore his protection, engaging, in 
 the language of simplicity, that I would be 
 evermore His obedient child. 
 
 *' This action inspired me with courage ; 
 I deliberately dressed myself, and went over 
 to the farmer's to tell of my sad loss, which 
 was indeed proclaimed by my tears, rather 
 than my words. Nothing could exceed the 
 kindness of all our neighbours upon this occa- 
 sion. They clubbed among them the ex- 
 penses of my mother's funeral, and resolved, 
 that all she had should be kept for me. They 
 made a sort of rude inventory of her little 
 effects ; and, on searching her pockets, dis- 
 covered the half-crown piece, which had been 
 the prelude of all my sorrows. At sight of
 
 24- 
 
 it, my tears flowed afresh, and I cried out, 
 that I would not have that big shilling — I 
 would never touch it, for it was it that had 
 brought on my mother's death. I then, as 
 well as I could, told all that my lady had said 
 to me, when she gave it, and was greatly sur- 
 prised to find, that, instead of joining in my 
 aversion to the half-crown, my good neigh- 
 bours considered it as an auspicious omen of 
 my future fortune. Nor have I had any rea- 
 son to view it in a contrary light ; for though 
 my life (the rest of which has been spent in 
 Lord Longland's family) has not been free 
 from troubles, it has been sweetened by many 
 mercies. But I must have tired you with 
 talking of myself," continued Mrs Mason ; 
 *' for what interest can you take in the story 
 of my childhood ?" 
 
 *' But I do indeed, Mrs Mason, I take a 
 great interest in it," cried Mary; '* and I have 
 learned from it more of the consequences of 
 early education, than from many of the books 
 I have read upon the subject. Pray tell me 
 how you went on at Hill Castle ; and tell me 
 how soon it was that you saw my mother, and 
 what she was then like ? " 
 
 " She was then exactly what you are now, 
 my dear young lady. The same height, the 
 same soft voice, the same fair eoniplexion,
 
 25 
 
 and the same mild expression in her eyits- 
 I could almost think it her, that now stood 
 before me." 
 
 *' Well, but you must go on from the time 
 you went home. Did the old lady receive 
 you kindly?" 
 
 " She meant to do so," returned Mrs Ma- 
 son ; '* but she had a stern manner, and ex- 
 acted such minute and punctual obedience, as' 
 rendered it difRcult to please her. Indeed, 
 she was never pleased, except by those who 
 flattered her grossly ; and it was, as I soon 
 saw, by flattery, that her own woman, Mrs 
 Jackson, had made herself such a favourite. 
 But though I could not approve the means, I 
 must say this for Mrs Jackstvn, that she did 
 not make a bad use of her favour, at least 
 with regard to me, or to those she thought she 
 had in her power ; but she was so jealous of 
 any one obtaining my lady's ear, except her- 
 self, that it made her often guilty of endea- 
 vouring to create a prejudice against those 
 whose influence she had any dread of. I was 
 warned of this by my first friend, the old 
 housekeeper, who, on the day after I went 
 home, called me into her little parlour, and 
 said, that as she had been the means of bring- 
 ing me to the house, she would always be 
 my friend as long as I was good and obedient ;
 
 26 
 
 but that, as she wished me well, she would 
 not have me speak of her kindness ; for that, 
 said she, would not please Mrs Jackson, for 
 she likes to think that people owe every thing 
 to her ; and you must make it your first busi- 
 ness to please Mrs Jackson, aye, even before 
 my lady herself. For though my lady may 
 be angry, she will forget and forgive ; but if 
 ' you once shev,' Jackson that you wish to please 
 any body before her, she will neither forget 
 nor forgive it to you as long as you live : and, 
 while you look to her as all in all, she will be 
 very kind to you, and make my lady kind to 
 you too ; for she does with my lady what she 
 pleases." 
 
 I dropped my little curtsey, and, " thank 
 you, ma'am," at the end of her discourse, but 
 suppose I did not seem satisfied, for she asked 
 me if I was thinkincf of what she had been 
 saying to me ? " Yes, ma'am," said I, " but" 
 - — " But what?" said she. It was in vain 
 she asked ; I could not express myself; for I 
 could not point out where the error lay, though 
 I felt that the conduct ' she recommended was 
 somewhat opposite to that uprightness and 
 sincerity which my mother had so strictly en- 
 forced. I resolved, however, to exert myself 
 to gain Mrs Jackson's good will, by diligence 
 and attention ; and thought, in spite of all the
 
 housekeeper said, that she must love me the 
 better for behig grateful to whoever was kind 
 to me. 
 
 As our progress in every thing depends 
 upon our diligence, and as even in childhood 
 we soon learn what we resolve to learn, Mrs 
 Jackson had little trouble in the task of teach- 
 ing me. I soon worked at my needle, as well 
 as was possible for a child of my age ; and 
 sh« did not spare me, for she was to boast to 
 my lady at night of what I had performed in 
 the day. I never had a minute's time to play ; 
 but though such close confinement was not 
 good for my health, it was good for giving 
 me a habit of application, the most essential 
 of all habits for those who are to earn their 
 bread. 
 
 By the time I was twelve years old, Mrs 
 Jackson found me so useful an assistant, that 
 I should probably have been fit for nothing 
 but needle-work all my life long, had not my 
 lady been so pleased with my performance, as 
 to resolve to employ me in assisting her in the 
 embroidering of a set of chair-covers, which 
 were to be done in a fancy way of her own 
 contrivance. I now sat all the day in her 
 dressing-room, and had nothing to complain 
 of except hunger ; but of my being hungry my 
 lady never thought, though she must have 
 
 #
 
 28 
 
 known that I often fasted nine, and sometimes 
 ten hours at a time ; for I never durst rise 
 from my work until she went down to dinner. 
 But though thoughtless of my wants, she was 
 in other respects very kind to me, and gave 
 me. every encouragement, by praising my 
 work. The more satisfaction she expressed 
 in fhe, the less gracious did Mrs Jackson be- 
 come. She would on some days scarcely 
 speak to me ; and, though I begged to know 
 if T had offended her, would make me no 
 other answer, than that I was now too fine a 
 lady to mind any thing she could say. This 
 made me very unhappy, so that I often cried 
 sadly when I was sitting at my work alone ; 
 and was one day observed by my lady, who, 
 though my back was towards her, had seen 
 my face in the glass, as she entered the 
 room. She asked what was the matter with 
 me, in a tone so peremptory, that I dared not 
 refuse to answer ; and, with many tears, I 
 confessed, that Mrs Jackson was displeased 
 with me^ arid I knew not for what. 
 
 " But I shall know," said my lady pulling 
 the bell with violence ; " Jackson cannot be 
 angry without a cause." Jackson appeared ; 
 and without hesitation denied the charge, 
 *' Me angry with the poor child !" said she ; 
 '* how could she think me angry with her ?
 
 ^9 
 
 Am not I her best friend ? But it is evident 
 what the matter is, my lady ; the poor young 
 creature is broken-hearted from confinement ; 
 and besides, she is getting uppish notions, 
 from sitting up like a lady from morning to 
 night. But your ladyship pleases to have lier 
 beside you, to be sure, or you would not have 
 her, and so I say nothing ; but if I were to 
 presume to speak, I should say, that it would 
 do the poor thing more good to let her do a 
 little stirring work under the housemaid now 
 and then ; for I don't like to see young crea- 
 tures spoiled till they are good for nothing , 
 but if your ladyship thinks that she can work 
 the chair-covers better than I can, your lady- 
 ship knows best." 
 
 Whether my lady saw through the motives 
 of this advice or no, I cannot tell, but she 
 complied with it ; and I was immediately con- 
 signed to Molly the housemaid, who was one 
 of the most active and clever servants I have 
 ever known. 
 
 I had been so cramped by constant sitting, 
 that I found it very difficult . to go about my 
 new occupation with the activity which Molly 
 required, and of which she set me the exam- 
 ple. But I soon acquired it ; and Molly con- 
 fessed she never had to tell me the same thing 
 twice. This made her take pains with me 3 and
 
 I have often since found the advantage of having 
 learned from her the best way of doing all sorts 
 of household work. She was of a hasty temper, 
 but very good-natured upon the whole ; and if 
 she scolded me heartily for any little error in 
 the way of doing my work, she praised me 
 as cordially for taking pains to rectify it. As 
 there were many polished grates to scour, and 
 a vast number of rooms to keep clean, we had 
 a great deal to do ; but it was made easy by 
 regularity and method ; so that in winter we 
 had time to sit down to our needles in the 
 evening, and in «ummer generally contrived 
 to get a walk as far as the dairy. 
 
 I was a year and a half under Molly, and 
 thought it a happy time ; for though T worked 
 hard, I got health and spirits, and was as gay 
 as a lark. When Molly w^cS going to be mar- 
 ried, she desii"ed the houselceeper to ask my 
 lady to permit me to be her bridemaid. We 
 .were both called into my lady's room, when 
 she repeated the request ; and taking me by 
 the hand, *' It is but justice," says she, *' to 
 tell your ladyship, how this lassie has behaved. 
 I thought wlien she began, she never would 
 have made a servant, because she never had 
 been used to it ; but I soon found she had a 
 willing mind, and that was every thing. She
 
 31 
 
 iias been greater help to me than soma Ihaf. 
 were twice her age ; and in the eighteen months 
 she has been with me, she has never disappoint- 
 ed me by any neglect, nor ever told me an mi- 
 tmth, or given me a saucy answer. And as 
 she has been civil and discreet, I wish to put 
 what respect on her is in my power ; and if 
 your ladyship pleases to let her be my bride- 
 maid, I shall take it as a great favour to my- 
 self." My lady looked at Jackson, who was 
 dressing out her toilet, and had stopped to listen 
 to Molly's speech. *' Do you tliink she can 
 be spared, Jackson?" said my lady. "In- 
 deed," replied Jackson, " if you ask me, my 
 lady, I certainly do not think she can." 
 
 " If you please, iny lady," said Molly, " the 
 new housemaid says she will think nothing of 
 doing all the work to give a ploy to poor 
 Betty : the dairy-maid, too, will help her ; 
 there is not a servant in the house that would 
 not, she is so obliging and so good-natured a 
 lassie." 
 
 *' O, if you are to dictate to my lady, that's 
 another thing," cried Jackson ; " I supposed 
 my lady was to do as she pleased." 
 
 " And so I will," said my lady, peevishly ; 
 " go down stairs now, (to me), and I will 
 think of it." In a short time, Jackson came 
 down exultingly, and bid me go to my work.
 
 32 
 
 for that my lady did not chusc that I should 
 have my head turned, and be made good for 
 nothing by going about to weddings. 
 
 I made no answer, but I could not help be- 
 ing much vexed ; for it was the first time 1 
 had had the prospect of any pleasure ; and the 
 idea of seeing a dance, and enjojang all the 
 merriment of such a happy day, had quite 
 elated my spirits, which were now as suddenly 
 depressed. I endeavoured to hide my tears ; 
 but Jackson, who was put out of temper by 
 the consciousness of having treated me harshly, 
 was glad to throw the blame from herself, and 
 therefore accused Molly of having spoiled and 
 misled me, by filling my head with folly ; an 
 accusation that vexed me even more than my 
 disappointment.
 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 History of Mrs Mason continued. 
 
 After dinner, Mrs Mason, at Miss Mary's 
 request, resumed the account of her life, which 
 we shall give as nearly as possible in her own 
 words, without taking notice of the observa- 
 tions that were made by her young friend ; 
 or of the interruption that occurred to break 
 the thread of her story. 
 
 " Jackson, who had now got over her fears 
 of my lady's taking a fancy to me, began to 
 wish for my assistance in the work she was 
 about ; and got my lady prevailed upon to put 
 me once more under her direction. She took 
 care that I had full employment, and I thank 
 her for it, though it was not to shew her good- 
 will that she did it, but the contrary ; for she 
 still retained a grudge at me, foRthe affection 
 I had expressed for Molly ; and it was in this 
 spirit that she laid out my work. As you 
 B 3
 
 have been at pill Castle, you must refliember 
 the old tower, and that there are four rooms 
 •in it, on^ over the other to the top. The 
 lov/est of these rooms, that on the ground- 
 -floor, with the iron-barred windows, was 
 Jackson's own apartment, and where I like- 
 wise slept in a little press-bed. There could 
 not, to be sure, be a more dismal-looking 
 place ; and, indeed, they said it had in the old 
 times been used as a prison, and was said by 
 all the servants to be havinted. But I had no 
 leisure for thinking of such things ; for besides 
 the quantity of needle-work which Mrs Jack- 
 son exacted from me, I had all the apart- 
 ments of the tower from top to bottom com- 
 mitted to my cai-e, and had to sweep and dust 
 them, and to rub the furniture every day ; so 
 that in the day I \vas too busy, and by the time 
 I went to bed, too sleepy, to think about the 
 ghost. 
 
 Ever since I had been at the castle, the 
 tower rooms had only been occasionally in use, 
 when the house was full of company ; but 
 now the upper one was, we heard, to be occu- 
 pied by a cousin of my lady's, who was spoken 
 of by Jackson with the contempt which ser- 
 vants are too apt to feel towards the humble 
 friends or poor relations of the families they 
 live with. I thought, I confess it, with some
 
 vexation of the additional trouble which this 
 new guest was to occasion me ; and, on the even- 
 ing of her arrival, went to make up her roona 
 with no great cheerfulness. On opening the 
 door, I saw the young lady sitting at the win- 
 dow, and would have gone back, but she de- 
 sired me to come in, in a voice so sweet, 
 and yet so sorrowful, that it seemed to go to 
 my very heart. I saw she had been weeping, 
 but she dried her tears, and condescended to 
 enter into conversation with me, asking me 
 how long I had been at service, and other 
 kindly questions. 
 
 '' Four years at service, and not yet fif- 
 teen !" said she; "poor girl! your parents 
 must have been in great distress to part with 
 you so soon." " I had no parents, ma'am," 
 said I ; *' my father was carried off in a fever 
 before I was born, and my mother ten years 
 after ; and then my lady was so good as let 
 me come here to learn to be a servant."" 
 
 " And you were thankful for getting leave 
 to come to learn to be a servant?" said Miss 
 Osburne ; "what a lesson forme !" She seem- 
 ed for some moments busied in thought ; and 
 then, speaking to me again, " You are right 
 to be thankful, Betty ; God Almighty, who is 
 the father of the fatherless, will never forsake 
 us while we trust in Him ; and we ought to
 
 36 
 
 submit ourselves to all his dispensations, and 
 even to be thankful for those that appear the 
 darkest." 
 
 While I looked at her lovely face, as it was 
 again bathed in tears, which fell fast as she 
 spoke to me, I thought her an angel ! so supe- 
 rior did she seem to any human being that 
 I had ever seen. The meekness with which 
 she bore her afflictions increased my respect ; 
 but that one, in the rank of a lady, could have 
 her heart thus touched by grief, appeared to 
 me incomprehensible ; for I was then so igno- 
 rant as to think, that the sorrows of life were 
 only tasted in their bitterness by those of 
 lowly station. 
 
 You, my dear ?»Iiss Mary, have doubtless 
 heard enough of the history of your mother's 
 family, to know the sad change of circumstan- 
 ces, which she experienced on the death of 
 her parents, an ^vent that had then lately 
 taken" place. I was unable to form in my 
 mind any notion of how this change affected 
 her ; for to me she appeared to be still placed 
 in a situation so high above all want, as to be 
 most enviable. She had no hard work to uo no 
 task to perform, and which, sick or well, 
 must be accomplished ; but servants to attend 
 her, and fine rooms to sit in, and plenty of 
 fine clothes to wear,, and the niceties of £
 
 37 
 
 plentiful table to eat. Alas ! I soon learned, 
 fryrti closer observation, how little these things 
 ten>. ^ happiness ; and that peace of mind, 
 the oni_, happiness to be had on earth, is dis- 
 tributed by Providence with an equal hand 
 among all the various classes in society. 
 
 The kind manner in which Miss Osburne 
 spoke to me, made me take such pleasure in 
 serving her, as made all my work seem light. 
 My attention did not escape her notice, and 
 
 how richly did she repay it ! Finding that 
 
 1 read indifferently, and not so as to under- 
 stand what I read, she jproposed giving me a 
 daily lesson, wli^ch I thankfully accepted, 
 and, that it might not interfere with my work, 
 I got up an hour earlier every morning, which 
 I employed so diligently, that even Mrs Jack- 
 son was fully satisfied. 
 
 I had now acquired sense enough to know 
 ivhat an inestimable benefit was conferred 
 upon me by my dear Miss Osburne's kind 
 instructions. To her goodness I am indeed 
 indebted for all I know. From her I not only 
 learned to read with propriety, to write a tole- 
 rable hand, and td cast accounts ; but, what 
 was more valuable than all these, from her I 
 learned to think. She opened to me the book 
 of Providence, and taught me to adore the 
 wisdom, the justice, and the mercy of my God,
 
 in all his dealings with the human race. She 
 taught me to explore my own heart ; to be 
 sensible of its errors and its weaknesses ; and 
 to be tender of the faults of others, in propor- 
 tion as I was severe upon my own. My mo- 
 ther had endeavoured to lay in me the foun- 
 dation of Christian principles when I was a 
 child ; but it was not until I had learned from 
 this dear young lady to search the scriptures 
 for instruction, instead of running them over 
 as a task, that Christian principles were rooted 
 in my heart. 
 
 What could I do for her in return ? If I 
 could have laid down my life, it would have 
 been too little ; and if, in any instance, I prov- 
 ed of service, or of comfort to her, I consider 
 it a happiness, for which I am most truly 
 thankful. 
 
 Her situation at Hill Castle was indeed a 
 thorny one. She was there encompassed with 
 many evils ; and, in one instance, beset with 
 snares, which it required no common prudence 
 to escape. But her prudence was never put 
 to sleep, as in other young people it often is, 
 by Tanity ; and, with all the meekness axid 
 gentleness of a saint, she had all the wisdom 
 and the firmness of a noble and enlightened 
 mind. My lady and Jackson were the only 
 -persons that eter saw Miss Osburne without
 
 39 
 
 loving her. But my lady, though she some- 
 times took fancies to particular people, which 
 lasted for a little while, never loved any one 
 for their good qualities ; and had a spite at 
 Miss Osburne for being so much better in- 
 formed, and so much wiser than she was her- 
 self ; and it was enough to prevent Jackson 
 from loving her, that she was so loved by me. 
 
 But, notwithstanding all my lady's cross- 
 ness to her. Miss Osburne endeavoured to 
 make her happy, by labouring to bring about 
 a reconciliation between her and her son ; and 
 she so far succeeded, as to prevail on him to 
 come to the castle on the death of his lady, 
 and to leave his little boy (the present lord) 
 under his mother's care. I never thought my 
 lady loved the child ; but, as the heir of the 
 family, she was proud of him, and indulged 
 his humour in every thing, so that his temper 
 was quite spoiled. He took a fancy to play 
 in Jackson's room, in preference to the nur- 
 sery, and was attended by his maid, a very 
 artful woman, who had contrived to make the 
 child fond of her, by giving him, in secret, 
 quantities of sweet-cake, which, on account of 
 his stomach, he was forbid to eat. 
 
 When he could not be bribed into doing 
 what she pleased, she had nothing for it but 
 to frighten him ; and, in order to do so efFec-
 
 40 
 
 tually, used to tell him stories of hobgoblins, 
 and to make a noise as of some spirit coming 
 to take him away ; on hearing which, the 
 little creature would run panting, and terrified, 
 to hide his head in her lap. You can have 
 no notion how his nerves were shook by this. 
 I believe he feels it to 'the present day, and 
 am sure that much of his oddity, and of his 
 bad temper, of which the world talks so much, 
 might all be traced to the bad management of 
 Jenny Thomson. 
 
 It one day happened, that while I was bu- 
 sied in getting up a suit of lace for my lady, 
 the little lord came into our rooiu, as usual, to 
 play. Tvv'o pieces of the lace which I had 
 ironed were hung on the screen by the fire, 
 and while I was smoothing out another for 
 the iron, he snatched one of the pieces from 
 the screen, and twisted it round his neck. I 
 fiew to rescue it, and called to Jenny to desire 
 him to give it up, which she did in a wheed- 
 ling tone, promising at the same time that she 
 would give him a piece of plumb-cake. 
 
 *' I know that you have none to give me," 
 cried he ; " I have eat it all up, so I don't 
 mind you." — And don't you mind me ?" 
 cried I : " what mischief are you doing me ! 
 Your grand-mamma will be so angry w.ith me, 
 that I must tell her the truth, and then she
 
 41 
 
 will be angry with you too." — " I don't care," 
 cried Lord Lintop, twisting the lace the firmer 
 round his neck. . Seeing that no other means 
 would do, I took hold of him to take it from 
 him by force. He immediately set up a 
 scream of passion, but I persisted, and disen- 
 gaged the lace, as gently as I could, from his 
 grasp ; but no sooner had I succeeded, than he 
 snatched up the other piece, and, in a tran- 
 sport of rage, threw it on the fire, driving the 
 screen down at the same time with great vio- 
 lence. 
 
 The fire was strong, and the lace dry, so 
 that it» destruction was the work of a moment. 
 At the expense of burning my hand and arm, 
 I saved a fragment, but it could be of no use ; 
 and I really became sick with terror and vex- 
 ation. 
 
 Jenny desired me not to vex myself, for 
 that it was easy to say that "the screen only 
 fell by accident, and that my lord would be a 
 good boy, and say .that he saw it fall, and that 
 the lace which hung on it fell into the fire ; 
 '* and then what can my lady say, you know?" 
 cried she, perfectly satisfied with the arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 Her story might do very well, I said, pro- 
 vided there was none to witness against us.
 
 42 
 
 "• And who can witness against us?" said 
 she, '' has not the door been shut all the time ? 
 who then can witness against us ?" 
 
 " O, Jenn J," . returned I, " there are wit- 
 nesses whom no door can shut out, — God and 
 our own consciences. If these witness against 
 us, what does it signify whether my lady be 
 pleased or no ? I hope I shall never be so 
 wicked as to tell a wilful falsehood." 
 
 " Wicked, indeed !" repeated Jenny, very 
 angrily, — " Where have you lived all your 
 days I wonder, that you can talk such non- 
 sense I as if servants must not always do such 
 things if they would keep their place ? I know 
 more of the world than you do, Mrs Wisdom, 
 and can tell you, that you will not find many 
 masters or mistresses that do not like better 
 to be irnposed upon than to know the truth, 
 when it does not happen to be agreeable. 
 How long think' you should I keep my place, 
 "were I to tell all the truths about every thing 
 that Lord Lintop does ? But I know better ; 
 I always think with myself, before I go up, 
 of what they would like to hear ; and in all 
 the places I have been in, I have found it turn 
 to my advantage. Take my advice, and tell 
 tlie story as I have made it out, or depend 
 upon it you will get yourself brought into a 
 pretty scrape."
 
 She was called to go up to my lady with 
 her little charge, and I was left alone in a very 
 disconsolate state. The temptation to follow 
 her advice was strong ; but, thank God, my 
 principles were stronger, and the consequences 
 of beginning a course of sin, by departing from 
 truth, were so deeply imprinted on my mind, 
 that I was preserved from the snare. 
 
 On telling Jackson what had happened, she 
 was at first thrown into a mighty passion, and 
 would have cast the blame on me if it had 
 been possible ; but, though alwaj-s unreason- 
 able while her anger lasted, she was too good 
 a woman not to be shocked at the thoughts of 
 making up a deliberate and wicked lie, in 
 order to deceive her mistress. We were still 
 in consultation, when my lady rung her bell 
 for. Jackson, who returned in a moment, to 
 tell me that I must immediately go up and 
 answer for myself ; but that as /.'(///. iend Miss 
 Osburne was there, I need not be afraid, for 
 she would certainly take my part. 
 
 I went up, as you may believe, with a beat* 
 ing heart. As soon as I opened the door, my 
 lady, in a sharp voice, asked me what I had 
 done with her fine lace ? adding, that I had 
 better tell the truth at once, than make any 
 evasion. " I will indeed tell the truth, my 
 lady," said I ; " and though I am very sorry
 
 44 
 
 for the loss, your ladyship will be convinced 
 that I could not help it, and am not to blame." 
 I then told the story simply as it had hap- 
 pened ; but, while telling it, plainly saw that 
 what I said made no impression. When I 
 had finished, my lady looked me full in the 
 face, her ej'es quite wild with rage and indig- 
 nation, and, bursting inta a sort of scornful 
 laugh, " A pretty story truly you have made 
 out indeed!" cried she. "This is all the 
 good of your reading the Bible, forsooth ! first 
 to destroy my lace through carelessness, and 
 then to lay the blame upon the poor child ! the 
 heir of the family ! one whom such a creature 
 as you ought to have thought yourself honour- 
 ed in being permitted to wipe the dirt from 
 his shoes ? And yet you dare to lay your 
 faults to his door ; to complain of him, and 
 to complain of him to me ? What assurance ! 
 But I am happy to have detected you ; you 
 are a vile hypocrite, and shall no longer be 
 harboured in this house. I give you warning 
 ♦o provide yourself in another place." 
 
 '* I am sorry to have offended your lady- 
 ship," said I very humbly ; '' but indeed I 
 have told the truth, and I am sure Jenny can- 
 not be so wicked as not to confirm every word 
 I have 3aid."
 
 45 
 
 " Pardon me for interfering," said Miss 
 Osburne ; '' but I have such good reason for 
 having a high opinion of Betty's principles, 
 that I am convinced she is incapable of being 
 guilty of what you attribute to her. I could 
 stake my life on her sincerity. Do, my dear 
 madam, take a little time for inquiry before 
 you condemn." 
 
 This reasonable advice seemed like throw- 
 ing oil on the fire of my lady's pride, and she 
 became more angry than ever. She, however, 
 desired Jenny to be immediately called. As 
 soon as she entered, she was desired to tell 
 without fear, in what manner the accident had 
 happened. " I am sure, my lady," said the 
 artful girl, " it was, as your ladyship says, an 
 accident ; for I am sure Mrs Mason had no 
 intention whatever to drive down the screen, 
 nor do I believe she saw when she did it, for 
 it was in turning round that she pushed it over, 
 and the lace just fell into the fire, and was 
 
 umed in a moment." 
 ' " And where was Lord Lintop at the time?" 
 asked Miss Osburne. 
 
 " I believe he was standing at the table," 
 returned Jenny, hesitatingly. " O now I re- 
 collect,- he was playing with his little coach, 
 the coach which her ladyship gave him, and 
 which he is so fond of, that he would never
 
 IH it be out ot his hand; but indeed he loves 
 every thing that his grand-mama gives him ; 
 I never saw so dear a tractable creature in all 
 my life." 
 
 " Are you sure that he xvas then plaj'ing 
 with the coach ?" asked Miss Osburne. " O 
 very sure and certain," returned Jenny ; '* I 
 remember it particularly, because I had just 
 put a string to it, as we went into Mrs Jack- 
 son's room." 
 
 " I shall refresh your memory, however," 
 said Miss Osburne, rising, and opening the 
 door of a closet, from whence she returned / 
 with the coach in her hand. " This toy has\ 
 been in that closet since yesterday evening, 
 that I took it from the child when he was 
 going to bed. In this instance, therefore, you 
 have not been correct." 
 
 *' That is of no consequence," said my lady; 
 *' the child might have been playing with some 
 other toy ; all I ask is, did he touch the lace ?" 
 
 " He ! poor innocent darling !" cried Jenny ; 
 " no, as I hope to be saved, he was not even 
 near it." 
 
 " O, Jenny, what a sin are you oommit- 
 ting !" I exclaimed. But her ladyship com- 
 manded me to be silent, and to loRve the 
 room.
 
 47 
 
 I went, grieved and astonished at her injus- 
 tice, but rejoicing in my innocence. Jackson 
 •was very kind to me, and assured me that my 
 lady would, when left to herself, come round, 
 but that there would be no good in speaking 
 to her at present. There was indeed no good 
 in it ; for all that Miss Osburne said in my 
 defence, only made her more positive in assert- 
 ing the truth of Jenny's story ; and when my 
 amiable friend would have questioned the 
 child, she helped him to all his answers ; 
 and it is surprising how soon children can ob- 
 serve who is on their side, and how soon they 
 can learn to practise the little arts of cunning 
 and deceit. 
 
 My leaving the castle was now a thing 
 fixed, and the only consolation I could receive 
 in tlie view of it, was from a knowledge of 
 carrying with me the good-will of all that 
 knew me. I was shocked at the thoughts of 
 being thrown into the world without a friend ; 
 but I was reminded by dear Miss Osburne, 
 that the friendship of man is but a bending 
 reed, in comparison of the protection of Him, 
 who is, to all that put their trust in Him, a 
 tower of strength. 
 
 I was now to go in three days, and was not 
 yet provided in a place ; but Miss Osburne 
 had written about me to a friend of hers, and
 
 48 
 
 I hoped her application would be successful. 
 In the mean time, Lord Longlands arrived at 
 the castle, to prepare his mother for the recep- 
 tion of his intended bride, the heiress of Mer- 
 riton, whose great fortime made her a more 
 acceptable daughter-in-law to the old ladj, 
 than my lord's first wife had been ; and Jack- 
 son, seeing my lady in such high good humour, 
 thought it a favourable time to soften her in 
 my behalf. She began by telling her, how 
 sorry I was to leave the castle, and then ven- 
 tured to say many things in my praise, tak- 
 ing care, at the same time, to contrast all she 
 said in my favour, with the idleness and self- 
 conceit of Jenny, wKose word, she said, would 
 never be taken before mine by any one who 
 knew us both, as she did. Poor Jackson had 
 reason to repent her zeal ; for she found my 
 lady so prepossessed in favour of my adversary, 
 that all she said agrainst her was attributed to 
 
 O 
 
 spite. And she now saw, that, having accus- 
 tomed her lady to flattery, she had exposed her 
 to the arts of a more cunning flatterer than her- 
 self. In fact, Jenny looked to Jackson's place, 
 and would have succeeded in her designs, had 
 it not been for a very extraordinary accident, 
 which brought all her character to light. 
 
 On the morning that I was to. leave tlie 
 castle, Miss Osburne told Lord Longlands,
 
 49 
 
 that his mother was that clay to part with the 
 most attached and faithful creature in the 
 world^ on account of her having thrown the 
 blame of burning a piece of lace on little 
 Charles. My lord inquired into the particu- 
 lars, and resolved to have the matter investi- 
 gated fairly before I went ; and on my lady's 
 coming in, told her his design. Both Jenny 
 and I were summoned to ajjpear ; and my 
 lord having first requested, that no one 
 should speak but the person he called on for 
 an answer, first desired me to tell my story ; 
 and -^vlhen I had finished, called on Jenny for 
 hers. \She began much in the same way she 
 had doh^ before ; but, in concluding, added 
 what she had not then said, that I had imme- 
 diately intreated her not to tell how it happen- 
 ed, but to join me in saying it was Lord Lintop 
 who threw down the skreen ; for that my lady 
 would not be angry if she thought he did it. 
 She was then beginning a long harangue upon 
 her good will to me, and the hardships she lay 
 under, in being looked down upon by all the 
 servants in the house, because she would not 
 join me in making up a story against her dear 
 innocent child, to save me from my lady's 
 anger. Lord Longland§ desired lier to stop ; 
 and then asked me what I had done with the 
 lace which the child had twisted up, and which
 
 50 
 
 I said was torn. I had, I said, given it to Mrs 
 Jackson. She was called on, and the lace was 
 produced in the state I had described it. On 
 examining it, my lord called for his son, and, 
 taking him on his knee, asked him, if he re- 
 membered the story he had told him of the 
 little boy who always spoke the truth ? '' Yes, 
 papa," said the child. " Then," said my lord, 
 *•' will you be a good boy, like him, that I may 
 love you ?" " Yes, papa."—" Well, then, tell 
 me truly what you did with the piece of lace 
 you tore from this ?" holding up the fragment. 
 The child coloured as red as scarlet ; and my 
 lord, kissing him, very mildly, and in a cheer- 
 ful encouraging voice, repeated the question. 
 " I — I believe —I hid it, papa," said he. 
 
 " Where did you hide it, my dear ? tell me 
 truly, and you shall have a ride ypon the little 
 horse this very evening." The boy looked 
 round for Jenny, as fearing to displease her : 
 but her face was hid from him by the back of 
 the chair ; and his papa, seeing how it was, 
 asked if Jenny had helped him to hide it? 
 " No, no.'" — " Where then had he put it ?" 
 '" He had put it," he said, " in- the back of 
 his coat." This seemed very unintelligible ; 
 but as he persisted in it, my lord begged of 
 Miss Osburne to desire one of the maids to 
 bring all the child's clothes into the room.
 
 .51 
 
 Jenn J would have gone for them, but was uoi 
 permitted to leave the room. As soon as they 
 were brought in, Lord Lintop pointed to the 
 little green coat, which I well remembered him. 
 to have worn, and, turning it over, shewed a 
 rip in the seam, just by the pocket hole, which 
 Miss Osburne enlarged with her scissars, and 
 in a moment produced the lace. " You are a 
 good boy, indeed," exclaimed my lord, again 
 caressing the child, t* Now tell me, Charles, 
 whether the piece of lace that you threw into 
 the fire was completely burned or not ?" — *' I 
 don't know indeed, papa, for I was very 
 naughty ; but I wont be naughty again, if you 
 will forgive me. I did not intend, to tear the 
 lace, but was only just making a rope of it 
 about my neck ; and so Mrs Mason flew to 
 take it from me, and I did not like to have it 
 taken, and held it ; and we struggled a great 
 while — and — and" — 
 
 " And you were angry, and threw the other 
 piece into the fire, to vex Mrs Mason ; did 
 you not ?" 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 '' You are an excellent evidence," cried my 
 lord, " and shall have the ride I promised 
 you : but now mark the consequences of being 
 naughty. Look at that woman there (turning 
 to Jenny) ; see how she is overwhelmed by
 
 sliame and disgrace, for having wickedly per- 
 severed in telling a wicked lie, which she pro- 
 bably thought would never be detected. But 
 liars never escape detection ; sooner or later 
 they fall into their own snares." Jenny, loud- 
 ly sobbing, now fell down upon her knees to 
 ask forgiveness ; but my lord, waving his 
 hand, bade her instantly leave the room, and 
 deliver up to his mother's maid all that she had 
 in her charge. " Nor dare, upon your life,'* 
 cried he, " to approach this boy, or to speak 
 one single word to him while you live. Go, 
 vile woman, — had I known your character, I 
 should sooner have seen him in his grave, than 
 placed him -under your care !" 
 
 I was really sorry for the poor girl, and was 
 bold enough to intercede for her, but to no 
 purpose. My lord was inflexible : " for a 
 liar," he said, *' could have no good prin- 
 ciple." — " His lordship acts wisely, and 
 nobly," cried Miss Osbiirne ; " and now that 
 no doubt can rest upon the integrity of poor 
 Mason, I hope, madam, you will not part with 
 her?" 
 
 *' I have no wish to part with her," said 
 my lady. " That is not sufficient," rejoined 
 Lord Longlands ; *' she has been injured, and 
 the injury must be repaired." Then ringing 
 the bell, he desired the housekeeper and Jack-
 
 53 
 
 son, with all the other servants who were at 
 hand, to attend. They quickly, obeyed the 
 summons, very anxious to know what was 
 going forward. 
 
 As soon as they were all assembled, my lord 
 addressed them in a speech which I shall never 
 forget. . " I sent for you," said he, " in order 
 to inform you, that the woman who has left 
 the room, is discarded from my service, on ac- 
 count of her having been guilty of telling a 
 wicked and malicious lie, in order to throw the 
 blame of a trifling accident upon an innocent 
 person. It likewise has been proved to our 
 satisfaction, that the conduct of tliis young wo- 
 man, whom she would have injured, has not 
 only been blameless, but highly meritorious ; 
 for she has shewn that she feared God, by 
 speaking the truth before him with an upright 
 heart. For what you have suffered, Mrs 
 Mason,'* added he, '' both my mother and I 
 are heaijiily sorry ; and my son, who was the 
 first occasion of it, is ready to make you all 
 the reparation in his povver, by asking your 
 pardon. — Go, child, and ask Mrs Mason to 
 forgive you." 
 
 I would have prevented his having the mor- 
 tification, but ray lord insisted that he should ; 
 and thert taking from his purse this large gold 
 piece, he presented it to me, desiring me to 
 
 *"
 
 54. 
 
 keep it as a memorial of the happy conse- 
 quences that result from a faithful adherence 
 to truth and sincerity. 
 
 Here Mrsy Mason shewed the gold coin to 
 Miss Mary Stewart. And as speaking of its 
 history led to a digression, which it is unne- 
 cessary to follow, we shall close the chapter.
 
 55 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 lihtofy of Mrs Mamn continued. 
 
 As soon as an opportunity offered for resum- 
 ing her story, Mrs Mason, at ?»Iary's request, 
 proceeded as follows : 
 
 " Mj Lord Longlands left the castle in a 
 day or two for Merriton Hall ; and on tlie day 
 after his arrival there, he wrote to Miss Os- 
 burne, to inform- her, that he had prevailed on 
 his intended bride to take me into her service 
 as her waiting-maid ; and hoped Miss Osburne 
 would prevail on his mother to part with me, 
 to which the old dowager did not very readily 
 consent. But though she made a great favour 
 of it, it was at length happily settled ; and on 
 the night that Lord and Lady Longlands ar- 
 rived at the castle, after their marriage, I 
 entered on my place. I found mv young mis- 
 tress so amiable, so reasonable, and sweet tem- 
 pered, that pleasing" her w'ould have' been au
 
 5() 
 
 easy task, even to one less disposed to please 
 Iier than I was. I was congratulated by all 
 the servants on my promotion, and indeed 
 thought myself the happiest creature in the 
 world. But my happiness was soon overcast ; 
 for, in the midst of all the bustle of this first 
 and only gay season at the castle, your dear 
 mother, my kind benefactress, was seized with 
 a fever of a very malignant and dangerous 
 nature. She was three days ill before the 
 dowager-lady could be persuaded that any 
 thing ailed her but a cold ; but when the doc- 
 tor v/as at last sent for, and explained the na- 
 ture of her complaint, all communication was 
 cut off between the tower and the other part 
 of the house ; and, as I had already exposed 
 myself to the infection, I was, at my earnest 
 entreaty, permitted to remain with the dear 
 sufferer, whom I nursed night and day for 
 several weeks. Nor did 1 ever catch the in- 
 fection ; from which I was preserved, under 
 Providence, by the attention I paid to the 
 doctor's advice ; for though the weather was 
 then cold, I followed his directions in keeping 
 the windows constantly up, so that a current 
 of fresh air passed continually through the 
 room, which was a great comfort to the pa- 
 tient, and I believe tended more "to her reco- 
 very, than all the medicines she swallowed.
 
 At length, thank God, she did recover; and, 
 
 0, how much did she then overrate the little 
 service I had had it in my power to perform ! 
 For what did I more than was my bounden 
 duty ? Never shall I forget the day she first 
 was permitted to go down stairs. With what 
 unfeigned piety did she return thanks to the 
 Almighty for her preservation ! How ear- 
 nestly did she pray, that the life He liad pre- 
 served might be spent ia His service, and in 
 the service of her fellow-creatures ! And it 
 was so spent; I am certain that it was, though 
 
 1, alas ! had no longer the benefit of beholding 
 her example : for before she recovered, my 
 lord and lady had set off for England, and 
 had reached their seat in Yorkshire, to which 
 I was ordered to follow them by the stage- 
 coach. 
 
 I was much agitated at the thouohts of 
 leaving the castle, though I expected to return 
 to it with my lady in the following summer. 
 But it had been my little world, and I was a 
 stranger to all without its walls : and, where 
 I was going, I should have no kind Miss Os- 
 burne to direct and counsel m.e ; no one who 
 cared for me as Jackson did, or the old house- 
 keeper, for whom I regularly knit a pair or 
 two of lamb's wool stockings every year as 
 lonff as she lived. I went away loaded with
 
 58 
 
 keepsakes from her and from Jackson, and in- 
 deed from*all the servant's in the family, who 
 vied with each other in shewing their good 
 will. I did not see the dowager countess ; 
 but Jackson told me, she was in such bad 
 humour at ray lord taking his son g.way to send 
 to school, that she could not see any one with 
 pleasure who was going to his house. Your 
 poor mamma suffered more, from this bad 
 temper of the old lady, than the servants did ; 
 but she neither complained of it herself, nor 
 would suffer a complaint of it to be made be- 
 fore her. I durst not even drop a hint of it 
 when we parted, which we did with many 
 tears on both sides. 
 
 I was received very graciously by my amia- 
 ble mistress, and had the comfort of finding a 
 very well regulated family, where, though 
 lljere was a number of servants, there was no 
 conf&sion, every one's business being so well 
 ordered, and so distinctly defined. My lady, 
 in arranging her household, was much indebt- 
 ed to the advice of an old aunt, a maiden 
 lady who lived with her, and who had a great 
 deal of good sense, and, with a sober and reli- 
 gious turn of mind, was at the same time so 
 lively and cheerful, that her company was 
 liked by young and old.
 
 5<J 
 
 The family soon went to London, where 
 my lord and lady were obliged to go to great 
 assemblies, and to places of public amuse- 
 ment, as other great people do ; but Miss 
 Maiden never went to any of these, places, 
 and, when they were out, spent all her time 
 in reading. As h^r eyes were weak, she was 
 obliged to employ her maid to read for her, 
 ■which the poor girl thought a grievous task. 
 Upon her complaining of it to me, I told her 
 how willingly I should relieve her, if she 
 could prevail on her lady to accept my ser- 
 vices. On the first evening that she happened 
 to be alone, i was accordingly sent for. The 
 book that she was then engaged in, was a his- 
 tory of the Old World, before the coming of 
 our Saviovir. The subject wa's new to me, 
 and the names were many of them very hard; 
 but as I took pains, 1 soon got into tlie w^y 
 of pronouncing them.. And Miss Maiden 
 observing that I took pleasure in understand- 
 ing what I read, was so kind as to take the 
 trouble of explaining to me all the difficult 
 passages. She said she was sensible, that to 
 one like me, it could be of little consequence 
 to know v/hat had been done so many ages 
 ago by great kings and warriors, but that 
 there was no sort of knowledge without its 
 use ; that the observations I made upon the
 
 60 
 
 consequences of the pride, vain glory, and 
 ambition of those conspicuous characters of 
 whom we read, would improve the powers of 
 my understanding, and open my mind to per- 
 ceive the value of those Christian principles, 
 which lead to peace hfi-e, and happiness here- 
 after ; and would prove, that it was not in 
 the power of all the riches, or all the glory of 
 the world, to give content : for, that to fear 
 God, and keep his commandments, was the 
 end of life. I learned a great deal from the 
 comments of this good lady, upon what I 
 read to her ; and as all her instructions were 
 given with a view to strengthen me in the 
 performance of duty, I have reason to be thank- 
 ful for such an opportunity of improvement. 
 My lady had all this time but one drawback 
 on her happiness — the want of children ; but 
 at length this blessing also was granted ; and, 
 in the sixth year of her marriage, she pro- 
 duced a daughter. The joy of this event was 
 elouded by the death of her good aunt, who 
 expired after a short illness, before Lady Har- 
 riet was six weeks old. Her death was the 
 death of the righteous, full of faith, and hope, 
 ;ind joy. She saw that it would be a loss to 
 my lady, whose only fault was an extreme 
 indolence of temper. But she did what she 
 could to counsel her against the consequences ;
 
 Gl 
 
 and, among other pieces of advice, recom- 
 inended it to her, to place the whole manage- 
 ment of her nursery under my care. My lady 
 told me this, when she proposed it to me, and 
 told me also the reasons she had given, which 
 were too honourable for me to repeat. I knew 
 nothing of the management ef children, but 
 resolved to fulfil the trust to the best of my 
 abilities, and to spare no pains to learn the 
 best modes of treating them, in sickness and 
 in health. As the family increased, my duties 
 enlarged ; but the only, and the perpetual dif- 
 ficulty, with which I had to struggle, arose 
 from the obstinacy and self-sufficiency of the 
 nurses. Knowing, however, that I had the 
 authority of my lord and lady on my side, I 
 generally prevailed ; and, after two or three 
 months, brought them into my ways ; but I 
 saw enough to convince me, how sadly off the 
 children of great families must be, when they 
 are left altogether to the management of such 
 sort of people. 
 
 Finding it to be the great object with the 
 nurses to save themselves trouble, I laboured 
 to convince them, that, by firmly adhering to 
 my plan, they would most certainly attain 
 their end ; for that nothing could be so trouble- 
 some as children, whose tempers were spoiled 
 by mismanagementt Very little trouble indeed
 
 G2 
 
 did these little darlings cost to any of them :, 
 and as to myself, the constant vigilance with 
 ■which I watched over thefh, was a source of 
 pleasure and delight. From being always 
 kindly treated, and having their little humoursT 
 checked in the bud, from a certainty that they 
 would never obtain their object by crying, or 
 by peevishness, they were the most docile and 
 tractable little creatures in the world. They 
 learned to be thankful for all ihat was done 
 for them, and to treat others with respect, as 
 they themselves were treated. As they wece 
 never out of my sight, I could answer for it, 
 that they never saw or heard a thing that was 
 improper, nor witnessed a single instance of 
 falsehood or deceit. 
 
 Some months after the birth of Mr Edward, 
 the fourth and last of her children, my lady 
 went with my lord to Scotland, to pay a visit 
 to the countess-dowager, whom they had never 
 seen since the year they were married, owing 
 to some quarrel about an estate, which the 
 old lady would not give up to my lord, though 
 he had a right to it, and she had no other 
 child but himself. But hef heart was set upon 
 the world ; and when that is the case, it sig- 
 nifies little whether people be poor or rich, 
 for they still think they can never have enough ; 
 and though they have mucli more than they
 
 6^ 
 
 can use^ they go on craving and craving for 
 more, till they drop into the grave. So it was 
 Vv'itK the old lady, who grew fonder of money 
 every year she lived ; and though she would 
 not part with the estate, 'she was brought to 
 forgive my lord for claiming it, and expressed 
 a wish to see him, which his lady urged him 
 to comply with. 
 
 I should much have liked to have gone with 
 them, but they resolved on leaving all . the 
 children under my care in Yorkshire, except 
 Mr Meriton, the elder of the two young gen- 
 tlemen, who was to accompany thetti, attended 
 by the woman who had been his nurse. 
 
 The tAvo young ladies, and the infant with 
 his nurse, were left entirely to my care j and, 
 thank God, all that I undertook to do for them 
 prospered. In order to be able to instruct 
 them, I was at pains to instruct myself. Lady 
 Charlotte, though liitle more than five years 
 old, could read very prettily ; and, in reading, 
 neither she nor any of the other children ever 
 had another mistress, nor had I any trouble in 
 teaching them ; for though I gave them very 
 short lessons, 1 had got the way of making 
 them attend to their book while they were en- 
 gaged with it ; and took care, that they should 
 never find it wearisome. When my lord and 
 lady returned, they expressed the highest satis-
 
 64 
 
 faction with the progress that their childrea 
 had made ; and to shew their satisfaction, made 
 me a handsome present, which was more pre- 
 cious to me, on account of its heing a proof of 
 approbation, than ten times its value. I was 
 not, however, to get leave to enjoy it in peace ; 
 for 1 soon observed, that it had stirred up the 
 envy of Mrs Dickens, who, during the time 
 they had been in Scotland, had insinuated her- 
 self into my lady's favour in an extraorduiary 
 manner ; and, conscious of her influence, she 
 took every occasion of shewing, that she would 
 not be directed by me. 
 
 The girl who kept Master Edward, had 
 been in a manner brought up to the' business 
 under my immediate eye ; she was a staid and 
 sober person, of good principles, and very dili- 
 gent in the discharge of her duty ; but she 
 soon became the object of dislike to Mrs 
 Dickens, who, as I afterwards found, told my 
 lady in secret a thousand lies of the poor girl. 
 All now went wrong. Contention followed 
 contention. I gave up many things for the sake 
 of peace, every thing indeed, except where the 
 interests of the children were at stake ; but 
 there I thought it my duty to be firm. 
 
 I shall not trouble you with an account of 
 all the arts which this wicked woman em- 
 ployed to effect her purpose, and she did effect
 
 05 
 
 it ; for she had contrived to make my lady 
 think, that 1 set my judgment above hers, and 
 boasted of having more authority in the nur- 
 •cry than her ladyship had, and that all the 
 people in it were my servants. My lady was 
 too indolent to make strict inquiry into the 
 truth. Mrs Dickens had made herself agree- 
 able, by flattering her about the children, whom 
 she praised as if they had been more than 
 human creatures : while I, wishing my lady 
 to throw her praise and blame into the proper 
 scales, was at pains to point out their faults, 
 as well as their perfections. Still, however, 
 my lady had too much regard for me to hurt 
 my feelings. 
 
 In order to gratify Dickens, without ap- 
 pearing to blame me, she, on our going up to 
 town, told me, that my lord and she had re- 
 solved to make an alteration in the establish- 
 ment ; to place the two young ladies under 
 my care, and the children ui\ the nursery under 
 the care of Dickens. 
 
 I had nothing to do but to obe}'. An apart- 
 "ment was fitted up for the young ladies and 
 me, immediately under the nursery, which 
 was at the very top of the house. I had reason 
 to rejoice in the change, for I once more lived 
 in peace ; but I was not without anxiety on 
 account of the dear infants, as I by no means
 
 66 
 
 thought the woman, who had heen taken on 
 Mrs Dickens's recommendation to supply the 
 place*of Peggy, was at all equal to the charge. 
 But as my opinion was not asked, I had no 
 right to give it, nor indeed had I many oppor- 
 tunities of observation, as our establishments 
 were quite distinct. We came to town in No- 
 vembex-, and it was now the end of March; 
 the 28th was' Mr Meriton's birth-day, who 
 was th^n three years old. It was kept with 
 great pomp and splendour ; all the first com- 
 pany in London were invited to the great ball 
 that was given on the occasion ; and, as the 
 housekeeper had a great deal to do, I, after the 
 young ladies went to bed, gave her all the as- 
 sistance in my power, which kept me up long 
 beyond my usual time. I was very much fa- 
 tigued, and consequently very much inclined 
 to sleep ; but, sleepy as I was, the habit of 
 watchfulness was so strong in me, that I awoke 
 at every little nois<>' that stirred. I thought 
 I heard a sort of crackling in the nursery over 
 my head, and sat up to listen ; but it ceased, 
 and I again returned to rest. In about half 
 an hour I was again awakened. The room 
 was full of smoke, and the smell of fire so 
 strong, that I had but a moment for recollec- 
 tion ; but, thank God, my presence of mind 
 did not forsake me. I flew to the beds of mv
 
 67 
 
 little charge ; and taking up Lady Harriet in 
 my arms, and dragging Lady Charlotte half 
 asleep after me, I hastened to the stairs ;'the 
 smoke came from above, so that as we went 
 down, we breathed more freely, and reached 
 my lady's room in an instant. The door was 
 unbolted — it was no time for ceremony — I 
 rushed in ; but, mindful of my lady's situa- 
 tion, I spoke as calmly as in such circumstan- 
 ces was possible. I intreated them instantly 
 to rise, but did not wait to say more , for, 
 seeing the smoke increase, I hastened on with 
 the children, crying out " fire !'.' to alarm the 
 servants above and below. 
 
 The housekeeper \\'as the first to hear me : 
 to her I left the children, and again flew up 
 stairs. I met my lord, carrying my lady in 
 his arms, and calling out for help ; but I did 
 not stop, for I knew they were in safety. 
 
 I was soon at the foot of the nursery stairs. 
 But, oh ! what a smoke had I then to pass 
 through ! how I got through it, God only 
 knows ; for it was his Almighty arm that sup- 
 ported me. On opening the nursery door, the 
 flames burst out upon me ; but I had had a 
 thought how it would be, and had wrapped 
 myself in a blanket, which I knew the flames 
 .. ould not lay hold of, as they would upon my 
 • olton night-gown. I could not speak fov
 
 68 
 
 suffocation ; but getting to the first of the two 
 beds, I dragged off the clothes from Mrs 
 Dickens, which was all I could do to awaken 
 her. I then seized the child, who slept in a 
 little bed beside her, and was making my way 
 out, when the little infant set up a screarn. 
 He slept with his maid in a detached bed, to 
 which the flames had not yet reached, but all 
 between was in a blaze. 1 made a spring, and 
 reached the place ; but no maid was there, 
 only the child alone. I snatched him up be- 
 neath my arm, and, again passing b}'- her, 
 made an effort to call out to poor Dickens. 
 She started up, and I thought followed me ; 
 but this effort to save her had nearly cost me 
 dear ; for I thought I should have expired in- 
 stantly. Providence restored my strength, 
 and darting through the flames, I got to the 
 top of the stairs, where, I believe, I fainted, 
 for I fell dov/n the whole flight altogether 
 senseless ; nor did I remember any thing fur- 
 ther, till I found myself in a strange bed, with 
 strange faces round me. 
 
 I called out to ask if the children were safe ? 
 *' They are ; they are safe !" returned a voice 
 which I knew to be my lord's. He advanced 
 to my bed-side. " You are my preserver. 
 Mason," said he ; " thank God you are res- 
 tored to life. We shall never forget that you
 
 have saved us and ours from destruction. 
 Think in the mean time of nothing but of 
 taking care of yourself." 
 
 Pain now reminded me of the escape I had 
 made. The pain I suffered was indeed exces- , 
 sive ; nor could it be otherwise, for I had 
 broke my thigh-bone in the fall, and dislo- 
 cated the joint immediately above ; so that I 
 soon knew that lameness for life would be my 
 portion. But the thoughts of having been in- 
 strumental in saving the lives of the family, 
 was a cordial which kept up my heart. Still, 
 however, I was very anxious to learn all the 
 particulars of the sad disaster. The nurse 
 who took care of me, would tell me nothing. 
 It was of no use to ask the surgeons ; for they 
 only desired m.e to keep myself quiet, and to 
 give myself no anxiety. 
 
 In a few days the housekeeper came to see 
 me, and though she resolved to be extremely 
 cautious, she could not resist the temptation 
 of being the first to tell me all. 
 
 -"I was scarcely in my senses with fright," 
 said she, *' but flew, as you desired me, to 
 awaken the servants. And men and women 
 were all up in a minute, some flying one way, 
 and some another, till my lord brought them 
 all to order by his commanding voice. He 
 sent one to alarm the neighbours ; one for the
 
 70 
 
 fire engines ; and one over the way to the 
 Colonel's, to ask shelter for the family ; and, 
 placing my lady in a chair by the parlour door, 
 he ran up "stairs again in distraction, thinking 
 his sons were lost. The smoke was so thick, 
 he did not see you, but he heard your fall, 
 and received his children from your arms, 
 though you knew nothing of it. Two of the 
 men were at his back ; and he made then\ 
 lift you, and carry you over with the rest : 
 for my lady was by this time carried over 
 likewise, and all the childi-en. In the midst 
 of this bustle some one called out for James ; 
 but no one had seen him. I went to his door, 
 but it was locked. At last he answered. 
 *' Don't you know that the house is on fire," 
 cried I ? He first swore, and then blessed 
 himself ; but out he came sure enough : and 
 who came with him do you think, but Sally, 
 the saucy minx, crying and screaming, that 
 she was ruined ! she was ruined I 
 
 " Ruined !" cried I, " who cares for your 
 being ruined ? But what will you say to set- 
 ting my lord's house on fire, and. burning all 
 the family in their beds?" No more time 
 was there for speaking ; the staircase was all 
 in a blaze. The flames came with such speed, 
 that little could be saved even out of my 
 lord's room, except papers, and such like.
 
 71 
 
 We were all obliged to fly with what wc 
 had on, and all were safe except poor Mrs 
 Dickens." 
 
 '*; And did she perish?" cried I, in great 
 agony. " O yes, poor soul," returned the 
 housekeeper, " she did indeed perish ! Never 
 was there any thing so horrid, or so shocking. 
 God in his mercy preserve us all from such a 
 dreadful end !" 
 
 Here poor Mrs Nelson perceiving how mucU 
 I was agitated, and recollecting that she had 
 been warned against telling me the woeinl 
 tale, stopped short to comfort me, and entreat- 
 ed that I would deny having heard any thing 
 of the matter from her. 
 
 " O no," said I, *' Mrs Nelson ; let us never 
 allow ourselves to depart from truth ; it is the 
 beginning of all iniquity. But O that un- 
 happy woman ! hurried into eternity with all 
 her sins upon her head ! without a luoment, a 
 single moment, to pray for mercy on her soul ! 
 And yet, perhaps, she might, perhaps" — 
 
 " No, no," cried Mrs Nelson, *' she was in 
 no state to pray ; for she w^as in a state of in- 
 toxication, utterly deprived of her senses. 
 Sally has confessed all. You never heard such 
 plans of wickedness. Sail}',' it seems, had 
 been her emissary and confidant, when they 
 lived together at Sir William Blendon's. And
 
 it was with a view to get her to be under her 
 that she fell out with Peggy, and got her turned 
 out, and got all the management of the nursery 
 to herself. They then went on at full career, no 
 one to controul them, going out, one or other of 
 them, night after night, to the feasts and jun- 
 kettings, which in this wicked town go on 
 among servants all the winter. And for the 
 men-servants, there may, to he sure, be some 
 Excuse, for you know, poor fellows, they never 
 get leave to go to bed till morning, and it can- 
 not be expected, that they should sit and mope 
 alone ; but when they carouse together, they 
 entice the maids to meet them, by giving them 
 balls and treats, and such like, of which no good 
 can come ; nor, to be sure, would any woman 
 who regards her character, go to be seen at 
 such places, though they were to be made, as 
 Sally was, queen of the ball. For, it seems, 
 she was greatly taken out, and had more lovers^ 
 than any of them among the footmen. Mrs 
 Dickens did not go to meet lovers, but to get 
 drink ; and when she staid at home, Sally 
 brought her enough to please her ; but she 
 never ventured on a great dose till near bed- 
 time, wlnsji she was pretty sure of being safe. 
 One night, indeed, my lady came up to the 
 nursery, when she was conscious of being in 
 Ko'condition to speak to her, aild what do you
 
 think the wicked woman did ? It makes one's 
 hair stand on end to think of it ! Why, she- 
 fell down on her knees, and pretended to he 
 saying her prayers ! and, as my lady would 
 not disturb her devotions by speaking, she 
 thought she had a fine escape. O ^oor wo- 
 man ! little did she think how soon she should 
 be called to answer for this hypocrisy, with- 
 out a moment's time to pray for mercy on 
 her soul ! 
 
 '* It seems, that on the night of the fire, 
 Sally, having an assignation with James, pressed 
 her to take even more than her usual quantity; 
 and, as she was very far gone, she was obliged 
 to help her in taking oiF her clothes, and in 
 getting into bed, that bed from which she was 
 no more to rise ! Sally, after having watched 
 till all was quiet, put out her candle, as she 
 thought ; but she confessed she only turned it 
 down, for she never would use an extinguisher; 
 and as the candlesticks have wide sockets, a 
 long piece of small candle can scarcely be put 
 down in them, without the chance of turning 
 over : but she did not wait to see whether it 
 did or no ; nor is she certain, whether she 
 might not have let a spark fall into the linen- 
 press, where she had just been with the can- 
 dle ; for she says, she never had any fear of 
 fire in all her life, and whenever she went into 
 
 D
 
 74 
 • 
 a press, always thrust the candle before her^ 
 without dread or care. 
 
 '' It was," I said, *' from the linen-press 
 that the flames issued, when I entered the 
 room." 
 
 " That might be," said Mrs Nelson ; " but 
 the chair with the candle was just beside it, so 
 there is no saying which took fire first." 
 
 " And was there no attempt made to save 
 Mrs Dickens ?" cried I ; did she never 
 awake ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Mrs Nelson, " she awoke, 
 and got to the windows ; the people of the 
 street saw her, and heard her screams ; for 
 she screamed most terribly ! and they got a 
 ladder, and put it up, and thought to have 
 brought her down on it, but before any one 
 could make the top the floor fell in, and she 
 disappeared." Here Mrs Mason was obliged 
 to pause, so much was she agitated with the 
 reeollection of this dreadful scene. When she 
 had a little recovered, she proceeded, as will 
 be found in the next chapter.
 
 iO 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Mrs Masori's Story concluded. 
 
 As soon as the doctors thought it safe for 
 me to speak to them, the children were brought 
 to see me ; and you may imagine what joy it 
 gave me to embrace the little darlings, and to 
 hear them tell me, that they knew I had saved 
 their lives ; and that God had permitted me 
 to save them, because He loved me for being 
 good. Pretty little creatures ! I shall never 
 forget how their fond expressions went to my 
 heart. They were attended by Peggy, who 
 was sent for by my lady, and taken back into 
 her service, as soon as she learned all the his- 
 tory of the impositions practised by Dickens 
 to get her away. 
 
 I was, however, grieved by the bad accounts 
 of my lady's health. She continued poorly, 
 and my lord thinking she would be better in 
 the country, took a furnished house at Rich- 
 mond, abaat four miles from London, where
 
 she was shortly after delivered of a dead child. 
 Her recovery was long doubtful ; and bj the 
 doctors' advice, my lord went with her to 
 spend the surainer at Clifton, for the benefit 
 of drinking the Bristol waters ; which had so 
 good an effect on her constitution, that by the ' 
 time I went there, I found her restored to 
 almost perfect health. 
 
 On going to Clifton, I was received by my 
 lord and lady more like a friend than a servant. 
 They indeed told me that I was to be as a ser- 
 vant no longer ; for that I was henceforth to 
 be English governess to their children, with 
 a salary of thirty pounds a-year. A Swiss 
 governess for the young ladies had been already 
 some weeks with them ; and though, I con- 
 fess, I had a sort of prejudice against her at 
 first, on account of her being a foreigner, I soon 
 found that she was a person of great integrity, 
 and had a truly pious and amiable mind. She 
 was as agreeably disappointed in me, as I was 
 in her ; for she thought it impossible that a 
 person could be so suddenly raised, without 
 assumino; some airs of arrofjance and self-con- 
 ceit. But 1 had seen enough of this to be 
 upon my guard, lest my heart should be puffed 
 up ; and had always thought it a base thing in 
 persons, who saw themselves regarded more 
 than others, to take advantage of it /or the in-
 
 77 
 
 diligence of their own capricious humGius. 
 For twelve years, mademoiselle and I went on 
 hand in hand, labouring for the good of cur 
 pupils ; and had the pleasure of seeing them 
 grow up, under our eyes, promising to be 
 blessings to the land, and the pleasure and 
 glory of all their connections. 
 
 Lady Charlotte was very handsome, and had 
 many admirei's, before she was out eighteen ; 
 but she had no liking to any of them ; and 
 sr.'d,. should never marry any one whom she 
 could not look up to as a friend and guide. 
 She was just nineteen, when young Sir Wil- 
 liam Bandon came to spend the Christmas 
 holidays at the Park ; and I soon perceived, 
 by the way she spoke of him, that his atten- 
 tions were agreeable to her. We went up to 
 town, and Sir William soon after declared him- 
 self. My lord was highly pleased with his 
 , character, so that every thing was soon agreed 
 on, and 'the marriage was to take place at 
 Easier ; but, alas ! before Easter, my lord was 
 carried off by a fever of less than a fortnight's 
 duration. 
 
 By this event, all our joy was changed into 
 mourning. I could not have felt more if I had 
 lost a father. He was, indeed, as a father to 
 all his dependents ; a friend to the poor ; and, 
 in his conduct, an example to poor and rich.
 
 78 
 
 He had great influence ; and he made it his 
 business to exert it for the glorj of God, and 
 the good of society. O what a change did his 
 death occasion ! succeeded, as he was, by one 
 so little like himself ! 
 
 Lord Lintop had, indeed, never been a com- 
 fortable son to him ; but my lord left him no 
 excuse, for he was the kindest and best of 
 fathers. My lady, too, had, from the time 
 he was a boy, done all in her power to gain 
 his affections ; but he had an inveterate pre- 
 judice against her, on account of her being a 
 stepmother — a prejudice which, I verily be- 
 lieve, was first sown in the nursery by his 
 maid, Jenny Thomson, who used always to 
 threaten him with a stepmother as with a 
 monster — and he never got the better of the 
 impression. He was indeed of a cold and re- 
 served temper, and had a very narrow heart. 
 Much inclined to avarice, except upon his 
 own pleasures, and they were all of the selfish 
 sort. 
 
 As my lord died without a will, he imme- 
 diately catered upon possession of all ; my 
 lady having nothing at her disposal but her 
 own fortune, and her jointure, which was, to 
 be sure, very great ; yet I thought it a sad 
 thin": to see her and her children turned out, 
 a-s it were, of iier own house, and obliged to
 
 79 
 
 go to seek a place to lay her head. But to 
 her, alas ! it was of no consequence where 
 she went ; the hand of death was on her, and 
 in three months she followed my lord to the 
 grave. 
 
 *' I find I must pass over this," said Mrs 
 Mason, wiping the tears from her eyes ; " there 
 is no need of distressing you with an account 
 of all my sorrows. It was the least of them, 
 that I found myself without a home ! I had 
 saved of my wages about one hundred and 
 fifty pounds, which my lord's stcM'ard had 
 placed out for me, at five per cent, in the pub- 
 lic funds. Lady Charlotte, upon her marriage, 
 presented me with fifty more, and promised to 
 give me twenty pounds a-year, until her own 
 brother, Mr Meriton, should come of age. 
 I would have refused the annuity, but she in- 
 sisted on it, saying, she was ashamed it was 
 so little ; but that Lord Longlands, taking 
 advantage of a clause in her mother's settle- 
 ment, had refused paying her fortune till her 
 brother Edward was of age ; " and then," said 
 she, " Mrs Mason," throwing her arms affec- 
 tionately round my neck, " then we may all 
 be happy." She had written to her brothers, 
 she said, for I forgot 'to mention, that 
 they had ihe year before been sent abroad to 
 their travels with their tutor •, and are now, 1
 
 80 
 
 believe, in Switzerland, where Lady Charlotte 
 and Sir William are to see them in their way 
 to Italy. They pressed me to accompany 
 them ; but my lameness was such an obstacle, 
 that I could not think of going to be a bur- 
 then to them ; and, while I hoped that Lady 
 Harriet would be left at home, I wished to 
 stay, that I might be near her ; but at length 
 the guardians consented that she should go 
 with ]ier sister i so I was at once bereft of them 
 all. 
 
 Thus have I been suddenly, in the course of 
 a few months, deprived of all my earthly com- 
 forts, and thrown from a state, of ease and 
 luxury, into a state of comparative indigence. 
 But how ungrateful should I be to God, were 
 I to repine ! How rich would my poor mother 
 have thought herself with thirty pounds a-year ! 
 Nay, with the half of that sum. Ill would it 
 then become me to murmur at the wise dis- 
 pensations of Providence, which have doubt- 
 less been ordered not less in wisdom than in 
 mercy. ]\Iy first thoughts were to go into a 
 lodging in London, and take in needle-work, 
 by which I should be able to earn a sufliciency 
 for the supply of all my wants. But, from 
 being unable to take exercise, good air has 
 become so essential to my health, that.! dreaded 
 the consequences of being pent up in the un-
 
 81 
 
 wholesome atmosphere of that immense place; 
 and had, besides, such a hankering after my 
 native country, that I wished of all things to 
 return to it. While I was still hesitating, a 
 young man, who came up to London to seek 
 a situation as a gardener, brought a letter to 
 me from a niece of Jackson's, with whom I 
 had continued to correspond ; and by his con- 
 versation, concerning all the friends of my 
 youth, increased my desire of revisiting scenes 
 that were still dear to my recollection. He 
 told me of a cottage near Hill Castle that was 
 now empty, and advised me to ask it of the 
 young earl, who could not surely refuse such 
 a trifle to one who had been so long in the 
 family, and to whom, as he said, the family 
 owed such obligation. But he was mistaken; 
 I petitioned for it, and was refused. 
 
 Perhaps to soften the refusal, I was at the 
 same time told, that Lord Longlands had 
 resolved against having any cottages on his 
 estate, and was to have them all destroyed." 
 
 " True," said Miss Mary, '' it is very true, 
 indeed. My father was directed to give or- 
 ders for that purpose, but took the liberty of 
 remonstrating. All that he could do, how- 
 ever, was to prevent the poor cottars from 
 being turned out for another term ; but they 
 are all to go at Martinmas, and, as fast as 
 D 3
 
 "82 
 
 their houses are empty, they are to be thrown 
 down. The cottage you wish for is already 
 demolished to the very ground, and has left 
 the place so desolate ! It goes to one's heart 
 to see it. But after refusing it to you, the 
 owner can have no heart. I hope you will 
 never ask another favour from him while you 
 live?" 
 
 " I hope I shall have no need," replied Mrs 
 Mason. " But though I should have been 
 thankful for his granting my request, I have 
 rro right to resent his refusing me." 
 
 '* And I shall thank him for refusing you, 
 if it brings you to live nearer us," said Miss 
 Mary. 
 
 '^ Though I shall be at double the distance, 
 still it wont be far," returned Mrs Mason ; 
 " I am to take up my residence at Glenbur- 
 nie." 
 
 " At Glenburnie !" repeated Miss Mary ; 
 '•' v>'hat place can there be at Glenburnie fit 
 for you to live in !" 
 
 " O I shall make it fit," said Mrs Mason ; 
 " and if I am so happy as to be useful to the 
 good people there, I shall think myself fortu- 
 nate in my choice. On being refused by Lord 
 Longlands, I gave up all thoughts of settling 
 on his territories, and made inquiries in the 
 neighbourhood of Merriton. Through the
 
 83 
 
 friends of the young nian I have already meii- 
 tioned, I heard that the only relation I have in 
 the world was married to one of the small 
 farmers in Glenburnie, and to this couple I 
 applied to take me as a lodger. I had great 
 difficulty in bringing them to the point, as 
 they feared I would not be pleased with the 
 accommodation ; but at length I so far sue, 
 ceeded, that I fixed to live with them three 
 months upon trial, and that, at the end of tliat 
 time, we should each be at liberty to separate 
 without offence. From all that I have heard, 
 no situation could be more suitable to my pur- 
 pose. In a place where money is scarce, my 
 income, slender as it is, may be useful. After 
 a life of full employment, I could not be happy 
 in idleness ; and as these good pepple have a 
 large family, I shall have among them con- 
 stant employment, in the way that habit has 
 .rendered most delightful to me, that of train- 
 ing youth to usefulness and virtue." 
 
 Miss Mary began to express her fears of 
 the trouble which Mrs Mason was about to 
 bring upon her own head, when her father 
 entered ; and from the way in which he spoke 
 upon the subject, she soon saw that he had 
 already discussed it, and knew Mrs Mason's 
 determination to be unalterable. They, how-
 
 84 
 
 ever, prevailed upon her to remain their 
 guest for another night ; and obtained her 
 promise, that if her situation at Glenburnie 
 proved uncomfortable, she would return to 
 Go wan-brae.
 
 85 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Domestic Sketches. — Picture of Glenburnie. 
 — Viezo of a Scotch Cottage in the last Cen- 
 tury. 
 
 Early on the following morning, Mr Stewart 
 and Miss Mary went to consult together, upon 
 the means they should employ to render Mrs 
 Mason's situation at the farmer's somewhat 
 comfortable ; and, after some deliberation, re- 
 solved, that they would postpone all prepara- 
 tions for that purpose, till they had visited 
 the place, and seen what the house afforded. 
 
 In the course of their conversation. Miss 
 Mary expressed her surprise, that so good 
 a couple as the Earl and Countess of Longlands 
 should not have thought it an incumbent duty 
 to make ample provision for one who had ren- 
 dered them such important services. 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Mr Stewart, 
 " they were not deficient in gratitude ; and to 
 TXij pertain knowledge, intended to settle on
 
 8G 
 
 her a very liberal independency. But my 
 lord was still in the pritne of life, and thought 
 he had many years to live. He thei-efore de- 
 layed to do, what he imagined might at any 
 time be accomplished ; and after his death, his 
 lady, who was always indolent, gave^herself 
 up to the indulgence of grief, so as utterly to 
 forget every duty ; but of this you will have 
 no hint from Mrs Mason : for hers is tfuly a 
 good mind, and one that sees every thing in 
 the best light. She knows not what I have 
 endeavoured to do for her with the present 
 lord ; and she shall never know it, for it would 
 only hiirt her to be assured of his total want 
 of liberality and gratitude." 
 
 Mr Stewart was here interrupted by the 
 unexpected entrance of his eldest daughter, 
 and her friend Mrs Flinders, whose animated 
 looks bespoke the near prospect of some new 
 scheme of pleasure. After a few preliminary 
 remarks on the fineness of the season, &;c^ ike. 
 Mrs Flinders gradually disclosed the purpose 
 of her visit, which "w^as no other tlian to ob- 
 tain Mr Stev/avt's consent to his daughter's 
 accompanying her to the Edinburgh races. 
 Mr Stewart was on many accounts adverse to 
 the proposal ; nor did Mrs Flinders's assur- 
 ances of the great advantages to be derived to 
 a young lady, from being seen in public, and
 
 ST 
 
 introduced to all the people of fashion at the 
 races, produce the least alteration in his sen- 
 timents. But he had not firmness to resist 
 the torrent of intreaty ; and, after he had per- 
 mitted a reluctant consent to be extorted from 
 him, the remaining articles were easily adjust- 
 ed. His daughter had no difficulty in obtain- 
 ing from him the money she thought requi- 
 site for the purchase of new dresses ; and her 
 sister, ever willing to promote her gratifica- 
 tion, promised to pack up, and send her, with 
 other things, some handsome ornaments that 
 had been presented to her by a near relation, 
 to whom she had paid attention in a fit of ill- 
 ness- 
 Elated with her victory. Bell seemed to 
 tread on air ; and after she got into the car- 
 riage, called out to her sister, that she should 
 write her a full account of the race week. She 
 • bowed graciously to her father as the carriage 
 drove off; but he appeared not to notice the 
 salute. Pensive and dissatisfied, he returned, 
 to the house, and found Mary with Mrs Mason, 
 giving her an account of all that had just pass- 
 ed. *' Well," said he, addressing himself to 
 Mrs Mason, " you have heard of the new 
 trouble that has been prepared for me by this 
 giddy woman, to whom Bell has unfortunately 
 attached herself ? These races! How unfit a
 
 88 
 
 scene for a young woman in my daughter's 
 station ; and under how unfit a conductor will 
 she there appear ! I wish I had been more 
 firm ; but I could not. O that she were not 
 too headstrong to take advice, and too self- 
 sufficient to think that she stands in no need 
 of an adviser. I am troubled about her inti- 
 macy with these Flinders's more than I can 
 express." 
 
 *' But, Sir," said Mrs Mason, " have you 
 not a right to dictate to your daughter what 
 company she ought to keep ? If you really 
 think Mrs Flinders an improper associate, 
 why do you permit her to go to her house ?" 
 
 " Because," replied Mr Stewart, " I can- 
 not bear to see my child unhappy. I have 
 not courage to encounter sour looks, and all 
 the murmurings of discontent. This girl, 
 who is when in good humour so lively and 
 engaging, treats every opposition to her will 
 as an act of cruel tyranny ; and I cannot 
 bear being treated by the child I doat on as a 
 tyrant." 
 
 " Still, my dear Sir," said Mrs Mason, " as 
 Miss Stewart is not deficient in understand- 
 ing, you might, I think, by a little firmness, 
 teach her the propriety of submitting to your 
 xvill."
 
 89 
 
 "' Alas !" returned Mr Stewart, " she al- 
 ways thinks herself in the right, and it is im- 
 possible, utterly impossible, to convince her, 
 in any instance, that she is otherwise. Her 
 mind got a wrong bias from the first, and I 
 fear it is now too late to think of curing it. 
 But I have myself to blame. Had she been 
 brought up witli, the rest of my family, under 
 the watchful eye of their dear mother, she 
 would never have been thus froward and in- 
 tractable ; yet I know not how our other chil- 
 dren escaped spoiling, for my wife was all 
 tenderness and indul-^ence. 
 
 '' True," replied Mrs Mason, " but her in- 
 dulgence would be of a nature tending to fos- 
 ter the best affections of the heart, not the in- 
 dulgence of the passions, which engenders 
 pride and selfishness." 
 
 " Your distinction is a just one," said Mr 
 Stewart ; " but unhappily her grandmother 
 could not discriminate ; and after the death 
 of my parents. Bell came home to us, when I 
 saw that she was too unmanageable for her mo- 
 ther's gentle spirit to control ; and I therefore 
 urged sending her to a school, where a daughter 
 of a friend was going ; but there, alas I instead 
 of getting quit of her bad habits, she lost the 
 good that counterbalanced them, and acquired 
 such a love of dress, and so many foolish no-
 
 90 
 
 tions about gentility, as have utterly destroyed 
 all relish for domesti't happiness. Think of 
 her flying oiF as she has done, the very day that 
 we expect her brothers home from school ! Is 
 it not heartless ?" 
 
 *' So she will admit when she' is herself a 
 mother," replied Mrs Mason.— The rest of 
 her speech was lost ; for from the bark of joy 
 which the dogs began to send forth, Mr 
 Stewart perceived that his sons were near at 
 hand, and eagerly flew out to meet them. 
 They were already folded in Mary's arms, 
 and sprung to their father with all the alacrity 
 of confiding love. Every care was now forgot- 
 ten ; without doors and within, above stairs 
 and below, all was holiday at Gowan-brae. 
 Mrs MaRon, to whom the sight of a happy 
 family aiforded one of the highest gratifica- 
 tions, was no unmoved spectator of the joyful 
 scene. She readily consented to postpone her 
 departure till the following day, and promot- 
 ed, by her cheerfulness, all the amusements 
 of the evening. 
 
 In order to gratify the boys, it was propos- 
 ed, that the whole party should accompany 
 Mrs Mason to Glenburnie, on an Irish car, a 
 vehicle well adapted to such excursions, and 
 which was consequently a great favourite with 
 the younger part of the famil}'. Just as they
 
 91 
 
 finished an early dinner, the car was brought 
 to the door. Robert, the eldest boy, begged 
 leave to drive, to which, as the roads were 
 good, and the horse steady, Mr Stewart made 
 no objection. They were all seated in a mo- 
 ment ; Mrs Mason and Mr Stewart on one 
 side, and Mary and her two younger brothers 
 on the other. Robert, vaulting into his pro- 
 per station, seized the reins ; and, after two 
 gentle strokes with the whip, prevailed on 
 old grey to move forward, which he did very 
 sagaciously, with less speed than caution, 
 until they reached the turnpike road, where 
 he mended his pace into a sober trot, which, 
 in less than two hours, brought them to the 
 road that turns in to the Glen, or valley of 
 Glenburnie. 
 
 They had not proceeded many paces, until 
 they were struck with admiration at the un- 
 common wildness of the scene, which now 
 opened to their view. The rocks which seem- 
 ed to guard the entrance of the Glen, were 
 abrupt and savage, and approached so near 
 each other, that one cculd suppose them to 
 have been riven asunder, to give a passage tQ 
 the clear stream which flowed between them. 
 As they advanced, the hills receded on either 
 side, making room for meadows and corn
 
 • 92 
 
 fields, through which the rapid burn pursued 
 its way, in many a fantastic maze. 
 
 If the reader is a traveller, he must know, 
 and if he is a speculator in canals he must re- 
 gret, that rivers have in general a trick of 
 running out of the straight line. But how- 
 ever they may in this resemble the moral 
 conduct of man, it is but doirfg justice to these 
 favourite children of nature, to observe, that, 
 in all their wanderings, each stream follows 
 the strict injunctions of its parent, and never 
 for a moment loses its original character. 
 That our burn had a character of its own, no 
 one who saw its spirited career could possibly 
 have denied. It did not, like the lazy and 
 luxuriant streams, which glide through the 
 fertile valleys of the south, turn and wind in 
 listless apathy, as if it had no other object 
 than the gratification of ennui or caprice. 
 Alert, and impetuous, and persevering, it 
 even from its infancy dashed onward, proud 
 and resolute ; and na sooner met with a rebuff 
 from the rocks on one side of the Glen, than 
 it flew indignant to the other, frequently awak- 
 ening the sleeping echoes, by the noise of its 
 wild career. Its complexion was untinged 
 by the fat of the soil j for, in truth, the soil 
 had no fat to throw away. But little as it 
 owed to nature, and still less as it was indebt-
 
 9.1 
 
 ed to cultivation, it had clothed itself in many 
 shades of verdure". The hazel, the birch, and 
 the mountain-ash, were not only scattered in 
 profusion through the bottom, but in many pla- 
 ce'^ clomb to the very tops of the hills. The 
 meadows and corn-fields, indeed, seemed very 
 evidently to have been encroachments made 
 by stealth on the sylvan reign : for none had 
 their outlines marked with the mathematical 
 precision, in which the modern improver so 
 much delights. Not a straight line was to be 
 seen in Glenburnie. The very ploughs mov- 
 ed in curves ; and though much cannot be said 
 of the richness of the crops, the ridges cer- 
 tainly waved with all the grace and pride of 
 beauty. 
 
 The road, which winded along the foot of 
 the hills, on the north side of the Glen, owed 
 as little to art as any country road in the 
 kingdom. It was very narrow, and much 
 encumbered by loose stones, brought down 
 from the hills above by the winter torrents. 
 
 Mrs Mason and Mary were so enchanted 
 by the change of scenery, which was inces- 
 santly unfolding to their view, that they made 
 no complaints of the slowness of their pro- 
 gress, nor did they much regret being obliged 
 to stop a few minutes at a time, where they 
 found so much to amuse and to delight them.
 
 94 
 
 But Mr Stewart had no patience at meeting 
 with obstructions, which, with a little pains, 
 could have been so easilj obviated j and, as 
 he walked hy the side of the car, expatiated 
 upon the indolence of the people of the GleTi, 
 who, though they had no other road to the 
 market, could contentedly go on from year to 
 year, without making an effort to repair it. 
 " How little trouble would it cost," said he, 
 '* to throw the smaller of these loose stones 
 into these holes and ruts ; and to remove the 
 larger ones to the side, where they would 
 form a fence between the road and the hill ! 
 There are enough of idle boys in the Glen to 
 effect all this, by working at it for one hour 
 a-week during the summer. But then their 
 fathers must unite in setting them to work ; 
 and there is not one in the Glen, who would 
 not sooner have his horses lamed, and his carts 
 torn to pieces, than have his son employed in 
 a work that would benefit his neighbours as 
 much as himself !" 
 
 As he was speaking, they passed the door 
 of one of these small farmers ; and immedi- 
 ately turning a sharp corner, began to descend 
 a steep, which appeared so unsafe, that Mr 
 Stewart made his boys alight, which they 
 could do without inconvenience, and going to
 
 95 
 
 the head of the horse, took his guidance upon 
 himself. 
 
 At the foot of this short precipice, the road 
 again made a sudden turn, and discovered to 
 them a misfortune which threatened to put a 
 stop to their proceeding any further for the 
 present evening. It was no other than the 
 overturn of a cart of hay, occasioned.by the 
 breaking down of the bridge, along which it 
 had been passing. Happily for the poor horse 
 that drew this ill-fated load, the harness by 
 which he was attached to it, was of so frail a 
 nature, as to make little resistance ; so that 
 he and his rider escaped unhurt from the fall, 
 netwithstanding its being one of considerable 
 depth. 
 
 At first, indeed, neither boy nor horse were 
 seen ; but as Mr Stewart advanced to exa- 
 mine, whether, by removing the hay, which 
 partly covered the bridge, and partly hung 
 suspended on the bushes, the road might still 
 be passable, he heard a child's \'oice in the 
 hollow, exclaiming, " Come on, ye muckle 
 brute ! ye had as weel come on I I'll gar ye ! 
 I'll gar ye ! That's a gude beast now ; come 
 awa ! That's it ! Ay, ye're a gude beast 
 now." 
 
 As the last words were uttered, a little fiel- 
 low, of about ten years of age, was seen issu-
 
 96 
 
 rng from the hollow, and pulling after him, 
 with all his might, a great long-backed clumsy- 
 animal of the horse species, though apparently 
 of a very miilish temper. 
 
 " You have met with a sad accident," said 
 Mr Stewart ; '' how did all this happen ?" 
 
 *' You may see how it happened plain 
 eneugh/' returned the boy ; " the brig brak, 
 and the cart couppet." 
 
 *' And did you and the horse coup like- 
 wise?" said Mr Stewart. 
 
 " O aye, we a' couppet thegether, for I was 
 riding on his back." 
 
 *' ;ind where is your father, and all the rest 
 of the folk?" 
 
 *' Whar sud they be but in the hay-field ! 
 Dinna ye ken that we're takin' in our hay ? 
 John Tamson's and Jamie Forster's was in a 
 wook syne, but we're ay ahint the lave." 
 
 All the party were greatly amused by the 
 composure which the young peasant evinced 
 under his misfortune, as well as by the shrewd- 
 ness of his answers ; and having learned from 
 him, that the hay-field was at no great dis- 
 tance, gave him some halfpence to hasten his 
 speed, and promised to take care of his horse 
 till he should return with assistance. 
 
 He soon appeared, followed by his father, 
 and two other men, who came on stepping at
 
 their usual pace. '* Why, farmer," said Mr 
 Stewart, " you have trusted rather too long to 
 this rotten plank, I think ;" (pointing to where 
 it had given way) : " If you remember, the 
 last time I passed this road, which was several 
 months since, I then told you that the bridge 
 was in danger, and shewed you how easily it 
 might be repaired ?" 
 
 " It is a' true," said the farmer, moving 
 his bonnet ; '•'• but I thought it would do weel 
 eneugh. I spoke to Jamie Forster and John 
 Tampon about it ; but they said they wadna 
 iash themselves to mend a brig that was to 
 j-erve a' the folk in the Glen." 
 
 ••' But you must now mend it for your own 
 sake," said Mr Stewart, " even though a the 
 folk in the Glen should be the better for it." 
 
 '• Ay, Sir," said one of the men, *' that''; 
 spoken like yoursel' ! would every body follow 
 your example, there would be nothing in the 
 world, but peace and good neighbourhood. 
 Only tell us what we are to do, and I'll work 
 at your bidding, till it be pit mirk.^^ 
 
 *' Well," said .Mr Stewart, " bring down 
 the planks that I saw lying in the barn-yard, 
 and which, though you have been obliged to 
 step over them every day since the stack they 
 propped was taken in, have never been lifted. 
 You knov? what I mean."
 
 9^ 
 
 *^ O yes, Sir," said the fanner, grinning, 
 " we ken what ye mean weel eneugh : and 
 indeed I may ken, for I have fallen thrice 
 owre them since they lay there ; and often 
 said they sud be set by, but we coudna be 
 fash'dr 
 
 While the farmer, with one of the men, 
 went up, taking the horse with them, for the 
 planks in question, all that remained set to 
 work, under Mr Stewart's direction, to re- 
 move the hay, and clear away the rubbish ; 
 Mrs Mason and Mary being the only idle 
 spectators of the scene. In little more than 
 half an hour the planks were laid, and Cover- 
 ed with sod, cut from the bank, and the 
 bridge now only wanted a little gravel, to 
 make it as good as new. This addition, how- 
 ever, was not essential towards rendering it 
 passable for the car, which was conveyed over 
 In safety ; but Mr Stewart, foreseeing the con- 
 sequences of its remaining in this unfinished 
 state, urged the farmer to complete the job on 
 the present evening, and at the same time pro- 
 mised to reimburse him /or the expence. 
 The only answer he could obtain was, " Ay, 
 ay, we'll do't in time, but I'se warrant it 7/ do 
 rceel eneugh.'' * 
 
 Our party then drove off, and at every 
 turning of the road, expressed fresh admira-
 
 tiou at the increasing beauty of the scene. 
 Towards the top of the glen, the hills seemed 
 to meet ; the rocks became more frequent, and 
 more prominent, sometimes standing naked 
 and exposed, and sometimes peeping over the 
 tops of the rowan tree and weeping birch, 
 which grew in great abundance on all the 
 steepy banks. At length the village appear- 
 ed in view. It consisted of about twenty or 
 thirty thatched cottages, which, but for their 
 chimneys, and the smoke that issued from 
 them, might have passed for so many stables 
 or hogsties, so little had they to distinguish 
 them as the abodes of man. That one horse, 
 at least, was the inhabitant of every dwelling, 
 there was no room to doubt, as every door 
 could not only boast its dunghill, but had a 
 small cart stuck up on end directly before it ; 
 which cart, though often broken, and always 
 dirty, seemed ostentatiously displayed as a 
 proof of wealth. 
 
 In the middle of the village stood the kirk, 
 an humble edifice, which meekly raised its 
 head but a few degrees above the neighbour- 
 ing houses. It was, however, graced by an 
 ornament of peculiar beauty. Two fine old 
 ash trees, which grew at the east end, spread 
 their protecting arms over its lowly roof, and 
 ■Served all the uses of a steeple and a belfry ;
 
 100 
 
 for on one of the loftiest of these branches 
 was the bell suspended, v/hich, on each re- 
 turning Sabbath, 
 
 " Rang the blest summons to the house of God." 
 
 On the other side of the church-yard stood 
 the manse, distinguished from the other houses 
 in the village, by a sash window on each side 
 of the door, and garret windows above ; which 
 shewed, that two floors were, or might be, in- 
 habited j for, in truth, the house had such a 
 sombre air, that Mrs Mason, in passing, con- 
 cluded it to be deserted. 
 
 As the houses stood separate from each 
 other at the distance of many yards, she had 
 time to contemplate the scene ; and was par- 
 ticularly struck with the numbers of children, 
 which, as the car advapced, poured forth from 
 every little cot to look at the strangers, and 
 their uncommon vehicle. On asking for John 
 MacClarty's, three or four of them started 
 forward to offer themselves as guides ; and 
 running before the car, turned down a lane 
 towards the river, on a i^oad so deep with ruts, 
 that though they had not twenty yards to go, 
 it was attended with some danger. Mrs 
 Mason, who was shaken to pieces by the 
 jolting, was very glad to alight; but her
 
 101 
 
 limbs were in such a tremor, tliat Mr StewartV. 
 arm was scarcely sufilciciit to support her to 
 the door. 
 
 It must be confessed, that the aspect of the 
 dwelling, where she was to fix her residence, 
 was by no means inviting. The walls were 
 substantial ; built, like the houses in the vil- 
 lage, of stone and lime, but they were black- 
 ened by the mud which the cart wheels had 
 spattered from the ruts in winter ; and on one 
 side of the door completely covered from view 
 by the contents of a great dunghill. On the 
 other, and directly under the window, was a 
 squashy pool, formed by the dirty water 
 •thrown from the house, and in it about twenty 
 young ducks were at this time dabbling. 
 
 At the .threshold of the door, room had 
 been left for a paving-stone ; but it had never 
 been laid, and consequently the place became 
 hollow, to the great advantage of the younger 
 ducklings, who always found ih it a plentiful 
 supply of water, in which they could swiru 
 without danger. Happily Mr Stewart was pro- 
 vided with boots, so that he could take a firm 
 step in it, while lie lifted Mrs Mason and set 
 her down in safety within the threshold. 
 But there an unforeseen danger awaited her, 
 for there the great whey pot had stood since 
 morning, when the cheese had been made, 
 
 _ LfW eARY 
 
 mUfElUITf or CALIFORNIA'
 
 102 
 
 dad was at the present moment filled with 
 chickens, who were busily picking at the bits 
 of curd, which had hardened on the sides, 
 and cruelly mocked their wishes. Over this 
 Mr Stewart and Mrs Mason unfortunately 
 tumbled. The pot was overturned, and the 
 chickens, cackling with hideous din, flew 
 about in all directions, some over their heads, 
 and others making their way by the hallen 
 (or inner) door into the house. 
 
 The accident was attended with no farther 
 bad consequences, than a little hurt upon the 
 shins ; and all our party were now assembled 
 in the kitchen : but though they found the 
 doors of the house open, they saw no appear- 
 ance of any inhabitants. At length Mrs 
 MacClarty came in, all out of breath, fol- 
 lowed by her daughters, two big girls of 
 eleven and thirteen years of age. She wel- 
 comed Mrs Mason and her friends with great 
 kindness, and tnade many apologies for being 
 .in no better order to receive them ; but said, 
 that both her gudeman and her thought that 
 iier cusine would have staid at Gowan-brae 
 till after the fair, as they were too far off at 
 Glenburnie to think of going to it ; though it 
 would, to be sure, be only natural for Mrs 
 Mason to like to see all the grand sights that 
 were to be seen there ; for, to be sure, she 
 
 1 IT AD ^O YT?^.«?miR| 
 AiLAHSUktt M,t/IAB
 
 10,3 
 
 would gang many places before she saw tht 
 like. Mrs Mason smiled, and assured her 
 she would have more pleasure in looking at 
 tlie fine view from her door, than in all the 
 sights at the fair. 
 
 " Ay, its a bonny piece of corn to be sure," 
 returned Mrs MacClarty, with great simpli- 
 city ; " but then, what with the trees, and 
 rocks, and whimplings o' the burn, we have 
 nae room to make parks of ony size." 
 
 " But were your trees, and rocks, and wimp- 
 lings of the burn, all removed," said Mr 
 Stewart, *' then your prospect would be 
 worth the looking at, Mrs MacClarty ! would 
 it not?" 
 
 Though Mr Stewart's irony was lost upon 
 the good woman, it produced a laugh among 
 the young folks, which she, however, did not 
 resent, but immediately fell to busying her- 
 self in sweeping in the hearth, and adding 
 turf to tiie fire, in order to make the kettle 
 boil for tea. 
 
 " I think," said Miss Mary, ••• yow might 
 make your daughters save you that trouble ;" 
 looking at the two girls, who stood all this 
 time leaning against the wall. 
 
 *' O poor things," said their mother, " tlie\ 
 have not been used to it ; they have eneugh of 
 time for wark yet,"
 
 104 
 
 *' Depend upon it," said Mrs Mason, ** young' 
 people can never begin too soon ; your eldest 
 daughter there will soon be as tall as your • 
 self." 
 
 ^' Indeed she's of a stately growth," said 
 Mrs MacClarty, pleased with the observation ; 
 *' and Jenny there is little ahint her ; but 
 what are they but bairns yet for a' that ! In 
 time, I warrant, they'll do weel eneugh. Meg 
 can milk a cow as weel as I can do, when 
 she likes." 
 
 *' And does she not always like to do all she 
 can?" said Mrs Mason. 
 
 " O we manna complain," returned the mo- 
 ther, *' she does Vv'eel eneugh." 
 
 The gawky girl now began to rub the wall 
 up and down with her dirty fingers ; but hap- 
 pily, the Wall was of too dusky a hue to be 
 easily stained. And here let us remark the 
 advantage which our cottages in general pos- 
 sess over those of our southern neighbours ; 
 theirs being so whitened up, that no one can 
 have the comfort of laying a dirty hand upon 
 ihem, without leaving the impression ; an in- 
 convenience which reduces people to the ne- 
 cessity of learning to stand upon tlieir legs, 
 without the assistance of their hands j whereas, 
 in our country, custom has rendered the Hands, 
 in standing at a door, or in going up or down
 
 105 
 
 a stair, no less necessary than the feet, as may 
 be plainly seen in the finger marks, which 
 meet one's eye in all directions. 
 
 Some learned authors have indeed adduced 
 this propensity, in support of the theory which 
 teaches, that mankind originally walked upon 
 all fours, and that standing erect is an out- 
 rage on the laws of nature ; while others, wil- 
 ling to trace it to a more honourable source, 
 contend, that as the propensity evidently pre- 
 vails chiefly among those, who are, conscious 
 of being able to transmit the colour of their 
 hands to the objects on which they place them, 
 it is decidedly an impulse of genius, and, in 
 all probability, derived from our Pictish an- 
 cestors, whose passion for painting is well 
 known to have been great and universal.
 
 106 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 A Peep behind the Curtain. — Hints on 
 Gardening. 
 
 While Mrs MacClaity was preparing tea 
 for her guest, Mrs Mason cast her exploring 
 eye on the house and furniture. She soon 
 saw, that the place they were in served in the 
 triple capacity of kitchen, parlour, and bed- 
 room. Its furniture was suitably abundant. 
 It consisted, on one side, of a dresser, over 
 which were shelves filled with plates and 
 dishes, which she supposed to be of pewter j 
 but they had been so bedimmed by the quan- 
 tities of flies that sat upon them, that she 
 could not pronounce with certainty as to the 
 metal they were made of. On the shelf that 
 projected immediately next the dresser, was 
 a number of delf and wooden bowls, of diffe- 
 rent dimensions, with horn spoons, &c. These, 
 though arranged with apparent care, did not 
 entirely conceal from view, the dirty night-
 
 107 
 
 caps, and other articles, that were stuifed iu 
 behind. 
 
 Opposite the fire place were two beds, each 
 inclosed in a sort of wooden closet, so firmlj 
 built as to exclude the entrance of a breath of 
 air, except in front, where were small folding- 
 doors, which were now open, and exhibited a 
 quantity of yarn hung up in bunches — afford- 
 ing proof of the goodwife's industry. The 
 portable furniture, as chairs, tables, &c. were 
 all, though clumsy, of good materials ; so that 
 Mrs Mason thought the place wanted nothing 
 bu't a little attention to neatness, and some 
 more light, to render it tolerably comfortable. 
 
 Miss Mary Stewart took upon herself tlie 
 troiible of making tea, and began the opera- 
 tion, by rincing all the cups and saucers througli 
 warm water, at which Mrs MacClarty was 
 so far from being offended, that the moment 
 she perceived her intention, she stepped to a. 
 huge Dutch press, and having, with some dif- 
 ficulty, opened the leaves, took from a store 
 of nice linen, which it presented to their 
 view, a fine damask napkin, of which she 
 begged her to make use. 
 
 " You have a noble stock of linen, cousin," 
 said Mrs Mason. " Few farmers houses in 
 England could produce the like ; but I think 
 this is rather too fine for common use."
 
 108 
 
 " For common use !" cried Mrs MacClarty ; 
 "• na, na, we're no sic fools as put our napery 
 to use ! I have a dizen tableclaiths in that 
 press, therty years old, that were never laid 
 upon a table. They are a' o' my mother's'" 
 spinning. I have nine o' my ain makin' for- 
 by, that never saw the sun but at the bookin 
 washing. Ye needna be telling us o' Eng- 
 land !" 
 
 " It is no doubt a good thing," said Mrs 
 Mason, " to have a stock of goods of any kind, 
 provided one has a prospect of turning them to 
 account ; but I confess I think the labour un- 
 proiitably employed, which, during thirty 
 ■ years, is to produce no advantage ; and that 
 linen of an inferior quality would be prefer- 
 able, as it would certainly be more useful. A 
 iowel of nice clean huck-a-back would wipe a 
 cup as well, and better, than a damask nap- 
 kin." 
 
 "Towels!" cried Mrs ' MacClarty, " na, 
 na, we manna pretend to towels ; we just 
 wipe up the things wi' what comes in the 
 gait." 
 
 On saying this, the good woman, to shew 
 how exactly she practised what she spoke, 
 pulled out from between the seed-tub, and her 
 husband's dirty shoes, (which stood beneath 
 the bench by the fire-side,) a long blackened
 
 lOf) 
 
 rag, and with it rubbed one of the pewter 
 plates, with which she stepped into the closet 
 for a roll of butter. " There," says she, ** I 
 am sure ye'll say, that ye never ate better 
 butter in your life. There's no in a' Glen- 
 burnie better icye than ours. I hope ye'll 
 eat heartily, and I'm sure ye're heartily wel- 
 come." 
 
 " Look, sister," cried little William, " see 
 there the marks of a thumb and two fingers ! 
 Do scrape it off, it is so nasty I" 
 
 " Dear me," said Mrs MacClarty, " I did 
 na mind that I had been stirring the fire, and 
 my hands were a wee sooty ; but it will soon 
 scrape aflf ; there's a dirty knife will tak it aff 
 in a minute." 
 
 " Stop, stop," cried Miss Mary, " that 
 knife will only make it worse ! pray let me 
 manage it myself." 
 
 She did so manage it, that the boys, who 
 were very hungry, contrived to eat it to their 
 oatcakes with great satisfaction ; but though 
 Mrs Mason made the attempt, the disgust 
 with which she began, was so augmented by 
 the sight of the numerous hairs, which, as 
 the butter was spread, bristled up upon the 
 surface, tliat she found it impossible to pro- 
 ceed.
 
 110 
 
 Here, thought she, is a home, in which 
 peace and plenty seem to reign ; and yet these 
 blessings, which I thought invaluable, will not 
 be suflicient to afFord me any comfort, from 
 the mere want of attention to the article of 
 cleanliness. But may I not remedy this ? She 
 looked at Mrs MacClarty, and in the mild 
 features df a face, which, notwithstanding all 
 the disadvantages of slovenly dress, and four 
 days soil, (for this was Thursday), was still 
 handsome ; she thought she perceived a can- 
 dour that might be convinced, and a good 
 nature that would not refuse to act upon con- 
 viction. Of the covintenauces of the two girls 
 she could not judge so favourably. The elder 
 appeared morose and sullen, and the younger 
 stupid and insensible. She was confirmed in 
 her opinion, by observing, that though their 
 mother had several times desired them to go 
 to the field for their father, neither of then\ 
 stirred a step. 
 
 " Do you not hear your mother speaking 
 to you ?" said Mr Stewart, in a tone of autho- 
 rity. The eldest coloured, and hung down 
 her head ; the younger girl looked in his face 
 with a stupid stare, but neither of them made 
 any answer. 
 
 " ) ,lt gang, I ken, my dear," said Mrs 
 MacClarty, addressing herself to the younger j
 
 Ill 
 
 " O ay, I ken ye'll gang, like a good bairn, 
 Jean." 
 
 Jean looked at her sister j and Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, ashamed of their disobedience, but still 
 willing to palliate the faults whicli her own 
 indulgence had created, said, " that indeed 
 they never liked to leave her, poor things ! 
 they were so bashful ; but that in time they 
 would do weel eneugh." 
 
 *' They will never do well, if they disobey 
 their mother," said Mr Stewart ; '' you ought 
 to teach your children to obey you, Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, for their sakes as well as for your own. 
 Take my word for it, that if you don't, they, 
 as well as you, will suffer from the conse- 
 quences. But come, boys, we shall go to the 
 field ourselves, and see how the farmer's work 
 goes on." 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, glad of his proposal, went 
 to the door to point the way. Having received 
 her directions, Mr Stewart, pointing to the 
 pool at the threshold, asked her how she could 
 bear to have such dirty doors. " Why does 
 not your husband fetch a stone from the 
 quarry ?" said he. *' People who are far 
 from stones and from gravel may have some 
 excuse ; but you have the materials within 
 your reach, and by half a day's labour could 
 liave your door made clean and comfortable.
 
 112 
 
 How then can you have gone on so long witli 
 it in this condition ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I kenna, sir," said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty ; " the gudeman just canna be fash'd." 
 
 '* And cannot you be fash'd to go to the 
 end of the house to throw out your dirty water ; 
 don't you see how small a drain would from 
 that carry it down to the river, instead of re- 
 maining here to stagnate and to suffocate you 
 with intolerable stench ? '' 
 
 " O, we're just'used to it," said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, "" and we never mind it. We cou'dna 
 be fash'd to gang sae far wi' a' the slaistery." 
 
 " But what," returned Mr Stewart, " will 
 Mrs Mason think of all this dirt ? She has 
 been used to see things in a very different sort 
 of order, and if you will be advised by her, 
 she will put you upon such a method of doing 
 every thing about your house, as will soon 
 give it a very different appearance." 
 
 " Ay," said Mrs MacClarty, " I aye feared 
 she would be owre nice for us. She has been 
 sae lang"^mang the Englishes, that she maun 
 hae a hantel o' outlandish notions. But we 
 are owre auld to learn, and we just do weel 
 cneugh." 
 
 Mr Stewart shook his head, and followed 
 his sons, who bad by this time disengaged the
 
 1J5 
 
 i^uLc trom the posts, to which it had been at- 
 tached by an old cord of many knots. 
 
 While Mr Stewart had been engaging the 
 larraer's wife in conversation at the door, his 
 daughter had been earnestly exhorting Mrs 
 Mason to return to Gowan-brae, and to give 
 up all thoughts of remaining in a situation in 
 which she could not probably enjoy any de- 
 gree of comfort ; but her arguments made no 
 impression. Mrs Mason adhered inflexibly 
 to her resolution of making a trial of the 
 place ; and, on Mrs MacClarty's entrance, 
 begged to see the room she was to occupy. 
 
 " That you sal," said Mrs MacClarty ; 
 " but, indeed, it's no in sic order as I could 
 wish, for it's cram fou o' woo' ; it was put in 
 there the day of the sheep-shearing, and we 
 have never ta'en the fash to put it by ; for, 
 as I said before, we did not expect my cusine 
 till after the fair." She then opened the door 
 that was placed in the middle, exactly between 
 the two beds, the recesses of which formed 
 the entry of the dark passage through wliich 
 they groped their way to the spens, or inner 
 apartment, which was nearly of the same size 
 as the kitchen. Mrs Mason was prepared foj 
 seeing the fleeces, which were piled up in the 
 middle of the floor, but was struck with dis- 
 may at the fnstv smell which denoted tlie
 
 114 
 
 place to be without any circulation of aii. 
 She immediately advanced to the window, 
 with the intention of opening it for relief. 
 But, alas ! it was not made to open ; and she 
 heard, for her comfort, that it was the same 
 with all the other windows in the house. The 
 bed, which was opposite to it, was shut up on 
 three sides, like those in the kitchen. At the 
 foot was a dark closet, in which Mrs Mason's 
 trunks were already placed. Between the 
 window and the fire-place was a large chest of 
 drawers of mahogany ; and on the other side 
 the window, an eight-day clock in a mahogany 
 case. The backs of the chairs were of the 
 same foreign wood, betokening no saving of 
 expence; yet, upoa the whole, all had a squa- 
 lid and gloomy aspect. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty tossed down the bed to 
 shew the fineness of the ticken, and the abun- 
 dance of the blankets, which she took care to 
 tell were all of her own spinning. She re- 
 ceived the expected tribute of applause for her 
 good housewifery, though Mrs Mason could 
 not help observing to her, what a risk she ran 
 of having it all lost for want of air. " See the 
 proof of what Lsay," said slic, "in tliat quan- 
 tity of moths I they will soon leave you little 
 to boast of your blankets."
 
 115 
 
 -' Moths ! " repeated Mrs MacClarty, " tlierc 
 never was sic a sight o' moths as in this room; 
 we are just eaten up wi' them, and I'm sure I 
 kenna how they can win in, for no ac breath 
 o' wind ever h]ew here I" 
 
 " That is just the thing that induces them 
 to breed in this place," returned Mrs Mason. 
 *' Plenty of air would soon rid you of the 
 grievance ; since the window is unfortunately 
 fast, I must beg to have a fire kindled here 
 as soon as your maid comes from the hay- 
 field." 
 
 " A fire !" repeated Mrs MacClarty, " I 
 thought you had fund it owre warm." 
 
 " It is not to increase the heat that I ask 
 for a fire," returned Mrs Mason,' " but to 
 increase the circulation of air. If the doors 
 are left open, the air will come sweeping in 
 to feed the fire, and the room will by that 
 means be ventilated, which it greatly stands 
 in need of. I c;ui at present breathe in it no 
 longer." 
 
 By the help of Miss Mary's arm, Mrs Ma- 
 i son got out into the open air, and gladly as- 
 sented to her friend's proposal of taking a 
 view of the garden, which lay at the back of 
 the house. On going to the wicket by which 
 it entered, they found it broken, so that they 
 were obliged to wait, until the stake which
 
 116 
 
 propped it was removed : nor was this the 
 only difficulty they had to encounter ; the path, 
 which was very narrow, was damp, by sippings 
 from the dirty pool ; and on each side of it, 
 the ground immediately rose, and the docks 
 and nettles which covered it, consequently 
 grew so high, that they had no alternative 
 but to walk sideways or to separate. 
 
 " Ye'U see a bonny garden if ye gang on," 
 said Mrs MacClarty ; *' my son's unco 
 proud o't." 
 
 " I wonder your son can let these weeds 
 grow here so rank," said Miss Mary ; " I 
 think, if he is proud of the garden, he should' 
 take some pains to make the entrance .to it 
 passable ?^' 
 
 " O, it does weel eneugh for us,' returned 
 the contented mother ; " but saw ye ever sic 
 fine suthern-wood ? or sic a bed o' thyme ? 
 we hae twa rose bushes down yonder too, but 
 we canna get at them for the nettles. My son 
 gets to them by speeling the wa', but he 
 would do ony thing for flowers. His fa- 
 ther 's often angry at the time he spends on 
 them." 
 
 '' Your husband, then, has not much taste 
 for the garden, I suppose," said Mrs Mason ; 
 " and indeed so it appears, for here is ground 
 enough to supply a large family with fruit
 
 And vegetables all the year round ; but 1 
 see scarcely any thing but cabbages and 
 weeds." 
 
 " Na, na, we have some leeks too," said 
 Mrs MacClarty, " and green kail in winter 
 in plenty. We dinna pretend to kick-shawsj 
 green kail's gude eneugh for us." 
 
 " But," said Miss Mary, " any one may 
 pretend to what they can produce by their 
 own labour. Were your children to dress 
 and weed this garden ; there, might be a 
 pretty walk ; there, you might have a plot of 
 green pease ; there, another of beans ; and 
 under your window you might have a nice 
 border of flowers to regale you with their 
 sweet smell. They might do this too at very 
 little trouble."' 
 
 " Ay, but they canna be fash'd," said 
 Mrs MacClarty ; *' and it does just weel 
 eneugh." 
 
 Mr Stewart now appeared, anil with him 
 the farmer, who saluted Mrs Mason with a 
 hearty welcome, and pressed all the party 
 to go in and taste his whisky, to prevent, 
 as he said, the tea from doing them any 
 harm. As the car was now ready, Mr 
 Stewart begged to be excused from accept- 
 ing the invitation ; and after laying a kind
 
 lis 
 
 injunction on Mrs Mason, to consider no 
 place so much her home as Gowan-brae, he 
 set off with his family on their return home-- 
 wards.
 
 n<? 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Family Sketches. 
 
 Mrs Mason, unwilling to give trouble, and 
 anxious not to disgust her new acquaintances 
 by the appearance of fastidiousness, gave no 
 further directions concerning her apartment, 
 than vfzs barely necessary towards putting it 
 in a habitable state. This being done, she 
 entered cheerfully into conversation with the 
 farmer, whom she found possessed of much 
 plain good sense, and a greater stock of infor- 
 mation than she could have supposed within 
 his reach. She was struck with the force and 
 rationality of his observations on various 
 subjects, and almost sorry when their chat 
 was interrupted by a call to supper, which was 
 now upon the table. It consisted, besides the 
 family dishes of soweus and milk, of -a large 
 trencher full of new potatoes, the first of tl^e 
 season, and intended as a treat for the stran-
 
 120 
 
 ger. The farmer and his three sons sat dowu 
 on one side, the goodwife and her two daugh- 
 ters on the other, leaving the arna ehair at the 
 head for Mrs Mason, and a stool at the foot 
 for Grizzy, who sat with her back to the table, 
 only turning round occasionally to help her- 
 self. 
 
 When all were seated, the farmer, taking 
 oiF a large blue bonnet, which, on account of 
 his bald crown, he seldom parted with through 
 the day, and looking round to see that all 
 were attentive, invited them to join in the act 
 of devotion, which preceded every meal, by 
 saying, *' Let us ask a blessing." 
 
 Mrs Mason, who Had been so long accus- 
 tomed to consider the standing posture as ex- 
 pressive of greater reverence, immediately 
 stood up ; but she was the only one that mov- 
 ed, all the rest of the party keeping their seats, 
 while the farmer, with great solemnity pro- 
 nounced a short, but emphatic prayer. This 
 being finished, Mrs Mason was desired to help 
 herself; and such was the impression made 
 by the pious thankfuhiess, which breathed in 
 the devotional exercise in wKich she had just 
 engaged, that viands less acceptable to her 
 palate, would at that moment liave been ate 
 ^v^th relish. The sowens were excellent ; the 
 milk was sweet ; and the fresh raised potatoes.
 
 bursting from the coats in which they had 
 been boiled, might have feasted a queen. 
 It is indeed ten thousand to one that any 
 queen ever tasted of the first of vegetables 
 in this its highest state ©f perfection. Mrs 
 Mason was liberal of her praise ; and both the 
 farmer and his wife were highly gratified by 
 her expressions of satisfaction. 
 
 The meal concluded, as it had begun, with 
 prayer ; and Mrs Mason retired to her room, 
 under a full conviction, that, in the society of 
 people who so sincerely served and worshipped 
 God, all the materials of happiness would be 
 within her reach. 
 
 Her bed appeared so inviting from the de- 
 licate whiteness of the linen, that she hastened 
 to enjoy in it the sweets of repose ; but no 
 sDoner had her head reached the pillow, than 
 she became sick, and was so overcome by a 
 feeling of suffocation, that she was obliged 
 to sit up for air. Upon examination, she found 
 that the smell which annoyed her proceeded 
 from new feathers put into the pillow before 
 they had been properly dried, and when they 
 were consequently full of the animal oil, which, 
 when it becomes rancid, sends forth an intole~ 
 rable effluvia. Having removed the annoyance, 
 and made of her clothes a bundle to support 
 her head, she again composed herself to sleep. 
 
 F
 
 1-2 
 
 "But alas, in vain ! for the enemy by wKom 
 bhe was now attacked, she found to be sworn 
 against sleep. The assault was made by 
 such numbers in all quarters, and carried on 
 xvith such dexterity by the merciless and agile 
 foe, that, after a few ineffectual attempts at 
 offensive and defensive warfare, she at length 
 resigned herself to absolute despair. The dis- 
 gusting idea of want of cleanliness, which their 
 presence excited, was yet more insufferable 
 than the piercing of their little fangs. But, 
 on recollecting how long the room had been 
 filled with the fleeces, she gladly flattered her- 
 self, that they were only accidental guests, 
 and that she might soon be able to effect their 
 banishment. 
 
 As day advanced, the enemy retired, and 
 poor Mrs Mason, fatigued , and wearied, at 
 length sunk to rest. Happily she was undis- 
 turbed by the light ; for though her window, 
 which was exactly opposite to the bed, was 
 not shaded by a curtain, the veil of dust which 
 it had contracted in the eighteen years it had 
 stood unwiped, was too thick to permit the 
 rays of the sun to penetrate. 
 
 As the clock struck eight, she hastened out 
 of bed, vexed at having lost so much of the 
 day in sleep ; and on perceiving, when about 
 half-dressed, that she had in her room neither
 
 water nor hand-bason to wash in, she threw 
 on her dimity bed-gown, and went out to the 
 kitchen to procure a supply of these necessary 
 articles. She there found Meg and Jean ; the 
 former standing at the table from which the por- 
 ridge dishes seemed to have been just removed ; 
 the latter killing flies at the window. Mrs Ma«- 
 son addressed herself to Meg, and, after a courte- 
 ous good morrow, asked her where she should 
 find a hand-bason ? " I dinna ken," said Meg, 
 drawing her finger through the milk that had 
 been spilled upon the table. " Where is your 
 mother ?" asked Mrs Mason. " 1 dinna ken," 
 returned Meg, continuing to dabble her hands 
 through the remaining fragments of the feast. 
 
 *' If you are going to clean that table,'* 
 said Mrs Mason, '* you will give yourself 
 more work than you need, by daubing it all 
 over with the porridge. Bring your cloth, 
 and I shall shew you how I learned to cleaii 
 our tables, when I was a little girl like you." 
 
 Meg continued to make lines with her fore- 
 finger. 
 
 " Come," said Mrs Mason, " shall I teach 
 you?" 
 
 " Na," said Meg, '' I sal dight nane o't. 
 I'm gain' to the schul." — ** But that need 
 not hinder you to wipe up the table before 
 you go," said Mrs Mason. You might have
 
 cleaned it up as bright as a looking-glass, in 
 the time that you have spent in spattering it, 
 and dirtying your fingers. Would it riot be 
 pleasanter for you to make it clean, than to 
 leave it dirty ?" 
 
 "I'll no be at the fash," returned Meg, 
 making off to the door as she spoke. Before 
 she got out, she was met by her mother, who, 
 on seeing her, exclaimed, *' Are ye no awa 
 yet, bairns I I never saw the like. Sic a 
 fight to get ye to the schul ! Nae wonder ye 
 learn little, when you'r at it. Gae awa, like 
 gude bairns ; for there's na schulin the morn, 
 ye ken, it's the fair day." * 
 
 Meg set off after some farther parley ; but 
 Jean continued to catch the flies at the window, 
 taking no notice of her mother's exhortations, 
 lliough again repeated in pretty nearly the 
 same terms. 
 
 '■' Dear me !" said the mother, " what's 
 the matter wi' the bairn ! What for winna yc 
 gang, when Meg's gane ? Rin, and ye'll be 
 after her or she wins to the end o' the loan." 
 
 *' I'm no ga'an the day," says Jean, turning 
 away her face. " And what for are no ye 
 ga'an, my dear?" says her mother. *' Cause 
 I hinna gotten my questions," replied Jean.
 
 1-2.5 
 
 *' O but ye may gang for a' that," said her 
 mother ; " the maister will no be angry. Gang 
 like a gude bairn." 
 
 *' Na," said Jean, " but he will be angry, 
 for I didna get them the last time either." 
 
 " And what for did na ye get them, my 
 dear," said Mrs MacClarty in a soothing tone. 
 " Cause 'twas unco kittle, and / coud)ia he. 
 fasli'd;''^ replied the hopeful girl, catching, as 
 she spoke, another handful of flies. Her rrio- 
 ther, finding that entreaties were of no avail, 
 endeavoured to speak in a more peremptory 
 accent, and even laid her commands upon her 
 daughter to depart immediately ; but she had 
 too often permitted her commands to be dis- 
 puted, to be surprised at their being now treat- 
 ed with disrespect. Jean repeated her deter- 
 mined purpose of not going to the school that 
 day, and the firmer she became in opposition, 
 the authoritative tone of the mother gradually 
 weakened ; till at length by saying, that " if 
 she didna gang to the schul, she sudna stand 
 there," slie acknowledged herself to be de- 
 feated, and the point to be given up. 
 
 Mrs Mason, who had stood an unobserved 
 spectator of this scene, was truly shocked^pF 
 such a contempt of parental aiUhority, as shjs 
 believed must inevitably produce consequences 
 of the most deplorable nature. She came for-
 
 120 
 
 w^rd, and stopping the little girl as she was 
 slinking out at the door, asked her, " If she 
 really meant to disobey her mother, by stay- 
 ing from school?" Jean made no answer; 
 but the indulgent mother, unwilling that any 
 one should open her eyes to that to which she 
 resolved to be blind, instantly made her spoilt 
 child's apology, by observing, that '' the 
 poor thing hadna gotten her questions, and 
 didna like to gang, for fear o' the maister's 
 anger." 
 
 *' But ought she not to have got her ques- 
 tions, as her master enjoined, instead of idling 
 here all the morning ?" said Mrs Mason. " O 
 ay," returned Mrs MacClarty, " she shu'd 
 ha' gotten her questions, nae doubt ; but it 
 was unco fashous, and ye see she has na a 
 turn that gait, poor woman ! but in time she'll 
 do rccel enenglu^' 
 
 *' Those who wait till evening for sunrise," 
 said Mrs Mason, *' will find that they have 
 lost the day. If you permit your daughter, 
 while a child, to disobey her parent and her 
 teacher, she will never learn to obey her God. 
 But, perhaps, I interfere too far. If I do, you 
 must forgive me ; for, with the strong impres- 
 sion which I have upon my mind of the con- 
 sequences of a right education, I am tempted
 
 127 
 
 to forget that my advice may sometimes be 
 unacceptable. 
 
 " Hoot," said Mrs MacClarty, who did not 
 perfectly comprehend the speech, '' maidens 
 bairns are aye weel-bred, ye ken, cousin ; 
 but I fear ye hinna sleepit weel, that ye have 
 been sae lang o' rising. It's a lang time since 
 the kettle has been boiling for your break- 
 fast." 
 
 *' I shall be ready for it very soon," said 
 Mrs Mason ; " but I came in search of a bason 
 and water, which Grizzy has forgot to put in 
 my room, and until I wash, I can proceed no 
 farther in dressing myself." 
 
 " Dear me," replied Mrs MacCIarty, " I'm 
 sure you're weel eneugh. Your hands ha' 
 nae need o' washing, I trow. Ye ne'er do a 
 turn to file them." 
 
 *' You can't surely be in earnest," replied 
 Mrs Mason. " Do you think I could sit 
 down to breakfast with unwashed hands ? I 
 never heard of such a thing, and never saw it 
 done in my life." 
 
 " I sec nae good o' sic nicety," returned her 
 friend ; " but its easy to gie ye water eneugh, 
 though I'm sure I dinnaken what to put it in, 
 unless ye tak ane o' the porridge plates : or 
 may be^the calf's luggie may do better, for 
 it 'U gie ye eneugh o' room."
 
 1 28 
 
 ■ " Your •town bason will do better tlian 
 either," said Mrs Mason. " Give me the loan 
 of it for this inorning, and I shall return it 
 immediately, as you must doubtless often want 
 it through the day." '* Na, na," returned 
 Mrs MacClarty, " I dinna fash wi' sae mony 
 fykes. There's ay water standing in some- 
 thing or other, for ane to ca' their hands 
 through when they're blacket. The gude- 
 man indeed is a wee conceity like yoursel', an' 
 he coft a brown bason for his shaving in on 
 Saturdays, but its in use a' the week haddin' 
 milk, or I'm sure ye'd be welcome to it. I 
 sail see an' get it ready for you the morn." 
 
 Poor Mrs Mason, on whose nerves the 
 image presented by this descrij^tion of the al- 
 ternate uses of the utensil in question, pro- 
 duced a sensible effect, could scarce command 
 voice to thank her cousin for her civil off^ r. 
 Being, however, under the necessity of clius- 
 ing for the present, she, without hesitation, 
 preferred the calf's bicker to the porridge 
 plate : and indeed considered the calf as being 
 so much the cleanlier animal than his mistress, 
 that she would in every way have preferred 
 him for an associate. 
 
 Mrs Mason was not ill pleased to find that 
 she was to breakfast by herself; the rest of 
 the family having long ago finished their morn-
 
 129 
 
 ing repast, were now engaged in the several 
 occupations of the day. 
 
 The kail pot was already on the fire to 
 make broth for dinner ; and Mrs MacClarty 
 busied in preparing the vegetables which were 
 to be boiled in it. When her guest, on hear- 
 ing her desire Grizzcl to make haste, and sit 
 down to her wheel, thought it time to remind 
 her, that her bed was still to make, and her 
 room to be put in order ; and that Grizzy's 
 assistance would be necessary for both^ 
 
 It was not easy to persuade the good woman 
 that it would not be time enough in the dusk 
 of the evening ; but as Mrs Mason declared it 
 essential Jo her comfort, Grizzy was ordered 
 to attend her, and to do whatever she desired. 
 By her directions, the stout girl fell to work, 
 and hoisted out the bed and bed-clothes, which 
 she carried to the barn-yard ; the only place 
 about the house where there was a spot of 
 green grass. The check curtains followed, 
 and in their removal eiFected the sudden ruin 
 of many a goodly cob-web, which had never 
 before met with the smallest molestation. 
 When the lower vallence was removed, it dis- 
 played a scene still more extraordinary ; a 
 hoard of the remains of all the old shoes that 
 had ever been worn by any member of the 
 family ; staves of broken tubs, ends of decay- 
 F 3
 
 130 
 
 ed rope, and a long el cetera of useless articles, 
 so covered with blue mould and dust, that it 
 seemed surprising the very spiders did not 
 quit the colony in disgust. 
 
 Mrs Mason sickened at the sight. Per- 
 ceiving what an unpleasant task she should be 
 obliged to impose on her assistant, she deemed 
 herself in justice bound to recompense her for 
 the trouble ; and, holding up a half-crown 
 piece, told her, that if she performed all she 
 rec[uircd of her on the present occasion, it 
 should be her own. No sooner was Grizzy 
 made certain of the reward, which had till 
 now been promised in indefinite terms, than 
 t.he began in such good earnest, ^hat Mrs 
 INIason was glad to get out of the room. After 
 three large buckets full of dirt and trumpery 
 had been carried out, she came to Mrs Mason 
 for fresh instructions. Then proceeded to 
 wash the bed-posts with soap and water. 
 After which, the chairs, the tables, the clock- 
 case, the very walls of the room, as well as 
 every thing it contained, all underwent a com- 
 plete cleaning. 
 
 The window, in which were nine tolerably 
 large panes of glass, was no sooner r^'udered 
 transparent, than Grizzy cried out in extacy, 
 "* that she cou'd na have thought it would 
 have made sic a change. Dear me ! how
 
 131 
 
 heartsome it looks now, to what it us't !" 
 said the girl, her spirit rising in proportion to 
 the exertion of her activity. 
 
 " And ill how short a time has it been 
 cleaned ?" said Mrs Mason. " Yet had it 
 been regularly cleaned once a-week, as it 
 ought to have been, it would have cost far 
 less trouble. By the labour of a minute or 
 two, we may keep it constantly bright ; and 
 surely few days pass in which so much time 
 may not be spared. Let us now go to the 
 kitchen window, and make it likewise clean.'* 
 Grizzy with alacrity obeyed. But before the 
 window could be approached, it was found 
 necessary to remove the heap of dusty articles 
 piled up in the window sill, which served the 
 jjurpose of family library, and repository of 
 v/hat is known by tlie term odds and ouls, 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, who had sat down to spin, 
 did not at first seem willing to take any notice 
 of what was going forward ; but on perceiv- 
 ing her maid beginning to meddle with the 
 things in the window, she could no longer 
 remain a neutral spectator of the scene. 
 Stopping her wheel, she, in a voice indicating 
 the reverse of satisfaction, asked what she was 
 about ? Mrs INIason took it upon her to reply. 
 " We are going to make your window bright 
 and clean for you, cousin," said she. " If
 
 132 
 
 you step into my room, and take a look of 
 mine, you will see what a difference there is 
 in it ; and this, if these broken panes were 
 mended, would look every bit as well." *' It 
 does zoeel eneiigh" returned Mrs MacClarty. 
 *' It wants nae cleanin'. It does just zceel 
 enengh. What's the gude o' takin' up the 
 lass's time wi' nonsense ? she'll break the 
 window too, and the bairns hae broken eneugh 
 o't already." 
 
 " But if these panes were mended, and the 
 window cleaned, .without and within," said 
 Mrs Mason, " you cannot think how much 
 more chearful the kitchen would appear." 
 
 *' And how lang wad it bide clean if it 
 were?" said Mrs MacClarty. " It would 
 be as ill as ever or a month, and wha cou'd 
 be at the fash o' ay cleanin' at it?" 
 
 " Even once a-montli would keep it tole- 
 rable, but once a-week would keep it very 
 nice ; your little girls might rub it bright of 
 a morning, without the least trouble in the 
 world. They might learn too to whiten the 
 window-sill, and to keep it free from rubbish, 
 by laying the books, and all these articles, in 
 *heir proper places, instead of letting them 
 remain here covered with dust. You cannot 
 imagine what good it would do your young 
 peojile, diH they learn by times to attend to
 
 133 
 
 such matters ; for^believe me, cousin, habils 
 of neatness, and of activity, and of attention, 
 have a greater effect upon the temper and dis- 
 position than most people are aware of." 
 
 " If my bairns do as weel as I hae done, 
 they'll do weel eneugh," said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, turning her wheel with gi'eat speed. 
 Mr MacClarty's voice was just at that moment 
 heard calling on Grizzy to drive the fowls 
 out of the corn field, which necessarily put a 
 stop to all further proceedings against the 
 window. Mrs Mason therefore returned to 
 her own apartment; and, greatly pleased with 
 the appearance which it now assumed, chear- 
 fully sat down to her accustomed labours of 
 the needle, of which she was such complete 
 mistress, that it gave no interruption to the 
 train of her reflections. On taking a view of 
 her present situation, and comparing it with 
 the past, she carefully suppressed every feel- 
 ing that could lead to discontent. Instead of 
 murmuring at the loss of those indulgences, 
 which long habit had almost converted into 
 necessaries pf life, she blessed God for the en- 
 joyment of such a state of health, as none of 
 the luxuries of wealth could purchase ; and 
 for which, those who possessed them so often 
 sighed in vain. Considering all the events of 
 her life as ordered under the wise dispensa-
 
 134 
 
 tion of Providence, she looked to the subordi- 
 nate situation in which she had been placed, 
 as a school, in which it was intended that she 
 should learn the important lesson of humility ; 
 and when she looked back, it was for the pur- 
 pose of inquiring, how she had fullilled the 
 duties of the lot assigned her. 
 
 She was now, for the first time in her life, 
 completelj her own mistress*; but she was 
 already sensible, that the idea of a life, com- 
 pletely independent of the will of others, is 
 merely visionary ; and that, in all situations, 
 some portion of one's own will must neces- 
 sarily be sacrificed. She saw that the more 
 nearly people approached each other in their 
 habits and opinions, the less would the sacri- 
 fice be felt ; but while she entertained a hope 
 of being able to do more good in her present 
 situation, than she could in any other, she re- 
 solved to remain where she was. " Surely," 
 said she to herself, " I must be of some use 
 to the children of these good people. They 
 are ill brought up ; but they do not seem de- 
 ficient in under-standing, and if I can once con- 
 vince them of the advantage they will derive 
 from listening to my advice, I may make a 
 lasting impression on their minds." 
 
 While engaged by these reflections, as she 
 busily pursued her work, slie was startled by
 
 135 
 
 a sudden noise, followed by an immediate di- 
 minution of light J and on looking up, perceiv- 
 ed her window all over bespattered with mud. 
 A tittering laugh betrayed the aggressors, and 
 directed her attention to the side where they 
 stood, and from which she knew they could 
 not retreat without being seen. She there- 
 fore continued quietly on the watch, and in a 
 little time saw Jean and her younger brother 
 issue from the spot, and hastily run down the 
 bank that led to the river. 
 
 Mrs Mason had been for above twenty 
 years employed in studying the tempers and 
 dispositions of children ; but as she had never 
 before seen an instance of what appeared to 
 be unprovoked malignity in the youthful 
 mind, she was greatly shocked at the disco- 
 very ; and thought it incumbent on her to in- 
 form their mother of the incident, and to give 
 her opinion of it in the plainest terms. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, perceiving that Mrs Mason 
 had something extraordinary to communicate, 
 stopped^her wheel to listen ; and when the win- 
 dow was mentioned, asked, with great anxiety, 
 whether it was broken ? " No," said Mrs 
 Mason, " the mud they threw at it was too 
 soft to break the glass ; it is not to the injury 
 done the window that I wish to call your 
 attention, but to the dispositions of your chil~
 
 135 
 
 dren ; for what must the dispositions be, that 
 lead them to take pleasure in such an act ?" 
 
 " Hoot," said Mrs MacClartj, " is that it 
 a' ? ane wou'd hae thought the window had 
 been a' to shivers, bj the way you spoke. 
 If its but a wee darted, there's nae sae muckle 
 ill done. I tald ye it was nonsense to be at 
 sae muckle fash aboot it ; for that it would 
 na get leave to bide clean lang." 
 
 " But if your children were better taught," 
 said Mrs Mason, " it might get leave to bide 
 clean long enough. If the same activity, 
 which they have displayed in dirtying it, had 
 been directed into proper channels, your cot- 
 tage might have been kept in order by their 
 little hands, and your garden, and all about 
 your doors, made neat and beautiful. Chil- 
 dren are naturally active ; but unless their 
 activity be early bent to useful purposes, it 
 will only lead them into mischief. Were- 
 your cliildren"— 
 
 '' Hoot," said Mrs MacClarty, peevishly ; 
 *' my bairns are just like other folks. A' 
 laddies are fou o' mischief. I'm sure there's 
 no a yard i' the town where they can get a 
 flower or apple keepit for them. I wonder 
 what ye would ha' said, if ye had seen the 
 minister's yets, the day after they were paint-
 
 1.37 
 
 ed, slaked and blackct a' owre wi dirt, by the 
 laddies frae the sckul ?" 
 
 '•'• I would have said, " returned Mrs Mason, 
 •' what I said before, that all that bent to mis- 
 chief in the children, arises from the neglect 
 of the parents, in not directing their activity 
 into proper channels. Do you not think, that 
 each of these boys would, if properly trained, 
 find as much amuselnent in works that would 
 tend to ornament the village, or in cultivating 
 a few shrubs and flowers to adorn the walls of 
 their own cottages, as they now appear to find 
 in mischief and destruction ? Do you not think, 
 that that girl of yours might have been so 
 brought up, as to have had more pleasure in 
 cleaning a window of her father's house, than 
 in bedaubing it with mud ? Allowing the 
 pleasure of being mischievously active, and 
 the pleasure of being usefully active, to be at 
 present equal ; do you think that the conse- 
 quences will not be different ? ' Train vp a 
 child in the xcny he. should go,'' says Solomon, 
 and depend upon it, that, in the way you train 
 him, he will go, whether you desire it or not. 
 If you permit a child to derive all his pleasure 
 from doing ill to others, he will not, when he 
 is grown up, be inclined to do much good. 
 He will even, from his youth, be conscious of 
 deserving the ill-will of his neighbours, and
 
 must of course have no good-will to them. 
 His temper will thus be soured. If he suc- 
 ceeds in life, he will be proud and overbear- 
 ing ; if he does not, he will become sulkj, 
 and morose, and obdurate." 
 
 " Weel," said the farmer, who had been 
 listening to the latter part of the conversation, 
 " it's a' true that ye say ; but how is it to be 
 helpit? Do ye think corrupt nature can be 
 subdued in ony other way than by the grace 
 of God?" 
 
 " If I read my Bible right," returned Mrs 
 Mason, " the grace of God is a gift, which, 
 like all the other gifts of divine love, must be 
 sought by the appointed means. It is the 
 duty of a parent to put his children upon the 
 way of thus seeking it ; and, as far as it is in 
 his power, to remove the obstacles that would 
 prevent it." 
 
 *' The minister himsel' could speak nae 
 better," returned the farmer. " But when 
 folks gie their bairns the best education in 
 their power, what mair can they do ?" 
 
 ** In answer to your question," replied Mrs 
 Mason, '* I will put one to you. Suppose 
 you had a field which produced only briers 
 and thorns, what method would you take to 
 brins: it into heart ?"
 
 139 
 
 *•' I would nae doubt rule out the briers and 
 thorns, as weel as I could," returned the far- 
 mer. 
 
 "• And after you had opened the soil bj 
 plowing, and enriched it by the proper manure, 
 you would sow good seed in it, and expect, by 
 the blessing of heaven, to reap, in harvest, the 
 reward of your labour," said Mrs Mason. 
 
 '* To be sure I would," said the farmer. 
 
 " And do you imagine, " said Mrs Mason, 
 " that the human soul requires less care ia 
 culturing it, than is necessary to your field ? 
 Is it merely by teaching them to say their 
 questions, or even teaching them to read, that 
 the briers and thorns of pride and self-will 
 will be rooted up from your childrens' minds ?'* 
 
 " We maun trust a' to the grace of God," 
 said the farmer. 
 
 " God forbid that we should put trust in 
 ought beside," returned Mrs Mason : "but if 
 we hope for a miraculous interposition of di- 
 vine grace, in favour of ourselves, or of our 
 children, without taking the means that God 
 has appointed, our hope does not spring from 
 faith, but from presumption. It is just as it 
 youwere neither to plough, nor sow your fields, 
 and yet expect that Providence would bless you 
 with an abundant crop,"
 
 140 
 
 " But what means ought we to use, that 
 we do not use ?" said the farmer : " We send 
 our bairns to the schule, and we tak them 
 to the kirk, and we do our best to set them 
 a gude example. I kenna what we could do 
 mair." 
 
 " You are a good man," said Mrs Mason, 
 with complacencj ; '' and happy will it be for 
 your children, if they follow your example. 
 But let us drop all allusion to them in particu- 
 lar, and speak only of training up youth to vir- 
 tue, as a general principle. By what you say 
 you think it sufficient to sow the seed ; I con- 
 tend for the necessity of preparing the soil to 
 receive it ; and say, that without such prepa- 
 ration, it will never take root, nor vegetate." 
 
 " I canno' contradict you," returned the 
 farmer ; '' but I wish you to explain it better. 
 If you mean that we ought to gie our bairns 
 lessons at hame, I can tell you we have not 
 time for it, nor are we book-learned eneugh 
 to-mak fine speeches to them, as the like of 
 you might do ; and, if we were, I fear it wad 
 do little gude." 
 
 . " Believe me," replied Mrs Mason, *' set 
 lessons, and fine harangues, make no part of 
 my plan of preparation, which consists of no- 
 thing else than a watchful attention to the 
 iirst appearances of what is in its nature evil,
 
 141 
 
 and whether it comes in the shape of self- 
 will, passion, or perverseness, nipping it in 
 the very bud ; while, on the other hand, I 
 would tenderly cherish every kindly affection, 
 and enforce attention to the feelings of others ; 
 by which means I would render children kind- 
 hearted, tractable, and obedient. — This is what 
 I call the preparation of the soil : now let us 
 see the consequences. — Supposing that of two 
 children, one has from infancy been accustom- 
 ed to constant and- cheerful obedience, while 
 the other has never been taught to respect any 
 will but his own. Which of those two, on 
 being instructed in the divine precept, " Ho- 
 nour thy father and thy mother," will be 
 most likely to enter into the spirit of the com- 
 mandment. And what doth the gospel teach ? 
 doth it not urge us to subdue all selfish and 
 vindictive passions, in order that we may 
 cherish the most perfect love to God and 
 man ? Now, if we have permitted our chil- 
 dren to indulge these passions, how do we pre- 
 pare them for practising the gospel precepts ? 
 Their duty to God and man requires, that 
 they should make the best use of every power 
 of mind and body : the activity natural to 
 youth is a power included in this rule ; and If 
 we permit them to waste It in eifectlng mis- 
 chief, and in destroying or disturbing the
 
 142 
 
 happiness of others, can we say that we arc 
 not counteracting the express will of our Di- 
 vine Master ? How can we flatter ourselves, 
 that with such habits the divine precepts will 
 make much impression on their minds?" 
 
 Before Mrs Mason had finished her speech, 
 her voice was drowned in the noise of a vio- 
 lent quarrel that had taken place between the 
 farmer's two elder sons. Perceiving that the 
 dispute vvould not be easily settled, she re- 
 tired to her room ; but was overtaken in the 
 passage by Mrs MacClarty, who said in a 
 whisper, " I houpye'll say naething o' Jenny's 
 playing the truant frae the schule. Her father 
 manna ken o't, he wad be sae angry." — 
 " Alas," said Mrs Mason, *' you know not 
 iiow much you are your child's enemy ! but 
 I shall be silent."
 
 143 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Domestic Rebellion. 
 
 Mrs Mason enjoyed the reward of her 
 exertions, and of Grizzel's labour, in a night 
 of sweet and uninterrupted repose. She was 
 awakened at early dawn by the farmer calling 
 his sons to get up, to prepare for the labours 
 of the day ; and looking out beheld the clouds 
 already decked in the colours of the morning, 
 inviting her to the most glorious sight on 
 which the eye of man can look. The invita- 
 t;ion was not given in vain ; she rose and dres- 
 sed herself, and, taking her staff and crutch, 
 she sallied from her room, earnestly wishing 
 to escape observation. 
 
 The young men, in no hurry to obey their 
 father's summons, were still in bed. On 
 passing through the dark passage where they 
 slept, she could not help wondering at the 
 perverted ingenuity, which could contrive to
 
 144 
 
 give to the sleeping rooms of a country house 
 all the disadvantages which attend the airless 
 abodes of poverty, in the crowded lanes of 
 great and populous cities. 
 
 From the length of time that the outer door 
 had been shut, the closeness of the house had 
 become very unpleasant to her lungs. Wel- 
 come therefore was the reviving breeze of 
 morning ! Welcome the freshness of the 
 coming day, which now burst upon the senses. 
 It was not, indeed, until she had removed 
 some paces from the house, that she fully felt 
 its influence ; for while near the door, the 
 smell of the squashy pool, and its neighbour 
 the dimghill, were so powerful, as to subdue 
 the fragrance of the earth's fruits and flowers. 
 
 Having taken the road towards the river, 
 she, on its first turning, found herself in full 
 view of the water-fall, and was arrested by 
 admiration at the man-y beauties of the scene. 
 Seating herself upon a projecting rock, she 
 contemplated the effulgent glory of the hea- 
 vens, as they brightened into splendour at the 
 ajjproach of the lord of day ; and when her 
 eyes were dazzled by the scene, turned to 
 view the living waters, pouring their crystal 
 flood over the craggy precipice, shaded by the 
 spreading boughs of birch and alder.
 
 145 ~ 
 
 The good woman's heart glowed with rap- 
 ture ; but it did not vainly glow, as does the 
 heart, or the imagination, of many a pretender 
 to superior taste ; for the rapture of her heart 
 was fraught with gratitude. She saw the God 
 of nature in his works, and blessed the good- 
 ness which, even in the hour of creation, or- 
 dained, that they should not only contribute 
 to the use, but add to the enjoyments, of the 
 human race. '' The eye is never satisfied 
 with seeing nor the ear with hearing j" and 
 he who implanted these desires, has he not 
 mercifully provided for their gratification ? 
 What are all the works of man, what all the 
 pomp and splendour of monarchs, compared 
 with the grandeur of such a scene ? But the 
 sights that are designed by man, as proofs of 
 his creative skill, are only to be seen by the 
 rich and great ; while the glorious works of 
 God are exhibited to all. Whilst she pur- 
 sued this thought a little farther, it occurred 
 to Mrs Mason, that all that is rare, is in ge- 
 neral useless ; and that all that is most truly 
 valuable is given in common, and placed v»'ith- 
 in ,the reach of the poor and lowly, *' Let the 
 poor then praise Thee !" she exclaimed. *' Let 
 the lowly in heart rejoice in thy salvation. Let 
 us rejoice in the light which shines from o»i 
 6
 
 14G 
 
 high to illumine the soul, as thy sun illume.^ 
 the earth ! O that man would praise the Lord 
 for his goodness, and for his mercies to the 
 children of men." 
 
 While Mrs Mason was thus indulging the 
 grateful feelings of her heart, by sending up 
 her tribute of praise to the Almighty Giver 
 of all good, her ears were suddenly assailed by 
 the liarsh sound of discord ; and, on moving a 
 few steps, she discovered that a violent dispute 
 had taken place between the farmer and l)is 
 eldest son. In the hopes of making peace, she 
 advanced towai'ds them ; but before she turn- 
 ed the corner, she paused, doubting whether 
 it were not better to take no notice of having 
 heard the fray. The voices stopped ; and 
 proceeding, she saw the farmer hastily unsad- 
 dling a horse ; and the son at the same moment 
 issuing from the door, but pulled back by his 
 mother, who held the skirt of his coat, say- 
 ing, *' I tell ye, Sandie, ye manna gang, to 
 anger your father." 
 
 " But I sal gang," cried Sandie, in a sullen 
 tone. " I winna be hindered. I sal gang, 1 
 tell ye, whether my father likes or no." 
 
 *' Ye may gang, ye door loon," says the 
 father ; *' but if ye do, ye sal repent it as lang 
 as ye live." 
 
 I
 
 147 
 
 *•■ Hoot na," returned the mother, " ye'ii 
 t'orgie him ; and ye had as weel let him gang, 
 for ye see he winna be hindered !" 
 
 " Where is the young man for going to ?" 
 asked Mrs Mason. 
 
 ♦' Whar sud he be for ga'an to, but to the 
 fair ?" returned the mother -, *' its only natural. 
 But our gudeman's unco particular, and never 
 lets the lads get ony daffin." 
 
 '' Daffin !" cried the farmer, " is drucken- 
 ness daffin ! Did na he gang last year, and 
 come hame as drunk as a beast ? And ye wad 
 hae him tak the brown mare, too, without 
 ever spearing my leave ! saddled and bridled 
 too, forsooth, like ony gentleman in the land ! 
 But ye sal baith repent it ; I tell ye, ye'se re- 
 peat it." 
 
 " O, I didna ken o' the mare," said the too 
 easy mother. 
 
 " But is it possible," said Pt^rs Mason, ad- 
 dressing herself to the young man ; " is it pos- 
 sible that you should think of going to any 
 place in direct opposition to your father's will? 
 I thought you would have been better acquaint- 
 ed with your duty than to break the commands 
 of God, by treating your parents in such a
 
 14$ 
 
 ** I am sure he has been weel taught," said 
 the mother ; " but I kenna how it is, our 
 bairns never mind a word we say ?" 
 
 " But he will mind you," said Mrs Mason, 
 *' and set a better example of obedience to his 
 brothers and sisters, than he is now doing. 
 Come, I must reconcile all parties. Will you 
 not give me your hand ?" 
 
 *' I'll no' stay frae the fair for naebody," 
 said the sullen youth, endeavouring to paSs ; 
 *' a' the folk in the Glen are ga'an, and I'll 
 gang too, say what ye wull." 
 
 Mrs Mason ■scarcely believed it possible that 
 he could be so very hardy, until she saw him 
 set off with sullen and determined step, follow- 
 ed by his mother's eye, who, on seeing him 
 depart, exclaimed, " Hegh me ! ye're an unco 
 laddie." 
 
 The farmer appeared to feel more deeply, 
 but he said nothing. Grasping the mane of 
 the mare, he turned to lead her down the road 
 to his fields, and had advanced a few steps, 
 tvhen his wife called after him to inquire what 
 he was going to do with the saddle, which he 
 carried on his shoulders? *' Do wi' it !" re- 
 peated he ; "I have naething to do wi' it !" 
 Then dashing it on the ground, he proceeded 
 with quickened pace down the steep.
 
 149 
 
 " Wae's me !" said Mrs MacClarty, " the 
 gudeman tales Sandie's doorness mickle te 
 heart!" 
 
 *' And is it any wonder that he should take 
 it to heart ?" said Mrs Mason ; '' what can be 
 more dreadful to a parent than to see a son 
 setting cut in life, with such dispositions? 
 What can be expected of one who is capable 
 of such undutiful behaviour ?" 
 
 *' To be sure," said the gudewife, ** the 
 lad's unco wilfu'. There's nae gude in hinder- 
 ing him ; for he maun ay tak his ain gait. 
 But a' lads are just the same, and the gude- 
 man shou'd na be sae hard on him, seeing 
 he's yet but young." 
 
 " Mistress !" hollowed the voice of Grizzel 
 from the house ; " I wish ye wad come and 
 speak to Meg. She winna be hinderit put- 
 ting her fingers in the kirn, and licking the 
 cream.'* 
 
 . " If I were at you," cried Mrs MacClarty, 
 " I'd gar you"— 
 
 She was as good as her word ; and, in order 
 to show Mrs Mason the good effect of her ad- 
 vice, she ran that moment into the kitchen, 
 and gave her daughter a hearty slap upon the 
 back. The girl went a few steps further off, 
 and deliberately applied her tongue to the
 
 160 
 
 back, of her hand, where part of the cream was 
 still visible. 
 
 " Go, ye idle whippy !" said her mother ; 
 *' and let me see hov/ weel ye'll ca' the kirn." 
 
 " I winna kirn the day," returned Meg ; 
 *' I'm ga'an to milk the kye. Jean may kirn; 
 she has naething else to do." 
 
 " I'm ay set to kirn," says Jean, whimper- 
 ing. " I never saw sic wark. I tell ye, I 
 wouna kirn mair than Meg. Grizzy can 
 milk the cows hersel'. She doesna want her 
 help." 
 
 " But girls," said Mrs Mason, " when I 
 v/as a little girl, like either of you, I never 
 thought^of chusing my work ; I considered 
 it my business to follow my mother's direc- 
 tions. Young people ought to obey, and not 
 to dictate." 
 
 " Hear ye that !" said Mrs MacClarty ; 
 '* But Jean will gang to the kirn, I ken, like 
 a good bairn ; and she sal get a dad o' buttci 
 to her bread." 
 
 " But I wonna haet frae the hairing knife," 
 said Jean ; *' for the last I got stack i' my 
 throat." 
 
 *' Bless me !" cried Mrs Mason, in amaze- 
 ment ; " how does your butter come to be 
 so full of hairs ? Where do they come 
 
 iTom 
 
 ?'»
 
 " O, they are a' frae the cows," returned 
 Mrs MacClarty. " There has been lang u 
 hole in the milk sythe, and I have never been 
 at the fash to get it mended. But as I tak ay 
 care to sythe the milk through my fingers, I ' 
 wonder how sae mony hairs win in." 
 
 " Ye needna wonder at that," observed 
 Grizzel, *' for the house canna be soopit but 
 the dirt flees into the kirn." 
 
 *' But do you not clean the churn before you 
 put in the cream?" asked Mrs Mason, more 
 and more astonished. 
 
 " Na, na," returned Mrs MacClarty, " that 
 wadna be canny, ye ken. Naebody here- 
 abouts would clean their kirn for ony con- 
 sideration, I never heard o' sic a thing i' my 
 life." 
 
 Mrs Mason found it difficult to conceal the 
 disgust which this discovery excited ; but re- 
 solving to be cautious of giving offence, by the 
 disclosure of her sentiments, she sat down in 
 silence to watch the farther operations of the 
 morning. While Jean was slowly turning the 
 churn, with unwilling hand, her mother was 
 busily employed in making the cheese. Part 
 of the milk destined to that purpose was al- 
 ready put upon the fire, in the same iron pot 
 in which the chickens had been feasting, and 
 on which the hardened curd, at which they
 
 152 
 
 had been picking, was still visible towards the 
 rim. The remainder of the milk was turned 
 into a large tub, and to it that upon the^fire 
 was added, as soon as it was of a proper heat. 
 So far, all was done well and cleverly. Mrs 
 MacClarty then took down a bottle of runnet, 
 er yearning, as she called it, and having pour- 
 ed in what she thought a sufficient quantity, 
 tucked up the sleeve of her gown, and dash- 
 ing in her arm, stirred the infusion with equal 
 tare and speed. 
 
 " I believe, cousin," said Mrs Mason, hesi- 
 tatingly, " I believe — you forgot to wash 
 your hands." 
 
 " Hoot !" returned the gudewife, *' my 
 hands do weel eneugh. I canna be fashed to 
 clean them at every turn." 
 
 " But you go about your work with such 
 activity," rejoined Mrs Mason, " that I should 
 think it would give you little trouble if you 
 were once accustomed to it ; and by all that 
 I have observed, and I have had many oppor- 
 tunities of observation, I believe, that, in the 
 management of a dairy, cleanliness is the first, 
 the last, the one art needful." 
 
 " Cleanly !" repeated Mrs MacClarty ^ 
 *' nae ane ever said that I was na cleanly. 
 There's no' a mair cleanly person i' the parish.
 
 153 
 
 Cleanly indeed ! ane wad think ye was speak- 
 ing to a bairn !" 
 
 Mrs Mason offered a few words in explana- 
 tion, and then retired to her own apartment ; 
 to which she saw it would be necessary to con- 
 line herself, in order to enjoy any tolerable 
 degree of comfort. She therefore began to 
 consider how it might be rendered more airy 
 and commodious ; and after dinner, observing 
 that the fanner's mind still brooded on his 
 son's behaviour, she gladly introduced the 
 subject of her projected alterations, hoping 
 thus to divert his thoughts into another chan- 
 nel. The first thing she proposed, was to 
 have hinges for the frame of the window, that 
 it might open and shut at pleasure. To this 
 the farmer said, he should have no objection, 
 only that " he ken'd it wad soon be broken 
 to pieces, blawin' wi' the wind." 
 
 *' O, but you mistake me," said Mrs Ma- 
 son ; *' I intend that it should be fastened, 
 when open, with an iron hook, as they con- 
 stantly fasten the cottage windows in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 *' And wha do ye think wad put in the 
 cleek ?" returned he. *' Is there ane, think 
 ye, about this house, that wad be at sic a 
 fash ?"
 
 154 
 
 <■'' Why, what, trouble is there in it?" said 
 Mrs Mason ; " It is only teaching your chil- 
 dren to pay a little attention to such things, 
 and they will soon come to find no trouble in 
 them. They cannot too soon learn to be neat 
 and regular in their ways." 
 
 " Ilka place has just its ain gait," said the 
 gudewife ; *' and ye needna think that ever 
 ■^ve'll learn your's. And, indeed, to be plain 
 wi' you, cousin, I think you hae owre mony 
 fykes. There, didna ye keep Grizzy for 
 mair than twa hours, yesterday morning, 
 soopin' and dusting your room in ~ every 
 corner, and cleaning out the twa bits o' buird, 
 that are for naething but to set your feet on 
 after a'." 
 
 *' But did you know how dirty they weiJe?" 
 said Mrs Mason. 
 
 '* Hoot ! the chickens just got their meat 
 on them for twa or three ouks, poor wee 
 beasties ! the buirds war a wee thought 
 darted wi' parritch, but it was weel dried on, 
 and yewadna been a bit the war." 
 
 " But are the boards the worse for being 
 scoured ?" asked Mrs Mason ; " or would 
 they have been the worse, if they had been 
 scoured when you took them from the chick- 
 ens, or while they were feeding on them ?"
 
 *' O, to be sure it wad ha been an easy 
 matter to. ha' scour't them then, if we had 
 tiiought of being at the fash," returned Mrs 
 MacClarty. 
 
 '' In my opinion," rejoined Mrs Mason, 
 '' this fear of being; fashed is the great bar to 
 all improvement. I have seen this morning, 
 that you are not afraid of work, for you have 
 exerted yourself with a degree of activity that 
 no one could excel ; yet you dread the small 
 additional trouble that would make your house 
 chearful, clean, and comfortable. You dread 
 the trouble of attention, more than the labour 
 of your hand ; and thus, if I mistake not, you 
 often bring upon yourself trouble, which timely 
 attention would have spared. Would it not 
 be well to have your children taught such 
 habits of attention and regularity, as would 
 make you more easy, and them more useful, 
 both to themselves and you?" 
 
 " As for my bairns," returned Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty^ " if they pleasure me, they do weel 
 eneugh." 
 
 " There^s a great spice o' good sense in what 
 Mrs Mason has said though," said the farmer 5 
 " but its no easy for folk like us to be put 
 out o' their ain gait." 
 
 In truth, Mrs MacClarty was one of those 
 seemingly good-natured people, who are never
 
 156 
 
 to be put out of their own way ; for she was ob- 
 stinate to a degree ; and so perfectly self-satis- 
 fied, that she could not bear to think it possi- 
 ble, that she might in any thing do better than 
 she did. Thus, though she would not argue 
 in favour of sloth and dirt in general, she 
 nevertheless continued to be slothful and dirty, 
 because she vindicated herself in every parti- 
 cular instance of either ; and though she did 
 not wish that her children should be idle, ob- 
 streperous, disobedient, and self-willed, she 
 effectually formed them to those habits, and 
 then took credit to herself for being one of the 
 best of mothers ! 
 
 Mrs Mason had discernment enough to see 
 how much pride there was in that pretended 
 contentment, which constantly repelled every 
 idea of improvement. She saw, that though 
 Mrs MacClarty took no pains to teach her 
 children what was truly useful, she encou- 
 raged, with respect to them, an undefined sen- 
 timent of ambition, which persuaded her that 
 her children were born to rise to something 
 great, and that they would in time overtop 
 their neighbours. Mrs Mason saw tlie unhap- 
 py effects which this would infallibly produce, 
 upon minds brought up in ignorance ; she 
 therefore resolved to, do all in her power to 
 obviate the consequences ; and from the opi-
 
 157 
 
 nion she had formed of the farmer*s sense and 
 principles, had no doubt of his co-operating 
 with her in the work of reformation. 
 
 While musing on this subject, as she sat 
 by her window in the twilight, she saw the 
 two younger lads run hastily past ; and soon 
 heard from their mother such an exclamation 
 of sorrow, as convinced her they had been the 
 messenger of bad news. She therefore speedily 
 proceeded but, and there she found the poor 
 woman wringing her hands, and lamenting 
 herself bitterly. The farmer entered at the 
 same moment •■, and on seeing him, she re- 
 doubled her lamentations, still calling but, 
 " O Sandy ! Sandy ! O that I shou'd ha' lived 
 to see this day ! O Sandy ! Sandy !" 
 
 ** Sandy !" repeated the alarmed father, 
 *' what is the matter wi' Sandy ? for God's 
 sake speak. Is my son gane ? is he killed ?" 
 
 " No, no, he's war than killed ! O that I 
 shou'd hae seen this day !'* 
 
 " Speak, Robert," said Mrs Mason, " you 
 can tell what has befallen your brother, let 
 your father know the truth." Robert was 
 silent ; but the youngest boy eagerly came for- 
 ward, and said, that " Jamie Bruce had brought 
 word that Sandy was aff to be a soger." 
 
 '* And where did you see Jamie Bruce ?" 
 asked his father.
 
 158 
 
 ^ ;•* It was Rob that spoke wi' him ; it was 
 nae me," said the little boy, hanging down 
 his head. 
 
 " Where cou'd you, Rob, meet Jamie 
 Bruce?" said the farmer. " Did not I send 
 you to the West Craft ? how cou'd you then 
 see ony ane comin' frae the fair ? Speak, sir ! 
 and tell truth, I desire you." 
 
 " I just thought I wad gang a wee while 
 up to the road to see the folk coming frae the 
 fair, before I gaid to the Craft," returned Ro- 
 bert. *' I kent there wad be timeeneugh." 
 
 '' Ay,'' said the father, sighing ; " its just 
 the way wi' ye a' ! ye just do what ye like 
 yoursels ! Now, see what comes o't I Here's 
 Sandy done for himsel' wi' a vengeance ! He, 
 too, wad do nae thing but what he liked ! see 
 what he'll make o't' now, but to be tied to a 
 stake, and lashed like a dog ! a disgrace, as he 
 is, to us a' ! I wou'd rather he had ne'er been 
 born!" 
 
 .-•" Alace ! gudeman," cried the poor mother, 
 weeping bitterly 5 " alake 1 hae pity on me, 
 and try to get him afF." 
 
 " It will do nae good," says her husband, 
 in a softened accent, and wiping a tear which 
 stole down his cheek, " it will do nae gude, 
 I tell ye. We shall never hae comfort in 
 him while we live, for he is an« that will
 
 159 
 
 never be advised. Ye ken he never minds a 
 word we say— yet I canna think o' his being 
 made a reprobate." 
 
 *' He need not necessarily be a reprobate in 
 the army," said Mrs Mason. *' I should hope 
 his principles will preserve him from that j 
 and if he behaves well, he will be treated 
 kindly, and may come in time to be promote 
 ed. But you are not yet certain that he is 
 enlisted. The person who gave the informa- 
 tion, may himself have been misinformed. 
 Make inquiry into the fact, and then take the 
 steps that, on consideration, appear to be most 
 prudent and judicious." 
 
 The gleam of hope, which was presented 
 in these words, revived the spirits of the dis- 
 consolate parents; and the father, in haste, set 
 off for the village, to learn to a certainty the 
 fate of his untoward son. 
 
 Evening was now far advanced. The cows, 
 which the boys should have brought home to 
 have milked, were still lowing in the West 
 Croft ; and when Mrs MacClarty desired 
 Robert to go for them, she obtained no other 
 answer, than that " Grizzy might gang as 
 weel as him." Grizzel was busy in washing 
 up the dishes wanted for supper, and which 
 had remained unwashed from breakfast-time 
 till now : they had been left to tlie care of
 
 160 
 
 Meg, who had neglected thetn, and by this 
 neglect made the task more difficult to Grizzj, 
 who was therefore in very bad humour, and 
 began loudly to complain of Meg and Rob, 
 who, in their turns, raised their voices in de- 
 fence, and mutual accusation. The din of the 
 squabble became insuiferable. Mr Mason 
 retired from it with horror, and shut herself 
 up in her room, where she meditated, with 
 deep regret, on the folly of those, who, having 
 been placed by Almighty God in situations 
 most favourable to the enjoyment of peace 
 and the exercise of virtue, are insensible to 
 the blessing ; and, by permitting their passions 
 to reign without control, destroy at once 
 Isoth peace and virtue.
 
 iCt 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Containing a useful Prescription. 
 
 " He's gane !" said the farmer, as he open- 
 ed the cottage door ; " It 's just as I ken't it 
 wou'd be. Thej enticed him wi' drink ; and 
 then, when his senses war gane, they listet 
 him." 
 
 " And sal I never see him mair !" cried 
 his wife. " Will ye no try to get him afF? 
 maun my bairn gang wi' thae loons and vaga- 
 bonds, and do at their bidding what he ne'er 
 wad do at ours ! O, it will break my heart!'* 
 
 *' No," says the farmer, " i canna think 
 o't ! I maun try. Gang Rob and saddle the 
 mare. I canna ride lang at a time for this 
 rheumatic; but when it comes, I'll light and 
 walk. It 's a fine night, and I may be there 
 iang before the break of day. O Mrs Mason I 
 little do our bairns think o' the sorrow they 
 bring upon our hearts I"
 
 *' I hope," said Mrs Mason, " all your chil- 
 dren now present will take warning, and learn 
 to submit themselves betimes to the duty of 
 obedience ; and that you will both enforce 
 that duty, as you are enjoined by God to do 
 it. Take comfort, then, and assure yourself, 
 that this event may turn out in the end to be 
 a blessing." 
 
 The farmer said, he trusted in God that it 
 might be so ; and, having provided himself 
 with what money he thought necessary, he, 
 with a heavy heart, departed. 
 
 On the following day, many of the neigh- 
 bours came to inquire for Mrs MacClarty ; 
 and on hearing that the farmer had gone alone, 
 they all expressed a good natured concern, say- 
 ing, that he might have been sure there was not 
 a man in the place who would not willingly have 
 gone with him, had he mentioned his inten- 
 tion. By noon-time he was expected back, 
 but eight in the evening came, and still there 
 v/as no appearance of his return, Mrs Mason 
 now became truly imeasy, and was doubly 
 distressed, as Mrs MacClarty seemed to de- 
 pend on her for comfort. She proposed ask- 
 ing some of the neighbours to set off on horse- 
 back for intelligence, and sent to several ; but 
 they all declined the expedition as unneces- 
 sary) assuring her, tliat the farmer must hav(
 
 163 
 
 gone on to the head-quarters of the recniiting 
 partj, which were at a town about twelve 
 miles from that in which the fair had been 
 held. This assurance tended, in some degree, 
 to lessen their alarm. They went to bed ^ 
 but after passing a watchful and sleepless night, 
 arose to fresh anxiety ; for the -first thing they 
 heard was, that a man had passed through 
 Glenburnie who had seen Sandie at . 
 
 with the recruiting party the night before, 
 and that the farmer had not been there. Jamie 
 Bruce, who had brought the first account of 
 Sandy frae the faiy, now offered to go in search 
 of the old man, for whose fate all had, from 
 this intelligence, become anxious. He had 
 scarcely been gone an hour, when Meg came 
 running in from the door, v.'here she had been 
 idling all the morning, and exclaimed, that 
 her father was coming down the loan in a 
 cart ! 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, starting up at the news, 
 flew out to meet her husband : her cousin fol- 
 lowed in great agitation, and soon perceived, 
 that the poor man was too ill to reach the house 
 without assistance. Friendly assistance was 
 at hand, for the cart was already surrounded 
 by the neighbours ; but all were so anxious to 
 have their curiosity gratified, relative to the 
 cause, that jxot one thought of oiFering a hand,
 
 164 
 
 •until their questions had been answered. Mrs 
 Mason at length, by her remonstrances, re- 
 stored silence, and got the people to help the 
 poor sufferer to his bed ; on which he was no 
 sooner laid, than his wife flew to give him a 
 dram of whisky, which she had been taught 
 to consider as the only cordial for fatigue. 
 But Mrs Mason observing how very feverish 
 he appeared, begged her to desist, and at the 
 same time hastened the preparation of a dish 
 of tea, which having prevailed on him to swal- 
 low, she addressed the people, who crowded 
 round the bed, entreating they would leave 
 him to the repose of which he stood so much 
 in need. This was not a matter so easily to 
 be accomplished : for so eager were they all 
 engaged in conversation, that, among so many 
 louder tongues, her voice had little chance of 
 being heard. 
 
 " Hech me !" cries one, " I never heard o' 
 sic a thing i' my life !*' 
 
 *' I have gane to the Lammas fair this 
 thirty years," says another, '' an' ne'er heard 
 tell o' ony body being robbet in a' my" days," 
 
 " But I mind o' just sic another thing hap- 
 pening to auld John Robson, when he cam 
 frae the fair o' Glasgow ae night," said the 
 shoemaker.
 
 \65 
 
 " Glasgow !" exclaimed two or three of the 
 "women, *' Glasgow, by a' accounts, is an unco 
 place for wickedness : but then wha can won- 
 der, whar there's sae monv factories." 
 
 '^ There is muckle gude, as weel as ill in't, 
 Janet," returned the shoemaker. 
 
 Mrs Mason, perceiving the dispute likely 
 to grow warm, again entreated them to remem- 
 ber how much their poor neighbour stood in 
 need of sleep. Her efforts to establish quiet- 
 ness were all exerted in vain. No sooner did 
 one set of people go away, than another set 
 poured in. All in their inquiries, equally 
 friendly, equally loud, and equally loquaciouso 
 Unfortunately, discovering that the poor man 
 was still awake, the most forward teized him 
 with questions ; from his replies to which it 
 appeared, that as he had reached within half a 
 mile of the town, he was met at a lonely part 
 of the road, by two men, habited like sailors, 
 who, as he afterwards learned, had been seen 
 begging at the fair, where, to excite compas- 
 sion, they had pretended to be lame. He was 
 then leading his horse, which they seized by 
 the bridle, and rudely demanded money to 
 drink. He gave them a sixpence, but they 
 said it was not enough, and with many impre- 
 cations demanded more. While he hesitated, 
 they knocked him down, and beat him dread-
 
 166 
 
 fully with their sticks. They then took from 
 him the old pocket-book, in which he had put 
 the notes intended for his son's release, and 
 left him senseless on the ground. A little 
 before day-break he so far recovered, as to be 
 able to raise himself ; and looking round for 
 his mare, perceived her grazing by the road 
 side at no great distance. With much pain, 
 and great difficulty, he reached the town, and 
 went to the public house to which he had 
 been directed, as the quarters of the sergeant ; 
 but on arriving there, he had the mortifica- 
 tion to find, that the sergeant and his recruits 
 had set off at midnight for the head-quarters, 
 and that consequently all hopes of obtaining 
 his son's dismissal were at an end. 
 
 He was, however, advised to send in pursuit 
 of the robbers ; and having obtained a war- 
 rant, lent his mare to the constable, who pro- 
 mised that he should have his money before 
 night ; but night came on, and neither con- 
 stable nor m^are returned. - He felt himself in 
 the mean time grow worse and worse ; and as 
 soon as day appeared resolved to return home. 
 Ill as he was able to wilk, he had, by resting - 
 every second step, got forward to the entrance 
 of the Glen; where, finding that his stren;, ^h 
 entirely failed him, he took refuge in the 
 first cottage ; and, anxious to get to his own
 
 1C)7 
 
 home, procured a cait, in which he proceeded 
 as has been related. 
 
 He was now very ill indeed. The pain in 
 his head and limbs becoming every minute 
 more violent, while the increased flushing in 
 his face gave evident proof of the fever -u^iich 
 burned in every vein. 
 
 The only precaution which the good people, 
 who came to see him, appeared now to think, 
 necessary, was carefully to shut the door, 
 which usually stood open ; and as a large fire 
 was burning in the grate exactly opposite to 
 his bed, the effect was little short of suffoca- 
 tion. -Mrs Mason perceived this, and endea- 
 voured to remedy it, but in vain. The pre- 
 judice against fresh air appeared to be univer- 
 sal. Neither could she get any creature to 
 understand, how much harm the din of so 
 many voices was likely to occasion. Mrs 
 MacClarty, who, from being accustomed to 
 speak to her children in an exalted pitch, in 
 order to enforce attention, had herself con- 
 tracted a habit of speaking loud, was quite 
 insensible to the noise that now buzzed in the 
 ear of her sick husband, and would on no ac- 
 count run the risk of offending any of her 
 neighbours, by refusing them admittance to 
 his bed-side.
 
 1G3 
 
 The fever, in consequence, increased. Mrs 
 Mason, seeing that it was likely to be attend- 
 ed with danger, proposed sending for the doc- 
 tor ; but Mrs MacClarty acceded to the ge- 
 neral opinion, that it would be time eneugh to 
 send when he became worse. 
 
 *' But if you wait until he becomes worse," 
 said Mrs Mason, " it may then be too late. 
 A fever may be stopped in the beginning, 
 which, if permitted to go on for a couple of 
 days, it may be impossible to cure. We at pre- 
 sent are ignorant of the nature of the fever 
 with which your husband is attacked, and may 
 therefore administer what is improper. I have 
 no notion of drugs doing much good in any 
 case ; but what I want to have advice for is, to 
 be put upon the proper way of managing his 
 disorder. You are, by the advice of your 
 neighbours, giving him a variety of things, 
 which, for aught you know, may all have op- 
 posite properties ; and though they may each 
 have done good in some instances, may all be 
 equally unfit in the present. Take my ad- 
 vice, so far at least, as, until you send for a 
 doctor, to give him nothing but plenty of 
 cooling drink." 
 
 " Na, na, returned Mrs MacClarty, " I lia' 
 nae sic little regard for my gudeman, as to gie 
 him naething but water and sour milk whey, 
 1
 
 m 
 
 as ye wad hae me. What has done gude to 
 ithers, may do gude to him ; and I'm mistaen 
 if aiild John Smith hae na as mickle skeel as 
 ony doctor amang them." 
 
 Auld John Smith just then arrived^ and, 
 after talking a great deal of nonsense about 
 the natur-e of the disorder, took out his rusty 
 lancet, and bled the patient in the arm, at the 
 same time recommending a poultice of herbs 
 to be applied to his head, and another of the 
 same kind to his stomach ; desiring, above all 
 things, that he might be kept warm, and get 
 nothing cold to drink. 
 
 Poor Mrs Mason was greatly shocked to see 
 the life of a father of a family thus sported 
 with by an ignorant and presuming block- 
 liead ; but found, that her opinions were 
 looked upon with the eye of jealous prejudice; 
 and that, while she continued the advocate of 
 fresh air, and cooling beverage, she must lay 
 her account to meet with opposition. In spite 
 of auld John Smith's infallible remedies, the 
 farmer became evidently worse. When he 
 was past all hope, the doctor was sent for ; 
 who, on seeing him, and inquiring into the 
 mode of treatment Tie had received, solemnly 
 declared, that if they had intended to kill him, 
 they could not have fallen on a method more 
 H
 
 170 
 
 effectual. He did not think it probable that 
 he would live above three days ; but said, the 
 onlj chance he had was, in removing him from 
 that close box in which he was shut up, and 
 admitting as much air as possible into the 
 apartment. After giving some further direc- 
 tions concerning the patient, he warned them 
 of the infectious nature of the disease, and 
 mentioned the necessity of taking every pre- 
 caution against spreading so fatal a disorder. 
 Without listening to what was said in reply, 
 he mounted his horse, and was out of sight in 
 a minute. 
 
 No sooner did the fatal sentence which the 
 doctor had pronounced, reach the ears of the 
 unhappy wife, than she gave way to utter des- 
 pair. The neighbours, who had been watch- 
 ing for the doctor's departure, poured in to 
 comfort her ; but Mrs Mason, resolving to 
 make a vigorous exertion in behalf of the poor 
 man's life, represented, in strong terms, the 
 necessity of an immediate compliance with the 
 doctor's directions, and proposed, that all 
 should go home but those who could lend as- 
 • sistance in removing him to her room ; where, 
 as she had now got the window to open, he 
 would at once have air and quiet. To this 
 proposition a violent opposition was made by 
 all the good people assembled ; in which Mrs
 
 171 
 
 MacClarty loudly joined, declaring, ** she 
 wou'd never see her gudeman turned out o' 
 his ain sude warm bed into a cauld room. 
 She cou'dna bear the thoughts o' onj thing sae 
 cruel." 
 
 " Is it not more cruel," said Mrs Mason, 
 " to let him remain here, to be stifled to death 
 by the bad air, which now surrounds him, 
 and which no one can breathe in safety ? By 
 removing'him he has at least a chance of reco- 
 very : here he can have none." 
 
 " If its the wull o' God that he's to dee," 
 said Peter MacGlashon, who was the oracle 
 of the parish, " its a' ane whar ye tak him : 
 ye canna hinder the wull o' God." 
 
 " It is not only the will of God, but the 
 command of God, that we should use the 
 means," said Mrs Mason. " We should do 
 our utmost, and then look up to God for his 
 blessing, and for resignation to his will. When 
 we do not make use of the reason he has be- 
 stowed upon us, we are at once guilty of diso- 
 bedience and presumption." 
 
 ** That's no soond doctrine," s^id Peter ; 
 " it's the law of works." 
 
 " No," returned Mrs Masou, " it's the law 
 of faith, to which we shew our obedience by 
 works. If, contrary to the command of God, 
 we run upou our own destruction, or permit
 
 17C 
 
 the destruction of a fellow creature, we do not 
 shew faith but contempt. Everj one of you 
 here present, who comes to lend assistance to 
 the family, is performing an act of charity and 
 benevolence, such as God has commanded us 
 to perform to each other ; but whoever comes 
 without that intention, and knowing that he 
 can be of no use, puts his life to needless risk, 
 and, by tempting Providence, commits an act 
 of sin." 
 
 " Say ye sae," said limping Jacob, the pre- 
 centoi", rising from the seat he had just taken 
 by the bedside ; " ye speak with authority, 
 I maun confess. But how can ye prove the 
 danger?" 
 
 *''• It is easily proved," replied Mrs Mason. 
 *' You know that God has ordained, that life 
 should be preserved by food taken into the 
 stomach, and air breathed into the lungs. If 
 poison is put into our food, we all know the 
 consequence. Now it has been clearly proved, 
 that poisonous air is equally fatal to life as 
 poisoned food. By the breath of persons in 
 fever, and other infectious diseases, the air is 
 thus poisoned ; and hence arises the necessity 
 of admitting a current of air to carry off the 
 infection."
 
 173 
 
 *'■ But, madam," said a pale-faced man, " if 
 that were true, the air that gaed out wad poi- 
 son a' the foon. What say ye to that ?" 
 
 *' I say," returned Mrs Mason, " that if 
 you were to take an ounce or two of arsenic, 
 and put it into that dram-glass full of water, 
 you would run the immediate risk of your 
 life by swallowing it ; but that if you were 
 to dissolve the same quantity in yonder tub 
 with ten gallons of water, the risk would be 
 diminished ; and that if you were to put it in 
 the river, all the people of Glenburnie might 
 drink of the water without injury. The bad 
 air which surrounds our poor friend in that 
 close bed, is the arsenic in a glass of water : 
 it cannot be breathed with impunity. Had he 
 been placed, as I at first recommended, the 
 greater quantity of air would have diminished 
 the danger; but let us stilVdo what is in our 
 power to remedy the evil." 
 
 '* I never heard better sense in my life," 
 said the pale-faced man ; " if either me or my 
 wife can do you any good, we shall stay and 
 help you ; if no, we shall gang hame, and re- 
 member you in our praj'ers. I shall never 
 forget what you have now^ told us as lang as 
 I live." 
 
 " I hae nae faitli in't," said Peter Mac- 
 Glashon ; " it's a' dead works ; and if I warnu
 
 174 
 
 sae sick, I wad gle her a screed o' doctrine ; 
 but I kenna what ails me, I'm unco far frae 
 weel." 
 
 Peter then went off, and all the rest of the 
 people, one by one, followed his example- In 
 a short time the pale-faced stranger returned, 
 and, addressing himself to Mrs Mason, said, 
 " that though he was but a stranger in Glen- 
 burnie, yet, as he was the farmer's nearest 
 neighbour, he thought it his duty to offer his 
 services to the utmost, in the present situation 
 of the family; and that though he w^as now 
 convinced of the danger, he would willingly 
 encounter it to be of use. He had," he said, 
 *' lately suffered much from sickness himself, 
 and therefore he knew how to feel for those 
 that suffered." There was something in this 
 man's manner that greatly pleased Mrs Ma- 
 son, and she frankly iaccepted his kind offer, 
 pointing out where his assistance might be 
 essentially useful to Mrs MacClarty, who, 
 oppressed with fatigue, had, by her persua- 
 sion, gone to take a little rest. While she 
 was speaking to him, the minister of the parish 
 came In. He had but just returned from a 
 long journey, the only one he had taken for 
 many years ; and, though much tired, no sooner 
 heard that he had been sent for in his absence 
 to visit a sick parishioner, than he instantly
 
 175 
 
 proceeded to administer comfort to the dis- 
 tressed. Learning from Mrs Mason the state 
 of insensibility" to which the sick man was 
 now reduced, he desired his children to be 
 called, in order that they might benefit by the 
 impression which such serious acts of devo- 
 tion are calculated to make ; and when they 
 were assembled, he, with solemn fervency, 
 supplicated the God of all mercy and consola^. 
 tion, in behalf of the suiferer and his afilicted 
 family. While he spoke, tears flowed from 
 the eyes of the most insensible ; and Mrs Ma- 
 son was not without hope, that the spirit of 
 obedience, which he prayed might henceforth 
 fill the hearts of the children, would be seen 
 in its effects ; and that, sensible of the misery 
 which self-will and obstinacy had produced, 
 they would leai'n to reverence their Creator, 
 by keeping the passions which opposed his 
 law under due subjection.
 
 376 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 ./hi Escape from earthly Cures and Sorrows. 
 
 Mrs Mason's apprehensions, concerning 
 the consequences of the infectious air, were too 
 effectuallj realised. While the farmer yet 
 hovered on the brink of death, his wife, and 
 Robert his second son, were both taken ill ; 
 and great reason there was to fear, that the 
 fever might go through the whole family. 
 By means of the surgeon, who was imme- 
 diately sent .for, an account of Mrs Mason's 
 distressed situation reached her friends at 
 Gowan-brae ; and no sooner were they in- 
 formed of it, than the car was dispatched for 
 her with a trusty servant, by whom Miss Mary 
 wrote, earnestly entreating her not to permit 
 any scruples to prevent her compliance with 
 their request. 
 
 Mrs Mason might, indeed, have been well 
 justified In leaving a house where she had not
 
 177 
 
 now a "bed to sleep on, she having insisted upon 
 Mrs MacClarty's occupying her's. 
 
 Had MrsMacClarty continued in health, she 
 would have gone withoiit hesitation ; because 
 she saw that her cousin's mind was too full of 
 prejudice, to permit her to reap any benefit 
 from onewho had the advantage of moreexperi- 
 ence than herself; but now that the poor woman 
 was in a state of suffering, and incapable of 
 giving any directions, IMrs Mason would on 
 no account leave her. Having returned a 
 grateful answer to her friends at Gowan-brae, 
 she dismissed their messenger, and proceeded 
 in arranging the business of the family, with 
 all the prudence and activity which become 
 natural to minds that have been long accus- 
 tomed to exertion. She was no longer trou- 
 bled with useless visits from the neighbours, 
 whom she had partly offended, and partly ter- 
 rified, by her discourse on the nature of infec- 
 tion. Peter MacGlashon, her great opponent, 
 had taken to his bed on going home, and was 
 now dangerously ill of the fever ; and auld 
 John Smith and his wife had happily been 
 affronted by sending for the doctor, so that few 
 came near the house, excepting William Mor- 
 rison, the pale-faced stranger, whom we have 
 already mentioned, and Peggy his wife, a very 
 
 clever sensible woman. All the village in- 
 H 3
 
 178 
 
 deed offered tlieir services ; and Mrs Mason, 
 though she blamed the thoughtless custom of 
 crowding into a sick room, could not but ad- 
 mire the kindness and good nature with which 
 all the neighbours seemed to participate in 
 the distress ,of this afflicted family. 
 
 The minister, and his niece, were particu- 
 larly attentive. The former paid Mrs Mason 
 n daily visit ; and, as often as circumstances 
 would permit, performed the sacred offices of 
 his function in devout and fervent prayer. 
 The latter came in person to solicit Mrs Ma- 
 son to sleep at the manse ; but William Mor- 
 rison and his wife had anticipated her in the 
 offer of a bed ; and as their horise was near at 
 hand, she preferred going there, especially as 
 Peggy had undertaken the management of Mrs 
 MacClarty's dairy, and also the preparation 
 of all the victuals. Meg and Jean were sent 
 to assist her in these offices ; but she found 
 them so obstinate and unmanageable, that they 
 were rather a hinderance than a help. Nor 
 was Grizzy of much greater use. Strong and 
 active as she was, she seemed to feel every 
 thing a trouble that she was desired to do ; 
 and though she would have lifted a heavy 
 burden without murmuring, grumbled sadly 
 at being desired to rince a few cups or ba- 
 sons, and still more at the fatigue of put-
 
 179 
 
 ting them in their proper places. This was, 
 however, insisted upon by Mrs Mason, under 
 whose directions all was preserved in order. 
 In the attendance on the persons of the sick, 
 she was assisted by an old woman of the vil- 
 lage, but all the medicines were administered 
 by her own hands. She was anxious to have 
 Robert removed from the dark and airless pas- 
 sage in which he lay ; but he so violently op- 
 posed the measure, th at she could not get it 
 effected, so that she was obliged to leave him to 
 his fate ; and after the third day, the doctor gave 
 little hopes of his recovery. As to his poor fa- 
 ther, his death had been for some time hourly 
 expected ; but towards the evening of the twen- 
 ty-fourth day, he appeared somewhat to revive. 
 His senses returned ; and, observing Mrs Ma- 
 son by his bedside, he asked her for his wife 
 and children. On his repeating the question, 
 Mrs Mason found herself under the painful 
 necessity of informing him of the situation of 
 his wife and son ; to which he made no other 
 answer, than that they were in the hands of a' 
 merciful God, and in life and death he sub- 
 mitted to His will. 
 
 On the minister coming in, he spoke to him 
 in the same strain of pious resignation. *' I 
 know," he said, " that my hour is at hand j 
 but though I walk through the valley of th'^
 
 180 
 
 shadow of death, I will fear no evil, knowing 
 that the Redeemer of the world has paved the 
 waj. He will guide his flock like a shepherd, 
 and none that believe on him shall be lost." 
 After much conversation of the same kind, in 
 whiich he strongly evinced the faith and hope 
 of a Christian — that faith and that hope, which 
 transform the death-bed of the cottager into 
 a scene of glorj, on which kings and con- 
 querors might look with envy ; and in compa- 
 rison of which, all the grandeur of the world 
 is contemptible — he desired to see his daugh- 
 ters and his little boy. They came to his bed- 
 side, and with a feeble and broken voice, he 
 spoke to them as follows : '' My dear bairns, 
 it is God's will that I should be ta'en frae 
 you ; but God can never be ta'en frae you, 
 if you learn by times to put your trust in 
 him, and pray for his Spirit to subdue the 
 corrupt nature in your hearts. I have griev- 
 ously wranged you, I maun confess ; the 
 thoughts of it is heavy on my heart. For 
 though I weel knew the corruption that was 
 in your natures, I did not teach you to subdue 
 it, so as to put you in the way of God's grace, 
 which is promised to the obedient. It has 
 pleased God to punish me for this neglect. 
 Through the mercies of the Saviour I h.ojje for 
 pardon ; but I cannot die in peace till I warn
 
 181 
 
 you of the consequences of continuing in a 
 contentious and disobedient spirit. If it pleases 
 God to spare my dear wife," — here his feelings 
 overpowered him, and his voice was so choked 
 by sobs, that it became quite inarticulate. All 
 remained profoundly silent ; and at length the 
 dying man so far recovered as to be about to 
 proceed, when the door, which at his desire 
 had been shut, flew suddenly open ; and San- 
 die, with hasty and tremulous steps ran in, 
 crying, " Hide me, hide me, mother I for God's 
 sake find out sonae place to hide me in !" 
 
 " Sandie !" exclaimed the dying man, '• is 
 it indeed my son, my son Sandie ? Thank God, 
 1 sail see him ere I die, to gie him my blessing. 
 Come, Sandie, winna ye come to me ! Dinna 
 be frightened. Ye have cost me sair 5 but 
 God kens how truly I forgie you : come and 
 tak my blessing." 
 
 Sandie uttered a deep groan ; and, hiding 
 his face with both his hands, fell prostrate at 
 his father's bedside. The minister raised him 
 up, and bade him take comfort. 
 
 *' Comfort !" cried he, "Oh there's nae com- 
 fort for me ; I have been the death of my 
 father : is it net me that has brought his gray 
 hairs wi' sorrow to the grave ?" 
 
 " But your father has forgiven you," said
 
 182 
 
 the minister ; " he is ready to give you his 
 blessing." 
 
 *' And will you bless me ?" said Sandie ; " O 
 my father, I dinna deserve your blessing ; but 
 let me anes mair hear your voice." 
 
 " God Almighty bless you, my son, and 
 give you a heart to serve him, and to walk in 
 his ways." — " Is it not Sandie that I hear?" 
 cried his mother, rushing to the bedside, and 
 clasping her son in her arms ; " O Sandie, what 
 have ye brought upon us a' !" 
 
 There was no time to answer, for the exer- 
 tion was so much beyond her strength, that 
 she would have fallen lifeless on the ground, 
 had not her son prevented it, by clasping her 
 to his breast. " My mother ! Have I killed 
 my mother too !" exclaimed the affrighted 
 youth, hanging over her with a look of inex- 
 pressible horror. 
 
 •' Yes," uttared a loud and rough voice from 
 behind, " you would rather kill twenty mo- 
 thers than fight the French ; but (swearing a 
 horrid oath) you shan't find it so easy to get 
 off next lime, my lad." Two others sprung 
 forward at the same moment, and laid hold of 
 their prisoner, who was too much stupified by 
 the variety of emotions to make any resistance^ 
 or even to utter a single word.
 
 " Gentlemen," said the minister, gently- 
 laying his hand upon the hand of the foremost, 
 as it eagerly grasped the young man's shoul- 
 der, '* there is no occasion to use any violence. 
 You are, I suppose, in the performance of 
 your duty ; and I give you my word you shall 
 here meet with no resistance ; but in the name 
 of the parents who gave you birth, I conjure 
 • you to act like men, and not like savage 
 brutes." 
 
 " We are no savages," returned the fore- 
 most ; " we are his Majesty's soldiers, and 
 come to execute his Majesty's orders on the 
 body of this deserter, who will be tried and 
 shot, as sure as he stands there." 
 
 " It may be so," said the minister : " only 
 give him a few minutes to take leave of his 
 dying parents." 
 
 " O my poor mother," cried Sandie, *' must 
 I be torn from you ! what, what shall I do ? 
 Wretch that I am, it is me, me that has 
 brought you to the grave !" 
 
 *' You will indeed injure her by this agi- 
 tation," said Mrs Mason ; " carry her back to 
 her bed ; these men will assist you in the 
 office, for I see they are not strangers to huma- 
 nity." 
 
 *' God pity the poor woman," said the cor- 
 poral, " I shall give her all the help in my
 
 184 
 
 power." So saying, he would have taken her 
 from Sandie's arms, but could not prevail on 
 him to part with his burden, though his knees 
 trembled under him, while he carried her 
 through the passage to Mrs Mason's room, 
 where she was put to bed. She instantly 
 became delirious ; and, in her raving, called 
 out, that the house was on fire, and that she 
 and her children would perish in the flames ; 
 then springing up, she caught her son bj the 
 arm, continuing to cry, " Help, help I" in a 
 wild and mournful voice, till her strength was 
 exhausted, and she again sunk upon her pil- 
 low. The feelings of her son may perhaps 
 be imagined, but cannot be described ; nor 
 were any of the by-standers unaffected by the 
 scene. Even the rough soldier, thoiigh little 
 accustomed to the melting mood, felt all the 
 sympathies of his nature working in his 
 breast. He was not, however, forgetful of 
 his duty ; for while Mrs Mason was admini- 
 stering a cordial to the poor mother, he drew 
 his prisoner from the room. On Mrs Ma- 
 son's returning to the outer-room, she found 
 him standing over his father's bed ; his eye 
 fixed upon the altered countenance of the dy- 
 ing man, who, since the entrance of the sol- 
 diers, had never shewn any other sign of sen- 
 sibility, than the utterance of a faint groan.
 
 ia5 
 
 He was now speechless, but his hands were 
 lifted up in the attitude of prayer. *' Come, 
 my brethren," said the minister, " let us 
 unite our prayers to those of the departing 
 spirit. The death-bed of a good man is the 
 porch of heaven. Angels and archangels are 
 now joint witnesses with us of this solemn 
 scene. To Him in whose hands are the issues 
 of life and death, let us lift the voice of sup- 
 plication, that living, we may live to Him, 
 that dying, we maybe received into His glory." 
 The imposing solemnity of the scene aided 
 the views of the venerable pastor, in making 
 a deep impression upon his audience. His 
 prayer, though delivered in language the most 
 simple, had all the effects of eloquence upon 
 the heart ; and in the breasts of the hardy 
 veterans, touched some chords which had, but 
 for this adventure, lain for ever dormant. Far 
 from hurrying away their prisoner with bru- 
 tal violence, they patiently waited until he 
 had attained some degree of composure ; and 
 then respectfully addressing the minister, they 
 begged that he would exhort the young man 
 not to resist them in the performance of their 
 duty. Mr Gourlay, sensible of the reasona- 
 bleness of their request, went up to Sandie, 
 who was then gazing in speechless sorrow 
 on' his father's corpse. After speaking with
 
 186 
 
 him for a few minutes, he took his hand, and 
 turning to the chief of the party, " Here 
 friend," said he, " I commit to your care this 
 bruised reed, and I am persuaded you will treat 
 him with humanity. Go in peace : in all cir- 
 cumstances perform your duty with the cou- 
 rage that becomes an immortal spirit; and 
 whatever doctrine may be preached to rouse 
 your bravery, believe me, that, even in the 
 field of battle, it is only a good man that can 
 die with glori/"
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 T/it? Doctrine of Liberh/ and Equality stripped 
 oj all seditious Import. 
 
 Til E morning of the day on which the far- 
 mer was to be buried, was rendered remarkable 
 by the uncommon denseness of an autumnal 
 fog. To Mrs Mason's eye it threw a gloom 
 over the face of nature j nor, when it gradually 
 yielded to the influence of the sun, and, slowly 
 retiring from the valley, hung, as if rolled 
 into masses, mid way upon the mountains, 
 did the changes thus produced excite any ad- 
 miration. Still, wherever she looked, all 
 seemed to wear the aspect of sadness. As 
 she passed from Morrison's to the house of 
 mourning, the shocks of yellow corn, spangled 
 with dew-drops, appeared to her to stand as 
 mementos of the vanity of human hopes, and 
 the inutility of human labours. The cattle, 
 as they went forth to pasture, lowing as they 
 
 ^
 
 188 
 
 went, seemed as if lamenting, that the hand 
 which fed them was at rest ; and even the 
 Rcbin-red-breast, whose cheerful notes she 
 had so often listened to with pleasure, now 
 seemed to send forth a song of sorrow, expres- 
 sive of dejection and woe. 
 
 The house of the deceased was already- 
 filled with female guests ; the barn was equally 
 crowded with men ; and all were, according 
 to the custom of the country, banqueted at the 
 expence of the widow and orphans, whose mis- 
 fortunes they all the while very heartily de- 
 plored. Mrs Mason's presence imposed silence 
 upon the women ; but, in the barn, the ab- 
 sence of Sandie, who ought to have presided 
 at his father's funeral, was freely descanted on ; 
 and the young man either blamed or pitied, 
 according to the light in which his conduct 
 happened to be viewed. Various reports con- 
 cerning hiiB were whispered through the 
 throng ; but of his actual situation, all were 
 evidently ignorant. Amid rumours so various 
 and contradictory, none knew what to believe; 
 all, however, agreed in lamenting, that so res- 
 pectable a man as the farmer, having two sons 
 grown up to manhood, should, nevertheless, 
 have his head laid in the grave by a little 
 boy. The poor child, on whom the office of 
 chief mourner thus devolved, looked grave and
 
 189 
 
 sad ; but he was rather bewildered than sor- 
 rowful ; and, in the midst of the tears which 
 he shed, felt an emotion of pleasure from the 
 novelty of the scene. 
 
 At length Mr Gourlay rose, and all was 
 hushed in silence. Every heart joined in the 
 solemn prayer, in which the widow and the 
 orphans were recommended to the throne of 
 grace. The bier was then lifted. From the 
 garden, to which she had retired apart from 
 the crowd, Mrs Mason viewed the solemn pro- 
 cession, which, as the rocks reverberated the 
 dismal note of the church-bell, tolling at mea- 
 sured intervals, slowly proceeded to the des- 
 tined habitation of the dead. Casting her 
 eyes upon the rustic train who followed, she 
 covtld not help contrasting the outward cir- 
 cumstances of this solemnity, with those that 
 had attended the last event of a similar nature 
 in which she had been interested. She had 
 seen her noble master conducted to the grave 
 in all the splendour befitting his high station. 
 Many were the lofty plumes that adorned his 
 stately hearse ; rich and brilliant were the 
 banners and trophies that waved over it. 
 Horses and their riders clad in all the insignia 
 of woe, (the horse and the rider being equal 
 strangers to the st-iitiment,) had lent their im- 
 posing influence to the spectacle, while a long
 
 190 
 
 ttain of empty carriages, distinguished by coro- 
 nets and armorial bearings, gave notice to the 
 gazers, that the dust which was about to be 
 consigned to worms, was of high and Illustrious 
 descent. But there neither friend nor neigh- 
 bour were to be seen. There, with the ex- 
 ception of a few faithful servants, all the 
 actors in* the solemnity were engaged In per- 
 forming a part in which they had no interest. 
 
 Here all were interested. 
 
 The hoary-headed elders, who had the 
 place of honour next the corpse, thought, as 
 they looked on it, on the unblemished life of 
 him who had been so long their associate in 
 its duties ; and wept for the man in whom 
 they hoped their chlldrens' children would 
 have found a friend. The distant farmers 
 who had bought and sold with him, paid the 
 tribute that was due to his character and in- 
 tegrity ; while those with whom he had lived 
 in the constant Intercourse of kindness and 
 good neighbourhood, betrayed, in their coun- 
 tenances, the sorrow of their hearts. 
 
 She continued to gaze after the mourners, 
 till an angle of the wall of the churchyard 
 intercepted her view ; soon after, all was still. 
 The last toll of the bell died away upon the 
 distant hills, and gave place to a silence parti- 
 cularly solemn and impressive. It denoted
 
 191 
 
 the conclusion of that ceremony which returns 
 dust to dust. '* Where now," thought she, 
 *' are the distinctions of rank ? Where those 
 barriers, which, in this world, separate man 
 from man ? Even here, sorrow embalms the 
 memory of the righteous alone. When sel- 
 fishness is silent, the heart pays its tribute to 
 nought but worth. Why, then, should those 
 of lowly station envy the trappings of vanity, 
 that are but the boast of a moment, when, by 
 piety and virtue, they may attain a distinction 
 so much more lasting and glorious ? To the 
 humble and the lowly are the gates of Para- 
 dise thrown open. Nor is there any other 
 path which leads to them, but that which the 
 Gospel points out to all. In that path may 
 the grace of God enable me to walk, so that 
 my spirit may join the spirits of the sanctified 
 — the innumerable host, that out of every 
 tribe, and nation, and language, shall meet to- 
 gether before the throne of the Eternal, to 
 worship, and give praise, and honour, and 
 glory, to Him that liveth for ever and ever.'* 
 From these solemn meditations, Mrs Mason 
 was called to witness the reading of the farmer's 
 will. He had performed the duty of an honest 
 man, in making it while he was in perfect 
 health ; wisely thinking, that if he deferred it 
 till the hour of sickness, he might then nei-
 
 192 
 
 ther have the ability nor inclination to give 
 his mind to worldly cares. 
 
 To his wife, he bequeathed a free cottage 
 in the village, and an annuity, which he con- 
 sidered equal to her wants. To each of his 
 younger children, he left the sum of forty 
 pounds, and to his eldest son the farm, bur- 
 thened with the above provision for the rest of 
 the family. In case the elder son should 
 chuse to go abroad or enter into business, the 
 farm was to go to the second, and the elder 
 to have only a younger child's portion. By a 
 clause in the will, the widow was to retain 
 possession of the farm till the Candlemas after 
 her husband's death. So much more conside- 
 ration had this humble cottager for the feelings 
 of a wife, than is often shewn in the settle- 
 ments of the rich and great ! 
 
 The minister, who read the will, addressed 
 himself, in finishing it, to the friends and 
 neighbours who were present ; and proposed, 
 that they should alternately lend their assis- 
 tance in managing the business of the harvest 
 for the widow and her family. The proposal 
 was readily agreed to by the men ; while Mrs 
 Mason, on her part, cheerfully undertook 
 the superintendence of the household work 
 and dairy, until her cousin should be so far re- 
 covered as to be able to resume the task. 
 2
 
 193 
 
 As soon as all the strangers were dismissed, 
 Mrs Mason informed her cousin of the ar- 
 rangements that had been made, with which 
 she appeared perfectly satisfied. Depressed 
 hy grief and sickness, she still considered her 
 recovery as hopeless, and submitted to hei' 
 fate with that species of quiescence, which is 
 often a substitute for the true spirit of resig- 
 nation.
 
 19-A 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 The Force, of Prejudice. 
 
 It appeared extraordinary to Mrs Mason, 
 that she should have been so long forgotten 
 bj her friends at Go wan-brae. Nearly a fort- 
 night had now elapsed since Mr Stewart's last 
 visit ; and though he had been invited to the 
 funeral, he had neither come, nor sent any 
 apology for his absence, which appeared the 
 more unaccountable, from the circumstance of 
 his having been seen that very day riding full 
 speed on the road to the market town. Cer- 
 tain that neither Mr Stewart nor Mary could 
 be actuated by caprice, she feared that some 
 misfortune had befallen them j but though 
 every day added to her anxiety, she had no 
 means of relieving it, all hands being now en- 
 gaged in getting in the harvest ; and she was 
 too wise to torment herself by shaping the 
 form of uncertain evils. She had indeed no
 
 1<35 
 
 leisure for such unprofitable work ; every 
 moment of her time being fully occupied in 
 managing the business of the family, or in 
 attendance on the invalids, who, though now 
 recovering rapidly, were still so w'eak as to 
 require her constant care. 
 
 The business of the family had never been 
 so well conducted as since its -mistress liad 
 been incapacitated from attending to it. By 
 the effects of foretliought, order, and regula- 
 rity, the labour was so much diminished to 
 the servant, that she willingly resigned herself 
 to Mrs Mason's directions, and entered into 
 all her plans. The girls, though at first re- 
 fractory, and often inclined to rebel, were gra- 
 dually brought to order ; and, finding that 
 they had no one to make excuses for their dis- 
 obedience, quietly performed their allotted 
 tasks. They began to taste the pleasure of 
 praise, and, encouraged by approbation, en- 
 deavoured to deserve it ; so that, though their 
 tempers had been too far spoiled to be brought 
 at once into subjection, Mrs Mason hoped, 
 that, by steadiness, she should succeed in re- 
 forming them. 
 ^ Mrs MacClarty, who was not so changed 
 -by sickness, or so absorbed in grief, as to be 
 indifferent to the world and its concerns, fret- 
 ted at the length of her confinement, which
 
 190 
 
 was rendered doubly grievous to her, from the 
 hints she occasionally r-eceived of the new me- 
 thods of management introduced by Mrs Ma- 
 son, which she could on no account believe 
 equal to her own. Her friend and benefactress 
 became the object of her jealousy and aver- 
 sion. The neighbours, with whom she had 
 cultivated the greatest intimacy, encouraged 
 this dislike ; and, on all their visits of condo- 
 lence, expressed, in feeling terms, their sense 
 of the sad change that had taken place in the 
 appearance of the house, which they said was 
 " now sae uncn^ they wad scarcely ken it for 
 the same place." 
 
 *' Ay !" exclaimed the wife of auld John 
 Smith, who happened to visit the widow the 
 first evening she was able to sit up to tea ; 
 " ay, alake ! it's weel seen, that whar there's 
 new lairds there's new laws. But how can 
 your woman and your bairns put up wi' a' 
 this fashery ?" 
 
 " I kenna, truly," replied the widow ; "but 
 Mrs Mason has just sic a way wi' them, she 
 gars them do ony thing she likes. Ye may 
 think it's an eery thing to me, to see my poor 
 bairns submitting that way to pleasure a stran- 
 ger in a' her nonsense." 
 
 " An eery thing, indeed !" said Mrs Smith; 
 '* gif ye had but seen how she gar'd your
 
 197 
 
 dochter Meg clean out the kirn ! outside ami 
 inside ! ye wad hae been wae for the puir 
 lassie. I trow, said I, Meg, it wad hae been 
 lang before jour mither had set you to sic a 
 turn ? Ay, says she, we hae new gaits now j. 
 and she lookit up, and leugh." 
 
 *' New gaits, I trow !" cried Sandy John- 
 stone's Hiother, who had just taken her place 
 at the tea-table ; " I ne'er ken'd gude conae 
 o' new gaits a' my days. There was Tibby 
 Bell, at the head o' the Glen, she fell to clean- 
 ing her kirn ae day, and the very first kirning 
 after, her butter was burstet, and gude for 
 naething. I'ni sure it gangs to my heart to 
 see your v/ark sae iftanaged. It was but the 
 day before yesterday that I cam upon Madam, 
 as she was haddin the strainer, as she called 
 it, to Grizzy, desiring her a' the time she 
 poured the milk, to beware o' letting in ane 
 o' the cow's hairs that were on her goon. 
 Hoot, says I, cows hairs are canny, they'll 
 never choak ye." — " The fewer of them that 
 are in the butter the better !" says she. *' Twa 
 or three hairs are better than the blink o' an 
 ill ee," says I. " The best charm against 
 witchcraft is cleanliness," says she. " I doubt 
 it muckle," says I j " auld ways are aye the 
 best !"
 
 198 
 
 " Weeldonel" cried Mrs Smith; *' I trow 
 ye gae her a screed o' your mind ! But here 
 comes Grizzy frae the market ; let us hear 
 wliat she says to it." 
 
 Grizzel advanced to her mistress, and with 
 alacrity poured into her lap the money she 
 had got for her cheese and butter ; proudly at 
 the same time observing, that it was more by 
 some shillings than they had ever got for the 
 produce of one week before that lucky day. 
 
 '' What say you ?" cried the wife of auld 
 John Smith ; ^' are the markets sae muckle 
 risen ? That's gude news indeed I" 
 
 *' I didna say that the markets were risen," 
 returned the maid ; *' but we never got sac 
 muckle for our butter, nor our cheese, by a 
 penny i' the pund weight, as I got the day. 
 A' the best folks i' the toon were striving for 
 it. I cou'd ha' seld twice as muckle at the 
 same price." 
 
 *' Ye had need to be wecl paid for it," said 
 Sandy Johnstone's mother, " for I fear yc had 
 but sma' quantity to sell." 
 
 *■' We never had sae muckle in ae week 
 before," said Grizz.y ; " for you see," conti- 
 nued she, '' tlie milk used aye to sour before 
 it had stood half its time ; but now the milk 
 dishes are a' sae clean, that it keeps sweet to 
 ;.hc last."
 
 199 
 
 " And dinna ye think muckle o' the fash?" 
 said Mrs Smith. 
 
 " I thought muckle o't at first," returned 
 Grizzy ; " but whan I got into the way o't, 
 I fand it nae trouble at a'." 
 
 " But how do ye find time to get through 
 sae muckle wark ?" said the widow John- 
 stone. 
 
 *' I never," answered Grizzy, " got through 
 my wark sae easy in my life ; — for 3-e see 
 Mrs Mason has just a set time for ilka turn ; 
 so that folk are never rinnin in ana anither's 
 gait ; and every thing is set by clean, ye see, 
 so that it's just ready for use." 
 
 *' She maun hae an unco airt," said Mrs 
 MacClarty, " to gar ye do sae muckle, and 
 think sae little o't.' Im sure ye ken how ye 
 used to grumble at being put to do far less. 
 Bttt I didna bribe ye wi' hafF-croon pieces, as 
 she does." 
 
 *' It's no the hafF-croon she gae me, that gars 
 me speak," cried Grizzy ; "but I sail always 
 say, that she is a most discreet aiid civil per- 
 son, ay, and ane that taks a pleesur in doin' 
 gude. I'm sure, mistress, she has done mair 
 gude to you, than ye can e'er repay, gif ye 
 were to live this himder year." 
 
 " I sail ne'er say that she hasna been very 
 kind," returned Mrs MacClarty j " but thank
 
 200 
 
 the Lord, a' body has shewn kindness as weel 
 as her. It's no lessnin' o' her to say, that 
 v/e hae ither freends forby." 
 
 '' Freends I" repeated Grizzy, *' What hae 
 a' your freends done for you, in comparisou 
 wi' what she has done, and is e'now doin' for 
 you ! Ay, just e'now, while I am speak- 
 ing—But I forget that she charged me no to 
 tell." 
 
 " Is na she gane to Gowan-brae ?" said 
 Mrs MacClarty ; " What gude can she do 
 me by that?" 
 
 " Aye," cried Mrs Smith, *' what gude can 
 the poor widow get by her gaen to visit amang 
 the gentles ! Didna I see her ride by upon the 
 minester's black horse, behint the minester's 
 jnan, and the minester himsel' ridin' by her 
 aide?" 
 
 " She's no gane to Gowan-brae, though," 
 returned Grizzy, " nor the minester neither ; 
 1 ken whar they're gane to weel eneugh." 
 
 *' But what are they gane about ?" asked 
 Mrs MacClarty, alarmed ; " Is ony thing the 
 matter wi' my puir Sandy ? for my heart aye 
 misgi'cs me about his no comia' to see me." 
 
 Grizzy made no answer. The question 
 was again repeated in an anxious and tremu- 
 lous voice, by her mistress, but still she re- 
 mained silent.
 
 -201 
 
 '^ Alake !" cried Mrs Smith, " I dread that 
 the sough that gaed through o' his having 
 deserted, had some truth in't, though William 
 Morrison wadna let a word be said at the 
 burial." 
 
 " O woman ! for pity's sake speak," said 
 the widow ; " Isna my bairn already lost to 
 me ? Wharfor than will ye no tell me what 
 has happened, seein' it canna be waur than 
 what has already befallen me !" 
 
 " I promised no to tell," said Grizzy ; 
 *' but since ye will hae it, I maun let ye ken, 
 that if Sandy be not doomed to death this 
 very day, it will be through the exertions of 
 Mrs Mason." 
 
 ** Doomed to death !" repeated the widow ; 
 " My Sandy doomed to death ! my bairn, 
 that was just the very pride o' my heart ! 
 Alace ! alace ! his poor father !" 
 
 A kindly shower of tears came to the relief 
 of the poor mother's heart, as she uttered the 
 name of her husband ; and as she was too 
 much weakened by sickness to struggle against 
 the violence of her emotions, they produced 
 an hysterical affection, which alarmed" those 
 about her for her life. Her life was however 
 in no danger. Soon after being put to bed, 
 slie beeanje quite composed : and then so 
 I 3
 
 202 
 
 strongly insisted upon being informed of every 
 particular relative to her son, that Grizzy was 
 compelled to give a faithful account of all she 
 knew. 
 
 ''• Ye have thought," said she, " that your 
 seein' Sandy while you were in the fever was 
 but a dream ; and Mrs Mason, thinking it 
 best that ye should continue in the delusion, 
 has never contradickit ye. But it was nae 
 dream ; your son was here the very day his 
 father died ; and ye saw him, and faintet awa 
 in his arms." 
 
 *' Wharfor than did he leave me ?" exclaim- 
 ed the widow ; " What for did he no stay to 
 close his father's eyes, and to lay his father's 
 head^i' the grave, as becam the duty o' a first 
 born son ?" 
 
 " Alace !" returned the damsel, " ye little 
 ken how sair the struggle was ere he could 
 be brought to part frae the lifeless corpse ! 
 Had ye seen how he graspet the clay-cauld 
 hand ! Had ye heard how he sobbet over it, 
 and how he begget and prayed but for anither 
 moment to gaze on the altered face, it wad 
 hae gane near to break your heart. I'm sure 
 mine was sair for the poor lad. And than 
 to see him dragged awa as a prisoner by the 
 iogers ! O it was mair pitifu' than your heart 
 can think I"
 
 203 
 
 " The Sogers !" repeated Mrs MacClarty, 
 " What had the vile loons to do wi' my 
 bairn ? the cruel miscreants ! was there nane 
 to rescue him out o' their bluidy hands?" 
 
 " Na, na," returned Grizzy ; " the mines- 
 ter geed his word that he sudna be rescued. 
 And, to say the truth, the sogers behaved wi' 
 great discretion. They shewed nae signs o' 
 cruelty ; but only said, it wadna be consistent 
 wi' their duty to let their prisoner escape." 
 
 '' And what had my bairn done to be made 
 a prisoner o' ?" cried the widow. 
 
 *' Why, ye ken," returned Grizzy, '' that 
 Sandy was aye a wilfu' lad ; so it's no to be 
 wondered at, that whan he was ordered to 
 stand this gait, and that gait, and had his hair 
 tugged till it was ready to crack, and his neck 
 made sair wi' standin' ajee, he shou'd tak it 
 but unco ill. So he disobeyed orders ; and 
 than they lashed him, and his proud stamach 
 cudna get o'er the disgrace ; and than he ran 
 afF, and hade himsel three days in the muirs. 
 On the fourt day he cam here ; and than the 
 sogers got baud o' him, and they took him 
 awa to be tried for a deserter. So ye see Mrs 
 Mason than got the minester to apply to the 
 captains and the coronels about him ; but they 
 said they had resolved to mak an example o' 
 him, and naething cou'd mak them relents
 
 204 
 
 So a' that the minester said, just gaed for nae- 
 thing ; for they said, that by the law o' court 
 marshall he maun be shot. Weel, a' houp 
 was at an end ; when by chance Mrs Mason 
 fand out, that the major o' the regiment was 
 the son o' an auld freend o' hers, ane that she 
 had kent and been kind to whan he was a 
 bairn ; and so she wrate a lang letter to him, 
 and had an answer, and wrate anither ; and, 
 hj his appointment, she and the minester are 
 gane this very day to bear witness in Sandy's 
 favour, and I wad fain houp they winna miss 
 o' their errand." 
 
 The suspence in which poor Mrs MacClarty 
 was now involved, with respect to her son's 
 destiny, appeared more insupportable than the 
 most dreadful certainty. The stream of con- 
 solation that was poured upon her by her lo- 
 quacious friends, only seeined to add to her 
 distress. She made no answer to their obser- 
 vations, but with her eyes eagerly bent towards 
 the door, she fearfully listened to the sound of 
 every passing footstep. At length the ap- 
 proach of hoises was distinctly heard. Her 
 maid hastily ran to the dpor for intelligence j 
 and the old women, whose curiosity was no 
 l^ss eager, as hastily followed. The poor 
 niiother's heart grew faint. Her head dropped 
 ;ipc>n her hands, and a sort of stupor caroe pv^r
 
 20^ 
 
 her senses. She sat motionless and silent ; nor 
 did the entrance of the nunister and Mrs Ma- 
 son seem to be observed. Mrs Mason, who 
 at a glance perceived that the sickness was the 
 sickness of the mind, kindly took her hand, 
 and bid her be of good cheer, for that if she 
 would recover, all her family would do well. 
 
 *' Is he to live ?" said Mrs MacClarty, in a 
 low and hollow voice, fixing her eyes on Mrs 
 Mason's, as if expecting to read in them the 
 doom of her son. 
 
 " Give thanks to God," returned the mini- 
 ster, " your son lives ; God and his judges 
 have dealt mercifully with him and you." 
 
 On hearing these blessed words, the poor 
 agitated mother grasped Mrs Mason's hands, 
 and burst into a flood of tears. The spectators 
 wgre little less affected ; a considerable time 
 elapsed before the silence that ensued was 
 broken. At length, in faultering accents, the 
 widow asked, whether she might hope to see 
 her son again ? 
 
 *' Is he no' to come hame," said she, " to 
 fill his father's place, and to tak possession o' 
 his inheritance ? If they have granted this, 
 I will say that they have been mercifu' indeed, 
 but if no" — 
 
 *' Though they have not granted this," re- 
 turned the minister, " still they have been
 
 206 
 
 rtMfrciful, ay most merciful. For your son's 
 offences were aggravated, his life was in their 
 hands, it was most justly forfeited, yet they 
 took pity on him, and spared him ; and are 
 you not grateful for this ? If you are not, I 
 must tell you^ your ingratitude is sinful." 
 
 "Oh ! you kenna what it is to hae a 
 bairn !" returned Mrs MacClarty, in a doleful 
 tone. " My poor Sandie ! I never had the 
 heart to contradick him sin' he was born, and 
 now to think what command he maun be 
 under ! But I ken he'll ne'er submit to it, 
 nor will I ever submit to it either. We have 
 eneugh o' substance to buy him afF, and if we 
 sell to the last rag, he shall never gang wi' 
 these sobers ; he never shall." 
 
 " You speak weakly, and without conside- 
 ration," rejoined the minister. " Your duty, 
 as a parent, is to teach your children to obey 
 the laws of God, and of their country. By 
 nourishing them in disobedience, you have 
 prepared their hearts to rebel against the one, 
 and to disrespect the other. And now that you 
 see what the consequence has been to this son, 
 whom ungoverned self-will has brought to 
 the very brink of destruction, instead of being 
 convinced of your error, you persist in it, and 
 would glory in repeating it ! Happily, your 
 son is wiser ; he has profited by his misfor'-
 
 207 
 
 tunes, and has no regret, but for the conduct 
 that led to them." 
 
 " He was enticed to it," cried Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty ; " he never wad hae listet in his sober 
 senses." 
 
 '* Who enticed him to disobey his father, 
 by going to the fair?" returned the minister; 
 " it is the first error that is the fatal cause of 
 all that follows ; so true it is, that when we 
 leave the path of duty but a single step, we 
 may by that step be involved in a labyrinth, 
 from which there is no returning. Be, thank- 
 ful that your son has seen his error, and that 
 he has repented of it. as becomes a Christian ; 
 and let it be your business to confirm these 
 sentiments, and to exhort him, by his future 
 conduct, to retrieve the past ; so shall the bles- 
 sing of God attend him wherever it may be 
 his destiny to go." 
 
 *' And whar is he to go?" said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty. " To the East Indies," returned the 
 minister. " To-morrow he will be on his 
 way for that fine country, from which he may 
 yet return to gladden your heart." 
 
 " Alace, my heart will never be gladdened 
 mair !" said the poor widow, weeping as she 
 spake. 
 
 Mrs Mason was moved by her tears, though 
 vexed by her folly ; and therefore spoke to
 
 208 
 
 her only in the strain of consolation. But Mr 
 Gourlay, incensed at the little gratitude she 
 expressed for her son's deliverance, could not 
 forbear reminding her of the predicament in 
 which he so lately stood, and from which he 
 had been rescued by Providence, through the 
 agency of Mrs Mason. In conclusion, he ex- 
 horted her to be thankful to God for having 
 given her such a friend/ 
 
 " The Lord will bless her for what she has 
 done !" cried Mrs MacClarty. 
 
 " The Lord has already blessed her," re- 
 turned the minister ; " for a heart filled with 
 benevolence is the first pif blessings. But,? 
 continued he, *' she has it still in her power 
 to render you more essential service than any 
 she has yet pei-formed." 
 
 " Say you sae ?" cried Mrs MacClarty, 
 eagerly. 
 
 *' Yes," returned Mr Gourlay ; " for if you 
 will listen to her advice, she will instruct you 
 in the art of governing your childrens' pas- 
 sions^ and of teaching them to govern them- 
 selves ; and thus, by the blessing of God, she 
 may eventually be the means of rescuing them 
 fvtim a sentence of condemnation — more awful 
 than the most awful that any human tribunal 
 can pronounce."
 
 '209 
 
 The widow felt too much respect for her 
 pastor to dispute the truth of his observation, 
 though she probably entered a silent protest 
 against its obvious inference. She, however, 
 thanked him for his kind intentions ; and he 
 immediately after took his leave.
 
 219 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 *By the terms of his father's will, Robert, 
 on his brother's leaving the kingdom, became 
 the legal possessor of the farm. He wanted 
 three years of one-and-twenty ; but as his 
 mother agreed to assist him in its management, 
 it Tras thought for the interest of the family, 
 that he should succeed to it without delay. 
 
 No sooner was this point settled, than the 
 young man, who had ever shewn a sulky anti- 
 pathy to Mrs Mason, began to treat her with 
 a rudeness that was too marked to be overlook- 
 ed ; nor did he receive any check from his 
 mother for his bearish behaviour, except wh*n 
 she now and then, in a feeble tone, exclaim- 
 ed, " Hoot, Robby, that's no right." The 
 girls, too, who had just begun to appear sen^ 
 sible of the advantage of those liabits of dili- 
 gence and decorum to which Mrs Mason had 
 introduced them, were no sooner under their
 
 Cll 
 
 mother's direction, than they relaxed into in- 
 dolence, and became as pert and obstreperous 
 as' ever. Mrs Mason saw that the reign of 
 anarchy* was fast approaching. She likewise 
 saw, that her presence, which retarded it, was 
 considered by all the family a restraint ; she 
 therefore determined to come to an explana- 
 tion on the subject, and as soon as possible to 
 change her quarters. 
 
 In pursuance of her design, Mrs Mason 
 took the very first opportunity of speaking to 
 Robert and his mother ; and, after reminding- 
 them, that the term agreed on between her 
 and the late farmer, as a trial of her plan, had 
 nearly expired, she informed them, that, for 
 reasons on which she should not now enter, 
 she thought it best for both parties, that her 
 slay should not extend bej'-ond it. Robert 
 looked surprised, and even vexed, but it was 
 the vexation of pride. He, however, remain- 
 ed silent. His mother, though much at a loss 
 in what way to take Mrs Mason's notice, 
 thought it necessary to speak for both ; but 
 she did not speal;. much to the purpose. Jea- 
 lous of Mrs Mason's superior sense, and at the 
 same time conscious of the obligations she 
 owed to her unwearied benevolence, she felt 
 her presence as a burthen ; but not being able 
 to trace the _cause of this feeling to its tru'.:
 
 212 
 
 23id real source, which was no other than her 
 own ignorance and pride, she durst not, even 
 to herself, own that she disliked her. 
 
 " I'm sure," said she, — " I houp — I'm sure 
 -—for my part — I say, I'm sure — that, as far 
 as I ken, we hae done a' in our power to mak 
 ye comfortable j but to be sure I aye thought 
 it was nae place for you. Our ways were a' 
 sae different, though I'm sure ye hae beea 
 very kind ; I'm sure we're a' sensible o' that 
 but young folk dinna like to be contradickit 
 they're no aye sa wise as ane wad wish them 
 but they're just neeber-like. I'm sure if it's 
 ony thing they hae said that gars ye think o' 
 leavin' us, I canna help it ; but I houp ye'll 
 no blame me ; for I'm sure Robby kens how 
 aften I hae said, that they ought a' to be 
 civil to you." 
 
 " What need ye be clashin' sae muckle 
 about it," cried Robert, interrupting her ; 
 ** we did weel eneugh before she cam, and 
 we'll do weel eneugh when she's gane." So 
 saying, he went away, banging the door after 
 him with even more than usual violence. 
 
 Mrs Mason took no notice of his behaviour; 
 but, unwilling to continue a conversation so 
 little agreeable, she went to her own room, 
 which she had for the last ten days seldom 
 quitted but at the hour of meals. Disappoint-
 
 cd in the hope she had formed, of finding a 
 •home in the house of her kinswoman, and 
 mortified by the seeming neglect of the family 
 at Gowan-brae, on whose friendship she had 
 depended with undoubting confidence, her 
 spirits were inclined to sadness ; but she 
 would not give way to the depression. Re- 
 collecting how mercifully all the events of her 
 life had hitherto been ordered, sftf chaced 
 away despondency by trust in God ; and, re- 
 solving to act to the best of her judgment, 
 fearlessly left the consequences to His dis- 
 posal. 
 
 After some consideration, she resolved to 
 apply to William Morrison and his wife to 
 take her as a lodger. They were poor ; and 
 therefore the small sum she could afford to 
 pay, might to them be particularly useful. 
 They were humble, and therefore would not 
 refuse to be instructed in matters which they 
 had never before had any opportunity to learn. 
 She might then do good to them and to their 
 children ; and where she could do most good, 
 there did Mrs Mason think it would be most 
 for her happiness to go. 
 
 No sooner did she give a hint of her inten- 
 tion to Morrison and his wife, than she per- 
 ceived that she had judged truly in imagining, 
 that her offer would be received with joy.—
 
 214 
 
 But while they were eagerly expressing their 
 grateful sense of Mrs Mason's kindness in 
 giving their house a preference, and declaring 
 how much they should deem themselves ho- 
 noured by having her beneath their roof, the 
 sudden recollection of an invincible obstacle 
 seemed at the same moment to have occurred 
 to both. They looked at each other for ad- 
 vice — stopt — hesitated — and seemed so embar- 
 rassed, that Mrs Mason could not avoid obser- 
 ving their dismay. 
 
 " What makes you hesitate ?" said she ; 
 " I am afraid you think seven shillings a-week 
 too little for my board and lodging ; but you 
 know I am to find my own wheaten bread, 
 and my own tea, and" — '' O Madam, you are 
 o'er generous," cried Peggy, interrupting her ; 
 " you gie o'er muckle by a great deal j but 
 still I fear, that in winter we may not be able 
 to mak things comfortable to you. Were it 
 in simmer, we should do weel eneugh." 
 
 " Then why not in winter ?" said Mrs 
 Mason ; " I shall advance money to buy coals, 
 if that be all." 
 
 " Don't speak of it, Peggy," said William, 
 gently pulling his wife's sleeve ; " though it 
 be winter, we shall do wcel eneugh, there's 
 njve fear."
 
 213 
 
 '^ Na, na, gudeman, " returned Peggy, 
 *' you're no sae strong yet as to be able to 
 sleep without a bed through the winter, in 
 this cauld house ; it manna be." 
 
 " Without a bed I" cried Mrs Mason j 
 *' why should he be without a bed?" 
 
 '^ Why, Madam," said William, '* since 
 my wife has let the cat out o' the bag, as the 
 saying is, it's as weel to tell you the truth : 
 we have not a bed in the house but ane, and 
 that was bought for us by gude Mr Stewart 
 of Gowan-brae, at the time that a' our furni- 
 ture was rouped afF frae our house, at ****." 
 
 *' Had we been now as we were then," 
 cried Peggy, *' how comfortable should we 
 have made Mrs Mason I She should have 
 had no more to do but just to speak her 
 wishes." 
 
 *' I don't fear being comfortable enough as 
 it is," said Mrs Mason ; " but what is become 
 of the bed I slept in for so many weeks, and 
 which you so kindly offered for my accommo- 
 dation during all the time of Mrs MacClarty's 
 illness?" 
 
 *' O, the want of a bed was nothing then," 
 returned Peggy ; " the weather was warm, 
 and some weel-laid straw did us vastly weel ; 
 for my own part, I could put up with it all 
 the year through j but my gudeman has been
 
 tl6 
 
 SQ weakly since he had the rheumatism, that 
 I wad be feared for his being the waur o't." 
 
 '* And did you really put yourselves to such 
 a shift, in order to oblige me ?" said Mrs Ma- 
 son. ** What kindness ! what delicacy in 
 concealing the extent of the obligation ! it 
 grieves me to learn, that hearts so warm should 
 have experienced misfortune ; and by the hint 
 yon gave of selling off your furniture on leav- 
 ing *****^ I fear your circumstances have not 
 been so prosperous as I heartily wish them." 
 
 " Since my misfortunes have been in some 
 measure brought on by my own indiscretion, 
 I ought not," said William, " to complain." 
 
 " Indeed, Madam, he does himsel wrang," 
 cfied Peggy ; ** he never was guilty o' ony 
 indiscretion in his days ; but just only trusted 
 o'er far to the honesty and discretion o' a fause- 
 hearted loon, that cheated mony a man that 
 kent mair o' business than he did. It was 
 nae fau't o' William's, that the man was a 
 rogue ; yet he blames himsel in a way that 
 vexes me to hear him." 
 
 " I do blame myself," said William ; " for 
 had I been contented to go on with my busi- 
 ness, as my father did before me, on a scale 
 within my means, my profits, though small, 
 would have been certain. But I wished tf; 
 I
 
 ^17 
 
 raise my wife and bairns above their station : 
 and God, who saw the pride of my heart, has 
 punished me." 
 
 *' If you only risked your own," said Mrs 
 Mason, *' your ambition was blameless, and 
 your exertions laudable." 
 
 '* Alas ! Madam," returned William, " no 
 man that enters into what they call specula- 
 tions in business, can say that he risks only 
 his own : he risks the money of his friends, 
 and of his neighbours, and of all who, from 
 confidence in his honesty, give him trust or 
 credit. Grant that neither friend nor neigh- 
 bour had suffered — and I hope to God, that, 
 in the end, none will suffer a farthing's loss by 
 me — yet how can I answer to my conscience for 
 the ruin I have brought upon my wife and 
 children? Nay, Peggy, you must not hinder 
 me to speak. You ken that had your honest 
 father seen what has happened, it wou'd ha' 
 brought his grey hairs wi' sorrow to the grave. 
 He told me, that he gied ye to me wi' better 
 will, than to a richer man, because he kent 
 that I loved ye weel, and wou'd ay be kind 
 to ye ; and that the siller he had gathered wi' 
 meikle care and toil, I wou'd na lightly spend 
 upon my pleasure. O I canna bear to think 
 on't ! When I look round these bare wa's, 
 
 K
 
 '2 IS 
 
 and see what I have reduced you to, I think 
 mjsel little better than a villain ! 
 
 Peggy, hastily brushing away a falling tear, 
 held out lier hand to her husband, saying, with 
 a smile, *' Ye maun be an unco sort o' villain, 
 William, for I wou'd rather beg my bread wi' 
 you through the warld, than be the greatest 
 lady in the land ! But what will Mrs Mason 
 think o' us ?" 
 
 " I think," said Mrs Mason, " that you are 
 a worthy couple, and that you deserve to be 
 happy, and will be happy too in the end, not 
 the less so perhaps for having known misfor- 
 tune." 
 
 " O that you could gar my gudeman think 
 sae !" cried Peggy; " Pm ay telling him, 
 that if he wad na tint heart, we hae tint 
 naething. We are but young, we hae pro- 
 misin' bairns, gude health, and the warld for 
 the winning ; what should we desire mair ! 
 Could we but contrive to mak the house fit 
 to receive you, I should hae nae fears for the 
 future. You wou'd bring a blessing with 
 you ; Pm sure you wou'd." 
 
 Mrs Mason obviated every difficulty, by 
 saying, that she meant to furnish her own 
 apartment ; and, after a little further conver- 
 sation, in which every thing was arranged to 
 mutual satisfaction, she set out on her return
 
 219 , 
 
 to the farm, animated by the delightful hope 
 of having it in her power to dispense a degree 
 of happiness to her fellow-creatures. As she 
 slowly proceeded homeward, an elderly man, 
 mounted on a good horse, prepared for carry- 
 ing double, passed her on the road j and having 
 slopped a minvite at Mrs J.IacClarty's door, 
 turned again to meet her. On coming up, he 
 said, he was sent by Mr Stewart of Gowan- 
 brae, with his and Miss Mary's compliments, 
 to beg that she would do them the favour of 
 going there to dinner, and that they should 
 send her back in a few days. Observing that 
 Mrs Mason hesitated concerning what answer 
 she should give, the faithful old servant pro- 
 ceeded to enforce the message, by telling her, 
 that he was sure it would do. them good to see 
 her, " for I am far mista'en, Madam," said 
 kc, " if they dinna stand in need o' com- 
 fort." 
 
 *' Has any misfortune befallen the family?" 
 asked Mrs Mason, anxiously. 
 
 " I kenna, Madam," returned the servant, 
 '* whether it can weel be called a misfortune ; 
 for a marriage may be a vexation to ane's 
 friends that's nae misfortune in the end." — 
 "And Miss Stewart has occasioned this vexa- 
 tion, I suppose?" said Mi's Mason.
 
 " Ye guess right," returned the old man ; 
 *■' she has made a matcli to please hersel, and 
 as she has brewed sae she maun drink ; but 
 niy poor master taks it sair to heart ; and it 
 is e'en hard eneugh, that the bairn should 
 •t^cross him maist, that he ne'er crossed in his 
 life." 
 
 Mrs Mason made no reply ; but directing 
 him to the stable to put up his horse for half 
 .an hour, said she should then be ready to ac- 
 company him. Having informed her cousin, 
 in friendly terms, of the arrangements she had 
 mad£ with the Morrisons, and assured her of 
 the continuance of her kindness and good will, 
 she quickly made what little preparations 
 were necessary for her departure ; and was on 
 the road to Gowan-brae before Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty had recovered her astonishment. 
 
 As Mrs Mason i^ode from the door, Robert 
 made his appearance. His mother, on seeing 
 him, burst into a violent flood of tears, and 
 accused him as the cause of her losing the - 
 best friend tliat she ever had in the world — 
 *' one who," she said, *' was a credit to her 
 family, and an lionour and a credit to them 
 all." She reminded him of all that she had 
 done for theva in sickness — how she had at- 
 tended his dying father — what exertions she 
 liad made to save his brother's life — what
 
 •I'll • 
 
 care she had taken of the family — how liitle 
 trouble she had given, and how generously 
 she had paid for the little trouble she occa- 
 sioned. " And now," cried she, " she'll be 
 just the same friend to the Morrisons she has 
 been to us ! I wadna wonder that they got 
 every fartliing she hAs in the warld. . Scores 
 o' fine silk goons, and grand petticoats and 
 stockings; and sic a sight o' mutches and laces 
 as wou'd fill twa o' Miss Tweedy's shop ! 
 Ay, ay, the Morrisons will get it a', and a' 
 her money forebye ! They'll no be the fools 
 to part wi' her that we hae been ; they're 
 o'er cunning for that 1" 
 
 Robert, who, in his treatment of Mrs 
 Mason, had had no other end in view than 
 the immediate gratification of his own bad 
 temper, was enraged at this representation of 
 the advantages which his neighbour's family 
 were likely to derive from the event. Far, 
 however, from acknowledging that he had 
 been to blame, he insolently retorted on his 
 mother, and poured on her a torrent of abuse. 
 The poor woman attempted to speak in her 
 own justification ; but her voice was disowned 
 iu the louder and more vehement accents of 
 her hopeful son. She had then no other re- 
 source but tears, and bitterly did she weep — 
 bitterly did she lament. Her tears and lamen-
 
 tatioiis aggravated the stings of conscience in 
 Robert's heart; but where the passions are 
 habitually uncontrolled, the stings of con- 
 science have no other effect than to increase 
 the irritation. 
 
 Had Mrs MacClarty been capable of reason- 
 ing, how would her soul have been wrung 
 with remorse, had she then said to herself — 
 Therfi teas a time zehen this hoy's passions might 
 have been subdued; when, zoith a little care, 
 he^m/<rht have learned to control them !.
 
 '223 
 
 LilAP. XV. 
 
 A MarriaQp. and a Weddiri<f. 
 
 ' Mrs Mason had no sooner entered the gate 
 leading up to Gowan-brae, than her kind 
 friends were at the door ready to receive her. 
 " You are very good," said Mr Stewart, as 
 he conducted her to the parlour ; *' you are 
 very good in coming to us after our apparent 
 neglect of you, in circumstances that called 
 for a double portion of attention ; but when 
 you know all that has happened, you will for- 
 give us." 
 
 " I do kncv all, my good sir," returned 
 Mrs Mason, *' your trusty old Donald has 
 told me enough to shew me how fully your 
 time has been occupied. I feel for the vex- 
 ation you have suifered ; but it is past^ and I 
 trust all may yet go well." '.' 
 
 Mr Stewart shook his head. **• We had 
 better not speak of it," said he, in a melan-
 
 224 
 
 choly voice. " Well, we shall not speak of 
 it then," said Mrs Mason ; " I had rather 
 speak of the boys. When did you hear of 
 them ? When are they to have a holiday at 
 Gowan-brae ?" 
 
 Having thus given a turn to the conversa- 
 tion, she endeavoured to keep it up with cheer- 
 fulness ; and so far succeeded, that a stranger 
 would have thought all the party in excellent 
 spirits. 
 
 After dinner, as soon as the servant who 
 attended them had left the room, Mr Stewart 
 became absent and thoughtful. A pause en- 
 sued in the conversation, during which Mary 
 kept her eyes anxiously fixed upon her father. 
 Starting at length from his reveide, he turned 
 to Mrs Mason, and said, " it was now time 
 to give her a full account of all that had taken 
 place, but that he found he must leave the 
 task to Mary. I have not patience to go over 
 it," said he ; '' but I wish for your advice, 
 and you must therefore kndw<(ill. I shall be 
 back by the time Mary has finished the re- 
 cital, and in the mean time must speak to my 
 labourers." 
 
 ** My dear father !" said Mary, looking 
 wistfully after him as he left the room — 
 *' my dear good father will never be happy 
 again !" /
 
 225 
 
 " With such a daughter as you, how can 
 he be unhappy?" said Mrs Mason. " Your 
 duty and affection will soon make him forget 
 the disappointment he has had in your sister, 
 and perhaps this match of her's may not turn 
 out so ill as he apprehends." 
 
 *' Oh it cannot turn out well," said Mary j 
 *' how can any match turn out well, that be- 
 gins as this has done, by wounding the heart 
 of so good, so kind a father !" 
 
 " Young women seldom argue in this way 
 
 now-a-days," returned Mrs Mason ; *' love is, 
 
 in the creed of sentiment, and of plays, and 
 
 novels, a sufficient excuse for the breach of 
 
 , every duty, both before marriage and after it." 
 
 " I believe I am as capable of a strong 
 attachment as my sister is," said Mary ; " but 
 r could not love a man without first esteeming 
 him, and I could not esteem the man, who, 
 in pursuance of his own selfish purposes, led 
 me into the giiilt of ingratitude, falsehood, 
 and dissimulation." 
 
 *' But you know, my dear, that, in every 
 clandestine correspondence, art and dissimu- 
 lation are absolutely indispensible," said Mrs 
 Mason. 
 
 " And therefore," cried Mary, " I abhor 
 every thing clandestine. But perhaps I think 
 K 3.
 
 226 
 
 worse of Mr Mollins than he deserves. You 
 shall read my sister's letters, and judge for 
 yourself." 
 
 " I shall read them afterwards," said Mrs 
 Mason ; " but wish you in the mean time to 
 give me some account of what has happened, 
 that I may be prepared to speak upon it with 
 your father. Where did your sister meet 
 with Captain Mollins ? Who is he ? What do 
 you know of his character, or what did she 
 know of it ? It is of those particulars that I 
 long to be informed." 
 
 " It is," replied Mary, " in her intimacy 
 with Mrs Flinders, that all our vexations have 
 originated. Yet Mrs Flinders meant no harm 
 to Bell, but the contrary. She is a vain 
 :>howy woman, and liked to have a young- 
 person of Bell's a2:)pearance in her train ; for 
 you know that my sister has naturally a gen- 
 teel air, and such a taste in dress as sets it off 
 to the best advantage. She was much ad- 
 i^iired by all the gentlemen who visited at 
 Mount Flinders ; but, though taken notice of 
 when there by many of the first people in the 
 country, I know not how it was, but no one 
 endeavoured to keep up tlie acquaintance, ex- 
 cept officers, and students from Edinburgh, 
 and such sort of people, who were in the 
 country only by cliance. Still every one spoke
 
 227 
 
 of the great advantage and happiness of her 
 being honoured with the friendship of so fine 
 a lady as Mrs Flinders ; for, excepting my 
 father, I do not know a person in the country, 
 that makes such a distinction between being 
 genteel and being rcspccluHe^ as would lead 
 them to decline for their children an introduc- 
 tion to whatever was beyond their station. I 
 confess, I thought my father's objections the 
 effects of prejudice ; and entertained a hope, 
 that Bell would make a conquest of some man 
 of fortune. With this view, I rejoiced in 
 the prospect of her being seen to such advan- 
 tage at the races. I did not know that Captain 
 Mollins was to be of the party ; for, though 
 he was much at Mount Flinders, his acquain- 
 tance with the family was so merely accidental, 
 that it did not v/arrant his being treated as an 
 intimate. 
 
 " You will iind by my sister's letters, how 
 much she was intoxicated by the gay and 
 brilliant scene to which she was introduced at 
 Edinburgh. The attention she met with was 
 indeed sufficient to turn a %viser head ; for she 
 danced at the balls with lords and baronets, 
 and was constantly in the parties of a fine 
 lady, a Mrs Spurton, whose equipage was de- 
 scribed in the newspapers, as the finest that 
 had ever appeared.
 
 «2<2S 
 
 " As my sister had no one but me, to whom 
 she could communicate the overflowings of her 
 heart, she gave me a full description of the 
 events of each successive day ; and from the 
 delight with which she- dwelt on the compli- 
 ments paid to her beauty by men of superior 
 rank, I had no suspicion of Mollins being all 
 the time a favoured lover. Nor do I believe 
 he would have proved so at the last, had any 
 of the lords she danced with stepped forward 
 as declared admirers. But, alas ! they one 
 by one took leave ; and, in ten days after the 
 last of the races, their own party was the only 
 one that remained in Edinburgh. It was then 
 that Bell, for the first time, communicated to 
 me an account of the embarrassment in which 
 she had involved herself, by contracting debts 
 for artiples of dress, which, she said, it tvas 
 absolutely impossible to do without; and which, 
 by Mrs Flinders's advice, she had taken from 
 the most fashionable milliner and mantua- 
 maker in town. Mrs Flinders, indeed, told 
 her, that genteel people never paid in ready 
 money, and that many young ladies never 
 paid their bills at all, or entertained ai^thought 
 of paying them, till they were married ; but 
 Bell's early prejudices upon this subject had 
 been so strongly impressed, that she could not 
 easily reconcile herself to this new doctrine.
 
 229 
 
 Her pride was mortified at being obliged to 
 implore the forbearance of tradespeople,' at 
 whose expence her vanity had been fed ; but 
 the dread of exposing to her father the ex- 
 tent of her extravagance, compelled her to 
 submit to the mortification. Her gay friend 
 laughed at her scruples ; and reminding her 
 of the independent fortune of which she was 
 to come into possession at her marriage, ad- 
 vised her by all means to hasten the period of 
 her emancipation- The independent fortune 
 to which Mrs Flinders alluded, and which, in 
 the zeal of her friendship, she always repre- 
 sented as very considerable, is in fact no more 
 than fifteen hundred pounds. I always consi- 
 dered the exaggerated reports which Mrs Flin- 
 ders spread of it, as ill-judged kindness ; but 
 my sister viewed it in a different light, and 
 was evidently pleased with the fiction, from 
 which she derived a momentary addition to 
 her consequence. How far Mr Mollins was 
 deceived by these representations I know not ; 
 but his attentions, which seemed during the 
 race-week to have been rather slackened, be- 
 came now more assiduous than ever. This 
 you will perceive, from the hints incidentally 
 scattered through these letters ; but nothing 
 they contain would lead one to suspect, that 
 they had then formed any serious engagement.
 
 230 
 
 I was the less suspicious of this, because I was 
 persuaded that Bell would be too proud of 
 having made a conquest of a man of rank and 
 fortune to conceal a circumstance so flattering. 
 At length, in a few hasty lines, written to in- 
 form me, that she was next day to set off on 
 a jaunt to the Highlands with the Spurtons, 
 Flinders's, and Mr Mollins, she so far let me into 
 the secret, as to say, that " she approached 
 the crisis of her fate, and that she would soon 
 be either the most miserable, or the happiest 
 of human beings." 
 
 " I could not conceal this circumstance from 
 my father, who was far from partaking of the 
 sanguine hopes I entertained of the result. 
 He did not doubt »that Mollins was a man of 
 fortune ; but he thought the match unsuit- 
 able, and declared, that, in his experience, he- 
 had never seen any unions so productive of 
 happiness, as those that were cemented by a 
 correspondence in circumstances and views,. 
 not only between the parties themselves, but 
 extended to their friends and connections. 
 While we were still debating this point, as 
 we sat at breakfast the following rxiorning,. 
 my father received a letter, wliich he read 
 with such marks of agitation and dismay, as 
 quite appalled me. He threw it to me when 
 he had finished, and hiding his face with both
 
 231 
 
 his hands, burst into tears. I eagerly looked 
 at the signature, but the name was unknown 
 to me. The contents briefly stated — that 
 respect for iny father's character induced the 
 writer to inform him, that his daughter was 
 on the brink of ruin ; that, by the vain and 
 foolish pair, under whose protection he had 
 unfortunately placed her, she had been intro- 
 duced to society the most contemptible,. — a 
 gambler of the name of Spurton, and his wife, 
 the kept-mistress of a man of qu^ity ; and 
 that these worthless people had betrayed her 
 to a needy adventurer, to whom - even her 
 small fortune was a consideration sufficient to 
 tempt him to the darkest deed of villany, that 
 of sacrificing a young woman's happiness, and 
 a worthy father's peace. 
 
 " On reading this letter," continued Mary, 
 *■'• I boldly pronoiinced it the work of an in- 
 cendiary, and entreated my father to be com- 
 forted, as I could prove it be, at least, partly 
 false. That the Spurtons are persons of irre- 
 proachable character, I can have no doubt, 
 said I. How else could they get into the 
 society of people of rank and fortune ? Were 
 he a gambler, and she a woman of doubtful 
 reputation, do you think that ladies and gen- 
 tlemen of undoubted character would have 
 gone to their balls, or been partakers of their
 
 splendid festivals ? Yet that they did so I cai\ 
 prove ; for at one of those balls Mr Spurton 
 introduced a lord to my sister, and called him 
 his particular friend ! This of itself is con- 
 clusive testimony in their favour. I then 
 endeavoured to persuade him, that all the in- 
 formation given concerning Mr Mollins was 
 equally false and malicious ; and that, though 
 he might be vain and extravagant, and have a 
 thousand faults, he was doubtless a man of 
 fortune, and well received by the v/orld." 
 
 " But may he not be the villain to seduce 
 my daughter's affections, and bring her to 
 ruin and disgrace?" said my father. 
 
 *' Of that, I replied, I had no apprehen- 
 sions ; I too well knew my sister, to fear that 
 her aflections would ever be seduced by love. 
 On the contrary, I was convinced that the 
 man who could most certainly gratify her 
 ambition, would still have in her heart the 
 decided preference. 
 
 *' By these arguments, I in some degree 
 tranquillized my father's mind ; but his anxiety 
 to pi'event my sister from taking any irre- 
 trievable step, induced him to set off for Edin- 
 burgh without delay. Learning, on his ar- 
 rival there, that the Flinders's had set out 
 with the intention of going by Perth to Blair 
 in Athole, he took the same route. At every
 
 233 
 
 inn on the road, he, in answer to his inquiries, 
 received such intelligence as left no room to 
 doubt that he should speedily overtake them ; 
 hut by the time he reached Perth, he was too 
 much fatigued to pursue the journey on horse- 
 back. He therefore was obliged to order a 
 chaise ; and as soon as it could be got ready, 
 proceeded by Dunkeld to Blair, and from 
 Blair onward all the way to Inverness. There, 
 at the door of the head inn, he saw the three 
 carriages, whose route he had so diligently 
 traced ; but what was his disappointment on 
 finding that they were filled with strangers ! 
 
 *' The strangers were not destitute of hu- 
 manity ; and perceiving how deeply he was 
 chagrined, endeavoured to soothe and tranquil- 
 lize his spirits. In this they were kinder than 
 his own child, whom, soon after he entered 
 Perth, on his return, he saw talking from the 
 window of the inn, to a gentleman who stood 
 in the street below. As the chaise drew up, 
 she caught the glance of her father's eye, and 
 retreated, uttering a screaming exclamation : 
 Mollins, to whom she had been talking, run- 
 ning at the same time into the house. You 
 may imagine how my father was agitated. 
 He involuntarily pursued his way up stairs to 
 the robm where Bell was. As he entfered, 
 she threw herself into a chair by the window.
 
 234 
 
 and either fainted, or pretended to faint. *' In 
 the name of goodness, what is the meaning of 
 all this ?" said my father, addressing himself 
 -to Mrs Flinders, who was holding her smelling- 
 bottle to my sister, who was supported by 
 Captain Mollins. 
 
 " Why, Miss Stewart," cried Mrs Flinders, 
 '' what can be the matter with you ? It is 
 only your father ! Bless me, poor dear, what 
 weak nerves you have ! Pray, sir, speak to 
 her, tell her you are not angry. Indeed, Miss, 
 your papa is not displeased with you. Your 
 papa is " — 
 
 *' She best knows whether I have cause to 
 be displeased with her," said my father, 
 gravely. My sister, opening her eyes, looked 
 expressively at Mollins, who seemed in great 
 confusion, and as if undetermined what to do. 
 At length, holding up Bell's hand, which was 
 folded in his, and turning towards my father, 
 he stammered out, " You see, sir, you per- 
 ceive, sir, this lady, sir, this lady is my 
 wife." 
 
 "And who are you, sir ?" cried my father, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " I, I, I, sir, am a gentleman," returned 
 Mollins. " O yes, sir," cried Mrs Flinders, 
 " we all know that Captain Mollins is.-iquite 
 a gentleman ; a man of fortune too. Miss
 
 ^.<?.=> 
 
 Stewart has had great luck, I assure you 5 but 
 it was very sly of her to get married without 
 telling me." 
 
 " My father, without taking any notice 
 of Mrs FUnders, advanced towards Bell, and 
 taking her hand in a solemn manner — *' Isa- 
 bel]," said he, *' infatuated girl that you are, 
 listen to me, I conjure you. By the laws of 
 this country, you have it now in your power, 
 by acknowledging a marriage with this man, 
 to fix yourself upon him as his wife. But 
 think, I beseech you, before you ratify the 
 sentence of your own misery. For what but 
 misery can be the consequence of a union, 
 which substitutes a falsehood for the marriage 
 vow; and which, by the manner of it, pro-, 
 claims to the world, that the woman had 
 ceased to respect herself !" 
 
 " Mollins here began to bluster ; but my 
 father silenced him, and proceeded, while Bell 
 wept and sobbed aloud. '* My Isabell, my 
 dear child, have I then been so unkind a 
 father, that you should thus break from my 
 arms, to rush into the arms of — you know 
 not whom ? But I mean not to upbraid you. 
 I only mean to tell you, that however faulty, 
 nay, however guilty, you may have been, 
 your father's arms are still open to receive
 
 , 236 
 
 you, and that peace still waits you in your 
 father's house." 
 
 " Pray, Sir," cried Mrs Flinders, interrupt- 
 ing him, " pray think of your daughter's cha- 
 racter ; after Mollins's declaration, it would 
 be ruined, absolutely ruined." 
 
 " And will such a marriage as this wipe 
 out the stain ?" returned my father. *' Is it 
 not saying to the world, that after having sa- 
 crificed delicacy and modesty at the shrine of 
 folly, she stooped to solder her reputation by 
 a falsehood ? No, no. If she is thus sunk, 
 thus degraded, let her, by humility and peni- 
 tence, purify her own heart, and mine shall 
 be open to receive her. Come, my child, my 
 Isabell ; come to that home where no up- 
 braidings " — 
 
 " Sir," interrupted Mollins, to whom Mr 
 Flinders had been all this time making signals 
 to speak, " Sir, I claim this lady as my wife. 
 Heaven and earth shall not separate us ; for 
 am I not her husband ? Say, my love, my 
 dearest, fairest creature, are you not mine in 
 the eye of heaven ?" 
 
 " Speak at once," cried my father, " are 
 you that man's wife ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Bell, in a voice scarcely 
 audible, and giving her hand to Mollins as 
 she spoke.
 
 237 
 
 *' Poor misguided child !" said my father, 
 '* may you never have cause to repent of the 
 rash act, though it sends a knell to your 
 father's heart !" 
 
 " He then turned to go, but was surrounded 
 ' by the Flinders's, and the other people, all 
 calling out, that he must not leave them in ill 
 will, but stay and be reconciled, and dine with 
 them comfortably. Mrs Flinders was flip- 
 pantly urgent, saying, that she was sure it 
 would be very hard if he bore any resentment 
 against her, for that she had treated his 
 daughter like a sister. 
 
 " I can have no resentment," he returned, 
 *' against any of this party ; for I never feel 
 resentment, where I have not previously felt 
 respect." So saying, he quitted them, and 
 went to another room. 
 
 " In the evening he received a note from 
 my sister, entreating to be admitted. I shall 
 at some other time give you a particular ac- 
 counfbf all that passed ; it is enough at pre- 
 sent to say, that they consented to remain 
 with him at Perth until they CQjald be regu- 
 larly married, which they were on the follow- 
 ing Monday ; after which they came all toge- 
 ther to Edinburgh, whei-e my father had 
 scarcely arrived before he was seized with a 
 return of what we here call a rose fever ; a
 
 138 
 
 disorder to which he has been often subject. 
 I set off for Edinburgh immediately on hear- 
 ing of his illness, and found him much dis- 
 tressed in spirits, but not, the physician assured 
 me, in any danger. My father told me, that 
 Mr Mollins had been very attentive to him ; " 
 and that, from all he had seen, he thought 
 him a good-natured, vain, silly fellow. I was 
 glad to find him thus far reconciled, and said 
 all in my power to persuade him, that all 
 might yet turn out better than he expected. 
 He assured me, that he was as willing to hope 
 as I was, but that he could as yet find nothing 
 to rest his hopes upon. *' As yet," said he, 
 " I neither know what, nor who, he is : but 
 as he never, upon any occasion, gives a direct 
 and explicit answer to any question, I am at 
 a loss to determine, whether the ambiguity of 
 his expressions arises from a confused intel- 
 lect, or from a desire of concealment. The 
 behaviour of your sister, too, gives me great 
 uneasiness. She keeps aloof from me, as if 
 I were her enemy. Alas ! how little have I 
 deserved this of her !" 
 
 '* The first time I was alone witli my 
 sister," continued Mary, " I endeavoured to 
 expostulate with her, on the impropriety of 
 keeping at such a distance from her father, 
 and treating him with such reserve. But
 
 C39 
 
 she immediately flew into a passion, and 
 said, that her father had used both her and 
 Mr Mollins extremely ill ; and that if Mr 
 MoUins had taken her advice, he would never 
 have spoken to him again, after the vile as- 
 persions he had thrown upon his character, 
 by seeming to doubt whether he was a gen- 
 tleman. Mr Mollins, she said, despised such 
 base insinuations ; and, as his friend Lord 
 Dashmore justly observed, he knew too much 
 of the world to be surprised at the mean and 
 vulgar notions of those who knew nothing of 
 life or manners. For her share, she expected to 
 meet with a great deal of envy and ill nature, 
 and she saw she should not be disappointed. 
 
 ** My dear sister ! how thoughtlessly you 
 speak I" returned I. " Were you married to 
 the greatest lord in Christendom, I should not 
 envy your good luck. But is it not natural, 
 that your father should wish to know the real 
 circumstances and situation of your husband ; 
 and does it not seem strange, that either of 
 you should wish to conceal them from him ?" , 
 
 " Mr Mollins has a right to act just as he 
 pleases," cried my sister. *' I hope no one 
 will dispute that ! but I can tell you, he has 
 not so little spirit, as to submit to be ques- 
 tioned. He despises such meanness. No
 
 240 
 
 wonder, living, as he has done all his life, in 
 the first of company." 
 
 " A great deal more passed, to as little pur- 
 pose, my sister getting more and more angry 
 as she spoke. We were interrupted by Mr 
 MoUins, who entered, holding two open letters 
 in his hand, which he presented to my si-ster 
 with a careless air, though vexation was visi- 
 bly painted on his countenance. 
 
 *' You must give them to your father, my 
 love!" said he, forcing a smile, "for you 
 know these are his business, not mine." 
 
 " Ah dear Mollins !" cried Bell, looking at 
 the contents of the letters, *' you know not 
 how you would oblige me, by settling these 
 trifles. I will rather want the diamond ear- 
 rings, indeed I will. I will rather do any 
 thing than speak to my father now, he is so 
 peevish, and so cross." 
 
 " But I tell you, I can't ; upon my faith, 
 my love, I can't," returned Mollins ; " my 
 steward has run off, and I know not when I 
 may get a remittance. I would not tell you 
 before for vexing you, though it is of very 
 little consequence ; for I shall not lose more 
 than a few hundreds by the rascal. But it 
 puts me to present inconvenience. Pray ask 
 the old gentleman for a hundred pounds at
 
 'Ml 
 
 once. It will oblige me. Pray do, and these 
 bills shall be paid directly." 
 
 " A hundred pounds !" cried Bell ; " why, 
 my dear Mollins, I imagine you believe my 
 father thinks as little of a hundred pounds as 
 you do." 
 
 " O the old curmudgeon !" cried Mollins; 
 *' I forgot what a close hunks he is ; but your 
 sister here will coax him into it ; I know he 
 can refuse her nothing." 
 
 ♦' It were in vain to attempt describing to 
 you what I suffered, when, worn out by their 
 teazing and urgent importunity, I at length" 
 was prevailed on to speak to my father on the 
 subject of my sister's unpaid bills. I antici- 
 pated all that he would feel upon the occa- 
 sion ; for though I well knew, that no one 
 regards money less for its own sake than he 
 does, I likewise knew, that few consider ex- 
 travagance in a light so serious as that in 
 which he views it. He considers it as the 
 parent of every vice, and the grave of every 
 virtue ; and has therefore laboured to impress 
 a just abhorrence of it upon our minds. You 
 may then imagine what an eifect the know- 
 ledge of my sister's extravagance produced 
 upon him. It instantly impressed him with 
 an idea of her levity, and want of principle, 
 L
 
 whicli it is impossible to eradicate, and from 
 which he forbodes the most shocking conse- 
 quences. Had she deigned to make proper 
 concessions, she might perhaps have lessened 
 the impression j but she affects to ascribe all 
 he says to the meanest motives, and in return 
 for all his tender anxiety for her honour and 
 happiness, speaks to him with the haughty air 
 of a person wlio has been deeply injured. In 
 short, though my fatherpaid all the expences 
 of their living with him in Edinburgh, and 
 all the debts my sister had contracted, he got 
 MO tfhanks ; but, on the contrary, seemed ra- 
 ther to have given offence, than to have con- 
 ferred obligation. I believe I have mentioned, 
 that, by the terms of my grand-father's will, 
 the sum of fifteen hundred pounds was to be 
 paid to her on the day of her marriage. Mr 
 Mollins seems to despise this paltry fortune, 
 as scarcely worth his acceptance. Yet, would 
 you believe it, he, on my father's speaking to 
 him on the subject, the day after we returned 
 home, absolutely refused to permit two-thirds 
 of this to remain in trustees' hands, for the 
 benefit of my sister, and insists on having the 
 whole paid down to him, on the terms of the 
 will ! This circumstance — but here comes 
 my father, who will tell you all about it him- 
 self."
 
 ^4. J 
 
 *• Well, Mrs Mason, Marj has by this tia\L 
 given you a full account of our vexation," 
 said Mr Stewart. " It may be explained in 
 a few words. My daughter will be one of 
 the many victims to the epidehiical frenzy, 
 which has of late spread through our country, 
 the desire of shining in a sphere above our 
 own. People who labour under this disease, 
 mistake show for splendour, and splendour for 
 happiness ; and, v»'hil« their pulses throb with 
 the fever of vanity, think no sacrifice too great 
 for procuring a momentary gratification to its 
 insatiable thirst. From the palace to the cx)t- 
 tage, the fever rages with equal force, sweep- 
 ing before it every worthy feeling, and every 
 solid virtue. O my friend I could we but 
 look into the interior of all the families in 
 the kingdom, what scenes of domestic misery 
 would present themselves to our view, all 
 originating in this accursed passion for gen- 
 tility !» 
 
 " I believe, indeed," said Mrs Mason, 
 " that, with regard to my own sex at least, 
 the love of dress, and desire of admiration, 
 have ruined hundreds, for one that has been 
 brought to misery through the strength of 
 other passions." * 
 
 " True," replied Mr Stewart ; " but it is 
 not to that silly vanity alone that I allude ; it
 
 244 
 
 is to that still sillier ambition of figuring in a 
 higher station, which destroys all notions of 
 right and wrong, rendering vice and folly, if 
 gilded by fashion, the objects of preference, 
 nay, of high and first regard. What could 
 my daughter Bell have thought of such a silly 
 fellow as Mollins, if he had been the son of a 
 neighbouring farmer ?" 
 
 " Indeed, my good sir," returned Mrs 
 Mason, " there is no accounting for the fan- 
 cies of young people — o»» sees such mar- 
 riages. So — " 
 
 " Believe me,'* interrupted Mr Stewart, 
 " such matches may always be accounted for. 
 No unsuitable or incongruous marriage ever 
 yet took place, but where there was some 
 wrong bias in the mind, some disease lurking 
 in the imagination, which inflamed the vanity 
 in that very way which the marriage promised 
 to gratify. Had Bell's passion for wealth 
 been born of avarice, she would have despised 
 this Mollins ; but a man who lived among 
 lords and ladles, was in her eyes irresistible. 
 It is this propensity that will be her ruin. 
 Yes, my good friend, I see it plainly. Their 
 vanity is greater than their fortune can sup- 
 port. Mollins acknowledges that he is already 
 embarrassed. He will soon be more so : they 
 will live beyond their income, in order to
 
 Cio 
 
 keep up with the gay and giddy fools, whose 
 steps they follow. Bell's beauty, her levity, 
 her want of fixed and solid principle ; — O, Mrs 
 Mason, what a shocking view does it present ! 
 I see her ruin before me. Night and day it 
 haunts my imagination. A foreboding voice 
 incessantly whispers, that if she ever returns 
 to her father's house, she will return dis- 
 honoured and disgraced. O may I ere then 
 be laid beside her angel mother in the silent 
 grave i" 
 
 After a considerable pause, Mrs Mason ad- 
 dressed herself to the afflicted father. She 
 could not in conscience say, that his fears 
 w^ere groundless ; but she endeavoured tc 
 chequer them with hope, assuring him, that 
 the time would come when his daughter would 
 learr to prize the blessings of domestic happi- 
 ness, and that the good principles she had im- 
 bibed in youth, would, in the xneau time, 
 prevent her from straying far from the path 
 of duty. At Mr Stewart's request, she pro- 
 mised to remain at Gowan-brae, until Mr and 
 Mrs Mollins returned from Mount Flinders, 
 and then to take an opportunity of speaking 
 to Mrs Mollins on the subject of her future 
 plans.
 
 246 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 ^4n unexpected Meeting between old Acquain- 
 tances. . . 
 
 Mrs Mason had spent a full week at 
 Gowan-brae, before the quiet of the well- 
 ordered family was interrupted by the return 
 of the new-married pair. They at length 
 came, accompanied by Mr Flinders, who, with 
 Mr Mollins, went immediately into Mr Stew- 
 art's business room, Bell meantime going into 
 the parlour. On seeing Mrs Mason, she drew 
 herself up haughtily, with a look expressive 
 of surprise 5 and, in return to her salutation, 
 dropped a very distant curtsey. The good 
 woman perfectly understood the meaning of 
 her behaviour ; but, not at all discomposed by 
 it, placidly resumed her work. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " I suppose your time 
 has been pleasantly- spent at Mount flinders, 
 as you have staid so much longer than you 
 ill tended ?"
 
 . '247 
 
 " One's time is always spent pleasantly 
 there," returned Bell. " How can it be other- 
 wise with people who always keep company 
 with people of fashion like themselves ? It is 
 some advantage, indeed,/to have such neigh- 
 bours ! so gay, and so agreeable ! and we 
 have been so happy ! do you know we never 
 sat down to dinner till six o'clock, nor have 
 gone to bed till past three in the morning ?" 
 
 " Then," said Mary, smiling, ** yovi dined 
 at the same hour that our ploughmen diac all 
 the winter ; and as to going to bed at three in 
 the morning, the shepherd has kept still gen- 
 teeler hours than you, for I believe, that dur- 
 ing the last week he has never gone to bed till 
 day-break." 
 
 ** I wonder how you can talk of such vulgar 
 wretches," returned Mrs Mollins. " If you 
 would but do yourself justice, you might soon 
 rise out of the low sphere in which you have 
 been buried. You ought now to aspire to 
 something superior. I am sure I shall always 
 be happy to assist you ; and, with Mr Mol- 
 lins's connections, you may get into the gen- 
 teelest society when you please. Do you 
 know that Lord Dashmore has been two days 
 at Mount Flinders, and paid Mr Mollins and 
 me such attention I He has invited us to spend 
 our Christmas at Dashmore Lodge. Wont it
 
 248 
 
 be charming ! But his Lordship has quite a 
 friendship for Mr Mollins. They played to- 
 gether at billiards all the morning ^ and Mr 
 Harry Spend assured me, that Mr Mollins 
 was by far the most graceful player of the 
 two : but every one observes what a fine figure 
 Mv Mollins has." 
 
 " Lut, my dear Bell, did not Mr Mollins 
 tell my father, that business called him im- 
 mediately to England ? how is it then that he 
 contrives to spend his Christmas at Dashmore 
 Lodge ?" 
 
 " How little you know of genteel life !" 
 cried Mrs Mollins. " Do you think that 
 men of fashion tie themselves down to rules of 
 going here or there to a day, as my father 
 does ? Mr Mollins ought, to be sure, to visit 
 his estate in Dorsetshire this winter, but a 
 few weeks delay can be of no consequence. 
 And, besides, were he to go there at Christmas 
 time, he must entertain all his neighbours, 
 which, he says, would be a great bore ; so he 
 thinks it better to put it off till they have gone 
 up to Parliament, and then he will leave me 
 at Bath, and take a dash down by himself. 
 But I hear the gentlemen coming in ; pray 
 don't say that I mentioned" — 
 
 At that moment, the door opened ; and Mr 
 Stewart entered, saying, with a disiurbed air.
 
 24y 
 
 that his daughter's presence was necessaiy ^ 
 and that he wished Mrs Mason and Mary to 
 accompany her to his writing chamber. While 
 he spoke, Mr Flinders softly came up, and 
 laying his hand upon his shoulder, '* I wish, 
 Mr Stewart," said he, " I really wish I could 
 persuade you to consent with cheerfulness. 
 You cannot fail to offend Mr Mollins, by be-, 
 traying such a want of confidence in his ho- 
 nour. Has he not promised, on the word of 
 a gentleman, to make a settlement on Mrs 
 Mollins suitable to his fortune?" 
 
 " Where is his fortune?" cried Mr Stew- 
 art, peevishly ; *' he may carry it all on his 
 back, for aught I know to the contrary." 
 
 " I do assure you, you wrong my friend 
 Mollins greatly," replied Mr Flinders ; *' Mr 
 Spurton told :ne, he had hunted over his estate 
 in Dorsetshire many times, and that his father 
 kept the' best pack of hounds in the country. 
 Do you think, my dear sir, that if I had not. 
 known him to be a man of fortune " — 
 
 *' Pho !" said Mr Stewart, ** if he is a man 
 of fortune, why should he scruple to secure 
 to my daughter this small sum ?" 
 
 *' Because you see, my dear sir, that to 
 settle formally such a trifling matter, would 
 be, in his opinion, a sort of disgrace j and be- 
 sides, I dare say, he wants the money." 
 L 3
 
 250 
 
 .*' I dare say lie does," said Mr Stewart, 
 drily, " and he must Ijave it too. But I shall 
 take all here witness to my intentions." Mr 
 Stewart then advanced to Mrs Mason to give 
 her his arm, while Mr Flinders, Mrs MoUins, 
 and Mary, stepped before them into the other 
 room. 
 
 Mollins, who, as they entered, was sitting 
 at the table, leaning his head upon his hand, 
 apparently buried in thought, roused himself 
 on seeing them, and was about to speak with 
 his usual flippancy, when, perceiving Mrs 
 Mason, he started, and momentarily changed 
 colour, his complexion quickly varying from 
 the pale hue of ashes to the deepest crimson. 
 
 Mrs Mollins, observing her husband's con- 
 fusion, went up, and whispered to him, *' I 
 don't wonder at your being surprised, my 
 dear, to find such people here ; but don't ap- 
 pear to mind it ; my father has such odd no- 
 tions !" 
 
 *' Does she know me?" cried Mollins, ea- 
 gerly ; " has she told you that she knows 
 me?" 
 
 " No," said Mrs Mason, who overheard 
 the question ; *' Mrs Mollins does not know 
 that I have ever had the honour of seeing 
 you ; perhaps if she had — But you and I shall 
 t'alk of that another time, Mr Mollins. Wc
 
 251 
 
 are here, I understand, just now upon busi- 
 ness. I hope I may tell Mr Stewart, that you 
 are willing to settle his daughter's fortune in 
 any way he pleases." 
 
 " You are very good, Mrs Mason," cried 
 Mollins, in great confusion ; " you were al- 
 ways good. I — I shall be guided by you en- 
 tirely — only — only promise — you know what 
 I mean — you " — 
 
 *' I do know what you mean," said Mrs 
 Mason, " and I shall promise to be your 
 friend, if I find that you deserve it." Then, 
 without taking any notice of the exclamations 
 of surprise and astonishment that were burst- 
 ing from every tongue, she invited Mr Mollins 
 to a private conference in the adjoining room. 
 In about half an hour, they returned ; and Mr 
 "Mollins, addressing himself to Mr Stewai't, 
 said, that as Mrs Mason had convinced him 
 of the propriety of signing the papers he had 
 shewed him, he was now willing to do it 
 immediately. The papers were signed, and 
 witnessed in solemn silence, Mr Flinders biting 
 his lip all the while, not knowing what to 
 make of the sadden turn which the appear- 
 ance of Mrs Mason had given to the business. 
 He began to entertain some unfavourable sus- 
 picions with regard to Mollins ; but recollect- 
 ing the obligations he had been under to him
 
 G52 
 
 for introducing him to two lords, and a sport- 
 ing baronet at the cockpit, gratitude sealed his 
 lips, and he took leave, without any apparent 
 diminution of regard. 
 
 " I am glad that he is gone," cried Mary ; 
 '' we may now speak freely, and I am sure 
 we all long to know how you and Mr Mollins 
 come to be so well acquainted. My sister 
 wont say so, but I see she is dying to hear." 
 
 " I want to hear nothing about it," cried 
 Mjrs Mollins ; *' but I know you always take 
 a pleasure in mortifying me ; I know you 
 do." 
 
 " Bell," said Mr Stewart, " if Mr Mollins 
 has no acquaintances of whom he need be 
 more ashamed, I congratulate you. I rejoice 
 at least that I shall now have an opportunity 
 of knowing who and what your husband is ; 
 for I confess that" — 
 
 ** And what should you know of any one 
 at Gowan-brae?" cried Mrs Mellins. " I am 
 :ure if it was not for seeing the Court Calen- 
 dar at Mount Flinders, I should not have 
 known the names of above twenty people in 
 my life. But you have such a hatred to 
 strangers, and such a prejudice against any 
 one that is in the least genteel, that I believe 
 you would rather have seen me married to a 
 shoemaker than to a gentleman."
 
 253 
 
 *' You had better not speak against shoe- 
 makers, my dear," said Mrs Mason, " as you 
 happen to be nearly connected with several of 
 them. I have on my feet, at the present mo- 
 ment, a pair of shoes made by your father-in- 
 law, and I never wore better in my life ; and 
 though I believe he never was out of his na- 
 tive village, he is a very honest man." 
 
 *' Mr Mollins's father a shoemaker !" cried 
 Bell ; '* I wonder what you will say next. I 
 declare I am quite diverted." She then burst 
 into an hysterical laugh, which ended in a pas- 
 sionate flood of tears. Poor Mary, who was 
 really sorry for her sister, endeavoured to 
 sooth the raging storm, but was repelled with 
 indignation ; and Mrs Mason, who better 
 knew how to treat such cases, begged her to 
 desist vmtil the tempest had spent itself. She 
 then drew near, and in a gentle voice said, 
 " Believe me, 1 should hate myself, Mrs Mol- 
 lins, if I could take pleasure in distressing 
 you ; but I have thought it better that you 
 should know the truth, than expose you- self 
 to ridicule, by speaking of your husband's 
 family, or of his circumstances, or situation, 
 in such a tone as that you lately assumed." 
 
 Mrs Mollins, who was now quite exnausted, 
 uttered a deep groan. Then, after a few heavy 
 sobs, cried, ** If I have been deceived, I shall
 
 254 
 
 never see him again. No, I shall ijever live 
 with him. I shall die sooner — Oh!" — then 
 covering her face with her hands, she again 
 Tvept bitterly. 
 
 " My dear Bell," said Mr Stewart, taking 
 her hand affectionately, '' you are still my 
 child. Your father's house will be ever open 
 to you. But rem.ember the vows that are 
 upon you. You have bound yourself by ties, 
 that are indissoluble as they are sacred, and 
 though your husband were the lowest, nay 
 even the worst of mankind, your fate is bound 
 in his." 
 
 *' But her husband is neither the one nor 
 the other," said Mrs Mason. " He is, as I 
 have told you, the son of an honest tradesman, 
 who lives in a small village in Yorkshire, 
 and "— 
 
 " And — and — tfie — the estate in Dorset- 
 shire, how did he come by it?" sobbed Mrs 
 Mollins. 
 
 " He came by it," said Mrs Mason, "as 
 people who forsake the direct path of truth 
 come by all they boast of, , telling one false- 
 hood to support another ; a species of 'lying, 
 which, as it goes under the appellation of 
 quizzing, or humming,, is often mistaken for 
 wit." ^
 
 255 
 
 *' Scoundrel! villain!" cried Mr Stewart 
 vehemently. 
 
 *' Nay, my good sir, be not so violent," 
 ;said Mrs Mason.' " He has been wrong, but 
 he h^s been led step by step into error, and 
 I really hope his heart is not corrupted. I 
 think it is a proof of it, that he has permitted 
 me to tell all I know concerning him without 
 disguise." 
 
 Mr Stewart beckoning to her to proceed, 
 she thus continued. 
 
 ** When I first saw him, he was about ten 
 or twelve years old, and had obtained great 
 praise for managing the horse he rode at our 
 village races. I did not see the race, but I 
 saw the little fellow when he came to my lady 
 for his reward. She liked his appearance, 
 and engaged him for a page ; for she had al- 
 ways two that attended in the drawing-room, 
 dressed in coats covered with lace. Jack was 
 a great favourite with all the house. He was 
 indeed a very good-natured boy, but was 
 spoiled among tne servants ; and as he grew 
 too tall for a page, my lady, when he was 
 about sixteen, got him into one of the offices 
 about court as an under clerk. His salary 
 was very small, but as he had a great ambi- 
 tion to be a gentleman, he was highly delight- 
 ed with the promotion ; and might have gone
 
 ^5d 
 
 on very well, had he not been led to gambling 
 in the lottery. He had at one time, as we 
 were told, pawned all his clothes, and was on 
 the very brink of desperation, when fortune 
 turned, and he got a prize of about 1500 
 pounds. The sum appeared to him immense : 
 he gave up his employment, and purchasing a 
 commission in a newly raised regiment, com- 
 menced his career as a gentleman, and man of 
 fashion. One good trait still remained j he 
 did not forget his friends in this change of cir- 
 cumstances, but sent fifty pounds to his old 
 father, and presents to his mother and sisters, 
 who still speak of him as the best hearted 
 creature in the world." 
 
 '* Then there is some good in him !" cried 
 Mr Stewart. " O yes, there must be some 
 good in him. Come, he is not so bad as I 
 thought, after all." 
 
 " Indeed, there is good in him," said Mrs 
 Mason. " He has only been led astray by 
 vanity, and the foolish wish of being thought 
 a great man. Had he been contented to rest 
 upon his character for respectability, he would 
 never have been otherwise than respectable ; 
 but his ambition to be genteel led him int6 
 the society ol the showy and the dissipated, 
 among whom he soon spent ali his money j 
 and when his regiment was disbanded, he
 
 2o7 
 
 found himself so much in debt, that he was 
 obliged to leave England, and having met with 
 the Flinders' at Bath, came down to this coun- 
 try, where he hoped to retrieve his fortune by 
 a lucky marriage. In order to support the 
 appearance of a gentleman, he borrowed mo- 
 ney on his half-pay ; and having once been 
 asked, whether he belonged to the MoUins's of 
 Mollins Hall, in Dorsetshire ? he resolved to 
 acknowledge the relationship, and accordingly 
 gave himself out for the head of the family. 
 You now know as much as I do, excepting 
 with respect to a snare into which he was led 
 by a gambler of the name of Spurton, whom 
 he met at Edinburgh, and vi^hich might have 
 led to fatal consequences. But from these he 
 is now happily rescued. I must, however, 
 in justice to poor Jack, say a few words more. 
 He sincerely loves your daughter : and as he 
 was in quest of a fortune far greater than hers, 
 he would never have married her, but from 
 motives of aifection. He at first indeed was 
 made to believe, that she was a great heiress; 
 for so Mrs Flinders gave out ; and before he 
 was imdeceived, his affections were engaged to 
 her ; so that they are, in this respect, exactly 
 upon a footing." 
 
 " They are, in every respect, upon a foot- 
 ing," cried Mr Stewart. " If his father is an
 
 258 
 
 honest tradesman, what is her father but an 
 honest farmer ? Believe me, I am quite re- 
 lieved. You have taken a weight off my 
 heart, Mrs Mason, by your account. If he 
 has sense to apply to business, I shall put him 
 in the way of doing it, and all may yet be 
 well. Go, Mary, and bring him to us. I 
 believe the poor fellow is ashamed to shew his 
 face." 
 
 Mary went out, and soon returned, leading 
 in her brother-in-law, who wore indeed a very 
 humbled and rnortified aspect ; and though 
 much cheered by the reception given him by 
 Mr Stewart, he seemed evidently afraid to ap- 
 proach his wife, who, with averted face, sat 
 sad and dejected, twisting the string of her 
 apron in the corner. Some days elapsed be- 
 fore she could be brought into spirits ; but the 
 absolute annihilation of all her vain hopes and 
 aspiring views, had already produced a salu- 
 tary effect upon her temper. 
 
 Of all the plans of life that were suggested 
 to Mollins, that which seemed most agreeable 
 to his wishes, was an employment in the West 
 Indies, which he knew it was at present in the 
 power of Mr Flinders to procure for him. But 
 an application to Mr Flinders would necessari- 
 ly be productive of explanations so mortifying, 
 thatit was vehemently opposed by Mrs Mollins,
 
 259 
 
 I who said she would rather starve than be so 
 looked down on by Mrs Flinders, who now. 
 respected her, because she thought she was 
 married to a man of fortune. 
 
 ** And if Mrs Flinders respects her friends 
 only on account of their fortunes, I would not 
 give that pinch of snuff for her respect," cried 
 Mr Stewart. 
 
 " O it is not fortune that Mrs Flinders 
 minds," said Mrs Mollins ; " it is only being 
 genteel and stylish — and — and all that." 
 
 " And what right has Mrs Flinders to be 
 genteel, and stylish, and all that, except from 
 fortune ?" returned Mr Stewart. " Who 
 are those Flinders' ? are they not the grand- 
 children of old Winkie Flinders, that kept the 
 little public house at the end of the green 
 loan ? and was not the father of this Flinders 
 transported for hen-stealing ? and did he not 
 marry a planter's widow, and defraud her chil- 
 dren, who, for aught I know, are now begging 
 their bread, while this Flinders, and his cousin, 
 who was a broken milliner, are revelling in 
 the fortune that should by right have been 
 theirs !" 
 
 *' O dear sir, you have such a memory for 
 these things. But you know that nobody 
 minds them but yourself; and that all the
 
 260 
 
 great people court Mr and Mrs Flinders, both 
 in town and country." 
 
 *' Yes, yes," said Mr Stewart, " the vul- 
 gar of all ranks are mean and selfish. But 
 don't mistake me, Bell ; I do not despise the 
 Flinders' on account of their want of birth, but 
 on account of their paltry attempts at conceal- 
 ing the meanness of their origin by parade and 
 ostentation. It is they, and such as they, 
 who, by giving a false bent to ambition, have 
 undermined our national virtues, and destroy- 
 ed our national character j and they have done 
 this, by leading such as you to connect all no- 
 tions of happiness with the gratification of va- 
 nity, and to undervalue the respect that attends 
 on integrity and wisdom." 
 
 After some further discussion, the applica- 
 tion to Mr Flinders was agreed on ; but it fail- 
 ed of the expected success ; so that poor Mol- 
 lins would still have remained unprovided for, 
 had it not been for the friendship of his wife's 
 cousin, the honest manufacturer, whose atten- 
 tions she had treated with such contempt. 
 By the interest of this worthy man, an em- 
 ployment under Government was obtained for 
 Mollins, on condition that he and his wife 
 should live in retirement, far from those temp- 
 tations to extravagance, which experience had 
 proved they were so little able to resist.
 
 •6 1 
 
 CHAP. XV 11. 
 
 Receipt for making a thorovgh Servant, 
 Thoughts on Methodism. 
 
 Mrs Mason, having with difficulty at 
 length prevailed on Mr Stewart to consent to 
 her departure, and having heard from the 
 Morrisons, that every thing was ready for her 
 reception, took the opportunity of the first 
 fine day to set out on her return to Glenbur- 
 nie. 
 
 It was hard frost. But though the air in 
 the shade was keen and piercing, its keenness 
 was unfelt when in the kindly rays of the soul- 
 enlivening sun. Mrs Mason, though she had 
 not the eye of a painter, or connoisseur, en- 
 joyed in perfection the pleasures of taste. In 
 as far as they arise from feeling and observa- 
 tion i and as she considered all the beauties of 
 nature as proofs of the divine beneficence, the 
 contemplation of them always served to in*
 
 263 
 
 crease her confidence in the protection of the 
 Almighty, of whose immediate presence they 
 were to her a sacred pledge. To a person 
 thus disposed, every change of season has some 
 peculiar charm, and every object appears pla- 
 ced in a point of view, in which all that is 
 lovely is seen to most advantage. She had no 
 doubt that the air of cheerfulness, which the 
 bright sky diffused over the face of nature, 
 imparted a sensible delight to all the animal 
 creation ; and saw with pleasure, as she pass- 
 ed through the farm of Gowan-brae, the out- 
 lying cattle roused from their cold beds, and 
 dressing their shaggy sides, by rubbing them 
 against the silver stems of the weeping birch, 
 whose pendant branches shivered over the frozen 
 stream. The little birds, who, during the late 
 storms, seemed to have been annihilated, were 
 nov^ heard chirruping in every sheltered nook, 
 or seen in flocks lightly flitting from field to 
 field. As the day advanced, the plants on the 
 sunny side of the road, glittering with dew- 
 drops, exhibited a fine contrast to the part that 
 was still in shade, whete every bushy brier 
 and scrambling bramble were clothed in fea- 
 thery frost-work. 
 
 *' Yes," slid Mrs Mason, as she cast her 
 eyes over the dazzling prospect, *' yes, all the 
 works of God are good and beautiful ; all the
 
 t63 
 
 designs of Providence must terminate in pro- 
 ducing 'happiness and joy. The piercing cold 
 of winter prepares the earth for the production 
 of its summer fruits ; and when the sorrows 
 of life pierce the heart, is it not for the same 
 benevolent purpose ? When they are never 
 felt, how many are the noxious weeds that 
 over-run the soil ! Let me then be thankful 
 for the wholesome correctives that have been 
 sent in mercy. Neither winter nor poverty 
 are without their days of sunshine, their mo- 
 ments of enjoyment. See that group of chil- 
 dren upon the ice ! Heaven bless the merry 
 elves ! how joyously they laugh, and sport, 
 and scamper, little caring how keen ihh cold 
 wind may blow, so that it brings them the 
 pleasure of a slide." Mrs Mason pursued the 
 train of her reflections, till she arrived at Mor- 
 rison's cottage ; where she was received with 
 a cordial welcome, to the comforts of *' a bla- 
 zing ingle and a clean hearth-stane." On ex- 
 amining her own apartment, she was delight- 
 ed to find, that every thing was arranged to 
 her wish, and far beyond her expectations ; nor 
 could she persuade herself, that her room had 
 not undergone some very material and expen- 
 sive alteration. This striking improvement 
 was, however, merely the result of a little la- 
 bour and attention ; but so great was the ef.
 
 264 
 
 feet thus produced, that though the farnituie 
 was not nearly so costly as the furniture of 
 her room at Mrs M'Clarty's, it appeared in 
 all respects superior. 
 
 Mrs Morrison was highly gratified by the 
 approbation bestowed upon her labours ; and, 
 pointing to her two little girls, told Mrs Ma- 
 son how much they had done to forward the 
 work, and that they were proud to find her 
 pleased with it. Mrs Mason thanked them, 
 and presented each with a ribbon as an en- 
 couragement for good behaviour, assuring 
 them, at the same time, that they would 
 through life find happiness the reward of use- 
 fulness. *' Alas," said Mrs Morrison, *' they 
 must be obliged to work ; poor things, they 
 have nothing else to depend on !" 
 
 *' And on what can they depend so well as 
 on their own exertions?" replied Mrs Mason; 
 ** let them learn to excel in what they do, and 
 look to the blessing of God upon their la- 
 bours, and they may then pity the idle and 
 the useless." 
 
 *' If you could but get my poor gudeman 
 to think in that way," said Peggy, *' your 
 coming to us would indeed be a blessing to 
 our family." 
 
 " Fear not," said Mrs Mason ; " as his 
 health amends, his spirits will return, and in 
 I
 
 G03 
 
 the good providence of God, he will find some 
 useful opening for his industry. Who ever saw 
 the righteous man forsaken, or the righteous 
 man's children either, so long as they walked 
 in their father's steps ? But now I must give 
 some directions to my two little handmaids, 
 whose attendance I shall take week about. I 
 see they are willing, and they will soon be able 
 to do all that I require." 
 
 " I'll answer for their being willing," cried 
 their mother, looking fondly at the girls ; 
 *' but ye winna tak it ill, if they shouldna just 
 fa' at ance into your ways." 
 
 " If they are willing," said Mrs Mason, 
 *' they will soon learn to do every thing in the 
 best way possible. All I want of them is to 
 save themselves trouble, by getting into the 
 habit of minding what they have to do. Any 
 one, who is willing, may soon become a useful 
 servant^ by attending to three simple rules." — 
 '* To three rules !" cried Peggy, interrupting 
 her ; " that's odd indeed. But my gudeman 
 maun hear this. Come, William, and hear 
 Mrs Mason tell our lassies a' the duties of a 
 servant." 
 
 *' I fear the kail will be cauld before she 
 gets through them a'," said William, smiling j 
 " but I am ready to listen to her, though it 
 should." 
 
 M
 
 260 
 
 ■*' Your patience wont be long tried," said 
 Mrs Mason ; *' for I have already told your 
 girls, that, in order to make good servants, 
 they have only to attend to three simple 
 rules." — " Well, what are they ?" said the 
 husband and wife, speaking both at once. 
 
 '* They are," returned Mrs Mason, '* To do 
 every thing in its jrroper time ; to keep every 
 thing to itfi proper use ; and to put every thing 
 in its proper place.^* 
 
 "Well said !" cried William; *' and as I 
 live, these same rules would mak a weel or- 
 dered house ! my lassies shall get them by 
 heart, and repeat them ilka morning after they 
 say their prayers." 
 
 • William kept his word ; and Mrs Mason, 
 finding that she would be supported by the 
 parents, did not despair of being truly useful 
 to the children, by conveying to them the 
 fruits of her experience. Mrs Morrison was 
 a neat orderly person, and liked to see her 
 house and children what she called zceel ledd 
 up : But her notions of what was necessary to 
 comfort, fell far short of Mrs Mason's ; nei- 
 ther had she been accustomed to that thorough- 
 going cleanliness, which is rather the fruit of 
 habitual attention, than of periodical labour ; 
 and which, like the pure religion, that permits 
 not the accumulation of unrepented sius upon
 
 '207 
 
 the eonscience, makes holiday of every day ia 
 the week. Mrs Morrison was a stranger to 
 the pride which scorns instruction. She did 
 not refuse to adopt methods that were better 
 than her own, merely because they were new ; 
 nor, though she loved her children as fondly 
 and as dearly as any mother in the world, did 
 she ever defend their faults. But as her 
 children were early inspired with a desire to 
 please, they did not often stand in need of cor- 
 rection ; and stood more in awe of their fa- 
 ther's frown, than those who have been nur- 
 tured in self-will, stand in awe of a severe 
 beating. 
 
 Mrs Mason had not been many weeks a 
 resident in the family, till the peculiar neat- 
 ness of William's cottage attracted the notice 
 of the neighbours. The proud sneered, at 
 what they called the pride of the broken mer- 
 chant ; the idle wondered how folk could find 
 time for sic useless wark ; and the lazy, while 
 they acknowledged that they would like to 
 live in the same comfort, drew in their chairs 
 to the fire, and said, ^/let/ cou/dna be I'dshcd. 
 
 The air of cheerfulness which was diffused 
 around him, had a happy effect upon William's 
 spirits, btit the severity of the winter was ad- 
 verse to the recovery of his health. The 
 rheumatism, which had settled in his left arm,
 
 had now rendered it entirely useless, and thus 
 defeated all his schemes of getting into em- 
 ployment. The last sale of his effects had 
 been so productive, that his creditors were 
 paid 17s. in the pound; but the remainder of 
 what was due to them lay heavy on his heart ; 
 and, notwithstanding his efforts at resignation, 
 the thoughts of what his wife and children 
 must suffer from the pressure of poverty, drew 
 from his bosom many a deep-drawn sigh. 
 
 The more Mrs Mason saw of William, the 
 mere deepl)'- did she become interested in his 
 situation ; and as no scheme occurred to her 
 that was likely to improve it, she resolved to 
 consult her good friend the minister, whose 
 mind she knew to be no less active than bene- 
 volent. An invitation to dine at the manse 
 was therefore gladly accepted of; and scarcely 
 had she taken her seat, until the subject was 
 introduced, and William's affairs became the 
 topic of conversation. Miss Gourlay expressed 
 great concern ; but recollecting that she had 
 forgot to give directions for making sauce for 
 the pudding, left the room in the middle of 
 Mrs Mason's speech. Her uncle, though he 
 listened with great attention, made no other 
 reply, than by saying, that he should be better 
 able to speak upon the subject after dinner ;
 
 2G9 
 
 adding, with a smile, that " he never talked 
 well with a hungry stomacli."' 
 
 The nice roast fowl and boiled beef and 
 greens being at that moment placed upon the 
 table, prevented all reply ; but when the cloth 
 was removed, and grace said, and the glasses 
 filled, Mr Gourlay, looking significantly after 
 the sturdy lass who had attended, said, " Well, 
 Madam, now the hurly-burly's done, we may, 
 without fear of interruption, enter on the busi- 
 ness of poor Morrison, whom I from my 
 heart wish to serve. I have thought of a plan 
 for him, which, if he has no objections to it, 
 will keep him above want. What would you 
 think of his becoming school-master ?" — " I 
 should think well of it," replied Mrs Mason, 
 *' if nothing more were to be required of hira 
 than teaching writing, arithmetic, and reading 
 English." 
 
 " Nothing more shall be required of him," 
 replied Mr Gourlay ; " we have suffered 
 enough from the pedantry of a blockhead, 
 who piqued himself upon hie, hcoc, hoc, and 
 who, though he has no more pretensions to 
 being a scholar than my horse, is as proud as 
 he is stupid. Until he came into the office, 
 the school of Glenburnie had always main- 
 tained a respectable character ; and the in- 
 struction which our vouth received at it was,
 
 270 
 
 so far as it went, solid and useful. But in 
 the twelve years that it has been kept by 
 Brown, it has, I verily believe, done more 
 harm than good. It could not, indeed, be 
 otherwise ; for it was an everlasting scene of 
 riot and confusion." 
 
 " I should have thought, sir, that your au- 
 thority would have been sufficient to introduce 
 better regulations. Is not the parish school in 
 some measure imder your control ?" 
 
 " No," replied Mr Gourlay, *' controul is 
 in this country out of the question ; nor do I 
 believe that, if it v.'ere permitted, it would 
 answer any good purpose j for who would 
 embroil themselves, by opposing the pride 
 and perverseness of an obstinate blockhead, 
 unless when zeal was whetted by personal 
 animosity ? and under such malign influence, 
 controul would soon be converted into an en- 
 gine of oppression." 
 
 " But might not your advice, sir," — 
 
 " Advice I Surely, my good Madam, you 
 must know too much of the world to imagine, 
 that a self-sufficient pedant will ever be ad- 
 vised. No Pope of Rome, in the days of 
 papal power, was ever more jealous of his 
 title to infallibility, than the school-master of 
 Glenburnie. I once, and only once, endea- 
 voured to persuade him how much he would
 
 «71 
 
 abridge his own labour, and facilitate the im- 
 provement of his scholars, by adopting a regu- 
 lar method of teaching, and introducing certain 
 rules into his school. But if I had attempted 
 to take from him his bread, he could not have 
 been more indignant, nor considered hiinself 
 as more deeply injured. He never forgave 
 me ; and I really believe, that the grudge he 
 entertained against me, was the primary mo- 
 tive of his leaving the kirk, and running after 
 these enthusiasts, among whom he has now 
 commenced preacher." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it whatever," returned 
 Mrs Mason ; *' for, as far as my knowledge 
 extends, I have observed pride to be the ruling 
 •principle with all those pretenders to extraor- 
 dinary sanctity." 
 
 " Ah, Madam," said Mr Gburlay, " pride 
 is a powerful adversary ! Its dominion is not 
 confined to sect or party; for, alas ! those who 
 attack, and those who defend particular ^^nts 
 of doctrine, are alike exposed to its influ- 
 ence." 
 
 *' But is it not proper to expose the errors 
 into which these visionaries betray weak 
 minds ?" returned Mrs Mason. 
 
 " Very proper," said Mr Gourlay, " so that 
 it be done in the spirit of charity. Calmly 
 and wisely to point out the source of bigotry
 
 and enthusiasm, were an employment worthy 
 of superior talents ; but men of superior ta- 
 lents feel too much contempt for weakness 
 to undertake the task, or at least to execute it 
 in such a manner as to answer any good pur- 
 pose. Men of talents pour upon these enthu- 
 siasts the shafts of ridicule, and attack their 
 doctrines with all the severity of censure ; but 
 they forget that all enthusiasts glory in perse- 
 cution. It is in the storm that men most 
 firmly grasp the, cloak that wraps them, what- 
 ever be its shape. Would we induce them to 
 let go their hold, we must take other methods; 
 we must shew them we can approve as well 
 Hs censure ; and that it is not because we envy 
 the eclat of their superior zeal, or are jealous 
 of their success in making converts, but be- 
 cause we honestly think they have taken an 
 erroneoils view of the subjects in question, 
 that we venture to oppose them. Difficult, I 
 confabs, it is to gain access to minds that are 
 embued with a high opinion of their own su- 
 perior sanctity, and wrapped in the panoply 
 of self-conceit ; but I am convinced, that much 
 might have been done to stop the progress of 
 methodism, by setting forth, in strong and 
 lively terms, the sin and danger of exalting 
 any one point of the Christian doctrine, so as 
 to make it pre-eminent, to the disparagement
 
 273 
 
 of the other Gospel truths, and to the exclu- 
 sion of the Gospel virtues. We are too rash 
 in accusing such persons of hypocrisy. Hy- 
 pocrites may in all sects find shelter ; but I 
 believe in my conscience, that few, if any, of 
 their founders, or most zealous friends, have 
 been actuated by any other principle than 
 honest, though misguided zeal ; — a zeal, the 
 natural effect of having fixed the attention ex- 
 clusively on one point, until its importance is 
 exaggerated beyond all bounds- We know, 
 that whatever occupies the imagination will 
 inflame it ; but so wisely has the divine Giver 
 of light and life adapted the light of revela- 
 tion to our present condition, that against 
 this weakness of our nature an ample pro- 
 vision is made, in the equal importance given 
 to all the various truths revealed as objects of 
 faith, and by accepting, as the only test of 
 our sincerity, such a degree of moral purity as 
 it requires our utmost vigilance to preserve. 
 But this bears hard on liuman pride, and 
 human pride is fruitful in resources. By 
 picking out particular passages, and giving to 
 them such explanation as may afford a basis 
 for peculiar tenets, pride is gratified ; and 
 when it can thus form a party, and obtain dis- 
 tinction, the gratification is complete. Whe- 
 M 3
 
 274 
 
 ther in religion or in politics, all the indivi- 
 duals who compose a party become, in their 
 o^vn minds, identified with the party they 
 have espoused. Pride, in this way, operates 
 without alarming the conscience ; hence the 
 zeal of methodists in making converts. Nor, 
 when we preach against them in the same 
 spirit, are we one whit better than they. It 
 is not for the safety of our church establish- 
 ments, nor for their honour, that we ought to 
 sound the alarm, but for the integrity of the 
 whole Gospel truths, which are torn and dis- 
 figured by being partially set forth, to the 
 great danger of weak minds, the subversion 
 of sound faith, and the detriment of pure 
 morality." 
 
 . The conversation was here interrupted by 
 the entrance of one of Mr Gourlay's parishi- 
 oners ; a circumstance which affords a favour- 
 able opportunity of concluding the present 
 Chapter.
 
 •37^ 
 
 CHAP. XVIIl. 
 
 Hints concerning the Duties of a Sc/iool- 
 masier, 
 
 Thf. day after her visit to the minister, 
 Mrs Mason took the first opportunity of speak- 
 ing to Morrison of the scheme which had been 
 suffSfested. The colour which shot across his 
 pallid cheek, and the animation which lighted 
 up his languid eye, as he in mute attention 
 listened to the proposal, showed how deeply 
 it interested him. His joy was, however, 
 dashed by diffidence. He had not been trained 
 to the business of teaching, and feared that it 
 required abilities superior to his. While he 
 expressed his thanks, and intimated his ap- 
 prehensions, with a simplicity and candour 
 peculiar to his character, his wife, who sym- 
 pathised more deeply in his gratitude than in 
 his fears, exhorted Mrs Mason never to mind 
 what her gudeman said of himself; for that 
 it was just his way, always to thiEk lowlier
 
 'i7o 
 
 of himself than he need do. " I am sure,'-* 
 continued she, " that not a lord in a' the 
 land writes a more beautiful hand ; and as for 
 reading, he may compare wi' the minister 
 himsel' ! the kittlest word canna stop him." 
 Observing Mrs Mason smile, she paused, and 
 then good-humouredly added, *' I canna ex- 
 pect every ane to think as highly of my gude- 
 man as I do ; but I am sure I may safely say, 
 that baith for learning and worth, he's equal 
 to a higher post than schoolmaster o' Glen- 
 burnie." ** You are perfectly right," cried 
 Mr Gourlay, who had entered unobserved by 
 any one ; " and I believe we are all of the 
 same opinion with regard to your husband's 
 merit. Nay, you need not blush at having 
 praised him, unless indeed you are ashamed 
 at being so unfashionable a wife." 
 
 " O sir," returned Peggy, blushing yet 
 more deeply, *' we have nothing to do with 
 fashion ; but I hope we shall be grateful to 
 God and our friends for all their kindness, 
 and that you will prevail on William not to 
 put from him such an advantage as this blessed 
 offer." 
 
 William, fearing that Mr Gourlay would 
 misinterpret the reluctance hinted at, eagerly 
 declared how joyfully he should accept the 
 employment^' did be consider himself fully
 
 277 
 
 qualified for discharging its duties ; but tnat 
 his want of experience in the art of teaching, 
 destroyed his confidence, and rendered him 
 hopeless of success. 
 
 " And it is upon that very circumstance 
 that my hopes of your success are founded," 
 replied Mr Gourlay. '' You are not, I ima- 
 gine, too proud to be advised ?" — *' No, in- 
 deed, sir, I am not," cried William. "Then, 
 as you are not wedded to any particular me- 
 thod, you will honestly inquire, and candidly 
 follow, what appears to be the best ; nor ob- 
 stinately refuse to adopt improvements that 
 have been suggested by others, when their 
 utility has been placed beyond a doubt. I do 
 not say that you are at present qualified ; I 
 only say, that by candid inquiry, and vigilant 
 attention, you will soon become qualified for 
 the discharge of an office, the duties of which 
 are, in my opinion, seldom understood. A 
 country schoolmaster, who ponsiders himself 
 hired to give lessons in certain branches of 
 learning, and when he has given these, thinks 
 he has done his duty, knows not what his 
 duty is." 
 
 ** And what, sir, if I may take the liberty 
 of asking, what, in your opinion, is the nature 
 and extent of the duties incumbent on the
 
 278' 
 
 Schoolmaster who would conscientiously dis- 
 charge his trust ?" 
 
 " As a preliminary to the answer of your 
 question," replied the pastor, " let me ask. 
 you what is the end you aim at, in sending 
 your children to school ?" 
 
 *' I send them," returned William, " in 
 order that they may learn to read and write, 
 and cast accounts ; all of which they might, 
 to be sure, have learned from me at home, 
 but not so well, because I could not have 
 given them their lessons so regularly." 
 
 " That is one reason, to be sure," said Mr 
 Gourlay, " and a good one ; but why do you 
 wish them to be instructed in the branches 
 you have mentioned ?" 
 
 " I wish them to learn to read," returned 
 "William, " that their minds may be enlarged 
 by knowledge, and that they may be able to 
 study the word of God ; and I have them 
 taught to write and cast accounts, that they 
 may have it in their power to carry on busi- 
 ness, if it should be their lot to engage in 
 any." 
 
 " That is to say," replied Mr Gourlay, 
 " that you are anxious to give your children 
 such instruction as may enable them faith- 
 fully to discharge their religious and social 
 duties. Your object is laudable ; but it is not
 
 27^ 
 
 merely by teaching them to read and write 
 that it is to be accomplished. If their minds 
 ^re not in some degree opened, they will ne- 
 ver use the means thus put into their hands-; 
 and if their hearts are not in some degree cul- 
 tivated, the means of knowledge will lead them 
 rather to evil than to good. Even as to the 
 art of reading, the acquirement of it will be 
 useless, if the teacher has confined his instruc- 
 tions to the mere sounds of words, especially 
 where these sounds are very different from 
 those which we are accustomed to use in con- 
 versing with each other." 
 
 " I confess, sir," said William, " I never 
 could find out the reason, why all the children 
 at our schools are taught to roar, and sing out 
 what they read, in such an unnatural tone ; 
 but as the custom is so universal, I thought 
 there surely must be some use in it ; and, in- 
 deed, I know many people, who think it would 
 not be decent, nor proper, to read the Bible 
 without something of the same tone." 
 
 '* Nothing can be more absurd than such a 
 notion," returned Mr Gourlay ; " for if we 
 sincerely respect the word of God, we ought 
 to do all in our power to render it intelligible 
 to ourselves and others. How else can we 
 expect to profit by the instruction it conveys ? 
 The mere sound, without the sense, will d»
 
 280 
 
 us no more good than a tune on the bagpipe. 
 Yet, if we are once taught at school to con- 
 nect notions ef piety with certain discordant 
 accents, it is ten to one if we ever get so far 
 quit of the impression, as to pay attention to 
 the religious truths that are delivered with a- 
 natural and proper accent ; while the greatest 
 nonsense and absurdity, if conveyed to our ears 
 in a solemn drawl, will pass for superior sanc- 
 tity. It thus becomes easy for fools aild hy- 
 pocrites to^mpose on the credulity of the mul- 
 titude." 
 
 " But, sir," said Mrs Mason, "' it is not by 
 fools and hypocrites alone that these false tones 
 are made the vehicles of instruction. Of all 
 the excellent sermons given us by the gentle- 
 men who assisted at your preachings, how few 
 were delivered with such propriety, as to do 
 full justice to the sentiments they conveyed I" 
 
 " I cannot deny the truth of your observa- 
 tions," returned Mr Gourlay. " It is to be 
 regretted, that those who have early engaged 
 in the study of the learned languages, seldom 
 consider the art of reading English an object 
 worthy their attention. They therefore are 
 at little pains to correct the bad method so 
 generally acquired at country schools. With 
 regard to our peasantry, the effects of that bad 
 Daethod are still more unfortunate : it frc-.
 
 ^81 
 
 quenllj renders their boasted advantages of 
 education useless. This would not be the 
 case, did the schoolmaster consider it his duty 
 to teach his pupils to read with understand- 
 ing, and carefully to observe whether they 
 know the meaning and import of the words 
 they utter. This they never can do, if they 
 are not taught to read distinctly, and as nearly 
 as possible in the tone of conversation. Nor 
 is this all : in order to reap instruction from 
 what they read, their minds must be in a state/- 
 to receive it. Were this attended to by the 
 parents at home, the schoolmaster would have 
 an easy task ; but instead of bestowing this 
 necessary preparation, there seems to be, from 
 the palace to the cottage, a combination among 
 parents of all descriptions, to nurture in the 
 minds of infants all those passions which rea- 
 son and religion must be applied to subdue. 
 
 " The schoolmaster who lends his endea- 
 vours to remedy this evil, renders a more im- 
 portant service to the community, than is in 
 the power of any other public functionary. 
 It should therefore be his first object, to train 
 his pupils to habits of order and subordina- 
 tion, not by means of terror, but by a firmness 
 which is not incompatible with kindness aiid 
 afiection."
 
 '* But how," said Morrison, " without pu- 
 nishment, can order and subordination be en- 
 forced ? and will not punishment beget terror, 
 and terror beget aversion ? I should think 
 that a; severe school nnaster never could be be- 
 loved, and T fear a lenient one would never be 
 obeyed. This is my great difficulty." 
 
 " Did you ever know of a child complain 
 of being punished, when sensible that the pu- 
 nishment was just ?" replied Mr Gourlay. 
 " No ; there is a sense-of justice implanted in 
 the human mind, which shews itself even in 
 the first dawn of reason, and would always 
 operate, were it not stifled by the injudicious 
 management of parents, who do not punish ac- 
 cording to justice, but according to caprice. 
 Of this, the schoolmaster who follows a well- 
 digested plau, will never be guilty. He will 
 be careful to avoid another common error of 
 parents, who often, by oversight, lead their 
 children to incur the penalty, and then enforce 
 it, when in reality it is they, and not the chil- 
 dren, who ought to pay the forfeit. I should 
 pronounce the same sentence on the master, 
 who punished a boy at school for playing, or 
 making noise, if it appeared that he had pro- 
 vided him with no better employment. This 
 is the great fault in all our country schools. 
 The children spend three-fourths of their time
 
 !2S5 
 
 in dovvnrigbt idleness, and when fatigued with 
 the listlessness of inaction, have no other re- 
 source, but in making noise, or doing mis- 
 chief." 
 
 " But surely, sir," said William, " the mas- 
 ter cannot hear them all say their lessons at 
 once ?" 
 
 " True," replied Mr Gourlay ; " but while 
 he hears one, mav not the others be at work 
 the while ? T will shew you a book written 
 by one Mr David Manson, a schoolmaster in 
 the north of Ireland, which contains an account 
 of what he calls his play school ; the regula- 
 tions of which art: so excellent, that every 
 scholar must have been made insensibly to 
 teach himself, while he all the time consider- 
 ed himself as assisting the master in teaching 
 others. All were thus at the same time ac- 
 tively engaged ; but so regulated, as to pro- 
 duce not the least confusion or disturbance." * 
 
 * At the period Mr Gourlay delivered this ha- 
 rangue, the Improvements made by Mr Joseph Lan- 
 caster, in the method of instrucLion, were unknown. 
 Had Mr Lancaster's book then been published, it 
 would doubtless have been referred to, as contain- 
 ing the best digested plan that the Ingenuity of 
 man has hitherto been able to invent, for facilitat- 
 ing and perfecting the work of instruction. The 
 author is far from intending to detract from the
 
 284 
 
 Mr Morrison expressed great satisfaction, 
 in having such assistance offered him, with re- 
 gard to the method of teaching ; and begged 
 Mr Gourlay still farther to oblige him, by 
 giving his opinion on the moral instruction 
 which it was the duty of a schoolmaster to 
 convey. 
 
 In reply to this, Mr Gourlay observed, that 
 the school, in which the greatest number of 
 moral habits were acquired, would certainly 
 be the best school of moral instruction — 
 •' Every person capable of reflection attaches 
 
 praise so justly due to Mr Lancaster, by observing 
 how far he had, in some of his most important im- 
 provements, been anticipated by the schoolmaster 
 of Belfast. David Manson's extraordinary talents 
 were exerted in too limited a sphere to attract at- 
 tention. He consequently escaped the attacks of 
 bigotry and envy j but the obscurity which ensured 
 peace, prevented his plans from obtaining the no- 
 tice to which they were entitled j nor did their ac- 
 knowledged success obtain for him any higher chaj* 
 racter, than that of an amiable visionary, who, in 
 toys given to his scholars, foolishly squandered the 
 profits of his profession. A small volume, contain- 
 ing an account of the school, rules of English 
 grammar, and a spelling dictionary, is, as far as the 
 writer of this knows, the only memorial left of a 
 man, whose unwearied and disinterested zeal in the 
 cause of education, would, in other circumstances, 
 have raised him to distinction.
 
 085 
 
 great Importance to what we call good prin- 
 ciples," continued the worthy pastor ; *' now 
 what are good principles, but certain truths 
 brought habitually to recollection, as rules 
 of conscience, ahd guides of conduct ? Our 
 knowledge of all the truths of revelation, 
 can be of no further use to,us than as they are 
 thus, by being habitually referred to, wrought 
 into the frame of our mind, till they become 
 principles of action and motives of conduct. 
 By a mere repetition of the words, in which 
 these truths are conveyed, this will never be 
 ciFected. The teacher, therefore, who wishes 
 that his instructions may have the force of 
 principles, must endeavour to bring the truths 
 he inculcates into such constant notice, that 
 they may become habitual motives to the will. 
 In a school where there is no order, no sub- 
 ordination, a boy may read lessons of obe- 
 dience, and self-government, day after day, 
 without having any impression made upon his 
 mind. Has he learned to steal and to tell 
 lies, occasional punishment will not be suffi- 
 cient to enforce the principles of truth and ho- 
 nesty. In order to convert sincerity and in- 
 tegrity into abiding habits of the mind, the 
 love of these virtues must be strengthened by 
 a conviction of the estimation in which they 
 are held by God and man. Falsehood and
 
 dishonesty must be rendered objects of abhor- 
 rence ; and this they will soon become, if con- 
 stantly and regularly attended by shame and 
 disgrace. This comes to be the more incum- 
 bent on the schoolmaster, because (I am sorry 
 to say it) lying is too generally considered by 
 the poor as a very slight oftence, or rather in- 
 deed as an excuseable artifice, often necessary, 
 sometimes even laudable. It is truly shock- 
 ing to find the prevalence of this vice, in a 
 country that boasts of the degree of instruc- 
 tion given to the poor. But where shall we 
 find the tradesman on whose word one can 
 depend with confidence ? Is it among the en- 
 thusiasts, who pretend to the greatest portion 
 of religious zeal? No : Go to the next town, 
 and bespeak a pair of shoes of one of these 
 saints ; will he not solemnly promise, that 
 they shall be made by a certain day, while he, 
 in his conscience, knows they will not then 
 have had a single stitch put into them ? So 
 it is with tradesmen in every branch of busi- 
 ness. And has this want of probity no effect 
 upon the moral character ? Is it consistent 
 with the belief of our being accountable to the 
 God of truth ? And were the doctrine of our 
 being thus accountable, wrought into our 
 minds as an abiding principle, would it be 
 possible that it should have no greater effect
 
 2§7 
 
 upon our actions ? Remember that, in being 
 called to the office of instruction, you are 
 bound to do all that is in your power to lead 
 the little children unto Him who declared, 
 that for this end he came into the world, to 
 bear wifneas to the truth. With this impres- 
 sion constantly upon your mind, you need be 
 under no apprehensions concsrning the success 
 that will attend your labours." 
 
 Morrison warmly expressed the gratitude 
 he truly felt for the instructions of his good 
 pastor ; and declared himself convinced, by his 
 arguments, of the nature and extent of the du- 
 ties he had to perform ; but added, that so 
 far from being deterred, he was more inclined 
 than ever to undertake the task, provided Mrs 
 Mason would become his coadjutor in the in- 
 struction of the girls, for which she should 
 have half the salary of the school. To this 
 proposal Mrs Mason cheerfully agreed ; and, 
 as the heritors had, with one consent, deter- 
 mined to leave the choice of a schoolmaster 
 to the minister, Morrison soon received a re- 
 gular appointment to the office ; orders being 
 at the same time issued to prepare the school- 
 house, and the premises attached, for the re- 
 ception of his family. a; 
 
 While the repairs were under consiideratlon, 
 Mrs Mason received a visit from Mr Stewart,
 
 288 
 
 who gladdened her heart, by a letter which 
 had been directed to his care. At the first 
 glance, she saw that it had come from Italy, 
 and that the cover had been directed by Lady 
 Harriet Bandon. The tears of joy, which 
 burst from her eyes, prevented her for some 
 moments from proceeding to read the contents. 
 They were such as increased her ernotion of 
 gratitude and tenderness. She clasped her 
 hands, and, looking up to heaven, blessed the 
 God of mercies, for having preserved the fa- 
 mily to whom she was devoted in attachment, 
 and for having bestowed on them such hearts 
 as would render them blessings to the world. 
 She then shewed Mr Stewart the letter, which 
 contained the most cordial assurances of the 
 never-ceasing regard and affection of her be- 
 loved pupils, and a short account of their tour; 
 with special injunctions to send them, in re- 
 turn, a particular account of her health, and 
 of all that had happened to her since they 
 parted. A postscript was added by Mr Meri- 
 ton, requesting, that she would lay out the re- 
 mittance he inclosed, of twenty pounds, in do- 
 ing all the good that such a trifle could effect. 
 By thus putting it in her power to gratify her 
 benevolence, the writer well knew he was af- 
 fording the most delicate proof of his regard. 
 As such Mrs Mason received it ; but she now 
 1
 
 289 
 
 ibund that Mr Stewart was commlisioned to 
 make the comfort of her situation a first object 
 of attention. Her annuity was to be increased, 
 if necessary, to even double the sum at first 
 promised her-, but she declined accepting any 
 more than was sufficient for the purchase of 
 some additional articles of furniture, for the 
 habitation to which she was soon to remove. 
 
 The house allotted to the village-teacher 
 was large, but so ill planned, as to be incom- 
 modious and uncomfortable. The alterations 
 suggested by Mrs Mason removed these ob- 
 jections, and were favourable to her plans of 
 order and cleanliness. A useless appendage, 
 which projected by the back-door entrance, 
 and which had hitherto been the receptacle of 
 dirt and rubbish, was converted into a nice 
 scullery, where the washing of clothes or dishes 
 was carried on, so that the kitchen was kept 
 always neat and clean. The two little girls 
 had now acquired such a taste for neatness, 
 and such habits of activity, that they not only 
 took unwearied pains to make every thing ap- 
 pear to the best advantage in the kitchen and 
 parlour, which were often liable to be seen by 
 strangers, but were so orderly and regular in 
 their exertions, that, from the garrets doAvu-
 
 29© 
 
 vvards, not a pile of dust found a resting-place, 
 where it might remain unmolested. 
 
 Those who had known the house in its for- 
 mer condition, were amazed at the transforma- 
 tion, and could scarcely believe . that such a 
 change could be effected without the help of 
 enchantment. Nor was it to the inside of the 
 house that the transformation was confined ; 
 without doors, it was perhaps still more re- 
 markable. The school-house being set back 
 from the street, left an area of the width of ten 
 or twelve yards in front of the house ; and on 
 this convenient spot the former incumbent had 
 erected a pig-sty, and piled up a nasty dung- 
 hill. Every shower of rain washed part of the 
 contents into the unpaved foot-path, through 
 which the children paddled ancle-deep in mud 
 up to the school-room door. But they were 
 used to it, and no one in the village had ever 
 objected to the inconvenience. 
 
 Morrison, having removed the incumbrances, 
 sowed the area with grass-seeds, and round it 
 made a border to be filled with flowers and 
 shrubs. It was then railed in, leaving a road 
 up to the school, and an entrance, by a neat 
 wicker-gate, to the front door of the dwelling- 
 house. Planting, watering, and rearing the 
 shrubs and flowers, which ornamented the 
 borders of the grass-plot, became the favourite
 
 amusement of the elder school-boys ; and, 
 being the reward of good behaviour, was con- 
 sidered as a mark of favour which all were 
 ambitious to obtain. The school-room had 
 been left in a ruinous condition. The tables 
 and benches broken or disfigured : the plaster 
 in some places peeled off the walls, and in 
 others scrawled over with chalk or ochre ; the 
 panes of the windows broken, and stuffed with 
 rags ; and the floor covered with such a thick 
 paste ef dirt, that it was not till after much 
 hard labour, the pavement was rendered visi- 
 ble. All was now put in complete repair, and 
 on the first of May the school opened with 
 forty scholars. The twenty-five boys, and 
 the fifteen girls, who made up this number, 
 came pouring in pell-mell, in the disorderly 
 mianner to which they had been formerly ac- 
 customed ; and, observing that the desks and 
 benches were not yet placed, they were pro- 
 ceeding in groups rudely to seize on them ; 
 but were arrested by the master, who com- 
 manded silence in a tone of such authority, as 
 forced attention. Having formed them into a 
 circle round his chair, he explained to them, 
 that the school was henceforth to be governed 
 by rules, to which he should exact the most 
 complete obedience ; and then examining tlie 
 boys as to their respective progress, he formed
 
 292 
 
 them into separate classes, making the girls 
 meantime stand apart. The boys were then 
 led out of the school, that thej might make 
 their entrance in proper order. — Those of the 
 first class taking the lead, were directed how 
 to clean their feet upon the scraper, and well 
 bound wisps of straw, which served instead of 
 matts. They next placed for themselves their 
 forms and benches, opposite a double slip of 
 wood fixed to the wall, marked No. 1. and 
 stuck full of pegs, for their hats to hang on ; 
 the second and third classes marched in, each 
 in their turn, and took their places in equal 
 order. Mrs Mason, meanwhile, allotted to the 
 girls their proper stations near her chair at the 
 upper end of the school-room, where they were 
 concealed from view by a screen, which formed 
 a sort of moveable partition between them and 
 the boys. 
 
 At first several of the children were refrac- 
 tory, and many symptoms of a mutinous dis- 
 position appeared j but by patience and perse- 
 verance, all were so completely brought into 
 subjection, that by the time the minister visit- 
 ed the school at the conclusion of the first 
 month, all the plans he had suggested were 
 completely carried into execution. Each of 
 the three classes were, according to Manson's 
 method, divided into three distinct orders ; viz.
 
 '293 
 
 landlord, tenants, and under-tenants : The 
 landlord prescribed the lesson which was to be 
 received as rent from his tenants : Each of the 
 tenants had one or two under-tenants, who 
 were in like manner bound to pay him a cer- 
 tain portion of reading, or spelling lesson ; 
 and when the class was called up, the landlord 
 was responsible to the master, as superior lord, 
 not only for his own diligence, but for the dili- 
 gence of his vassals. The landlord who ap- 
 peared to have neglected his duty, or who per- 
 mitted the least noise or disturbance in his 
 class, was degraded to the rank of an under- 
 tenant. It became, therefore, his interest not 
 to permit any infringement of the rules. 
 "When these were in any instance broken, it 
 became his duty to inform the master, who 
 called the culprit before him, attended by the 
 landlord and tenants of his class. If the 
 tenants who formed his jury found him guilty 
 of the charge, sentence of punishment was im- 
 mediately pronounced : if idleness was the 
 crime, the culprit was obliged to sit in a 
 corner, having his eyes blindfolded, and his 
 hands tied across ; if disobedience had been 
 proved against him, he was imprisoned in a 
 large chair turned to the wall j and if noise, 
 he was obliged to carry a drum upon his back 
 round the school. Nor after punishment did
 
 a boy immediately regain his rank ; he wat 
 obliged to sit apart from his companions the 
 whole of the following day, without being 
 permitted, while in disgrace, to look upon a 
 book. All the lads, especially those who 
 were at a more advanced period, found this 
 species of punishment more intolerable than 
 any manual chastisement that could have been 
 inflicted ; and th^ consequence of this was 
 highly favourable to the master's views. Mr 
 Gourlay having examined the state of each 
 class, distributed to the landlords and head- 
 tenants the premiums provided by Mrs Mason, 
 who devoted to this use part of the money sent 
 by Mr Meriton. These consisted of light 
 hoes, small spades, and other implements of 
 gardening, together with parcels of flower- 
 seeds suited to the season of the year. He 
 next visited the girls' school, where, extraor- 
 dinary as it may appear, Mrs Mason had en- 
 countered greater difficulties than had occurred 
 to Morrison in the execution of his task. She 
 had indeed, since her residence in Glenburnie, 
 frequently observed, that the female children 
 of the poor had far less appearance of intelli- 
 gence and sagacity than the males of the same 
 age ; and could no otherwise account for this, 
 than by supposing that their education had 
 been more neglected. This, as far as school-
 
 (295 
 
 ing was conGerned, was not the case ; but 
 while the boys, by being constantly engaged, 
 either in observing the operations that were 
 going on without doors, or in assisting in them, 
 had their attention exercised, and their obser- 
 vation called fortli, the girls, till able to spin, 
 ■were without object or occupation. After the 
 first week, the labour of the wheel became 
 mechanical, and required no exertion of the 
 mental faculties. The mind, therefore, re- 
 mained inert, and the power of perception, 
 from being so long dormant, became at length 
 extinct. The habits acquired by such beings 
 were not easily to be changed : for nothing is 
 60 intractable as stupidity. But Mrs Mason 
 having discovered the root of the disease, judi- 
 ciously applied the proper remedies. It was 
 her first care to endeavour to rouse the sleep- 
 ing faculties. To effect this, she not only con- 
 trived varieties of occupation, but made all 
 the girls examine and sit in judgment on the 
 work that was done. Considering the business 
 of household work, as not merely useful to 
 girls in their station, as an employment to 
 which many of them would be devoted, but as 
 a means of calling into action their activity 
 and discernment, she allotted to them, by pairs, 
 the task of cleaning the school-rooms 5 and on 
 Saturday, the two girls, who had best perform-
 
 td the duties assigned them, were promoted to 
 the honour of dusting and rubbing the furni- 
 ture of her parlour. As to the rest, the morn- 
 ing was devoted to needle-work, the afternoon 
 to instruction in reading ; but whether at the 
 needle or book, she rendered their tasks easy 
 and cheerful, by the pleasantness of her man- 
 ners, which were always kind and affectionate. 
 When Mr Gourlay distributed the rewards 
 prepared for the girls whose behaviour had 
 been most approved, he expressed great appro- 
 bation at their progress ; and particularly no- 
 ticed their improvement in personal neatness 
 iind good-breeding, which assured him of the 
 attention they were likely to pay to the in- 
 struction of their teacher in points still more 
 essential ; and concluded by giving a suitable 
 eshortation.
 
 •207 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Mrs Mason had not been many months 
 in her employment of schoolmistress, when 
 she received a great addition to her consequence 
 in the eyes of her neighbours, by the accession 
 of Mr Meriton to the estate and title of Long- 
 lands, on the sudden decease of his elder bro- 
 ther. The amiable disposition of this young 
 nobleman left no room to doubt of his grati- 
 tude to the preserver of his life, and the in- 
 structress of his infancy. The friendship of 
 Mrs Mason was therefore considered of great 
 importance, by those who in any way de- 
 pended on the favour or protection of their 
 superior lord. But even where there was no 
 interested motive, the use which she had al- 
 ready made of his bounty, and the certainty 
 that she would have the means of doing still 
 farther good, had a wonderful effect in in- 
 N 3
 
 29S 
 
 creasing the opinion of her wisdom. Of all 
 the people in the village, it was to poor Mrs 
 MacClarty alone, that this opinion came too 
 iate to be of any use. When she observed the 
 thriving appearance of the Morrisons, and how 
 fast they were rising into notice and respect, 
 her heart was torn between envy and regret. 
 Far was she, however, from imputing to her- 
 self any blame ; she, on the contrary, believed 
 all the blame to rest with Mrs Mason, who 
 was so unnatural as to leave her own relations, 
 " and to tak up wi' straingers, who were nei- 
 ther kith nor kin to her:" nor did she omit 
 any opportunity of railing at the pride of the 
 schoolmaster's wife and daughters, who, she 
 said, " were now sae saucy as to pretend that 
 they cou'dna sit down in comfort in a hoose 
 that was na' clean soopet." She, for a time, 
 found many among the neighbours, who rea- 
 dily acquiesced in her opinions, and joined in 
 her expressions of contempt ; but by degrees 
 the strength of her party visibly declined. 
 Those who had their children at school were 
 so sensible of the rapid improvement that had 
 "been made in their tempers and manners, as 
 well as in their learning, thaf they could not 
 help feeling some gratitude to their instruc- 
 tors ; and Mrs Mason having instructed the 
 girls in needle-work, without any additional
 
 299 
 
 charge, added considerably to their sense of ob- 
 ligation. Even the old women, who during 
 the first summer had most bitterly exclaimed 
 against the pride of innovation, were by mid- 
 winter inclined to alt6r their tone. How far 
 the flannel waistcoats and petticoats distributed 
 among them, contributed to this change of 
 sentiment, cannot be positively ascertained; 
 but certain it is, that as the people were com- 
 ing from church the first fine day of the fol- 
 lowing spring, all stopped a few moments be- 
 fore the school-house, to inhale the fragrance 
 of the sweet-brier, and to admire the beauty 
 of the crocuses, primroses, and violets, which 
 embroidered the borders of the grass-plot. 
 Mrs MacClarty, who, in great disdain, asked 
 auld John Smith's wife *' what a' the folks 
 were glowering at ?" received for answer, 
 *' that they were leuking at the bonniest sight 
 in a' the toon," pointing at the same time to 
 the spot. 
 
 " Eh !" returned Mrs MacClarty, ■•* I won- 
 der what the warld will come to at last, since 
 naething can serve the pride o' William Mor- 
 rison, but to hae a flower-garden whar' gude 
 Mr Brown's midden-stead stood sappy for 
 mony a day ! he's a better man than will ever- 
 stand on William Morrison's shanks."
 
 300 
 
 *' The flowers are a hantel bonnier than the 
 midden the', and smell a hantel sweeter too, I 
 trow," returned Mrs Smith. 
 
 This striking indication of a" change of sen- 
 timent in the most sturdy stickler for the glide 
 auld gaits, foreboded the improvements that 
 were speedily to take place in the village of 
 Glenburnie. These had their origin in the 
 spirit of emulation excited among the elder 
 school-boys, for the external appearance of 
 their respective homes. The girls exerted 
 themselves with no less activity, to effect a 
 reformation within doors ; and so successful 
 were they in their respective operations, that, 
 by the time the Earl of Longlands came to 
 take possession of Hill Castle, when he, ac- 
 companied by his two sisters, came to visit 
 Mrs Mason at Glenburnie, the village present- 
 ed such a picture of neatness and comfort, as 
 excelled all that, in the course of their travels, 
 they had seen. The carts, which used formerly 
 to be stuck up on end before every door, were 
 now placed in wattled sheds attached to the 
 gable end of the dwelling, and which were 
 rendered ornamental from their coverings of 
 honey-suckle or ivy. Tlie bright and clear 
 glass of the windows was seen to advantage 
 peeping through the foliage of the rose-trees, 
 and other flowering shrubs, that were trimly
 
 301 
 
 nailed against the walls. The gardens, on the 
 other side, were kept with equal care. There 
 the pot-herb flourished ; there the goodly rows 
 of bee- hives evinced the effects of the addi- 
 tional nourishment afforded their inhabitants, 
 and shewed, that the flowers were of other use 
 besides regaling the sight or smell. 
 
 Mrs Mason, at the request of her noble be- 
 nefactors, conducted them into several of the 
 cottages, where, merely from the attention 
 paid to neatness, all had the air of cheerfulness 
 and contentment. She was no less pleased 
 than were the cottagers at the expressions of 
 approbation which were liberally bestowed by 
 her admiring friends ; who particularly no- 
 ticed the dress of the young women, which, 
 equally removed from the slovenliness in 
 which so many indulge on working days, as 
 from the absurd and preposterous attempt at 
 fashion, which is on Sundays so generally as- 
 sumed, was remarkable for neatness and sim- 
 plicity. Great as was Mrs Mason's attach- 
 ment to the family of Longlands, she would 
 not consent to relinquish her employment, and 
 go to reside at Hill Castle, as they proposed 
 she should immediately do. She continued 
 for some years to give her assistance to Mor- 
 rison in conducting the school, which was now 
 increased by scholars from all parts of the
 
 302 
 
 country ; and was amply repaid for her kind- 
 ness, by the undeviating gratitude of the wor- 
 thy couple and their children, from whom she 
 experienced a constant increase of friendship 
 and alFection. 
 
 The happy effects of their joint efforts in 
 improving the hearts and dispositions of the 
 youth of both sexes, and in confirming them 
 in habits t)f industry and virtue, were so fully 
 displayed, as to afford the greatest satisfaction 
 to their instruetors. To have been educated 
 at the school of Glenburnie, was considered as 
 an ample recommendation to a servant, and 
 implied a security for truth, diligence, and 
 honesty. And fortunate was the lad pro- 
 nounced, whose bride could boast of the tokens 
 of Mrs Mason's &vour and approbation ; for 
 never did these fail to be followed by a con- 
 duct, that insured happiness and prosperity. 
 
 The events that took place among her friends 
 while Mrs Mason remained at Glenburnie, 
 shall now be briefly noticed. The first of 
 these was Rob M'Clarty's taking to wife the 
 daughter of a smuggler j a man of notoriously 
 bad character, who, it was said, tricked him 
 into the marriage. Mrs M'Clarty's opposi- 
 tion was violent, but abortive, and ended in an 
 irreconcileable quarrel between her a' d her 
 SiOn. On being turned out ot his house, she
 
 303 
 
 went with her daughters to reside at a country 
 town in the neighbourhood, where the latter 
 were employed by a manufacturer in flowering 
 muslin. Their gains were considerable ; but 
 as all they earned was laid out on finery, it 
 only added to their vanity and pride. Meg 
 was, in her I7th year, detected in an intrigue 
 with one of the workmen ; and as her seducer 
 refused to marry her, she was exposed to dis- 
 grace. Leaving to her mother the care of her 
 infant, she went to Edinburgh to look for ser- 
 vice, and was never heard of more. Jean's 
 conduct was in some respects less culpable ; 
 but her notions of duty were not such as to 
 afford much comfort to her mother's heart. 
 
 At Gowan-brae all went on prosperously. 
 Mr Stewart had the happiness of seeing his 
 daughter, Mary, united to an excellent young 
 man, who had a handsome property in his 
 immediate neighbourhood, and farmed his own 
 estate. His sons turned out as well as he could 
 possibly have expected. And Mr and Mrs 
 MoUins, though not all he could have wished, 
 were more reasonable and happy than he had 
 at one time any grounds to expect they would 
 ever be. 
 
 In the second year of his keeping school, 
 Morrison had the htaitfelt happiness of pay- 
 ing to his creditors the full amount of all he
 
 304 
 
 owed them ; and from that moment he seemed 
 to enjoy the blessings of life with double relish. 
 Mrs Mason, perceiving that his daughters 
 were now qualified to succeed her in the charge 
 of the school, at length acceded to the wishes^ 
 of her friends, and took possession of the pretty 
 cottage, which had been built for her by Lord 
 Longlands, in the midst of the pleasure grounds 
 at Hill Castle. In that sweet retreat she 
 tranquilly spent the last days of a useful life j 
 looking to the past with gratitude, and to the 
 future with the full assurance of the hope 
 which is mingled with peace and joy.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LE'lTER 
 
 Addressed to the Author of The Cottagers 
 OF Glenburnie. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 It appears very surprising, that, weli acquaint- 
 .cd as you evidently are with the past aud present 
 state of the families about Glenburnie, you should 
 nevertheless be so ignorant of the history of Jean 
 MacClarty, as not to know that she some years 
 ago married a cousin of her own, and that they 
 
 keep a well known inn on the road. 
 
 As their circumstances are, I fear, in a declining 
 state, and as it may be in your power to avert their 
 utter ruin, by inducuig travellers to give a prefe- 
 rence to their house, at which none, alas I now stop 
 but from dire necessity, I shall be at pains to fur- 
 nish you with such an exact description of it, as 
 cannot fail to be instantly recognized. 
 
 I might begin by mentioning the slovenliness ap- 
 parent about the entrance, the dirty state of the
 
 506 
 
 door-steps, &c. j but as this is not altogether pecu- 
 liar to this hm, it might serve to mislead you. I 
 shall, therefore, conduct you into the passage, the 
 walls of which seem tb have'bc'en* painted at the 
 time the colour called Paris mud was so much in 
 fashion. The pavement and the stairs have a still 
 blacker ground-work, over which lies a coat of sand, 
 which answers the purpose of a register, and ena- 
 bles them to measure the size of every foot that 
 treads the carpets of the adjoining rooms, as you 
 will perceive on entering the best dining-room, in- 
 to which you will of course be conducted. You 
 will imagine on entering it, that you have immedi- 
 ately succeeded to a company who have been regal- 
 ing themsflves with rum-punch and tobacco j but 
 you need not scruple to occupy the room on that 
 account, as I assure you the smell is perennial, and 
 has been so carefully preserved in its original puri- 
 ty, that you will find it at all seasons of the year 
 the same. The floor is completely covered with 
 carpet, but what that carpet covers can only be con- 
 jectured, the nails wilh which it is fastened to the 
 floor having never been removed : and this circum- 
 stance, together with the black dust which lies in 
 heaps round the edges, and works up through the 
 thinner parts of the fabric, has led many to suppose 
 that a manufactory of charcoal is carried on below ! 
 The tables you will find still more worthy your at- 
 tention. On those that have been much in use, 
 you will observe many curious figures traced in
 
 307 
 
 ale, &c. bearing a striking resemblance to the 
 Lichen Geographims, well known to botanists. 
 The chairs you will probably find it advisable to 
 dust before sitting down, and this will be done with 
 great alacrity by the sturdy lass, who, barelegged, 
 and with untied nightcap, and scanty bedgown, 
 will, soon after your arrival, hurry into the room 
 with a shovelful of coals as a kindling for your fire. 
 As there will, on this occasion, be an absolute ne- 
 cessity for removing at least part of the immense 
 pile of white ashes with which the grate is filled, 
 and which have remained undisturbed since the 
 room was last in use, I would hint the propriety of 
 keeping at a due distance from the scene of action j 
 but when the bars have been raked, I would re- 
 commend It to you not to suffer the farther remo- 
 val of the ashes, as, if you are any way squeamish, 
 I can assure you they will be of. use as a covering 
 to the hearth, especially if your Immediate prede- 
 cessors have been fond of tobacco. 
 
 In the article of attendance, you will find this 
 inn to be no less remarkable than In the particu- 
 lars above described. The waiters are of both 
 sexes, and all are equally ingenious in delay. It 
 is a rule of the house, that your bell shall never 
 be answered twice by the same person j and this Is 
 attended with many advantages. It, In the first 
 place, gives you time to kno'iv your own mind, and 
 affords you an opportunity, in repeating your orders 
 to so many different people, of making any addi-
 
 )08 
 
 tlons that may in the intenm have occuned. It, 
 in the next place, keeps up the character of the 
 house, by making you believe it to bfe full of com- 
 pany j and lastly, it provides an excuse for all the 
 mistakes that may be made in obeying your direc- 
 tions. If you dine at Mrs MacClarty's, I sliall not 
 anticipate the pleasure of your meal, farther than 
 to assure you, that you may depend on having here 
 the largest and fattest mutton of its age that is any 
 •where to be met v\-ith, and that though it should be 
 roasted to rags, the vegetables will not be more than 
 half boiled. I cannot foi'bear warning you on the 
 subject of the salt, which you will conclude, from 
 its appearance, to be mixed with pepper, but I am 
 well informed that it is free from all such mixture. 
 As to the knives and forks, spoons, plates, &c. it 
 is needless to tell you, that they are in excellent 
 order, as you will at a glance perceive them to 
 have been recently wiped. In order to obtain a 
 complete notion of the comforts of this excellent 
 •inn, you must not only dine, but sleep there : in 
 which case you must of necessity breakfast before 
 leaving it, as, at whatever hour you rise, the car- 
 riage will not be got ready till you have taken that 
 meal. Nor must you expect that breakfast will be 
 on the table in less than an hour from the time of 
 your ordering it, even though all the fore-mention- 
 ed waiters should in succession have told you it 
 would be up in five minutes. At length one bustles 
 in Avith the tea equipage, and toast swimming in
 
 309 
 
 buller. After this has had half an hour to cool, 
 another appears armed with the huge tea kettle, 
 which he places on the hearth, while he goes in 
 search of the tea. Another half hour passes, dur- 
 ing which you repeatedly ring the bell, but to no 
 purpose. By this time you are in despair, the 
 bare-legged wench runs in, bearing the tea-caddie 
 in her black hand, and saying, she has been but 
 this moment able to get it from her mistress. Her 
 mistress you need not expect to see ; as she makes 
 a point of never appearing to ladies, not being in 
 dress to be seen among them ; and being, moreover, 
 greatly troubled with weak nerves. 
 
 If you are so unfortunate as not to have a tra- 
 velling carriage, I hope you will not travel this 
 road in rainy weather ; as the glasses of Mr Mac- 
 Clarty's chaises were all broken at an election, 
 about two years ago, and have not been yet re- 
 paired. This will account for the heap of Avet 
 straw at the bottom of the carriage, which, as it 
 is never changed, must of course smell somewhat 
 fusty. The linings are likewise in a very bad con- 
 dition •, bet on the stuffing of the cushions, time 
 has made little alteration ; and as you may be cu- 
 rious to know of what materials it is composed, 
 I am happy to be able to inform you, having been 
 at the trouble to dissect one on purpose 3 when, to 
 my great astonishment, I found, instead of the 
 usual quantity of tow and horse-hair, an assemblage 
 of old ropes, every piece of which was so inger.";-
 
 310 
 
 ously knotted, as to evince in how many useful 
 purposes they had been employed, before they 
 reached their destined state of preferment. 
 
 My earnest desire of rendering an essential ser- 
 vice to the daughter of my old friend Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, has, I am afraid, led me to trespass too 
 long upon your patience j but the preference shewn 
 by travellers for the inn at the next stage, will be 
 a sufficient apology for my partiality ; and account 
 for the dread I entertain of the impending ruin 
 which threatens to overwhelm this last branch of 
 the old and respectable stock, of the MacClartys. 
 When I inform you, that the rival inn is kept by 
 a scholar of Mrs Mason's, you will quickly per- 
 ceive that my fears are not without foundation : 
 and yet I must own, the reason of the preference 
 given to it by the public, appears to me to imply 
 a contradiction. Why are people of fortune so 
 fond of travelling, but on account of the variety it 
 affords ? And when one finds at an inn, as at that 
 which I now speak of, the same neatness, cleanness, 
 regularity and quiet, as one's own house, the charm 
 of variety must be surely wanting. Yet these inn- 
 keepers seem to thrive amazingly. They indeed 
 trust nothing entirely to the discretion of servants. 
 They superintend all that is done in every depart- 
 ment with their own eyes j and as any injury that 
 happens to furniture, carriages, &c. &c. is instant- 
 ly repaired, the saving in tear and wear must be 
 considerable. Add to this, what is saved in the
 
 •,ll 
 
 article of attendance by metliod, and in the article 
 of food by good cookery, and you will not wonder 
 that they should prosper. Alas, I fear they will 
 continue to prosper, and that their example will 
 soon be too generally followed, and complete the 
 
 ruin of my unfortunate friends. 
 
 I remain, &c. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Walker and Greic, 
 Edinburgh.
 
 BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 MANNERS & MILLER, 
 
 EDINBURGH. 
 
 1. The WHOLE WORKS of HENRY MACKEN- 
 ZIE, Esq. revised and corrected by the Author; with 
 the addition of various pieces never before published ; 
 beautifully printed by Ball ANT yne — in 8 vols, post 
 8vo. vi'ith a portrait of the Author, price 3l. 3s. in 
 boards. 
 
 2. SERMONS, chiefly designed iox young persons. 
 By the Right Rev. Daniel Sandford, D. D. one 
 of the Bishops of the Episcopal Church in Scotland — 
 one vol. 12mo. price 4s. fid. in boards. 
 
 3. LECTURES on the EPISTLES appointed for 
 the service of the CHURCH of ENGLAND, on the 
 days of Passion-Week, Easter-Even and Easter-Sun- 
 day. By the Right Rev. Daniel Sandford, D.D. 
 one of the Bishops of the Episcopal Church in Scot- 
 land — one vol. Svo. price 4s. in boards. 
 
 4. A TREATISE on SELF-KNOWLEDGE. By 
 John Mason, A. M. — in one vol. foolscap Svo. beau- 
 tifully printed by Ballantyne — price 6s. in extra 
 boards. 
 
 5. The MINSTREL, or the PROGRESS of GE- 
 NIUS, with other Poems. By James Beattie, 
 LL.D. one vol. foolscap Svo. with a Head of the 
 Author — price .5s. in boards. A few copies splendidly 
 printed in 4to. by Ballantyne — price One Guinea 
 .in boards. 
 
 6. EXERCISES in RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE, 
 for the Instruction of Young Persons. By Eli z abeth 
 Hamilton, Author of Letters on the Elementary 
 Principles of Education, Cottagers of Glenburnie, &c. 
 — in oue vol. price 2s. boards. 1
 
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