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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 <^C
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR 
 
 *■
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR 
 
 BY 
 
 W. EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN 
 
 D. C. L. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " LAYS OF THE SCOTTISH CAVALIERS " 
 " BOTHWELL — A POEM," ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBUKGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXI 
 
 TTio Trinht nf Ti-
 
 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE
 
 .N7S 
 
 CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. EARLY DAYS 1 
 
 n. UNCLE BUCHANAN 20 
 
 ni. GEORGE IV. IN EDINBURGH 36 
 
 rv. EDUCATIONAL PERIOD 48 
 
 V. SCOTTISH POLITICS AS THEY WERE 66 
 
 VI. THE GATHERING OF THE FREEHOLDERS 86 
 
 VII. THE bailie's VISIT TO PARIS 97 
 
 VIII. THE PRELIMINARY BANQUET 113 
 
 IS. THE ELECTION 123 
 
 X. WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF ? 146 
 
 XI. OUR SWISS COTTAGE 164 
 
 XII. THE AVALANCHE 174 
 
 XIIL THE GLACIER 188 
 
 XIV. LAST HOURS IN SWITZERLAND 201 
 
 XV. THE STEAMER ON THE RHINE 210 
 
 XVL THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 222 
 
 XVII. WILBURY HALL 246 
 
 X\^II. TABLE-TALK 268 
 
 XLX. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 284 
 
 XX. CHRISTMAS EVE 309 
 
 XXL AN OLEAGINOUS INTERVIEW ..327 
 
 G83G1
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 Philosophers have often disputed and men of the 
 world debated as to the station in life which, under 
 ordinary circumstances, is most likely to insure the 
 happiness of a human being ; but I am not aware that 
 the controversy has resulted in any general agreement. 
 The majority, I suspect, if some beneficent fairy gave 
 them the option of choosing, would decide in favour of 
 ten thousand a-year, or it may be a Kttle more, with 
 some hereditary title of honour corresponding to the 
 amount of the fortune. Few would content themselves 
 with " that thousand " which, in this country, is amply 
 sufiicient for the wants and reasonable luxuries of ex- 
 istence ; very few, indeed, would name five hundred as 
 their ultimatum ; and none but a stray Apemantus, or 
 a wayward cynic with strong eccentric tendencies, would 
 restrict himself to a crust and Uberty. 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Let not the reader suppose that I have confounded 
 two separate things, station and fortune. In this liappy 1 
 
 lan.I of ours, which is becoming every year more and 
 more weaned ftoiii aristocratic prejudice, fortune and 
 station are as nearly as possible synonymous. Let a 
 man have but money enough, and, unless he is a very 
 stupid person indeed, he need not despair of working 
 liis way to the peerage, and sitting one day on the same 
 bench with the representative of the oldest barony of 
 England. Be his origin what it may, money will buy 
 him a fair wife. Not in Circassia only is there a trade 
 in such commodities. Money, in the ears of a dower- 
 less ffirl who has been hawked season after season from 
 one watering-place to another without attracting an 
 offer, means diamonds, a house in London, a handsome 
 equipage, a box at the opera, independent pin-money, 
 and other things having a close connection with the 
 pomp and vanities of this wicked world, which few 
 damsels so sadly situated can resist. Why blame them, 
 if, never having known what love is — never having 
 surrendered their hearts with maiden fear and trem- 
 bling to the keeping of others — never having been be- 
 loved, or solicited, they yield to the parental solicitation, 
 and stand, bedecked with lace and orange-flowers, before 
 the altar, promising in the face of God and man thence- 
 forward to obey, serve, love, honour, and keep, in sick- 
 ness and in health, some vulgar millionaire of advanced 
 age, who, in manners and learning, is decidedly inferior 
 to the valet who serves and despises him ? Is it neces- 
 sary to say that, through money, a fool can get into
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 3 
 
 Parliament far more easily than the wisest man of the 
 age, if so be that the latter is deficient in the purse ? 
 Yes, Mammon ! of all the spirits that fell, thou hast the 
 decided ascendancy in this commercial age of enlighten- 
 ment. Belial is but thy subordinate, for his best vota- 
 ries own superior allegiance to thee ; Asmodeus, poor 
 scoffing imp, cannot sneer thee down ; and Mephisto- 
 pheles is never sure of his victim without thy confirma- 
 tion and assistance ! 
 
 Possibly, reader, you may deem me a hypocrite when 
 I protest that I never have been covetous of wealth, or 
 have entertained any desire to rise above a middle sta- 
 tion. Nevertheless, I aver upon soul and conscience — 
 keeping in view that the knowledge of one's-self is the 
 most difficult and deceptive of all possible sciences — 
 that such is the case. I am, God be thanked, a sincere 
 Christian in belief; and, so far as the weakness of 
 humanity will allow, and praying for that grace and 
 assistance which, if fervently implored, will not he 
 withheld, I strive that mv practice shall be in some 
 conformity with my belief " Give me neither poverty 
 nor riches ; feed me with food convenient for me," is a 
 good, wise, and solemn prayer, which ought to ascend 
 oftener than I fear it does to the eternal throne. I 
 shall not insist now on its fitness as a means of prepar- 
 ation for the life which is to come. I shall take it 
 merely as embodying a secular maxim or apothegm — 
 which, I may remark, is the case with the sublimest of 
 the scriptural precepts, for all that revelation teaches 
 us to believe will contribute to eternal happiness, doeg,
 
 4 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 if practised here, secure our temporal peace ; and I 
 say, broadly and advisedly, after the experience of 
 many years, that, in the middle station of life, a man, 
 be his accomplishments and talents what they may, has 
 a far better chance of happiness than if he were greatly 
 elevated, or unduly depressed. Wlio would choose, if 
 he could help it, to be an emperor or a king ? Kead 
 Gibbon, and you will see what became of the infatu- 
 ated creatures who, in the latter days of the Roman 
 Empire, bought the dignity, generally to perish in the 
 course of a year or so by the swords of a hireling band, 
 purchased by some new and equally asinine competitor. 
 Who envies Charles Dix, or Louis Philippe ? or who 
 can envy the present Napoleon ? Can it be pleasant, 
 when you step into your carriage bound for the opera, 
 to reflect that the chances are two to one that, when 
 you descend, some infernal machine will explode at 
 your feet ? Is it agreeable to know that you are marked 
 down for assassination by a club of dare-devils in masks, 
 who deliberately throw dice for the honour of taking 
 you off, effecting, after the lot is cast, assurances on 
 your life for the purpose of providing for the outcast 
 children of the murderer 1 Should you like to have the 
 responsibility of wars, undertaken for the maintenance 
 or aggrandisement of your own dynasty, in the course 
 of which many thousands of souls, altogether unfitted 
 for eternity, must pass to judgment, naming you as the 
 man who, for selfish earthly motives, had prematurely 
 sent them to their long account without even the chance 
 of repentance ? I am no Covenanter, nor addicted to
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 5 
 
 rash application of scriptural terms ; but tliis I must 
 needs say, that if Tophet is made hot for any one, it 
 will be for the individual whose personal ambition has 
 disturbed the peace of Europe ; and who, if evil spirits 
 submit to an earthly incarnation, is perfect Moloch, 
 with a Mammonistical fondness for the funds. 
 
 To be a duke is not, in my humble opinion, much 
 more desirable, Dukes are subjected to all the incon- 
 veniences of high dignity, without that fine sensation 
 of being irresponsible which is the sole privilege of 
 majesty. In the olden time, very few dukes died peace- 
 ably in their beds. They either perished in foreign 
 battle, or in civil conflict, or mounted the scaffold to 
 lay their heads upon the block, as the penalty of their 
 rebellion. There are no rebellions now ; and a con- 
 siderable time has elapsed since any of ducal rank 
 occupied apartments in the Tower. But for all that a 
 duke can hardly be said to have more freedom than a 
 prisoner on parole. Wherever he goes he is a marked 
 man, at whom the many may stare with impunity. His 
 every word and deed are sure to be quoted and com- 
 mented on with undue severity. If he has large pos- 
 sessions and a fair share of patronage, he must lay his 
 account with being pestered from morning to night by 
 aU manner of applications from the greedy, the indigent, 
 and the unscrupulous. If he is munificent, he is ac- 
 cused of bemg extravagant. If he is economical, he is 
 branded as penurious. Archbishop Tillotson, in a ser- 
 mon preached before the Merry Monarch — doubtless 
 with Buckingham, Eochester, Sedley, and the rest of
 
 6 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 that respectable crew among the audience — took occa- 
 sion to illustrate the advantages of a creditable example 
 from men of lofty station. " Those," said the excellent 
 prelate, " who are in a low and private condition, can 
 only shine to a few, but tliey that are advanced a great 
 height above others, may, like the heavenly bodies, dis- 
 pense a general light and influence, and scatter happi- 
 ness and blessings among all that are below them." To 
 my humble thinking, it must be very cold among the 
 stars. 
 
 But it would be impertinent, or, even worse, tedious, 
 to pursue this topic further, more especially as I have 
 got some sort of a story to tell ; and it is against all 
 aisthetical rule to philosophise in the preface. I merely 
 wish to state my conviction, that a man placed in a 
 middle station of life, and content to remain there, not 
 only is likely to secure a larger share of temporal hap- 
 piness and enjoyment, but is enabled to take a more 
 just and unbiassed view of society than can be obtained 
 by those who move at either extremity of the social 
 scale. The peasant cannot comprehend the ways of the 
 prince, nor the prince those of the peasant. The mid- 
 dle-man, who stands between the two, can form a right 
 estimate of both. 
 
 I vras born about the time when the star of the great 
 Napoleon was beginning to decline. My father, a sub- 
 altern in the British army, whose hereditary portion 
 was very small, fell at the Battle of the Pyrenees. He 
 had been imprudent enough to contract a marriage 
 with a young lady of good connections, but quite as
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 7 
 
 poor as himself, before joining his regiment ; and I 
 believe that the letter which was intended to convey to 
 him the news of my birth, was on its way to Spain, 
 when he, along with many other gallant soldiers, was 
 struck down by the terrible fire of the French artillery. 
 My mother, whose constitution was originally delicate, 
 and who was deeply attached to my father, never rallied 
 from the blow. She drooped and died within six months 
 after she had assumed the widow's garb, leaving me a 
 helpless infant, to the care of an old woman, who had 
 been her own nurse, and who, like many of her class in 
 Scotland, concentrated the whole of her strong affections 
 upon her charge. I know not why it should be so, but 
 it is a well-known fact that nurses are often much more 
 passionately fond of the children committed to their 
 rearing, than of their own kith and kin. This was the 
 case with dear old Ejjpie Osett, who still lives in vener- 
 able age, the keeper of my little lodge ; and faithfully 
 and truly did she fulfil the trust imposed on her by my 
 dying mother. Eppie was the sole link between me 
 and my parents, and often in my boyhood have I heard 
 her tell, with affectionate prolixity, the story of my 
 mother's death. 
 
 " She was but poorly, the sweet lamb," would Eppie 
 say, " before the Captain gaed awa' to thae weary wars ; 
 and weel I mind that when they parted she grat sair, 
 and made as if she wadna let him gang, for I think she 
 had something on her heart that telled her she wad 
 never see him mair. A' night long I heard her sobbin' 
 in her room, and prayin' for the brave lad that had gane
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 to fight his kintra's battles— weary fa' thac French that 
 hae spilt sae muckle o' the auld Scottish blude ! But 
 neist morning she was quiet-like, and gaed about the 
 bouse as before ; only she was wan as ony lily, and I 
 could see by the quivering of her lip that her thoughts 
 were far beyont the doorstane. Por twa or three days 
 she hardly spoke even to me that had been her nurse ; 
 and I durstna venture to speak to her, forbye on ordi- 
 nary matters of house-skep ; for I felt that if I had 
 named his name, I wad hae broken out into woman's 
 weakness ; and sma' was the comfort I could gie her, 
 puir innocent lamb, in the hour of her heavy tribula- 
 tion. Sae I tried to look as canty as I could, and put 
 a' things out o' the way that might distress her wi' 
 thoughts o' the past. But I was an auld fule for my 
 pains ; for I might hae kenned that there is naething 
 sae dear to a woman in absence as the image of him 
 she loves. She, puir thing, had a bit picture o' your 
 father that she wore round her neck on a chain ; and 
 when she gaed to her lonesome bed, she kissed it, and 
 put it under her pillow, and ilka night her prayers — for 
 I often heard her pray, sleeping as I did in a wee closet 
 aff her room — were less for hersel' than for your father. 
 And nae wonder, for she was a sinless burd ! The 
 angels, when they cam' to tak' her awa', could hardly 
 hae been whiter than she was; and I dinna believe that 
 the breath was out o' her body before she heard the 
 psalms o' heaven ! 
 
 "Weel; it was nae lang time afore ye were born, 
 Maister Norman, that your father gaed awa' ; and to
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 9 
 
 say the truth, dear bairn as ye are to me now, I wadna 
 hae cared if ye never had had an existence. For your 
 bonny sweet mither was no h'ke Leah, wha had the first 
 o' the patriarch Jacob, and, will ye, nill ye, brought 
 him a bairn ilka year, and whiles wad hae been glad o' 
 twins. She was mair like douce Eachel, wha dee'd in 
 child-bed, and was Jacob's first love ; for whom he 
 mourned, and set up a pillar upon her grave in the 
 way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem, that is the j)illar 
 of Kachel's grave unto this day, as is revealed unto us 
 by the holy Scriptures. Ye made a narrow escape, 
 Maister Norman, of being christened Benoni, though 
 your father didna ken, when the ball shattered his 
 breist, that his puir wife ayont the sea had given birth 
 to a buirdly man-bairn. 
 
 " Weel do I mind the day when the awsome news 
 was brought hame to us. There was nae letter, for the 
 ither ofiishers doubtless had muckle mair to do than to 
 write — they were, ye ken, fighting for their ain lives 
 in a far-awa' land ; but the auld minister — that was 
 worthy Mr Daniel Simpson, wha afore that had the 
 parish of Kircuddy — he got a newspaper ; and in it, 
 wae's me ! was your father's name as having died on 
 the field o' battle. It wasna a field either, for the 
 battle, as I heard tell, was focht among the mountains, 
 like unto that terrible battle in Mount Gilboa, where 
 Saul, king o' Israel, was slain. But, field or moun- 
 tain, it was a' ane. There was nae doubt o' what had 
 happened. The handsome light-hearted lad that we a' 
 lo'ed sae weel, wi' an e'e like a gosshawk's, and a laugh
 
 10 .NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 that rang throiigli the house as cheery as the sang o' 
 the mavis, was now but a bhiidy corp, Laid in unco 
 mools, without a stane to mark his head ! 
 
 " Worthy Mr Simpson had a gude heart o' his ain, 
 though he was nae great dab at the preaching, being 
 somewhat lang-winded, and ower fond o' displaying 
 that carnal knowledge, which is but sour sowens to 
 them that hunger for the savoury meat o' doctrine. 
 But he never was backward in the hour o' affliction, 
 and that's mair than can be said for some that sit in 
 the high places o' the synagogue. Sae he just came 
 across to break the waefu' tidings to your puir mither. 
 But nae sooner did she see him enter the room wi' the 
 sheet in his hand, and the marks o' sorrow on his face 
 — for the auld man could hardly refrain himsel' — than 
 her heart divined what he had to tell her ; she uttered 
 a great cry, ' 0, my Henry ! ' and fell down on the 
 floor like ane that had been struck wi' the lichtning. 
 It was lang afore we could bring her round, and langer 
 afore she could speak ; for her mind seemed to be 
 taken frae her, and she could do naething but sit and 
 tremble, puir thing, as if she had seen a spirit pass 
 before her face, like that which appeared unto Eliphaz 
 the Temanite, making all his bones to shake. Death 
 is a terrible thing at ony time, and sad to witness, 
 whether it be that of a strong man smitten down by 
 sudden agony, or of a frail bit lassie creepin' awa' to 
 her Creator after a lang and weary sickness ; but 0, 
 when it comes to us unseen, like a j)eal of thunder in 
 a simmer sky — when we hear tell, without warning
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 11 
 
 and preparation, that them we lo'ed best on earth, and 
 maybe better than we should lo'e ony earthly creature, 
 have been ta'en awa' frae us for ever ; and when we 
 ken that we sail never again hear them speak or see 
 them smile, nae wonder if the horror of darkness falls 
 upon us as it did on that day when the Lord withheld 
 the licht from the dwallins o' the Egyptians. 
 
 " The first thins; that seemed to break the dwam o' 
 her bewilderment, was my bringing you, a wee innocent 
 babe, and laying you on her knee. Then the instinct o' 
 the mither came back : she caught you up in her arms, 
 and burst into a flood o' tears. I could say naething 
 to her then, for my ain heart was ower full, and I 
 weel kenned that sorrow maun hae its course ; sae I 
 just put worthy Mr Simpson to the door, for he could 
 do her nae gude ; and I drew down the window-blinds 
 and darkened the room, and syne sat doun mysel' upon 
 a creepie, and wrapped the plaid around my head, and 
 prayed that the Comforter might come unto her. 
 Doubtless she had comfort after a season, but it wasna 
 o' the common sort. Her comfort was the assurance 
 that she wadna be left to tarry here lang in her 
 bereavement, but that before the primroses o' spring 
 blossomed on the braes, she wad be wi' him she had 
 lost, in that blessed place where there is no more 
 death, neither sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain. 
 That was what she said to me, no aboon sax days 
 after the tidings cam', and I could see weel eneuch 
 that she wasna lang for this warld. It's my belief that 
 she had but ae thing heavy on her mind, and that was
 
 12 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the tliocht o' leaving you behind her, a pair unfriended 
 orphan. For though she had faith in the kindness o' 
 the Lord, and dwalt upon His j)romise that He wad be 
 a father to the fatherless, she was yet a mither ; and 
 your wee hands, as they closed round her fingers, were 
 the cords that held her to the earth. If ever a bairn 
 was prayed for, it was you. She held you in her 
 bosom till her e'en closed in death, and the last words 
 she uttered were words o' blessing on her babe. And 
 then the licht gaed out, and there was hush and still- 
 ness in the chamber, but for the bit cry ye gave as I 
 stooped to tak you from her." 
 
 My father had no near relatives. It was indeed 
 believed that a cousin of his was settled in London, 
 and engaged in some prosperous line of trade ; but 
 he had left Scotland at an early period of life, and 
 maintained no communication with any of his former 
 friends. My mother, however, had a brother much 
 older than herself, a medical practitioner in Edinburgh, 
 upon whom devolved the duties of my guardianship. 
 Dr Alexander Buchanan was a bachelor of peculiar 
 habits, regarding whom I shall presently have occa- 
 to speak : meantime it is only necessary to say, that 
 he cheerfully accepted a responsibility, which in Scot- 
 land is regarded almost in the light of a sacred duty 
 — that the little money which remained after payment 
 of my parent's simple debts was invested for my 
 benefit — and that Eppie Osett, who, failing every other 
 resource, would have carried me on her back through 
 the world begging from door to door, received the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 13 
 
 assurance that my education would be properly cared 
 for, and shelter given me under my uncle's roof, so 
 soon as it was considered advisable that I should be 
 brought to Edinburgh. Until then it was arranged 
 that I should remain with my nurse at the house of 
 her brother, who rented a small farm in Selkirkshire ; 
 as Dr Buchanan very naturally expressed a disincli- 
 nation to being " fashed with bairns," whereof, as he 
 pertinently remarked, he might, if so minded, have 
 provided himself with a stock of his own. 
 
 Accordingly, in the bright days of spring, we re- 
 moved from the little town wherein I was born, to the 
 farm of the Birkenshaws, cultivated by honest Jamie 
 Osett, the first place that I can remember, and pro- 
 bably the last that shall fade from my memory. It 
 was a little steading, situated in one of those glens 
 which are so common in that romantic jDastoral district, 
 by the side of a clear mountain stream, which, descend- 
 ing from the ridges that separate the valleys of the 
 Tweed and Yarrow, flows in a long succession of rapid 
 and pool, until it loses itself in that beautiful sheet of 
 water, from which emerges the last-named river, so 
 famous in Scottish song. Eound the house were a 
 few old trees, originally planted there to screen it from 
 the blasts which in winter swept fiercely down the 
 glen ; but beyond these, the face of the country was 
 bare and unwooded, save that on the scaurs, on the 
 very edge of the loose shingle, or curiously inserted 
 among the rocks, some thorns and birches, of great age 
 but stunted growth, still remained to show that, in
 
 14 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 days long gone by, the title " forest," as applied to the 
 district, had not been given in derision. There it was 
 that I first became conscious of the beauty of external 
 nature ; where I plucked the gowan, and purple thyme, 
 and yellow crow-foot from the mountain sward ; and 
 with my comrades, Davie and May Osett, plaited caps 
 from the rushes that grew in the bonny meadow by 
 Meggat-side, where the lapwings had their nests. Even 
 now that pastoral region has for me a strong attraction, 
 and inspires me with an intense sensation of delight, 
 albeit it will bear no comparison with the grander 
 beauty of the Highlands, or the richness of the more 
 cultivated vales. Solitary it is not, though the farm- 
 steadings and shepherds' houses lie far apart ; for life 
 is teeming everywhere, in air and water, on the hill- 
 side and in the glen. In spring the call of the cuckoo, 
 that " fairy voice," comes to you from the old thorn- 
 tree on the crag ; the hills are resonant with the bleat- 
 ing of a thousand lambs ; the merry ephemeral swarm 
 hover over the stream, or flit in clouds across the pool ; 
 and the speckled trout, watchful of his prey, leaps after 
 them, or chases the shoal of glistenmg minnows among 
 the stones of the rapid shallows. In summer, life 
 becomes even more strongly developed, and in more 
 gorgeous hues. The butterflies, white, and speckled, 
 and red, and blue, dance over the meadows, blending 
 their glorious colours with those of the tall flowers on 
 which they light, until you cannot well distinguish the 
 blossom from the butterfly, or the insect from the 
 petal of its repose. There, too, the strong dragon-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 15 
 
 flies, like shafts of topaz and beryl, slioot themselves 
 from the long grass by the river side ; the water-pyet, 
 scared from his stone, dips down under the ripple ; the 
 pike, basking among the reeds on the margin of the 
 loch, rushes out at your approach ; and the wild-duck, 
 at the head of her brood yet unable to take the wing, 
 steers away, with maternal instinct, to the depths. 
 See the cattle in the ford, how they luxuriate in the 
 coolness of the stream, standing belly-deep in the fresh 
 water, and lowing to each other with a note of supreme 
 satisfaction, such as assuredly no Malvern patient, 
 swathed in wet bandages, ever emitted for the comfort 
 of his friend who was being "packed" in the next 
 apartment ! And when autumn comes, there is the 
 merry song of the reaper ; the crowing of the muircock 
 on the hill ; the call of the partridge from the field or 
 the fern ; the happy festivities of harvest-home, from 
 one farm-steading to another ; and that general inter- 
 course, assistance, and friendly communion, which al- 
 ways marks the fall of the year as the most aff'ectionate 
 and kindly period. In winter only can the glens of 
 the south of Scotland be justly termed solitary ; for 
 solitary indeed they are when the snow-wreaths are 
 lying thick and heavy, obliterating every landmark, 
 filling up the water-courses, and rendering the moun- 
 tain-tracts impassable even to the daring shepherd. 
 But let the storm rage ever so wildly without, within 
 the house all is comfort and warmth ; industry not 
 suspended, but applied to a hundred matters of domes- 
 tic convenience ; and household provision made for the
 
 IG NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 wants of the coming year. So the day went by swiftly, 
 and when evening came, and all were gathered round 
 the fire, many a tale and ballad, not then collected, but 
 fixmiliar through tradition to the peasantiy, was recited 
 for our wonder and delight. Eppie Osett, in respect 
 of minstrel learning, would have put Ritson or Leyden 
 to shame. She could not only repeat such fine histo- 
 rical ballads as " The Battle of Otterburn" and " Sir 
 Patrick Spens," but she knew by heart most of the 
 beautiful romantic ditties current on the Border, and 
 she gave them forth with an animation and even pathos 
 that produced the strongest effect upon her simple 
 audience. Honest Jamie Osett did not deal in the 
 pathetic, nor indeed did he possess any large store of 
 rhyme, though on occasion he could rattle off the 
 humorous ditty of " Our Gudeman" with much gusto 
 and comic power. He was better versed in the prose 
 legends, the tales of imagination and fairy lore, which, 
 brought into this country in all probability by the old 
 Norse settlers, continued for centm-ies to be the literary 
 heritage of the people. One story in particular, the 
 details of which I cannot now recall, used to entrance 
 us all. It related to the adventures of a beautiful 
 princess, who, for some fault or other of her own, or 
 being under the influence of a malignant spell, was 
 separated from her lover, and doomed never to know 
 rest or happiness until she should reach an enchanted 
 castle reared in a land where the sun never shone, and 
 the wind never blew, far, far away beyond the uttermost 
 limits of the earth. How she reached it, I cannot ex-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 17 
 
 actly say ; but I think it was through the aid of a certain 
 " Eed Bull o' Norroway," who bore her on his back 
 through forests filled with giants and ogres, over water- 
 floods where the kelpies lay, past caverns where witches 
 were stirring their caldrons, and down to the shore of 
 a desolate and shipless sea. The story ended of course 
 haj^pily for the lovers, about whom, I rather think, I 
 did not feel much interested. The red bull was cer- 
 tainly the favourite hero ; for I can remember wonder- 
 ing, after I had been put into my crib, whether he bore 
 any resemblance to Willie Laidlaw's muckle bull, a 
 ferocious animal much given to assault and battery, 
 whose roaring from the other side of the loch was 
 terrible to our infant ears. 
 
 The impressions of childhood, imperfect though they 
 are, almost always exercise a large influence over us in 
 future years. It is observable that persons who have 
 been exclusively reared in towns, rarely exhibit, in later 
 life, any marked relish or desire for country sjiorts and 
 occupations ; whereas those brought in childhood from 
 the country to the city, never forego their early associa- 
 tions, but always contemplate a return to the scenes 
 that delighted their infancy. " Rus, quando ego te 
 asjnciam !" was the ejaculation not of a town-bred 
 man, but of one who never had forgotten the freshness 
 of the Apulian breeze, the wooded heights of Mount 
 Vultur, or its deep recesses gay with the asphodel and 
 anemone. Virgil, among the pomps and luxuries of 
 Rome, and beneath the roof of the lordly Ma3cenas, 
 still heard in his dreams the humming of the bees and 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the rustling of tlie beeches around his dear old Man- 
 tuan home ; and often in the plenitude of his fame re- 
 called the happy hours when he first courted the muse 
 by the banks of the winding Mincius. 
 
 I attribute to those early impressions the strong 
 disinclination which I have always felt to a city life ; 
 the pleasures of which are, to my thinking, more than 
 counterbalanced by its pains. The excitement of it 
 fatigues one ; and I soon become weary of that per- 
 petual emulation and straining after effect which is the 
 characteristic of city men, and which, in the great 
   majority of cases, resolves itself into positive egotism. 
 I much prefer the fresh air to an atmosphere con- 
 taminated with smoke, the morning song of the birds 
 to the jingling of the dust-cart, the mild lowing of 
 oxen to the obscene cursing of the drunken operative ; 
 and I would rather stroll, pursuing my own run of 
 thought, by the side of a wimpling burn, or over a 
 common of sweet-scented furze, than walk alono; Georire 
 Street or Pali-Mall in the height of the fashionable 
 season. Fortunately there is among men a vast diver- 
 sity of taste, which I doubt not tends in the aggre- 
 gate to the general comfort and happiness. There is 
 an old saying, that what is one man's meat is another 
 man's poison ; and I daresay that a town devotee, if 
 called upon to justify his preference, could assign most 
 excellent reasons for adhering to that mode of existence 
 which is most consonant to his inclination. 
 
 I was scarce nine years of age, when a letter from 
 my uncle, Dr Buchanan, was received at the Birken-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 19 
 
 shaws, announcing that he was now ready to redeem 
 his pledge, by taking me into his household in Edin- 
 burgh, as it was full time that my regular education 
 should commence. I pass over the sorrow which this 
 message brought to the whole famity, for I had lived 
 so long with the Osetts that I had become as it were a 
 child of their own ; and though I had been told that 
 one day I must expect to be separated from them, that 
 sounded rather like an obscure and indefinite hint than 
 the warning of an event at hand. Fortunately our 
 preparations for the journey were of the simplest kind, 
 so that the interval of leave-taking was shortened. The 
 devoted Eppie, refreshed by her long sojourn in the 
 place of her nativity, once more took up the staff of 
 pilgrimage ; and on a fine summer morning, when the 
 lambs were racing on the meadows, and the trees just 
 clad in their light-green verdure, I was lifted, amidst a 
 storm of tears, kisses, and benedictions, into the car- 
 rier's cart ; and immediately afterwards we were jolting 
 along the shore of St Mary's Loch, on our way to the 
 hoary metropolis of the north.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 UNCLE BUCHANAN. 
 
 My uncle, Dr Andrew Buchanan, was, as I have already 
 said, a bachelor ; and long celibacy had developed 
 certain eccentric habits which prevented him, though 
 his talents were really considerable, from occupying 
 a high place in society. Naturally shy, he never 
 had made an effort to overcome that constitutional 
 defect ; so that his manner towards men was abrupt 
 and unconciliatory, and towards women, awkward and 
 diffident in the extreme. Left in early youth very much 
 to his own guidance, with little fortune to sustain him 
 or interest to push him on, yet proud, as most Scots- 
 men are, of a good ancestral name, he unfortunately 
 conceived the idea that he was unduly slighted, and 
 treated by the world at large with less consideration 
 than was his due. Men of that temperament are apt 
 to become exceedingly jealous and irritable, construing 
 into a deliberate affront the most trivial mark of inat- 
 tention, and never reflecting, that if people will not 
 take the pains to make themselves agreeable, they can-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 21 
 
 not in reason expect to be overwhelmed by gratuitous 
 courtesy. 
 
 If my uncle had betimes taken to himself a sensible 
 wife, who would have found no difficulty whatever in 
 exercising dominion over him, this incipient misan- 
 throjoy, for such it really was, might have been cured, 
 and the jaundice purged from his system. But here 
 again he was unfortunate. He chose to fall in love 
 with a consummate flirt, who, as her friends alleged, 
 kept a regular list of her admirers ; and after having 
 been victimised and rendered ridiculous in every con- 
 ceivable way, to the infinite amusement of a heartless 
 circle who thought it excellent fun, the Doctor was 
 brought up to the point of a formal proposal, and then 
 unscrupulously rejected. In his rage and agony at 
 finding himself so palpably befooled — for the young- 
 lady was barbarous enough not to spare him a single 
 pang — Andrew Buchanan, like the Prince of Morocco, 
 took a solemn vow, 
 
 " Never to speak to lady aftenvard * 
 
 In way of marriage ; " 
 
 which VOW, being registered, he kept thenceforth in- 
 violate. 
 
 It was universally allowed that he was a man of first- 
 rate ability, a good scholar, and a sound physician, quali- 
 ties which ought to have put hun on the way to for- 
 tune, or at least raised him to eminence in the estima- 
 tion of his professional brethren. But he did not j)os- 
 sess sufficient tact to avail himself of these advantages ;
 
 22 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 his manner Wcas ratlier repulsive than conciliatory ; he 
 shrunk back when he ought to have put himself for- 
 ward ; and sometimes committed the worse error of 
 maintaining with spasmodic energy some opinion which 
 already had been denounced as heterodox by the medical 
 faculty at large. If called in to visit a patient, he ex- 
 hibited none of that kindly interest and friendly solici- 
 tude which sits so well on the modern Machaon. He 
 would ask a few gruff questions, feel the pulse, survey 
 the tongue, write out some common prescription ; and 
 then, Avithout a word of civil consolation, depart, never 
 to renew his visit unless he was specially summoned. 
 No doctor who adopts such a method can hope to 
 attain to an extensive domestic practice. What fond 
 mother would a second time be party to calling in a 
 monster who exhibited no kind of sympathy with dear 
 little Tommy suffering from the measles ? What dow- 
 ager with shattered nerves could repose confidence in 
 a Goth, who told her in so many words that she might 
 have spared herself the trouble of sending for him ? 
 What mattered it if, when Azrael, the angel of Death, 
 was really standing by the couch, Dr Buchanan was 
 prompt and able to give him battle, and oftentynes to 
 scare him away ? Not at every sickbed is the gloomy- 
 browed Azrael in attendance ; and we form our esti- 
 mate of the physician's skill, and accord him our 
 confidence, rather from the manner in which he deals 
 with our minor ailments and complaints, than from his 
 acknowledged reputation for ability in cases of a despe- 
 rate nature.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 23 
 
 Again, it would be false to assert that my worthy 
 uncle was popular among his brethren. He was, I 
 firmly believe, superior to most of them in scientific 
 attainment — that is, he had read and experimented 
 more — but he was somewhat deficient in judgment, 
 and apt to be led astray by new discoveries, or what 
 appeared to be such, before their phenomena had been 
 accurately tested, or their principle satisfactorily ascer- 
 tained. In fact, he was very credulous ; a tendency 
 which, in medical men, is dangerous, inasmuch as it 
 leads to the suspicion, if not the reality, of empiricism. 
 He was one of the very first who, in this country, pro- 
 fessed their belief in the curative powers of Animal 
 Magnetism ; a daring avowal at the time, when the 
 pretended miracles of Prince Hohenlohe were creating 
 vast excitement on the Continent. If he did not abso- 
 lutely assert, he certainly did not deny the possibility 
 of clairvoyance, magic crystals, and spiritual communi- 
 cations ; he was a diligent student of the writings of 
 Swedenborg, whom he would by no means admit to be 
 an impostor ; and I suspect, from certain manuscripts 
 of his which afterwards came into my possession, that 
 he was more than tinctured with belief in the doctrines 
 of judicial astrology. Such aberrations of the intellect 
 might possibly, at the present day, when there is a re- 
 newed taste for wonders, be forgiven, or treated as harm- 
 less hallucinations ; but at the time to which I allude, 
 they were vehemently denounced by the medical faculty 
 as wicked and presumptuous heresies, scandalous in 
 themselves, and beyond the pale of forgiveness when
 
 24 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 
 
 avowed by a Fellow of the Koyal College of Physicians. 
 Thus neglected by the public from his own fault, and 
 disowned by his brethren on account of his singular 
 and extravagant opinions, ihy poor uncle gradually be- 
 came a recluse, and fell into those habits of slovenry 
 and carelessness, from which, when once formed, an 
 elderly scholar can no more escape than a fly from the 
 web of a spider. 
 
 The maintenance of an establishment such as his 
 does not necessitate a large expenditure. He kept two 
 servants ; one of whom, a strong untidy wench from 
 the Highlands, whom no wooer was likely to assail,' 
 undertook the whole of the housework, which she was 
 enabled to perform by restricting her dusting operations 
 to a hebdomadal visitation with the broom. The other 
 inmate was a decrepid old serving-man with a cantan- 
 kerous temper aggravated by deafness, who was simply 
 rude to his master, but insolent to every one else. In- 
 deed, so far as usefulness went, Saunders Jaap was a 
 domestic luxury that might have been dispensed with, 
 only there was no way of getting rid of him ; for though 
 discharged twice a-year by my uncle, he obstinately re- 
 fused to quit. Beyond cleaning shoes, pilfering snuff, 
 appropriating aged garments, laying violent hands upon 
 as much victual as he could procure, and insulting a 
 stray visitor, I am not aware that Mr Jaap performed 
 any distinct function in the house. Out of it, he was 
 nominally doorkeeper of my uncle's lecture-room, to 
 the deep disgust of the students, from whom, in the 
 intervals of swearing (for the old wretch cursed like a
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 25 
 
 second Shimei), lie never ceased to demand sixpences 
 in the way of subsidy. 
 
 Dr Buchanan was not a Professor in the University. 
 His peculiar notions prevented him from aspiring to 
 such a situation ; and even had it been otherwise, the 
 number of those who were really his friends was so 
 small that he could not reckon upon sufficient interest. 
 But limited though his expenses were, he could not 
 make ends meet without some source of income beyond 
 the receipts of his dwindling practice, so he set up a 
 private class, wherein he lectured on chemistry — a 
 branch of science which, of all others, he was most 
 competent to explain. After a year or two, those lec- 
 tures became sufficiently popular to attract a consider- 
 able audience, and to return somethmg like a compe- 
 tence ; and the necessary exertion, besides preventing 
 him from lapsing into total indolence, had a salutary 
 effect both -upon his health and spirits. He occupied a 
 small house in St John Street, at right angles to the 
 Canongate, a quiet locality in the neighbourhood of St 
 Leonards and of Salisbury Crags. 
 
 When the cart containing Eppie and myself, with 
 our small complement of luggage, drew up at my 
 uncle's door, a serious obstacle to our entrance pre- 
 sented itself in the shape of Mr Saunders Jaap, who, 
 besides being that day in an unusually migracious 
 mood, had made up his mind to resist any permanent 
 intrusion on the premises. Three vigorous pulls at the 
 bell having proved ineffectual to elicit any notice, the 
 carrier, Watty Shaw, a powerful youth from the braes
 
 26 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of Yarrow, comnieuccd beating a tattoo upon the door 
 with the butt-end of his wliip, whereupon Jaap rushed 
 forth hke a mastiff assaulted in its kennel. 
 
 " Wha's scoondrel are ye, that daur to mak' sic a 
 din? What brings ye here disturbin' honest folk at 
 this time o' day ? Saul o' me ! but I hae mair than 
 half a mind to lend ye sic a lounder as wad gar your 
 head ring on the kerb-stane, ye muckle unsonsie 
 brute ! " 
 
 " Ay, man ? " replied Watty, nothing daunted, " and 
 whaur, think ye, wad my whup be then ? Steek your 
 mouth, ye donner'd auld deevil, and lift the boxes in. 
 You lend me a lounder ! Lordsake, puir body ! ye 
 haena pith to thraw the neck o' a hen." 
 
 " Maybe I'll see your neck thrawn ae day at the tap 
 o' the West Bow ! " retorted Jaap, keeping, however, 
 cautiously within reach of the door ; " Yell be a 
 Yetholm tinkler or a caird frae Blair-an-gone, stravagin' 
 about the country, stealing mair claes than ye souther 
 kettles ! Gang awa' wi' ye — there's nane o' your sort 
 wanted here !" 
 
 " Whisht, ye auld foumart I" said Watty, " whisht, 
 or it may be the waur for ye ! Isna this Doctor 
 ^^uchanan's ? " 
 
 " And what has the hkes o' you to say to Doctor 
 Buchanan?" snarled Saunders. 
 
 "Naething for mysel'," said Watty, depositing a 
 box on the pavement ; " but this bairn is the Doctor's 
 nephoy, and this woman is his nurse, Eppie Osett, 
 come frae the Birkenshaws ; and it wad set ye better
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 27 
 
 to be helping them down, than to stand there, girning 
 like a tod without its teeth." 
 
 " I never heard tell of ony nephoy," muttered Jaap, 
 " and I'm no gaun to let in gangrel folk whether I ken 
 them or no. There's a hantle siller spunes in the 
 pantry. Forbye, the Doctor's far frae weel, and canna 
 be fashed wi' naebody. Sae just gae your wa's, and 
 bide till ye are speered for." 
 
 Uttering these ho.spitable remarks, Mr Jaap was in 
 the act of slamming to the door, when he was con- 
 fronted by Eppie Osett, who sprang like a lioness 
 from the cart. 
 
 "Sinner that ye are !" cried Eppie, "and waur nor 
 sinner — for ye wad do Herod's wark without Herod's 
 wages — wad ye daur to keep this innocent wean out 
 o' his uncle's house, in a wat evening? Weel do I 
 mind your ill-faured, black-a-vised face, Saunders Jaap, 
 though it's aught years and mair since I clappit een 
 upon you. Think ye I hae forgotten that ye tried to 
 wile half-a-crown out of my pouch when I cam' here 
 to tell your maister that his bonny young sister was 
 a corp, and when ye kenned that we hadna money 
 enough to pay for her winding-sheet ? Stand out o' 
 my gate, ye worthless blackguard, or I'll gar ye carry 
 the marks of my haill ten commandments to your 
 grave!" 
 
 I know not what response Mr Jaap might have 
 made to this formidable threat, had not a new inter- ' 
 locutor arrived in the person of my uncle, who, hearing 
 the dispute, sallied down stairs in his dressing-gown,
 
 28 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 and gave us a welcome, the warmth of which I tho- 
 roughly felt in spite of the oddity of his appearance. 
 
 " Come in, come in, my poor little fellow !" he said, 
 bestowing- on me a vigorous kiss, " and come ye in too, 
 my good Eppie Osett. God give me patience ! did 
 that drunken vagabond try to put you from my door ! 
 Saunders Jaap — I have endured your insolence for 
 well-nigh twenty years, but this puts an end to the 
 account. Did I not warn you that Mr Norman was 
 coming here this day ? and did I not desire you to tell 
 Peggie to make his room ready, and to have the tea- 
 things set out ? But it's no use talking to such a 
 selfish brute. Saunders Jaap, you quit this house to- 
 morrow ! " 
 
 " Blythe wad I be to get rid of ye," grumbled Jaap, 
 " but your temper's getting sae bad that nae one else 
 will live wi' ye. Hoo was I to ken your nephoy frae 
 ony ither bairn in the Canongate ? Tak' him in, gin it 
 be your will — I'm sure I hae nae objection ; and I'll 
 quit the morn, if that be your mind — weel I wat it's 
 little I get for staying ! But I rede ye first to hire 
 somebody to pu' ye out when ye chance to stoiter into 
 the fire." 
 
 The rapid disparition of Mr Jaap saved him in all 
 probabihty from a severe contusion, for my uncle had 
 caught up a bag which he seemed disposed to hurl at 
 the audacious serving-man. We were taken into the 
 house and supplied with refreshments, Dr Buchanan 
 watching me, as I ate, with an interest which was 
 somewhat embarrassing. Presently, however, he seemed
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 29 
 
 to lapse into a fit of abstraction ; and after having 
 summoned Peggie, the servant-of-all-work, and desked 
 her to show me to my room, he took up a book and 
 was instantly absorbed in its contents. 
 
 Eppie Osett and I followed the damsel up-stairs 
 to a little attic, where there was a table, a chair, and 
 one diminutive crib without curtains. It looked very 
 cheerless, and though the season was early summer, 
 there was a feeling of cold, and a damp odour in the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Are ye sure, my woman," said Eppie Osett, after 
 having carefully scrutinised the room, "that this is 
 where my bairn is to sleep ? He's no used-like to lying 
 by his lane, and I think for a week or twa it wad be 
 mair convenient if he lay in the room wi' me. ^Vllaur 
 am I to be putten up ? " 
 
 " Troth, I dinna ken," replied the Highland damsel: 
 " I heerd tell o' naebody coming but the laddie. It's 
 my mind that ye wasna expected." 
 
 A flush came over Eppie's face as she seized the tin 
 candlestick with one hand, and my jacket with the 
 other. 
 
 "Come wi' me, my blessed bairn!" she said, "I 
 maun hae this redd up afore ye lay your head on a 
 pillow ! It's no ony uncle ye hae that is strong enough 
 to twine us twa." 
 
 "Mr Buchanan!" said Eppie, marching into the 
 apartment, " ye'll understand that it's no for mysel' I 
 speak, for may His name be praised, there's them at 
 the Birkenshaws wad be ower glad to hae me wi' them.
 
 30 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 But is it your pleasure that tliis sweet lamb is to be 
 left here, wi' naebody to look after him but a Hieland 
 lass, and that uncircumceesed Philistine, Jaap, wha's 
 lug I wuss ye had smitten afF this day, as the Apostle 
 Peter did tliat of Malclius, wha was servant to the 
 high-priest ? If that be your wull, sir, say it at ance. 
 I ken whare Watty Shaw puts up ; he'll be glad to gie 
 us a cast ; and by the morn's night we baith may see 
 the Yarrow." 
 
 " God bless me ! what's that you say ? " said my 
 uncle, starting from his studies. " I told them to make 
 everything comfortable for Norman — Is there anything 
 wrong? The fact is, Mrs Osett, that I know little 
 about domestic arrangements, but if you have any 
 suggestions to make " 
 
 " I hae naething but a simple question to ask. Doctor 
 Buchanan, and ye can answer it, ay or no. Am I to 
 be separated from my dear bairn ? These auld hands 
 were the first that received him when he cam' into 
 this weary warld, the child o' sorrow and pain — these 
 hands lifted him from the bosom of his dead mother, 
 sinless angel that she was — and wi' these hands I am 
 ready to work for his daily bread, if kith and kin 
 should forsake him. But as to my gieing him up, it's 
 no to be thought o' ; for where he goes I will go, and 
 where he lodges I will lodge. The Lord do so to me 
 and more also, if ought but death shall part us ! " 
 
 "Confound my stupidity!" said Dr Buchanan, "I 
 never once thought about that. Yes, yes, jMrs Osett, 
 you are right, perfectly right — somebody must look
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 31 
 
 after the boy ; for I, God help me ! have enough to do 
 to look after myself ; and Peggie, though a decent lass, 
 is but a tawpie. No doubt of it, Mrs Osett, you must 
 stay, and I'll settle with you about wages to-morrow." 
 
 "I'm muclde obligated to your honour," replied 
 Eppie, "but dinna ye think that I'll tak' plack or 
 bawbee for looking after my ain bairn. I'll stay wi' 
 you, sin' it is your pleasure, and I'll do what I can to 
 hae the house redd up, for it's no just what it ought 
 to be ; but I say unto you as Elisha said unto Naaman 
 the Syrian, that I will receive nothing of thy hand." 
 
 " Well, well ! that's all arranged," said Dr Buchanan, 
 " so there's no more to be said on the subject." 
 
 " But whaur am I to put the bairn for this nicht ? " 
 persisted Eppie ; " I canna let him lie a' nicht his lane, 
 in yon wee bit room at the tap o' the house, and I 
 kenna whaur I am to lay my ain head." 
 
 " Heaven grant me patience ! " cried the Doctor, 
 with a vigorous pull at the bell ; " was there ever an 
 unfortunate man so cursed with useless servants as I 
 am! Here! — you — Peggie — idiot — why don't you 
 show Mrs Osett to the blue room ? " 
 
 "The blue room, did ye say, sir?" stammered the 
 Highland maid ; " it's the best room in the hoos." 
 
 " That's the very reason why I wish Master Norman 
 and Mrs Osett to have it, you fool ! I never see com- 
 pany, and where would be the sense of letting it stand 
 empty 1 " 
 
 "But it's no empty, sir, ava'. It's been occupied 
 thae four months."
 
 32 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 V 
 
 " Occupied ? " crierl my uncle. " "WHio tlie devil has 
 occupied it ? Speak out, you slut, or I'll instantly send 
 for the police ! " 
 
 " 'Deed, sir, it wasna my doing," sobbed the damsel, 
 " He wad hae the room to himsel', for ought I could 
 say to the contrair ; and he threatened he would ding 
 out my harns if I ever lat ye ken." 
 
 " He ? whom do you mean by he ? " 
 
 " Just Saunders Jaap, yer honour." 
 
 The Doctor started from his chair in a towering 
 passion. 
 
 " I never committed murder," said he, " but the 
 temptation is strong upon me now ! The scoundrel ! 
   — the useless, insolent old vagabond ! I know him to 
 be a thief and a liar, but I never tliouo;ht he durst 
 have done this. Give me a candle, woman — I'll see to 
 this instantly." 
 
 So saying, the Doctor rushed towards the blue room, 
 and we, excited by curiosity, followed. There, sure 
 enough, lay Mr Jaap, snoring in bed, as luxiu-iously 
 lodged as any gentleman in the land. A strong odour 
 of coarse tobacco which pervaded the apartment, in- 
 dicated that the sensual Saunders, before retirino; to 
 rest, had derived solace from a pipe ; while the remains 
 of a cold fowl, and a brandy-bottle almost empty of 
 contents, showed that his creature comforts had been 
 duly cared for. 
 
 " Get up, you infernal rascal ! " shouted my uncle. 
 " Get out of that this instant, or I'll brain you with 
 the water-jug ! "
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 33 
 
 Mr Jaap opened a lack-lustre eye, but clisj)layed no 
 alacrity in obeying the command. 
 
 " Was ye wanting ony thing frae me ?" he said. 
 
 " Wanting anything from you ? " repeated my uncle, 
 mechanically. 
 
 " Ay — for if ye want naething, what's the sense o' 
 disturbing folk at this time o' nicht ? Can ye no let a 
 body rest in peace ? " 
 
 " Confound your impudence ! Out of that instantly, 
 or I'll have you lugged to the Tolbooth ! " 
 
 "Weel — since that's your wull, I'm conformable. 
 But ye had better bide outside the door till I put on 
 my breeks." 
 
 " And finish the brandy, you incorrigible thief ! — my 
 best Prench brandy, too ! " 
 
 " Oo, if ye grudge it, ye're walcome to what's in the 
 bottle ! Puir stuff it is too, though ye mak' sic a sang 
 aboot it — no to be compared to Hieland whisky. And 
 whaur is it your pleasure that I should sleep this 
 nicht?" 
 
 " In the gutter or the King's Park ; anywhere but 
 under my roof ! " 
 
 " Ye canna pit me out till the morning," said Jaap, 
 deliberately, " it's clean again the law. And there's 
 wages and board-wages — I'll no stir a foot till ye pay 
 me them ; I've had nae regular warning. And I hold 
 ye responsible for my claes, forbye " 
 
 Here my uncle lost all remnant of patience. He 
 seized Jaap, who by this time was struggling into his 
 garments, by the neck, thrust him down stairs and out 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of the house, and then pitched the remainder of his 
 apparel from the window. 
 
 " The Lord be praised ! " ejaculated my uncle, help- 
 ing himself to the driblet of brandy that remained. 
 " I've got rid at last of the greatest nuisance of my 
 life ! " 
 
 My nurse and I being thus installed, matters went 
 on more smoothly and comfortably in Dr Buchanan's 
 establishment than before. Up to that time the poor 
 man had been entirely at the mercy of his servants, 
 and not having the faintest notion of housekeeping, 
 was sometimes in positive danger of being starved. 
 Peggie M'Craw, as may readily be supposed, had never 
 studied the works of Mrs Dalgairns, that oracle of the 
 Scottish kitchen ; consequently her style of cookery 
 was such as would hardly have been tolerated by a 
 Hottentot. But in justice to Peggie, it must be stated 
 that even the ingenious Dalgairns would have found 
 some difficulty in sending up a banquet from a kitchen 
 void of the most ordinary culinary utensils. Now, 
 among her other accomplishments, Eppie was an excel- 
 lent cook, well versed in the composition of the favour- 
 ite old Scottish dishes, and was, moreover, a first-rate 
 manager ; so, before she had been in office many days, 
 a vast reform was effected in the commissariat depart- 
 ment ; and my uncle, who previously might have been 
 indicted for conspiracy on account of his lean and 
 hungry look, waxed quite plump and pursy, and began 
 to throw out some indefinite hints as to the propriety 
 of asking some friends to dine with him ; a notion
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 35 
 
 which, I am persuaded, had not entered the brain of 
 the worthy gentleman for the last twenty years. 
 
 As for myself, I was sent in due time to school ; bnt 
 that time did not arrive until the ensuing winter. Scot- 
 land in general, and Edinburgh in particular, were 
 then in a state of pleasurable excitement such as had 
 not been known for centuries. George the Fourth, 
 whose personal popularity had been somewhat dam- 
 aged in consequence of the trial of Queen Caroline, 
 had, very wisely, resolved to make an attempt upon 
 the affections of his northern subjects, by paying them 
 a royal visit ; and as this was the first time that royal- 
 ty had vouchsafed so much since the accession of the 
 House of Hanover to the throne, the popular enthusi- 
 asm was tremendous. In vain did infant Liberalism, 
 hardly emancipated from its swaddling-clothes, insist 
 upon the insensate folly of a cordial national reception, 
 and demonstrate that a severe reticence and cold re- 
 spect was all that ought to be exhibited by the people 
 to their sovereign. The instinctive feeling of the 
 people taught them otherwise. They resolved that 
 this should be an ovation, unparalleled of its kind ; 
 and they gave no heed to the grumbling of the dis- 
 affected, though they grumbled with unusual perti- 
 nacity. But the Eoyal visit, the first public event of 
 which I have any distinct remembrance, must form 
 the subject of a new and separate chapter.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GEORGE IV. IN EDINBURGH, 
 
 Edinbukgh, though even then a noble city, had not 
 at the period to which I alhide attained its present 
 magnificence. Much of the New Town was still un- 
 built, in particular the western portion, situated upon 
 grounds belonging to the Earl of Moray which were 
 still private enclosures. The beautiful gardens which 
 divide Heriot Row from Queen Street were then sim- 
 ply bleaching-fields, and the elegant suburb of Inver- 
 leith had not yet been constructed. Its growth and 
 extension has been more gradual than that of other 
 cities, but it has never experienced a check ; and al- 
 though it is by no means probable that Edinburgh 
 will ever become an emporium of trade or a seat of 
 manufactures, it possesses more attractions as a place 
 of residence than any other city in the United King- 
 dom, with the exception of imperial London. 
 
 When it became known that George the Fourth in- 
 tended to visit his ancient kingdom of Scotland, in- 
 tense was the excitement that prevailed. If there is
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 37 
 
 one feature in the Scottish character more marked 
 than another, it is the desire common to all classes of 
 exhibiting their country in the most favourable aspect 
 to the eyes of strangers. Hence in the old days when 
 Scotland was a separate kingdom, and in reality one of 
 the poorest in Europe, foreigners were amazed at the 
 magnificence exhibited at the Court of Holyrood, at the 
 masques and public rejoicings which attended a royal 
 progress, and at the semi-regal state maintained by 
 some of the greatest of the nobility. It is true that 
 after the Reformation, or at least after the deposition 
 of Queen Mary, public ceremonies fell into disuse, a 
 gloomy asceticism superseded the ancient joyous spirit, 
 and the more elegant forms of court entertainment 
 were ill supplied by a coarse and illicit revelry. The 
 union of the crowns in the person of James the Sixth, 
 threw over Scotland a gloom which lasted for a long 
 period. Civil wars and dissensions, political and pole- 
 mical strife, both distracted and impoverished the 
 nation. It became of no weight at all in the councils 
 of Europe ; for though it still retained a Parliament, 
 and had a separate Ministry, it was justly regarded by 
 foreign powers as a mere appanage to England ; and 
 having lost its importance as a state, it possessed no 
 other attraction. The union of the kingdoms did not 
 at first efiect any amelioration in the social state of 
 Scotland ; nay, it rather seemed for a time to produce 
 a detrimental effect, by causing the removal of the 
 nobility and members of Parliament to London, and 
 depriving Edinburgh of its last claim to recognition
 
 38 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 as a metropolis. It is not to be wondered at that the 
 great measure to which the present wealth and enter- 
 prise of Scotland must be mainly attributed should 
 have been long unpopular even with the middle classes ; 
 and should have been felt by the lesser nobility and 
 gentry as a grievous blow to their importance, and a 
 serious injury to their order, inasmuch as it lessened 
 their chances of lucrative public employment. The 
 insurrections of 171 o and 1745 threw a further im- 
 pediment in the way of progress ; and the eighteenth 
 century had well-nigh closed, before Scotland took that 
 wonderful start which has since raised her to such 
 high consideration. 
 
 Notwithstanding all these drawbacks affecting her 
 material wealth, Scotland still continued to preserve a 
 fair literary reputation. The names of Hume, Eobert- 
 son, Eeid, Smith, and Blair were well known beyond 
 the boundary of the Tweed; Thomson and Beattie 
 proved that the fire of poetry was not extinguished ; 
 and Smollett, as a novelist, must be ranked equal with, 
 if not superior to Fielding. Also, in the Northern 
 universities, physics were studied with a zeal and 
 diligence unknown elsewhere ; so that, however much 
 Englishmen might be inclined to sneer at Scottish 
 pride and poverty, they could not refuse them credit 
 for considerable intellectual attainment. The fame 
 of the University of Edinburgh, in its medical and 
 metaphysical departments, began to attract visitors, 
 and to initiate that intercourse which might now be 
 more aptly designated as a fusion. But it was reserved
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 39 
 
 for Sir Walter Scott, by far the most wonderful lite- 
 rary phenomenon of his age, to renovate the history of 
 his country ; to give it prominence in the eyes of Europe ; 
 to invest its grey towers and mouldering ruins with 
 the glowing tints of romance ; to portray the character 
 of its people with marvellous minuteness and fidelity ; 
 to give a new enchantment to its beautiful scenery and 
 an interest to its every relic ; and to transform it from 
 an obscure and half-forgotten region, seldom named 
 abroad and very rarely visited, to a land of poetry and 
 renown. Well may Scotland be proud of that colossal 
 genius ; for not only did he raise its literary reputation 
 to the highest point which it ever attained, but he gave 
 it new life, vigour, and energy, restored it to its pris- 
 tine place among the nations, swept away the gloomy 
 cloud that had obscured it so long, and prepared it for 
 its new career. 
 
 Scarce one-half of that great man's work was accom- 
 plished when the royal visit was announced ; but so 
 strong had been the effect of his writings upon the 
 national mind, so completely had he fascinated his 
 countrymen and imbued them with his own romantic 
 spirit, that they would not be content with a gathering 
 however enthusiastic, or a reception however cordial, 
 unless it partook of the nature of a pageant recalling 
 the memories of the past. That an idea so ultra- 
 romantic, and so opposed to the sober usages of the 
 present century, should have possessed a hard-headed 
 people like the Scots, might well excite the astonish- 
 ment of those who knew not the deep nnder-current
 
 40 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of national pride, not easily distinguishable from fana- 
 ticism, which often, far more than reason, actuates 
 their conduct, and wliich alone can furnish the explan- 
 ation of many an historical anomaly. But it was so 
 determined and done. The universal feeling was that 
 the King's reception in Scotland should be of an ex- 
 clusively Scottish character ; and as the customs and 
 costumes of the present age were not peculiarly dis- 
 tinctive, the only alternative was to fall back on those 
 of the past, and to make the proces.sions resemble as 
 nearly as possible those which would have been mar- 
 shalled at the coronation of the last of the Scottish 
 kings. 
 
 So the fiery cross was sped "o'er mountain and 
 through glen," and the Highlanders were summoned 
 once more to display a general gathering of the clans. 
 They answered with alacrity to the call ; and from 
 Dunkeld to Caithness there was such a brushing-up of 
 sporrans and furbishing of dirks and claymores as 
 would, eighty years previously, have stricken the hearts 
 of the Lowlanders with consternation. I remember 
 well being taken to the green in front of Heriot Eow, 
 to see the mustering of the sons of the Gael, whose 
 stalwart forms and tartan array inspired me with awe 
 and veneration. Of course I knew not that many of 
 those sinewy warriors, than whom Achilles, clad in the 
 divine armour of Vulcan, could scarce have looked 
 more terrible and resplendent, followed the humble 
 but exceedingly useful calling of chairmen and street- 
 porters. If I had known it, I question whether my
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 41 
 
 admiration would have been diminished ; for Achilles 
 himself, at the Court of Lycomedes, assumed a disguise 
 less creditable than the greatcoat and leather straps 
 of the caddie ; and yet, in the camp before Troy, no 
 one dared to allude to his performances at the distaff 
 and the loom. 
 
 To a stranger unacquainted with the cause of the 
 excitement, the streets of Edinburgh must have pre- 
 sented an extraordinary spectacle. Tartan, I need 
 hardly say, was in the ascendant ; for every man who 
 wrote himself a Mac, considered it a point of honour 
 to don the philabeg. Some Macs there were, how- 
 ever, especially of the Gallovidian breed, M'Cand- 
 lishes, M'Caskies, M'Crackens, M'Haffies, M'Letchies, 
 M'Eitchies, M'Whannels, M' Whinnies, and M'Whir- 
 ters, whose pedigree no bard could unravel, and whose 
 checker was unknown. But even for them there was 
 balm in Gilead. They might either claim affinity with 
 the MacGlregor, alleging a remote change of name in 
 consequence of the proscription of that warlike sept ; 
 or, if expense was of no moment, they could procure 
 at wonderfullv short notice, throueh the medium of 
 enterprising haberdashers, tartan of an entirely new 
 pattern and brilliant hues, to be set apart for their 
 glorification, and that of their heirs for ever. Next to 
 the Gael in number were the Eoyal Archers, whose 
 antique costume would have been really picturesque, 
 but for the absurd ruff which they wore round the 
 neck — a palpable anachronism, as the traditions of the 
 body-guard are much more ancient than the invention
 
 42 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of starch. As in duty bound, the retainers of the Lyon 
 Court shone out in blazoned splendour — 
 
 " Heralds ami ]iur.suivants, by name, 
 Bute, Islay, Marehmoiit, Rotlisay, came 
 In painted tabards, proudly showing 
 Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing." 
 
 Pages, beef-eaters, and yeomen of the guard met you 
 at every turn. Only a few jackmen from the Border 
 were wanting to give a complete realisation of the 
 picture so vividly portrayed in Marmion. For those 
 who had no pretext for masquerading, heather was 
 provided, to be worn in the hat, and stars and cock- 
 ades bearing the white cross of St Andrew. Every 
 one was expected to exhibit some kind of decoration ; 
 and by common consent all traces of mourning dis- 
 appeared, and black was a forbidden colour. 
 
 I remember perfectly the difficulty which we expe- 
 rienced in making our way through the encumbered 
 streets, on the day when the King landed, to the 
 gallery at the corner of York Place, for which we had 
 tickets, in order to witness the procession. Brought 
 up in a secluded pastoral district, I felt both bewildered 
 and awed at the spectacle of such a mighty mass of 
 humanity ; for not only were the streets so thronged 
 as to obstruct the passage, but the Calton Hill was 
 crowded to the very top, and no pinnacle or jDlace of 
 vantage, however dizzy or dangerous, but was occupied 
 by an eager group. The galloping of the horses, the 
 flash and clash of steel, and the stunning discharge of 
 artillery from the Castle, fairly took away my senses ;
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 43 
 
 and though by no means devoid of curiosity, I would 
 very willingly have given my St Andrew's cross, the 
 most valued thing in my possession, to any benevolent 
 genie that would have wafted me away to the quiet 
 banks of the Meggat. "We reached the stand, however, 
 without any mishap ; and, perched in a place of safety, 
 I had ample leisure to sm^vey, with childish wonder, 
 the stirring scene beneath, to pester my good-natnred 
 uncle with a succession of disjointed questions, and 
 occasionally to regale myself with sugar almonds, of 
 which nurse Osett had given me a supply. 
 
 My recollection of the procession itself is vivid as 
 to its general feature, but indistinct as to details. I 
 remember hearing; afar off the sound of tumultuous 
 cheering mingled with military music, whereat there 
 was a sudden movement and swaying of the crowd 
 immediately below us, and a hum of expectation which 
 deepened into a roar as the leading horsemen, in crim- 
 son and gold, the Lord Lyon and his suite, came into 
 sight. Gorgeous was the array that followed, knights 
 and squires on prancing steeds, cavahy, Highlanders, 
 yeomen, in almost interminable succession, untU an 
 open carriage, drawn by (I know not how many) 
 splendid led horses, rounded into the square, and a 
 deafening shout of acclamation welcomed the presence 
 of the King. 
 
 It is a common observation, and has almost passed 
 into a proverb, that children are easily pleased ; mean- 
 ing thereby, I presume, that they are never critical as 
 to the congruity of any spectacle which they behold,
 
 44 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 but regard the passing pageant with absorbing Avonder 
 and delight. I am rather inclined to doubt the sound- 
 ness of that position. I think that children are very 
 often critical after their own peculiar fashion, and that 
 the conclusions which they form through natural in- 
 duction are sometimes more shrewd and sensible than 
 those of their elders, who are biassed by prepossession 
 or prejudice. At all events, I shall frankly confess 
 that my first impression on gazing at George the 
 Fourth was one of sad disappointment. Although my 
 education was not far advanced, I had read something 
 and heard more about kings, and I had seen their 
 effigies set forth in picture-books ; and my fixed idea 
 was that a king never went anywhere, even to break- 
 fast, without a jewelled crown on his head, a gorgeous 
 mantle on his shoulders, a sceptre in one hand, and a 
 golden ball surmounted by a cross in the other. What 
 was the reality that I beheld ? A very stout elderly 
 gentleman, almost bursting through his clothes, with 
 a swollen face and elaborate periwig, bowing from side 
 to side with a sort of mechanical motion ! Was that 
 indeed the King? Why, he was not half so fine as 
 the other king who headed the procession — (I had been 
 particularly fascinated by the apparition of the King- 
 at-Arms, whose equipment that day, I am satisfied, 
 gave the hint for the sketch of Conrade, Marquis of 
 Montserrat, in the Talisman) — and as for dignity, I 
 could discern nothing of the kind. Young radical that 
 I was ! I had hit upon the real blot. The palpable 
 absurdity lay in the medieval character of the pageant.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 45 
 
 To have made it congi-uous and intelligible, George the 
 Fourth should have appeared in the costume of Harry 
 the Eighth, which would have suited him remarkably 
 well, and in that dress his mideniably fine presence 
 would have made him the stateliest among the stately. 
 As it was, but for a certain self-possession and air of 
 high-breeding, scarce, however, to be distinguished at 
 a momentary glance, he might have been mistaken for 
 that omnivorous alderman, Sir William Curtis, who 
 pertinaciously followed m his train. 
 
 Still that was the King, no doubt of it, — a corpulent 
 embodiment of power, might, and majesty ; and no 
 wonder that he was surprised and delighted with the 
 warmth of the popular reception. No such ovation 
 had ever greeted him in England : indeed, during the 
 Queen's trial, he had become an object of vituperation 
 to the multitude, who were but too well acquainted 
 with the scandals of the period, and whose rough sense 
 of equity had been offended by a charge of infidelity 
 being preferred against the wife, when the husband 
 was notoriously liable to the same reproach. When he 
 came to Scotland all personal considerations were cast 
 aside. The homage of the nation was paid to the king, 
 and not to the man. It was loyalty that dictated the 
 movement, not affection or esteem ; a signal proof of 
 the deep-rooted attachment of the nation to the prin- 
 ciple of hereditary monarchy. 
 
 One other glimpse I obtained of George the Fourth, 
 and that was on the occasion of the procession from 
 Holyrood House to the Castle. On the day of his
 
 46 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 entry into Edinburgh, the weather was propitious, the 
 sun shone out brightly, and gave lustre to the pageant. 
 But the effect of the later procession was marred by a 
 heavy wind and drenching rain, most damaging to 
 plumage and embroidery. We had places in a gallery 
 erected on tlie esplanade of the Castle Hill, and, as I 
 remember, had to wait a long time before the pro- 
 cession appeared. The plight of the Eoyal Archers, 
 who lined the way, was piteous to behold. Most woe- 
 ful did they look with their dripping hats and thawed 
 ruffs, exposed to the pelting of the storm on a day 
 when even Eobin Hood would have been glad to leave 
 the deer of Sherwood unmolested, and take refuse in 
 the hermitage of Friar Tuck. There was, however, 
 one lull, in the midst of which two persons of unpre- 
 tending appearance, and in ordinary costume, walked 
 up the centre of the way. One of them was a tall 
 man of massive build, with a slight stoop in his shoul- 
 ders and an imperfection in his gait, — a man whom, 
 when you once had seen him, you felt certain you 
 could recognise again at any distance of time. His 
 companion did not attract my attention ; but I remem- 
 ber well that, as they passed, there arose from the 
 crowd a cheer of more than common heartiness and 
 fervour, and I heard my uncle say that these were Sir 
 Walter Scott and Mr Peel, then Secretary of State. 
 
 Amidst the plashing of the rain and the blustering 
 of the wind, up rode the cavalcade, gallantly contending 
 with the elements ; the Regalia being carried by the 
 representatives of the first houses in the land. Up,
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 47 
 
 too, came the royal carriage, but this time it was pru- 
 dently closed ; and yet the assembled multitude were 
 not balked of the sight of the monarch, for shortly 
 after he had entered the grand old fortress, when the 
 gale was blowing most fiercely, and the great folds of 
 the royal standard were rushing out, George the Fourth 
 appeared alone on the brow of the highest battery, 
 erect and commanding, in the view of all the people, 
 and such a shout arose as possibly never before was 
 given in greeting to a king. 
 
 Of the rest of the proceedings and shows of that 
 memorable period — the illuminations, bonfires, and the 
 like — I retain but a faint impression. What I have 
 already noted is all I can recall without an effort ; and 
 though it may hardly be worth the telling, for a more 
 perfect record exists elsewhere, I could not bring myself 
 to omit mention of a pageant certainly tlie most mag- 
 nificent which has been v/itnessed in the present cen- 
 tury, and perhaps without a parallel since the Field of 
 the Cloth of Gold. And yet, notwithstanding the 
 universal enthusiasm which was displayed, the vast 
 concourse of people from all parts of the country to 
 behold their monarch, and the gorgeous parade of 
 ceremony, sure I am of this, that a far wider and 
 deeper homage of loyalty, affection, and reverence, than 
 was paid to George the Fourth, is accorded to Queen 
 Victoria when she seeks her Highland home.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EDUCATIONAL PERIOD. 
 
 HowEVEE pleasant it may be in after life — and I 
 admit that it is very pleasant — to talk over school- 
 days with a crony who has a vivid recollection of the 
 mutual floggings you received, the scrapes in which 
 you were both involved, and the feuds in which you 
 made common cause, I cannot help thinking that it is 
 somewhat impertinent to the public at large to thri 
 such narratives upon it. Grant that Thomson w; 
 liero, Simpson a pickle, and Jackson an unmitioR'ed 
 bully — what does the public know or care about W^ova- 
 son, Simpson, or Jackson ? They were simply -.'noto- 
 rieties — good, bad, or indifferent — of the class to/wliich 
 you belonged ; but in the great world that lies peyond 
 both school and university they made no figure, and 
 you know not what has become of them. Surely they 
 are not fitting subjects for biographical reminiscence ; 
 and wherefore should you expose the failings of a peda- 
 gogue, whose temper you sorely tried ; who set you 
 down with considerable show of reason as an iinpene-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 49" 
 
 trable blockhead ; and who, in inflicting chastisement 
 for your dubiess, merely followed the recognised and 
 ancient traditions of his tribe ? For my part, looking 
 back to my early years, I can discern nothing in my 
 school life worthy of being narrated ; nor do my first 
 university experiences suggest any imjDortaut memor- 
 abilia. Like most Scottish students of the time, I 
 acquired a good knowledge of Latin, a smattering of 
 Greek, and a considerable stock of general information, 
 increased by private reading of a desultory kind, which 
 was of far more use to me afterwards than anything I 
 learned in the schools. My uncle's library was but a 
 poor one ; but in it I found the plays of Shakespeare, 
 Anderson's edition of the British Poets, the works of 
 the elder novelists, and the histories of Hume and 
 Gibbon. These I perused with absorbing interest, to 
 the neo;lect, I must confess, of the mathematical and 
 metaphysical treatises which ought to have engrossed 
 my attention ; but on that account I cannot truthfully 
 say that I have any tears to shed. I never took kindly 
 to mathematics ; partly because the practical use of 
 that study was not explained to me, and partly be- 
 cause I could see nothing in it to interest the imagina- 
 tion. Metaphysics I detested. The science appeared 
 to me an elaborate diabolical invention for mystifying 
 what was clear, and confounding what was intelligible. 
 In chemistry I made some progress, and would have 
 made more, but for the occurrence of an accident 
 which fairly cured me of the passion for experiment. 
 It so happened that at college I had an especial chum, 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Willie Mcnelaws, with whom I was inseparably leagued. 
 Whether in mischief or in study, we went together ; 
 and bore each other's burdens, though these were not 
 very heavy, with a fidelity that might have done hon- 
 our to Damon and Pythias. Willie never hesitated to 
 accept responsibility for my literary squibs, which 
 sometimes excited the wrath of the students against 
 whom they were directed ; and I, in return, stood 
 between him and the parental anger in the matter of 
 certain abstracted bell-pulls which had given rise to a 
 serious inquiry. We both commenced the study of 
 chemistry with great zeal, and went through the pre- 
 liminary stages of fabricating coal-gas in tobacco-piijes ; 
 destroying silver-spoons by rubbing them with mer- 
 cury (which metal we obtained by smashing an ancient 
 barometer) ; and smearing the walls with phosphorus 
 — an operation which very nearly deprived the unfor- 
 tunate Peggie M'Craw of her wits. Then, in the hope 
 of seducing the lightning from the clouds, we con- 
 structed a kite with a wire in the string, after the 
 manner of Franklin, but somehow it w^ould not fly ; 
 and we tried to make caustic, by steeping a shilling in 
 nitric acid, the result of which was, that our fingers 
 became as black as the claws of an ourano--outano;. It 
 was God's mercy that we did not get the length of 
 fulminating powder, else assuredly we should have 
 been blown to smithereens. That consummation, how- 
 ever, we were very near attaining otherwise, and it 
 took place after this fashion. 
 
 I had discovered in an attic some old-fashioned ap-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIK. 51 
 
 paratus wliicli my uncle had laid aside — troughs, jars, 
 syphons, and suchlike, which I regarded as aii inesti- 
 mable treasure ; and these were forthwith removed to 
 a room on the ground-floor which I occupied as a kind 
 of study. We had previously tried our hands at mak- 
 ing oxygen gas, but had failed for lack of implements. 
 We now determined to essay the production of hydro- 
 gen, and having procured the necessary materials, we 
 arranged our whole stock of glass, so that the gas 
 from the retort might, after passing through various 
 receptacles, be at last lodged in a huge bell-shaped jar, 
 surmounted by a brass stop-cock, which was the pride 
 of our collection. Nothing could have succeeded better. 
 The gas was generated, bubbled up through the water, 
 and very soon reached the jar, as we discovered by 
 the nauseous odour of its escape. 
 
 " Now then, Willie," said I, " suppose we apply a 
 light, and see how it burns.'' 
 
 We did so ; and a pale-blue jet whizzed up, upon 
 which we gazed with the delight of a coujile of Ghe- 
 bers ; but our adoration was uncommonly brief, for a 
 minute could hardly have elapsed before the flame 
 waxed dim, buzzed like an infuriated wasp, descended 
 into the jar, and a tremendous explosion followed, 
 which dashed both of us to the ground. 
 
 " Willie, man ! " said I, recovering myself so far as 
 to sit upon my rump, and extracting a piece of glass 
 from my cheek, which bled profusely — " Willie, man ! 
 are ye killed ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think I am," said Willie, scrambling
 
 52 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 to his feet ; " but Lord's-sake, Norman, bear a hand 
 with the ■water-jug ! Fling it over me — fling it over 
 my legs ; for the acid has burned through my breeches, 
 and I feel it biting in my flesh ! " 
 
 " Willie, what am I to do ? The jug's empty ! " 
 
 " Take me out to the pump ! take me out to the 
 pump !" roared Willie, " or I'll be as raw as a skinned 
 rabbit ! " 
 
 " His presence be wi' us ! What's this o't, lads ? " 
 cried Nurse Osett, rushing into the room, greatly 
 alarmed, as she might well be, for the explosion was 
 violent enough to shatter several of the window-panes ; 
 " surely ye've no been trying to raise the deevil ? " 
 
 " The pump ! the pump ! " screamed Willie, and ac- 
 cordingly we conveyed him thither, where copious liba- 
 tions diluted the acid, and saved my friend from serious 
 consequences, though it was a month and more before 
 he could walk to lecture, without betraying, by an ab- 
 surd waddle, the temporary loss of his cuticle. On 
 investigating the apartment, we found that we had 
 great reason to be thankful for our escape with so little 
 damage. The brass stop-cock had been driven an inch 
 and a half into the j)laster of the wall, in a direction 
 which showed that it must have passed close by the 
 head of my companion ; the carpet, fortunately not a 
 new one, was utterly destroyed ; and an old hat that 
 hung upon a peg was cut through by splinters of the 
 apparatus, as clean as could have been effected by the 
 bursting of a hand-grenade. 
 
 I confess that this catastrophe quite damped my
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 53 
 
 ardour in the pursuit of chemical science. I had no 
 intention of adopting the medical profession, and there- 
 fore did not judge it necessary to expend my limited 
 pocket-money or endanger my life in making further 
 investigations as to the qualities of explosive gas ; and 
 perhaps it was fortunate that I did so, for, in little 
 more than a year afterwards, my beloved Willie suf- 
 fered a far more serious loss than that of his epider- 
 mis, a finger and a tliumb having been blown away by 
 the explosion of an infernal machine, called, I think, a 
 " Papin's Digester." 
 
 But I must not linger over these educationary remi- 
 niscences. Fortune, which had not smiled on me at 
 my birth, gave me a partial respite throughout tlie 
 years which are really the most valuable ; because the 
 career of every man depends upon the impressions he 
 receives, and the aspirations he forms, during tlie 
 period of his pupilarity. But it was so ordained that 
 I was again to be thrown upon my own resources, at 
 an age when individual exertion must necessarily be of 
 slight appreciable value. 
 
 From the sketch I have already given of my uncle's 
 character and habits, it will readily be understood that 
 he was anything but a prosperous man. That he did 
 not pass from this world to the next, leaving a large 
 amount of debt behind him, was, I verily believe, 
 owing to the circumstance that nobody would give 
 him credit. I do not mean to imply that my uncle 
 was extravagant ; on the contrary, his wants were few 
 and his tastes simple ;. but he was one of those easy-
 
 54 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 minded people, who are marked out by nature as the 
 ready victims of imposture. His ear and purse were 
 equally open to every tale of distress, however suspi- 
 cious it might be ; and as from indolence, which was 
 his besetting sin, he never instituted any inquiry into 
 the character of the persons whom he relieved, he was 
 systematically swindled by a gang of miscreants who 
 lived in comparative luxury upon the abuse of charity. 
 I remember one notable instance of imposture, the 
 mention of which may be useful to those tender-hearted 
 persons who, like Dr Buchanan, are addicted to indis- 
 criminate alms-giving. A tall, forbidding female, at- 
 tired in rusty black, was in the habit of way-laying my 
 uncle. She represented herself as the daughter of an 
 old missionary belonging to the Independent Church, 
 who, worn out with years and hard labour, could no 
 longer earn a livelihood, and for whom no provision had 
 been made. This woman told her story with a kind of 
 rude eloquence that was almost touching, and so en- 
 listed the sympathies of the Doctor that he gave her a 
 weekly subsidy. On one occasion I happened to be in 
 the room when the offspring of the minister appeared, 
 and it struck me that she brought with her a pecu- 
 liarly strong odour as if of alcohol. Her step, too, was 
 rather imsteady, and her language incoherent ; and 
 though she contrived to mumble out several texts of 
 Scripture without verbal error, their application was 
 by no means evident. In short, the woman was in- 
 toxicated. I contrived to make my uncle see this; and 
 for once he got into a regular passion and put her to
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 55 
 
 the door. About three weeks elapsed before she reap- 
 peared ; but one evening, when we were sitting at tea, 
 the bell was rung violently, there was a scuffle in the 
 passage, and in rushed the woman, sobbing hysteri- 
 cally, and waving a dirty white handkerchief. Down 
 she flounced on her knees before my uncle. 
 
 " He's gasping ! he's gasping ! Gi'e me money, gi'e 
 me money — he's gasping ! " 
 
 " Gasping ! who's gasping ? " said the Doctor com- 
 pletely taken aback. " Get up, woman ! " 
 
 " No tUl ye gi'e me money ! he's gasping ! " roared 
 the woman ; " sir, its my feyther, my puir feyther ! 
 The auld man's in the dead-thraw, and I haena auoht 
 to gi'e him. 0, for God's sake, sir, hae mercy on me ! 
 Is he to gang oot o' the world less cared for than a cat, 
 and him a minister of the Gospel ? " 
 
 " Bless me ! that's very distressing," said my uncle ; 
 " wait, my good woman, till I get my hat, and I'll go 
 with you and see him." 
 
 " Dinna fash yoursel' — dinna fash yoursel' to do 
 that ! " cried the woman ; " there's twa doctors wi' him 
 already. But as ye wad win a blessing frae the Lord, 
 gie me something to buy him a cordial and a blanket. 
 It's a sair thing to see a preacher o' the Word lying on 
 the bare buirds in this cauld weather, and no a spunk 
 o' fire to warm his deeui' taes ! " 
 
 " Poor woman ! " said the compassionate Doctor ; 
 " I am really very sorry for you. A sad, sad case ! 
 Here — take this pound-note, and get him what the 
 doctors order."
 
 66 NORMAN fclNCLAIR. 
 
 " The blessing o' the piiir Le upon ye ! may ye see 
 His face in Jerusalem ! " shrieked the woman, clutchino- 
 the note, and rushing distractedly to the door. 
 
 " Poverty and riches," said my uncle, musingly, as he 
 put in his cup for a second supply of tea — " Poverty 
 and riches undoubtedly are only relative terms, and 
 have no clear significance except by way of comparison. 
 I am not rich certainly ; but how can I call myself 
 poor, when I know that I have a comfortable house to 
 dwell in, with food and clothing, whilst this old man, 
 who has led the life of an evangelist, is passing away in 
 cold wretchedness and neglect ? Ah, Norman, my boy, 
 it is well for us to know and feel that there is no true 
 happiness here ! " 
 
 " Have you ever seen the old man, sir ? " said I. 
 
 " Never. But from his daughter's account he must 
 be an excellent creature, — a worthy old soul. It is an 
 infamous shame and scandal that those Independents, 
 as they call themselves, should abandon their preachers 
 when they are no longer fit for the pulpit ! I would not 
 speak to a man who used his worn-out horse so cruelly." 
 
 " But are you quite sure, sir, that the woman's story 
 is a true one ? You remember how drunk she was 
 when she came here last." 
 
 "Bless me! so she was," said the Doctor ; "you're 
 quite right, Norman ; I recollect it perfectly now — 
 she was very drunk indeed ! Ah, it's a sad thing 
 that drink ! But it's the way with most of them." 
 
 " Surely not with ministers' daughters, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, no — that does make a diflerence, to be sure."
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 57 
 
 " And to speak plainly, sir ; I am not certain that 
 the woman was altogether sober just now." 
 
 " Fie, Norman ! that's not right. I don't like to see 
 a young man so suspicious. It would be a monstrous 
 thing if she were wasting money on drink when her 
 father is dying of want ! " 
 
 " But we don't know that he is dying, sir ; nay, we 
 don't know if there is any father in the case," said I ; 
 " I verily believe that the woman is a regular cheat and 
 vagabond ; and were I you, sir, I would give her no- 
 thing more without making proj)er inquiry." 
 
 My uncle scratched his ear, as was his habit when 
 perplexed. 
 
 " I wish you had not put this into my head, Nor- 
 man ! It makes rae very uneasy. I don't like to think 
 ill of human nature, but I don't like to be cheated 
 either ; and pound-notes are not so plenty with me 
 that I can afford to throw them away. Give me some 
 more tea. Hang the woman ! If it be as you think, 
 she ought to be whipped at a cart's tail." 
 
 He was not left long in doubt ; for next day, back 
 came the woman, and, as usual, dropped upon her 
 knees. 
 
 " He's deid ! he's deid ! my feyther's deid and gane ! " 
 she cried. " He swarfed awa' at three o'clock in the 
 mornin', and his last word was a blessin' for you. And 
 now I maun get him kisted and laid in the grave, and 
 hoo am I to do that when I haena a bawbee to mysel'?" 
 
 " Had you not better apply to the parish ?" said my 
 uncle.
 
 58 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " The parish ! " cried she with a howl of indignation 
 — " the parish, did ye say ? A bonny thing it wad be if 
 a minister o' the Gospel, belonging to the Independent 
 perswasion, was to be pit into the grund by the parish 
 like a common gangrel ! Na, na ! nane o' yer parishes 
 for me ! I wad wark my fingers aff, but I wad hae 
 him buried decently, only I hae nae time." 
 
 " Really, I don't see what else you can do," said my 
 uncle. " You don't expect me to bury him, surely ? " 
 
 " Lord kens what I expect; for I'm a puir distracted 
 woman — a weak orphan without a freend in the warld 
 but yersel', and a kind freend ye've-^been to me and to 
 him that's awa' ! ' Jess,' said he to me, no ten minutes 
 afore he was removed, — ' Jess, my bonny bairn, dinna 
 greet for me. I hae naething to leave ye, but Doctor 
 Buwhannan will no let ye starve : ye'U tell him that 
 the auld man left him his blessing, and that I wad like 
 to be laid in the Greyfriars, and that he is no to put 
 oot muckle siller ' " 
 
 " Woman ! " cried my uncle, " this is perfectly into- 
 lerable ! There's half-a-crown for you, — go about your 
 business, and never let me see your face again ! " 
 
 " Half-a-croun ! " screamed Miss Jess, at the top of 
 her voice. " What am I to do wi' half-a-croun ? As 
 gude offer me a penny ! Half-a-croun will no bury my 
 feyther." 
 
 " Bury him or not, 'tis all you get from me, so go 
 about your business. " 
 
 "Eh, man, but ye hae a hard heart!" said Jess. 
 " It's easy to be seen that ye're nane o' the Lord's
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 59 
 
 lenders ! But I'se awa' hame ; and maybe yell no 
 sleep the sounder this nicht for having turned yer 
 back on the orphan ! " 
 
 Determined to unravel the mystery, I followed Miss 
 Jess. She ascended the Canongate with rapid strides 
 until she reached the shop of a well-known spirit- 
 dealer, which she entered ; and after a brief space, 
 emerged with a bottle in her hand. A little further 
 up she turned into a close, and ascended a stair, uncon- 
 scious that I was at her heels. After several spiral 
 windings, she entered an apartment, the door of which 
 was open, so that I could see the company. Sitting at 
 the table with a pewter measure before him, was an 
 old grey-haired man, whom I conjectured to be the de- 
 funct Independent minister, smoking a pipe. By him 
 was seated a dirty shabby-genteel vagabond, evidently 
 of the Jewish race, supported by a brace of unmistak- 
 able High Street harlots. To this worshipful company 
 entered Miss Jess. I could not hear the commence- 
 ment of her explanation, but the conclusion was per- 
 fectly satisfactory, — "I couldna get mair out o' the 
 auld fule than half-a-crown. I tried it hard on him, 
 but he's getting camsteary. Ony hoo, we've whisky 
 eneuch for ae nicht ; and noo, feyther, well drink your 
 dirgie ! " 
 
 That is but one instance out of many in which my 
 uncle was made the victim of low imposture ; but I 
 fear he suffered more severely from swindlers of another 
 sort. Few men attain middle age without being 
 waited on by former class-fellows — men whom they
 
 60 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 have kno\vn in their youth ; wlio, by their own show- 
 ing, liave been ruined by the viUany of designing 
 scoundrels. Sometimes the apphcant wishes to have 
 the loan of a hundred pounds or so, in order to repur- 
 chase, for the benefit of his children, some property 
 which he had been compelled to part with ridiculously 
 under its value. Sometimes he merely desires the ad- 
 vance of a small sum for an exigency in business, — for 
 he is always engaged in some kind of business, — and 
 this he will repay, with thanks, in less than a couple of 
 months. My poor uncle was, I must needs say, unfor- 
 tunate in his class-fellows ; for I know not how many 
 of them availed themselves of his purse, but I know 
 very well that no man ever paid him back. But the 
 worst leech of all was a plausible oily rogue, whom I 
 instinctively hated from the first moment I saw him— 
 a smiling, obsequious rascal, who had always some 
 scheme on hand, by which a man might, through mo- 
 derate investment, secure an ample fortune. My uncle 
 listened, and, as a matter of course, was taken in. I 
 ought to speak of him reverently and tenderly, for it 
 is my firm conviction that he cared little about money 
 for his own sake, and only wished to have it in order 
 that he might make a comfortable provision for myself. 
 It is sad to think that the best, the kindest, and the 
 most single-hearted of men should be destined, from 
 their high and noble qualities, to be made the prey of 
 the meanest and most despicable of creation. 
 
 Dr Buchanan partook in some degree of that delicacy 
 of constitution which brought ray poor mother to an
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 61 
 
 early grave. He had indeed outlived the age when 
 consumptive symptoms are usually manifested ; but in 
 many respects his mode of life was not conducive to 
 longevity. He took but little exercise, and was too 
 abstemious for a man of his spare habit of body. 
 Total abstinence is an excellent thing for your pletho- 
 ric, pot-bellied fellows, who have a tendency of blood 
 to the head ; but it does not suit the lean and meagre, 
 who absolutely require a stimulant to promote circu- 
 lation and assist the dio;estive oro;ans. I remember 
 perfectly the circumstances to which I must attribute 
 my uncle's death. It was a November night. The 
 weather had been remarkably changeable, varying from 
 frost to fog, and from fog to heavy rain ; and as we 
 sat together in the little drawing room, the sound upon 
 the cupola announced a perfect deluge. In the midst 
 of this, and while we were congratulating ourselves 
 upon being warmly and safely housed, a knock was 
 heard at the door, and a message was brought in to 
 the effect that a poor woman in the Pleasance, an old 
 servant of the Doctor, was in the pangs of labour, and 
 that she entreated his assistance. Albeit not in the 
 obstetric line, my uncle, who, I verily believe, would, if 
 desired, have gone any distance to relieve the sufferings 
 of a fellow-creature, put on his great-coat, and, resist- 
 ing all entreaties that he would tarry for a hackney- 
 coach, which could not then have been procured with- 
 out a great loss of time, sallied out in one of the worst 
 nights which Edinburgh, infamous for such exhibitions, 
 could display. I believe that he was thoroughly soaked
 
 62 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 before he reached the Pleasance ; and, the case being a 
 critical one, he did not return home until an early 
 hour next morning. The result was a severe cold and 
 cough, in spite of which he conthmed to lecture for 
 several days, until the effort became too great for him, 
 and then he took to his bed, murmuring at the misfor- 
 tune which prevented him from discharging his duty 
 to his class. As his lectures were for the most part 
 written, and as his assistant was able — which I cer- 
 tainly was not — to exhibit the experimental part, I 
 offered to officiate in his stead ; but he rejected the 
 proposition with something like testiness, declaring 
 that, while the breath was in his body, no man should 
 read his lectures. Of course there was nothino; more 
 to be said. Possessed by a sore malady, he lay and 
 fretted himself, and instead of becoming better, he 
 became daily and visibly worse. 
 
 JNIiserable I would have been (notwithstanding the 
 care of Nurse Osett, who tended the sick man, night 
 and day, with a pure affectionate feeling) if no one else 
 had shown an interest in my dying uncle. But he had 
 one friend whom he dearly loved, and who repaid that 
 love by an attachment bordering on devotion. Edward, 
 or Ned Mather, as he was more familiarly called, had 
 inherited a small landed property somewhere in the 
 north, and, I believe, had at one time been a student 
 of law : but his nature recoiled from the drudgery of a 
 profession, for which, he said — I doubt not truly — that 
 he had neither capacity nor inclination. He was a 
 good, kind, simple-hearted soul, totally devoid of ambi-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 63 
 
 tion, quite satisfied with an income which was just 
 sufficient to enable him to live in comfort as a bachelor, 
 and to indulge, at the right season of the year, in the 
 sport of angling, the only pursuit for which he mani- 
 fested any strong propensity. As for settling in life, 
 by which phrase I mean contracting matrimony, that 
 was a notion that never entered into his head. He did 
 not affect the society of ladies, never went to evening 
 parties, and rarely dined out except on the invitation 
 of bachelors like himself. Characters like Ned Mather 
 are by no means uncommon ; but, as they make no 
 manner of show, the world overlooks them altogether. 
 
 He was a gaunt, grey, elderly man, with an ungainly 
 exterior, but with a heart as tender as that of a woman. 
 He had been at the same school as Dr Buchanan, whom 
 he regarded as an absolute prodigy of learning ; and 
 the intimacy so early formed had continued through 
 life unbroken. No sooner did he learn that my uncle 
 was seriously ill than he repaired to his bedside, and 
 watched over him night and day with more than the 
 solicitude of a brother. Honest Ned was a man of few 
 words, and therefore never in the way. He would sit 
 for hours beside his friend as he tossed on the fevered 
 couch, the tears at times forcing their way down his 
 cheeks, for he was quite sensible of the imminence of 
 the danger, which, indeed, the able physician, who at- 
 tended my uncle, did not attempt to conceal. 
 
 At last the crisis came. 
 
 " Ned," said my uncle, feebly, " give me your 
 hand—"
 
 G4 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Ned stooped down .iikI kissed his forehead. 
 
 " You've been a dear friend to me, Ned — God bless 
 you for it. I know I am dying. I have been a great 
 sinner, but I trust in the mercy of God through the 
 atonement of our blessed Eedeemer. I may have 
 thought too much about the world, and been impatient 
 under my burden, but I never have forgotten Him, and 
 that makes me easier now." 
 
 Poor Ned tried to say something, but the words 
 stuck in his throat. He was sobbing like a child. 
 
 " Norman, my boy, come round here ; my eyes are 
 failing. Be a good lad, Norman ; be upright, honour- 
 able, and true. Keep a clear conscience, and then, 
 though the Avorld should fail you, there's One above 
 that will not. Ned, my old friend — my heart is sore 
 about this laddie. I've made my will — you'll find it 
 in my desk, Ned — but it's little I have to leave. Look 
 after him, Ned, and see him put in the way of earning 
 his bread. Now, God bless you both for ever and 
 ever ! Turn my face to the wall, Ned, and di-aw the 
 curtain — so — " 
 
 Deeply did I mourn for my uncle. Throughout the 
 years I dwelt beneath his roof, he had treated me with 
 the utmost indulgence and affection, counselling rather 
 than reproving me for any of my juvenile outbreaks, 
 and amply supplying the loss of a father whom I never 
 knew. Wiser men and more prudent there may have 
 been than Dr Buchanan, but I have met with none 
 kindlier of heart or more purely honourable than he was. 
 
 When the funeral was over, Mr Mather entered upon
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 65 
 
 the discharge of his duties as executor, but the task 
 was a very simple one. The house in St John Street 
 and the furniture were left to me, but beyond that 
 there was nothing. A pohcy of insurance indeed there 
 was, effected some years back with the Vulture office ; 
 but unfortunately the last premium, which fell due 
 about the time my uncle was taken ill, had not been 
 paid, so that the benefit of the insurance was forfeited. 
 After some deliberation it was determined that the 
 house should be sold, and that I and Nurse Osett 
 should go into furnished lodgings, the rent of which, 
 and the estimated expenses of living, my limited means 
 were just sufficient to defray. As to my ulterior 
 destiny, that remained to be settled afterwards ; but 
 in the mean time it was thought expedient that I 
 should go into an office, so that I might attain some 
 knowledge of practical business, and moreover com- 
 mence the necessary obligation of earning, through in- 
 dustry, something for my own support. That is a 
 lesson which cannot be learned too early ; and I have 
 often thought that manj^ young men, with good pro- 
 spects before them, might be saved from premature 
 extravagance and ruin if they were betimes compelled 
 to weigh the difiiculty of gaining a shilling against the 
 comparative ease of spending one. Before long an op- 
 portunity was afforded ; for Mr Shearaway, Writer to 
 the Signet, an old acquaintance of my uncle, hearing 
 of my unfriended position, readily and kindly offered to 
 take me into his establishment. And thus I became a 
 limb of the law, in the subordinate capacity of a clerk. 
 VOL. I. E
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SCOTTISH POLITICS AS THEY WERE, 
 
 I HAVE no hesitation in avowing myself to be a Tory, 
 in the most extended sense of the term. I never 
 liked the name Conservative, which I take to have 
 been invented for the purpose of justifying those de- 
 viations from principle which modern statesmen are so 
 prone to commit in the race for political power. Prin- 
 ciple is at all times, according to my view, a sacred 
 thing. Expediency, which the Whigs and Peelites 
 have tried hard to elevate to the rank of a morality, is 
 at best but a pretext for abandoning the clear line of 
 duty. It may be very expedient to pick another man's 
 pocket, to shirk payment of a just and lawful debt, or 
 to utter a flagrant falsehood. Sophistry may palliate 
 such matters, or even strive to extenuate them on the 
 oTound that they were necessary transactions ; but not 
 the less on that account do they stand in direct oppo- 
 sition to the laws of honesty and truth. 
 
 Why should I be ashamed of calling myself a Tory, 
 whereas many of the best and wisest men of the last
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 67 
 
 and preceding generations were proud of the party 
 title? I do not see that it implies the maintenance 
 of any one opinion which a gentleman and man of 
 honour need scruple to avow. As a Tory, I consider 
 myself pledged to the support of the British consti- 
 tution as by law defined. I stand for hereditary 
 monarchy, a hereditary Chamber of Peers, and a free 
 House of Commons ; holding that no better politi- 
 cal arrangement could be invented for securing true 
 liberty and. wise government to the nation at large. 
 I am for maintaining the established Churches intact, 
 with all their guaranteed rights, privileges, and pos- 
 sessions, believing that Church and State form but 
 one edifice, and must stand or fall together. I look 
 with detestation and abhorrence upon any attempt to 
 alter or innovate these, which I hold to be the funda- 
 mental principles of the constitution ; and I give my 
 hearty malison to each and all of that malignant gang 
 of democrats and dissenters, either in or out of Parlia- 
 ment, who afi'ect to regard the Sovereign of these 
 realms merely as the chief magistrate, who rail at the 
 House of Lords as an antiquated nuisance, and who 
 denounce the established Churches as remnants of 
 medieval superstition, or as bloated corporations whose 
 revenues ought to be confiscated, and applied to edu- 
 cational or other secular purposes. 
 
 But while I make this profession of political faith, 
 I wish to guard myself against being considered either 
 as an advocate of abuses, or an enemy to reforms. 
 Common sense teaches us that all earthly things are
 
 68 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 liable to decay. The best built house will, after a, 
 certain time, rc(|uire repairs, in order that its stability 
 may be assured ; and in like manner, all institutions 
 of man's device must at certain seasons be revised with 
 a view to preserve their efficiency. Nay, I shall go 
 further than this, and admit that very often not only 
 repairs, but substantial improvements, may be made 
 with great advantage and convenience. It is no prin- 
 ciple of Toryism to oppose improvement, though it 
 has suited the purposes of the democrats to insist 
 that such is its aim and object. Blind adherence to 
 party traditions is truly rather a Whig than a Tory 
 attribute ; and I deny that reverence for the past must 
 necessarily engender a spirit of hostility to modern 
 invention, or of resistance to schemes for the benefit 
 or amelioration of the people. 
 
 It was, I think, old Talleyrand who used to main- 
 tain that, in politics, a blunder was less excusable than 
 a crime ; and that saying of the heathen of the episco- 
 pate, who had sworn more oaths to successive govern- 
 ments of France, regal, republican, consular, and impe- 
 rial, than he could reckon upon his fingers and his 
 toes, has been applied, not unjustly, to the conduct of 
 the old Tory party in Britain, who, some thirty years 
 ago, were imprudent enough to declare themselves op- 
 posed to all reform of the House of Commons. I can 
 perfectly well understand their opposition to the mea- 
 sure which was brought in, and finally carried after 
 a struggle of unexampled acrimony and excitement, 
 because the change thereby made was more sweeping
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIK. 69 
 
 than the circumstances required ; and, inasmuch as it 
 effected a wholesale and immediate transference of 
 political power from the hands of one class of the com- 
 munity to those of another, partook certainly more of 
 the nature of a revolution than of a reform. But how 
 any reflecting man could conscientiously maintain that 
 no change in the system of the representation of the 
 people was required, utterly baffles my comprehension. 
 I know very well that one generation sees such matters 
 by a very different light from that which was vouch- 
 safed to their predecessors. All new political devices 
 are alarming. We know what is, but we do not know 
 what may be ; and therefore we accept the more cau- 
 tious alternative, and, as Shakespeare says, are content, 
 
 " Rather to bear the ills we have, 
 Than rush to others that we know not of. " 
 
 Still, making every allowance for alarmist tenden- 
 cies on the part of men who had marked the rise and 
 spread of Eadical and even Eepublican doctrines, I 
 cannot fathom the reasons through which they arrived 
 at the conviction, that the people, even in a limited 
 and contracted sense of the term, were adequately or 
 justly represented in the old House of Commons. I 
 do not pretend to know much about the representative 
 system of England, and therefore shall say nothing 
 regarding it ; but I cannot imagine anything worse 
 than the old elective law of Scotland, which was really 
 rotten to the core. Under it the possessor of landed 
 property, no matter what its extent might be, was not
 
 70 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 qualified to vote in respect thereof, unless he held his 
 lands directly by charter from the Crown. If he held 
 of a subject superior, he had "no vote, but the holder 
 of that superiority voted in his stead ; so that, in 
 reality, parchment, not land, carried the franchise : and 
 as for the tenantry, they had no more to say in elec- 
 tions than the dumb beasts that fattened on their farms. 
 The burgh electoral system was quite as bad. The 
 corporations were of the closest kind, and were beyond 
 tlie control of the vast majority of the householders 
 rated within the boundary. It was worth while being 
 a member of a town-council in those davs ; for as all 
 the burglis, with the exception of Edinburgh, were 
 grouped to return delegates who elected the member 
 for Parliament, there was, in the case of any contest, 
 first, a keen canvass of the councillors of each burgh 
 for the election of a particular delegate, in the course 
 of which canvass not only promises, but substantial 
 considerations, were required as legitimate perquisites 
 of power ; and, secondly, there was the weightier mat- 
 ter of persuading the delegates when chosen — in other 
 words, of buying up a bailie or deacon, the price of 
 whom, it was said, was often greater than that of the 
 most beautiful Circassian ever exposed for sale in the 
 slave-markets of Cairo or Constantinople. Yet that was 
 the system which the old Tories thought proper to de- 
 fend ; and for defending which they have brought obloquy 
 on their party name, and made it obnoxious through- 
 out Scotland for well-nigh thirty years. No people 
 have longer memories than the Scots. They were ever
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 71 
 
 ready to revenge the offences of the fathers upon the 
 children even to the third and fourth generation ; and 
 you cannot to this day persuade them that the young- 
 man who was peacefully sucking his coral in the cradle 
 when the reform processions, with bands and banners, 
 were parading the streets of Edinburgh, was not even 
 then a dark and deliberate conspirator against the true 
 liberties of the people. 
 
 I certainly was no infant in those days ; but I was 
 not very much of a politician, though I could not help 
 feelino- the influences of the general excitement. The 
 respectable legal practitioners into whose office I was 
 admitted, had charge of the political management, on 
 the Whig side, of a large and important county ; and 
 therefore I was early initiated into the mysteries of 
 splitting superiorities, drawing charters, preparing in- 
 feftments, and all the rest of the costly machinery by 
 means of which some dozens of needy dependants were 
 elevated to the rank of freeholders, and invested with 
 the privilege of voting in lieu of the proprietors of the 
 land. For although votes — that is, superiority quali- 
 fications — generally bore a high price in the market, 
 as giving the holders thereof a claim on ministerial 
 patronage and favour, it not unfrequently happened 
 that the number of sellers was greater than that of the 
 buyers, in which case, in order to keep up the pre- 
 ponderancy on the roll, new votes had to be created 
 by the splitting of existing superiorities, and these 
 were given as a kind of bonus for past services to 
 inferior agents, satellites, and understrappers ; due pre-
 
 72 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 caution being always taken that, in the event of a 
 closely contested election, they should not be induced 
 to hop over to the opposite party. Such things, how- 
 ever, in spite of all precaution, did occasionally occur ; 
 and therefore it was a great object to select such per- 
 sons only as could be thoroughly depended on — in 
 other words, men who knew they would be ruined, 
 soul and body, if, on account of any conceivable bribe, 
 they dared to perpetrate a treason. 
 
 Such was the political state of Scotland previous to 
 the passing of the Eeform Act ; and the more closely 
 it is examined, the more wonderful it will appear that 
 such an anomalous and absurd system should have been 
 tolerated so long. One might suppose that the inde- 
 pendent landowners would have been the first to insist 
 upon the recognition of the rights of real property, and 
 to protest against being thus ruthlessly bound by the 
 fetters of despotic parchment. But no. They were 
 used to the system, and they liked it, partly for this 
 reason, that it really cost them nothing. Gentlemen 
 were not then called upon to make a common purse to 
 defray county election expenses. The whole costs were 
 defrayed by the great territorial magnates, who were 
 the direct vassals of the Crown, and who were but too 
 glad in this way to strengthen their family influence. 
 In some counties where the j^archment power of some 
 one chief was clearly predominant, there never was an 
 attempt at a contest ; but the culminating Duke, Mar- 
 quis, or Earl, Whig or Tory as the case might be, put 
 forward his nominee without any kind of obstruction.
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 73 
 
 In others, however, the two interests were so nearly 
 balanced, that it was absolutely impossible to predict 
 which party should win the day at an approaching 
 election. Legal ingenuity was constantly on the watch 
 to detect flaws in the titles of antagonists, and not less 
 active in creating new votes by stretching parchment 
 to the uttermost. Liferenters in embarrassed circum- 
 stances were persecuted by every form of legal torture 
 which the law of Scotland could supply, in order to make 
 them renounce, or at all events flee to a far country, 
 from which they durst not return, even at an election 
 summons. Vacillating old gentlemen, with small means 
 and large families, often found themselves able to pro- 
 cure, at a slight sacrifice of political principle, commis- 
 sions and cadetships for their sons. In short, every art 
 was ;ised to make proselytes or to rear mushrooms ; and 
 in some instances, if common report might be credited, 
 even the sanctity of the law had been violated by auda- 
 cious and unscrupulous partisans. 
 
 The county to which I refer was one of the latter 
 description. In it two great rival houses contended for 
 the rule ; and the contest was one of such ancient stand- 
 ing as to have become almost matter of history. In 
 the old times, while Scotland was still an independent 
 kingdom, the house of Carrabas had ever ranged itself 
 in war and council against the house of Grimalkin. 
 This was the more extraordinary, because neither of the 
 families was remarkable for adherence to any one par- 
 ticular side. In fact, it would appear that the sons 
 were for the most part disposed to differ from their
 
 74 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 fathers ; so that a Cavalier was almost certain to beget 
 a Covenanter, or vice versa. But the most sino-ular 
 thing Avas that, notwithstanding this internal vacilla- 
 tion, never by any accident were a Carrabas and a 
 Grimalkin arrayed under the same banner. Dwelling 
 in the same district, they were perj^etually at feud, and 
 made a point of ravaging each other's lands whenever 
 they could find an opportunity. Was a Carrabas in 
 favour at court, he instantly accused the Lord of Grim- 
 alkin of being privy to some monstrous and unnatural 
 rebellion against his liege sovereign, and solicited letters 
 of fire and sword, so that he might legally raze his vas- 
 sals, and give the castle of the traitor to the flames. 
 When the wheel of fortune again revolved, and the rul- 
 ing Grimalkin turned up trumps, he never failed, as in 
 duty bound, to furnish proofs of the disloyalty of Car- 
 rabas, and to hint that, if confiscation should follow, 
 various estates belonging to the latter might conveni- 
 ently be added to the hereditary domains of the trustiest 
 servant of the Crown. Notwithstanding those raids and 
 confiscations, which on the average were pretty equally 
 distributed, both houses prospered ; and when the Union 
 took place, the Marquis of Carrabas and the Earl of 
 Grimalkin were accounted amongst the most influential 
 members of the Scottish Peerage. Durino; the reisn 
 of George the First, an attempt was made by some offi- 
 cious friends to put an end to this ill-omened rivalry, 
 which it was thought might in the event of a Jacobite 
 enterprise lead to disastrous consequences, by a matri- 
 monial alliance. There was then a young Marquis of
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 75 
 
 Carrabas, somewhat gay, thoughtless, and extravagant, 
 no doubt, but by no means a bad sort of fellow if he 
 could be kept from wine, women, and dice, for all which 
 three allurements he had a decided predilection ; and 
 there was also a young Countess of Grimalkin in her 
 own right, slightly deformed, but very strong minded, 
 who adhered to the most rigid tenets of Presbytery, her 
 father, the late Earl, having been an extreme Episco- 
 palian. I am not aware if, in those days, the science 
 of chemistry was so far advanced that the neutralising 
 influence of acids and alkalis had been ascertained ; but 
 human sagacity often anticipates science ; and it seems 
 clear that in this instance the promoters of the union 
 were impressed with the notion that by combining two 
 obnoxious positives, it was possible to obtain one agree- 
 able negative result. These negotiations were so far suc- 
 cessful that the marriage took place ; but alas ! they had 
 forgotten to take into account the force of hereditary anti- 
 pathy. " Put the blood of Grimalkin and Carrabas into 
 one bowl," said a stout old adherent of Queen Mary, 
 when lying wounded on the field of Langside beside the 
 body of his antagonist, whom he had satisfactorily per- 
 forated with his Toledo, "and they will mingle together 
 nae whit better than wine does with lappered milk ! " 
 The words of the grim old Baron were prophetic and 
 true. The blood would not mingle, neither would the 
 tempers coalesce. It is said that the young Marquis 
 was less in fault than the Puritan lady, inasmuch as he 
 showed some symptoms of reformation, and tried at least 
 to make himself agreeable ; but the bride relaxed no-
 
 76 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 tiling of her austerity ; became more sour and solemn than 
 before ; entertained, by way of chaplains, two low-bred 
 Geneva probationers in her household ; and set her face 
 so decidedly against all social intercourse which befitted 
 her rank and station, that she drove the boy Marquis, 
 who, under better management, might have become a 
 good husband and respectable man, into all sorts of dis- 
 sipation, which brought him to an early grave. He 
 died childless, and his next brother succeeded to the 
 titles and estate. The sour lady was not more prolific. 
 To the intense disgust of her kindred, she married one 
 of the aforesaid probationers, but died shortly afterwards 
 in abortive childbed, leaving her succession open to a, 
 cousin, who had declined so low that, when he received 
 tidings of his good fortune, he was actually a non-com- 
 missioned officer in the line ! 
 
 After this unavailing attempt at amalgamation, the 
 families quietly relapsed into their old habits of hostility, 
 tempered, of course, by the altered circumstances of the 
 time. They could no longer, it is true, arm their vas- 
 sals with sword and spear ; but they armed them with 
 superiorities, and, instead of fighting in the open field, 
 they did battle in the freeholders' court. The eminent 
 legal firm in whose oflfice I was placed — Messrs ]\Ieikle- 
 cry, Little woo, and tShearaway, W.S. — were the family 
 and political agents of the Most Noble Augustus John, 
 Marquis of Carrabas, who, being one of those superb 
 aristocrats who conceive the vulgar earth honoured by 
 the pressure of their soles, belonged to the Whig alli- 
 ance. The interests of the Right Honourable Adolphus
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 77 
 
 Duncan, Earl of Grimalkin, were placed under the charge 
 of the equally eminent firm of Butt and Benn, W.»S., 
 who had the reputation of being the sharpest convey- 
 ancers in the profession, and, of course, were Tories to 
 the backbone. Glorious days were those for the Edin- 
 burgh agents — days which, alas ! will never return 
 again ; and even now, the mere mention of them brings 
 tears into the eyes of many a veteran practitioner. For 
 they had then the practical command and management 
 of a great portion of the landed property of Scotland, 
 the lairds having utterly outrun the constable, and being 
 largely indebted to their doers for pecuniary advances, 
 which the latter borrowed from the banks. It was then 
 considered an utter impossibility that a gentleman should 
 be able to manage his own affairs, to collect his rents, 
 or to write the simplest business letter, without the 
 advice or intervention of an agent. Accordingly, what 
 between factor-fees, commission, and business accounts, 
 an enormous per-centage of the rent-roll of Scotland 
 found its way into the pockets of the lawyers ; and as 
 they were also in high political trust, it is no wonder 
 that the profession should have been regarded as one of 
 the very best to which an anxious father could devote 
 the energies of his son. I am now speaking of days 
 that have gone by, for since then a vast alteration has 
 taken place. Thrift and economy are now much more 
 practised than heretofore. Men are no longer prone, 
 from mere extravagance and show, to rush headlong 
 into ruin. Country gentlemen of limited means have 
 become aware that of all luxuries that of maintaining
 
 78 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 an agent is the most expensive and the least satisfactory ; 
 and they now either manage their own affairs, or pro- 
 cure, at a moderate rate, the assistance of country prac- 
 titioners, — a most respectable class, which of late years 
 has risen deservedly in the public estimation. I must 
 needs say that, having witnessed this change of custom 
 and manners, I regard it with unmingled satisfaction. It 
 has saved an honourable profession from being utterly 
 overstocked — a danger which once was imminent ; and 
 it has restored to their proper place of efficiency and 
 independence the landed gentry, who at one time seemed 
 destined, by their own folly and imprudence, to lapse 
 into irremediable decay. 
 
 Messrs Meiklecry, Littlewoo, and Shearaway trans- 
 acted a very large and profitable business. Of the 
 senior partner, Mr Meiklecry, we lads in the office saw 
 little or nothing ; for, being a man in advanced years, 
 he took but very small interest in the ordinary routine, 
 contenting himself with keeping up a sort of honorary 
 and ceremonious correspondence with his principal 
 clients. He belonged to the antiquated class of law- 
 yers, which is now entirely extinct, was extremely 
 courteous in his demeanour, used hair-powder, and 
 was, I believe, the last man who walked the streets of 
 Edinburgh in a snuff-coloured coat, knee-breeches, and 
 silk stockings, and who wore buckles in his shoes. He 
 was a bachelor, very rich, rather penurious, and was 
 chargeable with no frailty beyond an addiction to tawny 
 port. Mr Littlewoo, the second partner, was, in his 
 own opinion, a heaven-born lawyer— an undoubted
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 79 
 
 legitimate child of the forensic Themis. His genius 
 was too high to condescend to the drudgery of convey- 
 ancing, but he rioted in processes, and was ingenious 
 beyond belief in the discovery of dilatory or peremp- 
 tory pleas. His memorials for counsel were, in fact, 
 pleadings ready drawn, on which account he was very 
 popular with members of the bar, inasmuch as he saved 
 them a vast amount both of time and trouble. One 
 crook there was indeed in his lot ; and that was the 
 bitter reflection, which he ever and anon avowed, that 
 he had sacrificed himself by entering the less conspicu- 
 ous branch of the legal profession, instead of assuming 
 the barrister's wig and gown. It was, he used to say, 
 a most grievous and aggravating thing that he, to 
 whom no practising advocate in the Parliament House 
 was fit to hold the candle for knowledge of precedents, 
 intimacy with the forms of process, and familiarity 
 with the Acts of Sederunt, should, on account of his 
 father's obstinacy in breeding him a Writer to the 
 Signet, be compelled to place that candle under a 
 bushel. Let him but have the opportunity, and he 
 would very soon convince the world and the bench, 
 that Jamieson, and Jeflrey, and Moncreiff, and the rest 
 of them, about whom folks made such, a song, were 
 little better than mere bairns as regarded a thorough 
 knowledge of the practiques. It is proper, however, 
 to observe that the friends of Mr Littlewoo were pri- 
 vately of opinion, that an inveterate stutter with which 
 he was afflicted must have proved a formidable obstacle 
 in the way of his forensic success — an opinion which
 
 80 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 was not shaken by the result of divers oratorical efforts 
 made by Mr Littlewoo at the Whig gatherings and 
 banquets, which in those days were rather frequent. 
 Littlewoo was too important a man, and too liberal 
 a dispenser of fees, to be gagged on such occasions ; 
 so, by way of compromise, he was permitted, usually 
 at a late hour of the evening, to propose a favourite 
 toast, which he enunciated in the following manner, — 
 " The fif-fif-freedom of the pe-pe-press, if we ha-have it 
 not, we de-die ; " and as the whole of his harangue 
 was hawked forth in the same manner, accompanied 
 with grotesque facial contortions and pugilistic gesture, 
 it is not surprising that his speeches should be waited 
 for with intense curiosity, and responded to with rap- 
 turous plaudits. For the rest, he was a man who 
 stood well in society, and kept a most hospitable board, 
 round which it was the pride of his heart to see gathered 
 the rising members of the Whig bar ; albeit none of 
 them could muster up courage to propose to either of 
 the three Misses Littlewoo, full-blown votaries of the 
 waltz, who were perverse enough to prefer the conver- 
 sation of the officers from Piershill and the Castle to 
 that of stupid young gentlemen in black, whose talk 
 was of nothing but processes. 
 
 The conveyancing department of our office was 
 under the charge of an ancient clerk, who, for a 
 salary of £200, performed more profitable work than 
 any other member of the establishment. Poor old 
 Samuel Grey ! I remember him well ; and so, I dare- 
 say, do many more, who must often have encountered
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 81 
 
 that venerable figure, plodding, as he daily did, round 
 the Calton Hill, after business hours, for the short 
 walk which formed his only exercise. Grey he was by 
 name, and grey by nature. His complexion was grey, 
 his hair was grey, and his clothes were of that mixture 
 which was then denominated pepper-and-salt. His 
 constant companion was an old grey terrier — a crea- 
 ture which he loved better than anything else upon 
 earth, and which was said originally to have won his 
 affections by the heroic exploit of worrying a large rat, 
 which had found its way into a charter-chest, and, for 
 lack of more succulent food, was devouring an Instru- 
 ment of Sasine. I see him still as he used to sit in his 
 dingy back-room, the threadbare carpet of which had 
 long lost all trace of its original pattern, at the table 
 lined with cloth once red, but now saturated with dust, 
 and slashed with cuts of the penknife, inflicted by me- 
 ditative apprentices in the hours of dreary solitude. 
 There sate old Samuel Grey, amidst a parallelogram of 
 japanned and green boxes, with a whole stack of parch- 
 ments before him, engaged from early morn till dewy 
 eve in noting, pencil-marking, scrolling, and collating, 
 with a diligence that never relaxed, and a patience 
 that never tired ; whilst under the table, on the rem- 
 nant of an ancient rug, lay the grey terrier, with its 
 nose between its forepaws, looking as sagacious as if 
 it too had some kind of knowledge of the mysteries of 
 charters, and only lifting its head with a growl of 
 warning for its master, when some one of us clerks 
 presumed to enter that sanctuary of sheepskin. Poor 
 VOL. L F
 
 82 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 old Samuel Grey ! He was found one day dead at his 
 desk, stooping over a charter, which rattled as they 
 took it from his grasp like the last breath of an expir- 
 ing man, 
 
 Mr Shearaway, the junior partner, was my especial 
 patron, and of him I shall only say that, though some- 
 what quick of temper, he was as thoroughly good- 
 hearted a fellow as ever signed letters of horning. He 
 had charge of the general corresj)ondence and politi- 
 cal department, and was considered very nearly, if not 
 altogether, a match for Mr Butt, the noted Tory agent, 
 of whose diplomatic ability and skill in manoeuvring 
 the Whigs stood in abject terror. As I had always 
 applied myself with due diligence to whatever work 
 was assigned to me, invented no pretexts for being 
 absent during regular office-hours, and was willing to 
 sit late at times when there was an extra pressure of 
 business, as occurred invariably when an election was 
 impending, I became a decided favourite with Mr 
 Shearaway, who was pleased to confide to old Samuel 
 Grey that he considered me worth any two of the 
 articled apprentices. " It's my opinion, Mr Grey, that 
 our offic'e is going to the devil — regularly, sir, to the 
 devil ; and I don't know how to stop it. There are 
 those apprentices ; four of them, sir, no less. I can't 
 lay salt upon their tails after nine o'clock at night, 
 though there should be as much work to do as would 
 keep the whole of us till two in the morning. One 
 young gentleman, forsooth, slips away to the theatre, 
 where I doubt he is in no good company. Another
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 83 
 
 has to attend a meeting of the Speculative or Juridi- 
 cal Society, where he and the like of him talk infernal 
 nonsense, and think they are qualifying themselves for 
 speakers. Speakers, quotha ! The less a writer has 
 to do with speaking the better. Young Toddison 
 makes his escape, it's my settled belief, to some tavern 
 or other ; for the creature drinks like a trout — I'm 
 sure of tliat, since I caught him sending out on the 
 sly for soda-water in the forenoon. And as for that 
 whelp, Jamie Littlewoo, who spends half his earnings 
 on lemon-coloured gloves, he absolutely had the auda- 
 city, sir, to tell me the other night that he could not 
 stop to copy a paper, because he was engaged to go 
 with his sisters to a ball !" 
 
 " If I was you, Mr Shearaway," replied the old clerk, 
 " I wad issue a precept, sir, of the strictest kind, and 
 tak' instruments in the hands of the lads " 
 
 " Pooh ! you might as well try to put eels into a 
 quart bottle. They think themselves gentlemen, for- 
 sooth, and won't stoop to what they call drudgery. 
 They give sixpences to porters for carrying processes 
 to the Register House instead of tucking them under 
 their arms, strap and all, as I have done a thousand 
 times, and thought myself none the worse for it. I'll 
 tell you what, Mr Grey, that laddie Norman Sinclair is 
 worth the whole kit of them. He does what he is bid, 
 writes a good hand, and never makes a sour face when 
 he is asked to sit up till midnight.'' 
 
 " "Deed, Mr Shearaway," said Samuel, whose good 
 graces I had won, partly through attention to business.
 
 84 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 and partly by being kind to his dog, " I agree wi' you 
 tliat he is a vera fine lad. I would trust him ony day 
 without warrandice expressed or implied ; for ye see, 
 sir, he has a natural sense of the reddendo which is due 
 to his superiors, and when that is the case ye may dis- 
 pense wi' ony further confirmation. As for the other 
 bairns, sir, they are young and wilful, but they'll nae 
 doubt mend in time, and deserve a favourable novoda- 
 mus. In the meanwhile ye must just jowk and let the 
 jaw gae by ; or, to speak mair preceesely, proceed by 
 method of resignation." 
 
 " Well, well, Mr Grey," said his superior, " the up- 
 shot of the matter is that I shall take young Sinclair 
 with me to Slockendroutli as an assistant. I do not 
 think I could rely on any other of the lads at a time 
 when so much drink is going ; and it may perhaps do 
 him good hereafter, for I hear the laddie is but un- 
 friended." 
 
 This conversation was detailed to me, on the day 
 after it took place, by the old clerk, under the seal of 
 strict secrecy, and many were the warnings and admo- 
 nitions which he gave me as to my behaviour on the 
 trying occasion. 
 
 " It's an awful thing to think o', Maister Norman, 
 and a shamefu' thing to see in a Christian country, no 
 to speak of ane which professes to be under kirk discip- 
 line ; but the fact is, sir, that well-water never ran sae 
 fast out of a pump, as foreign wine does ower the craigs 
 o' the freeholders at an election. I am nae abstainer 
 mysel', for I can tak' my toddy — and whatfor no ? —
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 85 
 
 wi' a friend on Saturday at e'en, and never tell him 
 that the kettle has gane dry ; but I just perfectly abo- 
 minate that gusting and guzzling and gulping o' French 
 drink — Lord safe us, it costs a guinea the bottle, where- 
 as a tumbler should just be fourpence ! But ye'll see a' 
 that, and a hantle mair. Ye'll see auld men, with white 
 pows, as drunk as Davy's sow, and young men roaring 
 mad, for they're no used to the fizzing stuff' that sets the 
 brain a-low without warming the cockles of the heart, 
 like the kindly barley-bree. Ye'll see a' that — and my 
 advice to ye is to refrain frae the wine-cup a' thegither ; 
 or if ye canna clean win aff", fill up your glass twa-thirds 
 wi' clear water, and your head will be clear and your 
 stamach Strang in the morning, when the lave o' them 
 will be sick and disjaskit," 
 
 I assured my venerable Mentor that I should take 
 his advice to heart, and be as abstemious as the circum- 
 stances would admit ; and thus premonished, I was not 
 surprised to receive, a few days afterwards, an intima- 
 tion from Mr Shearaway that my services were required 
 at the approaching election which was to take place at 
 the head-burgh of Slocken drouth.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE GATHERING OF THE FREEHOLDERS. 
 
 We set out from Edinburgh, as I remember, in a ba- 
 rouche and pair, carrying with us a couple of voters — 
 shy cocks, as ]\Ir Shearaway called them — who, by some 
 means or other, had been inveigled over from the Con- 
 tinent which they honoured with their residence, never 
 deigning to tread upon British ground, save on occasions 
 like the present, when all their expenses were paid, in 
 the most handsome manner, by the philanthropic 
 Marquis of Carrabas. ^ye took with us a basket of 
 provisions, specially intended for the refection of these 
 gentlemen, lest they should grow faint by the way ; the 
 roadside inns of Scotland not being, in those days, re- 
 markable for the quality of their provant, which was 
 usually limited, unless previous orders had been issued, 
 to oatcakes, stubborn cheese, whisky, and strong ale — 
 articles of diet rather repugnant to men who had been 
 accustomed to the French cuisine. I cannot conscien- 
 tiously say that the conversation of our companions was 
 either edifying or agreeable. They were, as I had been
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 87 
 
 given to understand, men of family, who had either missed 
 the world, as the phrase is, or outraged it, so as to throw 
 them beyond the circle of their immediate connections ; 
 but for all that they had not abated a jot in their pre- 
 tensions, but talked big as if they were grandees of the 
 first water, interchanged smutty anecdotes, and ad- 
 dressed Mr Shearaway, who was quite their equal by 
 birth, and twenty times their superior in education and 
 intelligence, with a supercilious impertinence which 
 undoubtedly would have ruffled the temper of any one 
 but an electioneering agent. But Mr Shearaway, being 
 thoroughly up to his business, and having no regard to 
 anything but the success of his actual employer, took 
 no notice whatever of their inuendoes ; indeed I verily 
 believe that, if necessary, he would have driven the 
 Author of all Evil to the poll with the utmost sang 
 froid, and without concerning himself the least with 
 the character or conversation of his companion. 
 
 We proceeded quietly and leisurely enough until w^e 
 reached the limits of the contested county, where, at 
 the first toll-bar, four horses, with postilions figged out 
 with blue and yellow colours, were in waiting. There- 
 after it was a regular tear over moorland and through 
 village, the brilliant appearance of the equipage calling 
 out the unemployed handloom weavers, black fishers, 
 and other elite of the communities ; along with the 
 children, whose political education, it appeared, had 
 been well attended to, whatever pains might have been 
 bestowed upon more rudimental subjects. It is curious 
 to remark the instinct of viviparous creatures. The
 
 8S NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 captured shark, hauled upon deck, is cut up, and the 
 young ones which issue from its -womb give their first 
 token of existence by snapping at the fingers of the 
 sailors. Slay a she-adder, and the fangless worms she 
 contains make an impotent attempt to bite. In the 
 year ISIO, it is recorded that a vast majority of the 
 children begotten within the liberties of "Westminster 
 bore a striking resemblance to the late Sir Francis 
 Biirdett ; and if John Bright has not so stamped his 
 imaffe in Birmingham, we must conclude that his at- 
 tractions are inferior to those of the fine old English 
 Baronet. As we happened to be on the popular side, 
 we received, with no small pride, the plaudits of those 
 juvenile politicians. So we whirled on, stage after 
 stao'e, till we entered Slockendrouth, an unfortunate 
 royal burgh, which the Eeform Act has since almost 
 demolished, but then quite a proud place, as head burgh 
 and something more ; as radical as the bitterest enemy 
 of the constitution could desire, and enjoying the worst 
 reputation of any burgh in Scotland. 
 
 Our smoking steeds, which had been urged to their 
 utmost so that our entry might be of the most impos- 
 ing kind, were pulled up with a violence that threw 
 them on their haunches at the door of the Carrabas 
 Arms, above which swung an immense board display- 
 ing a shield brilliant as the field of a kaleidoscope, with 
 all manner of heraldic quarterings and emblazonment, 
 which shield was valorously supported by the eflQgies 
 of what appeared to be two enormous red tom-cats, with 
 the terrible motto beneath, " Cave Caeeabas." Our
 
 NORMAL SINCLAIR. 89 
 
 arrival was greeted by the cheers of some hundred 
 marvellously ill-favoured feUows in fustian and other- 
 vrise, aU practical opponents of the soap-duty, who, 
 havincr nothinor else to do, had stationed themselves 
 round the door of the hostelry, bawling vociferously as 
 each fresh carriage containing voters drove up, and 
 derivins: refreshment from occasional drams out of the 
 Carrabas alcoholic fountain, and a succession of spirited 
 patriotic harangues delivered from an upper window by 
 the editor of a radical newspaper, who was an indepen- 
 dent freeholder, and had a turn for mob oratory. 
 
 Within the house all was bustle and confusion ; in- 
 deed it was marvellous to me how so many people 
 could be packed within so limited a space. The largest 
 room was laid out for dinner, the hour for which was 
 now approaching, and therefore was kept tolerably 
 clear ; but from every other apartment you heard the 
 popping of corks, the purling of liquor, and the hilari- 
 ous laughter of the company — sure signs that the sa- 
 turnalia commenced in the forenoon was likely to be 
 cai'ried on at least to " the wee hour ayont the twal." 
 
 The entrance of Mr Shearaway, whose talents as a 
 political Mephistopheles were well known and appre- 
 ciated, was hailed with a burst of delight 
 
 " Devilish glad to see you at last, Shearaway .' Every- 
 thing sure to go right now," gobbled the Honourable 
 Sholto Linklater, a thick-set young gentleman with 
 bushy whiskers, who was the selected Whig candidate. 
 I should explain that none of the younger scions of 
 the house of Carrabas, all of them being in their mi-
 
 90 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 
 
 nority, could be put forward ; so that, after some du- 
 biety and hesitation, for two or three gentlemen were 
 ambitious of the honour, it was determined that the 
 family interest should be exerted in favour of the Hon- 
 ourable Sholto, whose father, an impoverished Baron, 
 was distantly related to the IVIarquis. 
 
 " I am constrained to acknowledge," said a very 
 pompous old red-faced individual. Sir Gilbert Mount- 
 hooly of that Ilk, who, on the strength of having been 
 in his youth an unpaid attache to some third- rate 
 embassy, always affected to speak the language of 
 diplomacy, or rather of circumlocution — "I am con- 
 strained to acknowledge that the arrival of so able a 
 negotiator as Mr Shearaway at this critical juncture of 
 affairs appears to me to justify the anticipations which 
 even the least sanguine of this honourable company 
 have been led, with suflEicient reason, I cannot doubt, 
 to entertain ; and that by his experienced assistance, 
 the ship" — here the Baronet ceremoniously bowed to 
 the Honourable Sholto — who, by the way, bore very 
 little resemblance to anything connected with a ship, 
 except the figure-head of the Jolly Bacchus — " may be 
 wafted by the breeze of popular opinion into the haven 
 of deserved success." 
 
 " Shearaway, man, how's a' wi' you?" said a rough- 
 and-ready laird from an outlying district of the county, 
 almost dislocating, in the warmth of his greeting, the 
 joints of my excellent superior ; " O, but I'm blythe to 
 see you ! Winna we gie thae Tory chields their kail 
 throuo;h the reek to-morrow ? "
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR, 91 
 
 " Mr Shearaway, will you take anything to drink ? " 
 was the more practical suggestion of divers friendly 
 freeholders. But the wise negotiator, blandly declin- 
 ing the proffered courtesy, made his way as rapidly as 
 he could to an upper chamber, where the local agents, 
 who had hitherto been kept (with extreme difficulty) 
 on a limited allowance of potables, were assembled, 
 waiting for his advent, and, as previously instructed, 
 ready to tender their reports. Eor myself, as it was 
 the first time that I ever had been thrown into such a 
 Babel, and as I then had a kind of superstitious awe 
 for Honourables and Baronets, which I need hardly 
 say has long since departed from me, I felt very ner- 
 vous, and followed my employer close, as a timid setter 
 cleaves to the heels of the sportsman when passing 
 through a herd of cattle. But I was not yet to be ad- 
 mitted to the sanctum. Mr Shearaway, who really was 
 a considerate and thoroughly good-natured man, saw 
 my perplexity, and was kind enough to reheve it. He 
 paused for a moment, and casting his eye round the 
 throng, beckoned to an obese and somewhat plethoric 
 individual, whom he hailed by the name of Bailie 
 M'Chappie, and who was evidently none of the grandees. 
 
 " Bailie," said he, " I need not tell you — for you're 
 used to this kind of work — that every man must make 
 himself useful at election time. Now here's a young 
 gentleman, Mr Sinclair, my confidential clerk, whom I 
 cannot take with me, for reasons ye may well divine. 
 Young folks must bide a wee before they are let far 
 ben, as nobody kens better than yoursel'. Bailie."
 
 92 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Here the civic dignitary intimated his acquiescence 
 in the sentiment by laying a finger to his rubicund 
 nose. 
 
 " Well, then, you'll oblige me, and lay our party un- 
 der a great obligation, if you'll take charge of him for 
 to-night, for I've more on ray hands than I can well go 
 through with. Mind ye, he will be wanted to-morrow, 
 so I depend upon you to see that he does not exceed — 
 to do the callant justice, he's very steady. I would be 
 loth to interfere with you, but this is a particular case, 
 and I ken it is very long before you are brought to see 
 double. Just look after the lad." 
 
 " Say nae mak — say nae mair, Mr Shearaway," re- 
 plied Mr M'Chappie, " I'se put it on my conscience 
 that he gets nae harm to-night, and is as fresh the 
 morn as a daisy. I winna just promise that I'll gae to 
 bed mysel' before the party breaks up, for somebody 
 maun be there to keep order ; but this ye may rely on, 
 that I'll see the laddie atween the sheets, as douce and 
 sober as a lamb, afore the auld Laird o' Stoupiewa's 
 volunteers a sang, and that, as I ken weel, will be when 
 the kirk clock o' Slockendrouth chaps eleven. Stoupie- 
 wa's aye keeps time. Dinna be afeared about the 
 laddie, ye may trust to me to look after him." 
 
 " My man," said the Bailie, after a pause, during 
 which he honoured me with a stolid survey, and fed 
 his nose with a copious pinch of black rappee, " ye hae 
 heard what Mr Shearaway said ; and as I have in some 
 measure the guidance of you, I'm thinking it will be 
 best for vou and me to take a bit walk till dinner be
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 93 
 
 ready. There's mair temptation in this house than is 
 glide for a young lad like you, and were I to leave you 
 by your lane, some of thae deil's buckles wad be lead- 
 ing you astray. Sae," continued he, striding to the 
 sideboard, and helping himself to a glass of liquor 
 which looked suspiciously like brandy, " here is your 
 vera good health, and now we may as weel be stepping." 
 I had no objection to offer to this i^roposition ; in- 
 deed, I was heartily glad to escape from the din and 
 somewhat stifling atmosphere of the inn, and was, 
 moreover, desirous to see a little of the popular stir 
 which always prevails on the eve of an election. It 
 was quite evident, as we proceeded, that all ordinary 
 business was at a stand-still. The whole population, 
 in a state of excitement, was wandering about the 
 streets ; and in front of the Masonic Hotel, where the 
 Tories had established their headquarters, a vast crowd 
 was collected, yelling with hideous dissonance at each 
 fresh arrival that augmented the ranks of the obnoxious 
 party. No actual violence, however, was attempted, 
 nor were any missiles thrown ; an abstinence which, I 
 afterwards learned, was mainly attributable to the pre- 
 cautions taken by the sheriff of the county, who, in an- 
 ticipation of an outbreak, had secured the assistance of 
 a military force ; and it was quite well known through- 
 out Slockendrouth that a party of dragoons was quar- 
 tered in a neighbouring village. I could not help re- 
 marking that Mr M'Chappie, so far from being grati- 
 fied by the sounds of disapprobation which were cast 
 at his political opponents, appeared to be vexed and
 
 94 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 niffled ; for in reply to some remark of mine touching- 
 the evident synipatliies of the populace, he said dryly, 
 
 " Ay, ay — ifs a' vera weel ! Nae doubt it's better 
 to hae sic-like folk cheering you, than to be pelted by 
 them wi' stanes ; but for a' that they are no to be 
 lippened to. It's true enough that they are for us the 
 day, for we are against the Tories, and the Tories rade 
 in the rigging ; and they expeck that we shall gie them 
 Reform and the big loaf, and double wages, and may 
 be something mair. Nae doubt they will get Reform 
 of Parliament, for that's a settled thing ; but the taxes 
 will be just as heavy after that as they are now ; or if 
 they are made lighter, there will still be as muckle 
 grumbling as ever; and if ever the Whigs get the 
 upper hand, as doubtless they will before lang, you'll 
 see the mob as bitter at them as they are this day at 
 the Tories. They speak about the people governing 
 themsells. Lord help them ! If by the people they 
 mean the weavers o' Slockendrouth and sic-like, a 
 bonny government it wad be ! I'm an auld man now, 
 and I hae seen something o' the world, and my belief 
 is that the Tories are no sae bad as they are called, 
 and the Whigs no sae good as they aye pretend to be. 
 There are some o' the best gentlemen in the country, 
 and the kindest to their tenantry, down yonder at the 
 Mason's Arms; and it's no a right thing that they 
 should be hooted at by a parcel o' blackguards, ilk ane 
 o' whom, if he had his deserts, wad get aff cheap wi' a 
 month on the tread mill." 
 
 I was hardly prepared for this outburst of senti-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 95 
 
 ment on the part of the Bailie, and, I supposed, be- 
 trayed some surprise in my comiteuauce, for he con- 
 tinued : — 
 
 " Maybe, Maister Sinclair, ye wonder to hear an auld 
 Eeformer speaking that way ; for an auld Reformer 
 I am, and will be to the end o' the chapter. The 
 Tories are no wise in their ain generation, for they hae 
 ridden the country wi' ower tight a curb, and they 
 dinna see that a new order o' things has risen up 
 amongst us. It's trade, sir — trade and commerce 
 that has made this country what it is, and will make 
 it greater yet ; and it's no to be supposed that the men 
 who make the country's wealth will submit to be 
 keepit out o' the country's government. The lairds 
 hae held their heads ower high, pretending to look 
 down upon us citizens, because we dinna blaw about 
 a pedigree, which is dead men's names ; or as if the 
 possession of a wheen ill- wrought acres, that brings up 
 mair dockens than wheat, was better than bank shares, 
 money in the Funds, or may be heritable secmities. 
 I dinna pretend to greatness, but there is ane of our 
 lairds who wadna thole to be seen walking wi' the 
 like o' me on the plainstanes, that I could roup out o' 
 house and hame, if it were my pleasure to gie the 
 word. It's no the land that will rule the roast now- 
 adays, nor the lawyers either ; and that will be seen 
 afore lang. But for a' that we canna want the land, 
 and we canna want the law ; and a' that I seek — and 
 it wad be better for them if they did it o' their ain 
 free-will — is that the gentry would tak' down their
 
 96 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 pride a peg or twa, and consort wi' us townsfolk, and 
 that Tve should be a ae man's bairns. But it will 
 never do to let the scum get to the top o' the kettle. 
 Na, na ! I'm for nane o' your mob-rule, or Radical 
 ascendancy. I hae seen enough o' that already to 
 serve me for the rest o' my born days." 
 
 I expressed my curiosity to know what the expe- 
 riences were which had made so marked an impression 
 on the respectable Mr M 'Chappie ; and he, no doubt 
 pleased at having an auditor entirely to himself, gave 
 vent to the following narrative.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE bailie's visit TO PABIS. 
 
 " Ye maun understand, my lad, that it was no mucli 
 farther back than a year ago, about the middle o' the 
 summer, when it was minted that there was to be an 
 election in the county ; sae there was the usual stra- 
 mash and hurry, folks riding and runnmg, agents 
 working day and night, and promises fleein' about 
 amang the voters as fast as doos in a field o' pease. 
 Nae doubt our friend Mr Shearaway was in the very 
 thick of it ; for he's a lang-headed chield, and a canny ; 
 and that empty bladder, the Marquis, wad be sau' put 
 to it without him. Weel, sir, ae night as I was sitting 
 down quietly to my supper — for I aye like to hae 
 something tasty, such as a Welsh rabbit or a Finnan 
 haddock, before I mix my tumbler — up rattles a post- 
 chaise to my door, bang goes the knocker, and in 
 comes the lass wi' a letter from Mr Shearaway, telling 
 me that I was wanted instantly in Edinburgh on im- 
 portant business, and that I wasna to lose an hour in 
 coming. I was unco laith to move, for it's enough to 
 VOL. I. a
 
 98 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 try the patience of a saint to be disturbed at supi^cr- 
 time ; but needs must Avlien the deil drives, and the 
 deil is aye great at elections ; sae I telled them to put 
 up a change o' things in a sma' pockmanty — for I had 
 a kind o' a misgiving that I mightna get hame sae 
 soon as I could wish — took a hasty mouthfu' and a 
 dram, and stepped into the post-chaise. 
 
 " Awa' I whisks to Edinburgh, sleeping as I best 
 could the hale road, never stopping but for ten 
 minutes at Whitburn, where the whisky was awfu' 
 bad, the fire out, and nae loaf-sugar in the house. It 
 was early day when I got to Edinburgh ; but early as 
 it was, there I fand Mr Shearaway up and busy as a 
 bee. My certie ! he's no the man to let grass grow at 
 his heels. 
 
 " ' Come awa', Bailie,' says he, 'I hae a bit job for 
 you ayont the ordinar. It's a kittle cast, but you're 
 the man to do it.' 
 
 " ' It will be something about the election, nae 
 doubt ? ' says I. 
 
 " ' Ye needna be a warlock to guess that,' quoth he, 
 ' but ye have a warlock's errand before ye ; for, man, 
 ye maun cross the sea.' 
 
 " ' A\Tiere to ? ' says I—' to Fife 1 ' 
 
 " ' Fife ! ' says he, ' d'ye think I am sending ye to 
 Cupar ? Na, Bailie ; ye maun first to London, and 
 then to Paris.' 
 
 " ' Paris ! ' says I ; ' losh keep us, that's in foreign 
 parts, and in a Papish country ! What would the like 
 o' me do in Paris ? '
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 99 
 
 " ' That's just what I am going to tell you about,' 
 says he. 'Auld Dubity of Switherhaugh, who has 
 voted twice on the Grimalkin side, lives in Paris ; and 
 there's something that I ken o', and that he kens weel, 
 that would render it vera inconvenient for him to show 
 himself in Scotland at this time. I may just hint to 
 ye that it's a Justiciary matter. Now, we want a dis- 
 creet man to go over and persuade him that he had 
 better, for his ain sake, bide where he is ; and that if 
 be does that, and makes nae words about it, we'll see 
 whether we canna get a commission for his third son 
 to India. I doubt not that a wink will be as good as 
 a nod to him, for the Switherhaughs were aye a slip- 
 pery set, but it wadna do to break it to him by a letter. 
 It's a delicate kind of business, so we have pitched on 
 you as the fittest man to carry it through. The elec- 
 tion this time will be a neck-and-neck affair; and, 
 according to my calculation, if we can keep Dubity 
 out of the way, we are sure to win.' 
 
 " ' But, dear me, Mr Shearaway/ says I, ' how am I 
 to win my way to Paris ? I canna speak a word o' 
 French.' 
 
 " ' Nonsense ! ' says he ; ' everybody on the road 
 speaks English. Ye wad be far worse off in Aber- 
 deen. Here are the letters for you, with a note of 
 directions ; and there's a cheque on the Bank of Scot- 
 land for your expenses. Ye may spend it all if ye 
 like, for no reckoning will be asked ; and if auld 
 Dubity does not appear at the election, there will be 
 a handsome fee forthcoming for your trouble.'
 
 100 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " I took tlie cheque. It was for a bonny sum — 
 three figures, I can tell you ; and what mortal man 
 could resist that ? I was to get a trip to foreign parts 
 for naething, with the pleasant prospect of a handsome 
 handsel to boot. 
 
 " ' I'll do your bidding, Mr Shearaway,' says I. 
 ' And when am I to start ? ' 
 
 " ' For London by this afternoon's steamer,' says he ; 
 ' and from that to Paris as hard as ye can drive. So 
 good-luck attend ye.' 
 
 " ' Weel,' thought I, as I gaed up the Mound to the 
 bank to get the cheque cashed, ' siller maun be unco 
 plenty amaug the Carrabases to gar them spend it in 
 sic gates ; but that's no business o' mine.' 
 
 " In a word, I got the cash and was aff to London 
 that afternoon. Sair sick I was, to be sure ; for the 
 wind was in the eastward, and when we got to a place 
 that they ca'ed Flamborough, I thought that my haill 
 inside wad hae gane into the ocean. But what wi' 
 nips o' brandy, and ae thing and anither, I got ower 
 the warst of it, arrived in London, and in twa days 
 after that I had landed in France. Here I soon found 
 that Mr Shearaway was clean wrang about the accom- 
 plishments of the foreigners. At the very first house 
 I came to, I says to the waiter after dinner — and it 
 was the first word I had spoken, for I just took what- 
 ever meat they put down, keeping aye a jealous look 
 that it wasna frogs or sic-like abomination. 
 
 " ' Lad,' says I, ' bring me a tumbler o' toddy and 
 a ladle.'
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 101 
 
 " I wish ye had seen the creature's face. He was 
 mair like a puzzled cockatoo than a 'sponsible Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 " ' Sare/ says he, ' I spike Inglis.' 
 
 " ' Spike the deevil/ says I, ' but bring me my 
 toddy ! ' 
 
 " Ye will hardly believe it, but there were twa 
 Englishers there at the table d'hote, as they ca' it, who 
 didna seem to understand me any better than the 
 Frenchman ; but I made the best fend of it I could 
 with cauld brandy-and-water, and set aff in the dili- 
 gence, which is the French name for the stage-coach, 
 to Paris. I dinna mind much about the road, except 
 that the wine was sour, and the vivers rather queer ; 
 but I was wakened out of a sound nap by the bawling 
 of a chield they ca'ed the conductor, on the top of the 
 diligence, by which I understood that we were coming 
 near to the great city of Paris. Now, as I had been 
 informed that we would be stopped at the gates for 
 examination of the luggage and siclike, the French 
 folk being sic inveterate smugglers and rogues that a 
 son would cheat his ain father, I thought it right to 
 gather myself up ; ' for,' thinks I, ' as linen is scarce 
 in these parts, wha kens but they may take a fancy to 
 my shirts ? ' But when we came to the ports, no a 
 soul was there, not even a policeman. They were 
 standing wide open, the guard-house was clean de- 
 serted ; and for aught I could see, the great city of 
 Paris might have been as empty as Edinburgh in the 
 hinder end of August, when the grass grows thick in
 
 102 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the squares, and the only living things ye encounter 
 are a wean niffering a bawbee for grosarts wi' an auld 
 woman at a stall. But for a' that, it was evident that 
 something by ordinar was ga'en on inside ; for cannon 
 began to bang, no as our folk firC;^ regular and pre- 
 cisely, on the King's birth-day, but clap after clap, as 
 if the guns had been double-barrelled, and whiles I 
 thought I could hear a kind of roar, maist terrible and 
 gruesome, like the back-draught of a mighty sea. The 
 French folk that were wi' me in the diligence began to 
 cock their lugs, and to look queer ; and I heard them 
 jabbering to ane anither in a quick, raised, jerky kind 
 o' way : but what it was they said I couldna under- 
 stand, for I hae nae knowledge o' their parley voos. 
 Weel — on gaed the coach, the sound o' the camion aye 
 growing louder and louder, and very soon it was min- 
 gled with a brattling that T kent to be the discharge of 
 musketry ; and I said to mysel', though 1 canna assert 
 that I was altogether without misgivings, ' Nae doubt 
 it will be a military review ; and the folk that should 
 hae lookit after the gate will hae gane in to see the 
 ploy ! ' But, my certie ! it wasna lang afore I fand 
 out my error ; for nae sooner did we turn a corner 
 than the diligence was beset by twa or three hundred 
 black-a-vised scoundrels, maist o' them in blue shirts 
 aboon their other claes ; and in a jiffy they had cut 
 the traces, ta'en away the horses, and signed to us 
 passengers to come out. The Frenchmen that were 
 inside spanged like puddocks out of a pail o' het water, 
 but dcil a bit would I budge without my pockmanty.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 103 
 
 Then they tried to pu' me out, neck and heels, but I 
 made fecht wi' my umbrella, and gaed a chield a paik 
 below the ribs that doubled him up like a carpenter's 
 rule. Sae they just let me sit where I was, drawing^ 
 the diligence broadside to the street; and in twa 
 minutes' time they had jammed it in wi' carts, auld 
 barrels filled wi' paving-stanes, and many other kinds 
 o' lumber, sae that a cat could hardly hae cruppen out ; 
 and an unco terror came over me, for I thought they 
 were going to bury me alive. But that was a vaiii 
 imagination ; for presently I hears a loud skelloch 
 among the blackguards that were scrambling on the 
 top, and down they slid like spiders ; and then T saw, 
 what in the perturbation of my mind I hadna observed 
 at first, that ilka ane o' them had a gun, and a gay 
 wlieen o' them baggonets stuck into the muzzle. Now, 
 if there is ae thing I detest mair than anither, it is the 
 sight of a gun, for I have been a peaceful man a' my 
 days, and never handled powther since I was a laddie 
 at school, and burnt my fingers with a pluff ; sae ye 
 may weel imagine what was my state o' mind when 
 the vagabonds began to take aim as it were through 
 the windows o' the diligence, and me sitting inside ! 
 I looked up the street to see if there was ony chance of 
 escape in that direction, for I felt as if I could have 
 fled for refuge to the uttermost parts of the earth ; but 
 what think ye I saw there ? Naething less than a hail 
 regiment o' soldiers charging down upon me ! I had 
 just time to clap down on the floor, and was beginning 
 to say a bit o' a prayer, when pash gaed ae bullet clean
 
 104 NOHMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 through the wood- work, and then a perfect volley ; and 
 I fiind that I was in the very pentre of what they call 
 a barricade, that the soldiers and the mob were fiditinff, 
 and that I lay between their shots ! How lang that 
 lasted I canna say, for I clean lost my judgment and 
 my senses. I hae a kind o' indistinct recollection that 
 I howled like a pointer dog tied up in a strange stable, 
 and tried to cover myself up wi' the straw that was 
 lying in the bottom o' the coach, but I ken uaething 
 mair ; and when I came to mysel' the firing was done, 
 and maist feck o' the mob had disappeared. They telt 
 me afterwards that the soldiers had been defeated at 
 that barricade, and sure enough there were a hantle o' 
 them, puir chields ! lying dead and bloody in the 
 streets ; but I caredna which had the better, sae that I 
 could make my escape out of that accursed coach. Sae, 
 finding that the firing was over, I lifted up my head, 
 and gave a halloo that might be heard the hail length 
 of the Trongate of Glasgow. Presently it was answered ; 
 and after muckle wark, twa iU-looking rogues, wi' knives 
 in their belts, whom I jaloused to be butchers, got the 
 door open, and harled me out. Thankful I was to 
 heaven for that blessed deliverance ; and no a little 
 glad, moreover, to find my pockmauty, though there 
 were nae less than three holes in it. I may tell ye that, 
 afterwards, when I came hame, I found a bullet stick- 
 ing in ane o' my folded shirts, just at the place where 
 my breast would have been if I had it on, which I 
 could not regard as other than a special providence. 
 But what was I to do next ? I could have found my
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 105 
 
 way as readily through the great city of Nineveh as 
 through Paris. I couldna speak a word o' French, nor 
 could I make any Frenchman understand me — a' the 
 doors were steeked, and the very window - shutters 
 closed ; and nae wonder, for when bullets are fleeing 
 about, the best place for a sensible man is the cellar. 
 Sae I bethought me that I wad apply to the twa men 
 that had helped me out o' the coach ; for though my 
 tongue was in a manner useless, and indeed clove to the 
 roof of my mouth, I kent that there was a language 
 common to all mankind, and that is the clink o' siller. 
 Sae, in my haste, I put my hand into my pouch, and 
 pulled out a wheen franc pieces, that are just like our 
 ain shillings, without observing that there were twa or 
 three coins o' solid gowd amang them ; and these I 
 oflered to the Frenchmen, signifying at the same time, 
 by thrawing my face and pointing wi' my thumb, that 
 I would be glad to be lodged, wi' my pockmanty, in a 
 place where I might be safe, and also get something 
 to drink, for I was amaist choked wi' an awful thirst. 
 Nae sooner did they see the siller than they leugh like 
 mad. ' Ahi ! ' quo' ane o' them ; and he whips up my 
 pockmanty ; and the other chield — he was a desperate- 
 looking ruffian that ! — takes haud o' me by the arm ; 
 and awa' we set, up ae street, and down anither, till 
 we cam' to the maist blackguard bit m a town that I 
 ever saw in my born days. Lord kens, some of the 
 closes in Edinburgh are bad enough, and there are 
 wynds in Glasgow whereof the stench would scunner 
 a sow, but nane o' these were sae fearsome as that back-
 
 106 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 court in Paris, the very walls of which seemed to reek 
 with the filtliiness of abomination. When I saw it, I 
 felt as if I could have parted wi' my pockmanty to be 
 back again in the broad street where the diligence was ; 
 for though bullets are bad, butchers' knives are muckle 
 waur. The ane may not happen to hit, as I kenned 
 by recent experience ; but the ither, when apphed to 
 a man's thrapple, will go through it as readily as 
 through cheese. In a word, I began to see that I had 
 louped out of the frying-pan into the fire ; but I was 
 fairly in the grip of the Philistines, and had nae help 
 for it but to a;o on. 
 
 " They took me into a side-entry, and then half led, 
 half drove me down a stair into a laigh room, wherein 
 there was nae furnishings but three auld chairs and a 
 broken table. A fearfu' den it was, wi' stains on the 
 wa's that might hae been blude ; only it was impossible 
 to see clearly, for the only hght came through a single 
 pane up near the ceiling, that was as thick in crusted 
 wi' dirt as though it had been smeared wi' treacle. The 
 sight of it made me grue, and I felt as if cauld water 
 had been poured down my back, and a red-hot wire 
 rammed up my spine ; for I couldna help thinking of 
 the murder-hole of Burke and Hare. Weel, ane o' the 
 men — he was the lad that carried my pockmanty, and 
 though far frae bonny, wasna just sae ill-looking as his 
 neighbour— signs to me to sit down, which I did ; and 
 then he cries out ' Jean ! ' I was hopeful when I heard 
 that, for the warst Imimer amang the lasses has aye 
 some kind o' human feeling— that is, when a man is
 
 NORBIAN SINCLAIR. 107 
 
 concerned, for they'll no stick at pyking out the e'en of 
 their ain sex — but instead of a lass, in comes an awe- 
 some carle wi' red hair and a hunchback, and teeth like 
 the tusks o' a boar. ' It's a' ower wi' me now ! ' thinks 
 I ; ' Lord forgive me my sins, and Mr Shearaway for 
 sending me on sic a fule's errand ! I might have got 
 some mercy from the other twa, for after they had 
 stripped me to the sark, maybe they wad hae let me 
 gang ; but if ever man was a murderer, it's that red- 
 headed limb o' Satan ! ' 
 
 " But they didna just proceed to extremities ; for 
 after a deal of jabbering, the man they called Jean gaed 
 out at a back-door, and presently came ben, bearing 
 with him a bottle and twa mugs, at the sight whereof 
 I was somewhat comforted, for it was on my mind that 
 he had gone to look for a hatchet, or some such imple- 
 ment of destruction. Still I did not consider that as 
 equivalent to an assurance of safety to life, but only as 
 a kind o' short reprieve. ' For,' thinks I, ' maist pro- 
 bably they intend to do the job cannily, and without a 
 kick-up ; sae they'll hocus the drink, tie me up in a 
 sack, and when it's dark fling me into the river.' How- 
 ever, to do the loons justice, they didna try to make me 
 drink ony thing but what they took them sells ; for ane 
 o' them filled the mugs out o' the bottle, and took a 
 good swio- of it before I tasted mine. It was a white 
 kind o' wine, unco wersh and fushionless, but no a' 
 thegither unpalatable to a man wha was perishing wi' 
 thirst. Then the man Jean made a sign that I couldna 
 interpret otherwise than as a demand for payment ;
 
 108 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 whereupon, thinkiiiii- it best, under sic circumstances, 
 to be liberal, I tendered him a five-franc piece, but he 
 shook his head, and frowned, as much as to say that it 
 wasna enough, sae I had to gie him another crown, 
 which was an awful price surely for a bottle o' diink 
 no muckle stronger than sma' beer. Wi' that he seemed 
 contented ; sae I, thinking they might maybe let me out 
 now that they had gotten something, raise up, and was 
 about to lift my pockmanty, when ane o' the chields 
 takes me by the twa shouthers, and makes me sit down, 
 pointing to the bottle which was now empty, as much 
 as to say — ' Deil a bit o' you stirs frae this house till 
 we hae anither chopin'. What could I do ? They had 
 me fairly at their wiU, sae I even made a virtue o' 
 necessity, and signed to Jean for a second bottle, which 
 he made nae difficulty about bringing, for it's my notion 
 he had seldom sic a customer ; and I had to gie him 
 ither ten francs, which he pouched wi' a kind o' keckle. 
 
 " Weel — that bottle lasted nae time, and I thought 
 they wad be ettling for a third ; but it seems that they 
 had made up their minds to clean me out in another 
 way ; for ane o' them pulls out a pack o' playing-cards 
 — sair dirty they were too — and says something to me 
 about a Jew. 
 
 " Jew ? " says I ; ' Na, friend, ye are clean mistaken 
 in that ! I am nae Jew, but a decent Christian frae 
 Slockendrouth, that ye may hae heard tell o' ; and if 
 ye will bring me to ony respectable inn or lodging- 
 house — for I wad be laith if Mr Jean was to have ony 
 mair trouble on my account — I'U gie you and that other
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 109 
 
 gentleman as mnckle wine as ye can drink, or brandy 
 if ye like it better.' 
 
 " But I might as weel have read the Proverbs of 
 Solomon to a collie-dog. ' Jewy,' says he : and wi' 
 that he dealt out the cards, and in a manner forced me 
 to tak' up a hand. Then he put down a gold piece on 
 the table — it was ane o' the unlucky coins I had given 
 him amane; the siller — and signs to me to do the like. 
 I did sae, for by this time I was growing bauld, and I 
 thought that maybe I might win; and sae I might, had 
 the game been birkie, or catch-the-ten, or ony other I 
 understood ; but I kent na what I was about, and just 
 put down the cards ony way, till the chield sings out 
 ' Ahi ! ' flings down twa honours, and up wi' my Napo- 
 leon, as I hae seen a gled wliip awa' a robin-redbreast. 
 Neist time he put down twa ; and then the conviction 
 came on me that I was to be rooked by the blackguards 
 out o' a' my siller. ' Better that,' thinks I, ' than hae 
 my weazand cut across ; ' and I played on wi' a kind of 
 air of indifference, as if I didna greatly mind whether I 
 lost or wan, which was the mair easy, because I saw very 
 weel that they wad never stop till a' the money ia my 
 pouch, being somewhat aboon ten pound sterling, had 
 gane in the way of ransom. Mair gowd I had, nae doubt, 
 but it was sewed into a belt round my waist, and I was 
 determined that the blackguards shouldna get that till I 
 was brought to the last extremity. They werena long in 
 rooking me — ten minutes sufiiced for that — and then I 
 turned my pouches inside out, in token that I had nae 
 money left. Then they pointed to my pockmanty, as
 
 Ill) NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 muckle as to say that they had nae objection to play 
 for ony tiling that was in it ; but I let on as if I didna 
 understand them ; and just then there came a sound 
 as if of a rush of people into the court above, and a sort 
 of gathering cry, just like what the Hielandmen used 
 lang syne. The twa chields they started up, and saying 
 something in a hurry to the ill-faured, red-headed tyke, 
 Jean, banged up the stair ; and Jean was about to steek 
 the door, but, ray faith, I prevented him ! I'm no a 
 strong man, Maister Sinclair, nor did I ever begin a 
 tulzie ; but I hae a stout Scots heart o' ray ain, and I 
 can gar my hand keep my head, if need be, as weel 
 as mony folk that make raair brag about their courage. 
 Besides, I was just desperate-like at the thought of 
 being left in that den of iniquity wi' a manifest mur- 
 derer ; sae I caught up ane o' the chairs, and as Jean 
 was thrawing the key, I took him sic a clour on the 
 pow, that down he fell sprawling like an ox on the 
 floor. I needna tell you that I whippit up ray pock- 
 manty, and ran for dear life, kenning naething and 
 caring little where I went to, so that I got clear o' that 
 villanous neighbourhood. Whiles I heard the huzzas 
 o' the mob, and whiles the rattling o' the guns — I 
 heeded naething, but ran clean on, like a roebuck on 
 the braes of Benloraond, till I came to an open street, 
 and nae sooner was I there than I heard the trampling 
 o' horses, and down came a charge of cavalry, full 
 gallop, their sabres glittering in the sun. Ae minute 
 mair, and Mrs M'Chappie might hae been a widow ! 
 But by great good-luck I spied an open entry, and in
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. Ill 
 
 I rushed, and up a stair as fast as Tam o' Shanter wi' 
 a' the witches ahint him. There was an auld man in 
 a livery-coat keeking out of a door, but him I sent 
 spinning like a peerie, dashed into a room, where there 
 were three ladies and a gentleman, and flinging my 
 pockmanty on the floor, fell on my knees, and returned 
 thanks to Heaven, wi' a grateful heart, for having saved 
 me from sic terrible dangers. Ye may believe that the 
 ladies got a gliff" by my sudden apparition, and the auld 
 man didna look overly pleased ; but when I told them 
 wha I was, and what I had come through, they gave 
 me a hearty welcome ; and nae wonder, for they were 
 a kindly Scots family frae the Stewartry o' Kirkcud- 
 bright ; and in foreign lands the Scots aye help ane 
 anither, whereas the Englishers, being a dour and 
 suspicious race, stand aloof from men that speak their 
 ain mither tongue, unless they ken something special 
 about them. Sae I even bided under the same roof with 
 my country-folk till something like order was restored, 
 and a man might venture into the streets without the 
 risk of being shot like a muircock ; but it was an awe- 
 some sight to see that great city in the hands of the 
 mob, lawful authority such as that which is exercised 
 by Provosts and Bailies being overthrown, and the 
 very scum of the population marching about wi' red 
 caps and trees of liberty, and sicKke radical gear, in 
 open defiance o' law, and roaring like the bulls o' 
 Bashan ! They have put away their auld king — that's 
 him that's in Holyrood now, and they hae gotton a new 
 one, that's him they ca' Louis Philippe ; but ye'll no
 
 112 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 persuade mc that lie'll keep the crown on his head to 
 the end of his natural days. Na, na ! Ance show the 
 cat the road to tlie kirn, and you may whistle for the 
 cream. Ance gie the mob the upper hand, and they'll 
 never bide quiet. I ken weel that there are grievances 
 in this country of ours, and no light ones either ; but 
 the Lord forbid that I should ever see them redressed 
 by the short cut of a revolution. I whiles think it 
 was a great mercy for Scotland that the Covenanters 
 were keeped under till King William (that's the Dutch- 
 man, ye ken) came over frae Holland ; for if the West- 
 land folk had got the better at Bothwell Brig, it wad 
 just have been rank massacre and confiscation, and the 
 country wouldna' now have been what it is, rising every 
 year in rank among the nations. The Tories are clean 
 wrang in refusing reform, but the Whigs will do waur 
 if they let the mob get the uppermost ; and I canna 
 see that there is ony sense in drinking sic toasts as ' The 
 people, the source of all legitimate power,' which seems 
 to me a kind of hint that the easiest way of altering the 
 law is by knocking it on the head — no unlike the method 
 I resorted to in the case of my friend Maister Jean, the 
 fracture o' wha's skull, if it was fractured, lies at this 
 day vera light upon my conscience. But it's time we 
 were ganging back to the Carrabas Arms, for it's close 
 upon the hour of dinner "
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PRELIMINARY BANQUET. 
 
 It is a favourite remark of i^eptic philosophers, that in 
 Great Britain no important business of any kind can 
 be carried through without a due quota of eating and 
 drinking ; and some very erudite persons have traced 
 this habit so far back as the days of our Saxon fore- 
 fathers. For myself, I am no enemy to banqueting in 
 the abstract ; and although I confess that I greatly 
 prefer private to public entertainments, yet I admit 
 that there are certain occasions which are aptly cele- 
 brated by the ancient ceremonial of public dining. 
 For example, I highly applaud the custom of holding 
 convivial meetings on the occasion of agricultural 
 shows ; for there landlord and tenant, peer and yeo- 
 man, are brought together for one evening on a foot- 
 ing of equality ; mutual good-will and kindly feelings 
 are fostered, and no element of discord is permitted to 
 mar the harmony of the assemblage. But I cannot 
 conscientiously express my approval of political dinners. 
 They are bad things in every way — bad, because they 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 tend to promote and keep alive that spirit of sectarian- 
 ism, which is a besetting temptation to every man of 
 lis, both in politics and in religion — bad, because their 
 intention is to repress free thought and independent 
 judgment, by forcing neophytes to adopt the arbitrary 
 shibboleth of a party — bad, because the most forward 
 speakers are commonly either fanatics or knaves — and 
 bad, because the contractor generally takes care that 
 both victuals and drink shall be of the very worst 
 description. 
 
 The latter objection, however, did not apply to the 
 entertainment which was prepared for the Whig free- 
 holders at Slockendrouth. The viands and the liquors 
 were both plentiful and unexceptionable ; indeed, any 
 indication of economy in the commissariat would have 
 been a perilous political blunder. The parchment 
 gentlemen considered themselves entitled, on such occa- 
 sions, to be supplied with every delicacy which could 
 be gathered from land or sea, native or foreign, and 
 they would have regarded it as a gross insult if any 
 expense had been spared in the banquet set before them. 
 The voter, whose native taste was in favour of sheep's- 
 head broth, must needs have two helpings of turtle. 
 Haunches of venison from the park of the Carrabas 
 smoked upon the board, and, though greatly inferior to 
 four-year-old mutton, were in request, as Paddy would 
 have phrased it, "just for the honour of the thing." 
 Champagne and Burgundy were as plentiful as ditch- 
 water; while Maraschino and Cura^oa, in straw-covered 
 flasks, went the round of the table — whisky being re-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 115 
 
 gardecl as too vulgar an article for the palates of the 
 distinguished recipients. No flock of cormorants that 
 ever assembled round the carcass of a stranded whale 
 could have gorged themselves with more vigour and 
 determination than did the worthy and patriotic re- 
 tainers of the house of Carrabas; incessant was the 
 clatter of knife and fork, boisterous the laughter, and 
 fast and frequent the pledge. I was, I must needs 
 acknowledge, somewhat excited by the novelty of the 
 scene, so different from anything I had hitherto wit- 
 nessed. I was very young, totally inexperienced in 
 the ways of life ; and for the first time I found myself 
 treated as a man, and admitted into a company which, 
 though sufficiently miscellaneous, included many in- 
 dividuals of rank and station, with whose names I was 
 akeady familiar through the medium of the Carrabas 
 chartulary. There was the great mining proprietor, 
 Gibson of Slag, of whom it was commonly reported 
 that hfe was begotten in the bowels of the earth by his 
 father, who followed the humble calling of a collier, 
 but who rose to be a master and lessee, and by skill, 
 industry, and a double share of shrewdness, had laid 
 the foundation of a princely fortune. There was Alex- 
 ander Phin, Esq. of Phinstown, famed all over the west 
 for the amplitude of his hospitality and the excellence 
 of his cheer, who began life as a simple snuff-merchant 
 at the corner of the Saltmarket. Then there was 
 Jamie Pitlearie, the noted wag and song-writer, whose 
 facetiae in those days kept Ptenfrewshire in a roar, 
 and contributed not a little towards the compila-
 
 IIG NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 tion of that excellent jest-book and treasury of wit 
 ycleped The Laird of Logan, which by many is held 
 in even greater repute that the well-known work to 
 which the honoured but apocryphal name of Joseph 
 IMiller is prefixed. These were some of the Dii mino- 
 rum gentium ; but we were not without a sprinkling 
 of the higher aristocracy ; for besides the Honourable 
 Sholto Linklater and Sir Gilbert Mounthooly, we had 
 two peers' sons, a leash of baronets, an admiral, and a 
 Highland laird, who considered himself incomparably 
 the most important man in the assemblage. Other 
 lairds of the Lowland breed we had in tolerable pro- 
 fusion, from the freeholder of ten thousand a-year who 
 visited at Carrabas Castle, down to the bonnet-laird of 
 one hundred and fifty who caroused with the game- 
 keeper of the Marquis. But the bulk of the party 
 consisted of writers, accountants, and other subordi- 
 nates ; pure paper fictions, as landless as Gregalach, 
 and, in some things, quite as unscrupulous. Our 
 chairman was the great Sir Gilbert, who did the hon- 
 ours with diplomatic suavity, duly drinking wine v^dth 
 those who sat below the salt, and dispensing his 
 courtesies on all hands as beseemed a veteran intriguer. 
 So soon as the sacred rage of hunger was appeased. 
 Sir Gilbert, after cantering lightly through the ordi- 
 nary toasts, delivered himself of a couple of short ora- 
 tions as prefaces to the respective sentiments of " The 
 Eights of the People ! — may they never be trampled 
 down by the iron heel of tyranny ! " and " The cause 
 of civil and religious liberty all over the world." These
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 117 
 
 toasts having been duly acknowledged by the editor of 
 the Radical newspaper, who had been incarcerated on 
 a charge of sedition, and by a gentleman who, antici- 
 pating the Mormon revelation, had taken unto himself 
 the wife of another man, Sir Gilbert again rose, and 
 with a graceful wave of his hand, and a premonitory 
 " hem," ushered in the toast of the evening. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " it is now my duty — I ought 
 rather to say my high privilege — diverging from the 
 more general sentiments of enlightened patriotic policy, 
 which have already this evening been expressed in 
 language more or less glowing and appropriate, and 
 responded to by you vtdth that cordial unanimity which 
 shows how thoroughly your hearts are saturated-^— if I 
 may be permitted to use the term — with adhesion to 
 those liberal principles which the great Charles James 
 Fox, whose private vu'tues and Spartan rectitude were 
 only equalled by his public courage and rigid abnega- 
 tion, vindicated on the scaffold — I mean those prin- 
 ciples, liberal, as I said before, which the great Hamp- 
 den, whose private virtues were only equalled by his 
 public corn-age, vindicated on the scaffold — which the 
 gallant Sydney consecrated with his blood on the field 
 of battle — and which the great Charles James Fox, of 
 whom it may truly be said, in the inspired language of 
 the poet, 
 
 ' First to the lists the mighty Trojan came, 
 And always was the last to leave the same ' — 
 
 fulminated in the senate, striking terror into the bosoms, 
 and confusion into the councils, of a corrupt and a
 
 118 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 time-serving ministry. (Loud cheers.) Gentlemen, I 
 repeat that it is now my duty — and duty has always 
 been to me the polar star of conduct, ' the fixed aurora 
 of the northern sky ' (applause) — 19 introduce to you a 
 gentleman, in whom we may fondly hope — if hope can 
 be said to exist, or rather coincide in combination with 
 absolute certainty and most entire assurance — in whom 
 we may fondly hope, I say, to find united all that tends 
 to the culture of the intellect, to the development of 
 the understanding, to the formation of the scholar, the 
 gentleman, the senator, the patriot, and the statesman. 
 In the Honourable Sholto Linldater— (immense cheer- 
 ing, the whole company rising up) — in Sholto Link- 
 later — to whom the prefix of ' honourable' is most ap- 
 propriately applied, both on accout of self-earned merit, 
 and from ancient hereditary descent — in Sholto Link- 
 later we recognise the champion of our cause, the vin- 
 dicator of our mdependence, the patriotic barrier against 
 the threatened encroachments of an unscrupulous and 
 tyrannical faction, whose efforts, as sure as to-morrow's 
 sun shall set in a panoply of golden clouds, will be 
 crowned with unspeakable confusion and inexpiable 
 disgrace. (Loud cheers.) In proposing this toast, 
 gentlemen, one regret alone distils a drop of bitter- 
 ness into the full cup of enthusiasm, confidence, and 
 joy. I regret that the laws of the country, and the 
 fundamental constitution of the realm, which, though 
 reformers, it is our earnest wish to preserve intact in 
 their entirety, sacred m their inviolability, and pure in 
 their original complexion — I say, gentlemen, I regret
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 119 
 
 that those laws and that constitution have rendered it 
 inevitable that the presidency of this distinguished 
 comjiany, and the task of introducing to you our hon- 
 ourable and honoured candidate, should devolve upon 
 an individual whose claims to your attention are, I am 
 well aware, so limited and attenuated as my own. 
 (Cries of No ! no ! and applause.) I can easily per- 
 ceive, with the eye of fancy and imagination, what 
 would be your delight, what would be your rapture, 
 what would be your absolute deluium, if the chair 
 which I now so unworthily occupy could be filled by 
 that mirror of all that is great, gifted, and good, the 
 Most Noble the Marquis of Carrabas. (Tremendous 
 cheering.) Gentlemen, this is a topic which can only 
 be touched by the pencil of discretion, when pointed 
 with extremest delicacy. I approach it, I own, with 
 superlative misgiving, lest, in the inspired language of 
 the gifted Swan of Avon — 
 
 ' One of two bad things yon sliould esteem me — 
 Either a coward or a flatterer." 
 
 For, gentlemen, I shall not disguise from you my con- 
 viction that I should justly incur the infamous impu- 
 tation of being a coward, were I, through dread of 
 misconstruction or fear of calumny, to suppress the 
 utterance of my fixed, formed, and deliberate opinion, 
 that Scotland cannot boast a nobler name than that of 
 Carrabas (loud cheers) ; while I should equally be liable 
 to the charge of flattery, were I to say that within 
 the boundary of Scotland, from Coldstream to John o'
 
 120 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 
 
 Groats, from Peterhead to Portree, you could find a 
 single individual comparable to the noble Marquis 
 (who is also Lord-Lieutenant of the county), for high 
 intellectual accomplishment, profound political wisdom, 
 determined fixity of purpose, and bland urbanity of con- 
 descension. With these few remarks, gentlemen, wnmg 
 from me by the exigency of the moment, and the irre- 
 sistible impulses of a heart which is sometimes too 
 full for utterance, I withdraw from this subject, feeling 
 that, like Phaeton, who, you may remember, attempted 
 to drive the figurative horses of the sun — I may per- 
 haps have aspired too high, and have become partially 
 blinded by the brilliancy of the light upon which it 
 was necessary to gaze. Keverting again to the more 
 immediate subject of my toast, and anticipating your 
 impatience to do honour to the selected candidate for 
 the county, the stanch friend of the people, and the 
 future Phoenix of our hopes, I propose, with no ordi- 
 nary exultation, the health of the Honourable Sholto 
 Linklater." 
 
 If my readers should deem me tedious for having 
 thus minutely reported the speech of the rhetorical 
 baronet, they will no doubt be relieved by the assur- 
 ance that I have preserved no authentic record of the 
 reply of the Honourable Sholto. Indeed QEdipus him- 
 self could hardly have resolved the incoherent gobbling 
 of our accomplished candidate into a discourse ; but 
 that was of little consequence, as the great majority of 
 the company seemed to care less for oratory than for 
 the more substantial and exhilarating joys of the de-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 121 
 
 canter. Then there were clamorous calls for a song, 
 which were responded to by the wag of the West, 
 Jamie Pitlearie, who favoured us with a ditty in honour 
 of St Rollox, one of the tutelary guardians of Glasgow, 
 attributing to that inspired divine most of the modern 
 mechanical inventions. The greater part of this eflfort 
 of genius, which, however, I think I have seen some- 
 where in "print, has escaped from my memory, but the 
 concluding verse was something like this — 
 
 " He kenn'd fii' weel to wind and reel. 
 
 Invented cambric collars ; 
 He was the first that ever durst 
 
 Singe niiislin wi' het rollers. 
 He searched the land, and fand Mack band, 
 
 Made het the bellows' noses, 
 And fi'ae his ain lang chimney-tap 
 
 Hade his apotheosis ! 
 
 Cliorus. 
 Then, brithers, join your sangs wi' mine — 
 
 Let's spend the nicht in frolics ; 
 "We'll never want a patron saunt, 
 
 Sae lang's we've gude St Rollox ! " 
 
 After this, oratory was at a discount. The admiral 
 and the Highland laird indeed, being under the im- 
 pression that their dignity would be seriously compro- 
 mised if they did not address the audience, successively 
 got upon their legs and began to revile their political 
 opponents ; but by this time " the maut had fairly got 
 aboon the meal," and the company testified their im- 
 patience by shuffling of the feet, imitations of chanti- 
 cleer, and ironical applause, under cover of which the 
 disappointed orators sat down. Even Sir Gilbert
 
 122 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 ]\Ioiuitliooly could no longer command attention. The 
 eloquence of Ulysses was vain against the Circa^an in- 
 ihience of the liquor, which was rapidly transforming 
 his companions into swine ; and just as the Laird of 
 Stoupiewa's was clearing his throat for a flood of 
 melody, Bailie INI'Chappie, faithful to his promise, car- 
 ried me off to an upper apartment, where in a few 
 minutes I was fast asleep. '
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ELECTION, 
 
 Day dawned upon Slockendrouth as it dawns upon 
 the quiet isles of the ocean, dissipating the clouds and 
 drawing up the fogs, and calling men from needful 
 slumber to the renewal of that labour which is their 
 heritage. But the call to labour in that equivocal 
 burgh was, on this occasion at least, unheeded ; for al- 
 though it contained many an artisan who could ill 
 afford a holiday, work was out of the question during 
 the dependence of that election, men's blood being 
 heated to the very fever-point by political excitement 
 and exasperation. It is difficult even for those who 
 witnessed the extraordinary and disgraceful scenes of 
 that momentous period, to recall them now with all 
 their ferocity and license. They appear rather like 
 the impressions of a distempered dream, than real 
 memories of the past. As the period to which I refer 
 is now somewhat remote, it is perhaps fitting that I 
 should state, very briefly, the circumstances which gave 
 far more than usual importance to this and other 
 elections.
 
 124 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 TMieii, after the rash declaration of the Duke of Well- 
 ington, that no practical reform of the representation 
 was required, the Whigs came into office, parties were 
 very nearly balanced in the House of Commons. The 
 second reading of the famous Bill introduced by Lord 
 John Russell was carried only by a majority of one, 
 and in a subsequent division upon the motion that the 
 House should go into committee, the Whig Ministry 
 were left in a minority of eight. This led to the 
 dissolution of Parliament, a step which was literally 
 forced upon William the Fourth by his jMinistry ; there- 
 fore the fate of the Bill depended upon the character 
 and complexion of the new Parliament. The middle 
 classes, especially in the towns, were of course strenu- 
 ous supporters of the Bill as it stood, and dreaded lest 
 any alteration should be made in its provisions. They 
 were shrewd enough to perceive that it was calculated 
 to give them political preponderancy for the future, 
 and that consideration, independent of ulterior objects, 
 was sufficient to insure their support. The working 
 classes again, though still excluded from the franchise, 
 had been so wrought upon by unscrupulous dema- 
 gogues and hireling agitators, that they believed that 
 parliamentary reform would immediately be followed by 
 measm-es for doublmg the rate of wages, and halving 
 the price of provisions. There were no limits to the 
 extravagance of expectation. " All young ladies," wrote 
 Sydney Smith, himself a partisan of reform, " imagine 
 that, as soon as this Bill is carried, they will be in-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 125 
 
 stautly married ; schoolboys believe that gerunds and 
 supines will be abolished, and that currant tarts must 
 ultimately come down in price ; the corporal and ser- 
 geant are sure of double pay ; bad poets expect a de- 
 mand for their epics ; and fools will be disappointed, 
 as they always are." 
 
 Notwithstanding this unanimity among the classes 
 that were not yet represented, it was questionable 
 whether the existing electoral body would return to 
 the new Parliament a majority of members pledged to 
 support the Bill. No one doubted that some measure 
 of reform would be carried ; but measures are of divers 
 capacities, and the ten-pounders having once obtained 
 a glimpse of the bushel which exactly suited them, 
 would not suffer it to be diminished. Hence arose the 
 cry of " The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the 
 Bill," which resounded from every platform in the 
 United I^ingdom ; and had the agitation been con- 
 fined to mere expression of opinion, however strong, 
 no one could have challenged it as unconstitutional. 
 But it was by no means certain that the existing elec- 
 tors would defer to public opinion. They had certain 
 privileges, if not rights, to maintain, and they showed 
 symptoms of obstinacy ; whereupon the character of 
 the agitation was changed, and, after an interval of 
 a centmy and a half, Kevolution again became 
 rampant. 
 
 I use the term, heaven knows, in no oflPensive sense. 
 I make every allowance for the state of the country at
 
 126 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the time, and for the eagerness of the desire, which T 
 admit to be a laudable one, that existing abuses should 
 be reformed. All I mean to assert is, that this was a 
 revolution, if revolution means a public measure which 
 is carried through in defiance of existing laws. For, 
 in order that the result of the general election might 
 be favourable to the progress of the Reform Bill in the 
 Parliament about to assemble, coercion was not only- 
 preached up, but practised. The use of the bludgeon 
 and the brickbat was openly recommended by the 
 press ; threats of the most atrocious description were 
 levelled against all who dared to oppose the popular 
 voice ; mobs were organised and paraded ; and that 
 without the slighest remonstrance being made by the 
 Government, or any steps being taken by the law au- 
 thorities for the preservation of the public peace. Un- 
 der such circumstances of frightful intimidation, the 
 electors for each county and burgh were .called upon to 
 make their several returns. 
 
 At a very early hour, according to appointment, I 
 repaired to the room of Mr Shearaway, whom I found 
 already occuj)ied with his papers. However prolonged 
 may have been the orgies that followed the vocal exer- 
 tions of the Laird of Stoupiewa's, it was evident that 
 my employer had not participated therein, for his eye 
 was clear, his hand steady, and there was no huskiness 
 in his tone. 
 
 " You may copy that list, Norman," he said. " It's 
 best to have it, though it may not be of much use. — 
 Hang the fellows ! " he continued, as if to himself, " I
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIK. 127 
 
 think tliey will beat us ; but I don't know, after all, 
 that it's worse than a victory." 
 
 The last observation, though probably intended for 
 a soliloquy, excited my curiosity greatly ; and as Mr 
 Shearaway was always very friendly, I ventured to ask — 
 
 " Do you think, sir, there is danger of our losing the 
 election ? " 
 
 " Between you and me, Norman — but on no account 
 breathe a syllable of this," replied Mr Shearaway, " I 
 suspect we shall lose it by three. I thought otherwise 
 last night, but since eleven they have brought up seven 
 men, whereas we have only two additional, and I can- 
 not count on any more. I must do Butt and Benn the 
 justice to say that they have managed very cleverly. 
 Not that I was jockeyed, mark ye, but they made capi- 
 tal play with their reserve. Yes — I think I would take 
 an even bet that they have a majority of three." 
 
 " What a sad disappointment ! " said I, with the zeal 
 of the office upon me. 
 
 " Disappointment? Yes — no doubt the Marquis will 
 be disappointed. He's always wretched if he cannot 
 work the county, like putty, between his finger and his 
 thumb. But it's his own fault. I wanted to split 
 twelve superiorities for last head-court, which would 
 have made everything secure ; but the Marquis, as 
 usual, boggled about the expense. Penny wise and 
 pound foolish ! He's an obstinate old ram ; but that's 
 neither here nor there. Egad ! if it were not for the 
 discredit of the thing, I can't say that I shall be sorry 
 if we lose the election."
 
 128 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 I suppose that my countenance betrayed some sur- 
 prise at this frank admission, for Mr Shearaway con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " The fact is, Norman, that this is no ordinary time. 
 You young lads never look to consequences ; but T can 
 see with half an eye that if this Bill is carried there 
 will be an end of our profession. Conveyancing will 
 be knocked up altogether, and we shall lose those pretty 
 pickings that make up, as I can tell ye, the best half of 
 the profits of the business. You may call that a selfish 
 view if you please ; but I am much of the same mind 
 as Demetrius the silversmith, who stood up for his craft; 
 ay, and would have carried the day too, if that gowk 
 the town-clerk of Ephesus had not interfered ! But get 
 on with your list, for I hear somebody coming." 
 
 There was a knock at the door ; and a tall gentle- 
 man, muffled in a greatcoat and comforter, entered. 
 
 " I daresay you did not expect to see me here. Shear- 
 away," said the visitor, vrith a familiar nod. "But who 
 is this swankie ? " 
 
 " My clerk — all right ; he's close as wax. But what 
 brings you here, Butt? I did not expect that you 
 would venture into the lion's den." 
 
 " Call it den of thieves, Shearaway," replied the Tory 
 agent, " for hang me if ever thieves' house presented 
 such a spectacle in the morning as your public room 
 below ! Why, the fellows are absolutely lying in layers, 
 not to say heads and thraws ! " 
 
 " Did your men behave themselves much better ? " 
 said Shearaway.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 129 
 
 " ^VTiy, yes. We flatter ourselves that we can carry 
 our liquor like gentlemen. But to the point. I sup- 
 pose you know pretty well by this time how the election 
 will go ? " 
 
 "I have my own notions, certainly. But come — 
 what's the use of fencing ? Tell me honestly, Butt — 
 are you on the square ? " 
 
 " Yes, upon my honour ! We carry the day by either 
 three or four." 
 
 " I cannot contradict you," said Shearaway. 
 
 "Well then, such being the case, I have not the 
 slightest doubt that there will be a frightful row. The 
 mob here is the worst in Scotland ; and I am positively 
 assured that they intend to attack us after the election. 
 There has been wild work elsewhere — little short of 
 murder, I am told." 
 
 " Confound liberalism ! " said Shearaway. 
 
 " Amen ! " said Butt ; " to do you justice, I believe 
 you are at heart no more a liberal than myself. Now, 
 you know very well that not a man of us will be deterred 
 from voting by any amount of intimidation ; but the 
 consequences may be very ugly." 
 
 " I do not doubt the pluck of your party," replied 
 Shearaway. " I believe they would go through fire and 
 brimstone rather thau give in. But how can I help 
 you ? " 
 
 " In this way. After the election is over, try to keep 
 the crowd from leaving the court-house until we get to 
 the hotel. After that we shall do well enough. What 
 I want to guard against is an attack in the street ; so 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 like a good fellow, get somebody to address the mob — 
 some one who can humbug them, you know — for ten 
 minutes or a quarter of an hour." 
 
 " Tliat's easy said, Mr Butt ; " replied Shearaway, 
 "and I Ihink your notion is by no means a bad one, if 
 we could only find the proper man. But the fact is 
 that most of our fellows who can speak at all are such 
 bletherers that they would clear a kirk in no time. 
 There's old Sir Gilbert Mounthooly would have no ob- 
 jection to try it, for he likes nothing better than to hear 
 his own voice ; but the body is so wearisome with his 
 pompous twists and twirls, that before he got through 
 half a sentence the mob would be upon you, like a pack 
 of terriers after a cat. As for Sholto Linklater, between 
 you and me, he's little better than a born idiot. Jamie 
 Pitlearie might do ; but no — though he can write a 
 funny song, he's but a haveril when he tries to speak. 
 Hang me, if I can think of any one likely to answer the 
 purpose ! " 
 
 " Why, you have half-a-dozen advocates with you, at 
 least. There's Jawbone." 
 
 "Jawbone? It's little you know Jawbone ! He'll 
 not speak a word without a fee. And, to tell you the 
 truth, I don't think anv advocate from the Parliament 
 House would be listened to. Siiice they began at- 
 tempting to speak fine English, it's difficult to make 
 head or tail of what they say. Jeffrey has been the 
 ruin of them. They keep snipping and snaj)ping at 
 their words like a pair of tailor's shears." 
 
 " Well ; but, really, Shearaway, you must help me at
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 131 
 
 this pinch. Surely you must know some fellow who is 
 accustomed to address a mob." 
 
 " Egad ! I think I have hit upon the man at last. 
 There's George Gash, him that was editor of the Rcn- 
 fretv Regenerator — he's a first-rate hand at a harangue ; 
 but then he's a dour Radical, and has small love for 
 your party ; and no wonder, for he has been pulled over 
 the coals before now. But Gash is not a bad fellow 
 after all, and he owes me a day in harvest. I'll try 
 what I can do, Butt .; I will indeed — for, hang me, if I 
 like this rising of the mob. I say — if the worst comes 
 to the worst, 1 suppose you know where the Sheriff is 
 to be found ? " 
 
 " Trust me for that, old boy ! " replied Butt. " And 
 now it's time I should be off Many thanks, Shear- 
 away ; you have behaved as you always do, like a per- 
 fect gentleman, and I won't forget it." So saying, he 
 muffled himself in his coat and comforter, and took his 
 departure. 
 
 " Three or four ! " said Mr Shearaway, musingly ; 
 " humph — I reckoned on three, but who can the fourth 
 be? Some stray liferenter, I suppose. But what is 
 the use of bothering about it ? One is as good as a 
 dozen for a majority. You may tie up the papers, Nor- 
 man, and go down stairs. Eemember, mum's the word. 
 Breakfast will be ready presently for those who can eat 
 any ; but, my word ! if I had sat like some of them till 
 three o'clock this morning, I should be sorry to look a 
 beefsteak in the countenance." 
 
 The greater part of our friends, however, being
 
 132 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 accustomed to copious potations, falsified Mr Sliear- 
 away's prognostic, by displaying much aptitude in the 
 use of the knife and fork ; but I observed that each 
 man, before applying himself to the discussion of the 
 solid delicacies with which the board was spread, 
 fortified his stomach with a large glass either of bitters 
 or brandy. 
 
 Meanwhile the hour appointed for the election drew 
 nigh, and we proceeded in long column to the court- 
 house, Sir Gilbert Mounthooly leading the way, with 
 our hopeful candidate on his arm. 
 
 It was so arranged that w^e should arrive before our 
 rivals, in order, I suppose, to lessen the chance of a 
 collision ; and I must admit that a glance at the crowd, 
 which already thronged the galleries, amply justified 
 the precaution. Never had I set eyes upon such a 
 collection of ruffians as roared, whistled, whooped, and 
 yelled above our heads. There were colliers from the 
 mines, carters from the villages, weavers from the 
 streets, and cobblers from their stalls, all in their 
 working clothes, swarthy and begrimed, gesticulating 
 like madmen, wrestling for the foremost seats, and ut- 
 tering diabolical howls for no aj^parent reason except 
 the exercise of their hideous voices. Nothing like it 
 was ever witnessed without the walls of a lunatic 
 asylum — it was a frightful hall of Abaddon. 
 
 Our men were impressed with the notion that they 
 were very popular ; and Sir Gilbert, as our ostensible 
 chief, thought it his duty on entering to make one of 
 his most elaborate bows, by way of homage to the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 133 
 
 majesty of the people. A hoarse bray of scorn was 
 the reward of his politeness. 
 
 "Aff wi' yer hat, auld Mounthooly!" "Gosh! is 
 that him they ca' Sir Gilbert ? What a fushionless 
 body he is ! " " What are ye girning for at huz, ye 
 wizened jackanape ?" " Wha's that ane wi' the muckle 
 whuskers? Is that Linklater? De'il be in me, if I 
 wadna as soon send a cuddie as that man to Parlia- 
 ment!" "I say, Linklater ! gie's a sang!" " Gude- 
 sake ! there's Gibson o' Slag ! Eh, wow, Johnie Gib- 
 son, but ye think yoursel' braw araang the gentles!" 
 " What about the wages, Johnie Gibson ? Ye'll mind 
 ye are awin' us money V " Three groans for Slag ! " 
 " Huzzay ! there's Geordie Gash ! Geordie's a kent 
 freend o' the people ; huzzay for Geordie ! " " Gie 
 him the sow's tail ! that will suit him better." " Wha's 
 yon ? an admiral, did ye say ? Losh keep us, man — 
 he's no fit to steer a barge on the canawl ! " " Whigs ! 
 Whigs ! rotten trash !" " Doon wi' the areestocrats \" 
 " Bide a wee, chields ; there's the Tories ! " 
 
 Such were some of the intelligible fragments that 
 caught my ears amidst the universal din ; but when 
 our opponents entered, such a storm arose as utterly 
 baffles description. I have read somewhere the narra- 
 tive of a traveller, who had the misfortune to encamp 
 for the night in a forest inhabited by howling mon- 
 keys ; but appalling as was his account of the brutal 
 serenade, I cannot believe that it was half so frightful 
 as the yelling of that excited mob. It was a horrid 
 and a sickening spectacle. Here were gentlemen
 
 134 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 blameless in tliciv private life, indiil;2;ent landlords, 
 liberal in their charities, and just in all their dealings, 
 exposed to the vituperation, insult, and ridicule of an 
 obscene and ignorant rabble ; and for what ? Simply 
 because they were using, according to the best of their 
 judgment, that privilege which was given to them by 
 the laws of the country ! Talk of religious intolerance 
 — talk of regal tyranny ! There is no tyranny or in- 
 tolerance like that exercised by a mob. 
 
 The business of the day went on in dumb show. A 
 preses was elected, and after calling the roll, with all 
 the necessary formalities, it appeared that there was a 
 majority of three in favour of the Tory candidate, 
 Major Lindores. Then Pandemonium opened. The 
 beasts in the gallery — for I will not dignify them by 
 the name of men — spat down indiscriminately upon 
 all below. Missiles were thrown, one of which cut the 
 forehead of Major Lindores to the bone ; but the sight 
 of the blood of the veteran, who had lost an arm at 
 Waterloo, brought no compunction to the miscreants — 
 it rather gave them a thirst for further outrage. I 
 will say this for our jiarty, that they behaved uncom- 
 monly well. In the first access of indignation. Sir 
 Gilbert Mounthooly started up, and shook his fist to- 
 wards that quarter of the gallery from which the stone 
 was thrown ; and Sholto Linklater— stupid as he was, 
 no doubt, poor fellow — almost shed tears as he wiped 
 the blood from the brow of his successful antagonist. 
 One might have expected that the rabble would be 
 touched by such an incident. Not they ! The in-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 135 
 
 fernal clamour was continued ; and it became evident 
 that, unless some diversion could be effected, the riot 
 in the street would be terrible. 
 
 At this juncture Mr George Gash, prompted by 
 Shearaway, arose. I must confess that I had not the 
 slightest expectation that he would gain a hearing. 
 The attempt seemed utterly hopeless, nevertheless he 
 succeeded. It is wonderful how fond the populace 
 are, even in their most excited moods, of oratory, when 
 it is of a kind that suits their understanding and ap- 
 peals to their prejudices ; and how completely they 
 can be controlled, for a time, by the demagogue who 
 gains possession of their ear. Over the mob, it was 
 well known that Gash could exercise a wonderful in- 
 fluence. Tall, burly, and broad-chested, with an ex- 
 pressive countenance and a fine eye, his appearance 
 riveted the attention. His gestures, without being 
 %dolent, gave the impression of considerable power ; 
 and his voice, naturally a deep bass, had been exercised 
 and trained till it was capable of every kind of intona- 
 tion. Above all, Gash possessed the invaluable secret 
 of appearing ihoroughly in earnest, so that his audience 
 never for a single moment doubted of his sincerity. 
 A man so endowed ought unquestionably to have at- 
 tained a higher position than that of editor of an ob- 
 scure newspaper ; and so he would, had his lot been 
 cast in any other country but Scotland. It is with 
 regret and even shame that I make the avowal, but 
 nevertheless it is true that, in Scotland, apart from the 
 regular professions, talent of any kind, if unsupported
 
 136 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 by connection, lias received little recognition or en- 
 couragement from the chiefs of parties, who are usually 
 too much occupied in providing for their own relatives 
 and satellites to bestow due attention upon merit, or 
 to enlist it in the public service. 
 
 "Men of Slockendroutli !" said Gash, and his voice 
 filled the court-house, like the sudden peal of an organ, 
 enforcing silence where all before had been confusion — 
 " Men of Slockendrouth, listen to me ! I take heaven 
 and earth to witness that what we have seen to-day is 
 the last outrage that ever shall be committed in Scot- 
 land against the sovereign rights of the people, roused 
 at length to indignation, and determined no longer to 
 submit to the rule of a selfish oligarchy. I tell you 
 this — I who have suff"ered in the people's cause, I who 
 have been dragged to prison for their sake ! I tell you 
 this — but I tell you further, that it is far better for the 
 great cause to which all of us are sworn, that we 
 should sustain a jtartial defeat to-day, than be lulled 
 into security by a temporary triumph, which, after all, 
 is but of a party nature. Do not deceive yourselves. 
 This is no real battle for you or for your rights. It is 
 but the struggle of two great factions for political 
 power ; a struggle which, were it ended now, would 
 leave the working classes no better than they are; 
 would not redeem you from your degrading thraldom ; 
 would still leave you in the base condition of serfs, 
 toiling and labouring with your sweat that others may 
 reap the precious harvest of your industry ! 
 
 " I have voted this day with the Whigs, because I
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 137 
 
 cannot conscientiously set my face against any measure 
 of reform, liowever limited or poor. I honour the 
 Whigs for having conceded even this little, because I 
 know that they feel it to be a sacrifice. But do you 
 think that this Reform Bill of which we have heard so 
 much, and which I am willing to accept, but only as a 
 mere instalment — do you think that it will give you, 
 the working men of the country — you who are the 
 creators of the wealth which you are not permitted to 
 enjoy — do you think that it will give you that power 
 and predominance which is your birthright, which you 
 must have and shall have if you are only true to your- 
 selves, and sternly refuse to be hoodwinked or cajoled 
 by statesmen who are ready enough now to avail them- 
 selves of your might, but who would cast you from 
 them the moment that they could dispense vnth your 
 aid ? Believe it not ! This Bill does but palter with 
 the evils that beset and oppress the country — it does 
 not try to cure them. It would leave intact the Church, 
 that monstrous structure of superannuated bigotry, 
 with its brood of sable cormorants jireying upon the 
 vitals of the land ! It would perpetuate the House of 
 Lords, that nest of a degraded aristocracy, where men 
 too effeminate to labour meet to apportion the taxes 
 wrung from labour, among themselves and their child- 
 ren, and to pass laws for riveting more deeply the 
 fetters which bind us to the earth ! It would continue 
 to maintain an army levied for no other purpose than 
 to prevent you from asserting your liberties — an army 
 which you must pay for, in order that it may trample
 
 138 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 and slioot you down, should you dare so much as mur- 
 mur against tlie tyranny of your oppressors ! And 
 what does it profess to do for you, that you should so 
 clamorously insist upon having it? Which of you 
 men up there in the gallery will have votes should this 
 Bill become law to-morrow ? Not one ! And who 
 will have votes ? Why, the very men who are your 
 immediate pillagers, the detested owners of the truck- 
 shops, the pawn-brokers, and the publicans ! 
 
 " Men of Slockendrouth ! are you such fools as to 
 be imposed on by such a phantom of a measure as 
 this ? Do you think that if we had carried the elec- 
 tion to day, and returned to Parliament the honourable 
 gentleman beside me, whom I know to have an hon- 
 est heart, notwithstanding the taint of aristocracy in 
 him, Avhich, however, is less his fault than his misfor- 
 tune — if every election in Scotland had resulted in the 
 return of members pledged to support this Bill — that 
 you would have been the gainers ? I tell you, no ! It 
 is not for your advantage, working-men, that the set- 
 tlement should be made upon such terms. My hope is 
 — and the result of this day's election does but inflame 
 it — that these tyrants may be encouraged to resist 
 even the pitiful instalment of justice contained in this 
 Bill, and that, should it pass the House of Commons, 
 it may be rejected by an immense majority in the 
 Peers. Then indeed shall we hear the roar of an in- 
 sulted people, more terrible than that of the lion when 
 roused in his hunoer and his wrath ! Then shall the 
 resistless might of millions of brawny arms, which no
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 139 
 
 hireling soldiery can withstand, be displayed ! Crown 
 and coronet, mitre and ermine, shall perish in the con- 
 flagration they have provoked ; and the rights of the 
 people be established on a surer basis than ever yet 
 was known since this island emerged from the unfa- 
 thomable depths of the ocean ! 
 
 " Therefore I say to you, men of Slockendroutli, 
 mourn not for this day's defeat, but rather rejoice that 
 the cup of iniquity, heretofore not full, is now charged 
 and loaded to the brim ; and know this, that the first 
 drop which runs over that cup will be the signal for 
 your glorious enfranchisement ! As for the men who 
 have defeated us to-day, let them pass unnoticed and 
 unpunished. Fain would they be able to say that, 
 excited by their heartlessness, you had been tempted 
 into a breach of the law. Do not fall into that snare. 
 Sacred be the law, whatever it is, so long as it remains 
 unaltered ; but it needs no prophet to foresee that the 
 time is coming, yea, is nigh at hand, when you will be 
 the makers of the laws, and then let our oppressors 
 tremble !" 
 
 I have attempted, in so far as I can, to give both the 
 substance and style of this remarkable speech, which 
 was perfectly successful in its object — viz., to give the 
 Tory party the opportunity of slipping away unnoticed 
 during its delivery. It was also very useful for us, 
 for it saved us the necessity of putting up Sholto Link- 
 later to speak ; and my private opinion is that both 
 Butt and Shearaway, though of course disapproving 
 of the political sentiments which he enunciated, sent
 
 140 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 letters of acknowledgment, enclosing notes of a more 
 satisfactory description, to the gifted and fluent orator. 
 Some of our party, however, were anything but pleased 
 with the tone of this democratical discourse, which 
 denied them all credit for having stood forth as the 
 champions of the public liberty. Tlie fact is, that the 
 Whigs were at that time shaking in their shoes. They 
 had evoked a demon whom they could not lay, and 
 the terrible apprehension tliat tliey might ultimately 
 be torn to pieces, made them curse the folly of their 
 leaders in rousing the passions of the mob. 
 
 "Gey and Strang drink tliat, Eailie !" said Gibson 
 of Slag, near whom I was seated, to Mr M'Chappie. 
 " That chield sticks at naething ! It's clear eneuch 
 that if he had it a' his ain way, there wad be naebody 
 in Parliament but landloupers and blackguards like 
 them in the gallery ! " 
 
 " It's my belief there wad be nae Parliaments ava," 
 replied the Bailie. " It wad just come to ilka man 
 helping himsel' out of his neighbour's kist. Gudesake ! 
 just think o' vagabonds like them being makers o' the 
 laws   Their first law wad be for half work and double 
 wages, and then what wad become o' capital ? I'm 
 clean sick o' politics, Mr Gibson ; and I'm beginning 
 to think that we've gane muckle ower far." 
 
 " Troth, sae am I ! " said Gibson. " Ance let this 
 splore gae by, and ye'll no catch me again meddling wi' 
 Eeform. Did ye ever hear sic a din ? They've fand 
 out at last that the Tories have given them leg-bail,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 141 
 
 and now they're off to the Masons' Arms. God kens 
 what may come o't — maybe murder ! " 
 
 And in fact the mob, whose intention had been en- 
 grossed by the insidious eloquence of Mr Gash, began 
 to look about them ; and seeing that they had missed 
 their prey, thronged out with yells of execration. 
 Somewhat crestfallen — for even the most stolid of our 
 party was conscious that we cut but a sorry figure — 
 we drew off our forces, and returned to our hotel with- 
 out molestation. There a splendid banquet awaited us, 
 but there was a total absence of that hilarity which 
 had characterised the repast of the previous day. It 
 was not the bitterness of defeat that rankled in the 
 minds of the company — for I believe few of them cared 
 in reality about the issue of the election — but it seemed 
 as if their eyes had been opened to the extreme gravity 
 of the crisis, and as if a sudden dread of impending 
 revolution had come upon them with the effect of a 
 moral ague. 
 
 Such, I conjecture, was the nature of the thoughts 
 that coursed like dark shadows over the minds of the 
 majority of the guests, strangling their mirth, and 
 making them appear as lugubrious as mourners at a 
 funeral feast. But the chagrin of the more prominent 
 members of the party was even greater. Sir Gilbert 
 Mounthooly was one of a small knot of baronets and 
 landed proprietors, who, at the beginning of the Ee- 
 form movement, had entered into it with much zest 
 and zeal, beino; under the unfortunate delusion that
 
 142 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the people, impressed with a due sense of their dignity 
 and condescension, would adopt them as leaders, and 
 implicitly defer to their suggestions. Accordingly, 
 Sir Gilbert went about from meeting to meeting, wher- 
 ever there was a gathering to promote the cause of 
 reform, enunciating his interminable and inextricable 
 periods from which no proper meaning could be 
 gathered, until he became an absolute laughing-stock 
 and object of scorn. The people are remarkably quick 
 in their ajjpreciation of the real merit of public speak- 
 ers. They may be deluded by flashy talent, but they 
 will not put up with a proser. Also they viewed with 
 some suspicion the sudden conversion of the Baronet 
 to democratic opinions. He had long been known as 
 a pompous and haughty man, ridiculously proud of the 
 antiquity of his family (which was a heraldic mistake), 
 a notorious stickler for etiquette, and, moreover, a 
 most abject worshipper of the nobility. These were, 
 to say the least of it, strange antecedents for a person- 
 age who was now attempting, however impotently, to 
 assume the character of a popular champion. In con- 
 sequence, though he was allowed to speak — indeed 
 he would not be denied — he was never taken into 
 the confidence of the real leaders of the movement; 
 and the applause with which his first appearances 
 were greeted, and of which he was vain beyond mea- 
 sure, soon ceased to regale his ears. The occurrences 
 of that day had mortified him greatly. The contemp- 
 tuous reception vouchsafed him by the rabble showed 
 how little influence he possessed ; and it was gall and
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 143 
 
 wormwood to him to have it practically demonstrated 
 that he, the great Sir Gilbert Mounthooly of that Ilk 
 — baronet, diplomatist, and rhetorician — was a person 
 of much less consequence in the eyes of the common- 
 alty than a low plebeian who edited a country news- 
 paper. Therefore the proud heart of the Mounthooly 
 was cast down if not humbled ; and he applied him- 
 self to his victuals with the air of an injured Aris- 
 tides. 
 
 The happiest man at the table undoubtedly was 
 Sholto Linklater. Honest Sholto had been badgered 
 into standing for the county — a position which he did 
 not covet, and for which he was utterly unfit ; and it 
 was an immense relief to him to know that, instead of 
 being packed off to London, which he dreaded by anti- 
 cipation as a monstrous bore, he might remain at home 
 and give himself up entirely to golf and coursing, the 
 only occupations for which he cared. Therefore the 
 face of Sholto was glad : he rallied Sir Gilbert on his 
 despondency, shouted for champagne, and, like Bitias 
 at the banquet of Queen Dido, 
 
 " Impiger liausit 
 Spmnantem pateram, et jjleuo se proluit aiiro. " 
 
 But the cloth had not been yet removed, when the 
 door was suddenly thrown open, and a gentleman, pale 
 from agitation or rather terror, entered. We saw in- 
 stantly that he was charged with tidings of some catas- 
 trophe, and there was breathless silence while he spoke 
 as fellows : —
 
 144 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " Gentlemen — the mob have risen ! They have 
 smashed the windows of the Masons' Arms. They 
 are breaking into the house ; and they swear they will 
 murder the Tories ! " 
 
 Each man involuntarily looked in his neighbour's 
 face, and saw there nothing but consternation. One 
 man only — and I revere him for it — started instantly 
 to his feet. It was Sholto Linklater, whose brave and 
 manly instinct dictated at once the right course of 
 action. 
 
 " So help me God ! " he cried, " I shall not sit here 
 while gentlemen are being knocked on the head by 
 cowardly scoundrels like these ! Sir Gilbert — Admiral 
 — Benridden — all of you — follow me! Take what 
 weapons you can find — sticks, anything — your bare 
 fists will suflfice ! Keep close together, and 111 answer 
 for it we beat the blackguards ; or if not, better have 
 bloody heads than desert our neighbours ! " 
 
 This speech, the longest and by far the best that 
 honest Sholto ever uttered, told with electric effect. 
 The company gave an approving cheer, and rose up 
 unanimously. But they were not called upon to act. 
 Suddenly we heard a dull sound like the surging of 
 the sea, or a river coming down in spate, and then the 
 sharp clattering of horses' hoofs in the street. I 
 rushed to the window, and saw the sheriff of the 
 county galloping past at the head of a detachment of 
 dragoons with their swords drawn. We knew that all 
 was safe. 
 
 " Weel is it for me," said Mr IM'Chappie, wiping the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 145 
 
 perspiration from his forehead — "Weel is it for me 
 that the sodgers cam' up in tlie nick o' time ! For ye 
 see, Maister Sinclair, my blude was raised, and I wad 
 hae grippit hand o' the biggest chield amang them a'. 
 But, Lordsake, tliere was some deevils yonder m the 
 gallery the day, that were twice as Strang as Jean that 
 I forgathered wi' in Paris ; and I'll no say but that I 
 might hae had the warst o't. Sae it's maybe just as 
 weel that the dragoons have the settling o' the job. 
 They'll clear the causeway in nae time. But wha wad 
 hae thought that Sholto Linklater had such spunk in 
 him ? I had nae great notion o' the creature, but I 
 think muckle mair of him now. Yon was really grand 
 — no havering or nonsense, but a bauld manly spirit. 
 What for is he no a colonel o' dragoons ? It's a vera 
 queer thing, but tliere's mair smeddum in the auld 
 blude than folks nowadays are willing to allow." 
 
 The conflict ended, so far as I can recollect, without 
 any serious consequences ; for the mob, though bent 
 on mischief, dispersed before the charge of the cavalry. 
 But the annals of that year are full of instances of 
 popular outrage and incendiarism, which prove how 
 narrow was the escape from violent revolution. It is 
 not my wish to make commentaries on public events. 
 My object is to restrict myself as much as possible to 
 the narrative of facts and impressions. I shall there- 
 fore abstain from sermonising ; l)ut I must be allowed 
 to say that, having once witnessed a civil commotion 
 of this kind, I most devoutly trust that I shall never be 
 spectator of another, 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF? 
 
 In a rising commercial country tlie acquisition of 
 ■wealth is generally considered as the chief object of 
 existence. In vain do preachers insist (though for 
 the most part not very earnestly), that happiness does 
 not depend upon the heaping up of riches, or the mul- 
 tiplying of possessions, and appeal in corroboration of 
 their doctrine to the inspired authority of Scripture. 
 They are not met with a broad denial, but they are 
 listened to with perfect indifference. The tendency 
 of parental instinct, in the case of sons at least, is to 
 place them as early as possible in situations where 
 they must work hard and incessantly in order to lay 
 the foundation of their future fortune ; and as instinct 
 is rarely wrong in its general direction, I am not dis- 
 posed to challenge, on broad grounds, the wisdom of 
 an arrangement which is almost universal. But I must 
 needs say that, in Scotland, too much eagerness is 
 shown, on the part of the wealthier classes, to abridge 
 the educational period for the sake of early initiation
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 147 
 
 into practical life. They hurry their sons through the 
 universities, sending them for the most part to such 
 classes only as are rudimentary ; and then place them 
 in the office or counting-house, where they are expected 
 to abandon all other pursuits, to forget by degrees the 
 little learning they have acquired, and to devote the 
 whole of their energies thereafter to the prosecution 
 of their worldly calling. That, assuredly, is not the 
 proper way to elevate the middle classes, which, taken 
 in the aggregate, must be considered as the most im- 
 portant division of the community. At school, the 
 educationary process is rather coercive than voluntary. 
 Few boys take kindly to Latin, Greek, or Mathematics, 
 — for this reason, that they are kept painfully grubbing 
 at roots, struggling with grammatical difficulties, and 
 solving bitter problems, without any scope being given 
 to the imagination, or any real interest created in the 
 subject of their studies. One principle alone, emula- 
 tion — the desire of being uppermost, or the disgrace 
 of being lowest — stimulates them at that period of 
 Hfe. But as the intellect widens and expands, as the 
 boy advances towards manhood, he begins vividly to 
 appreciate the charms and fascinations of learning. 
 No longer tortured by aorists, or perplexed by the 
 intricacies of quantity, he can derive a deep enjoyment 
 from the magnificent strains of Homer, or the placid 
 majesty of Virgil. What formerly was a task becomes 
 a source of sincere delight. He passes from the 
 masters of antiquity to those of modern thought, and 
 is never weary of the contrast. The vast domain of
 
 148 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 
 
 science opens out before him, and he luxuriates in the 
 thouolit of beinu able to wander over it at will. Yet 
 it is precisely at this point that parental thrift too often 
 interferes with the generous aspirations of youth. All 
 at once it flashes upon Senex that Juvenis is in the 
 fair way of becoming a scholar and a man of letters — 
 a result which Senex by no means contemplated when 
 he sent Juvenis to school. Senex has not much faith 
 in the power of books or of book-learning to advance 
 a man in the world. He has never troubled himself 
 much with books, but he has contrived to make his 
 way notwithstanding. He is estimated on 'Change 
 as good for twenty thousand pounds at the least ; 
 whereas many a fellow whom he remembers above him 
 at school, has barely salt for his porridge. The best 
 book in the world, Senex is willing to allow, is the Bible, 
 which he opens once a-week ; but the next best is his 
 ledger, which he studies every day, Sundays of course 
 excepted, when he merely calculates profits when the 
 sermon is unusually tiresome. Juvenis, if he wishes 
 to succeed, must do the same. There is a desk and a 
 three-legged stool provided for him, which he is ex- 
 pected to occupy from nine in the morning till eight 
 at night, with a proper interval for meals. That is the 
 true way to make a fortune. But as Juvenis really 
 seems to have a kind of turn for reading, Senex won't 
 be hard upon him. After eight p.m. his time shall be 
 at his own disposal. Let him read, then, from eight 
 to eleven. 
 
 Alas, Senex ! Has age so chilled your blood as to
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 149 
 
 have obliterated all memory of the way in which your 
 youthful evenings, after office hours, were spent ? Was 
 your own palate innocent of the flavour of ale and 
 oysters, and did you never wash away the cobwebs of 
 business with potations of a stronger kind ? Respect- 
 able as you are now, were you always in bed by eleven ? 
 No, Senex ! — you dare not aver that upon your oath ; 
 nor shall I judge you harshly on account of your indi- 
 vidual transgressions, for well I know that the bow 
 cannot always be bent, nor the sociality of youth re- 
 strained. You are sorry for these things now, I doubt 
 not — but can you fail to perceive that, if you shut up 
 Juvenis in the counting-house precisely as you were 
 shut up, the latter end of his day will be spent pre- 
 cisely as was yours? As you drank and dissipated 
 with Willie Dalgleish forty years ago, so will he drink 
 and dissipate this self-same evening with Charlie 
 Dalgleish, who is the exact counterpart of his father. 
 There is but one way to prevent that. Do not trans- 
 form him all at once into a beast of burden. Encour- 
 age him to cultivate his mind — let him have reasonable 
 time for study — thwart him not in his desire to edu- 
 cate himself to a higher point — so shall you most effec- 
 tually keep him from the tavern and other haunts, 
 wherein, as your own experience assures you, he is not 
 likely to acquire any wholesome lessons of morality. 
 
 There is only one really liberal profession that I 
 know of, and that is the medical one. A physician 
 (so that he does not countenance innovations in prac- 
 tice) may study as much as he pleases ; and the more
 
 150 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 that lie reads and knows, the higher is the estimation 
 in -which lie is licld. A divine can hardly, even if he 
 were so inclined, apply himself to anything else than 
 the strict duties of his profession. Wonderfully sharp- 
 sighted are the jackdaws in detecting even a parti- 
 coloured feather in the tail of one of their tribe. They 
 resent its exhibition as a reflection upon their sable 
 uniform, and never cease pecking, scolding, and chat- 
 tering, until they have it out. Worthy John Home, as 
 good a soul and devout a minister as ever put on the 
 bands, committed the awful sin of writing a tragedy, 
 Dovglas ; and straightway such a din, clamour, and 
 shout of execration arose from the Church, that he was 
 fain to throw off his gown, abandon his living, and 
 thenceforward herd with the laity. As for the law, it 
 is notorious that a young barrister has no chance of 
 attaining to practice, if he is even susjDected of pur- 
 suing any other studies than those which are dictated 
 by Themis. Social irregularities may be forgiven him, 
 but flirtation with the muses is a crime beyond the 
 reach of absolution. He may fearlessly addict himself 
 to claret ; but, if he prefers the waters of Hippocrene, 
 he is for aye forsaken by the solicitors. 
 
 Many a young fellow have I known, with natural 
 abilities above the average, who, in consequence of this 
 absurd and pernicious prejudice, has lapsed into sottish- 
 ness and ruin. About the time when I entered ]\Ir 
 Shearaway's office, there was a positive mania in Scot- 
 land for the legal profession. Almost every young 
 man you met with in Edinburgh was destined to be
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 15 L 
 
 an Advocate or a Writer to the Signet. The Scottish 
 gentry being generally poor, held their heads propor- 
 tionably high, and sneered at mercantile pursuits as 
 unbecoming the dignity of their blood. Nominations 
 to India could only be procured through high influ- 
 ence ; and commissions in the army were no longer 
 o-ratuitous as in the time of war. Colonisation had 
 not begun to attract the sons of the gentry ; though 
 some of the more robust and enterprising had visions 
 of the backwoods of Canada, and talked incoherently 
 of sledses and of bears. As for New Zealand and 
 Australia, in those days one would as soon have thought 
 of emigrating to Spitzbergen or Nova Zembla. The 
 Law, as I have said, was the favourite profession ; and 
 so overstocked was it in every branch, that had the 
 people of Scotland been fifty times more litigious than 
 they were, there was no danger of their suffering detri- 
 ment for lack of advice or advocacy. I suspect that 
 the principles enunciated in Adam Smith's Wealth of 
 Nations were then but imperfectly understood. It 
 never seems to have struck any one that the legal pro- 
 fession, however necessary and useful, is merely para- 
 sitical — that it adds nothing to production, but derives 
 all its nutriment from the body politic round which it 
 is twined. That was an axiom of political economy 
 too deep for the comprehension of the lairds, who, 
 while groaning over the accounts yearly rendered them 
 by their agents, simply took note of this — that the 
 lawyers necessarily must be very thriving people, since 
 they contrived, one way or another, to appropriate so
 
 152 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 considerable a proportion of their rents. Then, by a 
 process of intuitive logic, they arrived at the conclusion 
 that if tliey bred one son a writer, and another an 
 advocate, the money which was now passing into the 
 pockets of strangers might be made to circulate in the 
 fiimily. There was no flaw so far in their reasoning ; 
 but the misfortune was that hundreds of them reasoned 
 alike and sinmltaneously ; and the necessary result was 
 a glut in the juridical market. 
 
 Many of my old friends and compatriots have long 
 since vanished from the scene. After spending some 
 of their best years in idleness, and contracting those 
 miserable habits which idleness rarely fails to induce 
 — after lingering on in the vain hope that they might 
 yet find an opening, but constantly doomed to dis- 
 appointment — they have taken flight, like migratory 
 birds that have tarried too long, and been wafted, God 
 knows whither, by the four winds of heaven. Most 
 of them, I fear, are in their graves. Some of them, I 
 am glad to know from report, have lighted in the 
 colonies, and done well or poorly according to the pro- 
 portion of energy they retained. Some have retired 
 into the country, their once high ambition now satis- 
 fied with some small situation from which they derive 
 a competence ; and their favourite recreation, when 
 they meet with an old crony, is to recall the memory 
 of those days which were the most unfortunate of their 
 existence. Well — I need not vaunt. All of us are, 
 more or less, slaves of circumstance. Our highest 
 aspirations — such as we conceive when we look to the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 153 
 
 world before us — are very rarely fulfilled. We aspire 
 to fame ; and some reach it by devious paths, which 
 they had not originally contemplated. We desire 
 wealth, and it flows in upon us from a quarter which 
 we never had anticipated. 
 
 As I was not "articled" in the office of Messrs 
 Meiklecry, Littlewoo, and Shearaway, I had of course 
 the dispo.sal of my own time in so far as was consist- 
 ent with the wishes of my employers. After the 
 memorable election at Slockendrouth, Mr Shearaway 
 had treated me with marked kindness and considera- 
 tion ; and on my expressing a desire to attend certain 
 advanced classes in the University, at hours which 
 were rather inconsistent with office regulations, he at 
 once gave his consent. 
 
 " I wish you to understand, Norman," said he, " that 
 so long as you choose to remain here, you are quite free 
 to study as you like. I knew your uncle from a boy. 
 He was a devilish clever fellow, but somehow or other 
 he never could contrive to bring his pigs to the right 
 market. I hope you will have better luck. As to 
 giving you advice about these matters, I really do not 
 feel myself competent to do it. If I were sure that 
 you intended to enter the profession, I would tell you 
 'at once to stick to the desk, and attend to nothing else ; 
 but I have a kind of notion — for I've watched you, my 
 lad, more closely than you may think — that such is 
 not your destiny. Norman Sinclair — tell me truly ; 
 have you any deliberate plan for the future ? " 
 
 " As yet, none, Mr Shearaway."
 
 154 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Shearaway had recourse to his snufF-box. " No plan 
 for the future, Norman ? Well — that puzzles me more 
 and more. I know that you have poetry notions ; 
 though, to do you justice, you don't bring them for- 
 ward, or talk nonsense about the claims of genius, like 
 some young jackasses, who think because they can 
 make two words clink together at the end of lines, that 
 they are heaven-born poets. Poetry, when it pays, is 
 no doubt a most excellent thing ; for that is the true 
 test of every kind of manufactures. There is no mark 
 of merit so sure as a steady demand, let the article be 
 what it may. Walter Scott might have written off his 
 fingers at law-papers before he would have made half 
 as much as he cleared by the Lady of the Lake ; and, 
 questionless, the world has been the gainer thereby. 
 But, Norman, more than half the brains of the nation 
 were stowed in that grand auld head of his ! We may 
 have to wait a Ions while before we look on his like 
 
 'o 
 
 again. 
 
 I assured Mr Shearaway, most emphatically, that I 
 had not the slightest intention of cultivating poetry, 
 or indeed any kind of literature, as a profession ; and 
 that my only object was to acquire information on 
 certain subjects of which I was at present profoundly 
 ignorant. I ventured to think, I said, that whatever 
 might be my ultimate destination, such studies could 
 hardly fail to be of advantage. 
 
 " Right, Norman, right ! " said Mr Shearaway ; " it's 
 a true proverb that a man is never too old to learn. 
 And you need not mind about attending the office so
 
 NORMAN STNCLAIR. 155 
 
 closely as you used to do ; for, between you and me, 
 this Eeforni Bill has made a sad hole in our business. 
 We could make easy shift with half the staff of clerks 
 we used to employ, if it were not that the poor lads 
 might be difficulted to find meal for their porridge. 
 Heigho ! I suppose the next thing they will do will 
 be to cut down the forms of process." 
 
 Profiting by this permission, I attended during two 
 winter sessions the lectures of some of the most re- 
 nowned professors in the University of Edinburgh, a 
 high privilege which, by the Scottish system, is open 
 to every one, who chooses to avail himself of it, with- 
 out the necessity of entering into an exclusively acade- 
 mical career, as is the case of the great English univer- 
 sities. And when summer came — for in Scotland, alas ! 
 there is no spring, winter rolling itself remorselessly, 
 like a huge polar bear, over what should be the beds of 
 the early flowers, and crushing them ere they are devel- 
 oped — when summer came, and the trees put on their 
 pale-green liveries, and the brakes were blue with the 
 woodhyacinth, and the ferns unfolded their curl, what 
 ecstasy it was to steal an occasional holiday, and wander, 
 rod in hand, by some quiet stream up the moorlands, 
 inhaling health from every breeze, nor seeking shelter 
 from the gentle shower as it dropped its manna from 
 the heavens ! And then the long holidays, when the 
 town was utterly deserted, and but one or two of those 
 singularly stolid beings, whom nature seems to have 
 endowed with such dense organs of locality that it is a 
 positive pain to them to wander a mile beyond their
 
 15G NORMAN 8TN'CLAIR. 
 
 home, remain as recipients of the post — how I did 
 enjoy these, as they can only be enjoyed by the posses- 
 sors of the double talisman of strenf^th and youth ! No 
 more care — no more trouble — no more task-work — no 
 thought even of the graver themes suggested by my 
 later studies ! Look — standing on the Calton Hill, 
 behold yon blue range of mountains to the west — can- 
 not you name each far pinnacle from its form ? Benledi, 
 Benvoirlich, Benlomond ! the beautiful land, the 
 elysium that lies round the base of those distant giants ! 
 The forest of Glenfinlas, Loch Achray with its weeping 
 birches, the grand defiles of the Trosachs, and Ellen's 
 Isle, the pearl of the one lake that genius has for ever 
 hallowed ! Up, sluggard ! Place your knapsack on 
 yom' back ; but stow it not with unnecessary gear, for 
 you have still further to go, and your rod also must be 
 your companion, if you mean to penetrate the region 
 beyond. Money ? Little money suffices him who tra- 
 vels on foot, who can bring his own fare to the shep- 
 herd's bothy where he is to sleej), and who sleeps there 
 better and sounder than the tourist who rolls from 
 station to station in his barouche, grumbling because 
 the hotels are overcrowded, and miserable about the 
 airing of his sheets. Money ? You would laugh if 
 you heard me mention the sum which has sufficed for 
 my expenditure during a long summer month ; for the 
 pedestrian, humble though he be, has his own especial 
 privileges, and not the least of these is that he is ex- 
 empted from all extortion. Donald — God bless him ! 
 — has a knack of jDutting on the prices ; and when an
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 157 
 
 English family comes posting up to the door of his inn, 
 clamorously demanding every sort of accommodation 
 which a metropolitan hotel could afford, grumbling at 
 the lack of attendance, sneering at the quality of the 
 food, and turning the whole establishment upside down 
 for their own selfish gratification, he not unreasonably 
 determines that the extra trouble shall be paid for in 
 that gold which rarely crosses his fingers except during 
 the short season when tourists and sportsmen abound. 
 But Donald, who is descended from the M'Gregor, does 
 not make spoil of the poor. The sketcher or the angler 
 who come to his door, with the sweat upon their brow, 
 and the dust of the highway or the pollen of the heather 
 on their feet, meet with a hearty welcome ; and though 
 the room in which their meals are served is but low in 
 the roof, and the floor strewn with sand, and the attic 
 w^herein they lie is garnished with two beds and a shake- 
 down, yet are the viands wholesome, the sheets clean, 
 and the tariflT so undeniably moderate that even parsi- 
 mony cannot complain. 
 
 Happy, happy days ! — happy even now, though only 
 recalled by memory. For although age has not yet 
 clawed me in its clutch, and my strength and power of 
 endurance remain unimpaired, though my elasticity 
 may be somewhat lessened — I opine that a man on the 
 steady side of forty does, somehow or other, cut a ridi- 
 culous figure in a knapsack and blouse, and ought to 
 conform to the more luxurious habits which are ex- 
 pected from an individual of his standing. We must 
 all of us adapt our habits and our pastimes to our age.
 
 158 NORMAN SINCLAIIt. 
 
 We cannot hunt for eggs, break into orchards, or fish 
 for minnows at twenty as we did at fifteen. We cannot 
 run races, pull boats, or indulge in such boisterous 
 hilarity at thirty as we did at twenty ; and when we 
 have reached the maturity of forty, we must perforce 
 submit to whatever restrictions tyrant custom imposes, 
 and be as cautious of shocking the prejudices of that 
 starched old dame Respectability, as though she were a 
 maiden aunt to whose accumulations we expected to 
 succeed. 
 
 In this way I made the circuit of wellnigh the whole 
 of the Scottish Highlands, penetrating as far as Cape 
 Wrath and the wild district of Edderachylis, nor leav- 
 ing unvisited the grand scenery of Loch Corruisk, and 
 the stormy peaks of Skye. Nor did I forget the scenes 
 of my childhood, for the Osetts still lived at the Birk- 
 enshaws, and more than one delightful week did I 
 spend there each summer, exploring Gameshope, or the 
 Linns of Talla, where the Covenanters of old held their 
 meetings ; or clambering up the steep ascent by the 
 Grey Mare's Tail to lonely and lovely Loch Skene, or 
 casting for trout in the silver waters of St Mary's. Old 
 Jamie — I should rather say Mr Osett — had by this 
 time become a patriarch, and, as a ruling elder of the 
 kirk, exercised no slight degree of spiritual jurisdiction 
 in the vale of Yarrow. Bonny May Osett had, I must 
 needs admit, lost all fairyness of form ; and, though 
 still comely, had become, like most rustic beauties, 
 somewhat stout and clumsy. Nevertheless I had good 
 reason to believe that her charms had subdued the heart
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 159 
 
 of at least one devoted swain, for the son of a farmer, 
 who lived over the hill upon Manor Water, contrived 
 to find his way to the Birkenshaws at hours which 
 hardly could have suited his pastoral occupation ; and 
 at his appearance I observed that May's rosy cheeks 
 flushed up to the colour of the peony. Davie, my 
 ancient playfellow, had shot from a chubby boy into a 
 tall, thin, and somewhat gawky lad ; shy, bashful, yet 
 withal endowed with mother wit, and a strong sense of 
 the humorous ; and rather desirous, being somewhat 
 affected by the epidemic of the times, to try his fortune 
 beyond the limits of his native valley. These aspira- 
 tions he imparted to me, as I well remember, one fine 
 summer day, when we were sitting beneath an old 
 thorn-bush near the mouth of the IMeggat, known to all 
 good anglers as "The Trysting Tree ;" but as I may 
 have occasion hereafter to introduce Davie Osett more 
 circumstantially to the reader, I shall not now violate 
 the secrecy of our confidential communication. 
 
 I had stated to Mr Shearaway that I had formed no 
 plan for miy future line of life ; and therein I spoke the 
 truth. But that uncertainty, for I will not call it irre- 
 solution, was not generated by indolence, nor did it 
 arise from constitutional carelessness. I knew quite 
 well that I had my own way to make in the world, and 
 that I could not safely calculate upon any assistance. I 
 knew to a penny the whole amount of my worldly 
 possessions, which would not have sufficed to stock the 
 most wretched farm, and on the interest of which I 
 could not possibly live. It might suffice to pay my
 
 100 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 entry fees to any one of the learned professions, but, 
 having taken a deliberate survey of them all, I could 
 not, by inclination, impulse, or attraction, specify any 
 as my appointed Land of Goshen. The agency business 
 was overdone — I had not in me enough of the bully to 
 bluster my Avay at the bar, which is the secret of early, 
 though not of enduring, success — I felt no attraction to 
 medicine — I had no call to divinity. A father whose 
 son was impregnated with such ideas, would have torn 
 his hair with anguish — I, who was forced to be father 
 to myself, experienced no such paroxysm. I had a 
 firm faith that, some day or other, perhaps when I least 
 expected it, I should find my proper occupation ; but 
 in the mean time I thought it exceedingly unwise to 
 make a sacrifice of my youth, and to deprive myself of 
 the opportunity of learning much more than could be 
 acquired at any seat of academical education. I longed 
 to see something more of the great world than Edin- 
 burgh could present to my view. I had an ambition to 
 study the languages and literature, and behold the 
 customs and manners of foreign nations ; and to visit 
 places of which 1 had read and dreamed, until they had 
 assumed a palpable form in my imagination. If travel 
 was considered advantageous to the young patrician or 
 wealthy heir, was it not likely to be of even more 
 benefit to me, already trained to habits of application 
 and economy, and not liable to be assailed by those 
 temptations, which, in spite of the vigilant care of 
 tutors, beset the path of the young Englishman of 
 fortune ? As for the means,_ they were quite within
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. IGl 
 
 my power. I knew that, with proper care and caution, 
 money would go a long way on the Continent ; and, on 
 making a calculation, I found that I had quite enough 
 money to enable me to travel and study, in the humble 
 manner which I had proposed to myself, for at least five 
 years to come. Nay, even that would not have ex- 
 hausted my capital ; but I had a duty to perform to 
 my best and earliest friend ; and I determined to leave 
 untouched, in the hands of my guardian, a sum suffi- 
 cient, when divided into annual payments, to secure 
 some of the comforts which old age requires, for my 
 own and my mother's nurse. At the Birkenshaws, 
 Eppie Osett would again find a home ; but I could not 
 allow her to go there as a dejjendant on the charity of 
 her relations. All this I had revolved and matured in 
 my own mind, before I opened the subject to any one ; 
 for I had already contracted the habit of thinking and 
 acting for myself — a habit which, I resolutely maintain, 
 in the teeth of a thousand proverbs to the contrary, to 
 be the secret of all success. God knows that advice, 
 being a cheap article, can be had in plenty for the mere 
 asking ! No man so unfriended but he can find ten 
 or a dozen elderly or aged gentlemen who will act as 
 gratuitous Mentors if he chooses to apply to them, for 
 nothing is so gratifying to human vanity as implicit 
 deference to opinion. But what is the result ? Simply 
 this, that each sage, after giving you a prolix account 
 of his own career, interspersed with interminable anec- 
 dotes of his ingenuity and forethought, ends by advis- 
 ing you to follow his example. I have often had advice 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 NORMAN SINCLAIU. 
 
 tendered me, in the way of suasion or otherwise, though 
 I have rarely asked it ; and I vow to heaven that I can 
 hardly recall an instance, bearing on any matter of im- 
 portance affecting my progress in life, in which I would 
 not have committed a serious error by departing from 
 my own conviction. Our thoughts, aspirations, tend- 
 encies, idiosyncrasies, and instincts can only be known 
 to ourselves — these, in their general combination, are 
 our motive powers ; and by them we must act, and 
 progress, and be practically influenced — but Mentor, 
 when you go to him for advice, wise as he may look 
 when tapping his snuff-box, regards all that as pure 
 delusion and folly, or rather never takes it into account, 
 because he supposes, and not without reason, that you 
 wish to have a peep through his spectacles, instead of 
 using your natural vision. 
 
 My guardian, or rather trustee, dear Ned Mather, 
 with whom I had hitherto effected no settlement, did 
 not pretend to be a Mentor. He merely opened his 
 eyes under the bushy brows a little more widely than 
 was his wont when I told him my determination ; but 
 did all that was necessary in the way of pecuniary ar- 
 rangement. Mr Shearaway hemmed and hawed, but 
 made no active opposition. 
 
 " Ye may be right, and ye may be wrong, Norman ; 
 its not easy to say which. I've been myself so long in 
 the harness, that I can think of nothing but the usual 
 jog-trot — two stages per diem, forward and back, like 
 the old horse in the mail-coach — but — God go wi' ye, 
 lad ! and if you should want a friend at home^for
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 163 
 
 tliougli you are not likely to get into scrapes, it's aye of 
 use to have a reference — write to Walter Shearaway." 
 
 Amidst universal expressions of good-will, I took 
 leave of my old associates in the office ; and when I 
 was about to embark in the steamer for London, Ned 
 Mather, who had accompanied me on board, and taken 
 infinite trouble in seeing ray luggage disposed of, whis- 
 pered to me this, affectionately wringing my hand, 
 
 " If ye hear of any grand fishing, Norman, where the 
 trout average three pound, write to me, and, as sure as 
 the yellow hackle beats the red in the beginning of May, 
 I'll be with you in less than a fortnight ! "
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OUR SWISS COTTAGE. 
 
 In some respects the medieval minstrel and student 
 life, though unquestionably of a vagabond character, 
 offered to the young and adventurous more charms, and 
 even more advantages, than our present sedentary sys- 
 tem. The time has been when the poet, furnished with 
 a certificate or diploma from the Court of Aries setting 
 forth his qualifications as an accredited master of the 
 joyeuse science, could jjass through Europe from castle 
 to castle, unmolested even by marauding barons who 
 allowed no such indemnity to the priesthood, and take 
 his seat in every hall as a welcome and honoured guest. 
 The time has been when the penniless but learned 
 scholar was privileged to wander from University to 
 University, and to claim from the corporation fund pre- 
 sent support and the means of continuing his journey, 
 by the simple process of afiixing a thesis to the college 
 gate, and defending his positions against the ingenuity 
 of the practised wrangler. It was thus that poetry and 
 learning " went gypsying a long time ago ; " and the
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR, 165 
 
 practice was really an admirable one, because, in an age 
 when letters were not generally cultivated, it kept up 
 a perpetual intercourse between learned bodies, informed 
 them of their mutual state, and gave the enterprising 
 scholar an opportunity of visiting other countries be- 
 sides his own. Oxford, I believe, has still a remnant of 
 this in her one or two travelling fellowships ; and the 
 craftsmen of Germany, through their guilds, are for- 
 warded from town to town. But otherwise the power 
 to travel depends upon the amplitude of the purse ; and 
 the unprovided student who, nowadays, should be rash 
 enough to attempt the experiment, would inevitably 
 find himself in the predicament of worthy George Prim- 
 rose, without, perhaps, that gentleman's last resource, 
 a talent for scraping upon the violin. 
 
 There are, however, many ways of travelling. The 
 millionaire, rolling from country to country in his well- 
 poised English carriage, under the auspices of a bearded 
 courier who sows gold by the handful, in all probability 
 sees less, and has not more enjoyment, than the humbler 
 wayfaring man, who contents himself with the diligence 
 for long routes, and explores the more interesting dis- 
 tricts on foot. It is not necessary to put up at the 
 Romischer Kaisar or Hotel d' Angleterre, when you 
 can be well and more cheaply accommodated at the 
 Adler or WeissesRoss; and good lodgings can be pro- 
 cured at a reasonable rate in almost every town on the 
 Continent. For my own part, I travelled and sojourned 
 as became my modest means ; not as an idler, or as 
 one bent on the pursuit of pleasure, but as a student
 
 inn NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of arts and letters. My custom was to pass the winter 
 and spring in some capital city or renowned seat of 
 learning ; and during the finer portion of the year to 
 resume my peregrinations. It may be thougiit that 
 such a mode of life, pursued for a considerable period, 
 might engender unsettled habits, and beget incapacity 
 for strenuous exertion in the future. 1 believe that 
 would be the result if the intellectual faculties were 
 allowed to lie dormant, and no other ends proposed 
 than the gratification of the senses and the enjoyment 
 of refined society ; but I made it an imperative rule 
 always to be engaged in some absorbing branch of 
 study. 
 
 To me the recollections of travel aflTord quite as keen 
 an enjoyment, and perhaps a more refined one, than 
 did the reality. I can draw in my chair to the fireside 
 of a winter's evening, when the snow is falling thickly 
 but noiselessly without, only making its presence known 
 by the hissing of the few flakes that find their way down 
 the chimney, and in a minute's space transport myself 
 to sunny Italy, or the tideless shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean. I can see the olives of Attica glistering on the 
 mount, or the gaily-painted barques that glide along 
 the surface of the Golden Horn. 
 
 But I have no right to descant upon my years of pil- 
 grimage. I intend to tell my story with as little inter- 
 ruption as possible ; and therefore I shall omit all 
 narrative of my travels, adventures, encounters, and 
 studies, during four years in various parts of the Con- 
 tinent. Pass to the fifth summer, when the period I
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 167 
 
 had originally fixed for my range of wandering had 
 well-nigh expired, and I began to entertain serious 
 thoughts of home, and what might await me there. 
 
 I am dwelling in a little cottage in Switzerland, in 
 the very heart of the most beautiful district of that 
 romantic region. I have not taken up ray abode in a 
 valley, for the deep shadows cast by the mountains op- 
 press me. There the heat at noonday is. stifling and 
 intense ; but when the sun passes over the top of the 
 huge impending barrier, a piercingly cold wind, blowing 
 from the wastes of rugged ice and untrodden snow, 
 sweeps down the gorges, and in a few minutes effects a 
 more decided change in the temperature of the air than 
 we experience in a more level and less elevated country 
 in the course of an autumnal month. ]\Iy cottage lies 
 up in the hills on the edge of an old pine-forest, through 
 which the cattle stray, making its recesses musical with 
 the sound of their tinkling bells. A little way below, 
 throuo-h a ravine more than half screened with under- 
 wood, runs a mountain-torrent, not too hoarse or ob- 
 streperous, but rising beyond murmm- in its sound, 
 which, taking its origin from the clearest and most pel- 
 lucid, though not largest of the Swiss glaciers, rolls 
 confidently along, till, reaching the barrier of the valley, 
 some three miles beyond my dwelling, it falls over in a 
 cataract of foam. From the upper window you see the 
 glacier itself, bright blue, frosted with silver ; and be- 
 yond it a green Alp, and over the Alp a white cone, 
 stretching upwards as though it would pierce into the 
 heavens — so radiant and dazzling does it appear. And,
 
 168 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 from the same point of view, tliougli further off, you 
 descry three more stupendous horns, each of tlicm 
 worthy to be crowned with the glory of the Morning 
 Star. 
 
 As for the cottage itself, it is, you see, light and 
 picturesque, as Swiss cottages usually are, with wooden 
 walls and a sloping roof, and rather more than the usual 
 apology for a garden at the front. But my host, Hans 
 Krauskopf, is not much of a horticulturist, nor indeed 
 addicted to hard work of any kind ; though, when a 
 tempting offer presents itself, he has no objection to act 
 in the capacity of a guide, and having once set his face 
 to the road or mountain path, he will trudge along for 
 twelve hours on a stretch with perfect good-humour 
 and cheerfulness, bearing on his back a burden that 
 might fatigue a creditable mule. But as a general rule, 
 he very much prefers remaining at home, where, in the 
 intervals of fumigation (for he is a persevering smoker), 
 he employs himself in the manufacture of wooden toys, 
 chamois-hair cockades, alpenstocks, and suchlike gear, 
 for all which there is a ready market. His pretty buxom 
 wife, Babili, despite the maternal anxieties entailed by 
 the possession of three chubby children, is the most 
 active creature in the world, always on the move, busy 
 as a bee, and ever singing at her work. But Babili, 
 though she professes to be fond of flowers, has no time 
 for gardening ; so that the parterre, being left very 
 much to itself, lacks that nicety and trimness of arrange- 
 ment which is the pride of an English cottage. The 
 ground-floor is occupied by the family : the upper story
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 169 
 
 is, for the present, the habitation of my friend George 
 Cariton and myself. 
 
 I must introduce the reader formally to George Carl- 
 ton, for he is no ordinary character. George is one of 
 the fortunate few who have not only sufficient wealth 
 but sufficient abilities to enable them to embark in any 
 career with almost the certainty of success. With a 
 considerable fortune, a fine person, an acute and com- 
 prehensive intellect, extraordinary powers of memory, 
 and a ready eloquence, he might, if he so pleased, have 
 entered Parliament at an early age, where he speedily 
 would have won a high place in public estimation. Such, 
 at least, was the opinion of those who knew him best at 
 Oxford ; but, to their amazement, George not only 
 showed himself indifiercnt to such a prospect, but ab- 
 solutely refused to entertain it. Yet he was neither 
 indolent nor without ambition. His chief fault was a 
 certain haughtiness and impatience of control, which, no 
 doubt, would have disqualified him from acting as a 
 devoted adherent of any party in the State ; for Carl- 
 ton was not one of those easy-minded persons who will 
 retract their opinions, and vote that black is white at 
 the bidding of a political leader. His regard for truth 
 in all matters of public import was so stern and inflex- 
 ible, that he could make no allowance even for that 
 tacit acquiescence to which timid men resort when they 
 find themselves called upon to make a sacrifice of prin- 
 ciple. He held the doctrine that to act against one's 
 own convictions was a positive crime ; and, firm in that 
 faith, he would not have hesitated to defy the world.
 
 170 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Carlton liad a decided tendency towards literature ; 
 though, if he had published anything before I made his 
 acquaintance, he did not think fit to reveal it ; and he 
 had even a stronger passion for art. Indeed, he was a 
 painter of no small accomplishment, and had zealously 
 studied as a pupil under one of the first masters of 
 INIunich. It was there that I made his acquaintance, 
 which ripened into an intimacy when we subsequently 
 met at Florence ; and on quitting the latter city, both 
 of us intending shortly to return to England, we had 
 agreed to spend a few months together in the wilds of 
 Switzerland, and lighted upon comfortable quarters in 
 the cottage of Hans Krauskopf. 
 
 With this explanation, reader, you may enter our 
 apartment. There, at his easel, surrounded by the multi- 
 farious paraphernalia of a painter, sits George Carlton ; 
 whilst I, wearied with the perusal of a heavy German 
 tome, am lounging on the settee, inhaling the delicious 
 aromatic air which enters by the open casement. At 
 my feet, and watching me with his clear, loving, intel- 
 ligent eye, lies couched my constant companion Lion, 
 a magnificent Newfoundland dog, the sole survivor 
 from the wreck of an unfortunate ship that two years 
 before was cast away on the rocky shore of Palermo. 
 I happened to be there when the storm took place ; 
 and on hearing of the catastrophe, though not until 
 several hours after it had occurred, I went down to the 
 beach, impelled by that strange curiosity which attracts 
 every one towards the scene of recent misfortune. It 
 was a melancholy sight. The vessel had gone to pieces
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 171 
 
 on a reef of rocks which ran out a considerable distance 
 from the shore, and scarce a vestige of her hull was 
 visible amidst the white surges that came roarino; and 
 tumbling in. Spars, planks, and even bales, were cast 
 up in large quantities, and the fishermen and country- 
 folk, ever ready there as elsewhere to profit by the 
 spoils of the sea, were eagerly engaged in dragging, 
 beyond the reach of the waves, every article that came 
 within their reach. It was rather a dangerous matter 
 for a stranger to make joarticular inquiiies from men 
 so employed ; more especially as each one carried in 
 his girdle, after the pleasant Sicilian fashion, a knife of 
 formidable dimensions ; and I was perfectly aware 
 that the people no longer displayed that Arcadian 
 gentleness and soft amenity which is pictured in the 
 idylls of Theocritus. Without altogether denying the 
 existence of an Acis among them, I must say that the 
 demeanour and gestures of the islanders were such as 
 to induce the belief that they were genuine descendants 
 of Polyphemus. However, apart from the throng, I 
 found a Galattea in the person of a pretty sunburnt 
 Sicilian maiden, who from an eminence was watching 
 the proceedings with much interest ; her lover — it mat- 
 tered not whether he most resembled the shepherd or 
 the Cyclops — being doubtless in the thickest of the 
 plunder. From her I learned that no bodies had been 
 cast ashore — a singular circumstance, as it appeared 
 very unlikely that the crew would have betaken them- 
 selves to their boats in such a raging sea, before the 
 vessel struck upon the reef Avoiding the crowd, I
 
 172 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 walked on until I reached a little bay, into wliicli an 
 eddy had swept some fragments of the wreck. As I 
 was musing on the piteous spectacle, which brought 
 forcibly to my mind that splendid description by 
 Jeremy Taylor, the first of our English divines, of a 
 like scene of shipwreck, I was startled by a low whine 
 and the touch of something cold upon my hand. I 
 hastily turned round, and there, shivering and wet, and 
 moaning as if he besought protection, was a young 
 dog, evidently quite a pup, who looked up into my 
 face with an expression so imploring, that language 
 could not better have conveyed a meaning. It said, 
 " Master ! I am a poor thing that has been cast away 
 — there is no one left to care for me or give me food — 
 I am cold, wet, and hungry — do, dear master, take me 
 with you, and I will love you all my life !" I was not 
 proof against such dumb eloquence ; so I spoke kindly 
 to the dog, who seemed to recognise my speech as that 
 to which he had been accustomed, and fondled him ; 
 and he followed me back to Palermo, and ever since 
 has been my devoted friend and servant. These may 
 seem strong terms to use towards a dog ; but I am one 
 of those who thoroughly sympathise with the attach- 
 ment of the Bedoueen Arab to his horse, and that of 
 the Indian mohaut for his elephant. Your familar 
 friend of the human species may betray and desert you 
 — your dog never will. His love for his master is 
 unbounded; his fidelity beyond the reach of corrup- 
 tion. 
 
 Having thus introduced the reader to the group in
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 173 
 
 our Swiss cottage, I shall close this chapter. I do so 
 the more readily, because I have fallen into the literary 
 snare of adopting the present tense, which leads into 
 inextricable difficulty ; and I wish to recur to the more 
 rational and natural style of narrative, which maintains 
 the proper distinction between the present and the 
 past. Pardon, therefore, this interpolated Photograph, 
 and allow me to fall back on my memoranda.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 " Carlton," said I, " if it were not for a certain re- 
 morse I feel in interrupting the task you ply so dili- 
 gently, I would propose to you a stroll along the 
 mountain-side. The day is delicious, and under so 
 bright a sun I am sure we shall see the slide of an 
 avalanche." 
 
 " Two minutes more, and I am at your service," said 
 Carlton, working away at the head of a Saint Agnes ; 
 for, as I have already said, his tendencies were towards 
 high art, and in that region Catholicity rules supreme. 
 
 I rose and looked over his shoulder. 
 
 " A very successful effort ! It seems as if a sunbeam 
 were entangled in the fair flowing locks. But, Carlton, 
 why do you always portray the same face, and in the 
 same style ? All your female heads have wonderful 
 similarity — all are calm and pensive, with dovelike 
 eyes, and an air of dreamy reverie. Our Florentine 
 friend Sostegno used to say that one can always leani 
 something of the true character of a painter from his
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 175 
 
 works ; but such a picture as this does not seem to 
 
 embody yours." 
 
 " Then Sostegno made a false criticism. An artist 
 
 does not copy from himself — he portrays what he most 
 
 admires in others. What you see is my faint attempt 
 
 to shadow out my Ideal — the Saxon type of beauty — 
 
 sweetness, confidence, and truth." 
 
 " Your Ideal, then, is but an exalted image of the 
 
 Real?" 
 
 " Exalted ! My good friend, you are pleased to be 
 
 very complimentary. Do you think it was within the 
 compass of the powers even of a Rai^hael to exalt the 
 Madonna ? Believe it not. Ineffably celestial was the 
 vision that passed before him, nor could he adequately 
 have transfered it to canvass had he painted with the 
 pencil of an angel. But as for my daubs — bah ! They 
 are of the earth, earthy — cold, lifeless personifications, 
 not one whit better than, nor perhaps so good as nine- 
 tenths of those things in gilded frames that cumber 
 the walls of our exhibition-rooms." 
 
 " I would not hear your enemy say that, Carlton. 
 You may not have that practice in art which consti- 
 tutes the master ; but genius, which I take to be the 
 main requisite, you possess in no common measure," 
 
 " Do not, I beseech you, Sinclair, profane that noble 
 word. Genius is the rarest gift of God, though every 
 fool that can scribble a few verses, or disfigure a foot 
 or two of canvass with his glaring colours, believes that 
 it has been vouchsafed to him, and arrogantly boasts 
 of its possession. I cannot tell you how often I have
 
 17G NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 sickened to hear pert puny whipsters and slovenly 
 egotistical roo;ues prate about their jieglected genius, 
 and the shameful indifference of the world in not in- 
 stantly recognising their merits. My firm belief is, that, 
 in the present times, true genius, unless fearfully abused, 
 must force its way ; and I believe, moreover, that the 
 few men, the very few who possess that incomparable 
 gift, are themselves the last to be aware of it. But 
 come. The avalanches will not wait for us, and we 
 can talk more pleasantly under shadow of the pines." 
 
 So we three sallied forth — Carlton, myself, and Lion 
 — the latter, according to custom, making a feigned 
 assault upon Babili's favourite he-goat, who received 
 him as a pikeman would a charge of cavalry. It was a 
 standing joke, which seemed to lose none of its zest by 
 daily repetition ; for the two animals were in reality 
 fast friends, and had many a romp and gambol when 
 they thought that nobody was looking on. 
 
 Our path led us first through the pine forest, in the 
 glades of which the cattle were browsing ; then upwards 
 over a sunny slope, to a ijlateau, right ojiposite the 
 stupendous horn which I have described in the fore- 
 going chapter, and separated from it only by a valley 
 which, though it appeared narrow to the eye, was in re- 
 ality of the breadth of several miles. In that valley, 
 however, surveyed from our point of view, there were 
 no cottages, or traces of cultivation such as one might 
 expect to see in a 'country where arable land, for the 
 most part to be found in the low j^laces, is in the 
 utmost request. As we read in the old fairy tale that
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 177 
 
 no peasant dared to build his hut, or yoke his steer, or 
 till the ground in the precincts of the district belonging 
 to the capricious and malevolent giant, so the hardiest 
 Switzer would not venture to locate himself at the foot 
 of this -weird monarch of the Alps. Sheer up from 
 the valley, for some thousand feet, rose an impassable 
 barrier of precipitous rocks, scarred, seamed, and crossed 
 by fearful ledges, on which not even the foot of the 
 chamois had ever rested. And from this precipice, 
 without the intervention here of any green slope or 
 pasture, arose the dazzling horn, tapering into the 
 deep-blue sky. 
 
 I do not know how other men may feel, but to me 
 the grand scenery of Switzerland has always conveyed 
 an impression of the deepest awe, resembling in some 
 degree the sensation which arises when we contemplate 
 a furious storm, like that which Shakespeare has 
 figured — 
 
 " Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the cliurches ; though the yeasty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down ; 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
 Though i^alaces and pyramids do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 Of nature's gcrmins tumlile all together. 
 Even till destruction sicken——" 
 
 There is grandeur in the romantic scenery of other 
 lands, but it is commonly associated with the idea of 
 repose. There is silence on the mountain and tlie 
 glen, still and glassy is the wide expanse of the lake, 
 the woods scarce tremble in the breeze, and the voice 
 
 VOL. L M
 
 178 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of the stream sounds like the gentle mnrmur or breath 
 of nature in its sleep. But in Switzerland there is no 
 silence, or at best it is the hush that precedes the storm. 
 Ev^en Night, the queen of silence, cannot enforce her 
 mandate there ; for if you wander forth when the 
 moon is at her height, and all her attendant sapphires 
 o-leaming and glistening around — long after the last 
 crimson flush of evening has faded away, and long 
 before the rose of dawn lights up the mountain peaks 
 while the valleys are still swathed in darkness— though 
 there is no Avind to stir the foliage, and no muffled 
 sound of a cataract reaches the ear-^you will hear far 
 off, from the desert wastes, a hollow inarticulate moan, 
 an ineffable and mysterious wail, as if nature shuddered 
 under some awful load, and was uttering a pent sigh 
 for its release. That is the voice of the never-resting 
 glaciers, which day and night crawl down towards the 
 valleys, grinding the rocks that are their basement, or 
 wrenching them from their deep foundation. So all 
 night long there is silence in heaven, while the earth 
 is moaning in its caves. 
 
 It is not, however, the lady moon, but the sun, the 
 fertiliser, the life-giver, the great source of energy, that 
 wakes the thunders of the Alps. Fiercely beat the 
 beams upon the sides of the snow mountain, the vast 
 accumulations of a long and dreary winter ; and al- 
 though the frost has long held the masses in his gripe, 
 and refused to let them go, even he must yield to the 
 power that invigorates and releases the world. 
 
 " There, indeed," said Carlton, as we sat down to
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 179 
 
 rest ourselves on the slope, " is a spectacle that sets 
 imitative art at defiance ! But why speak of art — 
 poor art — when nature lies so vast before us ? Tell 
 me, Sinclair — if you had been born and reared in such 
 a region, would you be content to forego all this for 
 such a life as men lead in the crowded cities ? " 
 
 "The question is a difficult one to answer. It is 
 well known that the mountaineer ever pines for his 
 native hills ; but without cities, Carlton, where would 
 have been civilisation ? " 
 
 " You answer, like a true Scot, by putting another 
 question. Don't blame me if I follow your examjDle, 
 and ask what precise meaning you attach to the word 
 civilisation ? " 
 
 " 1 never was an adept in definitions, Carlton ; and 
 you shall not betray me into an attempt to exi^lain a 
 general term." 
 
 " then you decline controversy ! Now do you 
 really think it reasonable to expect that I should sit 
 here, as in a Professor's chair, and lecture you, ex 
 cathedra, upon points of social economy ? " 
 
 " Why not, most sapient philosopher ? You could 
 not find anywhere a more splendid theatre ; and as 
 for audience, fit though few, Lion and I will listen 
 with exemplary patience." 
 
 " Well, then," said Carlton, " if I must needs hold 
 forth to so cynical a class, though honest Lion there 
 looks as if he would much prefer a scamper, listen and 
 perpend. I hold it a gross mistake to maintain that 
 cities have the monopoly of civilisation. I grant you
 
 ISO NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 that tlicy exercise a large influence in promoting it ; 
 for as market-towns are necessary to districts for the 
 [im pose of trade, barter, and interchange, so are cities 
 necessary to countries for the higher purposes of edu- 
 cation, refinement, art, and intellectual intercourse. In 
 cities alone can we find universities, academies, libra- 
 ries, museums, galleries, and institutions, either for the 
 advancement of science or the regulation of society. 
 A city is the heart of a country ; and so long as the 
 blood passes through the heart, and is again discharged 
 to supply the body, the whole system is made healthy. 
 But if cities are to absorb and not restore — if they are 
 to drain the country much, and to refund but little — I 
 cannot help thinking that they will not promote, but 
 rather will repress, civilisation." 
 
 "Your remarks appear rational enough, Carlton, 
 but I hardly see their drift."' 
 
 " This it is. I view with much uneasiness the in- 
 creasing tendency in our own beloved England towards 
 settlement in towns, and more especially in London. 
 Our life is daily becoming more and more feverish. 
 Throughout all classes of society I perceive a craving 
 for excitement, a restlessness, and a competition which 
 sooner or later must have a disastrous issue. London 
 has swollen to a size quite enormous compared with 
 the population of the country. More than an eighth 
 part of the whole people of England and Wales har- 
 bour Avithin its boundaries. The wealthy flock thither 
 because London offers to them unbounded luxury and 
 enjoyment. The ambitious seek it because they think
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 181 
 
 that there alone their talents can be appreciated and 
 rewarded. Even the poor go there, impelled by the 
 same might that drives wreck and sea-weed into the 
 vortex of the whirlpool. Many go, but few return. 
 And from this I argue that ere many years pass by, 
 London, mighty in itself, will absorb the greater part 
 of the wealth, energy, and intellect of the nation, and 
 become, what Paris is to France, a dictatorial power 
 instead of an administrative metropolis. But hark — 
 see yonder ! " 
 
 A deep sullen roar from the opposite side of the 
 valley vibrated on the ear. The cattle near us ceased 
 to feed, and huddled together, terrified by the awful 
 sound to which no use could accustom their senses. 
 Looking in the direction which Carlton had indicated, 
 I saw, descending from the foot of the white cone, a 
 vast cataract, which, falling sheer down over the preci- 
 pice for a thousand feet, without break or stay, till it 
 lighted on a lower ledge, sent up a storm of spray, 
 and resolved itself into an icefield, suspended as it were 
 in middle air. Then, when the upper slope of snow 
 had exhausted itself, there was a brief pause and silence, 
 until the accumulated mass gave way, and descended 
 in a second cataract ; this time bearing with it huge 
 stones and masses of rock to the valley, into which, 
 with a deafening roar, and a shock that made the earth 
 tremble, it discharged its hideous ruin. 
 
 " Many a smiling homestead has been buried beneath 
 such awful avalanches as these ! " said Carlton. " A 
 merciless tyrant is that old white-headed despot of the
 
 182 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Alps, asserting his state and solitary supremacy by 
 slioweriiio- desolation on the fields. From yonder icy 
 waste lying over what a minute ago was green pasture- 
 land, a poet or poetic historian might derive an apt 
 hint for illustrating the career of that grand Poliorcetes, 
 Napoleon ; who, by the way, not content with smiling 
 France and sunny Italy, sent his legions into this 
 unprofitable region. But let us move homewards. The 
 day is on the wane ; and it is enough to have witnessed 
 one such spectacle as this." 
 
 " Let us, however, go round by the glacier. I know 
 another path which will lead us to it ; and I want to 
 show you a little plot of flowers, quite an Alpine 
 prairie, which I': have discovered near its margin." 
 
 " Agreed. And now let us resume our conversation. 
 Do you know why I spoke so strongly about London 
 and a city life ? " 
 
 " I presume you spoke from conviction. Of London 
 itself I know personally little, but I doubt not that 
 what you said is true." 
 
 " You may rely upon the truth of it, Sinclair ; but 
 I am not a man to mouth truisms without a purpose. 
 Look you — here are we two, both young fellows, who 
 have been roaming about the world for several years, 
 picking up knowledge as we best can, but certainly 
 not following any of the paths which are prescribed 
 for the enterprising and ambitious. Chance brings us 
 together ; we form a mutual friendship, and ascertain 
 each other's views ; and lo, we find that we are both 
 caught in thcf vortex, and that our ultimate destination
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 183 
 
 is London. No doubt it is natural enough that I 
 should go to London, even to plunge into nothingness ; 
 for although I have, heaven help ine ! no career, for 
 which probably I have myself to blame, my nearest 
 relatives reside there, and I have a tolerable circle of 
 acquaintances. But you, Sinclair, if I have thoroughly 
 understood your frank confidences, have no friends 
 there, and no interest to push you forward. You make 
 no secret that fortune has not smiled upon you yet ; 
 by which I mean siinply that the jade with the wheel 
 has not given you the purse of Fortunatus. So, with- 
 out being inquisitive, I would fain ask what you pur- 
 pose to do in London ? " 
 
 " I might answer by referring you to the story of 
 Dick Whittington. But, seriously, I repect your friend- 
 ship too much to conceal anything from you. I am 
 not quite without a London connection. When I left 
 Scotland a few years ago, a raw lad, with barely such 
 finances as might enable me to prosecute a line of 
 study which 1 had marked out, I did not abandon the 
 hope that, as my mind became matm-ed, I might turn 
 what little ability I have to some account. I knew 
 very well that that was not to be done by absolute seclu- 
 sion ; for valuable as is the world of books, the living 
 world around us is even more deserving of study. If 
 I had wished only to read and hold commerce with 
 the past, I might as well have remained in an Edin- 
 burgh attic, whereof many may be rented at an easy 
 rate. But I desired likewise to know the present, and 
 therefore I have not withdrawn myself from society.
 
 184 NOIIMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Well — it so happened that more than two years ago 
 I was enabled, tlirough the good offices of an influen- 
 tial friend, with whom I became acquainted at Vienna, 
 to form a connection with a leading journal in Lon- 
 don " 
 
 " Bravo ! Then T have the honour of addressins: a 
 special correspondent ? " 
 
 "Precisely so— and without unduly exalting the 
 importance of our unrecognised diplomatic corps, I 
 venture to assert that the British public could ill afford 
 to dispense with our services/' 
 
 " A modest estimate of your value ! " said Carlton. 
 " Really, I ought to apologise for my presumption. I 
 have heard it said that a Scot is as sure to fall on his 
 feet, as a cat when thrown from an upper story ; and, 
 on my life, I begin to think that the adage is literally 
 true." 
 
 " Alas ! " said I ; " All my good fortune simply 
 amounts to this, that I am able to earn a crust. But 
 why should I complain ? I have sufficient for my daily 
 wants — I am young and strong — and I can push my 
 way like others. I am ready to work, without much 
 caring what the work may be, so that it is not of a 
 degrading kind. Making no pretensions to genius, I 
 am not hkely to meet with any severe disappointment 
 — therefore will I to London." 
 
 " But why not return to Edinburgh ? Surely you 
 might find there an adequate field for your exertions." 
 
 "You do not know Edinburgh, Carlton. I have 
 renounced professional life, and beyond that pale I see
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 185 
 
 no chance of succeeding in Scotland. I might perhaps 
 be appointed factor on some large estate, or procure a 
 petty situation in a public office, but such are not the 
 things that I covet. It may be true, as you say, that 
 London is overgrown, and that it has absorbed too 
 much from the provinces. But it is in vain to struggle 
 against facts. Rightfully or wrongfully, London has 
 become the mighty controlling centre of Britain, and 
 thither will go all those who, without strong local ties, 
 professional engagements, or deep-rooted associations, 
 have a desire to better their fortunes. Scotland does 
 not produce vines and fig-trees, under the shadow of 
 which men can lie and meditate at leisure. She is a 
 rough nursing-mother who, being somewhat straitened 
 in domestic circumstances, is fain to send her children 
 out to service. It is an old peculiarity which we 
 inherit from our ancestors the Norsemen." 
 
 " And what if you fail in London ? " 
 
 " I am not arrogant enough to answer in the words 
 of Lady ]\Iacbeth — 
 
 ' But screw our courage to the sticking place. 
 And we'll uot fail ' 
 
 I have been taught to believe that, act as we may, 
 there is a Providence to guide and sustain us ; and 
 having full confidence in the goodness of God, and 
 bowing with perfect submission to His will, I am 
 ready to take whatever fortune may be allotted to me. 
 But still it is the duty of a man to use every possible 
 exertion. Should I not have strength or talent enough
 
 186 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 to make my Avay amidst the throng and press of Lon- 
 don, India and tlie colonies lie beyond." 
 
 " My dear Sinclair, I admire and respect your cou- 
 rage. Now look here. Since you are bent upon push- 
 ing your fortune in London, for which attempt, indeed, 
 you have assigned good reasons, the great thing is to 
 have a fair start. I cannot do much to aid you, for 
 ray existence hitherto has been of a dreamy and specu- 
 lative kind, and I have not sufficiently cultivated rela- 
 tions with men who are the dispensers of patronage. 
 But I can offer you a home in London." 
 
 " Thank you, Carlton, heartily ; but I feel that I 
 must work out the experiment for myself The soldier 
 who begins a campaign should before all things learn 
 how to dispense with the aid of others ; and I don't 
 intend to commence my career by deliberately quar- 
 tering myself upon a friend." 
 
 " Nonsense, man ! " replied Carlton. " I tell you I 
 have a house there, large enough to accommodate a 
 patriarchal family, and, save a couple of domestics, 
 not a soul to inhabit it but myself" 
 
 " Then follow the example of the patriarchs," said 
 I. " Purvey thee a wife as speedily as may be, and 
 make the dismal house vocal with the voices of chil- 
 dren. Your offer, kind as it is, I cannot accept, for I 
 have an insuperable objection to become a sorner, 
 which is the Scottish name for an individual Avho 
 preys upon his neighbour's substance." 
 
 " So then, Sinclair, among your other good qualities 
 you rank that of obstinacy ? "
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 187 
 
 " Else were I no true Scot ! Why, man — obstinacy 
 is onr privilege, our heritage, our best possession. It 
 is part and parcel of our nature. We have an obsti- 
 nate soil to subdue, obstinate seas to stem, obstinate 
 winds to encounter — and, let me add, we are not un- 
 frequently compelled to coml^at the obstinate preju- 
 dices of our neighbours, who have no such legitimate 
 excuses for their obstinacy." 
 
 " A very pretty harangue in defence of national 
 mulishness ! But do you, Sinclair, in your own person, 
 prove a little more reasonable ; and if you will not at 
 once agree to, at least think over my proposal." 
 
 " Well then, let us postpone consideration thereof in 
 the mean time ; and I may safely promise you a de- 
 finite answer before the arrival of the Greek Kalends. 
 But noAv we must take this path to the right through 
 the copse-wood. It will conduct us directly to the 
 glacier."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE GLACIER. 
 
 Just as we were emerging from the dingle, we heard 
 a loud protracted cry, repeated once and again. 
 
 " What can that mean ? " said I. 
 
 "Tis Hans Krauskopf bellowing to his bull," re- 
 plied Carlton. " The fellow has the lungs of a Stentor." 
 
 " You are wrong, Carlton ! That is the voice of 
 some one in pain or distress. Let us hasten on. Pray 
 God that no accident has happened on the glacier ! " 
 
 We ran hurriedly forward, till we reached the edge 
 of the frozen mass. A little way up we saw a man 
 frantically gesticulating and waving his hat ; and with 
 a hilloa, by way of assurance that aid was at hand, we 
 climbed up towards him as rapidly as the slippery 
 surface would permit. 
 
 He was standing by the side of a crevasse or slit in 
 the glacier which sloped downward at a sharp angle 
 into the icy depths, the edges like livid lips overlapping 
 the fearful gulf A cap and a broken Alpine pole lay 
 beside.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 1«9 
 
 "What has happened?" cried Carlton and I to- 
 o;ether. 
 
 "Oh, o-entlemen, what is to be done? "cried the 
 Ennlishman — for such we recognised him to be — 
 wringing his hands ; " my young friend, in attempting 
 to leap, missed his footing, and has shd down into that 
 cleft ! " 
 
 " ]\Ierciful Heaven ! " said I, " it is a crevasse that 
 goes through the glacier ! How long is it since he 
 fell?" 
 
 " Ten minutes or more. I dared not leave the place, 
 lest I should not be able to find it again." 
 
 " Have you heard any sounds ? Did he give a cry?" 
 
 " He gave one cry just as he disappeared, but none 
 other. I once thought I heard a groan, but the rush 
 of water below may have deceived me. my God ! 
 how shall I tell this to his father ? " 
 
 " Let us get ropes," said Carlton, " and summon 
 Hans Krauskopf I fear it will be of little use, but at 
 any rate we shall know the worst." 
 
 " Stay," said I ; " you say there is a rush of water 
 down below ? Let me listen." 
 
 I bent towards the chasm, and heard distinctly the 
 noise of a running stream, at a considerable depth, 
 doubtless, but not so very far down as utterly to pre- 
 clude the hope that the young man might have sur- 
 vived the fall. But I heard nothing else ; and the 
 curvature of the crevasse was such as to render a 
 descent even with the aid of ropes extremely perilous. 
 
 " Perhaps," said I, " it may be possible to get at
 
 190 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 liim in another way. The stream below is evidently 
 that which flows from the glacier through ice-caves 
 which I have entered but never penetrated. This chasm 
 cannot be more than sixty or seventy feet deep, and 
 from the bottom of it to the place where the stream 
 issues, the distance is not great. Possibly the ice 
 may be so worn that a man can make his way up the 
 stream." 
 
 " Heaven bless you for saying so, dear young gentle- 
 man ! Do try ! " said the agonised stranger. 
 
 " Why not go yourself?" said Carlton bluntly. 
 
 " Hush, George ! Don't you see his nerves are 
 utterly unstrung ? Besides, he does not know the 
 way. I will make the attempt. There is little danger, 
 after all, for the stream is shallow." 
 
 " Nay, replied Carlton, " if one of us must go, let me 
 have the preference." 
 
 " No, no ! Stay you here, or rather stay at the 
 mouth of the cave. I know the glacier better than 
 you. This is my adventure ; besides, I have an effi- 
 cient auxiliary, who will follow none but me. Come, 
 Lion ! " 
 
 I verily believe that the noble animal thoroughly 
 comprehended what had occurred, for during this hur- 
 ried conference he had been peering about the cre- 
 vasse, scenting the air, and once or twice uttered a low 
 whine of impatience, which seemed to me a favourable 
 omen. For such is the marvellous instinct of some 
 dogs of high breeding, that, if brought to the vicinity 
 of a dead body, they will sit down and utter a mourn-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 101 
 
 fill howl, wliicli they never do while life remains, even 
 though the senses are dormant. Lion understood me 
 at once, and bounded alono; direct to the caves of the 
 glacier. 
 
 It was here that I had once ventured in, though 
 cautioned by my host against doing so ; for there is 
 always danger that some huge block of ice may become 
 disengaged from the majestic ceiling. But I could not 
 resist the temptation of witnessing a spectacle more 
 wonderful than the cave of Aladdin, and well was I 
 repaid for my pains. The only path lies up the chan- 
 nel of the stream, which makes a considerable bend or 
 defied ion not far from the outer aperture ; so that you 
 presently lose all benefit of the light of day, save what 
 is refracted through the medium of the solid ice. Then 
 you pass into an enchanted atmosphere. Looking up 
 through the stupendous vault, the colours are of 
 hyalite deepening into cerulean blue ; looking inwaxds, 
 you might think that the heart of the glacier was a 
 mass of lapis-lazuli, so intensely dark is the hue. But 
 the strangest thing is the total loss on the part of 
 him who enters of the power of calculating distance in 
 those caves, for you cannot tell with certainty whether 
 the ice-wall is close to you or many feet beyond your 
 reach, and you are forced to grope your way onward 
 by the touch. On my first exploratory visit I had not 
 gone much further than the point where the stream 
 deflected, but now I was determined to push onward 
 as far as I possibly could — the excitement of the 
 moment, and the hope of saving the life of a fellow
 
 192 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 creature, liaving taken from my mind all tliouglit of 
 personal danger. 
 
 Restraining Lion as well as I could — for lie was 
 exceedingly desirous to press onward — I entered the 
 cave, and found, to my great satisfaction, that there 
 was not much water in the channel. Holding my 
 breath, and stooping low to avoid striking against the 
 roof or any projecting pinnacle, I soon made consider- 
 able progress along this singular gallery, the light, how- 
 ever, becoming more and more obscure as I advanced. 
 My chief fear had been lest I should find the stream 
 towards the interior of the glacier falling over rocky 
 ledges which it would be impossible to surmount, but 
 nothing of that kind appeared. I never had to wade 
 above the knee ; and I could hear no rumble like that 
 of a formidable cascade. Strange to say, though sur- 
 rounded by ice, the heat was most oppressive. I was 
 literally bathed with perspiration, and felt giddy from 
 the closeness of the air. 
 
 At last I was brought up by a barrier of solid ice, 
 the opening through which was not more than three 
 feet in height. It was plain that I could go no fur- 
 ther ; and I confess that, for a moment or two, I hesi- 
 tated about trying the last resource, which was to 
 allow Lion to attempt the passage. I say allow, for 
 the generous creature evidently desired to press for- 
 ward ; and but for his habitual submission to my will, 
 would have done so without any sign. But I read his 
 desire in his eye ; and though I feared greatly that he 
 never might come back to me, I felt that I must make
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 193 
 
 the sacrifice. I believe that I cried as I o;ave him what 
 I thought might be a last caress ; and the noble dog, 
 placing his fore-paws on my breast, licked my face, as 
 if to reassure me, and then, with perfect confidence, 
 entered the narrow tunnel. 
 
 As for me, I sat down, half stupified, on a block of 
 ice, and waited I know not how long. Time as well 
 as distance seemed to be confounded in that marvel- 
 lous region. For a long while 1 heard nothing but the 
 rush of the stream tlu'ough the curve of the glacier ; 
 yet the nerves of my ear were strained to their utmost 
 tension, and the absence of all other sound amounted 
 almost to agony. At last I heard distinctly— clearly, 
 but afar off within the bowels of the icy mountain, a 
 bark — perhaps the most grateful sound that ever reached 
 me, for by it I knew that Lion had succeeded in his 
 mission, and that the youth was found. More than 
 that — I knew by its tone that the boy was still alive — 
 but how was he to be rescued from that terrible dan- 
 ger ? Could he pass down the narrow passage worn 
 through the glacier, even with the help of Lion ? It 
 was evident that from the fall he must have sustained 
 great injury, and even become insensible, else he would 
 have answered the cries of his comrade ; and if a limb 
 were broken, how could he follow the stream ? I be- 
 gan to think that I had done rashly in rejecting the 
 advice of Carlton, and that by such rashness a human 
 life might be lost. Still, I knew enough of the glacier 
 to be aware that the crevasse, which was a new one, 
 might have contracted so as to render descent impos- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 sible before assistance could be procured. All I could 
 do was to utter a fervent prayer to the Almighty for 
 aid in that perilous juncture. 
 
 Tiie prayer was answered. Again I heard a bark 
 much nearer, and it seemed indicative of success. Had 
 it been an appeal for help, I should, at any hazard, 
 have tried the passage. But it was clear and confi- 
 dent. For another period I remained on the rack, 
 and then I heard distinctly other sounds than the 
 rushing of the stream. Nearer and nearer they came : 
 and at length Lion emerged from the passage, support- 
 ing, but most carefully, so that the head should be 
 above the stream, the seemingly inanimate body of a 
 young lad, in the collar of whose jacket his teeth were 
 fixed. I have never felt, save then, a tendency to ab- 
 solute hysteria ; but I hardly had the power to take 
 the boy in my arms, and commence the descent. Lion, 
 like a true hero, surrendered his charge to me; simply 
 giving himself a very comprehensive shake, and look- 
 ing at me, with his tongue hanging from his mouth, 
 from violent exertion ; but claiming no merit for what 
 he had done, beyond performance of his master's will. 
 Tried by the standard of the dog's fidelity, how many 
 statesmen and warriors would be convicted of perfidy 
 and cowardice ! 
 
 With much difficulty, for my nerves had been severely 
 shaken, I conveyed my burden to the mouth of the cave, 
 where I was greeted by Carlton and the stranger with 
 an exclamation of joy. Laying the boy upon the grass, 
 we proceeded to examine what injury he had received,
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 195 
 
 and soon found that he still breathed, and that his pulse 
 beat, though very feebly. There was a deep cut on the 
 temple from which the blood was oozing slowly, and 
 the bone in the upper joint of his right arm appeared 
 to be fractured. 
 
 " What course of action would you propose under the 
 circumstances, gentlemen ? " said the stranger ; " I feel 
 in considerable perplexity without exactly comprehend- 
 ing the precise nature of the dilemma. One thing is 
 evident, that immediate medical assistance must be 
 procured, and that of the ablest kind, the rank of the 
 patient rendering the consideration of the honorarium 
 a matter of perfect indifference." 
 
 " Are you out of your senses, sir ? " said Carlton im- 
 patiently. " The first thing you must do is to have the 
 boy put to bed. Fortunately our cottage is at no great 
 distance. He will be well lodged there. I will go in 
 search of assistance, and return in less than twenty 
 minutes." 
 
 "The exigency of the occasion," said the stranger, 
 who, now that his more startling fear had been dispelled, 
 spoke with the accuracy of a pedant, "must dispense 
 with ceremony ; neither will it admit of those particu- 
 lar inquiries as to the nature of the cottage you have 
 indicated, and the character of its inmates, which, under 
 other circumstances, I, as travelling tutor and tempo- 
 rary guardian of the young nobleman who has sustained 
 this grievous accident, would have deemed it my duty 
 to institute." 
 
 But before he could conclude the sentence, Carlton,
 
 li)G NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 with something that sounded very like an oath, had 
 disappeared, and I was occupied in batliing the temples 
 of the boy with water. 
 
 "A most impetuous young man!" muttered the 
 stranger. " Evidently not one of those who have 
 been subjected to strict academic discipline. But 1 
 suppose allowance must be made for eccentricities in 
 those pathless wilds. You, sir," said he, addressing 
 himself to me, " appear to have some skill in sur- 
 gical practice. May I inquire if you are a licentiate 
 of medicine ? '' 
 
 " I am not a licentiate," said I, " and I pretend to no 
 skill, beyond knowing that cold water is the best appli- 
 cation in the present instance ; for plilebotomy is not 
 to be thought of, even if I had a lancet." 
 
 " Phlebotomy ? Aha ! The use of that term proves 
 that you are at least familiar with the nomenclature of 
 science. Now I myself am a doctor, though not of 
 medicine. Daniel Dovering is my name, and my degree 
 isthat of D.D." 
 
 " Then, Dr Dovering, I beg to entreat that you will 
 bear a hand. Loosen the boy's neckcloth ; and support 
 him on your knee, till I fetch more water from the 
 stream." 
 
 " Willingly," replied the Doctor. " The rather that 
 the mode of treatment you suggest recommends itself 
 to my understanding by its almost primitive simplicity. 
 My poor bleeding pupil — my gentle injured boy ! 
 
 * Ut flos in septis — -'
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 197 
 
 I did not tarry for the remainder of the highly ori- 
 ginal quotation. 
 
 On luy return with the water, I found the Doctor 
 leaning over his charge, and indulging in a husky soli- 
 loquy. 
 
 " Yes ! '■ said he ; " the nearest parallel with which I 
 can charge my memory is that of Hylas ravished by 
 the water-nymphs. Those ice-caverns have a close re- 
 semblance to the sparry grotto ; and I, like Hercules, 
 have witnessed and bemoaned his fate. Truly a most 
 excellent subject for a poem in the elegiac metre ! " 
 
 " Nay, Doctor," said I ; " let us hope there may be 
 no occasion for any such laments. I cannot think that 
 the boy has sustained a very serious injury." 
 
 "That also is my hope, though the tremor which 
 now possesses my limbs could hardly be subdued by 
 the divine assurances even of a Machaon or a Podalirius. 
 But I must not forget that to you, individually, a cor- 
 dial acknowledgment is due. We — in which plural I 
 comprehend many individuals of exalted rank and 
 influential position — owe you much for the singular 
 gallantry which you have this day displayed, in rescu- 
 ing from destruction a young and interesting scion of 
 a noble English house. In saving the life of the Hon- 
 ourable Alfred Spencer, you have secured for your 
 future career, in whatever direction that may tend, the 
 powerful patronage of the Eight Honourable the Earl 
 of Windermere." 
 
 "Spare your thanks. Doctor," said I. "I would 
 have run tlie same risk to aid any fellow-creature in
 
 198 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 such extremity. After all, if you feel any obli«ation, 
 you are less indebted to me than to my dog. Without 
 him, I never should have succeeded in extricating your 
 pupil from the glacier." 
 
 " Indeed ! He certainly is a very fine animal. Per- 
 haps you would be inclined to part with him ? " 
 
 "Reallj'', sir," said T, somewhat testily, "you take a 
 very strange way of evincing what you are pleased to 
 call your gratitude ! Not all the gold in the world 
 would tempt me to part with my companion ; and your 
 offer, if I am to construe it as such, is little short of an 
 insult." 
 
 " Nay, young man," replied the pedant, " if you take 
 it so warmly, dread no further solicitation on my part. 
 Trust me, I meant no offence, for, unless my memory 
 greatly deceives me, I have more than once heard of 
 baro;aininsTS and interchanges among our academical 
 youth of bull-dogs, terriers, and suchlike pugnacious 
 and pestilent creatures. Not that I mean to confound 
 with such mongrels this really magnificent and saga- 
 cious animal, doubtless of the breed of the Molossi, to 
 whom this day it would be most ungrateful to apply 
 the line of the poet — 
 
 ' Sfepe canis frustra nemorosis montibus errat. ' " 
 
 "Hush — the boy is reviving. See — he opens his 
 eyes." 
 
 " Mother! " was the first word he uttered. Mother! 
 — the word thrilled me, who had no living mother, for
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 199 
 
 it showed how deeply rooted in the bosom of the boy 
 was the purest and holiest affection of our nature. 
 
 "Where am I?" he said again. "What has hap- 
 pened to me ? Is that you, Dr Dovering ? " 
 
 "It is indeed, Mr Spencer, your ever- watchful in- 
 structor, friend, and guardian ! Most fervently do I 
 return thanks to Providence for this remarkable deliver- 
 ance !" 
 
 " But what has happened. Doctor ? I feel very much 
 hurt, and my head is dizzy. Surely I have had a bad 
 fall — Oh I remember now — that horrible glacier ! " 
 
 "Don't agitate yourself," said I; "you must keep 
 quiet for the present, and you shall know all hereafter. 
 And here in good time comes Carlton with assistance." 
 
 With the aid of Hans Krauskopf, and another stout 
 mountaineer, who were prodigal in their exclamations 
 of sympathy for the poor young English boy, we brought 
 him to the cottage, and had him put immediately to 
 bed. A messenger was sent off for the nearest surgeon, 
 who, allured by the prospect of British gold, made his 
 appearance with wonderful celerity, considering the 
 distance he had to traverse ; and we had the satisfac- 
 tion of receiving his assurance, that beyond a simple 
 fracture of the bone, which might be expected speedily 
 to knit, the young gentleman had sustained no material 
 injury. 
 
 " I may say, however," added the surgeon, an honest 
 German from Heidelberg, " that during the twelve years 
 I have resided among the mountains, I never heard of
 
 200 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 SO wonderful an escape. Seldom indeed do the glaciers 
 release their prey. The people here believe that the 
 ice-mountains are haunted by a sort of malignant Trolds, 
 who decoy the unwary to their ruin ; and this instance 
 of emergence from the cave will be quoted as an abso- 
 lute miracle."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LAST HOURS IN SWITZERLAND. 
 
 Thanks to youth and a sound constitution, our patient 
 made a rapid recovery, and in a few days after the 
 accident occurred, was able to go about with his arm in 
 a sling. The reception of our guests certainly caused 
 some commotion in the cottage ; for, as we could not 
 well separate Dr Dovering from his charge, we were 
 obliged to surrender our bedrooms, and make shift, as 
 we best could, in the apartment which we dignified with 
 the title of the studio. Well contented should we have 
 been with that restriction, had not the intolerable Dove- 
 ring, whom we immediately discovered to be a bore of 
 the most stupendous dimensions, considered it his duty 
 to cultivate both our acquaintance and our intellects. 
 He evidently regarded us as two young men of tolerable 
 capacity but neglected education, whom he was bound 
 to patronise ; and acting upon this idea, he inflicted 
 his company upon us at breakfast, dinner, and supper, 
 monopolising the conversation as ruthlessly as if he had 
 been Dr Samuel Johnson seated in the Mitre, or the 
 still more arrogant Dr Parr.
 
 202 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 We miglit liave borne tliis patiently enough if the 
 man had confined himself to simple prosing ; but he 
 had somehow or other taken it into his head that we 
 were in want of money ; and though not venturing to 
 tender a sum by way of direct payment for services 
 rendered, he was constantly devising means for making 
 us partake of his bounty as almoner and dispenser for 
 the Earl. Por Lion, as I have already hinted, he would 
 have given any price ; and had I acknowledged myself 
 to be an author in embryo, I doubt not that he would 
 have paid down a sum, much larger than any publisher 
 would have ventured, for any sort of manuscript, with- 
 out being at all particular as to its intrinsic quality. 
 With some difiiculty I succeeded in making him under- 
 stand that I neither sought nor would accept of any 
 pecuniary acknowledgment ; and as I did not profess 
 to be an artist, he could not even resort to the delicate 
 method of giving me an order for a picture. Carlton, 
 however, did not escape. The Doctor saw him at work 
 on the easel, and straightway resolved to advance the 
 fortunes of that promising Apelles. 
 
 It so happened that Dr Dovering had expressed, 
 inter pocula, his regret that the pencil of Landseer 
 could not be engaged to represent the scene at the 
 cavern. Partly because I thought the idea a good one, 
 and partly because I wished to get rid of the impor- 
 tunities of the man, I persuaded Carlton to attempt a 
 sketch ; but though he produced a very good likeness 
 of the boy, he had no practice in canine portraiture, and 
 did not succeed in giving a satisfactory representation
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 203 
 
 of Lion. The truth is, that my friend George, as I have 
 already hinted, was happiest in his female heads ; but 
 as all of these had a wonderful similarity, I was privately 
 of opinion that his Ideal, about which he was fond of 
 expatiating, had somewhere or other a local habitation 
 and a name, and that he, being a painter, was perform- 
 ing the duty or sweet jDcnance of a devoted lover, by 
 depicting the charms of his mistress on canvass, just as 
 a poet would have celebrated them in his verse. But 
 Carlton was not one of those men "who wear their 
 heart upon their sleeve, for daws to peck at." In every- 
 thing that regarded his own feelings or affections he 
 was singularly reserved ; and of course I had no desire 
 to penetrate any of his secrets. 
 
 The sketch of young Spencer and Lion was, however, 
 very nearly the cause of a violent quarrel Dr Dovering 
 could not be brought to understand that a gentleman 
 might prosecute art solely for his own amusement and 
 gratification. The Doctor, with all his pedantry, was 
 in some respects a practical man. He had no notion 
 of your poor student, or mere literary grub. Study, in 
 his eyes, was only commendable in so far as it led to 
 benefices and promotion ; but as for the notion of a man 
 cultivating his intellect, or cramming himself with the 
 accumulated lore of centuries, without any ulterior 
 object, the Doctor could not away with it. Nay, upon 
 that subject he sometimes waxed absolutely grandilo- 
 quent, denouncing study for the sake of learning alone 
 as something Jesuitical, savouring of the Romish heresy, 
 and tending towards monastic seclusion. He was no
 
 204 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 advocate for the practice of concealing lights nndcr a 
 bushel. He held the doctrine that all talent should look 
 out for a market, and he fortified that view with argu- 
 ments of considerable weight, proceeding, as he loved 
 to say, by way of rraoabnyi/.a or example. 
 
 " Thus," said the Doctor, in a remarkably fine dis- 
 course which he delivered one evening, when the con- 
 tents of the third bottle of Neufchatel were beginning 
 to disappear, " if you subtract worldly, that is, inter- 
 ested motives, where are your springs of action ? Let 
 us begin with the highest order in the State, the Hier- 
 archy, What but the hope of a bishopric, or other 
 high preferment, would tempt a man, after he has taken 
 his ordinary degree — I speak in presence of those who, 
 though my juniors, are nevertheless entitled to express 
 an opinion upon such a point — to prosecute his study 
 of the classics ? What brings young statesmen into 
 the arena of political strife, save the desire and expec- 
 tation of office ? Let Canning, Brougham, and Mac- 
 aulay suffice for examples. Turn to literature — Would 
 Scott or Byron have written so much as they did save 
 for the incentive of money ; their fame being simply 
 the fact which secured the large circulation of their 
 works ? Sir, in order to secure appreciation, all talent 
 must have its price ; and further, as an accredited 
 minister of the Gospel, and a dignitary of the Anglican 
 Church" — here the Doctor assumed a most solemn 
 tone, and absolutely shed tears — " it is my duty to 
 proclaim that he who wraps his talent within a napkin,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 205 
 
 and will not lay it out at usury, must expect a terrible 
 condemnation." 
 
 I regret to say that this very perspicuous, and, I 
 shall add, business-like oration, did not convince Carl- 
 ton, who burst into a perfect tornado of wrath, when, 
 next day, the Doctor offered him fifty guineas for his 
 sketch ; and I had the utmost diflSculty in restoring 
 even partial tranquillity. 
 
 At length letters arrived from England ; and Dr 
 Dovering intimated that, as the state of Alfred's arm 
 was now such as to admit of his travelling, they were 
 about to take their leave of us and to return home- 
 wards. 
 
 " I am charged, moreover," he said, " to deliver you 
 this letter, from the noble father of ray pupil, the Earl 
 of Windermere, whose exalted position and unblemished 
 character are too widely known to require any private 
 eulogium. You may be sure, Mr Sinclair, that I did 
 not faU to commimicate to his lordship in detail the 
 circumstances connected with our meeting, nor to ex- 
 patiate upon the signal gallantry you exhibited in efiect- 
 ing the rescue of his son." 
 
 As the Doctor made this communication with more 
 delicacy than was his wont, I thanked him for the 
 pains which he had taken, and proceeded to open Lord 
 Windermere's letter, which was as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Sir,— Dr Dovering has informed me of the 
 inappreciable service you have rendered to me and my
 
 20G NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 family by rescuino;, at imminent peril to yourself, my 
 beloved child Alfred from almost certain destruction. 
 To you, under God, we owe his preservation ; and when 
 I think of the terrible affliction which would have 
 befallen myself and his mother had we been bereft of 
 our dearest boy, I can hardly find words wherewith to 
 express my thanks. 
 
 " Deeds, however, and not words, must requite such 
 an obli2;ation. Dr Doverino; states that he has not been 
 able to ascertain what are your prospects or plans for 
 the future ; and therefore I am somewhat at a loss to 
 know how I can prove my gratitude without offending 
 your feelings. I venture to entreat that you will 
 frankly tell me how I can forward your views, and 
 thus give me an opportunity, not of paying my debt — 
 for that I never can do — but of acknowledging how 
 much I owe you. 
 
 " If you should feel any reluctance in writing to me 
 on such a subject, pray let me know when you arrive 
 in London. Lady Windermere desires me to say that 
 she will not be happy until she is able personally to 
 thank the rescuer of her son. 
 
 " I shall not say more at present ; but, trusting that 
 you will not refuse this my earnest request, I subscribe 
 myself your sincere friend, 
 
 " WiNDEEMEKE." 
 
 "A very proper letter," said Carlton, to whom I 
 showed the above. " I like his way of expressing him- 
 self, and you may be certain he is thoroughly in earnest.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 207 
 
 Lord Windermere is well spoken of, both as a politician 
 and a landlord. He is a Tory of the old school, and 
 though he does not often speak in the House of Lords, 
 he has great influence with tlie Ministry. I congratu- 
 late you, Sinclair, on having made so influential a 
 friend." 
 
 " But really, Carlton, I have done nothing to deserve 
 all this praise and thanksgiving. Had it not been for 
 Lion, I could not have helped young Spencer." 
 
 " As well might a cavalry officer say, that but for his 
 horse he could not have charged a square of infantry ! 
 The prowess of honest Lion must not interfere with 
 your deserts. Besides, you had the merit of the idea 
 of following up the stream through the cave, and you 
 risked your own life by doing so. Hans Krauskopf, 
 who knows the glacier well, says he would not have 
 penetrated so far as you did for a hat full of dollars ; 
 and Hans is by no means obtuse as to the value of 
 coined money." 
 
 " Then what would you advise me to do ? " 
 
 " Write at once to Lord Windermere that you will 
 wait upon him as soon as you arrive in London. Such 
 matters are much better discussed viva voce than by 
 letters. When you do see him, you will of course 
 frankly tell him how your are situated, and you may 
 rely upon it he will find you employment." 
 
 " Well — I do not object to employment ; but I hate 
 to be under obligations to any man." 
 
 " So far as I can see, the obligation is on the other 
 side. Sinclair, you have given me the right to speak
 
 208 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 to you as a friend, and I shall do so unreservedly. 
 You are haunted by a certain pride of independence, 
 which is all very well in its way, but which you must 
 beware of, lest it should carry you to preposterous ex- 
 tremes. In this world every man must avail himself 
 of the aid of others. You have earned the risht to 
 expect assistance from Lord Windermere, and he has 
 frankly offered it. Why should you reject it ? " 
 
 " I do not reject it, Carlton ; but I would much 
 rather owe my elevation, if I am to rise at all, to my 
 own exertions than to the aid of others. I must, how- 
 ever, necessarily answer this letter ; and I shall of 
 course promise to wait upon his lordship in London, 
 tliough I may not do so immediately after my arrival 
 there." 
 
 " As to that you must please yourself Only when 
 fortune has given you such a chance, beware of letting 
 it slip through your fingers." 
 
 On the following day Dr Dovering and his charge 
 departed ; the latter entreating both Carlton and my- 
 self to lose no time in coming to see them in London, 
 and assuring us emphatically of the pleasure which his 
 mother would derive from that visit. 
 
 The season was now far advanced, and we too beofan 
 to think of returning to England. The eveninas beiran 
 to draw in, the foliage had assumed a russet hue, the 
 air became perceptibly colder, and fresh snow had 
 fallen on the mountains. So we took our last walks, 
 revisited our favourite haunts in the neighbourhood, 
 among which be sure the glacier was not forgotten ;
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 209 
 
 and having made our preparations, set out for Mann- 
 heim, at which city we proposed to embark in the 
 steamer down the Rhine. Parting with our host and 
 hostess was rather a painful business, for Babili was an 
 affectionate creature, and Hans himself was not un- 
 moved ; but we got over it as quick as possible, and 
 were soon driving, as fast as the habits of the lohn- 
 kutscher would allow, through the beautiful territory 
 of Baden. 
 
 VOL. L
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TUE STEAMER ON THE RHINE. 
 
 Nowhere will you find so great a diversity of char- 
 acter, so singular an agolomeration of nationalities, as 
 on board a Ehenish steamer. There is the reserved and 
 somewhat supercilious Briton, returning with wife and 
 family from their summer excursion, avoiding as much 
 as possible intercourse with strangers, and contrast- 
 ing unfavourably foreign luxuries with his own domes- 
 tic comforts. There is the gay, lively, rattling Pari- 
 sian, who would fain enter into a flirtation with the 
 fair - haired English " mees,"i but is deterred by the 
 menacing attitude of her mamma, who regards him as 
 a maternal hen would regard a hawk swooping in the 
 neighbourhood of her chickens. There swaggers the 
 ferocious militaire with his heavy mustache and capa- 
 cious red breeches — a sous officier, evidently risen 
 from the ranks, who, with a supreme contemj^t for the 
 rest of the company in so far as they belong not to 
 the "grande nation," devotes himself to puffing exe- 
 crable tobacco from a short black pipe, and the con-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 211 
 
 sumption of innumerable petits verves. There is the 
 sleek, full-faced, close-shaven Hollander, with capacious 
 paunch and twinkling eye, indicative of slu-ewdness and 
 sagacity — a man whom it would be diflScult to over- 
 reach. There is the prying boastful American, who 
 makes it his business to inquire into that of every 
 one else, utterly devoid of bashfulness, and jjerfectly 
 insensible to rebuff. There is the Jew from the 
 Minories, or from Frankfort, a shabby, dingy crea- 
 ture, though, for aught you know, he may be as 
 rich as Croesus or Kothschild. It is the pleasure of 
 the Hebrew to appear thus ill-accoutred in his wander- 
 ings, for that helps to disguise the nature of his trans- 
 actions. He is, you may be certain, on a journey of 
 profit, not of pleasure — possibly for the purchase of 
 diamonds, or possibly for the collection of rags — any- 
 how, he is an apt representation of the Hivites, who 
 imposed upon Joshua by representing that their gar- 
 ments and their shoes had become old by reason of the 
 very long journey. There is the blear-eyed spectacled 
 German professor, with his long cherry-stalked pipe, 
 maundering metaphysics to an admiring group of long- 
 haired students in blouses and boots, whose devotion 
 to learning, let us hope, is greater than their attention 
 to cleanliness. There, also, you may occasionally see 
 some mediatised potentate — Duke, Count, or Baron — 
 whose immediate ancestors were sovereigns of a dis- 
 trict much smaller in dimensions and revenue than is 
 owned by his Grace of Buccleuch in several shkes of 
 Scotland. And there you are certain to meet with a
 
 212 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 host of inspired artists and poets, less intoxicated with 
 the execrable Moselle which is vended on hoard the 
 steamer, than Avith the glorious scenery and romantic 
 associations of that noblest of rivers, the Rhine. 
 
 It was a cold morning when we went on board the 
 steamer at Mannheim, and I apprehend that all the 
 passengers felt dissatisfied at the early hour announced 
 for starting. However, there was no help for it. The 
 inexorable bell was rung ; and down we had to trundle 
 to the jetty, making such composition as we could for 
 overcharge at the hotel. Of course, England had the 
 worst of it, as is commonly the case in all matters 
 of petty traffic ! But when we did get on board, and 
 saw that our whole luggage had been delivered, and 
 had paid the porters, than whom no more villanous 
 extortioners ever breathed the breath of life ; and had, 
 moreover, satisfactorily established, to the conviction 
 of certain personages in uniform, that we were not 
 political refugees or delinquents, we had to undergo 
 another scrutiny. A tall loose-jointed man, the hue of 
 whose complexion suggested the idea that he had but 
 recently recovered from an attack of the jaundice, 
 coolly walked up to the luggage, and began to examine 
 the labels. 
 
 "I say, Mister," said he, addressing me with that 
 nasal twang which is peculiar to that class of the free 
 and enlightened citizens of the United States, who, to 
 the infinite annoyance of their more polished country- 
 men, bring social discredit on America — " I say, Mis- 
 ter ; I guess now that 'ere portmanteau is your'n ? "
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 213 
 
 I frankly admitted my proprietorsliip. 
 
 " So your name's Sinclair, is it ? I reckon you'll be 
 from Scotland." 
 
 I nodded an affirmative. 
 
 " Smart people the Scotch, I know that. They can 
 look about them a little. And where did you hail 
 from last ? " 
 
 " Switzerland." 
 
 " Been on pleasuring, I've a notion ? " 
 
 "Eeally, sir," said I, "you are very kind to take 
 such an interest in my affairs. I cannot understand 
 how a knowledge of my personal history or movements 
 can be advantageous to an utter stranger." 
 
 " Wall, now ; you're a rael Britisher, that's a fact," 
 said the Yankee. " How's a man to find out anything 
 without asking ? and what's the use of keeping every- 
 thing to yourself like a hiccory nut that's over-hard for 
 cracking ? I allow now, if I had asked you to loan me 
 a handful of dollars, you might have looked as glum 
 as a beaver in a trap ; but there's a tarnation differ- 
 ence between that and a civil question on the road." 
 
 " Well, sir," said I with a smile, for there was no 
 use being angry with the man, " I shall concede that 
 on principle you are right ; and if you do not object 
 to reciprocity, and will favour me with your confidences 
 in return, I shall not object to answer any reasonable 
 question." 
 
 " Now, Squire Sinclair, sir, that's what I call ra- 
 tional," said the Yankee, lighting a cigar, "and I won't 
 object to tell you that my name is Jefferson J. Ewius,
 
 214 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Connecticut, that I do a smart business in Hartfort, 
 and that I have been down in Switzerland to look 
 after calicoes. Have you any notion of such fixings ? " 
 " No, indeed," I replied. " I am profoundly ignor- 
 ant on the subject of calicoes." 
 
 "Wall, now; that rubs me out. Not one in two 
 of you Britishers knows anything about calico ; and 
 yet, but for our cotton, it would have been gone goose 
 with the old onnateral country ! Mercy sakes alive ! 
 —I guess that, without Yirginny, j\Ian Chester by this 
 time would have been knocked into a cocked hat, and 
 have got a hyst that it wouldn't have sniggered at. 
 But mayhap you do a streak in the hard line — I allow 
 your razors are pretty." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken, Mr Ewins. And, to be 
 plain with you, I shall make no further revelations as 
 to my calling or profession, leaving that for your in- 
 genuity to discover ; but I shall answer any questions 
 you may be pleased to put upon other topics." 
 
 " Now I guess you're getting stuffy. Squire ! You 
 needn't give me a socdolager that way ; for if I've 
 waked up the wrong passenger, I didn't mean it, and 
 it's no use to fly off the handle. Darn it— what a 
 time they are in getting breakfast! The morning's 
 raw— what say you to step down and liquor ? " 
 
 Declining the proposed conviviality, I moved to 
 another part of the steamer, leaving behind me inad- 
 vertently a German edition of an English novel (it was 
 Sir E. B. Lytton's Pilgrims of the Rhine), the pages
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 215 
 
 of whicli were only partially cut open. I discovered 
 afterwards that my Transatlantic acquaintance had 
 pounced upon it, and, in his literary zeal, had used his 
 finger as a paper-cutter, thereby mutilating the volume. 
 Carlton, who had rested ill during the previous night, 
 had gone down to the cabin to slumber, if possible, for 
 an hour ; and I, in order to avoid the attacks of two 
 burschen, who seemed anxious to claim fraternity, 
 entered into conversation with a middle-aged English 
 gentleman, of highly respectable appearance and agree- 
 able manners, who seemed very glad to embrace the 
 opportunity of discoursing in his own language, and 
 who certainly was a marked contrast to my recent ac- 
 quaintance the Yankee. 
 
 I have forgotten now the point from which we 
 started. Most probably it was an allusion to the 
 weather, or to the scenery, or something of a similar 
 kind, which gradually expanded itself into a discus- 
 sion far more wide and extended, embracing Continen- 
 tal education, forms of government, the police system, 
 consular establishments, and many other cognate sub- 
 jects. I was, I shall fairly confess, quite fascinated by 
 the demeanour of the man. Evidently a person of 
 some rank or place in the scale of social consideration, 
 he was not in the least degree supercilious ; but, ac- 
 knowledging the slightness of his acquaintance with 
 foreign matters, he requested information, and listened 
 to it in a way that could not fail to be highly gratify- 
 ing to a man so much his junior. He even asked per-
 
 216 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 mission to take notes, and did so ; and after breakfast, 
 he requested that T would favour him by continuini^ 
 the conversation. 
 
 Carlton, having benefited by his slumber, tried more 
 than once to get me away ; but I stuck to my new 
 acquaintance. People say that a Scot is not easily 
 humbugged — I fear it is otherwise. You can humbug 
 him always, if, mingled with an encomium on his own 
 individual sagacity, you introduce a compliment to the 
 national shrewdness which marks the race. I, at any 
 rate, was humbugged, for I was actually foolish enough 
 to confide to this entire stranger more of my personal 
 history and aspirations than prudence would have 
 warranted me in disclosing. Men oftentimes, under 
 the influence of vinous excitement, make similar re- 
 velations over-night, and next morning are heartily 
 ashamed and sorry for having done so ; but here was 
 I, as sober as an anchorite, and considering myself all 
 the while a very prudent personage, laying bare my 
 inmost thoughts to a man who, for anything I knew 
 to the contrary, might be a swindler or a Jesuit in 
 disguise. My only excuse is the artful way in which 
 he wormed himself into my confidence, and the deep 
 interest which he professed to feel in my narrative. 
 After I had told him that I intended to remain for 
 some time in London, and that my prospects were un- 
 certain, he said, after a brief pause — 
 
 " In so far as I can judge, or as my experience of 
 the world suggests, your career is likely to be a distin- 
 guished one. You have in your favour youth, ability,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 217 
 
 industry, large information, and high princii^le, and 
 when these are combined they must command success. 
 We have fieed of such men as you for the public service. 
 Attached as I am to the great Conservative party, and 
 having held more than once offices of considerable 
 trust and responsibility, I have often lamented that the 
 Ministry of the day did not take more pains to search 
 for and encourage rising talent. Yom- genius, I can 
 perceive already, is eminently of a practical kind. I 
 cannot doubt that you will shine as a publicist or poli- 
 tical writer, and I would advise you to concentrate all 
 your thoughts and energies in that direction. I cannot 
 hope to be of immediate service to you in London, for 
 I must immediately go down to my county ; but 
 when Parliament meets, I shall expect to see you, and 
 then, be assured, I shall use my utmost influence in 
 promoting your views. Here is my card. I am called 
 Sir George Smoothly, and have the honour of sitting 
 for the borough of Efiingham. I cannot express to you 
 how much gratification I have derived from this agree- 
 able and instructive colloquy, and from your confidence, 
 which, I trust you will admit hereafter, has not been 
 misplaced." 
 
 Shortly afterwards I rejoined Carlton, who was 
 filling his sketch-book with heads of Jews, burschen, 
 militaires, and peasant-girls, in the forepart of the 
 vessel. 
 
 " So, Master Norman," said he, " you seem to have 
 taken a mighty fancy to that pleasant gentleman 
 yonder. I have not seen you so animated for a long
 
 218 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 time. ]\Iay I venture to ask what were the principal 
 topics of your conversation ? " 
 
 I felt the colour rise to my cheeks ; for, to say the 
 truth, I stood somewhat in awe of Carlton's satirical 
 turn. However, T replied- — 
 
 " Well ; — I don't mind telling you that I have been 
 rather communicative to him about myself; and that 
 I have found him most kind and encouraging." 
 
 " Hum ! — there is an Italian proverb which pre- 
 scribes caution in trusting the friend of an hour. Do 
 you know who or what he is ? " 
 
 " Here is his card." 
 
 " Sir George Smoothly ? That's so far well. He is 
 an M.P., and on the right side, though they do say he 
 is but a slippery feUow. And he has offered to assist 
 you, eh ? " 
 
 " With every aj)pearance of cordiality and interest." 
 
 " Did you tell him anything about your connection, 
 real or presumed, with Lord Windermere ? " 
 
 " Not a word. That would have been a violation 
 of confidence, as well as a gross act of egotism." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. But, Norman, take 
 my advice, and keep yourself to yourself as much as 
 you can, except with assured friends. There are many 
 men who walk in masks, and the prettiest mask of all 
 is that of philanthropy, and the desire of doing good. 
 You know, of course, that glorious parable of old John 
 Bunyan, the Pilgrim's Progress ? It is a valuable 
 study, not only for Christian development, but for
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 219 
 
 human character. Take care that you. have not fallen 
 in with a Mr Worldly Wiseman." 
 
 " Have you talked with the Yankee ? " 
 
 " A first-rate fellow ! He has nearly killed me with 
 some of his stories. The best of the joke is, that, not 
 knowing our intimacy, he took you off to the life as 
 an impenetrable Caledonian." 
 
 " The devil he did ! " 
 
 " Of course — and I wish you had kept up the cha- 
 racter. But what American impudence could not 
 achieve, I suspect English plausibility has accom- 
 plished. Never mind, Norman ! there's no harm done 
 as yet. Let us cultivate our Jonathan's acquaintance, 
 and certainly we shall extract some fun." 
 
 Carlton was right. We had great fun out of Mr 
 Ewins, who related to us various dodges, commercial 
 and civil, which, in England, would certainly have been 
 brought under the notice of the Old Bailey Court, but, 
 in America, seemed to be considered as the mere 
 eccentricities of genius. He intended, he said, before 
 recrossing the Atlantic, to have a peep at the Britishers 
 with the view of compiling a volume on their national 
 peculiarities, which he guessed '•' would be nip and 
 tuck to the tarnal old woman," for so he irreverently 
 denominated Mrs Trollope. He had met — so he told 
 us — a good many of them on the Continent, but had 
 been, for the most part, highly dissatisfied with their 
 demeanour, which appeared to him to be outrageously 
 bumptious, and to contrast unfavourably with the ease.
 
 220 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 grace, and affability of the American code of manners. 
 Nevertheless he was willing to defer pronouncing final 
 judgment until he had studied their character at home ; 
 and he doubted not that he would be able to make his 
 way at once, without any difficulty, into the most 
 aristocratic circles of English society. 
 
 " It stands to reason," said he, " that your top- 
 sawyers should wish to be heard about among the free 
 and independent citizens of the States ; for they know 
 that we have shot already a long chalk ahead of the 
 old country, and there's a sort of chaps about Man- 
 chester that won't rest till they've whittled down your 
 rotten old constitution to the size and shape of ours. 
 T can tell you it's a grand thing for one of your Dukes 
 to get spoken about on the other side of the Atlantic ; 
 and I guess that, with all their tarnation pride, they'd 
 be too glad to do the civil thing to any one of us 
 who has gumption to show them up if need be. I've 
 known a chap that had the run of all the best houses 
 in London, jest because it was known that he could 
 be plaguy troublesome with the pen. Countesses 
 couldn't be too fond of him, that's a fact ; and he got 
 into the drawing-rooms as easily as a pole-cat gets into 
 a hen-roost. That's what I mean to do ; and I guess 
 that if your ministers don't invite me to dine with 
 them in the Cabinet, they'll find their ears as hot as 
 though they had slept with red pepper poultices in 
 their night-caps ! " 
 
 Such and such-like were the aspirations in which
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 221 
 
 Mr Ewins indulged ; and so, having by this time passed 
 through the grand scenery of the Upper Ehine, and 
 entered into the monotonous reaches of Holland, we 
 wiled away the hours with jest and banter, until we 
 arrived at Eotterdam, where we went on board of the 
 London steamer.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 Notwithstanding the urgent entreaties of Carlton, 
 I persisted in declining to take up my residence under 
 his roof. In coming to that determination I was in- 
 fluenced by two reasons. In the first place, I antici- 
 pated that the approaching winter would be one of 
 hard work and study ; things which cannot be under- 
 taken and steadily carried through, unless a man is 
 absolutely master of his own time and motions. How- 
 ever zealous or determined you may be in the prosecu- 
 tion of a task — however religiously you may refrain 
 from the ordinary seductions of society — you are liable 
 to the most grievous interruptions, and will fritter 
 away much valuable time, if you do not possess the 
 means of insuring at will the most perfect and un- 
 broken seclusion. Now, seclusion is a thing not to be 
 had, when two young men with similar tastes, and 
 with a strong mutual liking, reside together. The day 
 begins with breakfast, some pleasant talk, the perusal 
 of the paper, and a cigar, during which pastimes an
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 223 
 
 hour or two insensibly glide away ; and then, if the 
 weather be fine, the idler or more unoccupied of the 
 twain proposes a stroll, or a visit to some object of 
 interest, which the other has rarely strength of mind 
 to resist. For oftentimes, and in most moods, all kind 
 of work is abhorrent to us ; and we are too glad to 
 embrace even the flimsiest excuse for escaping from 
 what may be a positive duty. But, supposing that 
 this temptation is overcome, and that the remainder 
 of the forenoon is dedicated to work, there must be a 
 certain space allowed for exercise ; after which comes 
 dinner, either at home or abroad. A certain genial 
 lassitude is felt, which, combined with the delusive 
 thought that we have already done a good day's work, 
 indisposes us from further labour; and the result is that 
 we find ourselves in the theatre, or the opera, or some 
 other place of popular entertainment. Eely upon it, 
 young men, if you have occasion to work hard, which 
 means to practise self-denial, you will do well to eschew 
 companionship under the same roof Your best friend 
 may prove your worst enemy — at least, looking back 
 through the vista of years, 1 recall the image of more 
 than one good fellow, to whom I was sincerely at- 
 tached, but of whom I must nevertheless say that it 
 would have been better had our acquaintance been 
 less. In the second place, I was, as Carlton truly 
 enough observed, somewhat independent in my views. 
 That is a national characteristic which people may 
 commend or not, according to their peculiar ideas. I 
 am aware that many Englishmen have or had the idea
 
 224 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 lliat what they call "booing" and scraping is an attri- 
 bute of the Scot, and they quote the dramatic character 
 of Sir Archy M'Sycophant as an example. They are 
 egrcgiously mistaken. The Scot, if he is a gentleman, 
 is as proud as a Spaniard, and sometimes carries pride 
 even to a ridiculous degree. Within the range of my 
 owTi recollection, there has, in this respect, been a con- 
 siderable improvement, for I remember the time when 
 the merest dullard who could show charters for a few 
 hereditary acres, dated five or six centuries back, gave 
 himself the most insufferable airs, and in his ape-like 
 self-sufiieiency sneered at the British Peerage as if it 
 were a convention of parvenues ; but I would fain 
 hope that all such preposterous extravagance has dis- 
 appeared, or only remains to be laughed at. But the 
 proper pride of the gentleman — that which keeps him 
 free from subserviency, from doing anything that can 
 derogate from ancient honour, from staining the purity 
 of his shield — will, I trust, continue to be observed so 
 long as Scotland adheres to her ancient and honourable 
 traditions. I cannot assert that I was entirely without 
 ambition, for the total absence of ambition is as fatal 
 to a man as its presence in unrestrained excess ; but I 
 was resolved, so f;ir as possible, to maintain my own 
 independence while entering on a new" career. 
 
 I accordingly took lodgings in a dull street in West- 
 minster, which terminated in a railing on the bank of 
 the river. It was certainly about as undesirable a 
 locality as I could have found in all London, but I 
 chose it because it was not a thoroughfare, being ac-
 
 KORMAN SINCLAIR. 225 
 
 cessible only by a flight of steps which precluded the 
 entrance of cart or carriage. Here, I thought, I shall 
 be able at least to secure absolute quiet. Never was 
 there such a delusion ! From the first glimmering 
 of early dawn the street was vocal with the cries of 
 hawkers of every kind, who seemed to drive a smart 
 trade in milk, vegetables, pies, and other small comes- 
 tibles ; and no sooner was the business of the ambu- 
 latory market over, than we had an influx of the 
 children of Israel, whose delight is in cast raiment ; 
 of Bavarian broom-girls, saucy sluts as ever peered 
 into a window on the ground-floor ; of unannexed Sa- 
 voyards, with hurdy-gurdies, barrel-organs, monkeys, 
 and white mice ; of fictitious sailors with wooden legs, 
 bawling the ballad of the Arethusa ; of unemployed 
 operatives, who marched in gangs, howling a dismal 
 litany ; and of a most unfacetious Punch, who thrice 
 a-week molested that street with his squeak of preter- 
 natural shrillness. It was no use attempting to buy 
 them off" with loose coins. The Cobre copper-mine 
 itself would have been exhausted by the rapacity of so 
 many vagabonds, who, I am convinced, marked those 
 houses in which weak-minded donors resided, and 
 made them the especial object of their visits. The only 
 way to mitigate the nuisance, was to draw down the 
 blind, and to put a ticket in the window announcing 
 vacant apartments ; but I soon discovered the fallacy 
 of that expedient, which involved the necessity of 
 having candles lighted at noonday, so I even tried to 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 226 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 endure this succession of plagues with the calm obsti- 
 nacy of an Egyptian. 
 
 Decidedly mine was an uncomfortable lodging. Be- 
 sides the parlour to the front, which was my breakfast 
 and writing room, I had a back bedroom looking into 
 a paved court, which latter was the favourite resort 
 of the feline tribe ; for there Tom and Tabby did most 
 amorously consort at nightfall, and rob Morpheus of 
 his dues by dint of their confounded caterwauling. 
 Nor can I say much in favour of the internal accom- 
 modation. I am not of Sybaritic tendencies, and might 
 in the course of time have become accustomed to the 
 hardness of the bed ; but my flesh suffered grievously 
 from the lumps of unpicked oakum which appeared to 
 constitute a large portion of the stuffing of the mattress. 
 Upon what food my landlady, Mrs Lewson, and the 
 one gawky girl, evidently taken from the workhouse, 
 who was her sole domestic, subsisted, I never exactly 
 ascertained ; but, judging from the odours which, at 
 certain hours, pervaded the passage, I am inclined to 
 think that onions formed a large ingredient in their 
 meals. I had no faith in Mrs Lewson's talents for 
 cookery, and indeed never requested her to favour me 
 with any specimens of her skill, except for breakfast, 
 and even then I was forced to content myself with 
 eggs and anchovies, having been greatly scared, on the 
 morning after I took possession of the rooms, by the 
 appearance of some most equivocal sausages, which, if 
 subjected to analysis, would, I fear, have been summa- 
 rily condemned. Howbeit, as Mrs Lewson, in her own
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 227 
 
 way, was very civil, and not more of an extortioner 
 than was natural to her calling — while slipshod Sally, 
 though awkward and untidy, was a willing drudge, 
 and extremely grateful for an occasional shilling — I 
 made up my mind to tarry where I was ; at all events, 
 for the winter months, which were now rapidly ap- 
 l^roaching. 
 
 I had no want of occupation of a fair remunerative 
 kind ; for, as already explained, I had established a 
 literary connection ; and, being always punctual to my 
 engagements, my pen was in considerable request. 
 And here I cannot help observing with gratitude and 
 delight, that even anonymous authorship in our day, if 
 deliberately adopted and steadily persevered in by men 
 of competent ability and education, is certain to re- 
 ceive a reward — not large, certainly, nor any way to be 
 compared with the emoluments which are to be derived 
 from the steady adherence to a recognised profession 
 — but much more liberal than high genius could have 
 commanded in the days of Savage and Johnson. I am 
 quite aware that literature, regarded as the sole means 
 of obtaining a livelihood, is the most precarious of pur- 
 suits ; and that, even now, adventurers of no incon- 
 siderable talent, who have forced their way into the 
 literary field, have been compelled to eat the bread of 
 misery, and have moistened it with theii' tears. But I 
 think, if we come to consider such cases individually, 
 we shall find that one of two things was wantino; — 
 Either that the candidate for recognition in the republic 
 of letters (which, in plain terras, means the good-will of
 
 228 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 the publishers) had been too ambitious in liis cavly 
 attempts, and, overlooking the fact that very few 
 authin-s have attained celebrity or won the ear of the 
 public without undergoing the probation of a long 
 apprenticeship, had tried to take heaven by storm, and, 
 like Phaeton, to step at once into the chariot and 
 drive the horses of the sun. Or, which is the more 
 common case, that, after a certain amount of success, 
 the animal spirits which most literary men possess, 
 and which, imder proper control, are to them no in- 
 considerable advantage — or otherwise their vanity and 
 proneness to adulation — hurry them into excesses and 
 disorderly habits, such as brought Kobert Greene and 
 Christopher Marlowe to their early and dishonourable 
 graves. The greater the gift, the more numerous and 
 powerful are the temptations that beset us. that 
 men would but consider that the talents which they 
 are enabled to exhibit, and which are oftentimes so 
 much admired by the unthinking multitude, who, after 
 a peculiar fashion, regard them as intellectual idols, 
 are not of their own creation, but were vouchsafed to 
 them by the Almighty; and that, if abused or per- 
 verted, those talents will be a curse to them on earth, 
 and condemnation in the judgment to come ! 
 
 Of course I did not occupy myself entirely with 
 quill-driving and mental work, but sought in a mode- 
 rate way such recreation as London, during the gloomy 
 months of November and December, could afford. I 
 saw a good deal of Carlton, passing many pleasant 
 evenings at his house, which was the resort of some
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 229 
 
 artists of eminence and literary men, wliose acquaint- 
 ance I was happy to make. I did not fail to call upon 
 Lord Windermere ; but learned that his lordship and 
 family were at their country seat, and were not ex- 
 pected in town until the meeting of Parliament in 
 spring. Oddly enough, I felt this as a kind of relief, 
 for I rather dreaded the prelimhiary interview. Most 
 people know how extremely disagreeable it is to make 
 a set speech of acknowledgment for a favour bestowed 
 — it is, I am sure, quite the same when you are to be 
 the recipient of the thanks. Between friends, a squeeze 
 of the hand or a glance of the eye suffices. You know 
 magnetically what is meant, and there is no occasion 
 for further palaver. But with strangers you must go 
 through or endure a set form of words, which, to my 
 mind at least, is absolutely detestable, resembling the 
 buttering style of discourse adopted at the presenta- 
 tion of testimonials — occasions which, I am sorry to 
 say (never having myself received any valuable testi- 
 monial), are, at the present time, far too numerous. 
 
 I had maintained but little communication with my 
 friends in Scotland ; indeed, save for the scanty intelli- 
 gence conveyed in the occasional letters of Ned Mather, 
 whose powers of composition were limited, I should 
 have heard nothing of the early friends of my youth. 
 One day, however, when taking my solitary dinner at 
 the coffeehouse which I usually frequented, I disco- 
 vered an old acquaintance. Two men, whose showy 
 but rather tigerish apparel indicated that they were 
 deep in some tailor's books, entered the room with that
 
 230 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 assumed swagger which no person of real breeding 
 assumes ; and calling for the bill of fare, proceeded to 
 criticise its contents aloud. The elder of the two, who 
 was seated at a table directly opposite to mine, was a 
 strong-built, flash-looking fellow of some five-and- 
 thirty, elaborately got up as a representative of that 
 class of society which arrogates to itself the exclusive 
 term of the sporting world. He wore a brilliant blue 
 scarf, ornamented with an immense fox-head pin, and 
 a natty green cut-away coat with metal buttons, which 
 partly covered, but did not conceal, a waistcoat of 
 colossal stripes. His hair was cut short like that of 
 a groom or prize-fighter, but he had given the utmost 
 latitude to his whiskers, which flourished in unre- 
 strained luxuriance. His features were somewhat Jew- 
 ish in their cast, representing cunning and rapacity, 
 whilst an immense under-jaw betokened great tenacity 
 of purpose. Altogether he was just the kind of man 
 whom you naturally would expect to encounter in the 
 betting ring, but with whom it would be exceeding 
 wise if you refrained from entering into any transac- 
 tion. 
 
 This worthy took the lion's share of the conversation 
 and the wine, and was evidently regarded by his com- 
 panion, whose back was towards me, as a fellow of 
 infinite fancy and unbounded humour. It was impos- 
 sible to avoid hearing their discourse, which, indeed, 
 was obviously intended for the astonishment and de- 
 lectation of the other occupants of the tables ; but it 
 was not of the most edifying kind, consisting princi-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 231 
 
 pally of anecdotes of the private lives and walk of 
 actresses and opera-dancers, with several of whom the 
 knight of the blue scarf appeared to be upon terms of 
 easy intimacy. Sentences like the following were 
 poured forth in abundance : — 
 
 " By Jove, sir, Fanny is a devilish fine girl, I assure 
 5^ou. Clean made, tight little thing ; neat in the pas- 
 tern, and steps out like a thorough-bred filly. You 
 can't help liking a girl that has go in her ; and as for 
 fun, she's up to all manner of ginger. Did you never 
 hear how slie got an emerald bracelet out of Lord 
 Henry Faddle. Gad ! it was the cleverest thing ever 
 done ; and the best of the joke was that Lord Henry 
 had scarce been married a fortnight ! Tell you what 
 — I'll introduce you ; yes, by Jove, I will ! Fanny's 
 iust the sort of girl to suit you." 
 
 " Young man !" said an elderly stranger seated at a 
 neighbouring table, who had already manifested some 
 annoyance at the rude tone of the discourse — " Young 
 man ! if thou art indeed as loose-living a person as 
 thou representest thyself to be, I would advise thee 
 not to proclaim it abroad, seeing that thou wilt receive 
 no credit for the same, but rather incur contempt and 
 disgust on account of thine ill-mannered conversation." 
 
 " Eh — what ! By Jove, here's a go ! " replied he of 
 the fox-head, bristling up like a Bobadil ; " who the 
 devil spoke to you, sir? What right have you to 
 address yourself to a gentleman ? By Jingo, Fve a 
 great mind to pull your nose, you sanctimonious old 
 humbug; ! "
 
 232 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " Friend," retorted the Quaker, for such his speech 
 denoted him to be, "if thou art indeed, as thou sayest, 
 a gentleman, which, trust nie, I do not believe, thou 
 wouldst not appeal so frequently as thou dost to the 
 father of lies. And as for pulling my nose, thou hast 
 neither the power to do it nor the temerity to attempt 
 it" 
 
 So saying, the Quaker arose, displaying a figure 
 which for burliness might have stood comparison with 
 that of Tom Cribb, or any other professor of the fistic 
 science, while a stout crabtree cudgel quivered in his 
 grasp. 
 
 I confess that I heartily enjoyed the scene, and 
 almost wished that the representative of the sporting 
 public would be rash enough to carry his threat into 
 execution, in which case he would certainly have re- 
 ceived a most righteous and salutary drubbing. But, 
 as is generally the way with such Hectors, he showed 
 the white feather, and, muttering something about not 
 wishing to make a row, he turned to his companion, 
 and recommenced his discourse, though in a much 
 lower tone than before. I had now an ojiportunity of 
 observing the other, whose voice had struck me as 
 familiar, and, to my extreme surprise, I recognised my 
 old office comrade, James Littlewoo, whom I had left 
 upon the threshold, as I supposed, of professional life 
 in Edinburgh. 
 
 James had always been regarded by ns as a soft lad, 
 rather weak than Avicked — " Pap-headed," as Mr Shear- 
 away used to say of him ; " his brains are just perfect
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 233 
 
 batter" — but I never had seen any great harm in him, 
 nor, as a youth, was he viciously addicted. I therefore 
 felt quite sorry to find him on sucli intimate terms 
 with a scamp of the worst description, and evidently 
 on the road towards folly, vice, and ruin. I determined, 
 for his father's sake, as well as from the recollection 
 of old times, to ascertain how far he was involved, 
 but that, of course, necessitated a further and private 
 interview. 
 
 Accordingly, before leaving the room, I went to- 
 wards him, and, notwithstanding an insolent stare 
 from his companion, which I felt strongly inclined to 
 resent, made myself known. Littlewoo, to do him 
 justice, seemed really glad to see me, though he hesi- 
 tated and blushed as he introduced me to " his friend 
 Mr Speedwell," who thereupon thought fit to abate 
 somewhat of his dignity, and graciously assured me 
 that he " was devilish glad to make the acquaintance 
 of any friend of his friend Mr Littlewoo." As I could 
 not, without being rude, depart instantly, I sat down 
 at their table for a few minutes, for the purpose of 
 procuring Littlewoo's address, which having obtained, 
 I took my hat, and was about to leave, when Mr 
 Speedwell broke in. 
 
 " So you've been lately on the Continent, sir ? Ah 
 — ^that's the place for fun ! No slow-coachiness there, 
 or confounded peelers of policemen to interfere with 
 your amusement ! Been at Wiesbaden and Horaburg ? 
 Rouge-et-noir from morning to night, with pretty 
 women squeezing in to the tables, and picking up the
 
 234 NOUMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 gold like dickey-birds pecking at the flies! Know 
 Charley Topham ? He was a rare good un was 
 Charley ! By Jingo, sir, he broke the bank two 
 nights running, and pocketed a cool ten thousand — 
 that's what I call luck and fast living ! " 
 
 I contented myself by simply denying all knowledge 
 of either watering-place, and by stating that I had 
 not the good fortune to be acquainted with the ac- 
 complished Charles. 
 
 " Ah ! Perhaps you're quite right not to boast of 
 such doings here," replied j\Ir Speedwell. " Devilish 
 queer people one meets in these coffee-houses. Was 
 very nearly pulling the nose of an old snob of a Quaker 
 in this very room, not ten minutes ago, for imperti- 
 nence — but, hang it ! after all, it would have been a 
 shame to have served out Obadiah. Tell you what — 
 you and Littlewoo haven't met for a long time, it 
 would appear. The night is young yet. Let us all 
 go together to the Shades, and prime ourselves with a 
 bottle or so of claret, or some hot brandy-and- water ; 
 and then I'll show you a little of real life in London. 
 I know a quiet house in Jermyn Street — door with a 
 wicket in it, you understand ? — none but swells go 
 there ; and we can have a shy at hazard. What's the 
 odds so long as we are happy ? Young fellows like us 
 must do something to keep the blood in circulation in 
 this confounded muggy weather. And then we'll top 
 off at the Finish!" 
 
 I not only gave a decided negative to this proposal, 
 but attempted to rescue Littlewoo from the clutches of
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 235 
 
 the destroyer, by asking him to walk home with me. 
 But he was too far gone already. The fascinating 
 picture, limned by the artistic hand of Mr Speedwell, 
 had for him an irresistible attraction ; and I was com- 
 pelled, though most unwillingly, to leave him in the 
 custody of his Mephistopheles. 
 
 Next morning I proceeded to Littlewoo's rooms as 
 indicated by his card ; but as he had told me that he 
 should remain at home all the forenoon, I did not 
 make my visit an early one. This was so far fortunate, 
 for I found him just risen and seated at breakfast, to 
 which meal, with the exception of the contents of the 
 teapot, he did marvellous little justice. Now that I 
 had leisure to observe the poor fellow, I saw that he 
 was greatly altered. From a fine, healthy, rosy-faced 
 lad, he had decayed into a thin, ghastly young man, 
 with an ominous red spot upon his cheek, and that 
 peculiar discoloration under the eyes which is the 
 never-failing mark of long-continued dissipation. His 
 nerves too were evidently affected, for his hand shook 
 as he raised the cup to his lips. However, he appeared 
 lively enough ; and, without entering into any details 
 regarding his adventures of the previous night — as to 
 which I did not think myself entitled to inquire — he 
 began to talk of old friends, and was especially com- 
 municative as to his own personal history. 
 
 It was the old story over again. It appeared that 
 Jamie Littlewoo, from the first hour that he was seated 
 at a desk, loathed his occupation, and inwardly de- 
 termined that no power, human or divine, should make
 
 236 NORJIAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 liiin a practitioner of the law. His own penchant was 
 for the army, an inclination which his father sternly 
 refused to gratify, alleging that the profession of a 
 soldier was a damnable one, inasmuch as it must ne- 
 cessarily lead, as an ancient jurist had well remarked, 
 to homicidium planum per plures commissum, which, 
 if it could not be altogether regarded in the light of 
 homicidium cidposum, or murder, did certainly imply 
 the lesser crime of cJiaudmella, or casual slaughter ; 
 " v/hich," said Mr Littlewoo, " doth not, in the opinion 
 of many, imply the assoilziement of the slayer, but 
 doth simply entitle him to the privilege and advantage 
 of refuge in the Girth, which privilege of sanctuary in 
 matters criminal hath been abolished since the time of 
 the Eeformation." 
 
 But this learned exposition did not carry conviction 
 to the heart of the son, who still hankered for the 
 glories of the scarlet uniform, and showed his tend- 
 encies by cultivating the acquaintance of the officers of 
 every regiment that was stationed either at Edinburgh 
 Castle or at Piershill. In this he was aided and 
 abetted by his sisters, who liked to have military part- 
 ners at the assemblies, and by his mamma, who con- 
 sidered them desirable acquisitions for her private 
 dancing-parties ; and Hicks of the Heavies, and Spoon- 
 bill of the Liffht Bobs, could not do less in acknow- 
 ledgment for such courtesies than invite Jamie Little- 
 woo to the mess. In the days of which I speak, I 
 regret to say that a very great deal of liquor was con- 
 sumed on those festive occasions when the gallant de-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 237 
 
 fenders of their country admitted guests to their table. 
 I believe that in this respect a sensible improvement 
 has now taken place, and that the " nights at mess" 
 are not so killing as they used to be ; but then the 
 pace was fast and furious — far too much so for poor 
 Littlewoo, who was driven to sore shifts to preserve 
 even a decent appearance in the office. 
 
 " I always told the Governor," said he, " that it would 
 not do. I did hate the law most cordially, Sinclair — 
 didn't you ? — and I could not stand the way in which 
 the good fellows at the Castle used to talk about attor- 
 neys. Besides, I had no head for it. Old Shearaway 
 kept perpetually bothering me to write out deeds and 
 nonsense of that kind when I was thinking of quite 
 other things ; and whenever I dined at home and the 
 table-cloth was off, the Governor began to prose about 
 cases, and to quote Morison, and Shaw, and Dunlop, 
 and Connell upon Teinds, till I wished the whole gang 
 of them at the bottom of the Eed Sea. You'll allow it 
 was very aggravating. Well, Norman, I had no sooner 
 got through my apprenticeship than my father wanted 
 me to pass W.S. No, no ! Now or never, I thought, 
 I must make a stand ; so I told him flatly I would not. 
 He was a good deal vexed at this, I think ; for he said 
 I was throwing away a splendid opportunity, and sacri- 
 ficing a first-rate business ; but I stuck to my jDoint 
 like a limpet, and then he told me that he would not 
 oppose my qualifying myself for the bar. Now the bar 
 is all very well in its own way, and there are no doubt 
 some capital chaps in the Parliament House, no end of
 
 238 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 fun at tlie stoves, and roaring dinners at the Flesh- 
 market ; but it must be a tiresome thing sweeping the 
 boards with a bUick gown if you have no practice, as 
 was likely to be my case ; and if a large practice comes, 
 you are worked like a horse in a mill, which does not 
 answer my constitution. Besides, one is obliged to be 
 up at the House every morning by nine o'clock, sum- 
 mer or winter, and that does not agree with dinino; 
 out ; so I told the Governor that the bar would not 
 suit me. He flew into an awful passion, and sulked 
 for three weeks, during which time I took care to be 
 as little at home as possible. At last I believe he took 
 council with old Shearaway, who is not a bad sort of 
 fellow at bottom — you were always a great fiivourite 
 of his, Norman — and Shearaway told him at once that 
 he did not think I would do for the bar, but suffffested 
 that he should use his influence to get me into one of 
 the public offices, as I was then too old for joining the 
 army. I made no objection, for I understood that the 
 government work was light, and the attendance easy ; 
 and I should have liked well enough to have got into 
 the Foreign Department. But it seems there is no 
 choice in those things. One must take whatever comes 
 first ; so they planted me in the Board of Trade, where 
 we are like to be smothered to death by the pres- 
 sure of these confounded railways. It is lucky that 
 this happens to be a holiday, else I could not have 
 seen you." 
 
 " And how do you like the work, Littlewoo ? " 
 
 " I like it as well as I can like anv kind of work
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 239 
 
 whatever. It is a nuisance at the best, but I would 
 not complain, if they did not ask us to come at extra 
 hours. However, I believe I shall get a step soon, 
 and the Governor gives me an allowance. And I must 
 say that I like London far better than Edinburgh. 
 Nothing like being near the centre. And then I 
 know a lot of first-rate fellows." 
 
 " Do you mean such gentlemen as your friend Mr 
 Speedwell ? " said I. 
 
 Littlewoo blushed to the eyes. 
 
 " I saw well enough that you did not like him, Sin- 
 clair ; and I admit that he is rather too plain-spoken. 
 But he is a real friendly fellow. I don't know any 
 man whom I can more readily apply to when I hap- 
 pen to be hard up. And then he has a first-rate con- 
 nection — knows all the nobs — d'Orgeat and the rest 
 of the top-sawyers." 
 
 " Hem ! — I should be disposed to doubt the intimacy 
 of your friend with the Count." 
 
 " 0, it's a fact, I assure you. I had it from himself." 
 
 " From the Count ? " 
 
 " No ; from Speedwell. D'Orgeat, you know, is a 
 little dipped, and Speedwell has dealings with Roths- 
 child." 
 
 " My dear Littlewoo, I am almost inclined for once 
 to adopt your friend's phraseology, and to say. The 
 devil he has ! Why, man, you must have lost your 
 senses ! I vow and declare that I never set eyes 
 upon a fellow who had more thoroughly the look of a 
 blackfruard ! " •
 
 240 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " Take care what you say, Sinclair ! Mind you, I 
 can hit out straight on occasion. Am I to understand 
 that you mean to insult me ? " 
 
 " Not at all, my dear James. I wish to save you 
 from present disgrace and ultimate ruin. Now do just 
 listen patiently to me for a minute or two, and then, if 
 you think I am wrong, be as angry as you please." 
 
 " The deuce take that cigar ! " cried Littlewoo, pitch- 
 ing a newly-lighted weed into the fire, and settling 
 himself on the sofa. " It will not draw. Now I suppose 
 I am in for a sermon. Make it a short one, Norman, 
 since you must needs play the jDarson. I am not just 
 in the humour for hearing any lorig-winded rigmarole." 
 
 " I don't intend to sermonise ; but please recollect 
 that yesterday I could not help overhearing the con- 
 versation of your companion, who, among other things, 
 offered you an introduction to an opera-dancer, which 
 you seemed nothing loth to accept; and then proposed 
 to us both to spend the evening in a gambling-house." 
 
 " Well, what was the great harm of that ? I sup- 
 pose such things are common enough among young- 
 
 men." 
 
 " They may be common enough among j)eople like 
 your friend, Mr Speedwell ; but they are not common, 
 I hope, among young men brought up and educated as 
 you have been." 
 
 " Well — I grant you that Speedwell is rather a loose 
 sort of fish ; but that does not by any means entitle 
 you to call him a blackguard." 
 
 " Pardon me ! I consider that the man who in his
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 241 
 
 sober senses makes a parade of his vices before strangers 
 — wlio attempts to turn over a mistress of whom he is 
 tired to his friend — who seeks to entice younger men 
 than himself to a brothel or a gaming-house — is a 
 blackguard in every sense of the term." 
 
 "Pooh, Sinclair— you really take up these things 
 far too seriously ! Joe is a careless fellow ; but he is 
 no worse than his neighbours." 
 
 " If so, I would strenuously advise you to keep clear 
 of such a neighbourhood. Come now — I will put a 
 plain question to you. Would you, if you were at 
 home, ask that fellow to your house, and present him 
 to your mother and sisters ? You cannot assert that 
 you would do so. Well, then, Littlewoo — let that 
 convince you that he is anything but a respectable 
 comrade." 
 
 " What would you have me do, Sinclair ? I won't 
 deny that there is some truth in what you say, for I 
 feel that Speedwell has been rather carrying me off my 
 legs. But I can't cut the inan at once." 
 
 " No ; but you can avoid his society and drop his 
 acquaintance by degrees." 
 
 " That's not so easy, let me tell you : nor would it 
 be altogether convenient. The fact is, though I don't 
 like to mention it, that I owe Speedwell money." 
 
 " I am deeply grieved to hear it. Littlewoo ! what 
 could induce you to commit the miserable folly of con- 
 tracting debt ? Do you not see what a terrible power 
 you have given this man over you ? " 
 
 " Yes — I see that well enough, but I cannot help it 
 
 VOL. L Q
 
 242 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 now. By Jove, it makes me sick to think of it ! I 
 must have a drop of brandy by way of fortifier. The 
 fact is that I have been very foolish and very extrava- 
 gant; but don't blow me up, Sinclair — I can't stand it 
 just now !" 
 
 " I have no such intention, my dear Littlewoo ; the 
 more especially because I see that you are now con- 
 scious of your fault. But tell me, do you owe him 
 much?" 
 
 " The last bill was for four hundred." 
 
 " That is serious enough, but not absolutely deadly. 
 And pray how much of that did you receive in hard 
 cash 1 " 
 
 " One hundred and eighty. The rest was in pictures 
 and cigars." 
 
 " Pictures?" 
 
 " Yes — and very valuable pictures they are too, 
 Speedwell says. That's one of them — a genuine Titian. 
 I believe I could get two hundred guineas for it if I 
 were to offer it to the National Gallery." 
 
 So saying, he pointed to a vile daub, representing 
 Nymphs and Satyrs, upon which no pawnbroker in his 
 senses would have advanced sixteen shillings. 
 
 " You don't seem to admire it much," continued 
 Littlewoo. "All I can tell you is that the Duke of 
 Devonshire " 
 
 " My dear James, don't talk nonsense ! you have 
 been regularly taken in. I trust your cigars are better 
 than your pictures ? " 
 
 "Why, I must say I think there has been a mistake
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 243 
 
 about them. They do taste very much as if they were 
 of British manufacture." 
 
 " I thought as much. Your friend Islv Sijeedwell 
 was not likely to do things by halves. Pray, what may 
 be his profession ? " 
 
 " I believe he is a broker in the City. At all events, 
 he know^s a good deal about the Funds." 
 
 " Yes ; he seems to have a genius that way. Now, 
 Littlewoo — you are evidently in a bad scrape, and you 
 must try to get out of it as quickly as possible." 
 
 " But how am I to do that, Norman ? I dare not 
 tell my father how the affair stands — it would drive 
 him distracted." 
 
 " Surely it is better he should know that you owe 
 four hundred pounds now, than be informed, six 
 months hence, that you are liable for a thousand, 
 which will most certainly be the case if you do not dis- 
 entangle yourself from the claws of Mr Speedwell." 
 
 " Ah 1 you don't know the Governor so well as I do. 
 I have irritated him quite enough already. And then 
 my mother I — what would she say if she heard of the 
 way in which I have been going on ? dear me ! I 
 do believe I am the most miserable fellow on earth ! " 
 And here poor Littlewoo burst into a regular fit of 
 crying. 
 
 I was profoundly sorry for the lad, who, though a 
 sad fool, exhibited every now and then glimpses of a 
 better feeling. But the case really did seem a des- 
 perate one. He was utterly unfit to guide himself, was 
 marked out by nature as a prey for the sharper, and, if
 
 244 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 left in London, would certainly, even if relieved from 
 his present difficulties, be ruined soul and body. The 
 first thin,"-, however, to be done, was to get rid of Mr 
 Speedwell ; so I advised Littlewoo, since he had such 
 an insuperable objection to communicating directly with 
 his father, to write to Mr Shearaway, who was a very 
 friendly man, acknowledging the extent of his error, 
 and expressing contrition. 
 
 " I have very little doubt," I said, " that Mr Shear- 
 away will extricate you from this danger. But, Little- 
 woo, I would seriously' advise you as a friend to con- 
 sider whether you would not do well to throw up your 
 appointment, quit London, and turn to some other 
 pursuit. You could not be in more peril if you at- 
 tempted to cross a quicksand than you are exposed to 
 in the streets of this city." 
 
 " Let me alone for that ! " replied Littlewoo, who 
 began to brighten up, as silly fellows always do when 
 they have eased their minds by confession. Once let 
 me get out of this scrape, and I shall take special care 
 not to fall into another. Lll drop Speedwell, read in 
 the evenings, give up the opera, and never enter the 
 door of a casino or a saloon." 
 
 " If you can adhere to those resolutions, Littlewoo, 
 you may yet redeem the past. But remember ; the 
 temptations are strong." 
 
 " Ah, you don't know what a determined fellow I 
 can be, when I once make up my mind to a thing ! I 
 shall be as firm as Ailsa Cras." 
 
 "Never boast of your own strength, Littlewoo ! The
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 245 
 
 best and wisest of mankind have no power of them- 
 selves to resist temptation. The power must be given 
 from above, and it will not come miless you pray for it." 
 
 " Indeed I will, Norman — at least I'll try. I've 
 been a very bad fellow, I know, but I'm not an atheist. 
 And I'll 2;o to church too. — 'Tis a loncj time since I've 
 been there." 
 
 " Do so, by all means ; but do not regard that as a 
 mere matter of form. Go there to confess your errors, 
 not only because you feel their consequence, but be- 
 cause you are sincerely sorry for having offended in the 
 sight of God. And now good-by ! One word more. 
 Deny yourself to Mr Speedwell ; keep out of his way ; 
 avoid him as you would avoid the pestilence : for if 
 you allow him again to fasten upon you, you are lost 
 beyond the reach of remedy ! " 
 
 " Never fear ! I will keep out of his way. Thank 
 you, thank you, Norman." 
 
 I must acknowledge that I had little faith in the 
 endurance of Master James Littlewoo's good resolu- 
 tions ; which it was evident had been adopted, not 
 from inward compunction, but from an aroused sense 
 of the extreme danoer in which he stood. However, 
 I could only hope for the best. Leaving his rooms, I 
 bent my steps homeward ; but ere I had traversed one 
 street, I observed the mosaic form of Mr Speedwell, on 
 the other side of the way, advancing in the direction 
 from which I came. 
 
 " Heaven help the unfortunate fly," said I to myself ; 
 " for there glides the remorseless spider ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WILIiURY HALL. 
 
 November had gone by, as also a considerable portion 
 of December ; and nino-oy London had assumed its 
 most dismal aspect. I do not wonder that foreigners 
 should affect to pity us on account of our climate, 
 always supposing that they have resided in one of our 
 large towns at the period of the winter solstice. There 
 is no finer or more enjoyable climate than that of Eng- 
 land, during the greater portion of the year ; and even 
 the winter is not so rigorous with us as it is in many 
 parts of the Continent. But winter, in country and in 
 town, bears a different aspect. In the first, it is beauti- 
 ful in its way, bracing, invigorating, and hilarious. In 
 the second it is raw, slushy, foggy, and oppressive. 
 Clean white snow, even when frost prevails, disappears 
 in London and the other large towns immediately 
 after a fall, and resolves itself into a disgusting slimy 
 plash, which penetrates the most cunningly devised 
 boot, and is equivalent to the essence of chilblains. 
 Then the heavy atmosphere drives down the smoke
 
 KORJIAN SINCLAIK. 247 
 
 issuing from a thousand chimneys, so that the very air 
 which you inhale is tainted with sulphurous fumes, and 
 you gasp with extreme discomfort as you grope your 
 way througli the fog. And then a thaw ! Eeader, did 
 you ever attempt to pass along the Strand during a 
 thaw ? I need not ask ; for if you have once essayed 
 such an exploit, you are not likely ever to forget it. 
 We must, in common charity, forgive the French, who 
 universally and unanimously accuse us of being nation- 
 ally afflicted by that mysterious disease, the spleen ; 
 which, as I understand it, is not exactly a liver-com- 
 plaint, but a land of chronic melancholy, induced by 
 the climatic influences : nay, there is a substratum of 
 truth in their averment ; for, unquestionably, what- 
 ever element of moroseness or irritability lurks in our 
 nature, is sure to find its full development under such 
 conditions as those which I have described. 
 
 I am not one of those painstaking individuals who 
 preserve notes of the varieties of temperature, or record 
 barometrical variations, and the prevailing currents of 
 the wind. I am but a poor physist, and an indifferent 
 metaphysician ; nevertheless, I have observed that the 
 great majority of stupid quarrels between friends and 
 members of the same family, of savage and slaugh- 
 terous reviews of unoffending authors, of attacks upon 
 the British constitution, of despairing prophecies of its 
 ruin, and of predictions that the world is to perish 
 v/ithin the limited period of six months, as also what 
 are called religious revivals, originate in the months of 
 November, December, or January. In February, the
 
 248 KORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 combative spirit is still great, but it is more lively and 
 elastic than before. Sullen abuse, dogmatic denuncia- 
 tion, and positive assertion, lapse into a sardonic tone ; 
 a symptom of amendment, which, in March, resolves 
 itself into irony. In April, we begin to jest, and symp- 
 toms of conciliation become apparent. In May, we 
 agree so far as we can, provided the breach be not irre- 
 parable, to merge differences and be friends, and to 
 drop all unnecessary discussion. In June, with the 
 exception of those exemplary patriots who sit in the 
 House of Commons, no human being concerns himself 
 with politics or polemics, but, following nature's sug- 
 gestion, applies himself to strawberries and claret-cup. 
 In July, old Father Thames, who is really a public 
 benefactor, most judiciously stinks both Lords and 
 Commons out of their magnificent palace ; and the 
 grouse, partridges, and pheasants of August, September, 
 and October, contribute largely to the safety of the 
 body politic, by preventing speculative legislation 
 during the period when they are attainable by the 
 sportsman. The cackling of the geese in ancient Eome 
 once saved the republic — the crowing of the muir-cock 
 on our northern hills may possibly have rescued Britain 
 from some impending but self-imposed calamity. 
 
 Sanguine as I was by temperament, I began to feel 
 a sense of weariness and desolation steal upon me. 
 The actual discomforts of my temporary home ap- 
 peared greater than they really were. I continued, 
 indeed, to work, but I did not work with the same 
 spirit as before, and the current of my ideas no longer
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 249 
 
 flowed rapidly along. One forenoon, while I was in 
 this cheerless mood, I received a visit from Carlton, 
 who was evidently afflicted by the like spirit of 
 ennui. 
 
 " Well, Sinclair," said he, after a few preliminary 
 remarks on the atrocious state of the weather, " I hope 
 you are satisfied with your choice of a lodging. Lively 
 street this, it must be confessed, though some say the 
 river foo; is not over-wholesome for the luno;s. No 
 want of music, though — there goes another barrel- 
 organ ! I wonder how you manage to work at all in 
 the midst of such a medley of discords." 
 
 " I admit that there is little to be said for my dis- 
 cretion in that respect. However, I shall make a 
 change when better weather comes, and till then I 
 must endure with patience." 
 
 "Better make a change just now. Do you know, 
 you look very jaded ; and if you don't take some re- 
 laxation, I prophesy that you will be in for a nervous 
 fever. Look here ! I am going down to the country 
 for the Christmas holidays, and I want to take you 
 along with me ; indeed, 1 have got a formal invitation 
 for you to that effect from my former guardian, Mr 
 Stanhope of Wilbury Hall. It is a charming place, 
 and there will be a pleasant party." 
 
 " Eeally, I do not think — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! Why should you insist upon becom- 
 ing a hermit ? Why, man, if you go on long this way, 
 you will stagnate down into a poor automaton, like 
 one of the old illuminating monks ! Trust to me. I
 
 250 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 shall make all the necessary arrangements, and we'll 
 start on Monday next." 
 
 " But I have some work on hand — " 
 
 " What of that ? Cannot you write in the country 
 as easily as in the town ? There is a splendid library 
 at Wilbury, and you can have it all to yourself. Come 
 — I see symptoms of relenting in your eye. You have 
 no idea of the miseries of a London Christmas, espe- 
 cially if spent in a lodging-house. You would be stifled 
 to death with the odour of turkey and mince-pies — 
 that is, when you went out of doors ; for, judging 
 from appearances, the excellent Mrs Lewson is not 
 likely to lush into such extravagances. Besides, I 
 have a personal motive in wishing you to go along 
 with nie." 
 
 "Well, since you say that, I shall avail myself of 
 Mr Stanhope's invitation." 
 
 " Bravo ' Now then, I shall be off to secure places 
 on the coach. Eecollect — Monday next. I'll send 
 you a note of the hour." 
 
 Early on the day appointed, Carlton and I ascended 
 as outside passengers the glorious " Defiance," which 
 in those times, when the railway system was yet in its 
 infancy, was the' pride and wonder of the road. Much 
 as our comfort has been enhanced by the traction of 
 what a modern poet has called " the resonant steam- 
 eagles," I am not sure that the new mode of locomotion 
 is so hilarious as the old. In a railway train you 
 profit little by the scenery — ^you dash so rapidly past 
 town and grange that you hardly have a glimpse of
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 251 
 
 their outline — and you are utterly precluded from the 
 grand old amusement of studying character on the 
 road. The stage-coach, on the contrary, carried you 
 into the very heart of the country ; gave you time to 
 enjoy the scenery ; brought under your notice many a 
 curious specimen of life and manners ; and enabled you, 
 if the coachman or guard were disposed to be commu- 
 nicative, as was usually the case, to form a tolerably 
 accurate estimate of the peculiarities and history of the 
 neighbourhood. But it is of no use instituting com- 
 parisons between the living and the dead. Stage- 
 coaches, except in a few very remote districts, are as 
 defunct as the hand-loom or spinning-wheel, and will 
 ere long become mere matters of tradition. I some- 
 times wonder what was the fate of all those a;oro;eous 
 " Defiances," " Eclipses," " Lightnings," " Rattlers," 
 and " Sohos ? " Did the indignant proprietors when 
 they found that they were fairly beaten oflf the road, 
 and totally unable to compete with the screaming me- 
 tallic competitors, bring together their defeated chariots, 
 and sacrifice them as a magnificent holocaust ? Or 
 have they been consigned to the infamy and dis- 
 grace of a back-shed, therein to remain until they rot 
 to pieces, being tenanted in the mean time by cocks 
 and hens, for lack of better company ? 
 
 No sooner had we passed the London suburbs, than 
 the atmo.sphere became clear as by magic ; and on 
 either hand was opened up an expanse of landscape, 
 winter-clad indeed, but enlivened by the rays of the 
 sun. On we went, past stately mansions just visible
 
 252 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 in the midst of old spreading trees, through villages 
 ■where many a smiling and happy face was seen at 
 door and window ; the iron-shod hoofs of the horses 
 ringing clearly as they galloped along the frozen road, 
 till we reached the station for relay in the centre of 
 some pretty market-town. There were visible active 
 preparations for the coming Christmas. Most of the 
 shops were already decked out and garnished with 
 branches of holly, the scarlet berries contrasting gaily 
 with the dark-green glossy foliage ; jolly Boniface, the 
 apt representative of good cheer, came forth with his 
 jug of grand old ale to administer to the wants of the 
 passengers ; while bands of children, rosy with health 
 and exercise, followed each other down the long slides, 
 unrebuked by parochial severity. Those who main- 
 tain — and there are many who do so — that our country 
 is not now entitled to its old appellation of " Merry 
 England," must either possess a strange obliquity of 
 vision, or their spheres of observation must be limited 
 to the stifling courts and crowded purlieus of great 
 cities, and the haunts of misery and crime. Labour, 
 when not unduly tasked and overweighted, is no im- 
 pediment to mirth. Even in the busy workshops of 
 Manchester and Birmingham few sullen faces are to be 
 seen, unless indeed at a time when some one of the 
 great springs of national industry has received such 
 material injury that labour is suspended, or when the 
 capitalist and the workman have been forced into un- 
 natural collision. On such occasions it is true that 
 general gloom prevails ; for how can we expect that
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 253 
 
 men should be mirthful or light of heart when poverty- 
 is staring them in the face — when their wives and 
 children are suffering from lack of food, or starving in 
 an inclement season — when the strong arm is com- 
 pelled to be idle, and the spirit is too proud to brook 
 the degradation of soliciting or accepting alms ? There 
 are certain conditions, and they are not confined to 
 the poor, when care, or sorrow, or anguish, effectually 
 banish mirth ; and it may possibly be that, in a 
 state of society so artificial and complicated as ours — 
 when the competitive principle is actively at work, and 
 each new discovery, though it may ultimately prove 
 beneficial, has the immediate eflFect of displacing labour 
 — such conditions are more frequent of occurrence than 
 they were in the older and more simple times. But I 
 do not believe that thereby habitual moroseness has 
 been engendered. I do not believe — and my own ob- 
 servation leads me to quite a contrary conclusion — 
 that the character of the people of England, regarded 
 in the mass, has become materially altered, and that 
 their once noted cheerfulness has been superseded by a 
 sullen and vindictive spirit. I know that the English- 
 man hates tyranny and oppression of whatever kind — 
 will not tamely submit to it, but will do battle for his 
 rights to the death. Hence it is not wonderful if, 
 when it appears to him that such tyranny does exist, 
 and is, moreover, either expressly sanctioned or tacitly 
 permitted by the law — whether that tyranny be the 
 undue influence of capital exerted to depress labour, or 
 the withholding of rights and privileges to which he
 
 254 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 considers himself justly entitled — his language should 
 often be vehement, and his attitude sometimes mena- 
 cing and defiant. It is a great error — and it has ere 
 now proved a lamentable one — to infer from this that 
 the English people are discontented with their poli- 
 tical constitution, or that they are prone to sudden and 
 violent change. It is the interest of demagogues to 
 represent them as sucli — to rear up imaginary griev- 
 ances, or to magnify small ones into great ; but I am 
 convinced, that throughout the length and breadth of 
 England there exists a sound and hearty spirit, which, 
 if it be not unwisely tampered with or abused for mere 
 party purposes, will defy the utmost efforts of radical- 
 ism or infidelity to overpower. 
 
 In the course of bur journey I received from Carlton 
 a sketch of the family at Wilbury Hall. Mr Stanliope 
 had, in early life, served with some distinction in the 
 army ; but, at the close of the war, he withdrew from 
 the military profession, married, and had ever since 
 devoted himself to the management of his consider- 
 able estate, and the active discharge of the duties of 
 a country gentleman. He was now a widower, vsdth a 
 son and daughter. 
 
 " As for his manners and opinions," said George, " I 
 shall leave you to judge for yourself. All I shall say 
 is, that he has been very kind to me, and took an in- 
 finite deal of trouble in the management of my affairs 
 when I was a minor. I doubt not that our American 
 friend Mr Ewins — whom I trust we shall fall in with 
 after he has completed his observations in the north —
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 255 
 
 would consider him rather behind the world in his 
 notions ; and so perhaps he is, for you can hardly 
 expect an old English squire, living amongst his ances- 
 tral oaks, and cultivating his Sabine farm, to keep pace 
 with the headlong velocity of modern movement. For 
 my own part, I think it is a blessing to the country 
 that such men should be found forming the nucleus of 
 a large and independent party ; otherwise ministers 
 would be too prone — heaven knows they are j)rone 
 enough ! — to yield to what is cantingly termed the 
 pressure from without, and to adopt, as part of the 
 national policy, every scheme which is suggested by 
 the interest or selfishness of the manufacturers. But 
 here we are at the last stage, where the carriage from 
 Wilbury is to meet us." 
 
 I never was good at architectural description, so I 
 shall spare the reader any attempt at sketching the 
 exterior of Wilbury Hall, simply inserting the follow- 
 ing extract from the Beauties of England, which is 
 sufficient for my purpose. " Sir Dudley Stanhope 
 erected the present mansion, which was completed for 
 his residence about the year 1616. It is a venerable 
 edifice, but singular in its form, which is an irregular 
 polygon. The upper windows command some fine 
 views over the valley and adjacent country." A re- 
 spectable antiquity for a country-house, dating back to 
 the reign of James I. and the days of Somerset and 
 Villiers. 
 
 We were received by Mr Stanhope himself, a tall, 
 handsome, florid man, whose cordiality removed at
 
 256 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 once tlie awkwardness wliich usually attends introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 "George Carlton!" lie cried, fairly embracing niy 
 friend, " Welcome back to Wilbury Hall ! Why, boy, 
 it is five long years since we saw you last ; a great cut 
 out of life, as you will know when you come to be as 
 old as I am. And this is your friend, Mr Sinclair ? 
 Welcome, sir, welcome ! Why, George, what a great 
 strapping fellow you have become ! Travel seems to 
 have agreed with you ; but we shan't let you go abroad 
 again, wandering over the face of the earth as if you 
 had no home of your own. You must settle down 
 among us ; become a country gentleman, and do your 
 duty to your country. We want young blood to take 
 the place of us old fellows in these queer times. But 
 come — let me show you to the drawing-room. I dare- 
 say you will hardly recognise my little Amy ; she was 
 a mere child when you left us." 
 
 So saying, Mr StanhojDC led the way up the stair- 
 case, and we entered a spacious and elegantly arranged 
 apartment, in which several ladies were seated. It 
 was now past sunset, and the room was lighted only 
 by a blazing fire of logs, that threw out a ruddy glow. 
 Ruddy as it was, it hardly could have accounted for 
 the very deep flush upon Carlton's cheek, as, in obe- 
 dience to her father's call, a graceful girl came timidly 
 forward and extended her hand. I saw before me the 
 model from which Carlton drew — the Eeal of his Ideal 
 — the Saxon type of beauty — the sweet face and sunny 
 locks of Saint Agnes.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 257 
 
 I have sometimes envied the coolness and self-pos- 
 session of those gentlemen who, fortified by long prac- 
 tice, can enter a drawing-room, having no previous 
 knowledge of its inmates, with as much sang-froid 
 and indifference as if they were lounging into a box 
 at the opera, and commence a conversation without 
 exhibiting the slightest embarrassment. Yet, after all, 
 I doubt whether they are to be envied, for I apprehend 
 that such demeanour must be the result either of re- 
 markable self-complacency, or of a callousness of heart 
 and imagination. It argues the absence, I think, of 
 that chivalrous feeling towards the fair sex, which, in 
 the middle ages, was carried to so extreme a length 
 that, in the words of an old writer of romance, " a 
 true knight should stand more awed and abated in the 
 presence of beauty, than if he were summoned before 
 the throne of the most puissant emperor of the world." 
 Be that as it may, I, who had mingled little with 
 English society, felt bashful and diffident, and was 
 not sorry when the dressing bell summoned us to our 
 several apartments. 
 
 When I again entered the drawing-room, I found 
 a large company assembled, amongst whom I was 
 surprised to recognise Sir George Smoothly, whose ac- 
 quaintance I had made on board of the Rhenish steamer. 
 The Earonet was pleased to favour me with a warm 
 pressure of the hand, was particular in his inquiries as 
 to my success in London, and not less so regarding the 
 origin of my acquaintance with Mr Stanhope ; but I 
 had not forgotten Carlton's admonitory hint, and re- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 ii58 NOIlMiVN SINCLAIR. 
 
 stricted myself to such general replies as conveyed 
 but little information. 
 
 Dinner was served in a spacious old hall, panelled 
 with oak, and hung round with ancestial pictures ; and 
 the business of that important meal was conducted 
 with that quiet regularity and unostentatious good 
 taste which are the characteristics of a well-governed 
 household. I did not feel myself very pleasantly situ- 
 ated, for my neighbour on the right was an elderly 
 lady of swarthy complexion, whose immense turban 
 gave her the look of a Turkish Imaun ; whilst on the 
 other side I was flanked by a gentleman of some forty 
 years of age, of Herculean dimensions, and elaborately 
 got up, who nevertheless wore an air of extreme list- 
 lessness, and did not seem by aiiy means inclined to 
 enter into conversation. Not so the lady, who, per- 
 haps guessing that a neophyte was delivered into her 
 hands, began incontinently to talk. 
 
 " Have you been in this part of the country before, 
 sir? 
 
 " No, madam ; I never had that pleasure." 
 
 " Ah 1 I can assure you it is anything but a pleasure 
 to those who know it best ! You can have no idea 
 what a terrible sort of people there are hereabouts — 
 so corrupted, so wicked, so ungrateful, and so disre- 
 spectful to their superiors — I mean, of course, the lower 
 orders. It sometimes positively makes me weep to 
 think of their iniquity ! " And she sipped a glass of 
 sherry. 
 
 " Indeed ! that is a very bad account of the neigh-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 259 
 
 bourhoocl," said I. " Pray is there any special reason 
 for their beino; so abandoned ? " 
 
 " I cannot exactly say," replied the lady with a 
 portentous quiver of her turban. " Some think it is 
 because they are too well off, and some think it is 
 the natural growth of orioinal sin, which the regular 
 clergy take no pains to keep down ; but for my part, I 
 think," — and here she lowered her voice — " that it is 
 owing in a great measure to the Jesuits ! " 
 
 " To the Jesuits, madam ? " said I. 
 
 " Yes, to the Jesuits, sir ! Are you not aware that 
 they absolutely swarm around us, and that they in- 
 sinuate themselves into all kinds of families for the 
 purpose of making converts ? I shudder to tell you 
 that I have detected two in my own household. One 
 was the gardener, a Scotchman ; but I soon found /«'m 
 out. Would you believe it, sir, he absolutely refused 
 to eat pork upon a Friday, and admitted that he did 
 not believe in the Book of Common Prayer ? " 
 
 " But might not that, madam, be the effect of national 
 prejudice and education ? I happen to be a native of 
 Scotland, and I must confess that, though I honour and 
 adopt the prayer-book, I do not sympathise with the 
 Saxon partiality for pork." 
 
 " You surely do not mean to tell me, sir, that the 
 Scotch people don't use the prayer-book in their 
 churches ? " 
 
 "Unfortunately, madam, they do not." 
 
 " Then they must all be Jesuits, Unitarians, or some- 
 thing else that is equally shocking ! "
 
 260 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " No, madam ; they are simply Presbyterians." 
 
 " Yon don't say so ! I suppose they are a sort of 
 Plymouth brethren ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. But what further discoveries did yon 
 make in your household ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, the other misguided creature was the 
 laundry-maid, who seemed a good, quiet, inoffensive 
 girl from Devonshire. I found her one evening in the 
 kitchen confessing herself to an Irish groom, who, I 
 am perfectly satisfied, was a priest in disguise ! " 
 
 " That was startling, doubtless. Did you find her 
 on her knees before him ? " 
 
 "No — I rather think he was on his knees before her 
 — but it amounts to the same thing." 
 
 The Imaun was becoming a bore, but I could not 
 shake her off. As her tongue was loosened (she never 
 refused champagne) she launched out into all manner 
 of complaints touching the backsliding and iniquities 
 of the time. She told me that she was patroness of a 
 female society for the propagation of flannel and cheap 
 tracts, the former beina; withheld unless the catechumen 
 could give a minute abstract of the latter. She in- 
 veighed against the parish clergyman, whom she accused 
 of thwarting her efforts by beseeching her to temper 
 her zeal with a little discretion, which she considered a 
 clear proof that he also was at heart a Jesuit ; and she 
 finally began a lecture on the approaching millennium, 
 taking for her text-book the fifty-third treatise of an 
 eminent dissenting divine in London, who had made a 
 fabulous sum of money by his interpretations of the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 261 
 
 Apocalypse, each new brochure being a direct contra- 
 diction of that which preceded it. I was becoming 
 utterly bewildered by the woman's talk, when my 
 neighbour on the other hand, observing my distress, 
 kindly began a conversation which enabled me to get 
 rid of the persecution. A more gentlemanly person 
 than Mr Lumley — for such was the name of my new 
 acquaintance — I have rarely encountered ; but the effect 
 which his fine figure and expressive countenance were 
 calculated to produce, was somewhat marred by an 
 affectation of extreme delicacy and langour. He looked 
 as Achilles mio;ht have done when disguised at the 
 court of Lycomedes ; and he rarely spoke above his 
 breath, as if the mere exertion of talking was too much 
 for his physical energies. 
 
 "I am sure," said he, after a few preliminary re- 
 marks which had the desired effect of relieving me 
 from the attacks of the Imaun, who then fastened upon 
 another victim, " you will pardon me for venturing to 
 interrupt a tete-a-tete of so interesting and confidential 
 a kind. But I am no stranger to the peculiarities of 
 the inspired lady, and I really began to tremble for you 
 as she advanced to the battle of Armageddon." 
 
 " On the contrary, I am most grateful to you for the 
 service," said I, laughing ; " I must acknowledge that 
 my patience was on the point of giving way. I am 
 curious to see her husband." 
 
 "So should I be," said Mr Lumley ; "but no man 
 of woman born was ever venturous enough to approach 
 Miss Bootle with amorous or matrimonial intentions.
 
 2G2 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 She is a fine specimen of the ancient British virgin — 
 very good-hearted, very domineering ; sensible on some 
 points, on others as fantastical as a magpie. For the 
 rest, I hold the old lady (whom I acknowledge to be a 
 relative of my own) in some veneration not unmingled 
 with fear. You have doubtless observed that she is a 
 kind of Titus Gates in petticoats, brimful of information 
 regarding a new popish plot, which is to shake this 
 devoted kingdom to its centre, repress all liberty of con- 
 science, and materially enhance the market-price of fish, 
 sackcloth, and frankincense. Had she lived in the 
 reign of Charles the Second, when Shaftesbury was in 
 the ascendant, she would easily have found a spouse. 
 Dangerfield or Bedloe would have proposed to her at 
 once, on the strength of her Protestant revelations." 
 
 This was said with so much quiet humour and comi- 
 cal nonchalance, that I could not forbear asking him 
 to favour me, being an absolute stranger, with some 
 account of others of the company. 
 
 " You pay me far too high a compliment," said Mr 
 Lumley, "in supposing that I can sketch character; for 
 I am the laziest, dullest, and least observant of man- 
 kind, until you force me into action. I like claret and 
 kief- — you know what kief means ? — absolute repose ; 
 and I have a high apjDreciation of eiderdown. I read 
 the other day of some country near Persia — I forget 
 the name of the particular district — where, when you 
 want to have a siesta, you have only to send out a slave 
 or two to shake the peach-trees, and straightway you are 
 supplied with an odorous carpet of blossom a foot thick,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 263 
 
 on which you may repose and dream, as if in early Eden. 
 That would quite suit me. I am emulous of the sloth ; 
 notwithstanding which, when I get into the saddle, I 
 flatter myself that I can astonish the light-weights ; 
 and I own that I am not despicable at rackets. But 
 these are mere gladiatorial matters, and I ought to 
 apologise for my egotism ; — try this entree^ it is of 
 decided merit — and I shall be happy to give you any 
 information in my power ; the rather, because I under- 
 stand you are the friend of Mr Carlton, who ought, one 
 day or other, to take a high position." 
 
 "I have not had much experience of English society," 
 said I ; " but one thing which has struck me rather 
 forcibly is the inclination of accomplished and wealthy 
 men to allow the public duties which they are fitted and 
 even bound by then- position to undertake, to pass into 
 the hands of persons, who, whatever may be their talent, 
 are in reality but political adventurers." 
 
 " You had better say that to Carlton, who is still 
 young enough to reform, and whose moral fibre is not 
 relaxed. But are you not rather too hard upon adven- 
 turers ? It is a common saying that a man in this 
 country may aspire to any position ; and if it be true 
 that there is such a thing as political science — a point 
 with regard to which I express no opinion — it would 
 be hard to exclude any who profess to have mastered 
 its details. But I really cannot afford to hazard my 
 reputation as a poco-curante by talking in the strain of 
 Seneca. You desired some information regarding the 
 guests. Whom shall I begin with ? "
 
 264 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 "Ah! then — Place aux dames ! That gaily-dressed 
 lady seated next our host is Lady Lorimer, a person of 
 prodigious scientific acquirements. She corresponds 
 with Buckland, is deep in geology, and has cultivated 
 her talents to the utmost in the somewhat incongruous 
 departments of millinery and mathematics." 
 
 " A formidable lady ! " 
 
 "Yes ; to the uninitiated. Of all imaginable bores 
 the most grievous is a Preadamite woman ! I observe 
 that she is even now holding forth to Sir John Hawkins 
 upon the fossiliferous strata, a subject not exactly suited 
 to the comprehension of the agricultural mind." 
 
 " Pray, go on with your exposition." 
 
 " Then there are two Misses Carrington. They sing 
 well, dance well, have a turn for acting i^roverhes, and 
 do not object to a flirtation. However, I would not 
 recommend you to fall in love with either of them, 
 unless you are a Tnillionaire, either present or in pros- 
 pect. Their mamma, who is somewhere on this side of 
 the table, has some outrageous notions about settle- 
 ments." 
 
 " I shall observe your caution, and regard them as 
 beings of another sphere ! " 
 
 " 0, they can be quite terrestrial when they please, 
 I assure you ; and even exceedingly condescending. 
 They love incense as dearly as the Peris who subsist 
 entirely upon odours. Then there is Miss Stanhope, a 
 very sweet girl indeed — pretty, gentle, and affectionate. 
 By the way, your friend Carlton appears to be making
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 2G5 
 
 himself wondroiisly agreeable. Handsome dog ! If I 
 were in love with Amy now, I should feel extremely 
 jealons ; but fortunately I have no energy." 
 
 "And the other lady?" 
 
 " 0, that is Miss Stanhope's great friend, a Miss 
 Beaton. I hope you admire her, for she is a decided 
 beauty, and what is more, a very charming girl. Her 
 father is a London merchant and Member of Parlia- 
 ment — one of the rising men of the day ; by repute ai 
 sort of city Croesus, bold, speculative, and enterprising. 
 It is said that Peel has a high opinion of his judg- 
 ment, and consults him on financial matters." 
 
 The appearance of Miss Beaton certainly justified 
 the eulogy. Above the middle height, with her lustrous 
 black hair braided over a queenly brow, and a com- 
 plexion so delicate that the colour went and came like 
 sunlight on a bed of roses ; deep dark violet eyes, and 
 a grace of gesture unparalleled — I thought that I had 
 never gazed upon a creature more lovely and benign. 
 I cannot tell why it should be so, but there are some 
 women by no means wanting in charms, whom we 
 cannot, by any exertion of fancy, disassociate from 
 ordinary life. They belong essentially and entirely to 
 our generation, such as it is, have no place in our re- 
 veries of the past, nor do their shadows appear in the 
 enchanted world of our dreams. But others there are 
 — and Mary Beaton was such — whom we cannot behold 
 without either identifying them with some one of the 
 splendid creations of Shakespeare, or assigning them a 
 place in the scenes of chivalry and romance, in which,
 
 2G6 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 ever and anon, we are fain to take refuge from the 
 dull monotony of our existence. 
 
 Not long ago I heard an eminent philosopher deliver 
 an address to a youthful audience, in the course of 
 which he exhorted them to put away from their minds 
 all romantic notions, and forego the perusal of all 
 works of an imaginative nature, as these could only 
 tend to weaken the intellect and to withdraw the mind 
 from the contemplation of worthier themes. I dissent 
 utterly from such a doctrine. Stifle the imagination, 
 and you take from the inner man all the light and 
 glory and vivid charm of existence — you make him 
 colour-blind, unsympathetic, passionless, and repulsive 
 — you rob him of the heart of flesh, and substitute an 
 organ of stone. Let science have its place and prece- 
 dence, but do not ask us to forego the pure delights of 
 fancy or the kindly influences of poesy ; for these are 
 to the mind what the silent dews of night are to the 
 thirsty earth — they cover its bare surface with verdure, 
 they stimulate the plant, and prepare the bud to ex- 
 pand under the eye of morn into a beautiful and odorous 
 flower. It may be well that we should uncover our 
 heads with reverence at the name of Newton ; but 
 will any one have the hardihood to deny that Shakes- 
 peare and Scott have contributed more largely to the 
 sum of human enjoyment and intellectual culture than 
 the whole venerable phalanx of the men of science and 
 discovery ? 
 
 Why do I write thus ? Simply to express ray re- 
 membrance, still vivid, of the hour when the conviction
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 267 
 
 first dawned upon me that romance and reality are not 
 things entirely separated and irreconcilable— that the 
 former is not a mere abstraction, but a subtile and 
 potent essence, capable of animating, embalming, puri- 
 fying, and sustaining us through our daily pilgrimage 
 and toil.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TABLE-TALK. 
 
 " As for the gentlemen," continued Mr Lumley, " there 
 is really little to be said. You cannot expect to find 
 such variety of character at a Christmas party in a 
 country house as would suffice for the requirements of 
 a first-rate comedy ; and I rather think I shall leave 
 you to form your own conclusions, more especially as 
 the ladies are about to withdraw." 
 
 After-dinner conversation varies much according to 
 the usual occupations and habits of the company. If 
 you are doomed to take your claret with a set of sport- 
 ing men, you must make up your mind to hear a great 
 deal on the subject of horse-flesh and runs Avith the 
 Pytchley and Quorn. If lawyers predominate, the 
 chances are that they begin to talk shop, and become 
 exceedingly tiresome by discussing knotty points of 
 law with as much volubility and keenness as they 
 possibly could exhibit at the bar. Manufacturers 
 converse of markets, and trade, and samples, and 
 improvements in machinery ; while country squires
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 269 
 
 naturally become plaintive about crops or enthusiastic 
 about over-fed oxen. Literary men deal in pungent 
 anecdotes about their fellow-labourers in the vineyard, 
 and canvass their shortcomings with a gusto which 
 ought to convince the most sceptical of their zeal for 
 the purity of the profession. The company at Wil- 
 bury, however, was of a mixed kind, though the agri- 
 cultural interest predominated, and the conversation 
 gradually took a political turn. 
 
 The country was at that time in a state of consider- 
 able excitement, resulting from various causes. In the 
 first place there had been great depression and conse- 
 quent distress both among the agricultural and the 
 manufacturing population ; and that, almost as a matter 
 of course, had led to agrarian outrage and urban strikes. 
 There were reports from several counties of rick-burn- 
 ings so numerous as to justify the belief that there 
 existed a deliberate scheme of destruction. In Wales, 
 gangs of miscreants disguised in women's clothes, and 
 calling themselves " Rebecca and her daughters," 
 assembled nightly for the demolition of the turnpikes. 
 Chartism was very rampant and even alarming ; and 
 the Anti-corn-law League was just then beginning to 
 make a considerable noise, though it did not succeed 
 in engamne; the entire confidence of the masses. The 
 minister of the day, Sir Eobert Peel, was then cau- 
 tiously and almost furtively taking the initiative steps 
 for making vast alterations in the commercial policy 
 of Britain ; thereby exciting no little jealousy and 
 apprehension among a large section of the country
 
 270 NORM.VN SINCLAIR. 
 
 party, who, though open to conviction had a matured 
 scheme of policy been laid before them, objected to be 
 either coerced or led blindfold. Passive obedience has 
 long ago been exploded as a principle between subject 
 and monarch ; but here was a minister who not only 
 expected but exacted it from his followers, and was 
 notoriously irascible at the slightest symptom of hesi- 
 tation. I am not, I trust, insensible to the many good 
 qualities of that distinguished statesman, nor shall I 
 even question the abstract propriety of the commercial 
 system which he latterly advocated with success ; but 
 I cannot accord to him the praise of having been a 
 skilful tactician, seeing that his conduct was such as 
 gradually to alienate from himself the confidence of 
 the party whom he aspired to lead. A tortuous or 
 underhand policy, however speciously vindicated, has 
 never found favour in the eyes of English gentlemen. 
 Plausible reasons alone will not content them. They 
 must be satisfied that the arguments adduced in justi- 
 fication of any important measure are such as have 
 really operated upon the conviction of the speaker. 
 And hence it is that the speeches of lawyers, however 
 eloquent or ingenious they may be, rarely make much 
 impression upon the House of Commons ; for extreme 
 plausibility, which is the chief aim of the practised 
 pleader, always begets a doubt as to the sincerity of 
 his conviction. 
 
 Other circumstances, of a totally different nature, 
 caused at that time much excitement among the 
 country gentlemen. The growth of the railways.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 271 
 
 regarded at first rather with curiosity than suspicion, 
 had been progressing for several years. Important 
 towns, great seats of manufacture and marts of trade, 
 had been brought into more intimate connection by 
 the locomotive engine ; and trunk lines to convey 
 passengers and expedite traffic from one end of the 
 kingdom to the other were now in the course of con- 
 struction. The necessity for, at least the great advan- 
 tage of such communication being admitted, the move- 
 ment so far was considered a good and wholesome one. 
 It was calculated to benefit the labourer, the mechanics, 
 and the iron- master — it opened a new field, and ajjpa- 
 reutly a favourable one, for the investment at home 
 of capital which otherwise might have been squandered 
 or lost in foreign speculation or loan — and to the 
 tourist and traveller it promised advantages, which a 
 few years before woiild have been regarded as equally 
 fabulous with the mode of transport by means of 
 magical carpets so frequently referred to in the Arabian 
 Nights Entertainments. Here and there, indeed, 
 some great landed proprietor, the sanctity of whose 
 parks or the privacy of whose domain was to be vio- 
 lated by the screaming engine, made fierce opposition 
 to the lines ; but the directors, justly conceiving that 
 human squires would not prove more inexorable than 
 the Colchian dragon, took occasion to administer such 
 copious draughts of the aurum potabile as disarmed 
 the hostility of their opponents. 
 
 But, as at the Californian or Australian dio-OTucrs. 
 the discovery in a new locality of a single nugget of
 
 272 NORSrAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 gold instantly creates the rush of a thousand despera- 
 does towards the spot, so did the success of those 
 early railways, and the high price which their shares 
 commanded in the market, stimulate the cupidity of 
 the British public, and transport them utterly beyond 
 the boundaries of reason and of prudence. Trunk 
 communication, it was confidently asserted, was not 
 sufficient, even with the aid of branches which might 
 subsequently be made, for the pressing wants of the 
 country. The system so developed must go on, and 
 that immediately, until Britain should be covered by a 
 vast network of railways. To lag behind when others 
 were pushing forward was a palpable folly and a posi- 
 tive crime — to let capital remain idle when it could be 
 so usefully employed, was next thing to insanity. The 
 true Dorado which Raleigh had crossed the ocean to 
 seek for and explore, was at last discovered to be our 
 native English soil. 
 
 The lawyers scented the prey from afar, and chuckled 
 gloatingly at the prospect of unlimited fees. Engineers 
 by the hundred sprang up into life and being, like the 
 stones which Deucaleon hurled over his shoulder. Pro- 
 jectors mapped out the country, and compiled outrage- 
 ous advertisements. Traffic-takers betook themselves 
 to the practical study of the whole art of lying. Men, 
 whose entire worldly property did not exceed fifty 
 pounds, or who were positively worth less than nothing, 
 contracted engagements for thousands, in the full confi- 
 dence that, long before payment was required, they 
 could dispose of their scrip at a profit. Talk of rou-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 273 
 
 lette or rouge-et-noir ! Continental gambling shrunk 
 into insignificance Avlien compared with the magnitude 
 of English Eaihvay hazard ! 
 
 Railways, however, cannot be constructed without 
 ground on which to lay them down ; and many pro- 
 prietors, taking alarm at the extent of the mania, and 
 perhaps not feeling quite satisfied as to the sufficiency 
 of the security tendered, were imwilling that their 
 lands should be bisected and cut up, and would not 
 even allow the projectors to make a preliminary sur- 
 vey. But the crafty engineering staff was not to be so 
 baffled. What they could not take by force they were 
 resolute to compass by guile ; and accordingly they 
 made their way over the country in all manner of dis- 
 guises, attracting as little attention as possible when 
 noting down their observations ; or, when challenged 
 as trespassers, abandoning their design by day to renew 
 it by night with aid of moon or lantern. Many strange 
 stories were told of encounters that had taken place 
 under such circumstances ; but on the whole it was 
 generally allowed that the surveyors had the best of it, 
 their superior astuteness enabling them to throw dust 
 in the eyes of the stolid watchmen. 
 
 " So it is actually proposed to make a railway from 
 Goatshead to Ditciiington," said Sir John Hawkins, 
 a burly representative of the order of baronets. " That 
 is really too bad ! There is no call whatever for 
 such a line, and it will cut up both our properties. 
 Stanhope. I don't know what you may be inclined to 
 VOL. I. s
 
 274 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 do, but I am determined to oppose it, even though I 
 should be compelled to go to the House of Peers." 
 
 " Well, I suppose there can be no doubt of their 
 intentions," said Mr Stanhope. " They made applica- 
 tion to me — quite civilly, I must say — for permission 
 to take a survey; but as I am as much against the 
 line as you are, I thought it my duty to refuse." 
 
 '' Quite riglit ! There is no standing the impudence 
 of those fellows. What title have they to ask Parlia- 
 ment to compel me to surrender the land which my 
 family have possessed since the reign of Henry the 
 Fifth, for the purpose of trundling along their bales of 
 cotton and calico ? Have they not a canal already, and 
 is that not sufficient for their wants ? I tell you what. 
 Stanhope ; I don't like the posture of things at all. It 
 appears to me that Peel is systematically playing into 
 the hands of the manufacturers, and using our support 
 in the mean time to throw us ultimately overboard." 
 
 " Nay, nay! " said Sir George Smoothly ; " You must 
 not judge Sir Eobert too harshly. It cannot be denied 
 that he is a very sagacious man. That was a wonder- 
 ful idea of his advising us to attend to the registers." 
 
 " I can see nothing wonderful in it," said Sir John 
 Hawkins. " It was sound common sense, to be sure ; 
 but Peel had not the credit of originality. The advice 
 was first given to the party by Alison, and Peel adopted 
 it verbatim." 
 
 " That shows his great talent for appropriation," said 
 Sir George. " Of what use is a good idea unless it be 
 practically enforced?"
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 275 
 
 "Appropriation? humph!" said Sir John, "I think 
 we are hkely to see that talent exhibited in still greater 
 force. There's the Income-tax — do you think he has 
 behaved fairly to us in regard to that ? I was one of 
 those, and I am not ashamed to confess it, who cheer- 
 fully consented to its being laid on, on the distinct 
 understanding that it was only to be a temporary im- 
 I)ost. For that we had Peel's own express assurance. 
 Well — here it is still hanging like a millstone round 
 our necks, and, for anything I can see, it will be made 
 a permanent burden." 
 
 " But you must admit," urged Sir George, " that it 
 is a fair tax in principle." 
 
 " I admit nothing of the kind," replied the indig- 
 nant Sir John. " It presses far more heavily upon the 
 land-owners than on any other class. Don't you see 
 that while we are taxed on rental, the manufacturers 
 are taxed on profits only, and are allowed to make their 
 own returns ? But what is the use of arguing ? It is 
 quite clear to me that the tendency of modern legisla- 
 tion is to abolish indirect taxation, and to raise the 
 whole annual revenue from realised property. I hope 
 you like that prospect, Sir G-eorge! I, on the con- 
 trary, am old-fashioned enough to regard it as delibe- 
 rate confiscation." 
 
 " We have not come to that yet," said Mr Stanhope ;. 
 " and I should be sorry to think so hardly of Sir Eobert 
 Peel as you do, Hawkins. Certainly he has exhibited 
 no leaning towards the Manchester men, whose organ- 
 ised agitation is becomino; rather formidable."
 
 276 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 "Wait a little," said Sir John; " before you and I 
 are much older we shall see him on terms of friendly 
 relation with Cobden. Mark my words — he will drive 
 our party to a split, and then take up with the Eadicals." 
 
 " Do you really think so. Sir John?" said Dr Wayles, 
 the vicar of the parish, a quiet gentlemanly man of 
 singularly mild demeanour. " I have a very great 
 horror of the Eadical party, who, I have observed, are 
 for the most part Unitarians — as hostile to the Church 
 as were the Independents in the days of Cromwell, and 
 much more depraved in their creed, since we cannot 
 admit them to be Christians. Surely Sir Robert Peel 
 can never sink so low as to fraternise with men like 
 these." 
 
 " Wait till the Jews get into Parliament, Doctor," 
 said Sir John, " and you will see something to astonish 
 you." 
 
 " I trust such a thing will never come to pass in my 
 day," said Dr Wayles ; " even Cromwell would have 
 shrunk from such profanation." 
 
 " True, Doctor ; but old Noll was a very different 
 sort of man from your modern demagogues. Eegicide 
 and usurper as he was, he had a stout English heart ; 
 and Avould sooner have parted with his right hand 
 than allow the country to be humiliated in the eyes of 
 foreigners ; whereas these Manchester fellows think 
 of nothing but trade and profits." 
 
 " Trade and profits," said Sir George Smoothly, "are 
 very excellent things. It is our principle at the Trea- 
 sury to give every possible encouragement to trade,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 277 
 
 and to lighten the weight that presses on the springs 
 of industry." 
 
 " Ay ! " grunted Sir John. " It strikes me that I 
 have heard that sentence uttered in another place. 
 Whenever people talk about the springs of industry, 
 and that sort of metaphorical nonsense, I know that 
 they are meditating mischief, and that it is full time 
 for the country gentlemen to look to the safety of 
 their purses. As for those fellows who make a pre- 
 tence of shouting for economy, they are a pack of 
 mean hucksters, who grudge every shilling that is paid 
 for the maintenance of the army, and would reduce the 
 navy to a mere skeleton. I read a speech delivered by 
 one of their leading men the other day, in which he 
 asserted that war would henceforth be an utter impos- 
 sibility, and that the reign of peace would be inau- 
 gurated by the free interchange of commodities." 
 
 " Doctrines of that sort," said Mr Stanhope, " have 
 been broached before now ; and it is curious to observe 
 that they have always been most boldly enunciated, and 
 greedily received, just on the eve of some terrible con- 
 vulsion of society. Peace and fraternity were the pro- 
 fessed leading ideas of the originators of the great 
 French Revolution ; but the results were war, anarchy, 
 and ruin." 
 
 " Ay," said Dr Wayles, " and France has never yet 
 recovered from the shock. Great she may be here- 
 after ; but her greatness cannot be abiding until she 
 has done penance for the awful crime committed on 
 that day when the nation deliberately denied their God,
 
 278 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 and worshipped at the feet of a harlot. Religious fana- 
 ticism is a friglitful thing ; but far worse is it when 
 all religious faith has disappeared from the land, when 
 the altars are broken down, the sanctuaries profaned, 
 and the cry of j^rayer no longer ascends to heaven ! 
 Then, indeed, the divine Spirit ceases to contend with 
 the madness and impiety of man. The messengers of 
 the Most High are recalled, as when the voice was 
 heard saying — 'Let us depart from hence,' in the 
 temple of Jerusalem, when that guilty city was totter- 
 ing to its fall ; and in their place come the demons of 
 lust, and rapine, and revenge ; and God's fair world is 
 made a field of slaughter and desolation ! " 
 
 " Really now. Doctor," said Sir George Smoothly ; 
 "you allow your zeal for the Church to carry you 
 somewhat too far. We must do something to conci- 
 liate the Dissenters — that every one admits to be a 
 necessity ; and if there should be a paring do\vn of 
 benefices, and an abolition of church-rates, why " 
 
 " You do not understand me, sir," replied the old 
 man. "The Church of England, were it to be separ- 
 ated from the State to-morrow, and strij^ped of every 
 worldly possession, would still discharge its high and 
 holy function as the interpreter of the truth, and the 
 messenger of salvation. But how can we maintain 
 silence when we hear it averred that another gospel 
 besides that of Christianity is necessary for the regene- 
 ration of mankind ? " 
 
 " Nevertheless, Doctor," persisted Sir George. " It
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 279 
 
 is the opinion of some of our best men and most pro- 
 found economists, that hereafter we shall have to depend 
 for j)ros]3erity and the continuance of peace rather on 
 free trade than on religious principle. I am very far 
 from wishing to undervalue the usefulness of the clergy, 
 but I don't think they should be allowed to meddle 
 with matters beyond their immediate sphere. Reli- 
 gion is an excellent thing for the masses ; but when 
 transported into the region of politics, it is apt to 
 degenerate into bigotry." 
 
 "Such, I am aware," replied Dr Wayles, "is the 
 opinion professed by many ; and hence has arisen that 
 cold indifference and carelessness as to things spiritual, 
 which is even now but too prevalent among the learned 
 and the great. At all times we are but too prone to 
 magnify the intellect of man, and to claim for him the 
 functions of Omnipotence ; but now, in the pride of 
 our hearts, we are beginning to question the justice of 
 His laws, and to doubt the value of His ordinances. 0, 
 gentlemen, if it ever happen that the people of Eng- 
 land, abused by false doctrines and misled by philoso- 
 phic teachers, should renounce the faith of their fathers, 
 and cease to acknowledge their dependence on the 
 Almighty, or to invoke his aid, then be sure that the 
 might of Britain will decay, and her boasted empire 
 crumble into dust, as the tower of Babel was smitten 
 down by the red thunderbolts of heaven ! " 
 
 So saying, the worthy Doctor rose and left the table, 
 followed almost immediately by the rest of tlie com-
 
 280 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 pany, for all seemed to feel that the solemnity of the 
 address was such as to forbid a return to a lighter 
 strain of conversation. 
 
 The evening passed by very pleasantly in the draw- 
 ing-room. Young Frank Stanhope, a nice lad just 
 from Oxford for his Christmas vacation, and blessed 
 with exuberant spirits, began a vehement flirtation 
 with the younger Miss Carrington ; whilst the elder, 
 Teresa, a sentimental blonde, seemed intent upon arous- 
 ing the dormant enermes of Mr Lumlev, whose atti- 
 tude as he reclined on the sofa was that of a confirmed 
 invalid. George Carlton and Miss Stanhope appeared 
 to be deeply interested in the inspection of a book of 
 drawings ; and Miss Bootle, after a vain attempt to 
 seduce Dr Wayles into a discussion upon the doctrines 
 of Loyola, pounced upon Sir John Hawkins, and 
 craved his opinion as to the real nature of the Apo- 
 calyptic beast ; which mystery the worthy baronet at 
 once solved by declaring his conviction that it was 
 typical of the Anti-corn-law League. Then followed 
 music. The Misses Carrington sang, in a high bravura 
 style, duets from the last popular Italian opera, which 
 they executed neither better nor worse than the ma- 
 jority of young ladies who, being gifted with naturally 
 flexible voices, have had the advantage of the best 
 teaching which London could afford. But as for any- 
 thing like feeling or adequate expression, that was 
 utterly beyond their power. I wonder if the time will 
 ever arrive — it has been very long in coming — when 
 the fair young girls of England shall be persuaded that
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 281 
 
 the inordinate pains which they take to qualify them- 
 selves for exhibiting a fifth-rate imitation of the reiirn- 
 ing prima donna are utterly thrown away, in so far as 
 their audience is concerned, and awake to the sad truth 
 that the cavalier who so sedulously turns the pages of 
 the music is all the while thinking of the lamentable 
 contrast which their forced vocal organs exhibit to the 
 ease, fulness, flexibility, and deep emotion of such 
 artists as Grisi or Alboni. The sooner they become 
 aware of this truth the better, for really nothing can 
 be more unpleasant than to listen to this kind of sing- 
 ing, which is a mere vocal exercise, leaving no impres- 
 sion on the heart, and arousing no sort of sympathy — 
 which, unless music can convey it, is no better than a 
 rhythmical experiment. In singing as in declamation, 
 the one grand and crowning excellence is the truthful 
 expression through the words, of the passion or emo- 
 tion which the words are intended to convey. Unless 
 this point can be reached, all the minor and subsidiary 
 accomplishments and training are of no avail, or rather 
 create a presumption that the sympathies of the singer 
 are defective. Now, in order to attain to that point, 
 the singer must not only thoroughly understand the 
 situation of the represented character, but take up the 
 entire spirit of the particular strain ; whereas it is 
 notorious that the majority of our would-be drawing- 
 room syrens, who profit (as they think) by Italian 
 teaching, simply learn the words by rote, and do not 
 even know distinctly what kind of emotion they should 
 counterfeit. Ah, young ladies ! if you seek to win
 
 282 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 admirers througli your voices — and the voice of woman 
 has a most potent cliarm, and if rightly nsed, can 
 thrill the manly bosom more deeply perhaps than you 
 can conceive — you will do well to give up those unpro- 
 fitable, and, for you, disadvantageous attempts to vie 
 with foreign professional artists, and betake yourselves 
 to the study of your native melodies. Sweeter, more 
 pathetic, more plaintive, and more spirited music 
 does not exist than what you can cull from the Eng- 
 lish, Scottish, and Irish collections ; and the results 
 which you fondly expect, but will never realise, from 
 a shrieked Italian aria, must assuredly follow if you 
 obey natural instincts, and apply yourselves to British 
 song. 
 
 Of this we had an instance, or rather more than 
 one, that evening at Wilbury Hall ; for Amy Stan- 
 hoi)e, though not gifted with much power of voice, 
 sang very sweetly a madrigal by Ben Jonson, that fine 
 old rough-cast frequenter of the Mermaid and glory of 
 the age in which he lived, in whom the elements were 
 most curiously if not gently mingled ; and who ever 
 and anon, though shagged as Father Winter, threw out 
 blossoms fit to be gathered as a posy by the hands of 
 Flora. 
 
 But I heard, and having heard it, never could for- 
 get, from the lips of Miss Beaton, a strain which took 
 me wholly by surprise. She seemed unwilling to sing ; 
 but being pressed, took her place at the harpsichord, 
 and touching merely the notes, so that the music be-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 283 
 
 came, as in the old days of minstrelsy, simply indica- 
 tive of the thought, she sang with a pathos and power 
 which I never heard paralleled, the ballad of " Helen 
 of Kirkconnell." So strong, evidently, was the emo- 
 tion which she felt, that the conclusion was nearly in- 
 audible ; and I doubt whether the Misses Carrino-ton 
 retired to rest that evening in a very Christian spirit, 
 so decided, and even intense, was the admiration which 
 was excited by the performance of Miss Beaton.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Beeakfast, at Wilbury Hall, was a regular meal, at 
 which it was understood that all the company should 
 assemble ; not, as in some houses, a prolonged and 
 desultory repast, to suit the habits of the lazy or irre- 
 gular. Ten o'clock was the stated hour ; and here I 
 may remark, as the question of early rising seems anew 
 to be earnestly discussed, that ten, during the winter 
 months at least, appears to me to be an admirable point 
 of compromise between the slothful and the restless. I 
 
 It is a horrid nuisance, either in country or town, to be 
 compelled to leave the warm and comfortable couch in I 
 
 the grey and cheerless dawn, to perform an unsatisfac- 
 tory toilette by gas or candle light ; and precipitately 
 to undergo that semi-scalping process which the majo- 
 rity of the sons of Adam, who still adhere to the use 
 of razors, are doomed matutinally to inflict upon their 
 smarting countenances. Let the sun by all means have 
 the precedence. It is time enough to rise when he has 
 appeared above the horizon ; but to be moving before
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 285 
 
 him, is an act of disrespect to the sovereign orb of day. 
 Able counsel, who have undertaken the defence of the 
 sluggard who maintains that he may lawfully and 
 legitimately keep possession of his pillow until eleven, 
 have framed a tolerable argument in his behalf; but 
 they cannot subvert the leading dictum of Solomon, 
 who, being himself of luxurious habits, has pronounced 
 authoritatively on the other side. Ten, therefore, we 
 may assume to be the proper hour for breakfast, and it 
 was so observed at Wilbury. 
 
 During the meal the plans for the day were discussed 
 and arranged with that perfect freedom of choice to all 
 the guests which renders English country life so pecu- 
 liarly attractive. Some of the gentlemen, who were 
 keen sportsmen, determined upon beating the covers ; 
 one or two had business at the county town : while 
 others declared that the whole morning would scarce 
 suffice to enable them to get rid of their correspondence. 
 I daresay that George Carlton would very willingly 
 have remained at home to act the part of a squire of 
 dames, nor should I have felt any objection to follow 
 his example ; but as we could hardly frame a proper 
 excuse for doing so, we agreed to take a ramble together. 
 I own I had a certain hankering after the pheasants 
 and woodcocks ; but, not having contributed to the 
 national revenue as a sporting licentiate, I did not con- 
 sider myself entitled to assist at the battue. 
 
 Therefore, some little while after the sportsmen 
 had sallied forth, we began our walk through a noble 
 country, which even in winter gave token of its fer-
 
 286 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 tility. The farmyards were filled with the bounteous 
 produce of the bygone season ; we heard the merry 
 whirring of the fanners, and the measured strokes of 
 the flail ; and great fat sheep, worthy to have been 
 consumed by the captains of the Grecian host, nibbled 
 complacently at their turnips, and shook their stumpy 
 tails as if in commendation of the merits of the juicy 
 esculent. Mr Stanhope was not one of those short- 
 sighted squires, who, acting under the niggardly advice 
 of their stewards, consider that they provide sufficiently 
 for the well-being of the labourers, if, in some remote 
 corner of the estate, they are allowed to inhabit sheds 
 wherein their families are packed without regard to 
 comfort, decency, or ventilation. He held the doctrine 
 that the day-labourer, being unable to erect a house for 
 himself, was entitled to such accommodation on the 
 estate of the employer as would attach him to home, 
 and strenothen the social ties and domestic affections 
 which are so apt to be loosened and impaired, or even 
 to disappear altogether, under the jjressure of abject 
 misery. It is in most instances the want of a happy 
 home, and the sense of discomfort there, that drives so 
 many labouring men to the alehouse, where they sot 
 away their small earnings, heartlessly indifferent to 
 their wives, who may be suffering from cold and hun- 
 ger. Then, through intemperance, arises the tempta- 
 tion towards poaching, which affords so easy a means 
 of obtaining an illicit supply ; and that step once taken, 
 the ruin of the man is sealed. Nowhere in England 
 have I seen more substantial and comfortable cottages
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 287 
 
 than were provided at Wilbuiy for the accommodation 
 of the labourers ; and it was quite evident that this 
 wise liberality was properly appreciated, for the little 
 gardens were without exception trim and well stocked 
 with herbs and bushes, the houses were scrupulously 
 clean, and Master Pig, in his own quiet snuggery be- 
 behind, gradually developed himself into proportions 
 which would have rejoiced the heart of Mr Huxtable. 
 
 George was unusually taciturn. I kiiew what was on 
 his mind, but thought it best to leave him to come out 
 with it, and therefore did not hazard any remark that 
 might lead the conversation towards the subject. I 
 think that the confessio amantis, when it is to be made, 
 should always be spontaneous. I felt fully satisfied 
 that Carlton was dying to begin ; but some men are 
 very shy about making these kind of confidences even 
 to their most trusted friends — and George was one of 
 that order. At last he broke the ice. 
 
 " Sinclair, I think I told you that I had a personal 
 motive in wishing you to come down with me to Wil- 
 bury ? " 
 
 " Yes, George, you did." 
 
 " Do you understand now what my motive was ? " 
 
 " I have a shrewd guess ; but, in order to avoid 
 error, you had best explain." 
 
 " Well, then, I wished you to see Amy Stanhope. I 
 am a strange being, Sinclair — in some things quite an 
 enigma to myself. In regard to most matters, I can 
 form strong resolutions, and adhere to them with the 
 utmost tenacity of purpose, which you ma}'- call obsti-
 
 288 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 nacy, if yoii will ; but on other points I am as nerveless, 
 helpless, and nndecided as a child." 
 
 " Therein T apprehend you are not singidar. Does 
 not Ariosto tell us that the great paladin Orlando, that 
 lion of Christian chivalry, had his wits unsettled by 
 love, hung up his armour on a tree, and walked the 
 forests as a sylvan?" 
 
 "Pshaw ! Let Ariosto alone for the present. Po- 
 etical examples are marvellously akin to banter, for 
 which I am in no humour. What I me;in to say is 
 this, that I have been for years living as it were in a 
 dream, waiting for the realisation of my hopes ; and 
 now, when all that I had wished for and prayed for 
 appears within my reach, a deep sense of my o^vn un- 
 worthiness paralyses every energy of my nature — 
 makes a coward of me — fills me with irresolution — 
 and prevents me from going further." 
 
 " You must explain yourself somewhat more clearly, 
 Carlton, for I really do not comprehend you." 
 
 " Well, have a little patience. I daresay I am talk- 
 ing nonsense : for love has a language of its own, and 
 that language is not always of the clearest kind. 
 Besides, it is a very difficult thing adequately to convey 
 one's own sensations to another. But thus it is : — When 
 a youth, I was much at Wilbury — Mr Stanhope being 
 my guardian. Amy was then a beautiful child — you 
 see what she is now — and I, being fantastical, and not 
 altogether unimaginative, began to dream dreams, and 
 to see visions for the future, in all of which a certain 
 fair young head was the predominant feature. In short.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 289 
 
 I constructed for myself a romance, of which Amy was 
 the heroine, and I hoped that the day might come when, 
 the bud having expanded into the blossom, I might win 
 and wear it as my own. I grant you that such a senti- 
 ment as mine was out of the usual course. Boys com- 
 monly begin by falling in love with women older than 
 themselves, and pass from the worship of one idol to 
 that of another, until their affections are squandered 
 away ; and love, or what passes by its name, becomes a 
 thing of custom rather than a holy talisman. It was 
 not so with me. I went abroad, as you know ; but I 
 carried with me the image of Amy Stanhope ; and 
 often, in the hour of temptation, such as besets us all, 
 that image has saved me from the commission of folly 
 or of crime. But still I remained a dreamer. I have 
 done nothing — I have made myself no name — I have 
 performed no service to my kind — I am a mere useless 
 atom in the vast ocean of humanity. And therein lies 
 the failure — the woeful incompleteness of my romance. 
 I had foreshadowed the day when I might approach her 
 who has long been the loadstar of my heart, and ask her 
 in all humility to become the partaker of my fortunes 
 and my fame. Fortune, indeed, I have — for that was 
 the result of accident; but fame — reputation — honour- 
 able distinction — alas ! Sinclair, 1 have utterly neglected 
 the op2)ortunity of attaining to these. I have not one 
 single leaf of laurel to lay before her feet." 
 
 Intimate as I had been with Carlton, I was not pre- 
 pared for such a burst as this. I knew that he had a 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 chivalrous nature, and higli romantic notions ; but 
 that, in our degenerate days, it should be my lot to 
 hear a confession, more transcendental of its kind than 
 was likely to have occurred even to such an enthusiast 
 as Sir Philip Sidney, filled me, I acknowledge, with 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear Carlton," said I after a pause, 
 during which I tried to think how I might best contri- 
 bute to dispel this hallucination, "for saying that I 
 think your conclusion is much more fantastical than 
 your dream. You lament that you have no fame ; 
 what sort of fame would you have? These are not 
 times when distinction can be won by knightly deeds 
 — such fame as professional success can give, I know 
 you utterly despise. What then remains but a political 
 career, in which you have always declined to embark ; 
 or a literary one, which is still open to you, if you have 
 the ambition to proceed? And, after all, what is fame? 
 Ask those who have attained it, and they will tell you 
 that it is no better than a bubble. What says your 
 favourite Milton ? — 
 
 ' Fame is the spur tliat the clear spirit doth raise 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
 But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 
 And slits the thin-spim life — ' " 
 
 " Ah, but," said Carlton, " you must not omit the 
 answer, and a noble one it is —
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 291 
 
 ' But not the praise, 
 Pluebus replied, and touclied my trembling ears ; 
 Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
 Nor in the glistering foil 
 Set off to the world, nor in hroail rumour lies ; 
 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
 As he pi'onounces lastly on each deed, 
 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.' " 
 
 " But don't you see," I replied, " t]iat there is an 
 ambiguity in this ; for Milton, though he uses the 
 word fame, evidently implies nothing more than the 
 upright and conscientious discharge of duty. Come, 
 come, Carlton ; you are really too sensitive about this. 
 If you are so deeply attached to Miss Stanhope, why 
 should you trifle with her happiness and your own ? 
 Can it be your wise purpose not to approach her until 
 you have written half-a-dozen books that shall make a 
 noise in the world, or deliver the same number of set 
 speeches, which shall fall flat on the ear of the House 
 of Commons ? For shame, man ! get rid of these 
 fancies, which are but the whims of an over-indulged 
 brain ; take your proper place in society, for you have 
 been too long secluded from the world ; seek occupa- 
 tion, and if fame lies in your way, you will find it at 
 the proper time. Oh, you can be practical enough in 
 your suggestions to others — be a little more confident 
 and consistent as regards yourself" 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right, for I have been a sad 
 dreamer. And to tell you the truth, Sinclair," he 
 added, with a peculiar smile, " I am not sure but that
 
 292 KORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 for the last quarter of an hour I have been talking 
 terrible nonsense. You are very good to bear with me 
 so patiently. But the main scope and tendency of my 
 confession remains — " 
 
 " That you are in love ? " 
 
 " Very deej^ly indeed. And then — " 
 
 " Why, according to the recognised practice in such 
 cases, when, as here, there is no impediment, the next 
 step should be a proposal. I do not think it at all 
 probable that you will meet with a decided repulse." 
 
 " Ah ! but, Sinclair, that is the very thing I dread. 
 Amy knows nothing of this." 
 
 " How sliould it be otherwise? Why, you have been 
 but one evening in her company ! Do you remember 
 our old acquaintance. Colonel Lafond, whom we met 
 at Turin ?" 
 
 " The man who had been in Algeria, and who was 
 so inveterate in his addiction to absinthe ? Perfectly. 
 But why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Were you not present one evening when he told us 
 about an interview he had with a Moorish magician ? " 
 
 " I rather think not." 
 
 " Well ; it was to this effect. There was in Oran a 
 man called Maugraby, famous for his skill in the occult 
 sciences ; a fellow, in short, who practised divination, 
 or something like it, and was said to possess the power 
 of showing things at a distance. This he did, not by 
 the old means of the magic mirror, but by conjuring up 
 apparent living realities. Those who had availed them- 
 selves of his assistance (and there "v^re many such
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIU. 293 
 
 among the French), declared that they had seen un- 
 mistakably the likenesses of their absent friends ; nay, 
 had even heard them converse, as if they themselves 
 had been spiritually present. All this was very won- 
 derful ; but it was further remarked, that of those who 
 consulted Maugraby some returned happy and cheerful, 
 while others evinced symptoms of deep despondency, 
 and in one or two cases suicide was the result. Lafond, 
 who had no faith in magic, was determined to get to 
 the bottom of the mystery ; and being a man of some 
 fortune, which few French officers are, he tried to bribe 
 the adept, but in vain. However, a threat or two 
 judiciously administered of the possible revival of the 
 Inquisition on ground pertaining to the eldest son of 
 the Church, wrought so upon the fears of Maugraby 
 that he at last consented, in return for a douceur of a 
 thousand francs, coupled with a solemn promise that 
 the secret should not be divulged in Algeria, to reveal 
 his process to the colonel." 
 
 " And what was the secret ? " 
 
 " Simply this. Maugraby told Lafond that there 
 was in his possession, and had been in that of his 
 family for centuries, two herbalist recipes of the rarest 
 efl&cacy and power — that certain materials, duly col- 
 lected and compounded, had the virtue, when used in 
 the way of fumigation, to produce light and airy 
 visions ; and others, treated in the same manner, 
 weighed heavily and noisomely on the brain. We 
 know familiarly what are the effects of opium, and of 
 haschisch or wild hemp ; and those preparations of the
 
 294 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 magician, tliougli taken by way of inhalation, were of 
 the same kind. Maugraby confessed that, when any 
 one applied to him for a cast of his art, he asked a few 
 questions, from the answers to which he was able to 
 perceive whether the foreboding was of good or ill ; and 
 in accordance with what he observed to be the disposi- 
 tion of the visitor, he made his fumigation. The gloomy 
 or jealous man straightway saw a vision of pain or 
 infidelity — the cheerful man was thrown into a pleasant 
 trance, realising a happy fancy, which he believed to 
 be an actual truth ; and Maugraby protested that his 
 whole magic art lay in the due administration of these 
 two powerful agents." 
 
 " A very plausible explanation of African jugglery ! 
 But what part of our conversation has suggested this 
 story to you, Sinclair ? " 
 
 " I tell it to you by way of apologue, and you must 
 be unusually dull if you fail to see the application- 
 Hitherto you have been inhaling Maugraby's noxious 
 preparation, and you cannot see clearly or truthfully. 
 Try the other sort, of the more genial kind, and your 
 vision will undergo a change. But what have we here? 
 There seems to be a stir among the sportsmen." 
 
 Our walk had led us to the vicinity of the covers 
 which were that day to be beat for game, and for some 
 time we had heard the frequent shots, single or double, 
 of the parties who were shrouded by the plantations. 
 But now there was a loud whoop, or kind of challenge- 
 cry ; and not more than fifty yards in advance of us, a 
 man bounded over a hedge with the agility of a roe-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 235 
 
 back, and commenced running at full speed along a 
 sort of bridle-path or narrow lane, which we had 
 selected for our walk. A minute or so afterwards, one 
 of Mr Stanhope's keepers appeared in full chase, fol- 
 lowed, to my great surprise, by the apathetic Mr 
 Lumley, who displayed the fleetness of an Asahel ; 
 after whom came Frank Stanhope in the high glee of 
 an excitino; chase. There is nothino; like action for 
 knocking sentiment or any such twaddle on the head. 
 
 " A poacher, by Jove ! " shouted Carlton ; and he 
 instantly dashed forward in the wake of Frank. I 
 was not wUling to be left behind ; but seeing that, by 
 a short cut across a meadow, I could probably save 
 distance, I took that ; and got so far ahead of the 
 others as to have a good view of the fugitive. He was 
 a tall, clean-made fellow, in the prime of life, not 
 caparisoned as a poacher, but rather well dressed than 
 otherwise ; and his running, from its peculiar style, re- 
 minded me of the foot-racing which I had seen long 
 ago at the pleasant border-meetings of Peebles and 
 Inverleithen. But he had a hard competitor to con- 
 tend with. The keeper, a rough Yorkshire tyke, whose 
 muscles by constant exercise had become as strong 
 and elastic as steel, and with whom " bellows to mend" 
 was a merely figurative phrase, gradually gained on 
 the runaway, and in another stride or two would have 
 had him in his grasp ; when, all of a sudden, the 
 latter dropped upon his hands and knees across the 
 path, and the Yorkshireman, unable to check the im- 
 petus of his career, fell headlong over him, his nose
 
 296 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 involuntarily performing the disagreeable office of a 
 ploughshare. The other gathered himself up and 
 started anew ; but by this time Lumley was well on 
 his haunches ; and I, being by favour of a turn of the 
 lane in advance, stepped out and intercepted the fu- 
 gitive. 
 
 Seeing this, he made no further attempt at resist- 
 ance or flight ; but, quietly folding his arms, assumed 
 an air of as complete nonchalance as it was possible 
 for a man panting from recent exertion to do. 
 
 "So we have you at last, you scoundrel!" said 
 Lumley. 
 
 " You may keep the scoundrel to yoursel', sir ! " re- 
 plied the other, in a strong Caledonian accent. " I'd 
 have you to know that I'm as gude a man as ever 
 stood in the shoes of your father's son." 
 
 " Confound your impertinence ! " said Lumley, look- 
 ing, however, somewhat puzzled, for the man certainly 
 had not the appearance of a hawbuck game-depredator ; 
 " I have more than half a mind to give you a sound 
 thrashing on the spot ! " 
 
 " Doubtless you may do that, sir, if it be your will," 
 said the other undauntedly ; " ye are four to one, and 
 that's long odds, and what you Englishers like. Oh, 
 you needn't gloom at me that gait, sir ; it's God's 
 truth I'm saying. Hit away, the haill four of you, 
 and muckle credit you'll get by it !" 
 
 " Hold back the keeper, Frank !" cried Lumley ; for 
 the aggrieved Yorkshireman, whose face was most 
 woefully disfigured, was rushing frantically to the fray.
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 297 
 
 " Hold hiin back ! What the fellow says is true 
 enough. Be he what he may, he shall have faii^-play." 
 
 " That's not unhandsomely said," remarked the Scot, 
 " for that chield with the bluidy neb looks unco un- 
 chancy. And now that you have found your breath — 
 mine's hardly back to me yet — doubtless ye will explain 
 what for I have been chased in a free country, as if I 
 were a hunted mawkin ? " 
 
 " What were you doing in the plantation, sirrah ? " 
 
 " I demur as to your right, sir, to ask the question. 
 Nevertheless, without prejudice to that plea, I answer 
 that I was there for no unlawful purpose." 
 
 "No unlawful purpose ! Are you not a poacher?" 
 said Lumley. 
 
 " I scorn your words, sir ! " answered the Scot. 
 " Take me before a Justice of the Peace for search ; 
 and if you find fud or feather, shot, caps, or powder 
 about me, I'll be answerable to the law ; but if not, I 
 reserve my right to action of damages for wrongous 
 detention of my person. I ken mair about habeas 
 corpus than you maybe think." 
 
 " I don't know what to make of this fellow, Frank," 
 said Lumley, taking young Stanhope aside. " He cer- 
 tainly does not look like a poacher, but his bolting out 
 of the wood was very suspicious. What was he about 
 when you first observed him ? " 
 
 " He was stooping down as if to avoid detection ; 
 and I am quite certain that I saw an instrument of 
 some kind, probably an air-gun, in his hand. I sup- 
 pose he threw it away as soon as we gave chase."
 
 298 NOliMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " Ah ! that's a material piece of evidence. And, in 
 good time, here comes one of the beaters with the very 
 article in question. Noav, my cool friend, we shall 
 soon find out what you have been after. Why, what 
 the devil is this ? a bludgeon ! " 
 
 " Lord help your e'en, man ! Do ye no ken a level- 
 ling-staff when you see it?" 
 
 " A levelling- staff! What, then, are you?" 
 
 " A surveyor in the employment of the Honourable 
 the Provisional Committee for the construction of the 
 Grand Goatshead and Ditchington Junction Eailway." 
 
 " And what were you doing when we came up ?" 
 
 " I was taking a kind of scientific observation of the 
 ground ; just as Buckland, or any other philosopher, 
 might have done for the formation of a geological 
 survey." 
 
 "Well, Mr Philosopher, I suppose we must hold 
 that you have cleared yourself of the suspicion of 
 poaching. But are you aware that you are trespassing 
 upon Mr Stanhope of Wilbury's grounds?" 
 
 "Stanhope of Wilbury!" repeated the Scot, taking 
 a note-book from his pocket and making a pencil 
 entry. " I am obliged to you for the information. I 
 wasna just sure who the land belonged to, but that 
 will enable me to make out the schedule in due form. 
 And now that we have had this pleasant crack, Til 
 even bid you good-day. Lad, hand over that levelling- 
 staff." 
 
 " Not so fast, my friend !" said Lumley ; " we have
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 299 
 
 found you here as a trespasser. Your implement, 
 therefore, is legally forfeited, and goes with us." 
 
 " You're clean wrong, man ! " replied the other ; 
 " you ken as little about the laws of your country as a 
 kyloe does of mensuration. It's only when there's a 
 trespass in pursuit of game that engines can be de- 
 tained, and even then they cannot be seized hi^evi 
 manu ; they must be awarded by a judge. You 
 might as well try to keep my breeks as my levelling- 
 stafF." 
 
 " Well, it's no use losing further time," said Frank 
 Stanhope ; " I suppose we must let the fellow go. 
 Give him his staff, Tom. But I warn you, my friend, 
 that if we catch you again trespassing on my father's 
 ground, you won't get off so easily." 
 
 " Maybe ay, and maybe no,''" said the miabashed sur- 
 veyor. " I'm thinking, though, that I am pretty weel 
 through wi' Stanhope's ground for all preliminary pur- 
 poses. So, good sport to you, gentlemen ! " 
 
 " Stubbs — see him off the land," said Frank Stan- 
 hope. " Yet, no — hang it, I believe you would murder 
 him at the back of the nearest fence ! Tom, go you 
 with him." 
 
 " What's the use of sending a laddie to show me the 
 way?" said the surveyor ; '•' I ken it brawly, and I'm 
 no proud. Tarn, my man, since Tam's your name, 
 just gae ye back, and cry shoo to the pheasants ; I 
 hae nae need of a gillie. As for my friend in the 
 corduroys, the state of whose neb I deplore, I bear him
 
 300 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 nae kind of malice, though he shouldna coup himself 
 over a jjentleman as if he were a toom barrow runnino- 
 down a brae ; and if half-a-crown to buy him a sup of 
 brandy wad be ony compensation — " 
 
 " I'd loike to kick the liver oot o' thee, thou dommed 
 thief!" cried the ao-gravated Stubbs. " Measter Fraidv, 
 do ye joost let me ha' one toorn up wi' un, do ye now ! 
 I'se gie un his sark fu' o' brucken banes I" 
 
 " No, no ! " said Lumley ; " we must have no fighting 
 here. Draw oflF your escort, Frank ; and let us get 
 back to the cover without further delay." 
 
 " As to seeing liim off the ground, Frank," said 
 Carlton, who had watched the foregoing scene with 
 infinite amusement, " you may leave that to Sinclair 
 and myself. We'll look after him." 
 
 " The Lord be praised for a good riddance ! " said 
 the Scot, after the sportsmen had moved away. " That 
 Yorkshireman would have been an ugly customer ! 
 It's a vera queer thing that thae Yorkshire and Lanca- 
 shire lads are fit for little else than riding races, selling 
 horses, and looking after game. It's a singular dis- 
 pensation of Providence, like that which makes a' the 
 folk in Selkirk become souters. Ye'll mind Stephen 
 Calvert, that Lord Traquair brought down to be his 
 keeper, Mr Norman ? Weel, he was just such another 
 as that Stubbs, wha's back is the bonniest bit of his 
 body." 
 
 " What ! " cried I, in utter amazement — " you seem 
 to know me. Who are you ? " 
 
 " Troth, I doubt whether you hae many aulder
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 301 
 
 freends in the world — or acquaintances I shall say, for 
 I have a kind of inkling about degrees — and it's little 
 wonder that you didna ken me, for I hardly kenn'd 
 you. Whiskers make an unco difference, and sae does 
 polite education ; but you're no the man you was, if 
 you winna shake hands wi' Davie Osett ! " 
 
 " Davie — Davie Osett ! " said I, wringing his hand, 
 which cordially reciprocated to my grasp ; " I had no 
 more idea that it was you than the Emperor of China. 
 Davie ! — what, in the name of mystification, has 
 brought you here ? " 
 
 " 'Deed, Mr Norman, it's no easy to say. We are 
 a' wafts, drifting about like seaweed on the ocean, or 
 in the gulf-streams, that auld Professor Jamieson used 
 to speak of at the College. But you have doubtless 
 gathered from what you heard me say, that I am here 
 in the way of my profession, for a hantle o' things 
 have happened since we last parted at the knowes of 
 the Douglas Burn." 
 
 " I suspect," said Carlton, " that I am rather in the 
 way here, and the best thing I can do is to take myself 
 off. Don't volunteer explanations now, Sinclair — 
 there will be ample time for that hereafter ; and in the 
 meanwhile I shall keep my finger on my lip, otherwise 
 this encounter would go very far to confirm the sus- 
 picions of Miss Bootle ; and there might be alarm for 
 a rising of the Jesuits. Adieu, then — you cannot fail 
 finding the road." 
 
 " That appears to be a sensible man," said Davie ; 
 " and I am glad ye hae such circumspect acquaintances,
 
 302 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 Mr Norman. Maist cliields would hae held on through 
 mere curiosity to get a glisk o' what was nae business 
 o' theirs. And how has the world been using ye ? 
 But I needna speer. You look weel and strong ; and 
 glad I am to see you moving among the gentles, though 
 as yet I hae seen little o' them mysel'." 
 
 " AVcll, but, Davie, tell me all about yourself, and 
 about all the dear folk at home. Are they all well ? " 
 
 " What should ail them to be otherwise ? Father's 
 as hale as a man can be on the wrong side of seventy, 
 and he has taken anither sheep-farm up by the Winter- 
 hope. He's clean daft about breeding tups. And 
 Auntie Eppie is to the fore yet, a wee thought plagued 
 wi' the rheumatiz, but aye havering about you, and 
 ca'ing you her precious lamb. Then my sister May, 
 she's married four years back on Geordie Scott of the 
 Cauldriggs, and has twa as sonsie weans as ever grat 
 for their parritch. So that's the family chronicle up 
 to the present time." 
 
 " But you, Davie — what tempted you away from the 
 Forest?" 
 
 " Troth, Mr Norman, it was e'en the auld temptation 
 that Adam couldna withstand in Paradise. I had a 
 sair hankering for the fruit of the tree of knowledoe. 
 Ye see it disna do to bide a' one's days down yonder 
 in the glens, doing naething but looking after sheep, 
 and maybe driving them to the market. Folk hae 
 got other notions now ; and even about Peebles and 
 Selkirk many a lad took it into his head that he would 
 do better by emigrating to Canada, and working hard
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 303 
 
 until he could scrape as muckle siller together as would 
 buy him a bit o' land of his ain, than by dragging on 
 at hame as a ploughman or a shepherd. Some tried 
 it, and got on grandly after a time, for they didna stint 
 in their work ; and then mair gaed after them. Then 
 it came into my head that, if my father wad gie me 
 five or six hundred pounds — he has hained a hantle 
 mair than that, I can tell you, forbye the value of his 
 stocks — I might go out to Canada too, and settle down 
 on a bit lairdship, near one of the big lochs that they 
 say are just like inland seas. But nae sooner did I 
 mint the matter, than there was sic a howling as ye 
 never heard. Ye wad have thought I had proposed to 
 commit murder at the very least ; sic a steer they made 
 about it at the Birkenshaws. I was likened to the 
 Prodigal Son, who asked his father for a portion in his 
 lifetime, and was fain at last to content himself with 
 the grumphie's husks — to Ishmael, who went out into 
 the wilderness (I am sure, puir lad, that was nae fault 
 o' his !) — to Rehoboam, who despised counsel, and I 
 ken nae wha mair ; till I was glad, for the sake o' 
 peace, to give in, and pass my solemn word, that sae 
 lang as there was breath in my father's body, I wad 
 not set foot beyond British ground." 
 
 " And how came you to leave the Birkenshaws, 
 Davie?" 
 
 " Why, ye see, that notion of mine about Canada 
 had set my father a-thinking about me mair than he 
 otherwise might have done — for fathers, though they 
 may be fond of their sons, are aye sweer to let them out
 
 304 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 o' their grip ; and he began to see that I might as wecl 
 has some mair education than I had gotten. Sae I 
 went into Edinburgh in the winter-time, and took twa 
 or three sessions o' the College. I made naething o' 
 Greek, or that arglc-bargling that they ca' Logic ; but 
 I took kindly to Mathematics, and wasna far frae 
 getting a prize. Weel, when I came back, I told my 
 father, ance for a', that I was minded to set up for 
 myself, that I didna want to go into a sheep-farm, l)ut 
 that I would prefer a douce country profession, like 
 that of a land-surveyor or valuator, for which there 
 was a good opening. He was gey and weel pleased 
 to hear that, for surveying is a highly respectable call- 
 ing, and no unprofitable ; and the upshot was that I 
 was entered as clerk and assistant to auld Jamie 
 Wylie at Selkirk." 
 
 " Where, doubtless, j^ou found your mathematical 
 acquirements of some service ? " 
 
 " Ye may say that, Mr Norman. Jamie AVylie, 
 though but a snuffy body, and unco near, was weel up 
 to the practical part o' the business ; and in less than 
 six months I could measure you a field of turnips and 
 lay out a plan as fairly as ony man on the Border. 
 Weel, just then, we began to hear tell o' the railways. 
 There had been a sough about making them langsyne, 
 — as far back, I've heard, as the days when Sir Walter 
 was at Abbotsford, — but somehow or other the job fell 
 through. There were few subscribers then but the 
 lairds ; and as ilka ane o' them wanted three prices for 
 his land, they couldna get up the capital. They hadna
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 305 
 
 yet discovered the wand that can conjure siller out o' 
 folks' pouches as fast as the rod o' Moses brought water 
 out of the rock. They kenned naething about pre- 
 miums, or buying and selling in the market. It's a 
 Avonderful age this we live in, Mr Norman— a wonder- 
 ful age for men that have their wits about them. I've 
 heard tell that the fairies could make guineas out o' 
 slate-stanes and withered leaves — Lord help ye ! I've 
 seen mony a chield that couldna hae paid for his break- 
 fast, get a hundred pounds for a bundle of scrip that 
 wasna worth a brass farthing ! " 
 
 " Indeed it would appear that the sj^irit of gambling 
 is becoming almost universal. Such reckless adven- 
 ture augurs ill for the future prosperity of the nation." 
 
 " De'il a bit of that ! It's the best thins; that could 
 have happened," said Davie. " Ye'll no persuade me 
 that the savings o' the country are not better employed 
 in opening up internal communication, whereby trade 
 and commerce will be greatly stimulated, and work 
 and waoes be mven in the mean time to thousands of 
 strong carles who otherwise wad be sair put about to 
 earn a shilling — not to speak of the encouragement 
 given to men of skill, such as engineers and surveyors 
 — than if they were posed up in the banks at two per 
 cent, or lent out on heritable security. And what do 
 you think it is that has brought a' this siller out o' 
 deposit accounts and hiding-holes, and, for aught I ken, 
 auld wifes' stockings, and scattered it broadcast over 
 the face of the land, for the ingathering of men of 
 sense and industry ? Just the hope of getting a pre- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 miuni, or double return, ■which is at the root of ;ill 
 mercantile enterprise. It's true enough that the rail- 
 way projectors, for the most part, have little capital o' 
 their ain, but then they sell their shares at a high price 
 to ffowks who have the wherewithal and are mair than 
 ordinarily greedy. It's like sinking a shaft for a well ; 
 if you gae deep enough, you're sure to find water. 
 Doubtless some day there will come a crash ; but for 
 a' that the movement's in the right direction." 
 
 " Well ; but what occasioned your departure from 
 Selkirk ? " 
 
 " Why, ye see the railways multiplied sae fast — that 
 is, in the way of prospectuses — that it wasna easy to 
 find engineers ; and when the engineers were gotten, 
 there was an unco dearth o' surveyors. I might hae 
 set up as an engineer mysel', for I had mair than ae 
 offer frae the west country, where the folk are just 
 clean mad about new lines ; but I had ower little 
 experience, sae I even took a surveying engagement 
 in England ; and that's a' my story." 
 
 " And how long do you intend to remain in this 
 neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " Oh, just till I get the survey completed ; that will 
 be in two or three days, and then I maun to London. 
 We'll be before Parliament in the spring." 
 
 " Ah — then no doubt we shall meet there. But, 
 Davie, I would advise you as a friend to be cautious 
 in your movements. That fellow Stubbs will be on 
 the look-out for you." 
 
 " I'm no feared," said Davie. " Man for man, I
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 307 
 
 reckon mysel' a match for the gleggest keeper that 
 ever trapp'd a foumart ; but there is an unco difference 
 when it's four or six to one. But he and I will not 
 forgather, that ye may be sure of If I want to take 
 anither bit look at the ground, I'll do it by moonlight ; 
 and I ken a trick that will throw dust in his e'en. 
 For five shillings I can get a chield to fire ofi" a gun 
 on the other side of the property, and I'll wager half 
 a year's salary that for that night I'll no be plagued 
 wi' Mr Stubbs. But here we are at the public road, 
 and you had better gang back to your friend. If I 
 might be sae bold as to advise, maybe the less ye say 
 about me the better." 
 
 " Under present circumstances, perhaps that will be 
 the prudent course. But, Davie, I cannot sufficiently 
 admire your discretion. Since you knew me all the 
 while, how was it that you did not appeal to me when 
 you were challenged as a poacher ? ' 
 
 " I trow I had mair sense than to do anything sae 
 doited," replied Davie. " They could do naething to 
 me beyond warning me off the ground, and what wad 
 hae been the use of my mixing you up with my ain 
 professional concerns? Besides, I've seen enough of 
 them to ken that the English gentry have queer 
 notions. They stand upon theii- rank and pedigree — 
 set them up ! maist feck of them canna count beyond 
 three generations — and they maybe might hae jaloused 
 that auld acquaintance wi' a land-louper like me was 
 no just creditable to yoursel'." 
 
 " Goodbye then, Davie. We shall meet again, I
 
 308 NOHMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 trust, soon, when we may have more leisure to con- 
 verse. However changed your position may he, I 
 observe you have not forgotten the auld Scots tongue." 
 
 " Laith wad I be to forget my mither speech," 
 replied Davie ; " but ye are no to suppose, Mr Nor- 
 man, that I aye speak as broad as this. I can clip 
 the Queen's English gey and weel when I like to try ; 
 but I hae aye fand that naething bombazes a Southron 
 like what they ca' broad Doric, and I trow that this 
 day it has stood me in gude stead. Pareweel, then ; 
 and may gude luck attend ye." 
 
 So saying, he started at a brisk pace, and I returned 
 towards Wilbury.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CHBISTMAS EVE. 
 
 To retail bygone conversations is necessarily somewhat 
 tedious, though it cannot be avoided without sacri- 
 ficing much of the dramatic element which gives in- 
 terest to every narrative. Out of the multitude of 
 words which we hear and utter, an immense mass 
 passes away directly from the memory, leaving no more 
 permanent im[)ression on the mind than the flight of 
 birds through the air, or the casual ripples upon a 
 pool. And yet there are words which, after the expiry 
 of many long years, recur to us as vividly and plainly 
 as when we listened to their utterance — not merely 
 conveying a general sense or meaning, but exact even 
 to the echo of the tone of the voice and the corres- 
 ponding gesture, thougli that voice may long ago have 
 been hushed in the silence of the tomb. Nevertheless 
 these constitute rather the exceptions than the rule. 
 In detailing conversations, which is our daily practice, 
 either in writing or in speech, I apprehend that all of 
 us, though perhaps uncousciously, strive after dramatic
 
 310 NORMAN SINCLAIU. 
 
 effect, giving more pungency to the expressions and 
 point to the repartees than was their due ; and, by 
 means of curtaihnent in one part and of exaggeration 
 in anotlier, arraying our story in such a dress as may 
 recommend it to the acceptance of our audience. For 
 my own part, I have no faith in the accuracy of re- 
 ported conversations, even when the report is given 
 from the witness-box, and attested by the solemnity of 
 an oath. Every man is, more or less, an adept in the 
 art of framing a story. Give him the rude material, 
 and the instinct of imagination immediately prompts 
 him to construct. Furnish him with the bare outline, 
 and he cannot resist the temptation to put in colour. 
 Do you think, reader, that one-third, ay, or one-tenth, 
 of those brilliant sayings, happy mots, and clever 
 retorts, which pass current in society as the spontan- 
 eous and extempore utterances of the leading wits of 
 the town, were really flashes of inspiration? If that 
 is your opinion, pardon me for assuring you that you 
 are utterly wrong. By far the greater portion of them 
 are the products of the hammer and the file. They 
 have been worked into shape and prepared at the cost 
 of no inconsiderable labour. They ditfer as much in 
 appearance from what was their original form, as 
 the new-coined sovereign does from the lump of Cali- 
 fornian ore. 
 
 Thrice happy is the professed romancer who is 
 under no restraint whatever ! He is the uncontrolled 
 fiishioner of his characters, the framer of his puppets, 
 whom he galvanises into mimic life, arranges them in
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 311 
 
 artistic groups, puts whatsoever language he pleases 
 into their mouths, and whisks them when convenient 
 from the stage, without being amenable to any law 
 beyond that of the remotest credibility. Nay, it is 
 even not necessary for our enjoyment that we should 
 believe in the foregone reality of any part of his exhibi- 
 tion. Let him present us with marvels transcending 
 all known feats of jugglery, and, so that we are amused, 
 we shall not examine too curiously into the secret of 
 his sleight of hand. " Tell us a story ! " say the Arabs 
 to the fabulist of their tribe ; and straightway he 
 produces for their delectation Antar rending lions in 
 twain, makes the dim forms of the genii float through 
 the dusky air, conjures up from the arid sands the 
 likeness of imperial Bagdad, and changes the star- 
 light glimmering on the solitary well, into the lustre 
 of a thousand lamps wavering on the current of the 
 Tigris. 
 
 Not so the poor autobiographer, whose fancy, even 
 though it may rebel against such bondage, must be 
 kept in check — who is not answerable for the form or 
 even the motions of the characters which he presents — 
 whose plot is given to him under the inexorable condi- 
 tion that he shall not alter or innovate. For he is, to 
 all intents and purposes, an historian, though his his- 
 tory may only relate to the events of private life ; and 
 from him is expected a rigorous adherence to fact 
 which the romancer laughs to sconi. He has placed 
 himself from the outset in this difficult position, that 
 he asks for implicit belief; therefore, whatever be the
 
 312 KORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 sacrifice of interest, he must conduct his narrative so 
 as to avoid all suspicion that he is mingling the ficti- 
 tious with the real, or drawing upon his imagination 
 to supply the ever-recurring deficiencies of actual cir- 
 cumstance. In short, whatever may be his wish, he 
 cannot always be artistical, and he must often appear 
 incoherent. Cause and effect are not within his power; 
 he is no more justified in tampering with the main 
 incidents of his story, than the chronicler would be if 
 he reared up fictitious dynasties, assigned victories to 
 the vanquished, or set chronology at defiance by re- 
 presenting the heroes of one age as living and acting 
 in another. 
 
 Therefore, dear reader, if I should sometimes be 
 tedious, as must, I fear, be the case, I pray you to be 
 merciful in your judgment, and to give due considera- 
 tion to the alleviating circumstances. Despise me not 
 because I refrain from presenting you with wonders, 
 and accost you rather in the tone of every-day con- 
 versation than in the more fascinating melo-dramatic 
 style which commands the applause and rivets the 
 attention of the galleries. Be not wroth because my 
 characters are not of preternatural stature, or perpetu- 
 ally labouring under the excitement of violent passion, 
 or giving utterance to rhapsodical sentiments, or in- 
 dulging in apostrophe and anithesis. I cannot say 
 with bully Bottom, " My chief humour is for a tyrant ; 
 I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, 
 to make all split." I am sure you would not regard 
 your own friends one whit more favourably — nay,
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 313 
 
 you would esteem them less — if, instead of expressing 
 themselves in the common parlance of ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, or in accordance with their calling and educa- 
 tion, they were to adopt a strain somewhat akin to 
 blank verse, request you to look at their writhing 
 hearts, and demand your sympathy for their woes. 
 Please, then, to be equally indulgent to those friends 
 whom I have presented, and may yet present to you ; 
 and do not expect them to be either outrageously senti- 
 mental or irresistibly humorous, seeing that they are 
 not fictitious, but component parts of that great circle 
 of society in which we all live, and move, and have 
 our being. 
 
 It was now Christmas eve, the period which, of all 
 others, recommends itself most dearly to the Christian 
 heart ; for the vigil and the feast do so combine in unison 
 and mystic meaning that we can make no separation 
 of their terms. It is not so with the coming in of the 
 New Year ; for I imagine that very few thoughtful 
 persons, setting aside the reckless and the profane, can 
 have failed to experience a thrill of awe and an un- 
 wonted seriousness of mood, as they listen to the slow 
 and measured ticking of the clock, or mark the inex- 
 orable progress of the index as it moves towards the 
 point when the knell of the old year must be tolled. 
 The point is reached at last, and the heavy strokes 
 vibrate over the city ; and a shout of exultation arises 
 in the streets, as if the multitude rejoiced to be assured 
 that they had gone so far on their passage to eternity, 
 and were glad to abandon for ever the memory of their
 
 314 NORMAN SIN(JLAIR. 
 
 earlier clays ! " Hail to the New Year — may it be 
 luckier than the last!" Is that jubilee-cry suited to 
 the occasion ? Should we treat so lightly that mea- 
 sured portion of our life which has gone to swell the 
 stupendous chronicle of the human race, on the first 
 page of which the words are written, that God formed 
 man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his 
 nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living 
 soul? Are years but as water, that we should rejoice 
 to see them sjiilled, disregarding the use we have made 
 of the time so mercifully vouchsafed to us ? Why, even 
 the heathen poet could teach us better ; for his cry, 
 
 " miM prseteritos referat si Jupiter annos," 
 
 is a wail of lamentation for the neglected past, albeit 
 he never had a glimpse of the bright and morning star. 
 The dying saint, the holy sufferer, the aged pilgrim, 
 who can regard death but as a passage to life immortal 
 and eternal rest, might indeed hail the sounds which 
 mark the passage of a year as an audible token of their 
 approaching joy; but that those who cling to life for 
 its sensualities, its vanities, and its excitements, should 
 shout, and cheer, and pass the wine-cup from hand to 
 hand, so soon as they hear the warning that they are 
 drawing nigher to their graves, puzzles my apprehen- 
 sion, and often leads me to suspect that, despite of 
 evangelical missionary reports, there is a vast deal of 
 absolute heathenism among us, over which the Calvi- 
 nistic gown has been somewhat mal-adroitly thrown. 
 But no sad thoughts, no melancholy reflections, beset
 
 NOHMAN SINCLAIR. 315 
 
 US upon Christmas eve. Then we are awaiting the 
 advent of that hallowed hour which brought joy and 
 redemption to the fallen race of Adam ; and our thoughts 
 wander hack to the old, old time when the shepherds 
 in the fields of Palestine were keeping watch over their 
 flocks by night, and gazing on the glory of the stars, 
 unwitting of the greater glory that was to appear. 
 Deep silence there was, and a solemn hush, as if all 
 nature held its breath. The wind stirred not ; no sound 
 of waters was heard ; no cry of beast came afar from 
 the mountain-clefts ; no scream of night-bird disturbed 
 the stilbiess of the air,— when suddenly a light, brighter 
 than the sun at mid-day, shone around, and the angel 
 of the Lord stood before these shepherds, and told 
 them the good tidings of great joy which should be 
 to all people ; and then arose such a symphony as 
 never before or since has vibrated on mortal ears — the 
 choral song of a multitude of the heavenly host, prais- 
 ing God, and saying, " Glory to God in the highest, 
 and on earth peace, good-will toward men." On that 
 night too, in far Chaldea, the Magi saw the wondrous 
 star, and followed it ; and it went before them as a 
 guide till it rested above the lowly shed at Bethlehem, 
 where the Babe was lying in a manger ; and the wise 
 men of the East fell do^\^l, and worshipped him, and 
 gave him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. Is 
 it superstition that makes us deem that season the 
 most blessed of the year — that bids us banish for a 
 time all idle thoughts, and vain ambitions, and devour- 
 ino; cares, and celebrate in singleness of heart the
 
 316 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 coming of the Saviour of the world ? Surely not ! It 
 is a barren and a cheerless faith that recognises no an- 
 niversaries, that rejects observances, and would ruth- 
 lessly stifle the impulses of the grateful heart. There 
 can be no superstition in that which is prompted by 
 piety and love, and which wars not against the letter of 
 our creed. Can it, indeed, be averred that men are so 
 prone to worship and adore, so pure of heart, so blame- 
 less in thought and deed, so constantly and deeply 
 thankful for the vast measure of mercy they have 
 received, that they should pass over the nativity of our 
 Lord with less reverence than we all unite in giving to 
 the birthday of an earthly potentate ? 
 
 But while I say this, which I do in all gravity and 
 seriousness, let it not be supposed that I am advocat- 
 ing that reckless jollity, that hilarious mirth, and cra- 
 pulous indulgence, which rob Christmas of its sacred 
 character, and debase it into a saturnalian orgy. It is 
 good that on such a day men should meet together as 
 friend with friend or brother with brother ; that they 
 should hold a feast, and eat their meat, as the first 
 believers did, with gladness and singleness of heart ; 
 but it is not good to forget the true meaning of the 
 festival, and encourage such boisterous wassail as would 
 have suited the hall of Herod. Not altogether untrue 
 or without foundation are the remarks of a recent 
 writer, who says, that though we have retained Christ- 
 mas in England, it is observed less as a solemn feast 
 than as a season for excessive eating ; and I must 
 needs allow that modern literature and art have favour-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 317 
 
 ed such heinous desecration. Do but look at the 
 popular woodcuts, some of them exhibiting no com- 
 mon degree of talent, and you will find almost invari- 
 ably that the holy season is typified by the figure of an 
 aged glutton — potbellied, pimpled, and blear-eyed — 
 with a goblet in one hand and a spoon in the other, 
 like an alderman preparing for an immediate assault 
 upon a smoking tureen of calipash. Eound him are 
 grouped disreputable nymphs in short petticoats squeez- 
 ing bunches of grapes, and ambling satyrs leering at 
 firkins, and pantomimic clowns — their faces bedaubed 
 with ochre and their tongues lolling from their mouths. 
 Then, by way of marginal decoration, you have a 
 border of chines of beef, and turkeys, and pheasants, 
 and boar-heads, and mince-pies, and spheres of plum- 
 pudding, and reeking bowls of punch, the mere sight 
 of which is enough to beget dyspepsia in any well- 
 regulated stomach ; and the practical lesson to be 
 derived from all this is, that it is your bounden duty 
 to eat, drink, and be jolly — yea, even to repletion 
 — for " Christmas comes but once a-year !" And then 
 we are expected to read a vast deal about hysterical 
 chuckling, and poking of the ribs, and rubbing of the 
 elbow and facetious slapping of the back ; and good 
 fairies administer plumcake, whereas rhubarb would be 
 more germain to the matter ; and things are so arranged 
 that everybody in the end gets a hearty dinner and 
 plenty of hot drink, and goes merrily down the country- 
 dance. Darby is betrothed to Joan ; the old stingy 
 uncle agrees to untie his purse-strings ; philanthropy
 
 318 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 is identified Avitli cramming ; and the devotional heart 
 is cheered with the contemplation of pickled oysters. 
 
 AVilliam Shakespeare — most genial of men and best 
 of England's worthies ! — these were not your thoughts 
 when you wrote — 
 
 " Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 
 And then they say, no spirit dares stir abroad. 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to cliarni ; 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time." 
 
 God rest thee, gentle Will ! Thou hadst more real 
 religion in thy little finger than could be gathered from 
 the heart of many a tonsured or a surpliced priest. 
 
 It was the custom at Wilbury to observe the rites of 
 Christmas with all due solemnity, though with little 
 ostentation. There was no Christmas-tree, with its 
 tiny candles and sparkling gifts, for there were no 
 children in the house ; but the rooms were duly decked 
 with the holly and mistletoe, that strange Druidic em- 
 blem of the long-forgotten past. On the eve the din- 
 ner-party broke up early, and we all assembled in the 
 drawing-room to await the coming of the festival. 
 The discourse was of a graver character than usual ; 
 even the Misses Carringtou seemed to feel the influ- 
 ence of the time, and forbore from exerting their fasci- 
 nations further than by a casual glance directed towards 
 the gentlemen. Stately Lady Lorimer tried hard to 
 lay aside her pretensions ; and, to my surprise, the 
 austere Miss Bootle became absorbed in the perusal of
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 319 
 
 The Christian Year. Apart from the others sate 
 Amy Stanhope and Mary Beaton in quiet earnest con- 
 versation ; not unwatched, you may be sure, by some 
 of us who were present, but altogether wrapped in 
 those sweet confidences of their own. 
 
 And here I may just as well confess the fact that, 
 though only four days had elapsed since my arrival at 
 Wilbury Hall, I was already as deeply in love with 
 Mary Beaton as though I had known her all my life. 
 No young man, unless he is cold as a tortoise, or 
 unimpressible as an armadillo, arrives at the years 
 of discretion, without having felt, many times, the 
 magnetic influence of sparkling eyes, or that gush of 
 warm feeling which, as I am given to understand, is 
 now denominated " spooniness," but which, while it 
 lasts, is beyond all question genuine and sincere ! 
 The Greeks, who had a fine turn for the tender 
 passion, created two Cupids, Eros and Auteros, to 
 each of whom they assigned a diff'erent function ; but 
 the musty commentators, from Cicero downwards — 
 what could Cicero know of the matter more than 
 the Chancellors Eldon or Campbell 1 — have differed in 
 their interpretation as to what the functions were, and 
 merely present to us two naked children wrestling for 
 the cestus of Cytherea. Let us take a rational view, 
 and one which is fortified by experience, and believe 
 that Eros is the wandering and erratic spirit — the 
 unscrupulous bird-bolter — the Puck and Kobin Good- 
 fellow of love, who plants his shafts with joyous reck- 
 lessness, regarding every bosom as his lawful aim — the
 
 3:20 KORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 mad boy who levels ranks, confounds anticipation, has 
 no respect for persons, and is never so gleeful as when 
 he can succeed in squeezing the juice of the delusive 
 herb into the eye for which it was not intended. And 
 Eros is very potent. He makes early marriages ; 
 neither time nor circumstances nor disposition coher- 
 ing. He has fairy ointment, warranted to be effectual 
 but a brief space beyond the honeymoon, whicli will 
 produce illusions strong as reality ; and if you allow 
 him to touch you with that salve, you become his vic- 
 tim. Very dangerous indeed is that same Eros I He 
 can make a mere village maiden — a mixture of the 
 comely and the clumsy — a Cicely whose highest ac- 
 quired accomplishment is but the frothing of a sylla- 
 bub — appear to the sentimental youth of twenty as 
 lovely and enchanting a nymph as ever tripped through 
 the Arcadian forests, or moved in the train of Dian 
 when she hunted on the slopes of Latmos. He it is 
 who caters matrimonially for the daughters of keepers 
 of lodging-houses, for artful governesses, spicy gri- 
 settes, and fascinating frequenters of Cremorne ; nor 
 does he confine his practice exclusively to the young, 
 for many an elderly gentleman, wearied of lonely exist- 
 ence, has been prompted by that same Eros to commit 
 the inexpiable folly of elevating the house-keeper from 
 the pickling-room to supreme dominion in the parlour. 
 Anteros again is a much more staid, circumspect, 
 and intelligent Cupid, who seldom takes deliberate aim 
 at any one before he or she has at least attained to the 
 years of discretion. He is no friend to rash, inconsi-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIK. 321 
 
 derate, or ill-assorted matches. He considers it his 
 duty not only to promote marriages, but to take care 
 that such unions shall be happy ; and he is so far 
 from practising illusions that he exerts himself strenu- 
 ously to dispel them. You are tolerably safe with him, 
 for he is no squanderer of his ammunition, and never 
 shoots without deliberate purpose. A first-rate marks- 
 man, notwithstanding, is he. The shafts of Eros some- 
 times glance aside, or inflict slight temporary flesh- 
 wounds, from which you soon recover without experi- 
 encing much inconvenience ; but when Anteros does 
 let an arrow fly, you may be sure it goes right into 
 the heart. 
 
 I deny not that I, like most of my neighbours, had 
 more than once served as a target for Eros ; and one 
 of his shafts, which he was pleased to launch at me in 
 Germany, had a decided barb, and was somewhat diflS- 
 cult of extrication. However, 1 did my best, and used 
 some precaution to baffle the attacks of the pestilent 
 little villain, who has a great antipathy to books which 
 are not of the Ovidian standard, and will retreat in 
 utter discomfiture, as the devil did from Luther, if you 
 shy an ink-horn at his head. And I succeeded so far, 
 that, after a time, he assailed me only with blunted 
 arrows — mere rib-admonishers, which were hardly 
 effectual for a bruise. But at last Anteros found me ; 
 and, contrary to his usual habit, without premonition, 
 took aim at my bosom, and shot within the garland as 
 deftly as William of Cloudeslee. 
 
 This may, for anything I know, be deemed a fan- 
 VOL. I. X
 
 322 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 tastic way of admitting tliat T was seriously in love ; 
 but do yon, my brave young reader, who may think it 
 so, try your own hand at an amatory confession. Of 
 course, if I were writing about Launcelot and Guin- 
 ever, or Tristram and Isolde, or Henry and the Fair 
 Rosamond, I could give you most beautiful love-scenes, 
 more passionate than the death-songs of a thousand 
 swans. But a man naturally shrinks from talking 
 about his own love-passages and secret feelings. It is 
 a kind of self-anatomy, the idea of which is absolutely 
 abhorrent. No surgeon, however fond he may be of 
 his profession, would like to operate upon himself, and 
 still less to deliver on such an occasion a demonstra- 
 tive lecture. Therefore I crave, or rather claim, to be 
 excused from entering into particulars, and stand, now 
 and hereafter, on my undoubted privilege of concealing 
 from you what I, Norman Sinclair, said, and what 
 answer I received. Heaven help us ! have we come to 
 that pass that every unfortunate fellow who wields a 
 pen must make a clean breast of it to the public ? 
 
 As, however, I have admitted the fact of my attrac- 
 tion or enthralment, I may perhaps be allowed to say 
 that, if there was any element of hope at all in my 
 dreams, it was of the very faintest character. I know 
 it has been maintained that love cannot exist without 
 hope, but that I hold to be a fallacy. Love is beyond 
 control. The page may love the princess ; but as 
 rationally may he expect a star from heaven to drop 
 as a diamond into his extended hand, as to win the 
 object of his adoration. Sir Walter Scott, in his most
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 323 
 
 excellent romance of Quentin Durward, has thought 
 fit to append a sort of indirect apology for making his 
 penniless hero win the hand of the Countess Isabelle 
 of Croye. The apology was needless as applied to 
 the age which he was illustrating, but, in regard to 
 that in which we live, it is of extreme sig-nificance. 
 For, to speak quite plainly and without disguise, mo2iey 
 is all in all, when matrimoney comes on the tapis. 
 You are not estimated according to your wit, intellect, 
 learning, or even reputation — the real point to be 
 ascertained is your rental, or your balance with your 
 banker. I will not go the length of saying that plau- 
 sible exceptions of future professional success may not 
 sometimes be accepted in lieu of realised fortune ; but 
 that is not often the case when girls who are heiresses 
 in anticipation are concerned. " I can give my daugh- 
 ter at the least eighty thousand pounds," says the emi- 
 nent drysalter, who began life by shifting shutters, 
 " and if that won't get her an Irish Peer, at all events 
 it's a high enough price for a Baronet." Poor girl ! 
 she would be much happier if allowed to marry within 
 her own sphere. Lord Blarneymore or Sir Sidney 
 Raikes, whichever of them may be preferred, will 
 simply squander her money, regarding her all the 
 while with as perfect indifference as if she were the 
 sack that contained the bullion. But fathers, ay, and 
 mothers too, when preparing their matrimonial esti- 
 mates, too often dismiss, as unworthy of consideration, 
 the pure question of happiness. They are resolved to 
 have what they call value for their money, the value
 
 324 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 being, for the most part, some sliglit social elevation. 
 If you have nothing of this kind to offer, and are, more- 
 over, the reverse of wealthy, you had better keep out 
 of the way of heiresses. The odds are that they will 
 have nothing to say to you ; and even were they fiivour- 
 ably inclined, you are certain to fall before the dis- 
 charge of the parental battery. 
 
 I knew perfectly well that in falling in love with 
 Miss Beaton I was giving way to a sentiment that in 
 all probability would cause me much disquiet. My 
 excuse is that I could not help it. I was, to speak the 
 honest truth, entirely fascinated by this the loveliest, 
 sweetest, and gentlest lady I had ever seen, and I had 
 no more the power of dismissing her image from my 
 mind, than the sick man has of conjuring away the 
 phantoms which seem to hover around his couch. But 
 this much I was resolved on, that, whatever my feel- 
 ings might be, I should so restrain them as to create 
 no suspicion in the minds of others that I had even 
 entertained a thought which, considering my j)osition, 
 would justly have been deemed presumptuous. 
 
 But I must back to the drawing-room at Wilbury. 
 The gentlemen, I must acknowledge, seemed somewhat 
 at a loss for occupation ; for, however orthodox men may 
 be, nothing makes them more fidgety than the ex- 
 pectation of some devotional ceremony, they not know- 
 ing what to do in the interim. Sir John Hawkins, 
 who was the reverse of imaoinative, indulged in various 
 yawns ; while Lumley, in a sudden fit of enthusiasm 
 for the cause of education, busied himself in teaching
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 325 
 
 Amy Stanhope's pet spaniel to sit upright, and toss 
 biscuit from its nose. For ray own part, I gradually 
 lapsed into a reverie, of a nature half melancholy, half 
 pleasant ; for Christmas had hitherto been for me 
 rather a name than a realised festival, so entirely had 
 I been cut off from the enjoyment of the social circle. 
 It appeared to me like a dream that I, the helpless 
 orphan who had found shelter in a cottage — the penni- 
 less lad, who, after my poor uncle's death, had been 
 forced into an early struggle with the world — the erratic 
 student, who could not so much as say what was his 
 proper home, — should now be residing in a splendid 
 English mansion, and mingling on terms of equality 
 with those who were my superiors in rank and fortune. 
 True, I might say with Bassanio that " I was a gentle- 
 man ; " but, beyond that threadbare boast, common to 
 so many of my countrymen, I had no recommendation. 
 Could I then feel otherwise, especially at such a season 
 as this, than profoundly grateful to the Almighty for 
 His care and protection, and for the fulfilment of the 
 promise that He will be the Father of the fatherless ? 
 Ah, no ! If ingratitude between man and man is 
 odious, how immeasurably more heinous is the sin if 
 we take the bounties of God without yielding some 
 acknowledgment, however imperfect it may be ! 
 
 And so the night wore on, quietly, as the stars 
 moved in the heaven ; quietly, as became Christian 
 people observing such a vigil, though their mode of 
 observing it, and the tenor of their thoughts, differed, 
 as must always be the case, according to their peculiar
 
 32G NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 temperament. At length, however, at a signal from 
 Mr Stanhope, we all adjourned to the library, where 
 the servants were assembled, and Dr Wayles read the 
 evening service. 
 
 Scarcely had he ended when the clock struck the 
 hour of the Nativity, and the children from the parish- 
 school, who had been brought into the hall, sung the 
 following old English carol : — 
 
 "As Joseph was a- walking, 
 He heard an angel sing, 
 This night shall be born 
 Our heavenly King. 
 
 He neither shall be born 
 
 In housen nor in hall, 
 Nor in the place of Paradise, 
 
 But in an ox's stall. 
 
 He neither shall be clothed 
 
 In purple nor in pall. 
 But aU. in fair linen 
 
 As were babies all. 
 
 He neither shall be rocked 
 
 In silver nor in gold. 
 But in a wooden cradle 
 
 That rocks on the mould." 
 
 Then with hearty congratulations, in which all un- 
 feignedly joined — for I am quite certain that the most 
 listless and volatile of the party were impressed with 
 the solemnity of the occasion — we parted for the night.
 
 CPIxiPTER XXI. 
 
 AN OLEAGINOUS INTERVIEW. 
 
 " Keep moving on ! " It is an excellent piece of ad- 
 vice, even when it proceeds from the lips of a police- 
 man ; and by writers of every kind of narrative it 
 ought especially to be borne in mind. Por we are beset 
 by many temptations to dawdle and dilate ; we are apt 
 to become circumstantial regardino- details of no real 
 value or import ; and, like children in pursuit of butter- 
 flies, to deviate from the beaten track in chase of some 
 aerial apparition. 
 
 I shall therefore say nothing more in reference to 
 what occurred during my brief stay at Wilbury Hall, 
 repressing a certain inclination which I feel to describe 
 the Christmas festivities ; but shall again transport 
 myself to London, where I took apartments in Jermyn 
 Street, much more comfortable and creditable than 
 those which I had hitherto occupied by kind permission 
 of Mrs Lewson. Carlton remained in the country, in- 
 tending, as I sincerely hoped, to improve the occasion, 
 and to get rid of those extraordinary crotchets which
 
 328 NORMAN SINCLAIR, 
 
 were the sole obstacle to his wishes. I will not deny 
 that, when I thought over our conversation at Wilbury, 
 I felt utterly amazed that a man otherwise so rational 
 could allow himself to be haunted by such chimeras, 
 nor that I sometimes repined, now that I had seen Mary 
 Beaton, that I had not a fortune like that of Carlton to 
 justify the prosecution of my suit. Had it been so, 
 assuredly no vain scruples would have stood in ray way. 
 But I soon checked that weakness ; for the man who 
 indulges in repining at his lot is already half a craven, 
 and will flinch from the approaching battle. 
 
 I should note, however, that before I left Wilbury, 
 Sir George Smoothly took occasion to renew his prof- 
 fers of service ; and was so bland and conciliatory in 
 his manner, that, in spite of myself, a certain prejudice 
 which I had contracted against him gave way ; and I 
 began to think that I had done injustice to a very ami- 
 able and friendly gentleman. Of all baits to angle with, 
 benevolence is the most sure and deadly ! How can 
 you distrust the individual whose eye, as he regards 
 you, beams with sympathy, who listens with so much 
 patience and interest to your aspirations, and who 
 occasionally interjects a sigh, as if regretful that the 
 days when he too was possessed by youthful enthusiasm 
 had departed ? Besides this, it was difficult to conceive 
 what motive Sir George could have in paying me such 
 marked attention, beyond that disinterested wish to 
 help me forward, which he did not hesitate to express. 
 I could be of no use to him — of that I was thoroughly 
 convinced ; and though I knew then, not quite so well
 
 NOKMAN SINCLAIR. 329 
 
 as I do now, that there is a sort of men who make it 
 their invariable policy to be lavish in professions of 
 good-will alike to high and low, and find their advan- 
 tage in doing so, still it appeared to me incredible that 
 he would have renewed the subject had he not been 
 thoroughly sincere. I was by this time tolerably well 
 aware of his real standing and position. He was a new 
 baronet, of mercantile family and moderate fortune, 
 who, having been able, through local connection, to 
 secure the representation of a petty borough, had at- 
 tached himself to the Conservative party, was never 
 absent from divisions, served on all manner of com- 
 mittees, made himself generally useful, and never pre- 
 sumed to speak in debate, unless when specially re- 
 quested to do so at times when the Treasury benches 
 were thin (that is, at the period of the day when good 
 men are v/ont to dine) ; and then, if necessary, he would 
 prose away for half an hour, fluently enough, in order 
 to keep the parliamentary machine from coming to an 
 absolute stoppage. A man so useful to his party, and 
 so ready to obey the mandates of the ministerial whip- 
 per-in, was entitled to expect some tangible recognition 
 of his services ; and he was not disappointed. He was 
 promoted to office and salary ; performed his duties, 
 such as they were, with much blandness and assiduity; 
 but still continued to fag in the House with as much 
 perseverance as before. In public life, plausible medi- 
 ocrity is far more likely to succeed than real talent. 
 From entire subservience to the whip, Sir George 
 Smoothly progressed to personal toadyism, of the Leader
 
 330 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 of the House. He threw his homage into the form of 
 absolute worship. According to his declared opinion, 
 the seven sages of Greece, stewed down together in 
 Qj^son's chaldron, would not have reproduced so perfect 
 an incarnation of wisdom and sagacity as the Premier. 
 He was to be regarded less as a man, than as an incar- 
 nation or embodiment of the divine essence of intellect ; 
 and it was remarked that, when cheering the speeches 
 of his chief. Sir George Smoothly intoned his " hear, 
 hear ! " very much as a pious Catholic might do his 
 response in the adoration of Madonna. Now, how- 
 ever mentally great a man may be — however religiously 
 and conscientiously he may try to throw off private 
 preferences while labouring for the public good — this 
 kind of adulation will always work upon him. It can- 
 not be otherwise, because he does not see the heart. In 
 the full-flowing tide of success he anticipates no reac- 
 tion ; and he is always ready to believe that the homage 
 which is only paid him by reason of his singular suc- 
 cess, and through the belief that it will be permanent, 
 arises from personal attachment, and, as such, will con- 
 tinue to be rendered notwithstanding political changes. 
 Now, without denying the existence of such attachments, 
 noble and honourable alike to the leader and the fol- 
 lower, I must needs record my opinion that such 
 instances are rare, at least compared with the multitude 
 of desertions that follow upon waning popularity. Few 
 are eager to grasp the hand that has no longer the 
 power of dispensing gifts ; few will stand by the de- 
 posed chieftain rather than offer their allegiance to his
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 331 
 
 successful rival. Statesmen, however, do not think of 
 this ; they are gratified by the show of devotion, and 
 very naturally bestow their smiles and their favours 
 upon those who are the most consummate proficients 
 in the art of flattery. And I question whether the 
 courts of Dionysius or of Canute contained a more 
 skilful adept than Sir George Smoothly. He never 
 presumed upon recognition ; he never for a moment 
 forgot his place. It was impossible to spoil him. 
 Other men, if honoured by the notice of the Minister 
 so marked that it might almost have been construed 
 into confidence, would have borne their heads more 
 high in consequence, and have boasted of their influence 
 and their power. Not so Smoothly. JYohis sit i)rima 
 virtus humilitas might have been his motto, so affable 
 was his deportment, so meekly did he bear himself 
 towards all. Hence he became a trusted man, an in- 
 dispensable member of the Government ; and tliough 
 occupying but a subordinate position, it was generally 
 believed that his good word would be as effectual with 
 those in high places as the more direct recommendation 
 of many who ranked above him as politicians. 
 
 What wonder then if I felt gratified by the attention 
 shown to me by a personage so influential, and gave a 
 heedful ear to the suggestions that flowed from his ex- 
 perienced lips ? He briefly referred to our former con- 
 versation when we first met on the Khine, inquired into 
 the nature of my subsequent studies and avocations ; was 
 pleased to express much satisfaction at learning that I 
 had directed my attention somewhat to questions of a
 
 332 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 public nature ; and hinted that he had great hopes 
 very soon of being able to procure for me some con- 
 siderable government appointment. 
 
 " You must understand, however, my dear Mr Sin- 
 clair," he said, " that nothing can be done until after 
 the meeting of Parliament. I happen to know that 
 Ministers at present are more than usually embarrassed 
 by a vast number of applications from quarters which 
 they dare not neglect. It is a bad system, I admit, 
 but I fear that it is one inseparable from constitutional 
 government. My own influence is very small — so 
 small, indeed, that I cannot use it except in favour of 
 some one who would be of material service to our party. 
 I shall ever consider myself fortunate in having met 
 with you ; because sterling talent, combined with sound 
 judgment and steady business habits, is a commodity 
 which we rarely meet with, and greatly desiderate. I 
 was, I assure you, very much impressed by what fell 
 from you at our first casual meeting — so much so, that 
 I took occasion (I tell you this, of course, in the strictest 
 confidence) to mention your name to the Premier, whom 
 I have been visiting at his country-seat. The claims of 
 genius, especially when it is of an available kind, have 
 never been disregarded by that eminent and benevolent 
 man. He was very particular in his inquiries, and then 
 said, ' Well, Smoothly ; by your account this young 
 gentleman should not be lost sight of. If he had any 
 parliamentary connection, I should not hesitate for a 
 moment, on your recommendation, to engage him in the
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 333 
 
 I3ublic service. But no one knows better than yourself 
 that we are forced to be most cautious in the exercise 
 of our patronage ; and I would not be justified in ele- 
 vating this gentleman over the heads of other public 
 servants, unless I had substantial and tangible proof 
 that he possesses those high abilities for which you give 
 him credit. Furnish me with such proof, and you may 
 rely upon it that his claims shall not be overlooked.' 
 These were his precise words ; and I need hardly say 
 that you ought to consider them as most encouraging." 
 
 " My dear Sir George ! " I replied, in no little con- 
 fusion, for the announcement that my name had been 
 already mentioned to so exalted a personage as the 
 Premier quite took away my breath, " how shall I ever 
 thank you sufficiently for such unmerited kindness ? " 
 
 " I deserve no thanks, my dear young friend, for 
 doing what I consider to be quite as much an act of 
 public duty, as a token of the personal interest which 
 I feel towards yourself Yom- promotion, therefore, 
 depends entirely upon your own exertions ; but you 
 have this immense advantage over others, that the gate 
 stands open for your entrance.'" 
 
 All this was vastly gratifying, and much more than 
 I could have expected or hoped for. Still it was not 
 very explicit. I had a distinct assurance that by doing 
 something or other I should receive promotion, but I 
 had not the remotest idea what sort of work was ex- 
 pected from me. I was, like Michael Scott's familiar 
 spirit, ready enough to execute any task that might be
 
 334 NORMAN SINCLAIU, 
 
 assigned to me, or, at all events, to make the essay ; but 
 I stood utterly in need of suggestion. I did not know 
 how or with what I should beoin. 
 
 Sir George Smoothly no doubt divined my thoughts 
 — indeed, I imagine that he made a pause in the con- 
 versation on purpose that this difficulty should present 
 itself to my mind. In diplomacy the advantage always 
 remains with that party who can concuss or persuade 
 the other into asking advice ; and the honourable 
 baronet was better versed in diplomacy than many who 
 have been bred to it as a profession. I therefore begged 
 him to add to his other favours by indicating the course 
 which I ought to pursue. 
 
 " I have already considered that matter very seri- 
 ously," replied Sir George ; " and although you could 
 doubtless furnish sufficient proof of your literary ability 
 by pointing to articles and other things which you may 
 have written, I am afraid that such would not be 
 deemed the most acceptable kind of testimonial. The 
 fact is, that my illustrious friend did not attain to his 
 present exalted position without having been made the 
 subject of many attacks — some of them most flagrant 
 and injurious — from organs of public opinion which 
 professed to advocate the cause of the Conservative 
 party. Of late there are certain symptoms which make 
 me apprehensive that such unworthy conduct may be 
 renewed ; for we are molested by some malcontents, 
 for the most part young and inexperienced men, who 
 are not satisfied with the conciliatory policy of our 
 great leader, and affect to distrust his sincerity. Now
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 335 
 
 it is a marked peculiarity of that distinguished man — 
 I dare not call it a weakness — that he is very sensitive 
 to such attacks ; and their former frequency has en- 
 gendered in his mind a sort of dislike to political 
 writers in general. It has even been observed, that 
 when he does extend his notice to persons of that 
 class, it is rather to those who have been his direct 
 political opponents than to such as are known to main- 
 tain Conservative opinions." 
 
 " Surely/' said I, " that cannot be a wise policy. It 
 must be conceded that the press exercises an enormous 
 power — whether judiciously or not, in certain cases, may 
 be a disputed question. But how can a Minister ex- 
 pect active support from the press if he neglects to 
 conciliate those who are its controllers ? I have reason 
 to believe that complaints, foimded upon this, are very 
 general ; and that comparisons highly unfavourable to 
 the Minister have been dra^vn between the scurvy 
 treatment which Conservative writers receive at the 
 hands of their party-chiefs, and the marked attention 
 and encouragement which are given to literary men by 
 the heads of the Whig alliance." 
 
 " What you say is no doubt quite true," replied Sir 
 George. " I have always held that we should encour- 
 age literary men. But that does not fall within my 
 department ; and it must be confessed that my illustri- 
 ous friend has ere now been so bitterly reviled by Tory 
 writers, that he can hardly be expected to have any 
 decided leaning in their favour." 
 
 " That may be. Still it is strange that, while syste-
 
 336 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 matically overlooking his supporter?, he should give any 
 countenance to avowed opponents." 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know what he has endured. His is 
 a most sensitive nature. He resembles the gladiator 
 who rejoices to meet a foe armed at all points in the 
 arena, but shrinks with apprehension from the threat- 
 ened sting of a wasp. Unrivalled in debate, he is 
 strangely susceptible to ridicule ; and if he does bestow 
 some little attention upon men who, in this age of 
 whim and oddity, can provoke the ready laugh, that 
 must be regarded solely in the light of a wise precau- 
 tion. But I would not have you identify yourself too 
 much, at least for the present, with the literary profes- 
 sion. That is not the road by which, according to my 
 view, you will attain your object." 
 
 " Then, I fear, mine is a hopeless case ; for I can 
 think of no other way." 
 
 " My dear young friend, you do yourself vast in- 
 justice," said Sir George, with one of his very bland- 
 est smiles. " Be ruled by me. It is one of the few 
 privileges of age that it can appeal to experience, and 
 guide the young ; and though I am not a very old man " 
 (he was sixty-eight if he was a day, though as well 
 preserved as turtle in a tin canister), " I have seen 
 much of the world and its ways, and I know precisely 
 what is required from a young political aspirant. From 
 what you have already told me I gather that you. have 
 some practical knowledge of the law of Scotland, which 
 differs in some important respects from that of Eng- 
 land. Am I not right in that conjecture ? "
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 337 
 
 " The devil fetcli you for an old sneck-drawer ! " 
 thought I, mentally recurring to the vernacular. " What, 
 in the name of the collective College of Justice, can have 
 put that notion into your head ?" Practical knowledge ! 
 Of course I had some practical knowledge. No lad who 
 had spent six years in the office of Messrs Meiklecry, 
 Littlewoo, and Shearaway could fail to acquire some 
 smattering of legal lore, and I had not been an idle 
 nor unobservant workman. I was tolerably well con- 
 versant with the principles of Scottish law, but I never 
 had been taught to apply them. Howbeit, it was not 
 for me to start a difficulty before I thoroughly under- 
 stood the drift of the question ; so I replied that I 
 certainly had received the benefit of a legal education, 
 though circumstances had induced me to relinquish the 
 law as a profession. 
 
 "Then you are just the very man to suit my purpose," 
 said Sir George. " A professional lawyer is so accus- 
 tomed to the use of technicalities, that it is very difficult 
 for us of the laity to understand his meaning. What I 
 want is a gentleman of high intelligence, who, knowing 
 the law, can explain its bearing in intelligible language. 
 It is with extreme gratification that I am able to an- 
 nounce to you that your previous acquirements may now 
 be employed with direct advantage to the State, and, I 
 need not add, for your own interest and advancement." 
 
 "Well," thought I, "if that should prove, to be the 
 case, I may indeed be thankful to Providence and Mr 
 Shearaway for having promoteji me to the occupancy 
 of a three-legged stool ! " 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 338 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " The circumstances," continued Sir George, " are 
 these. I may mention, but in the strictest confidence, 
 that it is projDosed, in the course of the ensuing session, 
 to introduce a new Poor-law Act for Scotland. This 
 has been urged upon the Ministry by several influential 
 English members of Parliament, who have paid flying 
 visits to the Highlands for a week or so during the 
 recess, and have been much shocked by the squalid 
 appearance of the inhabitants. You are aware that 
 the tendency of recent legislation is towards uniformity 
 and centralisation ; the object being that pauperism, 
 wherever it exists, shall be dealt with equally and im- 
 partially. There can be no reason — so at least many 
 of our English friends, whose votes we must conciliate, 
 maintain — that gigantic poor-houses, like those of Kent 
 and Middlesex, should not be established in such regions 
 as Skye, Uist, and Zetland, at the expense of the pro- 
 prietors of the soil. In fact, they maintain that each 
 island, having a certain amount of population, should 
 be provided with an independent Bastille. The ques- 
 tion being still open, I reserve my individual view ; 
 but this much I may tell you, that a very eminent 
 English county member, who travelled for no less than 
 four days in the West Highlands, has threatened, if the 
 Ministry will do nothing, to make this a critical ques- 
 tion ; and it is more than probable that he would en- 
 gage the support of all sections of the Opposition. I 
 was privileged to be present at an interview with the 
 Premier when he stated his case, which assuredly ap- 
 peared to be a strong one ; though, owing to his ignor-
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 339 
 
 ance of the language of the inhabitants, he was unable 
 to say whether they complained or not of the existing 
 system of relief. But the negligence of their raiment, 
 and their eager way of demanding small coin for the 
 purchase of tobacco, appeared to him decisive proofs of 
 their miserable condition, and of the necessity for its 
 amendment ; and therefore the Ministry, in order to 
 avoid party dissension, have given directions for the 
 preparation of a general Poor-law measure." 
 
 "Such a measure," said I, "may possibly be required; 
 for it is undoubtedly the fact that, in the remoter dis- 
 tricts, the people are very poor, and the means of em- 
 ployment are limited. Some may think, and do think, 
 that the best mode of preventing pauperism is to de- 
 velop the resources of the country ; but on that point 
 I venture no opinion. I must say, however, that it is 
 scarcely complimentary to Scotland that the represen- 
 tations of a bull-headed southern squire, who knows 
 nothing whatever of the people, should be made the 
 pretext for legislation on a matter of such extreme 
 importance." 
 
 " There, now, you are becoming excited — the very 
 worst thing that can happen to a man who aspires to 
 enter into public life ! Shun excitement, my dear 
 young friend ; it throws one entirely off his guard. I 
 have not given way to excitement once during the last 
 thirty years." 
 
 " What a precious cold-blooded snail you must be ! " 
 was my complimentary thought ; but I simply answered 
 with a bow.
 
 340 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " But to resume," said Sir George Smoothly. " We 
 anticipate, of course, that there may be some opposition 
 to the measure, especially as regards details ; for even 
 among our nominal supporters there arc some who 
 will not accept the schemes of the Cabinet with that 
 entire acquiescence and heartiness which the theory of 
 our Constitution demands. Acquiescence, my dear 
 young friend — I speak from long experience — is the 
 principle which regulates the Treasury. The matter, 
 therefore, stands thus. The debate will be chiefly con- 
 ducted by the Scotch members ; nevertheless it has 
 been deemed advisable that some one of the minis- 
 terial party, unconnected with the North, should be 
 thoroughly prepared on the subject ; and I, though 
 always reluctant to put myself forward, have been 
 requested to undertake that duty." 
 
 " So ! that is the way in which our affairs are 
 managed ! " thought I. " A very useful adviser you 
 will prove, old gentleman, on a matter of which you 
 are profoundly ignorant ! " 
 
 " My opportunities of acquiring information being 
 but limited," continued Sir George, " and my time 
 being otherwise fully occupied, it is necessary that I 
 should have the assistance of some qualified person to 
 frame, in clear and precise language, a statement of 
 the law as presently administered, along with a tabular 
 view of the parishes in Scotland, their estimated rental, 
 and the amount of the funds which are available for 
 the maintenance of the poor. It would also be desir- 
 able that to such a document should be appended any 
 practical suggestions which may occur to the writer, all
 
 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 341 
 
 which will, most assuredly, be carefully and anxiously 
 considered. The paper will be submitted to the Pre- 
 mier; and, if approved of, will be regarded as the 
 highest possible certificate of merit. Such is the task, 
 my young friend, which I assign to you, in the full 
 belief that you will apply your whole energies and un- 
 remitting attention to its performance." 
 
 "But, sir," said I, aghast at the proposal, "this is 
 an undertaking utterly beyond my powers and abihty !" 
 
 " You will permit me to be the judge of that," re- 
 plied Sir George, with a smile ineffably seraphic. " I 
 cannot allow your modesty, which, however, is a rare 
 and commendable quality, to stand in the way of your 
 promotion. Young men, I am well aware, are, through 
 inexperience, apt at first to shrink from the responsi- 
 bility of such labours ; but that is mere nervous diffi- 
 dence, which will disappear as soon as you set to work 
 in earnest. I have some parliamentary papers and 
 returns which you may find of material assistance, and 
 these I shall forward to your address." 
 
 " Eeally, Sir George, I do not see how I possibly 
 can undertake this. I am not ashamed to own that 
 my circumstances are such as to force me to economise 
 my time for the means of livelihood ; and if I were to 
 apply myself diligently to such an investigation, I 
 must needs abandon all other engagements." 
 
 " Ah now ! Believe me, you very much overrate 
 the labour. If you begin to imagine difficulties before 
 they arise, you will never be able to make your way. 
 Think only of the splendid prospect before you, and be 
 resolute."
 
 342 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 " But, sir," said I ; " you really ought to apply to 
 some person better qualified than I am, from age and 
 experience, to consider a question involving results of 
 such magnitude ! I tell you fairly that I am not com- 
 petent to grapple with such a subject. It is one upon 
 which men of high attainments have held conflicting 
 views ; and it would be utterly presumptuous in me to 
 hazard an opinion in a controversy which has lasted 
 since the Union. Fletcher of Saltoun " 
 
 " Excuse me !" said Sir George Smoothly. " There is 
 no gentleman of that name in the House of Commons." 
 
 " True, sir ; but I allude to a man of great historical 
 eminence/' 
 
 " Ah ! That convinces me that you have studied the 
 question very minutely indeed. Do me the favour to 
 jot down his views, in a general way, so far as you 
 can, but embodying a quotation, which, if necessary, I 
 can read to the House. How delighted I am to find 
 that you are truly master of the position, and that 
 your modesty alone stands in your way ! You must 
 take courage. State what you think ; but think al- 
 ways in accordance with the general tendency of those 
 who require your assistance ; and you may be sure 
 that this slight sacrifice of your time will be produc- 
 tive of substantial results hereafter. Adieu, my dear 
 Mr Sinclair ! I cannot express the gratification I 
 derive from the thought that I shall be able to ad- 
 vance your interests." 
 
 And so, with an affectionate but somewhat clammy 
 squeeze of the hand, Sir George Smoothly made his 
 exit from the library, where the interview which I have
 
 NOEMAN SINCLAIR. 343 
 
 detailed took place, leaving me in a mood of mind in 
 which it would be difficult to say whether doubt, hope, 
 or vexation predominated. 
 
 " Would to heaven," said I, soliloquising, " that I 
 could fathom that man's real intentions ! He speaks 
 fairly, no doubt of that, and I cannot imagine why he 
 should wish to play me false. Yet, confound it, there 
 is something about him that I don't like ! I half sus- 
 pect that he is humbugging me. He says that he 
 mentioned my name to the Premier — surely that cannot 
 be a lie ? No, no — it would be a shame to think so. 
 No English gentleman would demean himself by such 
 gross deceit ! But then, why should he have taken 
 such a fancy to me ! He has the character of being a 
 selfish man, yet he acts, or professes to act, most 
 generously in regard to myself Stop though ! Genero- 
 sity is a wide term ; and, after all, what has his anxiety 
 on my behalf, supposing it to be real, cost him ? No- 
 thing. And what has he promised? Why, vaguely 
 and inferentially, much ; but directly and substantially, 
 nothing. But then I suppose I must consider myself 
 for the present as being simply upon trial. Well — 
 that is not altogether unreasonable. Official employ- 
 ments are not so plentiful that I can expect to be 
 off'ered one without giving proof of my competency. 
 But to undertake a work like this — why, I never shall 
 be able to go through with it excejjt at the sacrifice of 
 more time than I can well afford. What then ? All 
 men must lay their account with making some sacri- 
 fices, and this, at any rate, holds out a brilliant pro- 
 spect. But I wish I could have the benefit of some
 
 344 NORMAN SINCLAIR. 
 
 sound advice. Wliat if I were to tell Carlton of this 
 interview ? But no. I am in a manner pledged to 
 secrecy ; besides, Carlton dislikes Sir George Smoothly, 
 and is too much prejudiced to give a fair opinion. 
 Come, let me decide at once. I'll do it ! Hard work 
 it must be, but why should I shrink from that ? 
 Mary Beaton ! If through labour I could hope to win 
 thee, there is no task so arduous that I would not 
 joyfully undertake !" 
 
 With this doughty resolution I returned to London, 
 and did immediately apply myself to the compilation 
 of the required statistics. At first I made but slow 
 progress, for I was forced to read a great deal in order 
 to acquire a competent knowledge of the subject. 
 Gradually, however, I began to feel reaUy interested in 
 the work. Thanks to my business education, I had 
 been early accustomed to grapple with figures, an oc- 
 cupation so distasteful to the majority of mankind, and 
 the glowing schedules rose beneath my hand like 
 magic. What subsequently took place must be re- 
 corded in another chapter. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
 
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