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CHRIS ill-; JOHNSTONE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 r 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES READE 
 
 ^^&&? 
 
 POPULAR EDITION 
 WITH A .FhG'NTISPl I. ''7. 
 
 ■ DON 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS 
 
 1905 
 
PRINTED EY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
Pi - 
 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 VTISCOUNT IPSDEN, aged twenty-five, 
 
 * income eighteen thousand pounds per year, 
 constitution equine, was unhappy ! This might 
 surprise some people ; but there are certain 
 blessings the non-possession of which makes 
 more people discontented than their possession 
 renders happy. 
 
 Foremost among these are ' wealth and 
 rank ; ' were I to add k beauty ' to the list, 
 such men and women as go by fact, not by 
 conjecture, would hardly contradict me. 
 
 The fortunate man is he who born poor, or 
 nobody, works gradually up to wealth and con- 
 sideration, and having got them dies before he 
 finds they were not worth so much trouble. 
 
 Lord Ipsden started with nothing to win ; 
 and naturally lived for amusement. Now, noth- 
 ing is so sure to cease to please as pleasure, — to 
 
 B 
 
 258469 
 
z Christie Johnstone. 
 
 amuse, as amusement. Unfortunately for himself 
 he could not at this period of his life warm to 
 politics; so, having exhausted his London clique, 
 he rolled through the cities of Europe in his car- 
 riage, and cruised its shores in his yacht. But 
 he was not happy ! 
 
 He was a man of taste, and sipped the arts 
 and other knowledge as he sauntered Europe 
 round. 
 
 But he was- not happy. 
 
 ' What shall I do } ' said Tennuye. 
 
 ' Distinguish yourself, 1 said one. 
 
 ■ How?' 
 
 No immediate answer. 
 
 ; Take a prima donna over,' said another. 
 
 Well, the man took a prima donna over, 
 which scolded its maid from the Alps to Dover 
 in the lingua Toscana without the bocca Ro- 
 mana, and sang in London without applause ; 
 because what goes down at La Scala does not 
 generally go down at II Teatro della Regina, 
 Haymarket. 
 
 So then my Lord strolled into Russia. There 
 he drove a pair of horses, one of whom put his 
 head down and did the work ; the other pranced 
 and capricoled alongside, all unconscious of the 
 trace. He seemed happier than his working 
 brother ; but the biped whose career corre- 
 
Cbl istic Johnstone. 3 
 
 sponded with this playful animal's, was not 
 happy ! 
 
 At length an event occurred that promised to 
 plav ail adagio upon Lord [psden's mind. He 
 fell in love with Lady Barbara Sinclair ; and 
 he had no sooner done this than he felt, as we 
 are all apt to do on similar occasions, how wise 
 a thing he had done ! 
 
 Besides a lovely person, Lady Barbara Sin- 
 clair had a character that he saw would make 
 him ; and in fact, Lady Barbara Sinclair was. 
 to an inexperienced eye. the exact opposite of 
 Lord Ipsden. 
 
 Her mental pulse was as plethoric as his was 
 languid. 
 
 She was as enthusiastic as he was cool. 
 
 She took a warm interest in everything. 
 
 She believed that government is a science, 
 and one that goes with copia verborum. 
 
 She believed that in England government is 
 administered, not by a set of men whose sala- 
 ries range from eighty to five hundred pounds 
 a year, and whose names are never heard, but 
 by the First Lord of the Treasury, and other 
 great men. 
 
 Hence she inferred that it matters very much 
 to all of us in whose hand is the rudder of that 
 state vessel which goes down the wind of public 
 
 1; z 
 
4 Christie Johnswne. 
 
 opinion without veering a point, let who will be 
 at the helm. 
 
 She also cared very much who was the new 
 Bishop. Religion — if not religion, theology — 
 would be affected thereby. 
 
 She was enthusiastic about poets ; imagined 
 their verse to be some sort of clue to their 
 characters, and so on. 
 
 She had other theories, which will be indi- 
 cated by-and-by ; at present, it is enough to say 
 that her mind was young, [healthy, somewhat 
 original, full of fire and faith, and empty of 
 experience. 
 
 Lord Ipsden loved her ! It was easy to love 
 her. 
 
 First, there was not in the whole range of 
 her mind and body one grain of affectation of 
 any sort. 
 
 She was always, in point of fact, under the 
 influence of some male mind or other, gener- 
 ally some writer. What young woman is not, 
 more or less, a mirror } But she never imitated 
 or affected ; she was always herself, by whom- 
 soever colored. 
 
 Then, she was beautiful and eloquent. Much 
 too high-bred to put a restraint upon her natu- 
 ral manner, she was often more naive, and even 
 brusque, than your would-be aristocrats dare to 
 
Christie Johnstone. 5 
 
 be. But what a charming abruptness hers 
 was : 
 
 I do not excel in descriptions, and yet I want 
 to give you sonic carnal idea of a certain pecu- 
 liarity and charm this lady possessed. Permit 
 me to call a sister art to my aid. 
 
 There has lately stepped upon the French 
 Stage a charming personage, whose manner is 
 quite free from the affectation that soils nearly 
 all French actresses, — Mademoiselle Madeleine 
 Brohan. When you see this young lady play 
 Mademoiselle La Segliere, you see high-bred 
 sensibility personified, and you see something 
 like Lady Barbara Sinclair. 
 
 She was a connexion of Lord Ipsden's ; but 
 they had not met for two years, when they 
 encountered each other in Paris just before 
 the commencement of this ' dramatic story," — 
 1 novel, 1 by courtesy. 
 
 The month he spent in Paris near her was a 
 bright month to Lord Ipsden. A bystander 
 would not have gathered from his manner that 
 he was warmly in love with this lady ; but for 
 all that, his Lordship was gradually uncoiling 
 himself, and gracefully, quietly, basking in the 
 rays of Barbara Sinclair. 
 
 He was also just beginning to take an inter- 
 est in subjects of the day, — ministries, flat 
 
6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 paintings, controversial novels, Cromwell's spot- 
 less integrity, etc. Why not ? They interested 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly the lady and her family returned 
 to England. Lord Ipsden, who was going to 
 Rome, came to England instead. 
 
 She had not been five days in London before 
 she made her preparations to spend six months 
 in Perthshire. 
 
 This brought matters to a climax. 
 
 Lord Ipsden proposed in form. 
 
 Lady Barbara was surprised ; she had not 
 viewed his graceful attentions in that light at all. 
 However, she answered by letter his proposal, 
 which had been made by letter. 
 
 After a few of those courteous words a lady 
 always bestows on a gentleman who has of- 
 fered her the highest compliment any man has 
 it in his power to offer any woman, she came 
 to the point in the following characteristic 
 manner : — 
 
 1 The man I marry must have two things, — 
 virtues and vices. You have neither ; you do 
 nothing, and never will do anything, but sketch 
 and hum tunes, and dance and dangle. Forget 
 this folly the day after to-morrow, my dear 
 Ipsden ; and if I may ask a favor of one to whom 
 
Christie Johnstone. 7 
 
 I refuse that which would not be a kindness, be 
 Still < r ood friends with her who will always be 
 Your affectionate Csusin. 
 
 Barbara Sinclair. 
 
 Soon after this effusion she vanished into 
 Perthshire, leaving her cousin stunned by a 
 blow which she thought would be only a scratch 
 to one of his character. 
 
 Lord Ipsden relapsed into greater listlessness 
 than before he had cherished these crushed 
 hopes. The world now became really dark and 
 blank to him. He was too languid to go any- 
 where or do anything ; a republican might have 
 compared the settled expression of his hand- 
 some, hopeless face with that of most day- 
 laborers of the same age, and moderated his 
 envy of the rich and titled. 
 
 At last he became so pale, as well as languid, 
 that Mr. Saunders interfered. 
 
 Saunders was a model valet and factotum, 
 who had been with his master ever since he left 
 Eton, and had made himself necessary to him 
 in their journeys. 
 
 The said Saunders was really an invaluable 
 servant, and with a world of obsequiousness 
 contrived to have his own way on most oc- 
 casions. He had, I believe, only one great 
 
8 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 weakness, — that of imagining a beau ideal of 
 aristocracy and then outdoing it in the person 
 of John Saunders. 
 
 Now this Saunders was human, and could not 
 be eight years with this young gentleman and 
 not take some little interest in him. He was 
 a flunky, and took a great interest in him, as a 
 stepping-stone to his own greatness. So when 
 he saw him turning pale and thin, and reading 
 one letter fifty times, he speculated and inquired 
 what was the matter. He brought the intellect 
 of Mr. Saunders to bear on the question at the 
 following angle : — 
 
 1 Now, if I was a young lord with 20,000/. a 
 year, and all the world at my feet, what would 
 make me in this way } ' 
 
 1 Why, the liver ! Nothing else. 
 
 1 And that is what is wrong with him, you 
 may depend. 1 
 
 This conclusion arrived at, Mr. Saunders 
 coolly wrote his convictions to Dr. Aberford, 
 and desired that gentleman's immediate atten- 
 tion to the case. An hour or two later he glided 
 into his lord's room, not without some secret 
 trepidation, no trace of which appeared on his 
 face ; he pulled a long, histrionic countenance. 
 1 My Lord, 1 said he, in soft, melancholy tones, 
 4 your Lordship's melancholy state of health 
 
Christie Johnstone. 9 
 
 gives me great anxiety ; and with many apolo- 
 gies to your Lordship, the Doctor is sent for, 
 my Lord.' 
 
 % Why, Saunders, you are mad ; there is 
 nothing the matter with me. 1 
 
 ' I beg your Lordship's pardon ; your Lord- 
 ship is very ill, and Dr. Aberford sent for. 1 
 
 * You may go, Saunders ' 
 
 % Yes, my Lord. I couldn't help it; I've 
 out-stepped my duty, my Lord, but I could not 
 stand quiet and sec your Lordship dying by 
 inches.' Here Mr. S. put a cambric handker- 
 chief artistically to his eyes, and glided out, 
 having disarmed censure. 
 
 Lord Ipsden fell into a reverie. 
 
 ' Is my mind or my body disordered ? Dr. 
 Aberford ! Absurd ! Saunders is getting too 
 pragmatical. The Doctor shall prescribe for 
 him instead of me. By Jove ! that would serve 
 him right.' And my Lord faintly chuckled. 
 4 No! this is what I am ill of,' — and he read 
 the fatal note again. ' I do nothing! — cruel, 
 unjust,' sighed he. ' I could have done, would 
 have done, anything to please her. Do noth- 
 ing ! Nobody does anything now ; things don't 
 come in your way to be done as they used cen- 
 turies ago, or we should do them just the same ; 
 it is their fault, not ours,' argued his Lordship, 
 
io Christie Johnstone. 
 
 somewhat confusedly ; then leaning his brow 
 upon the sofa, he wished to die. For at that 
 dark moment life seemed to this fortunate man 
 an aching void ; a weary, stale, flat, unprofit- 
 able tale ; a faded flower ; a ball-room after 
 daylight has crept in, and music, motion, and 
 beauty are fled away. 
 
 ' Dr. Aberford, my Lord/ 
 
 This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, 
 checked his Lordship's reverie. 
 
 4 Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders?' 
 
 4 Yes, my Lord/ said Saunders, monotonously. 
 
 4 Perhaps he will me ; that might amuse me,' 
 said the other. 
 
 A moment later, the Doctor bowled into the 
 apartment, tugging at his gloves as he ran. 
 
 The contrast between him and our poor rich 
 friend is almost beyond human language. 
 
 Here lay on a sofa Ipsden, one of the most 
 distinguished young gentlemen in Europe, — a 
 creature incapable, by nature, of a rugged tone 
 or a coarse gesture ; a being without the slight- 
 est apparent pretension, but refined beyond the 
 wildest dream of dandies. To him enter Aber- 
 ford, perspiring and shouting. He was one of 
 those globules of human quicksilver one sees 
 now and then for two seconds ; they are, in 
 fact, two globules : their head is one, invariably 
 
Christie J ibnstone, 1 1 
 
 bald, round, and glittering : the body is another 
 in activity and shape, totus teres atque rotundus ; 
 
 and in fifty years they live live centuries. 
 Horum Rex Aberford — of these our Doctor 
 was the chief. He had hardly torn ofT one 
 glove, and rolled as far as the third flower from 
 the door on his Lordship's carpet, before he 
 shouted, — 
 
 1 This is my patient, lolloping in pursuit of 
 health. Your hand/ added he. For he was at 
 the sofa long before his Lordship could glide 
 off it. 
 
 4 Tongue ! Pulse is good. Breathe in my 
 face I ' 
 
 4 Breathe in your face, Sir ! How can I do 
 that r ' with an air of mild doubt. 
 
 ' By first inhaling and then exhaling in the 
 direction required, or how can I make acquaint- 
 ance with your bowels r ' 
 
 'My bowels ! ' 
 
 ' The abdomen, and the greater and lesser in- 
 testines. Well, never mind, I can get at them 
 another way ; give your heart a slap, so. That 's 
 your liver ; and that 's your diaphragm.' 
 
 His Lordship having found the required 
 spot (some people that I know could not) and 
 slapped it, the Aberford made a circular spring 
 and listened eagerly at his shoulder-blade ; the 
 
12 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 result of this scientific pantomime seemed to 
 be satisfactory, for he exclaimed, not to say 
 bawled, — 
 
 1 Hallo ! here is a Viscount as sound as a 
 roach. Now, young gentleman, 1 added he, 
 * your organs are superb, yet you are really out 
 of sorts ; it follows you have the maladies of 
 idle minds, — love, perhaps, among the rest. 
 You blush, — a diagnostic of that disorder. 
 Make your mind easy. Cutaneous disorders, 
 such as love, etc., shall never kill a patient of 
 mine, with a stomach like yours : so now to cure 
 you ! ' And away went the spherical Doctor, 
 with his hands behind him, not up and down 
 the room, but slanting and tacking, like a 
 knight on a chess-board. He had not made 
 many steps, before, turning his upper globule 
 without affecting his lower, he hurled back, 
 in a cold business-like tone, the following 
 interrogatory, — 
 
 ' What are your vices ? ' 
 
 1 Saunders, 1 inquired the patient, ' which are 
 my vices ? ' 
 
 1 M 1 Lord, Lordship has n't any vices, 1 
 replied Saunders, with dull matter-of-fact 
 solemnity. 
 
 1 Lady Barbara makes the same complaint, 1 
 thought Lord Ipsden. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 3 
 
 4 It seems I have not any vices, Dr. Aber- 
 ford, 1 said he, demurely. 
 
 1 That is bad ; nothing to get hold of. 
 
 What interests you, then.-' 
 
 1 I don't remember.' 
 
 1 What amuses you .- ' 
 
 1 I forget. 1 
 
 4 What ! no winning horse to gallop away 
 your rents ? ' 
 
 'No, Sir!' 
 
 • No opera-girl, to run her foot and ancle 
 through your purse r ' 1 
 
 1 No, Sir ! and I think, their ancles are net 
 what they were/ 
 
 4 Stuff! just the same, from their ancles up to 
 their ears, and down again to their morals ; it is 
 your eyes that are sunk deeper into your head. 
 Hum ! no horses, no vices, no dancers, no 
 yacht ! You confound one's notions of nobility ; 
 and I ought to know them, for I have to patch 
 them all up a bit just before they go to the 
 deuce.' 
 
 1 But I have, Dr. Aberford.' 
 
 4 What ! ' 
 
 4 A yacht ; and a clipper she is, too. 1 
 
 4 Ah ! (Now I 've got him.) ' 
 
 4 In the Bay of Biscay she lay half a point 
 nearer the wind than Lord Heavyjib. 1 
 
14 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Oh, bother Lord Heavyjib, and his Bay of 
 Biscay ! ' 
 
 4 With all my heart ; they have often bothered 
 me.' 
 
 1 Send her round to Granton Pier, in the Firth 
 of Forth.' 
 
 ' I will, Sir.' 
 
 1 And write down this prescription.' And 
 a. .ay he walked again, thinking the prescription. 
 
 1 Saunders,' appealed his master. 
 
 ' Saunders be hanged ! ' 
 
 1 Sir ! ' said Saunders with dignity, ' I thank 
 you.' 
 
 ' Don't thank me ; thank your own deserts,' 
 replied the modern Chesterfield. i Oblige me 
 by writing it yourself, my Lord ; it is all the 
 bodily exercise you will have had to-day, no 
 doubt.' 
 
 The young Viscount bowed, seated himself 
 at a desk, and wrote from dictation, — 
 
 Dr. Aberford's Prescription. 
 Make acquaintance with all the people of 
 low estate who have time to be bothered with 
 you ; learn their ways, their minds, and, above 
 all, their troubles. 
 
 1 Won't all this bore me ? ' suggested the 
 writer. , 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 5 
 
 * You will see. Relieve one fellow-creature 
 every day, and let Mr. Saunders book the 
 circumstances. 1 
 
 1 I shall like this part." said the patient, laying 
 down his pen. ' How clever of you to think of 
 such things ; may not I do two sometime- - 
 
 • Certainly not ; one pill per day. Write, 
 %i Fish the herring ! " (That beats deer-Stalking.) 
 Run your nose into adventures at sea ; live on 
 ten-pence, and earn it. Is it down ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, it is down ; but Saunders would have 
 written it better." 
 
 ' If he hadn't, he ought to be hanged,' said 
 the Aberford, inspecting the work. ' I 'm off; 
 where 's my hat? Oh, there! Where's my 
 money: Oh, here! Now, look here, follow 
 my prescription, and 
 
 '' You will soon have Mens tana in corf ore sano ; 
 And not care whether the girls bay yes or say no ; ' 
 
 neglect it, and — my gloves ; oh, in my pocket 
 — you will be blast and tnnuyi and — (an Eng- 
 lish participle that means something as bad). 
 God bless you ! ' 
 
 And out he scuttled, glided after by Saunders, 
 for whom he opened and shut the street door. 
 
 Never was a greater effect produced by a 
 doctor's visit. Patient and physician were made 
 
1 6 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 for each other. Dr. Aberford was the specific 
 for Lord Ipsden. He came to him like a shower 
 to a fainting strawberry. 
 
 Saunders, on his return, found his lord pacing 
 the apartment. 
 
 1 Saunders, 1 said he, smartly, ' send down to 
 Gravesend, and order the yacht to this place, — - 
 what is it ? ' 
 
 ' Granton Pier. Yes, my Lord.' 
 
 ' And, Saunders, take clothes, and books, and 
 violins, and telescopes, and things — and me — 
 to Euston Square, in an hour. 1 
 
 ' Impossible, my Lord, 1 cried Saunders, in 
 dismay. ' And there is no train for hours.' 
 
 His master replied with a hundred-pound 
 note, and a quiet but wickedish look ; and the 
 prince of gentlemen's gentlemen had all the re- 
 quired items with him in a special train, within 
 the specified time, and away they flashed, 
 northwards. 
 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TT is said that opposite characters make a 
 * union happiest ; and perhaps Lord Ipsden, 
 diffident of himself, felt the value to him of a 
 creature so different as Lady Barbara Sinclair. 
 But the lady, for her part, was not diffident of 
 herself, nor was sjie in search of her opposite ; 
 on the contrary, she was waiting patiently to 
 find just such a man as she was, or fancied her- 
 self, a woman. 
 
 Accustomed to measure men by their charac- 
 ters alone, and to treat with sublime contempt 
 the accidents of birth and fortune, she had been 
 a little staggered by the assurance of this butter- 
 fly that had proposed to settle upon her hand — 
 for life. 
 
 In a word, the beautiful writer of the fatal 
 note was honestly romantic, according to the ro- 
 mance of 1848, and of good society. Of course 
 she was not affected by hair tumbling back or 
 plastered down forwards ; and a rolling eye went 
 no farther with her than a squinting one. 
 
 Her romance was stern, not sickly. She was 
 on the lookout for iron virtues ; she had sworn 
 
 c 
 
 
1 8 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 to be wooed with great deeds, or never won. 
 On this subject she had thought much, though 
 not enough to ask herself whether great deeds 
 are always to be got at, however disposed a 
 lover may be. 
 
 No matter ; she kept herself in reserve for 
 some earnest man, who was not to come flatter- 
 ing and fooling to her, but look another way 
 and do exploits. 
 
 She liked Lord Ipsden, her cousin once re- 
 moved, but despised him for being agreeable, 
 handsome, clever, and nobody. 
 
 She was also a little bitten with what she and 
 others called the Middle Ages ; in fact, with 
 that picture of them which Grub Street, impos- 
 ing on the simplicity of youth, had got up for 
 sale, by arraying painted glass, gilt rags, and 
 fancy, against fact. 
 
 With these vague and sketchy notices we are 
 compelled to part, for the present, with Lady 
 Barbara. But it serves her right ; she has gone 
 to establish her court in Perthshire, and left her 
 rejected lover on our hands. 
 
 Journeys of a few hundred miles are no 
 longer described. 
 
 You exchange a dead chair for a living chair. 
 Saunders puts in your hand a new tale like 
 this ; you mourn the superstition of booksellers, 
 
Christie Jqbnsfa;:e* 19 
 
 which still inflicts uncut leaves upon numanity, 
 though tailors do not send home coats with the 
 sleeves stitched up, nor chambermaids put trav- 
 ellers into apple-pic beds as well as damp sheets. 
 You rend and read, and are at Edinburgh, fa- 
 tigued more or less, but not by the journey.' 
 
 Lord Ipsden was therefore soon installed 
 oy the Firth side, full of the Aberford.v 
 
 The young nobleman not only venerated the 
 Doctor's sagacity, but half admired his brus- 
 querie and bustle, — things of which he was 
 himself never guilty. 
 
 As for the prescription, that was a Delphic 
 Oracle. Worlds could not have tempted him 
 to deviate from a letter in it. 
 
 He waited with impatience for the yacht ; 
 and meantime it struck him that the first part 
 of the prescription could be attacked at once. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the day succeeding 
 his arrival. The Fifeshire hills, seen across 
 the Firth from his windows, were beginning to 
 take their charming violet tinge, a light breeze 
 ruffled the blue water into a sparkling smile, the 
 shore was tranquil, and the sea full of noiseless 
 life, with the craft of all sizes gliding and dan- 
 cing and curtseying on their trackless roads. 
 
 The air was tepid, pure, and sweet as heaven ; 
 this bright afternoon Nature had grudged noth^ 
 
 c 2 
 
20 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ing that could give fresh life and hope to such 
 dwellers in dust and smoke and vice as were 
 there to look awhile on her clean face and 
 drink her honeyed breath. 
 
 This young gentleman was not insensible to 
 the beauty of the scene. He was a little lazy 
 by nature, and made lazier by the misfortune of 
 wealth, but he had sensibilities ; he was an 
 artist of great natural talent ; had he only been 
 without a penny, how he would have handled 
 the brush ! And then, he was a mighty sailor ; 
 if he had sailed for biscuit a few years, how he 
 would have handled a ship ! 
 
 As he was, he had the eye of a hawk for 
 Nature's beauties, and the sea always came 
 back to him like a friend after an absence. 
 
 This scene, then, curled round his heart a 
 little, and he felt the good physician was wiser 
 than the tribe that go by that name, and strive to 
 build health on the sandy foundation of drugs. 
 
 ' Saunders, do you know what Dr. Aberford 
 means by the lower classes ? ' 
 
 * Perfectly, my Lord.' 
 
 1 Are there any about here ? ' 
 
 1 I am sorry to say they are everywhere, my 
 Lord.' 
 
 ' Get me some ' — {cigarette.) 
 
 Out went Saunders, with his usual graceful 
 
Christie Johnstone, 2 1 
 
 empressement, but "an internal shrug of his 
 shoulders. 
 
 He was absent "an hour and a half; he then 
 returned with a double expression on his face, — 
 pride at his success in diving to the very bottom 
 of society, and contempt of what he had fished 
 up thence. 
 
 He approached his Lord mysteriously, and 
 said, sotto voce, but impressively, ' This is 
 low enough, my Lord.' Then glided back and 
 ushered in, with polite disdain, two lovelier 
 women than he had ever opened a door to in 
 the whole course of his perfumed existence. 
 
 On their heads they wore caps of Dutch 
 or Flemish origin, with a broad lace border, 
 stiffened and arched over the forehead, about 
 three inches high, leaving the brow and cheeks 
 unencumbered. 
 
 They had cotton jackets, bright red and 
 yellow, mixed in patterns, confined at the 
 waist by the apron-strings, but bobtailed below 
 the waist ; short woollen petticoats, with broad 
 vertical stripes, red and white, most vivid in 
 colour ; white worsted stockings, and neat, 
 though high-quartered shoes. Under their 
 jackets they wore a thick-spotted cotton hand- 
 kerchief, about one inch of which was visible 
 round the lower part of the throat. 
 
22 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Of their petticoats, the outer one was kilted, 
 or gathered up towards the front, and the* 
 second, of the same colour, hung in the usual 
 way. 
 
 Of these young women, one had an olive carpi 
 plexion, with the red blood mantling under it, 
 and black hair, and glorious black eyebrows. 
 
 The other was fair, with a massive but shapely 
 throat, as white as milk ; glossy brown hair, the 
 loose threads of which glittered like gold, and 
 a blue eye, which being contrasted with dark 
 eyebrows and lashes, took the luminous effect 
 peculiar to that rare beauty. 
 
 Their short petticoats revealed a neat ancle 
 and a leg with a noble swell ; for Nature, when 
 she is in earnest, builds beauty on the ideas of 
 ancient sculptors and poets, not of modern poet- 
 asters, who with their airy-like sylphs and their 
 smoke-like verses fight for want of flesh in 
 woman and want of fact in poetry as parallel 
 beauties. 
 
 They are, my lads. — Continue^ ! 
 
 These women had a grand corporeal trait ; 
 they had never known a corset ! so they were 
 straight as javelins ; they could lift their hands 
 above their heads ! — actually ! Their supple 
 persons moved as Nature intended ; every ges- 
 ture was ease, grace, and freedom. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 23 
 
 What with their own radiance, and the snowy 
 cleanliness and brightness of their costume, 
 they came like meteors into the apartment. 
 
 Lord Ipsden, rising gently from his seat, with 
 the same quiet politeness with which he would 
 have received two princes of the blood, said, 
 ' How do you do ? ' and smiled a welcome. 
 
 ' Fine I hoow 's yoursel ? ' answered the dark 
 lass, whose name was Jean Carnie, and whose 
 voice was not so sweet as her face. 
 
 1 What 'n lord are ye ? ' continued she. ' Are 
 you a juke ? I wad like fine to hae a crack wi' 
 a juke.' 
 
 Saunders, who knew himself the cause of this 
 question, replied, sotto voce, ' His Lordship is a 
 Viscount.' 
 
 i I didna ken V was Jean's remark. ' But it 
 has a bonny soond.' 
 
 1 What mair would ye hae r ' said the fair 
 beauty, whose name was Christie Johnstone. 
 Then appealing to his Lordship as the likeliest 
 to know, she added, ' Nobeelity is just a soond 
 itsel, I 'm tauld.' 
 
 The Viscount, finding himself expected to say 
 something on a topic he had not attended much 
 to, answered drily, ' We must ask the republi- 
 cans ; they are the people that give their minds 
 to such subjects. 1 
 
24 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ' And yon man,' asked Jean Carnie, * is he a 
 lord, too?' 
 
 \l am his Lordship's servant,' replied Saunders, 
 gravely, not without a secret misgiving whether 
 fate had been just. 
 
 ' Na ! ' replied she, not to be imposed upon, 
 1 ye are statelier and prooder than this ane.' 
 
 ' I will explain,' said his master. ' Saunders 
 knows his value ; a servant like Saunders is 
 rarer than an idle viscount.' 
 
 1 My Lord, my^Lord!' remonstrated Saunders, 
 with a shocked and most disclamatory tone. 
 1 Rather ! ' was his inward reflection. 
 
 ' Jean,' said Christie, l ye hae muckle to laern. 
 Are ye for herrin' the day, Vile Count ? ' 
 
 1 No ! are you for this sort of thing ? ' 
 
 At this, Saunders, with a world of empresse- 
 ment, offered the Carnie some cake that was on 
 the table. 
 
 She took a piece, instantly spat it out into 
 her hand, and with more energy than delicacy 
 flung it into the fire. 
 
 4 Augh ! ' cried she, ' just a sugar and saut 
 butter thegither ; buy nae mair at yon shoep, 
 Vile Count.' 
 
 ' Try this, out of Nature's shop,' laughed 
 their entertainer ; and he offered them, himself, 
 some peaches and things. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 25 
 
 * Hech ! a medi — cine ! ' said Christie. 
 
 1 Nature, my lad,' said Miss Carnie, making 
 her ivory teeth meet in their first nectarine, * I 
 didna ken whaur ye stoep, but ye beat the other 
 confectioners, that div ye. 1 
 
 The fair lass, who had watched the Viscount 
 all this time as demurely as a cat cream, now 
 approached him. 
 
 This young woman was the thinker ; her 
 voice was also rich, full, and melodious, and 
 her manner very engaging ; it was half ad- 
 vancing, half retiring, not easy to resist or to 
 describe. 
 
 ' Noo,' said she, with a very slight blush 
 stealing across her face, ' ye maun let me cate- 
 cheeze ye, wull ye ? ' 
 
 The last two words were said in a way that 
 would have induced a bear to reveal his winter 
 residence. 
 
 He smiled assent. Saunders retired to the 
 door, and excluding every shade of curiosity 
 from his face, took an attitude, half majesty, 
 half obsequiousness. 
 
 Christie stood by Lord Ipsden, with one 
 hand on her hip (the knuckles downwards), but 
 graceful as Antinous, and began. 
 
 1 Hoo muckle is the Queen greater than y' 
 are ? ' 
 
26 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 His Lordship was obliged to reflect. 
 
 1 Let me see ; as is the moon to a wax taper, 
 so is her Majesty the Queen to you and me, 
 and the rest.' 
 
 4 An' whaur does the Juke 1 come in r ' 
 
 ' On this particular occasion the Duke 2 makes 
 one of us, my pretty maid.' 
 
 ' I see 1 Are na ye awfu' prood o' being a 
 Lorrd?' ;vl _ : . 
 
 i What an idea ! ' 
 
 ' His Lordship did not go to bed a spinning- 
 jenny and rise up a lord, like some of them,' 
 put in Saunders. 
 
 * Saunders,' said the Peer, doubtfully, ' elo- 
 quence rather bores people.' 
 
 ' Then I must n't speak again, my Lord,' said 
 Saunders, respectfully. 
 
 ' Noo,' said the fair inquisitor, ' ye shall tell 
 me how ye came to be Lorrds, your faemily ? ' 
 
 1 Saunders 1 ' 
 
 ' Na ! ye mauna flee to Sandy for a thing ; ye 
 are no a bairn, are ye ? ' 
 
 Here was a dilemma ; the Saunders prop 
 knocked rudely away, and obliged to think for 
 ourselves. 
 
 But Saunders would come to his distressed 
 master's assistance. He furtively conveyed to 
 1 Buccleuch. 2 Wellington. 
 
Christie Johnstone, 27 
 
 him a plump book, — this was Saunders's manual 
 of faith; the author was Mr. Burke, — not 
 Edmund. 
 
 Lord Ipsden ran hastily over the page, closed 
 the book, and said, ' Here is the story. 
 
 1 Five hundred years ago — ' 
 
 'Listen, Jean,' said Christie; 'we're gaun 
 to get a boeny story. " Five hundre' years 
 ago," ' added she, with interest and awe. 
 
 ' Was a great battle,' resumed the narrator 
 in cheerful tones, as one larking with history, 
 1 between a King of England and his rebels. 
 He was in the thick of the fight — ' 
 
 1 That 's the King, Jean ; he was in the thick 
 o't.' 
 
 ' My ancestor killed a fellow who was sneak- 
 ing behind him, but the next moment a man-at- 
 arms prepared a thrust at his Majesty, who had 
 his hands full with three assailants.' 
 
 ' Eh ! that's no fair,' said Christie, 'as sure 
 as deeth.' 
 
 i My ancestor dashed forward, and as the 
 King's sword passed through one of them, he 
 clove 'another to the waist with a blow.' 
 
 ' Weel done ! weel done ! ' 
 
 Lord Ipsden looked at the speaker ; her eyes 
 were glittering and her cheek flushing. 
 
 4 Good Heavens 1 ' thought he ; ' she believes 
 
2% Christie Johnstone. 
 
 it ! ' So he began to take more pains with his 
 legend. 
 
 * But for the spearsman,' continued he, ' he 
 had nothing but his body ; he gave it, — it was 
 his duty, — and received the death levelled at 
 his sovereign.' 
 
 1 Hech I puir mon ! ' And the glowing eyes 
 began to glisten. 
 
 ' The battle flowed another way, and God 
 gave victory to the right ; but the King came 
 back to look for him, for it was no common 
 service.' ■ 
 
 * Deed no ! * 
 
 Here Lord Ipsden began to turn his eye in- 
 wards, and call up the scene. He lowered his 
 voice. 
 
 ' They found him lying on his back, looking 
 death in the face. 
 
 1 The nobles by the King's side uncovered as 
 soon as he was found, for they were brave men 
 too. There was a moment's silence ; eyes met 
 eyes, and said, this is a stout soldier's last battle. 
 
 ' The King could not bid him live.' 
 
 1 Na ! lad, King Deeth has ower strong a 
 grrip.' 
 
 ' But he did what kings can do, — he gave 
 him two blows with his royal sword.' , 
 
 1 Oh, the robber ! and him a deeing mon.' 
 
Chris lie Johnstone. 29 
 
 * Two words from his royal mouth, and he 
 and we were Barons of Ipsden and Hawthorn 
 Glen from that day to this/ 
 
 1 But the puir dying creature ?' 
 
 1 What poor dying creature ? ' 
 
 1 Your Forbear, lad.' 
 
 1 I don't know why you call him poor, Madam. 
 All the men of that day are dust ; they are the 
 gold dust, who died with honour. 
 
 1 He, looked round uneasily for his son, — 
 for he had but one, — and when that son knelt, 
 unwounded, by him, he said, "Good-night, 
 Baron Ipsden." And so he died, fire in his eye, 
 a smile on his lip, and honour on his name for- 
 ever. I meant to tell you a lie, and I 've told 
 you the truth. 1 
 
 1 Laddie,' said Christie, half admiringly, half 
 reproachfully, ' ye gar the tear come in my een. 
 Hech ! look at yon lassie ! How could you think 
 V cat plums through siccan a bonny story ? ' 
 
 ' Hets 1/ answered Jean, who had, in fact, 
 cleared the plate, ' I aye listen best when my 
 ain mooth 's stappit.' 
 
 1 But see, now,' pondered Christie, ' twa 
 words fra a King, — thir titles are just breeth.' 
 
 1 Of course,' was the answer. ' All titles are. 
 What is popularity? Ask Aristides and Lamar- 
 tine, — the breath of a mob, — smells of its 
 
30 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 source, — and is gone before the sun can set on 
 it. Now the royal breath does smell of the Rose 
 and Crown, and stays by us from age to age.' 
 
 The story had Warmed our marble acquaint- 
 ance. Saunders opened his eyes, and thought, 
 * We shall wake up the House of Lords some 
 evening, — we shall.' 
 
 His Lordship then added, less warmly, look- 
 ing at the girls, — 
 
 4 I think I should like to be a fisherman.'' So 
 saying, my Lord yawned slightly. 
 
 To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned 
 no attention, doubting, perhaps, its sincerity ; 
 and Christie, with a shade of severity, in- 
 quired of him how he came to be a Vile 
 Count. 
 
 ' A Baron 's no* a Vile Count, I 'm sure,' 
 said she ; ' sae tell me how ye came to be a 
 Vile Count.' 
 
 4 Ah ! ' said he, ' that is by 10 means a pretty 
 story, like the other ; you wiL not like it, I am 
 sure.' 
 
 'Ay, will I,— ay, will I ; I'm aye seeking 
 knoewledge.' 
 
 1 Well, it is soori told. One of us sat twenty 
 years on one seat in the same house, so one 
 day he got up a — Viscount.' 
 
 1 Ower rriuckle pay for ower little wark/ ■ p 
 
Christie Johnstone, 31 
 
 ' Now, don't say that ; I would n't do it to 
 be Emperor of Russia.' 
 
 1 Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye ; sae 
 noow I '11 gang, since ye are no for herrin' ; 
 come away, Jean. 1 
 
 At this their host remonstrated, and inquired 
 why bores are at one's service night and day, 
 and bright people are always in a hurry; he was 
 informed in reply, ' Labour is the lot o 1 man, — 
 div ye no ken that muckle } — and abune a' 
 o' women.' 1 
 
 'Why, what can two such pretty creatures 
 have to do, except to be admired? 1 
 
 This question coming within the dark beauty's 
 scope, she hastened to reply. 
 
 ■ To sell our herrin' ; we hae three hundre* 
 left in the creel.' 
 
 ' What is the price ? ' 
 
 At this question the poetry died out of 
 Christie Johnstone's face ; she gave her Com^ 
 panion a rapid look, indiscernible by male eye* 
 and answered, — 
 
 1 Three a penny, sirr. They are no plenty the 
 day,' added she, in smooth tones that carried 
 conviction. 
 
 Little liar ; they were selling six a penny 
 everywhere. 
 
 1 A local idea, I suspect. — C. R. 
 
32 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 4 Saunders, buy them all, and be ever so long 
 about it; count them, or some nonsense.' 
 
 * He 's daft ! he 's daft ! Oh, ye ken, Jean, 
 an Ennglishman and a lorrd, twa daft things 
 thegither, he could na miss the road. Coont 
 them, lassie.' 
 
 'Come away, Sandy, till I count them till 
 ye,' said Jean. 
 
 Saunders and Jean disappeared. 
 
 Business being out of sight, curiosity revived. 
 
 ' An' what brings ye here from London, if ye 
 please ? ' recommenced the fair inquisitor. 
 
 ' You have a good countenance ; there is 
 something in your face. I could find it in my 
 heart to tell you, but I should bore you.' 
 
 i De'el a fear ! Bore me, bore me ! whaat 's 
 thaat, I wonder r ' 
 
 ' What is your name, Madam? Mine is 
 Ipsden.' 
 
 1 They ca' me Christie Johnstone.' 
 
 1 Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the 
 doctor's hands.' 
 
 * Puir lad ! What 's the trouble r y solemnly 
 and tenderly.1 
 
 ' Ennui I ' rather piteously. 
 'Yawn-we? I never heerd tell o't.' 
 1 Oh, you lucky girl/ burst out he ; ' but the 
 doctor has undertaken to cure me ; in one thing 
 ' i 
 
Christie Johnstone. 33 
 
 you could assist me, if I am not presuming too 
 far on our short acquaintance. I am to relieve 
 one poor distressed person every day, but I 
 mustn't do two. Is not that a borer* 
 
 ' Gie 's your hand, gie 's your hand. I 'm 
 vexed for ca'ing you daft. Hech ! what a saft 
 hand ye hae! Jean, I 'm saying, come here; feel 
 this.' 
 
 Jean, who had run in, took the Viscount's 
 hand from Christie. 
 
 1 It never wroucht any/ explained Jean. 
 
 1 And he has bonny hair/ said Christie, just 
 touching his locks on the other side. 
 
 ' He 's a bonny lad,' said Jean, inspecting 
 him scientifically and point-blank. 
 
 1 Ay, is he,' said the other. ' Aweel, there 's 
 Jess Rutherford, a widdy wi' four bairns, ye 
 meicht do waur than ware your siller on her.' 
 
 4 Five pounds to begin ? ' inquired his 
 Lordship. 
 
 1 Five pund ! Are ye made o' siller ? Ten 
 schell'n ! ' 
 
 Saunders was rung for, and produced a one- 
 pound note. 
 
 ' The herrin' is five and sax pence ; it 's 
 four and sax pence I 'm awin ye/ said the 
 young fishwife, ' and Jess will be a glad 
 woman the neicht.' 
 
 D 
 
34 Christie Johns lone. 
 
 The settlement was effected, and away went 
 the two friends, saying, — 
 
 1 Good boye, Vile Count.' 
 
 Their host fell into thought. 
 
 1 When have I talked so much ? ' asked he 
 of himself. 
 
 1 Dr. Aberford, you are a wonderful man ; I 
 like your lower classes amazingly. 1 
 
 4 M£fiez-vous, Monsieur Ipsden ! ' should 
 some mentor have said. 
 
 As the Devil puts into a beginner's hands ace, 
 queen, five trumps, to give him a taste for 
 whist, so these lower classes have perhaps put 
 forward one of their best cards to lead you into 
 a false estimate of the strength of their hand. 
 
 Instead, however, of this, who should re- 
 turn to disturb the equilibrium of truth, but this 
 Christina Johnstone ? She came thoughtfully 
 in, and said, — 
 
 ' I 've been taking a thoucht, arid this is no 
 what yon gude physeecian meaned ; ye arc 
 no to .fling your chaerity like a bane till a 
 doeg ; ye '11 gang yoursel to Jess Rutherford ; 
 Flucker Johnstone, that's my brother, will 
 convoy ye.' 
 
 1 But how is your brother to know me ? ' 
 
 ' How ? Because I '11 gie him a sair sair 
 hiding if he lets ye gang by.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 35 
 
 She then returned the one-pound note, a 
 fresh settlement was effected, and she left 
 him. 
 
 At the door she said, ■ And I am muckle 
 obleeged to ye for your story and your 
 goodness.' 
 
 Whilst uttering these words, she half kissed 
 her hand to him, with a lofty and disengaged 
 gesture, such as one might expect from a queen, 
 — if queens did not wear stays, — and was 
 gone. 
 
 When his Lordship, a few minutes after, 
 sauntered out for a stroll, the first object he 
 beheld was an exact human square, a handsome 
 boy, with a body swelled out, apparently to the 
 size of a man's, with blue flannel and blue cloth 
 above it, leaning against a wall, with his hands 
 in his pockets, — a statuette of insouciance. 
 
 This marine puff-ball was Flucker Johnstone, 
 aged fourteen. 
 
 Stain his sister's face with diluted walnut- 
 juice, as they make the stage gipsy and Red 
 Indian (two animals imagined by actors to be 
 one), and you have Fluckcr's face. 
 
 A slight moral distinction remains, not to be 
 so easily got over. 
 
 She was the best girl in the place, and he a 
 baddish boy. 
 
36 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 He was, however, as sharp in his way as she 
 was intelligent in hers. 
 
 This youthful mariner allowed his Lordship 
 to pass him and take twenty steps, but watched 
 him all the time, and compared him with a de- 
 scription furnished him by his sister. 
 
 He then followed and brought him to, as he 
 called it. 
 
 ' I daur say it 's you I 'm to convoy to yon 
 auld faggitt,' said this baddish boy. 
 
 On they went, Flucker rolling and pitching 
 and yawing to keep up with the lordly galley ; 
 for a fisherman's natural waddle is two miles 
 an hour. 
 
 At the very entrance of Newhaven the new 
 pilot suddenly sang out, ' Starboard ! ' 
 
 Starboard it was ; and they ascended a filthy 
 1 close ' or alley ; they mounted a staircase 
 which was out of doors, and without knock- 
 ing, Flucker introduced himself into Jess 
 Rutherford's house. 
 
 1 Here a gentleman to speak till ye, wife.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 37 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HE widow was weather-beaten and rough. 
 She sat mending an old net. 
 
 ' The gentleman 's welcome,' said she ; but 
 there was no gratification in her tone, and but 
 little surprise. 
 
 His Lordship then explained that, understand- 
 ing there were worthy people in distress, he was 
 in hopes he might be permitted to assist them, 
 and that she must blame a neighbour of hers if 
 he had broken in upon her too abruptly with 
 this object. He then, with a blush, hinted at 
 ten shillings, which he begged she would con- 
 sider as merely an instalment, until he could 
 learn the precise nature of her embarrassments, 
 and the best way of placing means at her 
 disposal. 
 
 The widow heard all this with a lack-lustre 
 mind. 
 
 For many years her life had been unsuccess- 
 ful labour ; if anything ever had come to her, 
 it had always been a misfortune ; her incidents 
 had been thorns, her events, daggers. 
 
38 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 She could not realise a human angel coming 
 to her relief, and she did not realise it, and she 
 worked away at her net. 
 
 At this Flucker, to whom his Lordship's speech 
 appeared monstrously weak and pointless, drew 
 nigh, and gave the widow, in her ear, his ver- 
 sion, namely, his sister's embellished. It was 
 briefly this : * That the gentleman was a daft 
 lord from England, who had come with the 
 bank in his breeks to remove poverty from Scot- 
 land, beginning with her. " Sae speak loud 
 aneuch and ye '11 no want siller," ' was his polite 
 corollary. 
 
 His Lordship rose, laid a card on a chair, 
 begged her to make use of him, et cetera ; he 
 then, recalling the oracular prescription, said, 
 i Do me the favour to apply to me for any little 
 sum you have a use for, and in return I will 
 beg of you (if it does not bore you too much) 
 to make me acquainted with any little troubles 
 you may have encountered in the course of your 
 life.' 
 
 His Lordship, receiving no answer, was about 
 to go, after bowing to her and smiling gracefully 
 upon her. 
 
 His hand was on the latch, when Jess Ruther- 
 ford burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 He turned with surprise. 
 
Christie Johnstone, 39 
 
 ' My troubles, laddie,' cried she, trembling 
 all over. ' The sun wad set, and rise, and set 
 again, ere I could tell ye a the trouble I hae 
 come through. 
 
 'Oh, ye need na vex yourself for an auld 
 wife's tears ; tears are a blessin', lad, I shall 
 assure ye. Mony's the time I hae prayed for 
 them, and could na hae them. Sit ye doon ! sit 
 ye doon ! I '11 no let ye gang fra my door till I 
 hae thankit ye ; but gie me time, gie me time. 
 I canna greet a' the days of the week.' 
 
 Flucker, aetat. 14, opened his eyes, unable to 
 connect ten shillings and tears. 
 
 Lord Ipsden sat down, and felt very sorry for 
 her. 
 
 And she cried at her ease. 
 
 If one touch of nature make the whole world 
 kin, methinks that sweet and wonderful thing, 
 sympathy, is not less powerful. What frozen 
 barriers, what ice of centuries, it can melt in a 
 moment ! 
 
 His bare mention of her troubles had sur- 
 prised the widowed woman's heart, and now 
 she looked up and examined his countenance ; 
 it was soon done. 
 
 A woman, young or old, high or low, can 
 discern and appreciate sensibility in a man's 
 face at a single glance. 
 
40 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 What she saw there was enough. She was 
 sure of sympathy. She recalled her resolve, 
 and the tale of her sorrows burst from her like 
 a flood. 
 
 Then the old fishwife told the young aristo- 
 crat how she had borne twelve children, and 
 buried six as bairns ; how her man was always 
 unlucky ; how a mast fell on him and disabled 
 him a whole season ; how they could but just 
 keep the pot boiling by the deep-sea fishing, 
 and he was not allowed to dredge for oysters 
 because his father was not a Newhaven man. 
 How, when the herring-fishing came to make 
 all right, he never had another man's luck ; 
 how his boat's crew would draw empty nets, 
 and a boat alongside him would be gunwale 
 down in the water with the fish. How at last, 
 one morning, the 20th day of November, his 
 boat came in to Newhaven Pier without him, 
 and when he was inquired for, his crew said, 
 • He had stayed at home, like a lazy loon, and 
 not sailed with them the night before. 1 How 
 she was anxious, and had all the public-houses 
 searched, ' For he took a drop now and then, 
 nae wonder, and him aye in the weather/ (Poor 
 thing ! when he was alive she used to call him 
 a drunken scoundrel to his face.) How, when 
 the tide went down, a mad wife whose husband 
 
Christie Johnstone. 4 1 
 
 had been drowned twenty years ago, pointed 
 out something under the pier that the rest took 
 for sea-weed floating ; how it was the hair of 
 her man's head, washed about by the water, 
 and he was there, drowned without a cry or 
 a struggle, by his enormous boots, that kept him 
 in an upright position, though he was dead. 
 There he stood, [dead ! drowned by slipping 
 from the slippery pier, close to his comrades' 
 hands, in a dark and gusty night. How her 
 daughter married, and was well to do, and as- 
 sisted her ; how she fell into a rapid decline 
 and died, a picture of health to inexperienced 
 eyes. How she, the mother, saw and knew, 
 and watched the treacherous advance of dis- 
 ease and death ; how others said gaily, ' Her 
 daughter was better,' and she was obliged to 
 say ' Yes.' How she had worked eighteen 
 hours a day at making nets ; how, when she 
 let out her nets to the other men at the herring- 
 fishing, they always cheated her, because her 
 man was gone. How she had many times had 
 to choose between begging her meal and going 
 to bed without it, but, thank Heaven ! she 
 had always chosen the latter. 
 
 She told him of hunger, cold, and anguish. 
 As she spoke, they became real things to him ; 
 up to that moment they had been things in a 
 
42 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 story-book. And as she spoke, she rocked 
 herself from side to side. 
 
 Indeed, she was a woman ' acquainted with 
 grief.' She might have said, — 
 
 'Here I and sorrows sit; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.' 
 
 Her hearer felt this, and therefore this 
 woman, poor, old, and ugly, became sacred 
 in his eye ; it was with a strange sort of 
 respect that he tried to console her. 
 
 He spoke to her in tones gentle and sweet 
 as the south wind on a summer evening. 
 
 ' Madam,' said he, ' let me be so happy as to 
 bring you some comfort. The sorrows of the 
 heart I cannot heal ; they are for a mightier 
 hand. But a part of your distress appears to 
 have been positive need ; that we can at least 
 dispose of, and I entreat you to believe that 
 from this hour want shall never enter that door 
 again. Never ! upon my honour ! ' 
 
 The Scotch are icebergs, with volcanoes 
 underneath ; thaw the Scotch ice, which is 
 very cold, and you shall get to the Scotch fire, 
 warmer than any sun of Italy or Spain. 
 
 His Lordship had risen to go. The old wife 
 had seemed absorbed in her own grief ; she 
 now dried her tears. 
 
Christie Johnstone, 43 
 
 1 Bide ye, Siny said she, ' till I thank ye/ 
 
 So she began to thank him, rather coldly and 
 stiffly. 
 
 1 He says ye are a lord,' said she. ' I dinna 
 ken, an' I dinna care ; but ye 're a gentleman, 
 I daur say, and a kind heart ye hae.' 
 
 Then she began to warm. * • 
 
 ' And ye '11 never be a grain the poorer for 
 the siller ye hae gien me ; for he that giveth 
 to the poor lendeth to the Lord.' 
 
 Then she began to glow. 
 
 ' But it 's no your siller, dinna think it ; na, 
 lad, na ! Oh, fine ! I ken there 's mony a sup- 
 per for the bairns and me in yon bits metal ; 
 but I canna feel your siller as I feel your win- 
 some smile, the drop in your young een, an' 
 the sweet words ye gied me, in the sweet music 
 o' your Soothern tongue. Gude bless ye ! ' 
 (Where was her ice by this time r) ' Gude 
 bless ye ! and I bless ye ! ' 
 
 And she did bless him ; and what a blessing 
 it was ! Not a melodious generality, like a 
 stage parent's, or papa's in a damsel's novel ; 
 it was like the son of Barak on Zophim. 
 
 She blessed him as one who had the power 
 and the right to bless or curse. 
 
 She stood on the high ground of her low es- 
 tate and her afflictions, and demanded of their 
 
44 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Creator to bless the fellow-creature that had 
 come to her aid and consolation. 
 
 This woman had suffered to the limits of en- 
 durance. Yesterday she had said, ' Surely the 
 Almighty does na see me a' these years ! ' 
 
 So now she blessed him, and her heart's 
 blood seemed to gush into words. 
 
 She blessed him by land and water. 
 
 She knew most mortal griefs ; for she had 
 felt them. 
 
 She warned them away from him one by one. 
 
 She knew the joys of life ; for she had felt 
 their want. 
 
 She summoned them one by one to his 
 side. 
 
 ' And a fair wind to your ship,' cried she ; 
 4 an 1 the storms aye ten miles to leeward o' 
 her.' 
 
 Many happy days, ' an 1 weel spent,' she 
 wished him. 
 
 1 His love should love him dearly, or a better 
 take her place.' 
 
 ' Health to his'side.by day ; sleep to his pil- 
 low by night.' 
 
 A thousand good wishes came, like a torrent 
 of fire, from her lips, with a power that eclipsed 
 his dreams of human eloquence ; and then, 
 changing in a moment from the thunder of a 
 
Christie Johnstone. 45 
 
 Pythoness to the tender music of some poetess 
 mother, she ended, — 
 
 1 An' oh, my boenny, boenny lad, may ye be 
 wi' the rich upon the airth a 1 your days, and 
 
 WI 1 THE PUIR IN THE WARLD TO COME ! ' 
 
 His Lordship's tongue refused him the thin 
 phrases of society. 
 
 ' Farewell for the present,' said he ; and he 
 went quietly away. 
 
 He paced thoughtfully home. 
 
 He had drunk a fact with every sentence, 
 and an idea with every fact. 
 
 For the knowledge we have never realized 
 is not knowledge to us, only knowledge's 
 shadow. 
 
 With the] banished Duke, he 'now began to 
 feel ' we are not alone unhappy ; ' this univer- 
 sal world contains other guess sorrows than 
 yours, Viscount, — scilicet than unvarying health, 
 unbroken leisure, and incalculable income. 
 
 Then this woman's eloquence ! Bless me ! he 
 had seen folk murmur politely in the Upper 
 House, and drone or hammer away at the 
 Speaker down below, with more heat than 
 warmth. 
 
 He had seen nine hundred wild beasts fed 
 with peppered tongue in a, menagerie called 
 V Assemble' e Nationale. 
 
46 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 His ears had rung often enough, for that 
 matter. 
 
 This time his heart beat. 
 
 He had been in the principal Courts or 
 Europe, knew what a handful of gentlefolks 
 call ' the world,' had experienced the honeyed 
 words of courtiers, the, misty nothings of 
 diplomatists, and the innocent prattle of mighty 
 kings. 
 
 But hitherto he seemed to have undergone 
 gibberish and jargon : — 
 
 Gibberish and jargon — Political ! \ 
 
 Gibberish and jargon — Social ! 
 
 Gibberish and jargon — Theological I 
 
 Gibberish and jargon — Positive ! 
 
 People had been prating ; Jess had spoken. 
 
 But, it is to be observed, he was under the 
 double effect of eloquence and novelty; and, so 
 situated, we overrate things, you know. 
 
 That night he made a provision for this poor 
 woman in case he should die before next week. 
 
 1 Who knows, 1 said he, ' She is such an un- 
 lucky woman.' 
 
 Then he went to bed, and whether from the 
 widow's blessing, or the air Of the place, he 
 slept like a ploughboy. 
 
 Leaving Richard, Lord Ipsden, to work out 
 the Aberford problem ; to relieve poor people, 
 
Christie Johnstone. 47 
 
 one or two of whom, like the Rutherford, were 
 grateful, the rest acted it to the life ; to receive 
 now and then a visit from Christina Johnstone, 
 who borrowed every mortal book in his house, 
 who sold him fish, invariably cheated him by 
 the indelible force of habit, and then remorse- 
 fully undid the bargain, with a peevish entreaty 
 that ' he would not be so green, for there was 
 no doing business with him ; ' to be fastened 
 upon by Flucker, who with admirable smooth- 
 ness and cunning wormed himself into cabin- 
 boy on board the yacht and man-at-alms ashore ; 
 to cruise in search of adventures and meet 
 nothing but disappointments ; to acquire a 
 browner tint, a lighter step, and a jacket, our 
 story moves for a while towards humbler 
 personages. 
 
48 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JESS RUTHERFORD, widow of Alexander 
 Johnstone, — for Newhaven wives, like 
 great artists, change their conditions without 
 changing their names, — was known in the town 
 only as a dour wife, a sour old carline. Whose 
 fault > 
 
 Do wooden faces and iron tongues tempt 
 sorrow to put out its snails 1 horns ? 
 
 She hardly spoke to any one, or any one to 
 her ; but four days after the visit we have de- 
 scribed, people began to bend looks of sym- 
 pathy on her, to step out of their way to give 
 her a kindly good-morrow ; after a bit, fish and 
 meal used to be placed on her table by one 
 neighbour or another when she was out, and so 
 on. She was at first behind-hand in responding 
 to all this, but by degrees she thawed to those 
 who were thawing to her. Next, Saunders 
 called on her and showed her a settlement, 
 made for her benefit, on certain lands in Lan- 
 arkshire. She was at ease for life. 
 
 The Almighty had seen her all these years. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 49 
 
 But how came her neighbours to melt > 
 
 Because a nobleman had visited her. 
 
 Not exactly, dear novel-reader. 
 
 This was it. 
 
 That same night, by a bright fire lighting up 
 snowy walls, burnished copper, gleaming candle- 
 sticks, and a dinner-table floor, sat the mis- 
 tress of the house, Christie Johnstone, and her 
 brother, Flucker. 
 
 She with a book, he with his reflections oppo- 
 site her. 
 
 1 Lassie, hae ye ony siller past ye ? ' 
 
 i Aye, lad ; an' I mean to keep it ! ' 
 
 The baddish boy had registered a vow to the 
 contrary, and proceeded to bleed his flint (for 
 to do Christie justice the process was not very 
 dissimilar). Flucker had a versatile genius 
 for making money ; he had made it in forty 
 different ways, by land and sea, ten pence at a 
 time. 
 
 ' I hae gotten the life o' Jess Rutherford, till 
 ye', said he. 
 
 1 Giest then.' 
 
 1 I 'm seeking half a crown for 't,' said he. 
 
 Now, he knew he should never get half a 
 crown, but he also knew that if he asked a 
 shilling he should be beaten down to four 
 pence. 
 
 E 
 
50 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 So half a crown was his first bode. 
 
 The enemy, with anger at her heart, called 
 up a humorous smile, and saying, ' An' ye '11 
 get sax pence,' went about some household 
 matter ; in reality, to let her proposal rankle in 
 Flucker. 
 
 Flucker lighted his pipe slowly, as one who 
 would not do a sister the injustice to notice so 
 trivial a proposition. 
 
 He waited fresh overtures. 
 
 They did not come. 
 
 Christie resumed her book. 
 
 Then the baddish boy fixed his eye on the 
 fire, and said softly and thoughtfully to the fire, 
 * Hech I what a heap o' troubles yon woman has 
 come through ! ' 
 
 This stroke of art was not lost. Christie 
 looked up from her book, pretended he had 
 spoken to her, gave a fictitious yawn, and re- 
 newed the negociation with the air of one dis- 
 posed to kill time. 
 
 She v/as dying for the story. 
 
 Commerce was twice broken off, and re- 
 newed by each power in turn. 
 
 At last the bargain was struck at fourteen 
 pence. 
 
 Then Flucker came out, — the honest 
 merchant. ' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 5 1 
 
 He had listened intently, with mercantile 
 views. 
 
 He had the widow's sorrows all off pat. 
 
 He was not a bit affected himself, but by 
 pure memory he remembered where she had 
 been most agitated or overcome. 
 
 He gave it Christie, word for word, and even 
 threw in what dramatists call ' the business,' 
 thus, — 
 
 1 Here ye suld greet — 
 
 1 Here ye '11 play your hand like a geraffe.' 
 
 1 Geraffe ? That 's a beast, I 'm thinking.' 
 
 1 Na ; it 's the thing on the hill that maks 
 signals.' 
 
 ' Telegraph, ye fulish goloshen ! ' 
 
 ' Oo, ay, telegraph ! Geraffe's sunest said 
 for aV 
 
 Thus Jess Rutherford's life came into Christie 
 Johnstone's hands. 
 
 She told it to a knot of the natives next day ; 
 it lost nothing, for she was a woman of feeling, 
 and by intuition an artist of the tongue. She 
 was the best raconteur in a place where there 
 are a hundred, male and female, who attempt 
 that art. 
 
 The next day she told it again, and then in- 
 ferior narrators got hold of it, and it soon circu- 
 lated through the town. 
 
 E2 
 
j 2 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 And this was the cause of the sudden sym- 
 pathy with Jess Rutherford. 
 
 As our prigs would say, 
 
 * Art had adopted her cause and adorned her 
 tale.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. . 
 
 npHE fishing village of Newhaven is an unique 
 ■*■ place ; it is a colony that retains distinct 
 features ; the people seldom intermarry with 
 their Scotch neighbours. 
 
 Some say the colony is Dutch, some Danish, 
 some Flemish. The character and cleanliness 
 of their female costume points rather to the 
 latter. 
 
 Fish, like horse-flesh, corrupts the mind and 
 manners. 
 
 After a certain age the Newhaven fishwife is 
 always a blackguard, and ugly ; but among the 
 younger specimens, who have not traded too 
 much, or come into much contact with larger 
 towns, a charming modesty, or else slyness 
 (such as no man can distinguish from it, so it 
 answers every purpose), is to be found, com- 
 bined with rare grace and beauty. 
 
 It is a race of women that the northern sun 
 peachifies instead of rosewoodizing. 
 
 On Sundays the majority sacrifice appearance 
 to fashion ; these turn out rainbows of silk, 
 
54 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 satin, and lace. In the week they were all 
 grace and no stays ; now they seem all stays 
 and no grace. They, never look so ill as when 
 they change their ' costume ' for ' dress.' 
 
 The men are smart fishermen, distinguished 
 from the other fishermen of the Firth chiefly by 
 their * dredging song. 1 
 
 This old song is money to them, since dredg- 
 ing is practically very stiff rowing for ten hours. 
 
 Now both the Newhaven men and their rivals 
 are agreed that this song lifts them through 
 more work than untuned fishermen can manage. 
 
 I have heard the song and seen the work 
 done to it, and incline to think it helps the oar, 
 not only by keeping the time true and the 
 spirit alive, but also by its favourable action on 
 the lungs. It is sung in a peculiar way ; the sound 
 is, as it were, expelled from the chest in a sort 
 of musical ejaculations ; and the like, we know, 
 was done by the ancient gymnasts, and is done 
 by French bakers in lifting their enormous 
 dough, and by our paviours. 
 
 The song, in itself, does not contain above 
 seventy stock verses, but these perennial lines 
 are a nucleus, round which the men improvise 
 the topics of the day, giving, I know not for 
 what reason, the preference to such as verge 
 upon indelicacy. 
 
Cbr is lie Johnstone. 5 5 
 
 The men and women are musical and narra- 
 tive ; three out of four can sing a song or tell a 
 story, and they omit few opportunities. 
 
 Males and females suck whiskey like milk, 
 and are quarrelsome in proportion : the men 
 fight (round handed), the women fleicht, or 
 scold, in the form of a teapot, — the handle 
 fixed and the spout sawing the air. 
 
 A singular custom prevails here : 
 
 The maidens have only one sweetheart 
 apiece ! 
 
 So the whole town is in pairs. 
 
 The courting is all done on Saturday night, 
 by the lady's fire. It is hard to keep out of a 
 groove in which all the town is running ; and 
 the Johnstone had possessed, as mere property, 
 a lad! 
 
 She was so wealthy that few of them could 
 pretend to aspire to her, so she selected for her 
 chattel a young man called Willy Liston, a 
 youth of an unhappy turn. He contributed 
 nothing to hilarity ; his face was a kill-joy. No- 
 body liked him ; for this female reason Christie 
 distinguished him. 
 
 He found a divine supper every Saturday 
 night in her house ; he ate and sighed ! Christie 
 fed him and lauerhed at him. 
 
 Flucker ditto. 
 
$6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 As she neither fed nor laughed at any other 
 man, some twenty were bitterly jealous of Willy 
 Liston, and this gave the blighted youth a cheer- 
 ful moment or two. 
 
 But the bright alliance received a check some 
 months before our tale. 
 
 Christie was helluo Ubrorum ! and like others 
 who have that taste and can only gratify it in 
 the interval of manual exercise, she read very 
 intensely in her hours of study. A book ab- 
 sorbed her. She was like a leech on these oc- 
 casions, non missura cutem : even Jean Carnie, 
 her coadjutor, or ' neebor, 1 as they call it, found 
 it best to keep out of her way till the book was 
 sucked. 
 
 One Saturday night Willy Liston's evil star 
 ordained that a gentleman of French origin and 
 Spanish dress, called Gil Bias, should be the 
 Johnstone's companion. , . , 
 
 Willy Liston arrived. 
 
 Christie, who had bolted the door, told him 
 from the window, civilly enough, but decidedly, 
 k She would excuse his company that night.' 
 
 ' Vara weel,' said Willy, and departed. 
 
 Next Saturday, no Willy came. 
 
 Ditto the next. Willy was waiting the 
 amende. 
 
 Christie forgot to make it. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 57 
 
 One day she was passing the boats. Wiily 
 beckoned her mysteriously ; he led her to his 
 boat, which was called ' The Christie John- 
 stone ; ' by the boat's side was a paint pot and 
 brush. 
 
 They had not supped together for five 
 Saturdays. 
 
 Ergo, Mr. Liston had painted out the first 
 four letters of ; Christie ; ' he now proceeded to 
 paint out the fifth, giving her to understand that 
 if she allowed the whole name to go, a letter 
 every blank Saturday, her image would be grad- 
 ually, but effectually, obliterated from the heart 
 Listonian. 
 
 My reader has done what Liston did not, — 
 anticipate her answer. She recommended him, 
 whilst his hand was in, to paint out the entire 
 name, and with white paint and a smaller brush 
 to substitute some other female appellation. So 
 saying, she tripped off. 
 
 Mr. Liston, on this, was guilty of the follow- 
 ing inconsistency : he pressed the paint care- 
 fully out of the brush into the pot ; having thus 
 economized his material, he hurled the pot which 
 contained his economy at ' tie Johnstone ; ' he 
 then adjourned to the ' Peacock,' and ' away at 
 once with love and reason.' 
 
 Thenceforth, when men asked who was Chris- 
 
58 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 tie Johnstone's lad, the answer used to be, 
 'She's seeking ane.' Quelle horreur ! 
 
 Newhaven does n't know everything, but my 
 intelligent reader suspects, and if confirming his 
 suspicions can reconcile him to our facts, it will 
 soon be done. 
 
 But he must come with us to Edinburgh ; it 's 
 only three miles. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A LITTLE band of painters came into 
 ■**■ Edinburgh from a professional walk. 
 Three were of Edinburgh : Grove, aged 
 fifty; Jones and Hyacinth, young, — the latter 
 long-haired. 
 
 With them was a young Englishman, the 
 leader of the expedition, Charles Gatty. 
 
 His step was elastic, and his manner won- 
 derfully animated, without loudness. 
 
 1 A bright day,' said he. ' The sun forgot 
 where he was, and shone ; everything was in 
 favour of art. 1 
 
 1 Oh, dear, no, 1 replied old Grove, ' not 
 where I was.' 
 
 1 Why, what was the matter r ' 
 
 ' The flies kept buzzing and biting, and stick- 
 ing in the work. That 's the worst of out o' 
 doors.' 
 
 1 The flics ! is that all ? Swear the spiders 
 in special constables next time,' cried Gatty. 
 1 We shall win the day ; ' and light shot into 
 his hazel eye. 
 
 4 The world will not always put up with 
 
6o Christie Johnstone. 
 
 the humbugs of the brush, who, to imitate 
 Nature, turn their back on her. Paint an out- 
 o'-door scene in-doors ! I swear by the sun 
 it's a lie! — the one stupid, impudent lie that 
 glitters amongst the lies of vulgar art, like 
 Satan amongst Belial, Mammon, and all those 
 beggars. 
 
 1 Now, look here ; the barren outlines of a 
 scene must be looked at to be done ; hence 
 the sketching system slop-sellers of the Acad- 
 emy ! But the million delicacies of light, shade, 
 and colour can be trusted to memory, can 
 they? 
 
 1 It 's a lie big enough to shake the earth out 
 of her course ; if any part of the work could 
 be trusted to memory or imagination, it happens 
 to be the bare outlines, and they can't. The 
 million subtleties of light and colour, — learn 
 them by heart, and say them off on canvas ! 
 The highest angel in the sky must have his eye 
 upon them, and look devilish sharp, too, or he 
 sha'n't paint them. I give him Charles Gatty's 
 word for that. 1 
 
 'That's very eloquent, I call it,' said Jones. 
 
 1 Yes,' said poor old Grove ; ' the lad will 
 never make a painter.' 
 
 'Yes I shall, Grove, — at least, I hope so; 
 but it must be a long time first.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 61 
 
 1 I never knew a painter who could talk and 
 paint both,' explained Mr. Grove. 
 
 1 Very well,' said Gatty. 4 Then I '11 say but 
 one word more, and it is this : The artifice of 
 painting is old enough to die ; it is time the art 
 was born. Whenever it does come into the 
 world, you will see no more dead corpses of 
 trees, grass, and water, robbed of their life, the 
 sunlight, and flung upon canvas in a studio, 
 by the light of a cigar, and a lie — and — ' 
 
 1 How much do you expect for your picture r ' 
 interrupted Jones. 
 
 1 What has that to do with it ? With these 
 little swords ' (waving his brush) ' we '11 fight 
 for nature-light, truth-light, and sunlight, against 
 a world in arms, — no, worse, in swaddling- 
 clothes.' 
 
 1 With little swerrds,' replied poor old Grotc, 
 i we shall cut our own throats if we go against 
 people's prejudices.' 
 
 The young artist laughed the old daubster 
 a merry defiance, and then separated from 
 the party, for his lodgings were down the 
 street. 
 
 He had not left them long, before a most 
 musical voice was heard, crying, — 
 
 4 A caallerr owoo ! ' ( 
 
 And two young fishwives hove in sight. 
 
62 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 The boys recognised one of them as Gatty's 
 sweetheart. * * - .^ 
 
 ' Is he in love with her ? ' inquired Jones. 
 
 Hyacinth the long-haired undertook to 
 reply. 
 
 i He loves her better than anything in the 
 world, except Art. Love and Art are two 
 beautiful things,' whined Hyacinth. 
 
 ' She, too, is beautiful. I have done her, 1 
 added he with a simper. 
 
 4 In oil?' asked Grove. 
 
 1 In oil ? No, in verse, here ; ' and he took out 
 a paper. 
 
 ' b Then had n't we better cut ? You might pro- 
 pose reading them,' said poor old Grove. 
 
 ' Have you any oysters?' inquired Jones oi 
 the Carnie and the Johnstone, who were~now 
 alongside. 
 
 ' Plenty/ answered Jean. { Hae ye ony 
 siller?' 
 
 The artists looked at one another, and did n't 
 all speak at once. 
 
 ' I, Madam,' said old Grove, insinuatingly, to 
 Christie, ' am a friend of Mr. Gatty's ; per- 
 haps on that account you would lend me an 
 oyster or two.' 
 
 ' Na,' said Jean, sternly. 
 
 1 Hyacinth,' said Jones, sarcastically, * giv; 
 
Christie Johnstone. 63 
 
 them your verses ; perhaps that will soften 
 them.' 
 
 Hyacinth gave his verses, descriptive of her- 
 self, to Christie. 
 
 This youngster was one of those who mind 
 other people's business. 
 
 Alienis studiis dclcctatus contempsit swam. 
 
 His destiny was to be a bad painter, so he 
 wanted to be an execrable poet. 
 
 All this morning he had been doggrelling 
 when he ought to have been daubing, and now 
 he will have to sup off a coloured print if he 
 sups at all. 
 
 Christie read, blushed, and put the verses in 
 her bosom. 
 
 1 Come awa, Custy,' said Jean. 
 
 ' Hets,' said Christie, ' gie the puir lads 
 twarree oysters ; what the waur will we be r ' 
 
 So they opened oysters for them ; and Hya- 
 cinth the long-haired looked down on the others 
 with sarcastico-benignant superiority. He had 
 conducted a sister art to the aid of his brother 
 brushes. 
 
 ' The poet's empire, all our hearts allow ; 
 But doggrel's power was never known till now,' 
 
64 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A T the commencement of last chapter Charles 
 •*"*• Gatty, artist, was going to usher in a new 
 state of things, true art, etc. Wales was to be 
 painted in Wales, not Poland Street. 
 
 He and five or six more youngsters were to 
 be in the foremost files of truth, and take the 
 world by storm. 
 
 This was at two o'clock ; it is now five ; 
 whereupon the posture of affairs, the pros- 
 pects of art, the face of the world, the nature of 
 things, are quite the reverse. 
 
 In the artist's room, on the floor, was a small 
 child, whose movements, and they were many, 
 were viewed with huge dissatisfaction by Charles 
 Gatty, Esq. This personage, pencil in hand, 
 sat slouching and morose, looking gloomily at 
 his intractable model. 
 
 Things were going on very badly ; he had 
 been waiting two hours for an infantine pose as 
 common as dirt, and the little viper would die 
 first. 
 
 Out of doors everything was nothing, for the 
 sun was obscured, and to all appearance, ex- 
 tinguished forever. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 65 
 
 1 Ah ! Mr. Grove, ' cried he to that worthy, 
 who peeped in at that moment, ' you are right ; 
 it is better to plough away on canvas blindfold, 
 as our grandfathers — no, grandmothers — used, 
 than to kill ourselves toiling after such coy ladies 
 as Nature and Truth.' 
 
 ' Aweel, I dinna ken, Sirr,' replied Grove, 
 in smooth tones. ' I didna like to express my 
 warm approbation of you before the lads, for 
 fear of making them jealous.' 
 
 ' They be no ! ' 
 
 1 I ken what ye wad say, Sirr, an' it wad 
 hae been a vara just an 1 sprightly observaation. 
 Aweel, between oursels, I look upon ye as a 
 young gentleman of amazing talent and moedesty. 
 Man, ye dinna do yoursel justice ; ye should be 
 in th' Academy — at the hede o *t.' 
 
 ' Mr. Grove, I am a poor fainting pilgrim 
 on the road, where stronger spirits have marched 
 erect before me.' 
 
 ' A faintin' pelgrim ! Deil a frights o' ye ; 
 ye 're a brisk and bonny lad. Ah, Sirr, in my 
 juvenile days we didna fash wi' Nature and 
 Truth, an' the like.' 
 
 1 The like ! What is like Nature and Truth, 
 except themselves ? ' 
 
 1 Vara true, Sirr, vara true ; and sae I doot 
 I will never attain the height o' profeeciency ye 
 
 F 
 
66 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 hae reached. An 1 at this vara moment, Sir, 1 
 continued Grove, with delicious solemnity and 
 mystery, ' ye see before ye, Sir, a man wha is 
 in maist dismal want — o' ten shellen ! ' (A 
 pause.) ' If your superior talent has put ye in 
 possession of that sum, ye would obleege me 
 infinitely by a temporary accommodation, Mr. 
 Gaattie.' 
 
 ' Why did you not come to the point at once ?' 
 cried Gatty, brusquely, ' instead of humbling 
 me with undeserved praise. There.' Grove held 
 out his hand, but made a wry face when, instead 
 of money, Gatty put a sketch into his hand. 
 
 ' There/ said Gatty, ' that is a lie ! ' 
 
 i How can it be a lee ? ' said the other, with 
 sour inadvertence. ' How can it be a lee when 
 I hae na spoken ? ' 
 
 ' You don't understand me. That sketch is 
 a libel on a poor cow and an unfortunate oak- 
 tree. I did them at the Academy. They had 
 never done me any wrong, poor things ! they 
 suffered unjustly. You take them to a shop, 
 swear they are a tree and a cow, and some fool 
 that never really looked into a cow or a tree 
 will give you ten shillings for them.' 
 
 ' Are ye sure, lad ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure. Mr. Grove, Sir, if you cannot 
 sell a lie for ten shillings, you are not fit to live 
 
, Christie Johnstone. 67 
 
 in this world ; where is the lie that will not sell 
 for ten shillings ? ' 
 
 ' I shall think the better o' lees all my days ; 
 Sir, your words are inspeeriting.' And away 
 went Grove with the sketch. 
 
 Gatty reflected, and stopped him. 
 
 1 On second thoughts, Grove, you must not 
 ask ten shillings ; you must ask twenty pounds 
 for that rubbish.' 
 
 ' Twenty pund ! What for will I seek twenty 
 pund ? ' 
 
 1 Simply because people that would not give 
 you ten shillings for it will offer you eleven 
 pounds for it if you ask twenty pounds. 1 
 
 ' The fules ! ' roared Grove. ' Twenty pund ! 
 hem ! ' He looked closer into it. ' For a',' said 
 he ; 'I begin to obsairve it is a work of great 
 merit. I '11 seek twenty pund ; an' I '11 no tak 
 less than fifteen schelln, at present.' 
 
 The visit of this routine painter did not cheer 
 our artist. 
 
 The small child got a coal, and pounded the 
 floor with it, like a machine incapable of fatigue. 
 So the wished-for pose seemed more remote 
 than ever. 
 
 The day waxed darker instead of lighter. 
 Mr. Gatty's reflections took also a still more 
 sombre hue. 
 
6S Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Even Nature spites us, 1 thought he, ' be- 
 cause we love her. 
 
 1 Then cant, tradition, numbers, slang, and 
 money are against us ; the least of these is 
 singly a match for truth ; we shall die of despair, 
 or paint cobwebs in Bedlam ; and I am faint, 
 weary of a hopeless struggle ; and one man's 
 brush is truer than mine, another's is bolder : 
 my hand and eye are not in tune. Ah, no ! I 
 shall never, never, never be a painter.' 
 
 These last words broke audibly from him, as 
 his head went down almost to his knees. 
 
 A hand was placed on his shoulder, as 
 a flake of snow falls on the water. It was 
 Christie Johnstone, radiant, who had glided 
 in unobserved. 
 
 'What's wrang wi* ye, my lad?' 
 
 ' The sun is gone to the devil, for one thing.' 
 
 ' Hech ! hech ! ye 'll no be long ahint him ; 
 div ye no think shame ? ' 
 
 ' And I want that little brute just to do so ; 
 and he 'd die first.' 
 
 ' Oh, ye villain, to ca' a bairn a brute ; 
 there's but ae brute here, and it's no you, 
 Jamie, nor me; is it, my lamb?' 
 
 She then stepped to the window. 
 
 ' It 's clear to windward ; in ten minutes ye 'll 
 hae plenty sun. Tak your tools noo.' And at 
 
Christie Johnstone. 69 
 
 the word she knelt on the floor, whipped out a 
 paper of sugar-plums, and said to him she had 
 christened Jamie, 'Hehl Here's sweeties till 
 ye. 1 Out went Jamie's arms, as if he had been 
 a machine and she had pulled the right string. 
 
 1 Ah, that will do,' said Gatty, and sketched 
 away. 
 
 Unfortunately Jamie was quickly arrested 
 on [the way to immortality by his mother, 
 who came in saying, — 
 
 4 I maun hae my bairn ; he canna be aye 
 wasting his time here.' 
 
 This sally awakened the satire that ever 
 lies ready in piscatory bosoms. 
 
 1 Wasting his time ! ye 're no blate. Oh, 
 ye '11 be for taking him to the college to laern 
 pheesick, — and teach maenners.' 
 
 ' Ye needna begin on me,' said the woman ; 
 4 I "m no match for Newhaven.' 
 
 So saying she cut short the dispute by carry- 
 ing off the gristle of contention. 
 
 1 Another enemy to art,' said Gatty, hurling 
 away his pencil. 
 
 The young fishwife enquired if there were 
 any more griefs. What she had heard had not 
 accounted, to her reason, for her companion's 
 depression. — - 
 
 1 Are ye sick, laddy ? ' said she. 
 
70 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ' No, Christie, not sick, but quite, quite 
 down in the mouth.' 
 
 She scanned him thirty seconds. 
 
 ' What had ye till your dinner ? ' 
 
 1 T frrget.' 7 
 
 ' A choep, likely ?' 
 
 ' I think it was.' 
 
 ' Or maybe it was a steak ? ' 
 I ' I dare say it was a steak. ' 
 
 1 Taste my girdle cake, that I 've brought 
 for ye.' 
 
 She gave him a piece ; he ate it rapidly, and 
 looked gratefully at her. 
 
 1 Noo, div ye no think shame to look me in 
 the face \ Ye hae na dined ava. 1 And she 
 wore an injured look. 
 
 ' Sit ye there ; it 's ower late for dinner, but 
 ye '11 get a cup tea. Doon i' the mooth, nae 
 wonder, when naething gangs doon your — ' 
 
 In a minute she placed a tea-tray, and ran 
 into the kitchen with a teapot. 
 
 The next moment a yell was heard, and she 
 returned laughing, with another teapot. 
 
 'The wife had maskit her tea till hersel',' 
 said this lawless forager. 
 
 Tea and cake on the table, beauty seated by 
 his side, all in less than a minute. .. . 
 
 He offered her a piece of cake. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 71 
 
 * Na I I am no for any.' 
 
 4 Nor I then,' said he. 
 
 1 Hets ! Eat, I tell ye ! ' 
 
 He replied by putting a bit to her heavenly 
 mouth. 
 
 1 Ye 're awfu' opinionated,' said she, with a 
 countenance that said nothing should induce 
 her, and eating it almost contemporaneously. 
 
 1 Put plenty sugar,' added she, referring to 
 the Chinese infusion ; ' mind, I hae a sweet 
 tooth.' 
 
 1 You have a sweet set,' said he, approaching 
 another morsel. 
 
 They showed themselves by way of smile, 
 and confirmed the accusation. 
 
 'Aha! lad,' answered she; 'they've been 
 the death o' mony a herrin' ! ' 
 
 1 Now, what does that mean in English, 
 Christie ? ' 
 
 1 My grinders — (a full stop). 
 
 1 Which you approve — (a full stop). 
 
 ' Have been fatal — (a full stop). 
 
 ' To many fishes ! ' 
 
 Christie prided herself on her English, which 
 she had culled from books. 
 
 Then he made her drink from the cup, and 
 was ostentatious in putting his lips to the same 
 part of the brim. 
 
7 2 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Then she left the table and inspected all things. 
 
 She came to his drawers, opened one, and 
 was horror-struck. 
 
 There were coats and trousers, with their 
 limbs interchangeably intertwined, waistcoats, 
 shirts, and cigars, hurled into chaos. 
 
 She instantly took the drawer bodily out, 
 brought it, leaned it against the tea-table, 
 pointed silently into it with an air of majes- 
 tic reproach, and awaited the result. 
 
 ' I can find whatever I want,' said the un- 
 blushing bachelor, ' except money.' 
 
 1 Siller does na bide wi 1 slovens I Hae ye often 
 siccan a gale o' wind in your drawer ? ' 
 
 1 Every day ! Speak English ! ' 
 
 * Aweel ! How do you do I that 's Ennglish, 
 I daur say.' 
 
 1 Jolly 1 ' cried he, with his mouth full. 
 
 Christie was now folding up and neatly ar- 
 ranging his clothes. 
 
 4 Will you ever, ever be a painter ? ' 
 
 ' I am a painter ! I could paint the Devil 
 pea-green 1 ' 
 
 ' Dinna speak o' yon lad, Chairles ; it 's no 
 canny. 1 
 
 ' No I I am going to paint an angel ; the 
 prettiest, cleverest girl in Scotland, " the Snow- 
 drop of the North."' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 73 
 
 And he dashed into his bedroom to find a 
 canvas. 
 
 k Hech I ' reflected Christie. ' Thir Ennglish 
 hae flattering tongues as sure as Dethe. " The 
 Snawdrap o" the Norrth ! "' 
 
74 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.' 
 
 r* ATTY'S back was hardly turned, when a 
 ^* visitor arrived and inquired, ' Is Mr. Gatty 
 at home ? ' 
 
 1 What 's your will wi 1 him ? ' was the Scot- 
 tish reply. 
 
 1 Will you give him this ? ' 
 
 1 What est r ' 
 
 * Are you fond of asking 'questions r ' inquired 
 the man. 
 
 ' Ay ! and fules canna answer them, 1 retorted 
 Christie. 
 
 The little "document which the man, in retir- 
 ing, left with Christie Johnstone, purported to 
 come from one Victoria, who seemed, at first 
 sight, disposed to show Charles Gatty civili- 
 ties. ' Victoria — to Charles Gatty, greeting ! 
 (salutem).' Christie was much struck with this 
 instance of royal affability ; she read no farther, 
 but began to think : s Victoree ! that 's the 
 Queen hersel 1 . A letter fra the Queen to a 
 painter lad ! Picters will rise i 1 the mairket ; 
 it will be an order to paint the bairns. I hae 
 
Christie Johnstone. 75 
 
 brought him luck ; ' I am real pleased.' And on 
 Gatty's return, canvas in hand, she whipped 
 the document behind her and said archly, ' I hae 
 something for ye, — a tecket fra a leddy ; ye '11 
 no want siller fra this day/ 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' 
 
 1 Ay, indeed ! fra a great leddy ; it 's vera 
 gude o' me to gie ye it. Heh ! tak it.' 
 
 He did take it, looked stupefied, looked 
 again, sunk into a chair, and glared at it. 
 
 1 Laddy ! ' said Christie. 
 
 ' This is a new step on the downward path/ 
 said the poor painter. 
 
 1 Is it no an orrder to paint the young Prence r ' 
 said Christie, faintly. 
 
 1 No ! ' almost shrieked the victim. 'It's a 
 writ ! I owe a lot of money/ 
 
 1 Oh, Chairles I ' 
 
 1 See ! I borrowed sixty pounds six months 
 ago of a friend, so now I owe eighty 1 ' 
 
 1 All right ! ? giggled the unfriendly visitor at 
 the door, whose departure had been more or less 
 fictitious. 
 
 Christie, by an impulse, not justifiable, but 
 natural, drew her oyster-knife out, and this time 
 the man really went away. 
 
 ' Hairtless mon ! ' cried she, ' could he no do 
 his ain dirrty work, and no gar me gie the puir 
 
y6 Christie Johnstone 
 
 lad th' action, and he likeit me sae weel ! ' and 
 she began to whimper. 
 
 * And love you more now, 1 said he ; ' don't 
 you cry, dear, to add to my vexation.' 
 
 * Na ! I ll no add to your vexation ; ' and she 
 gulped down her tears. 
 
 ' Besides, I have pictures painted worth two 
 hundred pounds ; this is only for eighty. To 
 be sure, you can't sell them for two hundred 
 pence when you want. So I shall go to jail, 
 but they won't keep me long.' 
 
 Then he took a turn, and began to fall into 
 the artistic or true view of matters, which, in- 
 deed, was never long absent from him. 
 
 1 Look here, Christie,' said he, ' I am sick of 
 conventional assassins, humbugging models, with 
 dirty beards, that knit their brows and try to 
 look murder ; they never murdered so much as 
 a tomcat. I always go in for the real thing, and 
 here I shall find it.' 
 
 ' Dinna gang in there, lad, for ony favour.' 
 
 1 Then I shall find the accessories of a pic- 
 ture I have in my head, — chains with genuine 
 rust, and ancient mouldering stones, with the 
 stains of time.' His eye brightened at the 
 prospect. 
 
 \You among fiefs, and chains, and stanes ! 
 Ye "11 break my hairt, laddy ; ye '11 no be easy 
 
Christie Johnstone. 77 
 
 till you break my hairt ; ' and this time the tears 
 would not be denied. 
 
 ' I love you for crying ; don't cry ; ' and he 
 fished from the chaotic drawer a cambric hand- 
 kerchief, with which he dried her tears as they 
 fell. 
 
 It is my firm belief she cried nearly twice as 
 much as she really wanted to ; she contrived to 
 make the grief hers, the sympathy his. Sud- 
 denly she stopped, and said, — 
 
 ' I 'm daft ; ye '11 accept a lane o' the siller 
 fra me, will ye no ?' 
 
 ; No I 1 said he. ' And where could you find 
 eighty pound ? ' 
 
 4 Auchty pund,' cried she, 'it's no auchty 
 pund that will ding Christie Johnstone, laddy. 
 I hae boats and nets worth twa auchtys ; and 
 I hae forty pund laid by ; and I hae seven hun- 
 dred pund at London ; but that I canna meddle. 
 My feyther lent it the King or the Queen, I 
 dinna justly mind ; she pays me the interest 
 twice the year. Sae ye ken I could na be sae 
 dirty as seek my siller, when she pays me th 1 
 interest, — to the very day, ye ken. She 's just 
 the only one o' a 1 my debtors that 's hoenest ; 
 but never heed, ye '11 no gang to jail. 1 
 
 ' I '11 hold my tongue and sacrifice my pic- 
 tures,' thought Charles. 
 
78 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Cheer up ! ' said Christie, mistaking the 
 nature of his thoughts, ' for it did na come fra 
 Victoree hersel'. It wad smell o' the musk, ye 
 ken. Na, it's just a wheen blackguards at 
 London that makes use o' her name to torment 
 puir folk. Wad she pairsecute a puir lad r No 
 likely.' 
 
 She then asked questions, some of which 
 were embarrassing. One thing he could never 
 succeed in making her understand, — how, since 
 it was sixty pounds he borrowed, it could be 
 eighty pounds he owed. 
 
 Then once more she promised him her pro- 
 tection, bade him be of good cheer, and left 
 him. 
 
 At the door she turned and said, ' Chairles, 
 here 's an auld wife seeking ye,' and vanished. 
 
 These two young people had fallen acquainted 
 at a Newhaven wedding. Christie, belonging 
 to no one, had danced with him all the night. 
 They had walked under the stars to cool them- 
 selves ; for dancing reels, with heart and soul, is 
 not quadrilling. 
 
 Then he had seen his beautiful partner in 
 Edinburgh, and made a sketch of her, which he 
 gave her ; and by-and-by he used to run down 
 to Newhaven, and stroll up and down a certain 
 green lane near the town. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 79 
 
 Next, on Sunday evenings, a long walk to- 
 gether, and then it came to visits at his place 
 now and then. 
 
 And here Raphael and Fornarina were in- 
 verted ; our artist used to work, and Christie 
 tell him stories the while. 
 
 And as her voice curled round his heart, he 
 used to smile and look, and lay inspired touches 
 on his subject. 
 
 And she, an artist of the tongue (without 
 knowing herself one), used to make him grave, 
 or gay, or sad, at will, and watch the effect of 
 her art upon his countenance ; and a very 
 pretty art it is, — the vivA voce story-tellers, — 
 and a rare one amongst the nations of Europe. 
 
 Christie had not learned it in a day ; when 
 she began, she used to tell them like the other 
 Newhaven people, with a noble impartiality of 
 detail, wearisome to the hearer. 
 
 But latterly she had learned to seize the sa- 
 lient parts of a narrative ; her voice had com- 
 pass, and, like all fine speakers, she travelled 
 over a great many notes in speaking ; her low 
 tones were gorgeously rich, her upper tones full 
 and sweet ; all this, and her beauty, made the 
 hours she gave him very sweet to our poor 
 artist. x 
 
 He was wont to bask in her music, and tell 
 
So Christie Johnstone, 
 
 her in return how he loved her, and how happy 
 they were both to be as soon as he had acquired 
 a name ; for a name was wealth, he told her. 
 And although Christie Johnstone did not let 
 him see how much she took all this to heart and 
 believed it, it was as sweet music to her, as her 
 own honeysuckle breath to him. 
 
 She improved him. 
 
 He dropped cigars, and medical students, and 
 similar abominations. 
 
 Christie's cool, fresh breath, as she hung over 
 him while painting, suggested to him that smok- 
 ing might peradventure be a sin against nature 
 as well as against cleanliness. 
 
 And he improved her ; she learned from art 
 to look into nature (the usual process of mind). 
 
 She had noticed too little the flickering gold 
 of the leaves at evening, the purple hills, and 
 the shifting stories and glories of the sky ; but 
 now, whatever she saw him try to imitate, she 
 learned to examine. She was a woman, and ad- 
 mired sunset, etc., for this boy's sake ; and her 
 whole heart expanded with a new sensation that 
 softened her manner to all the world, and 
 brightened her personal rays. 
 
 This charming picture of mutual affection had 
 hitherto been admired only by those who figured 
 in it. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 81 
 
 But a visitor had now arrived on purpose to 
 inspect it, etc., attracted by report. 
 
 A friend had considerately informed Mrs. 
 Gatty, the artist's mother, and she had instantly 
 started from Newcastle. . 
 
 This was the old lady Christie discovered on 
 the stairs. 
 
 Her sudden appearance took her son's breath 
 away. 
 
 No human event was less likely than that she 
 should be there ; yet there she was. 
 
 After the first surprise and affectionate greet- 
 ings, a misgiving crossed him ; ' she must know 
 about the writ.' It was impossible ; but our 
 minds are so constituted, when we are guilty 
 we fear that others know what we know. 
 
 Now Gatty was particularly anxious she 
 should not know about this writ, for he had 
 incurred the debt by acting against her advice. 
 
 Last year he commenced a picture in which 
 was Durham Cathedral ; his mother bade him 
 stay quietly at home and paint the cathedral and 
 its banks from a print, ' as any other painter 
 would, 1 observed she. 
 
 But this was not the lad's system ; he spent 
 five months on the spot and painted his picture, 
 but he had to borrow sixty pounds to do this ; 
 the condition of this loan was, that in six months 
 
 G 
 
82 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 he should either pay eighty pounds, or finish 
 and hand over a certain half-finished picture. 
 
 He did neither. His new subject thrust aside 
 his old one, and he had no money ; ergo his 
 friend, a picture-dealer, who had found artists 
 slippery in money matters, followed him up 
 sharp, as we see. 
 
 , ' There is nothing the matter, I hope, mother. 
 What is it ? ' 
 
 4 I 'm tired, Charles.' He brought her a seat ; 
 she sat down. 
 
 4 I did not come from Newcastle, at my age, 
 for nothing. You have formed an improper 
 acquaintance. 1 
 
 4 I I Who? Is it Jack Adams?' 
 \ 4 Worse than any Jack Adams ! ' 
 
 4 Who can that be, — Jenkyns, mother, be- 
 cause he does the same things as Jack, and 
 pretends to be religious ? ' 
 
 4 It is a female, — a fishwife. Oh, my son ! ' 
 
 4 Christie Johnstone an improper acquaint- 
 ance ! ' said he. i Why, I was good for nothing 
 till I knew her. She has made me so good, 
 mother, so steady, so industrious, you will 
 never have to find fault with me again.' 
 
 4 Nonsense ; a woman that sells fish in the 
 streets 1 ' 
 
 4 But you have not seen her. She is beauti- 
 
Christie Johnstone. 83 
 
 ful. Her mind is not in fish ; her mind grasps 
 the beautiful and the good. She is a compan- 
 ion for princes ! What am I, that she wastes a 
 thought or a ray of music on me ? Heaven 
 bless her ! She reads our best authors, and 
 never forgets a word ; and she tells me beau- 
 tiful stories ; sometimes they make me cry, 
 for her voice is a music that goes straight to 
 my heart.' 
 
 ' A woman that does not even wear the 
 clothes of a lady ! ' 
 
 1 It is the only genuine costume in these 
 islands not beneath a painter's notice.' 
 ' Look at me, Charles, — at your mother. 1 
 ' Yes, mother/ said he, nervously. 
 1 You must part with her, or kill me.' 
 He started from his seat and began to flutter 
 up and down the room, poor excitable creature ! 
 4 Part with her 1 ' cried he, ' I shall never be a 
 painter if I do. What is to keep my heart warm 
 when the sun is hid, when the birds are silent, 
 When difficulty looks a mountain, and success a 
 molehill > What is an artist without love ? How 
 Is he to bear Up against his disappointments from 
 within, his mortification from without ; the great 
 ideas he has and cannot grasp, and all the forms 
 of ignorance that sting him, from stupid insensi- 
 bility down to clever, shallow criticism?' 
 
 G 2 
 
84 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Come back to common-sense,' said the old 
 lady, coldly and grimly. 
 
 He looked uneasy ; common-sense had often 
 been quoted against him, and common-sense 
 had always proved right. 
 
 ' Come back to common-sense. She shall not 
 be your mistress, and she cannot bear your 
 name ; you must part some day, because you 
 cannot come together; and now is the best time/ 
 
 ' Not be together ? All our lives, all our 
 lives, ay,' cried he, rising into enthusiasm, 
 ' hundreds of years to come, will we two be 
 together before men's eyes. I will be an im- 
 mortal painter, that the world and time may 
 cherish the features I have loved. I love her, 
 mother, 1 added he, with a tearful tenderness 
 that ought to have reached a woman's heart ; 
 then flushing, trembling, and inspired, he burst 
 out, ' And I wish I was a sculptor and a poet 
 too, that Christie might live in stone and verse, 
 as well as colours, and all who love an art might 
 say, " This woman cannot die ; Charles Gatty 
 loved her. 11 ' 
 
 He looked in her face ; he could not believe 
 any creature could be insensible to his love, and 
 persist to rob him of it. 
 
 The old woman .caused to let his eloquence 
 evaporate. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 85 
 
 The pause chilled him ; then gently and 
 slowly, but emphatically, she spoke to him 
 thus, — 
 
 1 Who has kept you on her small means 
 ever since you were ten years and seven 
 months old r ' 
 
 4 You should know, mother, dear mother.' 
 
 4 Answer me, Charles.' 
 
 1 My mother.' 
 
 4 Who has pinched herself in every earthly 
 thing to make you an immortal painter, and 
 above all a gentleman ? ' 
 
 1 My mother.' 
 
 'Who forgave you the little faults of youth, 
 before you could ask pardon ? ' 
 
 4 My mother I Oh, mother. I ask pardon 
 now for all the trouble I ever gave the best, 
 the dearest, the tenderest of mothers.' 
 
 4 Who will go home to Newcastle, a broken- 
 hearted woman, with the one hope gone that 
 has kept her up in poverty and sorrow so 
 many weary years, if this goes on ? ' 
 
 4 Nobody, I hope.' 
 
 4 Yes, Charles ; your mother.' 
 
 4 Oh, mother ! you have been always my best 
 friend.' 
 
 4 And am this day.' 
 
 4 Do not be my worst en^my now. It is for 
 
$6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 me to obey you ; but it is for you to think well 
 before you drive me to despair.' 
 
 And the poor womanish heart leaned his head 
 on .the table, and began to sorrow over his hard 
 fate, 
 
 Mrs. Gatty soothed him. ' It need not be 
 done all in a moment ; it must be done kindly but 
 firmly. I will give you as much time as you like.' 
 
 This bait took. The weak love to temporize. 
 
 It is doubtful whether he honestly intended 
 to part with Christie Johnstone, but to pacify 
 his mother he promised to begin and gradually 
 untie the knot. 
 
 1 My mother will go,' whispered his deceit- 
 ful heart, ' and when she is away, perhaps I 
 shall find out that in spite of every effort I 
 cannot resign my treasure.' 
 
 He gave a sort of half-promise for the sake 
 of peace. •-•-- • 
 
 His mother instantly sent to the inn for her 
 boxes. 
 
 * There is a room in this same house,' said 
 she. ' I will take it. I will not hurry you ; 
 but until it [is done, I stay here, if it is a 
 twelvemonth about.' 
 
 He turned pale. 
 
 ' And now hear the good news I have 
 brought you from Newcastle.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 87 
 
 Oh, these little iron wills ; how is a great 
 artist to fight three hundred and sixty-five 
 days against such an antagonist r 
 
 Every day saw a repetition of these dialogues, 
 in which genius made gallant bursts into the air, 
 and strong, hard sense caught him on his de- 
 scent, and dabbed glue on his gauzy wings. 
 
 Old age and youth see life so differently. 
 
 To youth it is a story-book, in which we are 
 to command the incidents, and be the bright 
 exceptions to one rule after another. 
 
 To age it is an almanack, in which everything 
 will happen just as it has happened so many 
 times. 
 
 To youth it is a path through a sunny meadow. 
 
 To age, a hard turnpike : 
 
 Whose travellers must be all sweat and dust, 
 when they are not in mud and drenched : 
 
 Which wants mending in many places, and is 
 mended with sharp stones. 
 
 Gatty would not yield to go down to New- 
 haven and take a step against his love, but he 
 yielded so far as to remain passive and see 
 whether this creature was necessary to his ex- 
 istence or not. 
 
 Mrs. G. scouted the idea. . 
 
 4 He was to work, and he would soon forget 
 her/ 
 
88 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Poor boy ! he wanted to work ; his debt 
 weighed on him ; a week's resolute labour might 
 finish his first picture and satisfy his creditor. 
 The subject was an interior. He set to work, 
 he stuck to work, he glued to work, his body — 
 but his heart ? 
 
 Ah, my poor fellow, a much slower horse 
 than Gatty will go by you, ridden as you are by 
 a leaden heart. 
 
 1 Tu nihil invita facies pingesve Minerva.' 
 
 It would not lower a mechanical dog's efforts, 
 but it must yours. 
 
 He was unhappy. He heard only one side 
 for days ; that side was recommended by his 
 duty, filial affection, and diffidence of his own 
 good sense. 
 
 He was brought to see his proceedings were 
 eccentric, and that it is destruction to be 
 eccentric. 
 
 He was made a little ashamed of what he had 
 been proud of. 
 
 He was confused and perplexed ; he hardly 
 knew what to think or do. He collapsed, 
 and all his spirit was fast leaving him ; and 
 then he felt inclined to lean on the first thing 
 he could find, and nothing came [to hand but 
 his mother. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 89 
 
 Meantime, Christie Johnstone was also think- 
 ing of him, but her single anxiety was to find 
 this eighty pounds for him. 
 
 It is a Newhaven idea that the female is the 
 natural protector of the male, and this idea was 
 strengthened in her case. 
 
 She did not fully comprehend his character 
 and temperament, but she saw by instinct that 
 she was to be the protector. 
 
 Besides, as she was twenty-one and he only 
 twenty-two, she felt the difference between her- 
 self a woman, and him, a boy, and to leave 
 him to struggle unaided out of his difficulties 
 seemed to her heartless. 
 
 Twice she opened her lips to engage the 
 charitable ' Vile Count ' in his cause, but shame 
 closed them again ; this would be asking a per- 
 sonal favour, and one on so large a scale. 
 
 Several days passed thus ; she had determined 
 not to visit him without good news. 
 
 She then began to be surprised ; she heard 
 nothing from him. 
 
 And now she felt something that prevented 
 her calling on him. 
 
 But Jean Carnie was to be married, and the 
 next day the wedding party were to spend in 
 festivity upon the island of Inch Coombe. 
 
 She bade Jean call on him, and without men- 
 
90 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 tioning her, invite him to this party, from which, 
 he must know, she would not be absent. 
 
 Jean Carnie entered his apartment, and at her 
 entrance his mother, who took for granted this 
 was his sweetheart, whispered in his ear that he 
 should now take the first step, and left him. 
 
 What passed between Jean Carnie and 
 Charles Gatty is for another chapter. 
 
A 
 
 Christie Johnstone. 91 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 YOUNG Viscount with income' and per- 
 son cannot lie perdu three miles from 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 First one discovers him, then another, then 
 twenty, then all the world, as the whole clique 
 is modestly called. 
 
 Before, however, Lord Ipsden was caught, he 
 had acquired a browner tint, a more elastic step, 
 and a stouter heart. _ 
 
 The Aberford prescription had done wonders 
 for him. 
 
 He caught himself passing one whole day 
 without thinking of Lady Barbara Sinclair. 
 
 But even Aberford had misled him ; there 
 were no adventures to be found in the Firth of 
 Forth ; most of the days there was no wind to 
 speak of ; twice it blew great guns, and the men 
 were surprised at his Lordship going out, but 
 nobody was in any danger except himself ; the 
 fishermen had all slipped into port before 
 matters were serious. 
 
 He found the merchantmen that could sail 
 creeping on with three reefs in their main- 
 
92 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 sail ; and the Dutchmen lying to and breast- 
 ing it, like ducks in a pond, and with no 
 more chance of harm. 
 
 On one of these occasions he did observe 
 a little steam-tug, going about a knot an 
 hour, and rolling like a washing-tub. He ran 
 down to her, and asked if A he could assist 
 her ; she answered through the medium of a 
 sooty animal at her helm, that she was (like 
 our universities) ' satisfied with her own pro- 
 gress ; ' she added, being under intoxication, 
 4 That if any danger existed, her scheme was 
 to drown it in the, bo-o-owl ; ' and two days 
 afterwards he saw her puffing and panting, 
 and fiercely dragging a gigantic three-decker 
 out into deep water, like an industrious flea 
 pulling his phaeton. 
 
 And now it is my office to relate how Mr. 
 Flucker Johnstone comported himself on one 
 occasion. 
 
 As the yacht worked alongside Granton 
 Pier before running out, the said Flucker 
 calmly and scientifically drew his Lordship's 
 attention to three points : — 
 
 The direction of the wind, the force of the 
 wind, and his opinion, as a person experi- 
 enced in the Firth, that it was going to be 
 worse instead of better ; in reply, he received 
 
Christie Johnstone. 93 
 
 an order to step forward to his place in the 
 cutter, the immediate vicinity of the jib-boom. 
 On this, Mr. Flucker instantly burst into 
 tears. 
 
 His Lordship, or as Flucker called him 
 ever since the yacht came down, ' the Skipper/ 
 deeming that the higher appellation, inquired 
 with some surprise what was the matter with 
 the boy? 
 
 One of the crew who, by-the-by, squinted, 
 suggested ' it was a slight illustration of the 
 passion of fear. 1 
 
 Flucker confirmed the theory by gulping out, 
 1 We '11 never see Newhaven again. 1 
 
 On this the Skipper smiled, and ordered him 
 ashore, somewhat peremptorily. 
 
 Straightway he began to howl, and saying 
 * it was better to be drowned than be the laugh- 
 ing-stock of the place,' L went forward to his 
 place. On his safe return to port, this young 
 gentleman was very severe on open boats, 
 which he said ' bred womanish notions in hearts 
 naturally dauntless. Give me a lid to the pot,' 
 added he, « and I "11 sail with ' v 01d Nick, let 
 the wind blow high or low.' 
 
 The Aberford was wrong when he called love 
 a cutaneous disorder. 
 
 There are cutaneous "disorders that take that 
 
94 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 name, but they are no more love than verse is 
 poetry ; 
 
 Than patriotism is love of country ; 
 
 Than theology is religion ; 
 
 Than science is philosophy ; 
 
 Than paintings are pictures ; 
 
 Than reciting on the boards is acting ; 
 
 Than physic is medicine ; 
 
 Than bread is bread, or gold, gold — in shops. 
 
 Love is a state of being ; the beloved object 
 is our centre, and our thoughts, affections, 
 schemes, and selves move but round it. 
 
 We may diverge hither or thither, but the 
 golden thread still holds us. 
 
 Is 'fair or dark beauty the fairest? The 
 world cannot decide, but love shall decide in a 
 moment. 
 
 A halo surrounds her we love, and makes 
 beautiful to us her movements, her looks, hef 
 virtues, her faults, her nonsense, her affecta- 
 tion, and herself ; and that 's love, Doctor 1 
 
 Lord Ipsden was capable of loving like this j 
 but to do Lady Barbara justice, she had done* 
 much to freeze the germ of noble passion. She 
 had not killed, but she had benumbed it. 
 
 1 Saunders,' said Lord Ipsden one morning 
 after breakfast, ' have you entered everything 
 in yoUr diary V ' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 95 
 
 ' Yes, my Lord.' 
 
 1 All these good people's misfortunes r ' 
 
 ' Yes, my Lord.' 
 
 1 Do you think you have spelt their names right r ' 
 
 ' Where it was impossible, my Lord, I sub- 
 stituted an English appellation hidentical in 
 meaning.' 
 
 1 Have you entered and described my first 
 interview with Christie Johnstone, and some- 
 body something ?' 
 
 * Most minutely, my Lord.' 
 
 1 How I turned Mr. Burke into poetry; how 
 she listened with her eyes all glistening ; how 
 they made me talk ; how she dropped a tear — 
 he ! he ! he ! — at the death of the first baron ; 
 how shocked she was at the king striking him 
 when he was dying, to make a knight-banneret 
 of the poor old fellow ? ' 
 
 ' Your Lordship will find all the particulars 
 exactly related,' said Saunders, with dry pomp, 
 
 1 How she found out that titles are but breath ; 
 how I answered — some nonsense r ' 
 
 1 Your Lordship will find all the topics 
 included.' 
 
 1 How she took me for a madman? 
 
 4 And you for a prig r ' 
 
 'The latter circumstance eluded my mem- 
 ory, my Lord.' •" 
 
96 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 1 But when I told her I must relieve only one 
 poor person by day, she took my hand/ 
 
 1 Your Lordship will find all the items real- 
 ised in this book, my Lord.' 
 
 4 What a beautiful book ! ' 
 
 1 Alba are considerably ameliorated, my Lord.' 
 
 1 Alba ? ' 
 
 1 Plural of album, my Lord,' explained the re- 
 fined factotum, ' more delicate, I conceive, than 
 the vulgar reading.' 
 
 Viscount Ipsden read from 
 
 Mr. Saunders's Album. 
 
 ' To illustrate the inelegance of the inferior 
 classes, two juvenile vendors of the piscatory 
 tribe were this day ushered in, and instanta- 
 neously, without the accustomed preliminaries, 
 plunged into a familiar conversation with Lord 
 Viscount Ipsden. 
 
 ' Their vulgarity, 'shocking and repulsive to 
 myself, appeared to afford his Lordship a satis- 
 faction greater than he derives from the graceful 
 amenities of fashionable association — ' 
 
 1 Saunders, I suspect you of something. 1 
 
 ' Me, my Lord ?' 
 
 ' Yes. Writing in an Annual. 1 
 
 4 I do, my Lord, 1 said he with benignant 
 
Christie Johnstone. 97 
 
 hauteur. 'It appears every month, — "The 
 Polytechnic. 1 ' ' 
 
 i I thought so I You are polysyllabic, Saun- 
 ders : en route ! ' . 
 
 * In this hallucination I find it difficult to par- 
 ticipate ; associated from infancy with the aris- 
 tocracy, I shrink, like the sensitive plant, from 
 contact with anything vulgar. 1 
 
 \ I see ! I begin to understand you, Saun- 
 ders. Order the dog-cart, and Wordsworth's 
 mare for leader ; we '11 give her a trial. You 
 are an ass, Saunders.' 
 
 1 Yes, my Lord ; I will order Robert to tell 
 James to come for your Lordship's commands 
 about your Lordship's vehicles. (What could 
 he intend by a recent observation of a discour- 
 teous character? )' 
 
 His Lordship soliloquized. 
 
 1 I never observed it before, but Saunders 
 is an ass ! La Johnstone is one of Nature's 
 duchesses, and she has made me know some 
 poor people that will be richer than the rich one 
 day ; and she has taught me that honey is to 
 be got from bank-notes by merely giving them 
 away.' 
 
 Amongst the objects of charity Lord Ipsden 
 discovered was one Thomas Harvey, a maker 
 
 H 
 
98 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 and player of the violin. This man was a person 
 of great intellect ; he mastered every subject he 
 attacked. By a careful examination of all the 
 points that various fine-toned instruments had 
 in/common, he had arrived at a theory of 
 sound ; he made violins to correspond, and was 
 remarkably successful in insuring that which 
 had been too hastily ascribed to accident, — a 
 fine tone. 
 
 This man, who was in needy circumstances, 
 demonstrated to his Lordship that ten pounds 
 would make his fortune ; because with ten 
 pounds he could set up a shop, instead of work- 
 ing out of the world's sight in a room. 
 
 Lord Ipsden gave him ten pounds. 
 
 A week after, he met Harvey, more ragged 
 and dirty than before. 
 
 Harvey had been robbed by a friend whom 
 he had assisted. Poor Harvey ! Lord Ipsden 
 gave him ten pounds more. 
 
 Next week, Saunders entering Harvey's 
 house, found him in bed at noon> because he 
 had no clothes to wear. 
 
 Saunders suggested that it would be better to 
 give his wife the next money* with strict orders 
 to apply it usefully. 
 , This was done. 
 
 The next day, Harvey finding his clothes upon 
 
Christie Johnstone. 99 
 
 a chair, his tools redeemed from pawn, and a 
 beefsteak ready for his dinner, accused his wife 
 of having money, and meanly refusing him the 
 benefit of it. She acknowledged she had a 
 little, and appealed to the improved state of 
 things as a proof that she knew better than he 
 the use of money. He demanded the said 
 money. She refused ; he leathered her; she 
 put him in prison. 
 
 This was the best place for him. The man 
 was a drunkard, and all the riches of Egypt 
 would never have made him better off. 
 
 And here, gentlemen of the lower classes, a 
 word with you. How can you, with your 
 small incomes, hope to be well off, if you are 
 more extravagant than those who have large 
 ones? 
 
 ' Us extravagant ? ' you reply. 
 
 Yes ! your income is ten shillings a week ; 
 out of that you spend three shillings in drink ; 
 ay ! you the sober ones. You can't afford it, 
 my boys. Find me a man whose income is a 
 thousand a year ; well, if he imitates you, and 
 spends three hundred upon sensuality, I bet you 
 the odd seven hundred he does not make both 
 ends meet ; the proportion is too great. And 
 Wo thirds of the distress of the lower orders is 
 owing to this, — that they are more madly prodi- 
 
 H 2 
 
ioo Christie Johnstone. 
 
 gal than the rich, in the worst, lowest, and most 
 dangerous item of all human prodigality. 
 
 Lord Ipsden went to see Mrs. Harvey ; it 
 cost him much to go. She lived in the Old 
 Town, and he hated disagreeable smells ; he 
 also knew from Saunders that she had two black 
 eyes, and he hated women with black eyes of 
 that sort. But this good creature did go, did 
 relieve Mrs. Harvey, and, bare-headed, suf- 
 fered himself to be bedewed ten minutes by 
 her tearful twaddle. 
 
 For once, Virtue was rewarded ; returning 
 over the North Bridge, he met somebody 
 whom, but for his charity, he would not have 
 met. 
 
 He came in one bright moment plump upon 
 — Lady Barbara Sinclair. She flushed, he trem- 
 bled ; and in two minutes he had forgotten 
 every human event that had passed since last 
 he was by her side. 
 
 She seemed pleased to see him, too ; she 
 ignored entirely his obnoxious proposal ; he 
 wisely took her cue, and so on this secret un- 
 derstanding they were friends. He made his 
 arrangements and dined with her family. It was 
 a family party. In the evening, Lady Barbara 
 allowed it to transpire that she had made in- 
 quiries about him. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 101 
 
 (He was highly flattered.) And she had dis- 
 covered he was lying hid somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 • Studying the guitar ? ' inquired she. 
 
 ' No,' said he, ' studying a new class of the 
 community. Do you know any of what they 
 call the "lower classes"?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 1 Monstrous agreeable people, are they not ? ' 
 
 1 No, very stupid ! I only know two old 
 women, — except the servants, who have no 
 characters. They imitate us, I suspect, which 
 does not say much for their taste.' 
 
 ' But some of my friends are young women ; 
 that makes all the difference.' 
 
 ' It does ; and you ought to be ashamed. If 
 you want a low order of mind, why desert our 
 own circle ? ' 
 
 ' My friends are only low in station ; they 
 have rather lofty minds, some of them.' 
 
 ' Well, amuse yourself with these lofty minds. 
 Amusement is the end of being, you know, and 
 the aim of all the men of this day.' > , 
 
 1 We imitate the ladies,' said he, slily. 
 
 4 You do,' answered she, very drily ; and so 
 the dialogue went on, and Lord Ipsden found 
 the pleasure of being with his cousin compen- 
 sate him fully for the difference of their opinions ; 
 
102 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 in fact, he found it simply amusing that so keen a 
 wit as his cousin's could be entrapped into the 
 humour of decrying the time one happens to 
 live in, and admiring any epoch one; knows 
 next to nothing about, and entrapped by the 
 notion of its originality above all things, — the 
 idea being the stale commonplace of asses in 
 every age, and the manner of conveying the idea 
 being a mere imitation of the German writers, 
 not the good ones, bien entendu, but the quill- 
 drivers, the snobs of the Teutonic pen. 
 
 But he was to learn that follies are not always 
 laughable, that eadem sentire is a bond, and that 
 when a clever and pretty woman chooses to be a 
 fool, her lover, if he is wise, will be a greater — 
 if he can. 
 
 The next time they met, Lord Ipsden found 
 Lady Barbara occupied with a gentleman 
 whose first sentence proclaimed him a pupil 
 of Mr. Thomas Carlyle, and he had the mor- 
 tification to find that she had neither an ear 
 nor an eye for him. 
 
 Human opinion has so many shades, that it 
 is rare to find two people agree. 
 
 But two people may agree wonderfully, if 
 they will but let a third think for them both. 
 
 Thus' it was that these two ran so smoothly 
 in couples. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 103 
 
 Antiquity, they agreed, was the time when 
 the world was old, its hair grey, its head wise. 
 Everyone that said ' Lord, Lord,' two hundred 
 years ago, was a Christian. There were no 
 earnest men now. Williams, the missionary, 
 who lived and died for the Gospel, was not ear- 
 nest in religion ; but Cromwell, who packed a 
 jury and so murdered his prisoner, — Crom- 
 well, in whose mouth was heaven, and in his 
 heart temporal sovereignty, was the pattern of 
 earnest religion, or, at all events, second in 
 sincerity to Mahomet alone, in the absence 
 of details respecting Satan, of whom we know 
 only that his mouth is a Scripture concordance, 
 and his hands the hands of Mr. Carlyle's 
 saints. 
 
 Then they went back a century or two, and 
 were eloquent about the great antique heart, 
 and the beauty of an age whose samples were 
 Abbot Sampson and Joan of Arc. 
 
 Lord Ipsden hated argument ; but jealousy is 
 a brass spur, — it made even this man fluent for 
 once. 
 
 He suggested, ' That five hundred years 
 added to a world's life made it just five hun- 
 dred years older, not younger, — and if older, 
 greyer, — and if greyer, wiser. 
 
 ' Of Abbot Sampson, 1 said he, ' whom I con- 
 
104 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 fess both a great and a good man, his author, 
 who with all his talent belongs to the class mud- 
 dle-head, tells us that when he had been two 
 years in authority his red hair had turned grey 
 fighting against the spirit of his age ; how the 
 deuce, then, could he be a sample of the spirit 
 of his age ? 
 
 4 Joan of Arc was burnt by acclamation of her 
 age, and is admired by our age. Which fact 
 identifies an age most with a heroine, — to give 
 her your heart, or to give her a blazing faggot 
 and death ? 
 
 ' Abbot Sampson and Joan of Arc,' con- 
 cluded he, ' prove no more in favour of their 
 age, — and no less against it, — than Lot does for 
 or against Sodom. Lot was in Sodom, but not 
 of it ; and so were Sampson and Joan in, but 
 not of, the villanous times they lived in. 
 
 1 The very best text-book of true religion is 
 the New Testament ; and I gathsr from it that 
 the man who forgives his enemies whilst their 
 axe descends on his head, however poor a crea- 
 ture he may be in other respects, is a better 
 Christian than the man who has the God of 
 Mercy forever on his lips, and whose hands are 
 swift to shed blood. 
 
 ' The earnest men of former ages are not ex- 
 tinct in this,' added he. ' Whenever a scaffold 
 
Christie Johnstone. 105 
 
 is erected outside a prison door, if you are 
 earnest in pursuit of truth, and can put up with 
 disgusting objects, you shall see a relic of an- 
 cient manners hung. 
 
 ' There still exist in parts of America, rivers 
 on whose banks are earnest men, who shall take 
 your scalp, the wife's of your bosom, and the in- 
 nocent child's of her bosom. 
 
 ' In England we are as earnest as ever in pur- 
 suit of heaven and of innocent worldly advan- 
 tages. If, when the consideration of life and 
 death interposes, we appear less earnest in pur- 
 suit of comparative trifles, such as kingdoms or 
 dogmas, it is because, cooler in action we are 
 more earnest in thought, — because, reason, ex- 
 perience, and conscience are things that check 
 the unscrupulousness or beastly earnestness of 
 man. 
 
 1 Moreover, he who has the sense to see that 
 questions have three sides, is no longer so intel- 
 lectually as well as morally degraded as to be 
 able to cut every throat that utters an opinion 
 contrary to his own. 
 
 1 If the phrase " earnest man " means man imi- 
 tating the beasts that are deaf to reason, it is to 
 be hoped that civilization and Christianity will 
 really extinguish the whole race for the benefit 
 of the earth/ 
 
io6 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 Lord Ipsden succeeded in annoying the fair 
 theorist, but not in convincing her. 
 
 The mediaeval enthusiasts looked on him as 
 some rough animal that had burst into sacred 
 grounds unconsciously, and gradually edged 
 away from him. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 107 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 T ORD I PSDEN had soon the mortification 
 
 ■■— ' of discovering that this Mr. was a 
 
 constant visitor at the house ; and although 
 his cousin gave him her ear in this man's ab- 
 sence, on the arrival of her fellow-enthusiast he 
 had ever the mortification of finding himself 
 de trop. 
 
 Once or twice he demolished this personage 
 in argument, and was rewarded by finding him- 
 self more de trop. 
 
 But one day Lady Barbara, being in a cousinly 
 humour, expressed a wish to sail in his Lord- 
 ship's yacht, and this hint soon led to a party 
 being organized, and a sort of picnic on the 
 island of Inch Coombe ; his Lordship's cutter 
 being the mode of conveyance to and from that 
 spot. 
 
 Now it happened that on that very day Jean 
 Carnie's marriage was celebrated on that very 
 island by her relations and friends. 
 
 So that we shall introduce our readers to 
 
io8 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 THE RIVAL PICNICS. 
 
 We begin with Les gens comme il faut. ' 
 Picnic No. i. 
 
 The servants were employed in putting away 
 dishes into hampers. 
 
 There was a calm silence. 
 
 ' Hem ! ' observed Sir Henry Talbot. 
 
 ' Eh ? ' replied the Honourable Tom Hither- 
 ington. 
 
 4 Mamma,' said Miss Vere, ' have you brought 
 any work ? ' 
 
 ' No, my dear.' 
 
 ' At a picnic, 1 said Mr. Hitherington, ' is n't 
 it the thing for somebody — aw — to do some- 
 thing ? ' 
 
 1 Ipsden,' said Lady Barbara, ' there is an 
 understanding between you and Mr. Hithering- 
 ton. I condemn you to turn him into English.' 
 
 ' Yes, Lady Barbara ; I '11 tell you, he means 
 — do you mean anything, Tom? ' 
 
 Hitherington. Can't anybody guess what I 
 mean ? 
 
 Lady Barbara. Guess first yourself ; you 
 can't be suspected of being in the secret. 
 
 Hither. What I mean is, that people sing a 
 song, or run races, or preach a sermon, or do 
 
Christie Johnstone, 109 
 
 something funny at a picnic — aw — somebody 
 gets up and does something. 
 
 Lady Bar. Then perhaps Miss Vere, whose 
 singing is famous, will have the complaisance to 
 sing to us. 
 
 Miss Vere. I should be happy. Lady Bar- 
 bara, but I have not brought my music. 
 
 Lady Bar. Oh, we are not critical ; the sim- 
 plest air, or even a fragment of melody ; the 
 sea and the sky will be a better accompaniment 
 than Broadwood ever made. 
 
 Miss V. I can't sing a note without book. 
 
 Sir H. Talbot. Your music is in your soul, 
 not at your fingers 1 ends. 
 
 Lord Ipsden, to Lady Bar. It is in her book, 
 and not in her soul. 
 
 Lady Bar., to Lord Ips. Then it has chosen 
 the better situation of the two. 
 
 Ips. Miss Vere is to the fine art of music 
 what the engrossers are to the black art of law ; 
 it all filters through them without leaving any 
 sediment ; and so the music of the day passes 
 through Miss Vere's mind, but none remains to 
 stain its virgin snow. (He bows, she smiles.) 
 
 Lady Bar., to herself. Insolent : and the little 
 dunce thinks he is complimenting her. 
 
 Ips. Perhaps Talbot will come to our rescue ; 
 he is a fiddler. 
 
no 
 
 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 Tal. An amateur of the violin. 
 Ips. It is all the same thing. 
 Lady Bar. I wish it may prove so. 
 
 Tal. 
 
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Christie Johnstone, 
 
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 Cres. 
 
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 ±^s5* 
 
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 ?f^ UZIL=Ui J m=m 
 
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 loco harmonic, quick etna" short. 
 
 1 
 
 f 
 
 Miss V. Beautiful ! 
 
 Mrs. Vere. Charming 1 
 
 Hither. Superb I 
 
 Ip$> You are aware that good music is a thing 
 to be wedded to immortal verse. Shall I recite 
 a bit of poetry to match Talbot's strain ? 
 
 Miss V. Oh, yes 1 How nice ! 
 
 Ips> {rhetorically). A, B, C, D, E, F, 6, H, 
 I,J,K, L, M, N,0, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, 
 \V, X, Y, Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, O, N, M, 
 L, K, J, I, H, G, F, A, M, little p, little t. 
 
 Lady Bar. Beautiful ! Superb ! Ipsden has 
 been taking lessons on the thinking instrument; 
 
1 1 2 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Hither. He has been perdu amongst vulgar 
 people. 
 
 Tal. And expects a pupil of Herz to play him 
 tunes ! 
 
 Lady Bar. What are tunes, Sir Henry ? 
 
 Tal. Something I don't play, Lady Barbara. 
 
 Lady Bar. I understand you ; something we 
 ought to like. 
 
 Ips. I have a Stradivarius violin at home : it 
 is yours, Talbot, if you can define a tune. 
 
 Tal. A tune is — everybody knows what. 
 
 Lady Bar. A tune is a tune ; that is what you 
 meant to say. 
 
 Tal. Of course it is. 
 
 Lady Bar. Be reasonable, Ipsden ; no man 
 can do two things at once. How can the pupil 
 of Herz condemn a thing and know what it 
 means contemporaneously ? 
 
 Ips. Is the drinking-song in ' Der Freischutz ' 
 a tune ? 
 
 Lady Bar. It is. 
 
 Ips. And the melodies of Handel, are they 
 tunes ? 
 
 Lady Bar. (pathetically). They are! Theyare! 
 
 Ips. And the ' Russian Anthem,' and the ' Mar- 
 seillaise,' and ' Ah, Perdona' ? 
 • Tal. And ' Yankee Doodle ' ? 
 ' Lady Bar. So that Sir Henry, who prided 
 
Christie Johnstone. i 1 3 
 
 himself on his ignorance, has a wide field for its 
 dominion. 
 
 Tal. All good violin players do like me ; they 
 prelude, not play tunes. 
 
 Ips. Then Heaven be thanked for our blind 
 fiddlers. You like syllables of sound in un- 
 meaning rotation, and you despise its words, 
 its purposes, its narrative feats ; carry out your 
 principle, it will show you where you are. 
 Buy a dirty pallet for a picture, and dream the 
 alphabet is a poem. 
 
 Lady Bar., to herself. Is this my cousin 
 Richard ? 
 
 Hither. Mind, Ipsden, you are a man of 
 property, and there are such things as com- 
 missions de lunatico. 
 
 Lady Bar. His defence will be that his friends 
 pronounce him insane. 
 
 Ips. No ; I shall subpoena Talbot's fiddle ; 
 cross-examination will get nothing out of that 
 but do, re, mi, fa. 
 
 Lady Bar. Yes, it will ; fa, mi, re, do. 
 
 Tal. Violin, if you please. 
 
 Lady Bar. Ask Fiddle's pardon directly. . 
 (Sound of fiddles is heard in the distance.) "' 
 
 Tal. How lucky for you, there are fiddles 
 and tunes ; and the natives .you are said to 
 favour, why not join them ? ... 
 
 1 
 
1 1 4 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Ips. (shaking his head solemnly) . I dread to 
 encounter another prelude. 
 
 Hither. Come, I know you would like. It is 
 a wedding-party ; two sea monsters have been 
 united. The sailors and fishermen are all blue 
 cloth and wash-leather gloves. 
 
 Miss V. He ! he ! 
 
 Tal. The fishwives unite the colours of the 
 rainbow — 
 
 Lady Bar. (And we all know how hideous 
 they are) to vulgar, blooming cheeks, staring 
 white teeth, and sky-blue eyes. 
 
 Mrs. V. Ho\v ; satirical you are, especially 
 you, Lady Barbara. 
 
 Here Lord Ipsden, after a word to Lady Bar- 
 bara, the answer to which did not appear to be 
 favourable, rose, gave a little yawn, looked 
 steadily at his companions without seeing them, 
 and departed without seeming aware that he 
 was leaving anybody behind him. 
 
 Hither. Let us go somewhere where we can 
 quiz the natives without being too near them. 
 
 Lady Bar. ' I am tired of this unbroken soli- 
 tude ; I must go and think to the sea,' added 
 she, in a mock soliloquy ; and out she glided 
 with the same unconscious air as his Lordship 
 had worn. 
 
 The others moved off slowly together. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 115. 
 
 1 Mamma,' said Miss Vere, ' I can't under- 
 stand half Barbara Sinclair says.';. 
 
 4 It is not jj necessary, my love, replied 
 Mamma ; ' she is rather eccentric, and I fear 
 she is spoiling Lord Ipsden.' 
 
 ■ Poor Lord Ipsden,' murmured the lovely 
 Vere ; ' he used to be so nice and do like 
 everybody else. Mamma, I shall bring some 
 work the next time.' 
 
 1 Do, mv love 
 
 Picnic No. 2. 
 
 In a house two hundred yards from this scene, 
 a merry dance succeeding a merry song had 
 ended, and they were in the midst of an interest- 
 ing story; Christie Johnstone was the narrator. 
 She had found the tale in one of the Viscount's 
 books. It had made a great impression on her. 
 
 The rest were listening intently; in a room 
 which had lately been all noise, not a sound was 
 now to be heard but the narrator's voice. 
 
 1 Aweel, lassies, here are the three wee kists 
 set ; the lads are to chuse. The ane that chuses 
 reicht is to get Porsha, an 1 the lave to get the 
 bag, and dee baitchelars. Flucker Johnstone, 
 you that 's sae clever, are ye for gowd, or 
 siller, or leed ? ' 
 
 1st Fishwife. Gowd for me. 
 
 1 2 
 
1 1 6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 2nd ditto'. The white siller 's my taste. 
 
 Flacker. Na 1 there 's aye some deevelish 
 trick in thir lassie's stories. I shall lie-to, till 
 the ither lads hae chused ; the mair part will put 
 themsel's oot, ane will hit it off rcicht maybe, 
 then I shall gie him a hidin' an 1 carry off the 
 lass. You-hoo 1 
 
 Jean Camie. That 's you, Fluckef. 
 
 Christie Johnstone. And div ye really think 
 we are gawn to let you see a' the world chuse ? 
 Na, lad, ye are putten oot o' the room, like 
 witnesses. 
 
 Flucker. Then I 'd toss a penny ; for gien ye 
 trust to luck, she whiles favours ye ; but gien ye 
 commence to reason and argefy, ye 're done ! 
 
 Christie. The suitors had na your wit, my 
 manny, or maybe they had na a penny to toss, 
 sae ane chused the gowd and ane the siller ; but 
 they got an awfu' affront. The gold kist had 
 just a skull intill 't, and the siller a deed cuddy's 
 head. 
 
 Chorus of Females. He 1 he 1 he ! 
 
 Ditto of Males. Haw 1 haw I haw I haw I 
 Ho ! 
 
 Christie. An' Porsha puttit the pair of gowks 
 to the door. Then came Bassanio, the lad fra 
 Veeneece, that Porsha loed in secret. Vee- 
 neece, lassies, is a wonderful city ; the streets 
 
Christie Johnstone. 117 
 
 o 't are water and the carriages are boats ; that *s 
 n Chambers'. 
 
 Fluckcr. Wha are ye making a fool o' r* 
 
 Christie. What 's wrang ? 
 
 Fluckcr. Yon 's just as big a lee as ever 1 
 heerd. 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere 
 he' had reason to regret them ; a severe box 
 on the ear was administered by his indignant 
 sister. Nobody pitied them. 
 
 Christie. I '11 laern ye t' affront me before a' 
 the company. 
 
 Jean Carnie. Suppose it 's a lee, there 's nae 
 silver to pay for it, Flucker. 
 
 Christie. Jean, I never telt a lee in a' my 
 days. 
 
 Jean, There 's ane to begin wi 1 then. Go 
 ahead, Custy. 
 
 Christie. She bade the music play for him, 
 for music brightens thoucht ; ony way, he 
 chose the leed kist. Open'st and was n't there 
 Porsha's pictur 1 , and a posey that said, — 
 
 ' If you be well pleased with this, 
 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss j 
 
 Turn you where your leddy iss, 
 
 And greet her wi' a loving — ' (Pause.) 
 
 * Kess ! ' roared the company. 
 Chorus, led by Fluckcr. Hurraih I 
 
n8 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Christie (pathetically). Flucker, behave 1 
 
 Sandy Liston (drunk). Hur-raih ! (He then 
 solemnly reflected.) Na ! but it's na hurraih ; 
 decency requires amen first, an' hurraih after- 
 wards. Here's kissin' plenty, but I hear nae 
 word o 1 the minister. Ye '11 obsairve, young 
 woman, that kissin' 's the prologue to sin, and 
 I 'm a decent mon, an' a grey-headed mon, an' 
 your licht stories are no for me ; sae if the min- 
 ister 's no expeckit I shall retire, an' tak my 
 quiet j ill my lane. 
 
 Jean Carnie. And div ye really think a de- 
 cent cummer like Custy wad let the lad and lass 
 misbehave thirsels ? Na ! lad, the minister's 
 at the door, but (sinking her voice to a confi- 
 dential whisper) I daurna let him in, for fear 
 he 'd see ye hae putten the enemy in your 
 mooth sae aerly. (That 's Custy's word.) 
 
 ' Jemmy Drysel,' replied Sandy, addressing 
 vacancy, for Jemmy was mysteriously at work 
 in the kitchen, ' ye hae gotten a thoughtfu' 
 wife.' Then, with a strong revulsion of feeling, 
 4 Dinna let the blakguurd 1 in here,' cried he, 
 1 to spoil the young folk's sporrt.' 
 
 1 At present this is a spondee in England, a trochee in 
 Scotland. The pronunciation of this important word 
 ought to be fixed, representing, as it does, so large a por- 
 tion of the community in both countries. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 119 
 
 Christie. Aweel, lassies, comes a letter to 
 Bassanio ; he reads it, and turns as pale %s 
 deeth. 
 
 A Fishwife. Gude help us. 
 
 Christie. Porsha behoved to ken his grief; 
 wha had a better reicht ? 'Here's a letter, 
 leddy,' says he ; ' the paper 's the boedy of 
 my freend, like, and every word in it a gaping 
 wound/ 
 
 A Fisherman. Maircy on us ! 
 
 Christie. Lad, it was fra puir Antonio ; ye 
 mind o' him, lassies. Hech ! the ill luck o' 
 yon man, no a ship come hame ; ane foundered 
 at sea, coming fra Tri-po-lis ; the pirates scut- 
 tled another ; an 1 ane ran ashore on the Good- 
 wyns, near Bright-helm-stane, that 's in England 
 itsel*, I daur say. Sae he could na pay the three 
 thoosand ducats, an 1 Shylock had grippit him, 
 an 1 sought the pund o' flesh aff the breest o 1 
 him, puir body. 
 
 Sandy Listen. He would na be the waur o' a 
 wee bit hiding, yon thundering urang iitang ; 
 let the man alane, ye cursed old cannibal. 
 
 Christie. Porsha keepit her man but ae hoor 
 till they were united, an' then sent him wi' a 
 puckle o 1 her ain siller to Veeneece, and Anto- 
 nio — Think o 1 that, lassies, — pairted on 
 their wedding day. ,.-—-•- 
 
120 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 L\\\y Johnstone, a Fishwife, aged 12. Hech ! 
 hech ! it 's lamentable. 
 
 Jean Camie. I 'm saying, mairriage is quick 
 wark, in some pairts.. Here there 's an awfu' 
 trouble to get a man. 
 
 A young Fishwife. Ay, is there. 
 
 Omnes. Haw ! haw I haw I (The fishwife 
 hides.) 
 
 Christie. Fill your taupsels, lads and lassies, 
 and awa' to Veeneece. 
 
 Sandy Liston {sturdily). I '11 no gang to sea 
 this day. 
 
 Christie. Noo, we are in the hall o' judgment. 
 Here are set the judges, awfu' to behold; there, 
 on his throne, presides the Juke. 
 
 Flucker. She 's awa' to her Ennglish. 
 
 Li\\y Johnstone. Did we come to Veeneece 
 to speak Scoetch, ye useless fule ? 
 
 Christie. Here, pale and hopeless, but re- 
 signed, stands the broken mairchant, Antonio ; 
 there, wT scales and knives, and revenge in 
 his murderin' eye, stands the crewel Jew, Shy- 
 lock. 
 
 * Aweel,' muttered Sandy, considerately, ' I '11 
 no mak a disturbance on a wedding day.' 
 
 Christie. They wait for Bell, — I dinna mind 
 his mind, — a laerned lawyer, ony way ; he 's 
 sick, but sends ane mair laerned still, and when 
 
Christie Johnstone. 121 
 
 this ane comes, he looks not older nor wiser 
 than mysel'. 
 
 Flucker. No possible ! 
 
 Christie. Ye need na be sae sarcy, Flucker, 
 for when he comes to his wark he soon lets 
 'em ken ; runs his een like lightening ower the 
 boend. • This bond 's forfeit. Is Antonio not 
 able to dischairge the money ? ' ' Ay I' cries 
 Bassanio, ' here 's the sum thrice told.' Says 
 the young judge, in a bit whisper to Shylock, 
 1 Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered 
 thee. Be mairceful,' says he, out loud. 'Wha'll 
 mak me ?' says the Jew body. ' Mak ye ! ' 
 says he ; ' maircy is no a thing ye strain 
 through a sieve, mon ; it droppeth like the 
 gentle dew fra heaven upon the place beneath ; 
 it blesses him that gives and him that taks ; it 
 becomes the king better than his throne, and 
 airthly power is maist like God's power when 
 maircy seasons justice.' 
 
 Robert Haw, Fisherman. Dinna speak like 
 that to me, onybody ; or I shall gie ye my boat, 
 and fling my nets intil it, as ye sail awa' wi' 
 her. 
 
 Jean Carnie. Sae he let the puir deevil go. 
 Oh 1 ye ken wha could stand up against siccan 
 a shower o 1 Ennglish as thaat. 
 
 Christie. He just said, ' My deeds upon my 
 
122 Christie Johnstone . 
 
 heed. I claim the law/ says he ; ' there is' no 
 power in the tongue o' man to alter me. I stay 
 here on my boend.' 
 
 Sandy Liston. I hae sat quiet, — quiet I hae 
 sat against my will, no to disturb Jamie DryseFs 
 weddin 1 ; but ye carry the game ower far, Shy- 
 lock, my lad. I '11 just give yon bluidy-minded 
 lining utang a hiding and bring Tony off, the 
 gude, puir-spirited creature ; and him, an 1 me, 
 an 1 Bassanee, an' Porshee, we '11 all hae a j ill 
 thegither. 
 
 He rose, and was instantly seized by two of 
 the company, from whom he burst furiously, 
 after a struggle, and the next moment was heard 
 to fall clean from the top to the bottom of the 
 stairs. Flucker and Jean ran out ; the rest 
 appealed against the interruption. * 
 
 Christie. Hech ! he 's killed ; Sandy Liston 's 
 brake his neck. 
 
 ' What aboot it, lassy ? ' said a young fisher- 
 man. ' It's Antonio I 'm feared for ; save him, 
 lassy, if poessible ; but I doot ye '11 no get him 
 clear o' yon deevelich heathen. 
 
 1 Auld Sandy 's cheap sairved,' added he, with 
 all the indifference a human tone could convey. 
 
 ' Oh, Cursty,' said Lizzy Johnstone, with a 
 peevish accent, ' dinna break the bonny yarn 
 for naething. 1 
 
Christie Johnstone. 123 
 
 Flucker (returning). He's a' reicht. 
 
 Christie. Is he no dead? 
 
 Flucker. Him deed } He 's sober ; that 's a' 
 the change I see. 
 
 Christie. Can he speak > I 'm asking ye. 
 
 Flucker. Yes, he can speak. 
 
 Christie. What does he say, puir body ? 
 
 Flucker. He sat up, an' sought a jill fra' the 
 wife, puir body ! 
 
 Christie. Hech, hech ! he was my pupil 
 in the airt o' sobriety ! Aweel, the young 
 judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. 
 Silence ! thundered Christie. A lad and a lass 
 that were slightly flirting were discountenanced. 
 
 Christie. ' A pund o 1 that same mairchant's 
 flesh is thine. The coort awards it, and the 
 law does give it.' 
 
 A young Fishwife. There, I thoucht sae ; 
 he 's gaun to cut him, he 's gaun to cut him ; 
 I '11 no can bide. (Exibat.) 
 
 Christie. There 's a fulish goloshen. ' Have 
 by a doctor to stop the blood.' ' I see nae 
 doctor in the boend,' says the Jew body. 
 
 Flucker. Bait your hook wi' a boend, and ye 
 shall catch yon carle's saul, Satin, my lad. 
 
 Christie (with dismal pathos). Oh, Flucker, 
 dinna speak evil o' deegneties, — that 's may- 
 be fishing for^ yoursel' the noo ! ' An' ye 
 
124 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 shall 'cut the flesh frae off his breest.' * A 
 sentence 1 ' says Shylock ; ' come, prepare.' 
 
 Christie made a dash en Shylock, and the 
 company trembled. 
 
 Christie. 'Bide a wee,' says the judge, 
 1 This boend gies ye na a drap o 1 bluid ; the 
 words expressly are, a pund o' flesh.'' 
 
 (A Dramatic Pause.) 
 
 Jean Carnie (drawing her breath). That's 
 into your mutton, Shylock. 
 
 Christie (with dismal pathos). Oh, Jean! 
 yon 's an awfu' voolgar exprassion to come fra' 
 a woman's mooth. 
 
 'Could ye no hae said, " intil his ba- 
 con " ? ' said Lizzy Johnstone, confirming the 
 remonstrance. 
 
 Christie. ' Then tak your boend an' your 
 pund o' flesh ; but in cutting o 't, if thou 
 dost shed one drop of Christian bluid — 
 thou diest I ' 
 
 Jean Carnie. Hech I 
 
 Christie. Thy goods are by the laws of Vee- 
 neece con-fis-cate, confiscate I 
 
 Then, like an artful narrator, she began to 
 wind up the story more rapidly. 
 
 ' Sae Shylock got to be no sae saucy. " Pay 
 the boend thrice," says he, "and let the puir 
 
Christie Johnstone, 125 
 
 deevil go." " Here it 's," says Bassanio. Na ! 
 the young judge wadna let him. " He has re- 
 fused it in open coort ; no a bawbee for Shy- 
 lock but just the forfeiture ; an' he daur na tak 
 it." " I 'm awa'," says he. " The deivil tak 
 ye a'." Na ! he wasna to win clear sae ; ance 
 they 'd gotten the Jew on the hep, they wor- 
 ried him, like good Christians, that 's a fact. 
 The judge fand a law that fitted him, for con- 
 spiring against the life of a citizen ; an 1 he be- 
 hooved to give up hoose an' lands, an' be a 
 Christian ; yon was a soor drap — he tarned 
 no weel, puir auld villain, an' scairtit ; an' the 
 lawyers sent ane o' their weary parchments till 
 his hoose, and the puir auld heathen signed awa 1 
 his siller, an' Abraham, an 1 Isaac, an' Jacob, on 
 the heed o 't. I pity him, an auld, auld man ; 
 and his dochter had rin off wi' a Christian lad, 
 — they ca' her Jessica ; and did n't she steal his 
 very diamond ring that his ain lass gied him 
 when he was young, an' maybe no sae hard- 
 hairted. 
 
 Jean Carnie. Oh, the jaud ! Suppose' ne was 
 a Jew, it was na her business to clean him oot. 
 
 A young Fishwife. Aweel, it was only a Jew 
 body, that's my comfort. 
 
 Christie. Ye speak as a Jew was na a man ; 
 has not a Jew eyes, if ye please ? 
 
126 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Li\^y Johnstone. Ay, has he ! — and the aw- 
 fu'est lang neb atween 'em. 
 
 Christie. Has not a Jew affections, paassions, 
 organs } 
 
 Jean. Na ! Christie ; thir lads comes fr' 
 Italy ! 
 
 Christie. If you prick him, does he not bleed ; 
 if you tickle him does na he lauch ? 
 
 A young Fishwife (pertly). I never kittlet a 
 Jew, for my pairt, sae I '11 no can tell ye. 
 
 Christie. If you poison him, does he not die ? 
 and if you wrang him (with fury), shall he not 
 revenge ? 
 
 Li\\y Johnstone. Oh, but ye 're a fearsome 
 lass. 
 
 Christie. Wha '11 give me a sang for my bonny 
 yarn ? 
 
 Lord Ipsden, who had been an unobserved 
 auditor of the latter part of the tale, here in- 
 quired whether she had brought her book. 
 
 * What 'n buik ? ' 
 
 1 Your music-book 1 ' 
 
 1 Here's my music-book,' said Jean, roughly 
 tapping her head. 
 
 1 And here 's mines,' said Christie, bird-ly 
 touching her bosom. 
 
 * Richard,' said she, thoughtfully, ' I wish 
 ye may no hae been getting in voolgar com- 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 27 
 
 pany ; div ye think we hae minds like rinning 
 water ? ' 
 
 Flucker (avec malice). And tongues like the 
 milk-clack abune it } Because if ye think sae, 
 captain, ye 're no far wrang ! 
 
 Christie. Na ! we hae na muckle govvd may- 
 be, but our minds are gowden vessels. 
 
 Jean. Aha ! lad. 
 
 Christie. They are not saxpenny sieves, to let 
 music an' metre through, and leave us none the 
 wiser or better. Dinna gang in low voolgar 
 company, or you a lost laddy. 
 
 Ipsden. Vulgar again ! everybody has a dif- 
 ferent sense for that word, I think. What is 
 vulgar,? 
 
 Christie. Voolgar folk sit on an chair, ane, 
 tvva, whiles three hours, eatin' an' abune a 1 
 drinkin', as still as hoegs, or gruntin' puir every 
 day clashes, goessip, rubbich ; when ye are 
 aside them, ye might as weel be aside a cuddy ; 
 they canna gie ye a sang, they canna tell ye a 
 story, they canna think ye a thoucht, to save 
 their useless lives ; that 's voolgar folk. 
 
 (She sings.) A caaller heron' ! 
 
 Jean. A caaller herrin 1 ! 
 
 Omnes. , 
 
 * Come buy my bonny caaller herrin', 1 
 Six a penny caaller from the sea/ etc. 
 
128 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 The music chimed in, and the moment the 
 song was done, without pause or anything to 
 separate or chill the succession of the arts, the 
 fiddles diverged with .a gallant plunge into ' The 
 Dusty Miller.' The dancers found their feet 
 by an instinct as rapid, and a rattling reel shook 
 the floor like thunder. Jean Carnie assumed 
 the privilege of a bride, and seized his Lord- 
 ship ; Christie, who had a mind to dance with 
 him too, took Flucker captive, and these four 
 were one reel ! There were seven others. 
 
 The principle of reel dancing is articulation ; 
 the foot strikes the ground for every accented 
 note (and, by-the-by, it is their weakness of 
 accent which makes all English reel and horn- 
 pipe players such failures). 
 
 And in the best steps of all, which it has in 
 common with the hornpipe, such as the quick 
 1 heel and toe,' ' the sailor's fling,' and the 
 4 double shuffle,' the foot strikes the ground for 
 every single note of the instrument. 
 
 All good dancing is beautiful. 
 
 But this articulate dancing, compared with 
 the loose, lawless diffluence of motion that goes 
 by that name, gives me (I must confess it) as 
 much more pleasure as articulate singing is su- 
 perior to tunes played on the voice by a young 
 lady; 
 
Christie Johnstone. 129 
 
 Or the clean playing of my mother to the 
 piano-forte splashing of my daughter (though 
 the latter does attack the instrument as a wash- 
 erwoman her soapsuds, and the former works 
 likes a lady) ; 
 
 Or skating to sliding ; 
 
 Or English verse to dactyls in English ; 
 
 Or painting to daubing ; 
 
 Or preserved strawberries to strawberry jam. 
 
 What says Goldsmith of the two styles ? 
 
 1 They swam, sprawled, frisked, and lan- 
 guished ; but Olivia's foot was as pat to the 
 music as its echo.' 1 
 
 Newhaven dancing aims also at fun ; laugh- 
 ter mingles with agility ; grotesque yet grace- 
 ful gestures are flung in, and little inspiriting' 
 cries flung out. 
 
 His Lordship soon entered into the spirit of 
 it. Deep in the mystery of the hornpipe, he 
 danced one or two steps Jean and Christie had 
 never seen, but their eyes were instantly on 
 his feet, and they caught in a minute. and .exe- 
 cuted these same steps. 
 
 To see Christie Johnstone do the double- 
 shuffle with her arms so saucily akimbo, and 
 her quick elastic foot at an angle of forty-five, 
 was a.^ treat. 
 
 1 Vicar of Wakefield. 
 
130 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 The dance became inspiriting, inspiring, in- 
 toxicating ; and when the fiddles at last left off, 
 the feet went on another seven bars by the en- 
 thusiastic impulse. 
 
 And so, alternately spinning yarns, singing 
 songs, dancing, and making fun, and mingling 
 something of heart and brain in all, these be- 
 nighted creatures made themselves happy in- 
 stead of peevish, and with a day of stout, vig- 
 orous, healthy pleasure, refreshed, indemnified, 
 and warmed themselves for many a day of 
 toil. 
 
 Such were the two picnics of Inch Coombe, 
 and these rival cliques, agreeing in nothing else, 
 would have agreed in this : each, if allowed (but 
 we won't allow either) to judge the other, 
 would have pronounced the same verdict : — 
 
 ' lis ne savent pas vivre ces gens-la.' 
 
Christie Job: is f one . .131 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^pWO of our personages left Inch Coombe 
 -*■ less happy than when they came to it. 
 
 Lord Ipsden encountered Lady Barbara with 
 Mr. ,who had joined her upon the island. 
 
 He found them discoursing, as usual, about 
 the shams of the present day, and the sincerity 
 of Cromwell and Mahomet, and he found him- 
 self de trop. 
 
 They made him, for the first time, regret the 
 loss of those earnest times when, ' to avoid the 
 inconvenience of both addressing the same 
 lady,' you could cut a rival's throat at once, and 
 be smiled on by the fair and society. 
 
 That a book-maker should blaspheme high 
 civilization, by which alone he exists, and one 
 of whose diseases and flying pains he is, neither 
 surprised nor moved him ; but that any human 
 being's actions should be affected by such tem- 
 pestuous twaddle, was ridiculous. 
 
 And that the witty Lady Barbara should be 
 caught by this chaff was intolerable ; he began 
 to feel bitter. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 He had the blessings of the poor, the good 
 opinion of the world ; every living creature was 
 prepossessed in his favour but one, and that one 
 despised him : it was a diabolical prejudice ; it 
 was the spiteful caprice of his fate. 
 
 His heart, for a moment, was in danger of 
 deteriorating. He was miserable ; the Devil 
 suggested to him, ' make others miserable too; ' 
 and he listened to the advice. 
 
 There was a fine breeze, but instead of sail- 
 ing on a wind, as he might have done, he made 
 a series of tacks, and all were ill. 
 
 The earnest man first ; and Flucker an- 
 nounced the skipper's insanity to the whole 
 town of Newhaven, for of course these tacks 
 were all marine solecisms. 
 
 The other discontented Picnician was Chris- 
 tie Johnstone. Gatty never came ; and this, 
 coupled with five or six days' previous neglect, 
 could no longer pass unnoticed. 
 
 Her gaiety failed her before the afternoon 
 was ended ; and the last two hours were spent 
 by her alone, watching the water on all sides 
 for him. 
 
 At last, long after the departure of his Lord- 
 ship's yacht, the Newhaven boat sailed from 
 Inch Coombe with the wedding party. There 
 was now a strong breeze, and the water every 
 
Christie Johnstone, 133 
 
 now and then came on board ;' so the men set 
 the foresail with two reefs, and drew the main- 
 sail over the women; and there, as they huddled 
 together in the dark, Jean Carnie discovered 
 that our gay story-teller's eyes were wet with 
 tears. 
 
 Jean said nothing ; she embraced her, and 
 made them flow faster. 
 
 But when they came alongside the pier, Jean, 
 who was the first to get her head from under 
 the sail, whipped it back again, and said to 
 Christie, — 
 
 1 Here he is, Christie ; dinna speak till him.' 
 
 And sure enough there was, in the twi- 
 light, with a pale face and an uneasy look, Mr. 
 Charles Gatty ! 
 
 He peered timidly into the boat, and when 
 he saw Christie, an ' Ah ! ' that seemed to mean 
 twenty different things at once, burst from his 
 bosom. He held out his arm to assist her. 
 
 She cast on him one glance of mute reproach, 
 and placing her foot on the boat's gunwale, 
 sprang like an antelope upon the pier, without 
 accepting his assistance. 
 
 Before going farther, we must go back for 
 this boy, and conduct him from where we left 
 him up to the present point. 
 
 The moment he found himself alone with 
 
134 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Jean Carnie, in his own house, he began to tell 
 her what trouble he was in ; how his mother 
 had convinced him of his imprudence in falling 
 in love with Christie Johnstone, and how she 
 insisted on a connexion being broken off, which 
 had given him his first glimpse of heaven upon 
 earth, and was contrary to common-sense. 
 
 Jean heard him out, and then, with the air of 
 a lunatic asylum keeper to a rhodomontading 
 patient, told him ' he was one fool, and his 
 mother was another.' First she took him up 
 on the score of prudence. 
 
 1 You,' said she, ' are a beggarly painter, with- 
 out a rap ; Christie has houses, boats, nets, and 
 money : you are in debt ; she lays by money 
 every week. It is not prudent on her part to 
 take up with you ; the better your bargain, my 
 lad,' 
 
 Under the head of common-sense, which she 
 maintained was all on the same side of the ques- 
 tion, she calmly inquired, — 
 
 * How could an old woman of sixty be com- 
 petent to judge how far human happiness de- 
 pends on love, when she has no experience of 
 that passion, and the reminiscences of her youth 
 have become dim and dark ? You might as well 
 set a judge in court, that has forgotten the law. 
 Common-sense ! ' said she. ' The old wife is 
 
Christie Johnstone. 135 
 
 sixty, and you arc twenty ; what can she do for 
 you the forty years you may reckon to outlive 
 her ? Who is to keep you through those weary 
 years, but the wife of your own choice, not your 
 mother's ? You English does na read the Bible, 
 or ye 'd ken that a lad is to "-leave his father 
 and mother, and cleave until his wife," ' added 
 she. Then, with great contempt, she repeated, 
 1 Common-sense, indeed ! ye 're fou wi' your 
 common-sense; ye hae the name o't pat eneuch, 
 but there's na muckle o' that mairchandize in 
 your harns.' 
 
 Gatty was astonished. What ! was there 
 really common-sense on the side of bliss } And 
 when Jean told him to join her party at Inch 
 Coombe, or never look her in the face again, 
 scales seemed to fall from his eyes ; and with 
 a heart that turned in a moment from lead 
 to a feather, he vowed he would be at Inch 
 Coombe. 
 
 He then begged Jean on no account to tell 
 Christie the struggle he had been subjected to, 
 since his scruples were now entirely conquered. 
 
 Jean acquiesced at once, and said, ' Indeed, 
 she would be very sorry to give the lass that 
 muckle pain.' 
 
 She hinted, moreover, that her neebor's spirit 
 was so high, she was quite capable of breaking 
 
136 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 with him at once upon such an intimation ; and 
 she, Jean, was ' nae mischief-maker.' 
 
 In the energy of his gratitude he kissed this 
 dark-browed beauty, professing to see in her a 
 sister. 
 
 And she made no resistance to this way of 
 showing gratitude, but muttered between her 
 teeth, ' He's just a bairn ! ' 
 
 And so she went about her business. 
 
 On her retreat, his mother returned to him, 
 and with a sad air hoped nothing that that rude 
 girl had said had weakened his filial duty. 
 
 1 No, mother,' said he. 
 
 She then, without explaining how she came 
 acquainted with Jean's arguments, proceeded to 
 demolish them one by one. 
 
 ' If your mother is old and experienced, 1 said 
 she, ' benefit by her age and experience. She 
 has not forgotten love, nor the ills it leads to 
 when not fortified by prudence. Scripture says, 
 a man shall cleave to his wife when he has left 
 his parents ; but in making that, the most im- 
 portant step of life, where do you read that he 
 is to break the fifth commandment ? But I do 
 you wrong, Charles ; you never could have 
 listened to that vulgar girl when she told you 
 your mother was not your best friend.* 
 
 * N — no, mother, of course not.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 137 
 
 * Then you will not go to that place to break 
 my heart, and undo all you have done this 
 week.' 
 
 1 I should like to go, mother.' 
 
 1 You will break my heart if you do.' 
 
 1 Christie will feel herself slighted, and she 
 has not deserved this treatment from me.' 
 
 1 The other will explain to her, and if she is 
 as good a girl as you say — ' 
 
 1 She is an angel. ? ' 
 
 1 How can a fishwife be an angel ? Well, 
 then, she will not set a son to disobey his 
 mother. 1 
 
 ' I don't think she would ! But is all the 
 goodness to be on her side?' 
 
 'No, Charles, you do your part ; deny your- 
 self, be an obedient child, and your mother's 
 blessing and the blessing of Heaven will rest 
 upon you.' 
 
 In short, he was not to go to Inch Coombe. 
 
 He stayed at home ; his mother set him to 
 work. He made a poor hand of it, he was so 
 wretched. She at last took compassion on him, 
 and in the evening, when it was now too late 
 for a sail to Inch Coombe, she herself recom- 
 mended a walk to him. 
 
 The poor boy's feet took him towards New- 
 haven ; not that he meant to go to his love, but 
 
138 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 he could not forbear from looking at the place 
 which held her. 
 
 He was about to return, when a spacious blue 
 jacket hailed him. Somewhere inside this jacket 
 was Master Flucker, who had returned in the 
 yacht, leaving his sister on the island. 
 
 Gatty instantly poured out a flood of questions. 
 
 The baddish boy reciprocated fluency : he in- 
 formed him ' that his sister had been the star of 
 a goodly company, and that her own lad having 
 stayed away, she had condescended to make a 
 conquest of the skipper himself. 
 
 ' He had come in quite at the tag end of one 
 of her stories, but it had been sufficient to do 
 his business ; he had danced with her, had 
 even whistled whilst she sung. Hech ! it was 
 bonny ! 
 
 1 And when the cutter sailed, he, Flucker, had 
 seen her perched on a rock, like a mermaid, 
 watching their progress, which had been slow, 
 because the skipper, infatuated with so sudden 
 a passion, had made a series of ungrammatical 
 tacks. 1 
 
 For his part he was glad, said the gracious 
 Flucker ; the lass was a prideful hussy that had 
 given some twenty lads a sore heart and him 
 many a sore back ; and he hoped his skipper, 
 with whom he naturally identified himself rather 
 
Christie Johnstone. 139 
 
 than with his sister, would avenge the male sex 
 upon her. 
 
 In short, he went upon this tack till he drove 
 poor Gatty nearly mad. 
 
 Here was a new feeling superadded ; at first 
 he felt injured, but on reflection, what cause of 
 complaint had he r 
 
 He had neglected her. He might have been 
 her partner ; he had left her to find one where 
 she could. 
 
 Fool, to suppose that so beautiful a creature 
 would ever be neglected — except by him ! 
 
 It was more than he could bear. 
 
 He determined to see her, to ask her forgive- 
 ness, to tell her everything, to beg her to de- 
 cide, and, for his part, he would abide by her 
 decision. 
 
 Christie Johnstone, as we have already re- 
 lated, declined his arm, sprang like a deer upon 
 the pier, and walked towards her home, a quar- 
 ter of a mile distant. 
 
 Gatty followed her, disconsolately, hardly 
 knowing what to do. 
 
 At last, observing that she drew near enough 
 to the wall to allow room for another on the 
 causeway, he had just nous enough to creep 
 alongside, and pull her sleeve somewhat timidly. 
 
 k Christie, I want to speak to you.' 
 
1 40 Christie Johnstone . 
 
 1 What can ye hae to say till me ? ' 
 
 ' Christie, I am very unhappy ; and I want to 
 tell you why, but I have hardly the strength or 
 the courage.' 
 
 ' Ye shall come ben my hoose if ye are 
 unhappy, and we '11 hear your story : come 
 away. ' 
 
 He had never been admitted into her house 
 before. 
 
 They found it clean as a snowdrift. 
 
 They found a bright fire, and Flucker frying 
 innumerable steaks. 
 
 The baddish boy had obtained them in his 
 sister's name and at her expense, at the flesher's, 
 and claimed credit for his affection. 
 
 Potatoes he had boiled in their jackets, and 
 so skilfully that those jackets hung by a thread. 
 
 Christie laid an unbleached table-cloth, that 
 somehow looked sweeter than a white one, as 
 brown bread is sweeter than white. 
 
 But lo ! Gatty could not eat ; so then Chris- 
 tie would not, because he refused her cheer. 
 
 The baddish boy chuckled, and addressed 
 himself to the nice brown steaks with their rich 
 gravy. 
 
 On such occasions a solo on the knife and 
 fork seemed better than a trio to the gracious 
 Flucker. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 141 
 
 Christie moved about the room, doing little 
 household matters. Gatty's eye followed her. 
 
 Her beauty lost nothing in this small apart- 
 ment ; she was here, like a brilliant in some 
 quaint, rough setting, which all earth's jewellers 
 should despise, and all its poets admire, and it 
 should show off the stone and not itself. 
 
 Her beauty filled the room, and almost made 
 the spectators ill. 
 
 Gatty asked himself whether he could really 
 have been such a fool as to think of giving up 
 so peerless a creature. 
 
 Suddenly an idea occurred to him, a bright 
 one, and not inconsistent with a true artist's 
 character, — he would decline to act in so 
 doubtful a case : he would float passively down 
 the tide of events ; he would neither desert her; 
 nor disobey his mother ; he would take every- 
 thing as it came, and to begin, as he was there, 
 he would for the present say nothing but what 
 he felt, and what he felt was that he loved her. 
 
 He told her so accordingly. 
 
 She replied, concealing her satisfaction, ' that 
 if he liked her, he would not have refused to 
 eat when she asked him.' 
 
 But our hero's appetite had returned with 
 his change of purpose, and he instantly volun- 
 teered to give the required proof of affection. 
 
142 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Accordingly two pound of steaks fell before 
 him. 
 
 Poor boy ! he had hardly eaten a genuine 
 meal for a week past. 
 
 Christie sat opposite him, and every time he 
 looked off his plate he saw her rich blue eyes 
 dwelling on him. 
 
 Everything contributed to warm his heart ; 
 he yielded to the spell ; he became contented, 
 
 ha ppy> g a y- 
 
 Flucker ginger-cordialed him, his sister be- 
 witched him. 
 
 She related the day's events in a merry mood. 
 
 Mr. Gatty burst forth into singing. 
 
 He sung two light and sombre trifles, such 
 as in the present day are deemed generally en- 
 couraging to the spirits, and particularly in ac- 
 cordance with the sentiment of supper ; they 
 were about Death, and Ivy Green. 
 
 The dog's voice was not very powerful, but 
 sweet and round as honey dropping from the 
 comb. 
 
 His two hearers were entranced, for the crea- 
 ture sang with an inspiration good singers dare 
 not indulge. 
 
 He concluded by informing Christie that the 
 ivy was symbolical of her, and the oak prefig- 
 ured Charles Gatty, Esq. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 143 
 
 He might have inverted the simile with more 
 truth. 
 
 In short, he never said a word to Christie 
 about parting with her, but several about being 
 buried in the same grave with her, sixty years 
 hence, for which the spot he selected was West- 
 minster Abbey. 
 
 And away he went, leaving golden opinions 
 behind him. 
 
 The next day Christie was so affected with 
 his conduct, coming as it did, after an apparent 
 coolness, that she conquered her bashfulness 
 and called on the ' Vile Count,' and with some 
 blushes and hesitation inquired ' Whether a 
 painter lad was a fit subject of charity.' 
 
 1 Why not ? ' said his Lordship. 
 
 She then told him Gatty's case, and he in- 
 stantly promised to see that artist's pictures, 
 particularly ane ' awfu' bonny ane,' the hero 
 of which she described as an English minister 
 blessing the bairns with one hand, and giving 
 orders to kill the puir Scoetch with the other. 
 
 'Cost dgal,' said Christie in Scotch, 'it's 
 awfu' bonny.' r 
 
 Gatty reached home late ; his mother had 
 retired to rest. 
 
 But the next morning she drew from him what 
 had happened, and then ensued another of those 
 
144 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 dialogues which I am ashamed again to give the 
 reader. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that she once more prevailed, 
 though with far greater difficulty ; time was to 
 be given him to unsew a connexion which he 
 could not cut asunder, and he, with tearful eyes 
 and a heavy heart, agreed to take some step the 
 very first opportunity. 
 
 This concession was hardly out of his mouth 
 ere his mother made him kneel down, and be- 
 stowed her blessing upon him. He received it 
 coldly and dully, and expressed a languid hope it 
 might prove a charm to save him from despair, 
 and sad, bitter, and dejected, forced himself to 
 sit down and work on the picture that was to 
 meet his unrelenting creditor's demand. 
 
 He was working on his picture, and his 
 mother with her needle at the table, when a 
 knock was heard, and gay as a lark, and fresh 
 as the dew on the shamrock, Christie John- 
 stone stood in person in the apartment. 
 
 She was evidently the bearer of good tidings ; 
 but before she could express them, Mrs. Gatty 
 beckoned her son aside, and announcing, ' she 
 should be within hearing,' bade him take the 
 occasion that so happily presented itself, and 
 make the first step. 
 
 At another time, Christie, who had learned 
 
Christie Johnstone. 145 
 
 from Jean the arrival of Mrs. Gatty, would 
 have been struck with the old lady's silence ; 
 but she came to tell the depressed painter that 
 the charitable Viscount was about to visit him 
 and his picture ; and she was so full of the good 
 fortune likely to ensue, that she was neglectful 
 of minor considerations. 
 
 It so happened, however, that certain inter- 
 ruptions prevented her from ever delivering her- 
 self of the news in question. 
 
 First, Gatty himself came to her, and casting 
 uneasy glances at the door by which his mother 
 had just gone out, said, — 
 
 1 Christie ! ' 
 
 1 My lad ! ' 
 
 1 I want to paint your likeness.' 
 
 This was for a souvenir, poor fellow ! 
 
 ' Hech ! I wad like fine to be painted/ 
 
 'It must be exactly the same size as yourself, 
 and so like you, that should we be parted I may 
 seem not to be quite alone in the world/ 
 
 Here he was obliged to turn his head away. 
 
 4 But we '11 no pairt,' replied Christie, cheer- 
 fully. ' Suppose ye 're puir, I 'm rich, and it 's a' 
 one ; dinna be so cast down for auchty pund/ 
 
 At this, a slipshod servant entered, and said, — 
 
 1 There 's a fisher lad inquiring for Christie 
 Johnstone/ 
 
 L 
 
146 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ' It will be Flucker,' said Christie; ' show 
 him ben. What 's wrang the noo, I wonder ! ' 
 
 The baddish boy entered, took up a posi- 
 tion, and remained apparently passive, hands in 
 pockets. 
 
 Christie. Aweel, what est ? 
 
 Fluckcr. Custy. 
 
 Christie. What's your will, my manny? 
 
 Fluckcr. Custy, I was at Inch Keith the day. 
 
 Christie. And hae ye really come to Edinbro' 
 to tell me thaat ? 
 
 Fluckcr {drily). Oh, ye ken the lassies are 
 a hantle wiser than we are ! Will ye hear me ? 
 South Inch Keith, I played a bowl i' the water, 
 just for divairsion, and I catched twarree fish I ' 
 
 Christie. Floonders, I bet. 
 
 Fluckcr. Does floonders swim high ? I '11 let 
 you see his gills, and if ye are a reicht fishwife 
 ye '11 smell bluid. 
 
 Here he opened his jacket, and showed a 
 bright little fish. 
 
 In a moment all Christie's nonchalance 
 gave way to a fiery animation. She darted to 
 Flucker's side. 
 
 ' Ye Jiae na been sae daft as tell ? ' asked 
 she. 
 
 Flucker shook his head contemptuously* 
 
 1 Ony birds at the island, Flucker } ' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 147 
 
 1 Sea-maws, plenty, and a bird I dinna ken ; 
 he moonted sae high, then doon like thunder 
 intil the sea, and gart the water flee as high as 
 Haman, and porpoises as big as my boat.' 
 
 ' Porr-poises, fulish laddy ; ye hae seen the 
 herrin 1 whale at his wark, and the solant guse 
 ye hae seen her at wark ; and beneath the 
 sea, Flucker, every coed-fish and doeg-fish, 
 and fish that has teeth, is after them ; and 
 half Scotland wad be at Inch Keith Island if 
 they kenned what ye hae tell 't me ; dinna 
 speak to me.' 
 
 During this, Gatty, who did not comprehend 
 this sudden excitement, or thought it childish, 
 had tried in vain to win her attention. 
 
 At last he said, a little peevishly, ' Will you 
 not attend to me, and tell me at least when 
 you will sit to me t ' 
 
 ' Set ! ' cried she. 4 When there 's nae wark 
 to be done stanning.' 
 
 And with this she was- gone. At the foot of 
 the stairs she said to her brother, — 
 
 4 Puir lad ! I '11 sune draw auchty punds fra' 
 the sea for him, with my feyther's nets.' 
 
 As she disappeared, Mrs. Gatty appeared. 
 
 1 And this is the woman whose mind was not 
 in her dirty business,' cried she. 
 
 4 Does not that open your eyes, Charles > 
 
 l 2 
 
148 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ' Ah ! Charles, 1 added she, tenderly, ' there 's 
 no friend like a mother.' 
 
 And off she carried the prize. His vanity had 
 been mortified. 
 
 And so that happened to Christie Johnstone 
 which had befallen many a woman, — the great- 
 ness of her love made that love appear small to 
 her lover. 
 
 1 Ah ! mother,' cried he, ' I must live for you 
 and my art ; I am not so dear to her as I 
 thought.' 
 
 And so, with a sad heart, he turned away 
 from her ; whilst she, with a light heart, darted 
 away to think and act for him. 
 
Christie Johnstone, 149 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TT was some two hours after this that a gentle- 
 ■*■ man, plainly dressed, but whose clothes 
 seemed a part of himself — whereas mine I have 
 observed hang upon me, and the Rev. Josiah 
 Splitall's stick to him — glided into the painter's 
 room with an inquiry whether he had not a pic- 
 ture or two disposable. 
 
 1 I have one finished picture, Sir,' said the 
 poor boy ; • but the price is high ! ' 
 
 He brought it, in a faint-hearted way ; for 
 he had shown it to five picture-dealers, and all 
 five agreed it was hard. 
 
 He had painted a lime-tree, distant fifty yards, 
 and so painted it that it looked something like a 
 lime-tree fifty yards off. 
 
 'That was mesquin,' said his judges; 'the 
 poetry of painting required abstract trees, at 
 metaphysical distance, not the various trees of 
 Nature, as they appear under positive accidents.' 
 
 On this, Mr. Gatty had deluged them with 
 words. 
 
 1 When it is art, truth, or sense, to fuse a 
 cow, a horse, and a critic into one undistin- 
 
150 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 guishable quadruped, with six legs, then it will 
 be art to melt an ash, an elm, and a lime, things 
 that differ more than quadrupeds, into what you 
 call abstract trees, that any man who has seen 
 a tree, as well as looked at one, would call 
 drunken stinging-nettles. You, who never look 
 at Nature, how can you judge the arts, which 
 are all but copies of Nature ? At two hundred 
 yards distance, full-grown trees are more distin- 
 guishable than the animal tribe. Paint me an 
 abstract human being, neither man nor woman,' 
 said he, ' and then I will agree to paint a tree 
 that shall be no tree ; and if no man will buy 
 it, perhaps the father of lies will take it off my 
 hands, and hang it in the only place it would 
 not disgrace. 1 
 
 In short, he never left off till he had crushed 
 the non-buyers with eloquence and satire ; but 
 he could not crush them into buyers, they beat 
 him at the passive retort. 
 
 Poor Gatty, when the momentary excitement 
 of argument had subsided, drank the bitter cup 
 all must drink awhile, whose bark is alive and 
 strong enough to stem the current down which 
 the dead, weak things of the world are drifting, 
 many of them into safe harbours. 
 
 And now he brought out his picture with a 
 heavy heart. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 5 1 
 
 1 Now,' said he to himself, ' this gentleman 
 will talk me dead, and leave me no richer in 
 coin, and poorer in time and patience. 1 
 
 The picture was placed in a light ; the visitor 
 sat down before it. 
 
 A long pause ensued. 
 
 ' Has he fainted r ' thought Gatty, ironically ; 
 4 he does n't gabble.' 
 
 ' If you do not mind painting before me,' said 
 the visitor, ' I should be glad if you would con- 
 tinue whilst I look into this picture.' 
 
 Gatty painted. 
 
 The visitor held his tongue. 
 
 At first the silence made the artist uneasy, 
 but by degrees it began to give him pleasure ; 
 whoever this was, it was not one of the flies 
 that had hitherto stung him, nor the jackdaws 
 that had chattered him dead. 
 
 Glorious silence ! He began to paint under 
 its influence like one inspired. 
 
 Half an hour passed thus. 
 
 1 What is the price of this work of art r ' 
 
 1 Eighty pounds.' 
 
 ' I take it,' said his visitor, quietly. 
 
 What, no more difficulty than that ? He felt 
 almost disappointed at gaining his object so 
 easily. 
 
 1 I am obliged to you, Sir ; much obliged to 
 
152 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 you,' he added ; for he reflected what eighty 
 pounds were to him just then. 
 
 ' It is my descendants who are obliged to 
 you, 1 replied the gentleman; 'the picture is 
 immortal I ' 
 
 These words were an epoch in the painter's 
 life. 
 
 The grave, silent inspection that had preceded 
 them, the cool, deliberate, masterly tone in 
 which they were said, made them oracular to 
 him. 
 
 Words of such import took him by surprise. 
 
 He had thirsted for average praise in vain. 
 
 A hand had taken him, and placed him at the 
 top of the tree. 
 
 He retired abruptly, or he would have burst 
 into tears. 
 
 He ran to his mother. 
 
 ' Mother,' said he, 'lama painter ; I always 
 thought so at bottom, but I suppose it is the 
 height of my ideas makes me discontented with 
 my work.' 
 
 ' What has happened ? ' 
 
 1 There is a critic in my room. I had no idea 
 there was a critic in the creation, and there is 
 one in my room.' 
 
 ' Has he bought your picture, my poor boy ? ' 
 said Mrs. Gatty, distrustfully. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 5 3 
 
 To her surprise he replied, — 
 
 4 Yes, he has got it. Only eighty pounds for 
 an immortal picture.' 
 
 Mrs. Gatty was overjoyed. Gatty was a little 
 sad ; but reviving, he professed himself glad ; 
 the picture was going to a judge. 
 
 4 It is not much money,' said he, ' but the 
 man has spoken word; that are ten thousand 
 pounds to me.' 
 
 He returned to the room. His visitor, hat in 
 hand, was about to go. A few words were 
 spoken about the art of painting ; this led to a 
 conversation, and then to a short discussion. 
 
 The new-comer soon showed Mr. Charles 
 Gatty his ignorance of facts. 
 
 This man had sat quietly before a multitude 
 of great pictures, new and old, in Europe. 
 
 He cooled down Charles Gatty, Esq., mo- 
 nopolist of Nature and Truth. 
 
 He quoted to him thirty painters in Germany 
 who paint every stroke of a landscape in the 
 open air, and forty in various nations who had 
 done it in times past. 
 
 1 You, Sir,' he went on, ' appear to hang on 
 the skirts of a certain clique, who handle the 
 brush well, but draw ill, and look at Nature 
 through the spectacles of certain ignorant paint- 
 ers who spoiled canvas four hundred years ago. 
 
154 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Go no farther in that direction. 
 
 ' Those boys, like all quacks, have one great 
 truth which they disfigure with more than one 
 falsehood. 
 
 i Hold fast their truth, which is a truth the 
 world has always possessed, though its practice 
 has been confined to the honest and laborious 
 few. 
 
 ' Eschew their want of mind and taste. 
 
 ' Shrink with horror from that profane culte 
 de laideur, that " love of the lop-sided," they 
 have recovered from the foul receptacles of 
 decayed art.' 
 
 He reminded him further that ' Art is not imi- 
 tation, but illusion ; that a plumber and glazier 
 of our day and a mediaeval painter are more 
 alike than any two representatives of general 
 styles that can be found ; and for the same 
 reason, namely, that with each of these art is 
 in its infancy. These two sets of bunglers 
 have not learned how to produce the illusions 
 of art.' 
 
 To all this he added a few words of com- 
 pliment on the mind, as well as mechanical 
 dexterity, of the purchased picture, bade him 
 good morning, and glided away like a passing 
 sunbeam. 
 
 ' A mother's blessing is a great thing to have, 
 
Christie Johnstone, 1 5 5 
 
 and to deserve,' said Mrs. Gatty, who had re- 
 joined her son. 
 
 k It is, indeed,' said Charles. He could not 
 help being struck by the coincidence. 
 
 He had made a sacrifice to his mother, and in a 
 few hours one of his troubles had melted away. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections arrived Mr. 
 Saunders with a note. 
 
 The note contained a cheque for one hundred 
 and fifty pounds, with these lines, in which the 
 writer excused himself for the amendment. ' I 
 am a painter myself,' said he, ' and it is impos- 
 sible that eighty pounds can remunerate the time 
 expended on this picture, to say nothing of the 
 skill.' 
 
 We have treated this poor boy's picture 
 hitherto with just contempt, but now that it is 
 gone into a famous collection, mind, we always 
 admired it ; we always said so, we take our oath 
 we did ; if we have hitherto deferred framing it, 
 that was merely because it was not sold. 
 
 Mr. Gatty's Picture, at present in the 
 Collection of Lord Ipsden. 
 
 There was, hundreds of years ago, a certain 
 Bishop of Durham, who used to fight in person 
 against the Scotch, and defeat them. When he 
 was not with his flock, the northern wolves 
 
156 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 sometimes scattered it ; but when the holy 
 father was there, with his prayers and his battle- 
 axe, England won the day. 
 
 This nettled the Scottish king, so he penetrated 
 one day, with a large band, as far as Durham 
 itself, and for a short time blocked the prelate 
 up in his stronghold. This was the period of 
 Mr. Gatty's picture, whose title was — 
 
 'Half Church of God, half Tower against the 
 
 scot: 
 
 In the background was the cathedral, on the 
 towers of which paced to and fro men in armour, 
 with the western sun glittering thereon. In the 
 centre, a horse and cart, led by a boy, were 
 carrying a sheaf of arrows tied with a straw 
 band. In part of the foreground was the pre- 
 late, in a half suit of armour, but bareheaded; 
 he was turning away from the boy, to whom his 
 sinking hand had indicated his way into the holy 
 castle, and his benignant glance rested on a 
 child, whom its mother was holding up for his 
 benediction. In the foreground the afternoon 
 beams sprinkled gold on a long grassy slope, 
 corresponding to the elevation on which the 
 cathedral stood, separated by the river Wear 
 from the group ; and these calm beauties of 
 Nature, with the mother and child, were the 
 peaceful side of this twofold story. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 57 
 
 Such are the dry details. But the soul of its 
 charm no pen can fling on paper. For the 
 stately cathedral stood and lived ; the little 
 leaves slumbered yet lived ; and the story 
 floated and lived in the potable gold of summer 
 afternoon. 
 
 To look at this painted poem was to feel a 
 thrill of pleasure in bare existence ; it went 
 through the eyes, where paintings stop, and 
 warmed the depths and recesses of the heart 
 with its sunshine and its glorious air. 
 
158 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 'T17HAT is in the wind this dark night? 
 
 * * Six Newhaven boats and twenty boys 
 and hobble-de-hoys, hired by the Johnstones 
 at half-a-crown each for a night's job.' 
 
 i Secret service ! ' 
 
 ' What is it for ? ' 
 
 ' I think it is a smuggling lay/ suggested 
 Flucker ; ' but we shall know all in good time.' 
 
 ' Smuggling ! ' Their countenances fell ; they 
 had hoped for something more nearly approach- 
 ing the illegal. 
 
 1 Maybe she has fand the herrinV said a ten- 
 year-old. 
 
 1 Haw ! haw ! haw ! ' went the others. ' She 
 find the herrin', when there 's five hundred fish^ 
 ermen after them baith sides the Firrth.' 
 
 The youngster was discomfited. 
 
 In fact, the expedition bore no signs of fishing; 
 
 The six boats sailed at sundown, led by 
 Flucker ; he brought-to on the south side of 
 Inch Keith, and nothing happened for about 
 an hour. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 59 
 
 Then such boys as were awake saw two great 
 eyes of light coming up from Granton ; rattle 
 went the chain cable, and Lord Ipsden's cutter 
 swung at anchor in four fathom water. 
 
 A thousand questions to Flucker. 
 
 A single puff of tobacco-smoke was his answer. 
 
 And now crept up a single eye of light from 
 Leith. She came among the boats ; the boys 
 recognized a crazy old cutter from Leith har- 
 bour, with Christie Johnstone on board. 
 
 ' What is that brown heap on her deck ? ' 
 
 ' A mountain of nets ; fifty stout herring-nets.' 
 
 Tunc manifesto, fides. 
 
 A yell burst from all the boys. 
 
 1 He 's gaun to tak us to Dunbar.' 
 
 ' Half-a-croown ! ye 're no blate.' 
 
 Christie ordered the boats alongside her cut- 
 ter, and five nets were dropped into each boat, 
 six into Flucker's. 
 
 The depth of water was given them, and they 
 were instructed to shoot their nets so as to keep 
 a fathom and a half above the rocky bottom. 
 
 A herring-net is simply a wall of meshes 
 twelve feet deep, fifty feet long ; it sinks to 
 a vertical position by the weight of net twine, 
 and is kept from sinking to the bottom of the 
 sea by bladders or corks. These nets are tied 
 to one another, and paid out at the stern of the 
 
i6o Christie Johnstone. 
 
 boat. Boat and nets drift with the tide ; if 
 therefore the nets touched the rocks they would 
 be torn to pieces, and the fisherman ruined. 
 
 And this saves the herring; that fish lies hours 
 and hours at the very bottom of the sea, like a 
 stone, and the poor fisherman shall drive with 
 his nets, a yard or two over a square mile of 
 fish, and not catch a herring-tail ; on the other 
 hand, if they rise to play for five minutes, in that 
 five minutes they shall fill seven hundred boats. 
 
 At nine o'clock all the boats had shot their 
 nets, and Christie went alongside his Lordship's 
 cutter ; he asked her many questions about her- 
 ring fishery, to which she gave clear answers, 
 derived from her father, who had always been 
 what the fishermen call a lucky fisherman ; 
 that is, he had opened his eyes and judged for 
 himself. 
 
 Lord Ipsden then gave her blue lights to dis- 
 tribute among the boats, that the first which 
 caught herring might signal all hands. 
 
 This was done, and all was expectation. 
 
 Eleven o'clock came ; no signal from any 
 boat. 
 
 Christie became anxious ; at last she went 
 round to the boats, found the boys all asleep 
 except the baddish boy, waked them up, and 
 made them all haul in their first net. The 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 6 1 
 
 nets came in as black as ink ; no sign of a 
 herring. 
 
 There was but one opinion ; there was no 
 herring at Inch Keith, they had not been there 
 this seven years. 
 
 At last, Flucker, to whom she came in turn, 
 told her he was going into two fathom water, 
 where he would let out the bladders and drop 
 the nets on their cursed backs. 
 
 A strong remonstrance was made by Christie, 
 but the baddish boy insisted that he had an equal 
 right in all her nets, and setting his sail, he ran 
 into shoal w r ater. 
 
 Christie began to be sorrowful. Instead of 
 making money, she was going to throw it away, 
 and the neer-do-weel Flucker would tear six 
 nets from the ropes. 
 
 Flucker hauled down his sail, and unstepped 
 his mast in two fathom water ; but he was not 
 such a fool as to risk his six nets. He devoted 
 one to his experiment, and did it well ; he let out 
 his bladder line a fathom, so that one half his 
 net would literally be higgledy-piggledy with 
 the rocks, unless the fish were there en masse. 
 
 No long time was required. 
 
 In five minutes he began to haul in the net ; 
 first, the boys hauled in the rope, and then the 
 net began to approach the surface. Flucker 
 
 M 
 
1 62 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 looked anxiously down, the other lads incredu- 
 lously; suddenly they all gave a yell of triumph, 
 — an appearance of silver and lightning, mixed, 
 had glanced up from the bottom ; in came the 
 first two yards of the net ; there were three her- 
 rings in it. These three proved Flucker's point 
 as well as three million. 
 
 They hauled in the net. Before they had a 
 quarter of it in, the net came up to the surface, 
 and the sea was alive with molten silver. 
 The upper half of the net was empty, but the 
 lower half was one solid mass of fish. 
 
 The boys could not find a mesh ; they had 
 nothing to handle but fish. 
 
 At this moment the easternmost boat showed 
 a blue light. 
 
 ' The fish are rising, 1 said Flucker ; ' we '11 
 na risk nae malr nets;' 
 
 Soon after this a sort of song was heard from 
 the boat that had showed a light. Flucker, 
 who had got his net in, ran down to her, and 
 found, as he suspected, that the boys had 
 not power to draw the weight of fish over the 
 gunwale. 
 
 They were singing, as sailofs do> that they 
 might all pull together ; he gave them two of 
 his crew, and ran down to his bwh skipper. 
 
 The said skipper gave him four men. 
 
 
Christie Johnstone. 163 
 
 Another blue light ! 
 
 Christie and her crew came a little nearer the 
 boats, and shot twelve nets. 
 
 The yachtsmen entered the sport with zeal ; 
 so did his Lordship. 
 
 The boats were all full in a few minutes, and 
 nets still out. 
 
 Then Flucker began to fear some of these 
 nets would sink with the weight of fish ; for the 
 herring die after a while in a net, and a dead 
 herring sinks. 
 
 What was to be done ? 
 
 They got two boats alongside the cutter, and 
 unloaded them into her as well as they could ; 
 but before they could half do this the other 
 boats hailed them. 
 
 They came to one of them ; the boys were 
 struggling with a thing which no stranger 
 would have dreamed was a net. 
 
 Imagine a white sheet, fifty feet long, var- 
 nished with red-hot silver ; there were twenty 
 ■barrels in this single net. By dint of fresh hands 
 they got half of her in, and then the meshes be- 
 gan to break ; the men leaned over the gun- 
 wale, and put their arms round blocks and 
 masses of fish, and so flung them on board ; and 
 the cod-fish and dog-fish snapped them almost 
 out of the men's hands, like tigers. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 At last, they came to a net which was" a 
 double wall of herring ; it had been some time 
 in the water, and many of the fish were dead ; 
 they tried their best, but it was impracticable ; 
 they laid hold of the solid herring, and when 
 they lifted up a hundred weight clear of the 
 water, away it all tore and sank back again. 
 
 They were obliged to cut away this net, with 
 twenty pounds sterling in her. They cut away 
 the twine from the head-ropes, and net and fish 
 went to the bottom. 
 
 All hands were now about the cutter. Chris- 
 tie's nets were all strong and new ; they had been 
 some time in the water ; in hauling them up her 
 side, quantities of fish fell out of the net into 
 the water, but there were enough left. 
 
 She averaged twelve barrels a net. 
 
 Such of the yawls as were not quite full, 
 crept between the cutter and the nets, and 
 caught all they wanted. 
 
 The projector of this fortunate speculation 
 suddenly announced that she was very sleepy. 
 
 Flucker rolled her up in a sail, and she slept 
 the sleep of infancy on board her cutter. 
 
 When she awoke it was seven o'clock in the 
 morning, and her cutter was creeping with a 
 smart breeze, about two miles an hour, a mile 
 from Newhaven pier. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 165 
 
 The yacht had returned to Granton, and the 
 yawls, very low in the water, were creeping 
 along like snails, with both sails set. 
 
 The news was in Edinburgh long before they 
 landed. 
 
 They had been discerned under Inch Keith 
 at the dawn. 
 
 And the manner of their creeping along, when 
 there was such a breeze, told the tale at once to 
 the keen, experienced eyes that are sure to be 
 scanning the sea. 
 
 Donkey-carts came rattling down from the 
 capital. 
 
 Merchants came pelting down to Newhaven 
 pier. 
 
 The whole story began to be put together by 
 bits, and comprehended. 
 
 Old Johnstone's cleverness was recalled to 
 mind. 
 
 The few fishermen left at Newhaven were 
 ready to kill themselves. 
 
 Their wives were ready to do the same good 
 office for La Johnstone. 
 
 Four Irish merchants agreed to work to- 
 gether, and to make a show of competition, the 
 better to keep the price down within bounds. 
 
 It was hardly fair, — four men against one 
 innocent, unguarded female. 
 
1 66 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 But this is a wicked world. 
 
 Christie landed, and proceeded to her own 
 house ; on the way she was met by Jean Carnie, 
 who debarrassed her of certain wrappers and a 
 handkerchief she had tied round her head, and 
 informed her she was the pride of Newhaven. 
 
 She next met these four little merchants, one 
 after another. 
 
 And since we ought to dwell as little as pos- 
 sible upon scenes in which unguarded innocence 
 is exposed to artful conspiracies, we will put a 
 page or two into the brute form of dramatic 
 dialogue, and so sail through it quicker. 
 
 ist Merchant. Where are ye going, Meggie ? 
 
 Christie Johnstone. If ony body asks ye, say 
 ye dinna ken. 
 
 ist Mcr. Will ye sell your fish ? 
 
 Christie. Suner than gie them. 
 
 \st Mer. You will be asking fifteen shillin* 
 the cran. 
 
 Christie. And ten to that. 
 
 ist Mer. Good morning. 
 
 2nd Mer. Would he not go over fifteen shil- 
 lings ? Oh, the thief o' the world ! I '11 give 
 sixteen. 
 
 yd Mer. But I '11 give eighteen.' 
 
 2nd Mer. More fool you ! Take him up, 
 my girl. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 167 
 
 Christie. Twenty-five is my price the day. 
 
 yd Mer. You will keep them till Sunday 
 week, and sell their bones. 
 
 [Exeunt the three Merchants. 
 Enter 4U1 Merchant. 
 
 4th Mer. Are your fish sold ? I '11 give six- 
 teen shillings. 
 
 Christie. I 'm seeking twenty-five, an' I "m 
 offered eighteen. 
 
 4//z Mer. Take it. [Exit. 
 
 Christie. They hae putten their heads thegither. 
 
 Here Flucker came up to her and told her 
 there was a Leith merchant looking for her. 
 ' And Custy, 1 said he, ' there 's plenty wind 
 getting up ; your fish will be sair hashed ; put 
 them off your hands, I rede ye.' 
 
 Christie. Ay, lad ! Flucker. hide, an' when I 
 play my hand sae, ye '11 run in an' cry, ' Cirsty, 
 the Irishman will gie ye twenty-two schellin the 
 cran.' 
 
 Flucker. Ye ken mair than 's in the cate- 
 cheesm, for as releegious as ye are. 
 
 The Leith merchant was Mr. Miller, and this 
 is the way he worked. 
 
 Miller (in a mellifluous voice). Are ye no 
 fatigued, my deear ? 
 
 Christie (affecting fatigue). Indeed, Sir, and 
 I am. 
 
1 68 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Miller. Shall I have the pleasure to deal wi* 
 ye? 
 
 Christie. If it 's your pleasure, Sir. I 'm 
 seekin' twenty-five schellin. 
 
 Miller (pretending not to hear) . As you are 
 a beginner, I must offer fair ; twenty schellin 
 you shall have, and that 's three shillings above 
 Dunbar. 
 
 Christie. Wad ye even carted heron' with my 
 fish caller fra the sea? and Dunbar — oh fine ! 
 ye ken there 's nae herrin 1 at Dunbar the morn ; 
 this is the Dunbar schule that slipped westward : 
 I 'm the mairket, ye '11 hae to buy o' me or gang 
 to your bed (Here she signalled to Flucker). 
 I '11 no be oot o' mine lang.' 
 
 Enter Flucker hastily, crying : Cirsty, the 
 Irishman will gie ye twenty-two schellin. 
 
 ' I 'II no tak it,' said Christie. 
 
 1 They are keen to hae them,' said Flucker; 
 and hastily retired, as if to treat farther with 
 the small merchants. 
 
 On this, Mr. Miller, pretending to make for 
 Leith, said carelessly, ' Twenty-three shillings, 
 or they are not for me.' 
 
 ' Tak the cutter's freight at a hundre' cran, 
 an' I 'm no caring,' said Christie. 
 
 ' They are mine I ' said Mr. Miller, very 
 sharply. ' How much shall I give you the day ? ' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 169 
 
 1 Auchty pund, Sir, if you please ; the lave 
 when you like. I ken ye, Mr. Miller.' 
 
 Whilst counting her the notes, the purchaser 
 said slily to her, — 
 
 4 There 's more than a hundred cran in the 
 cutter, my woman.' 
 
 4 A little, Sir,' replied the vendor ; ' but ere I 
 could count them till ye by baskets, they would 
 lose seven or eight cran in book : x your gain, 
 my loss.' 
 
 4 You are a vara intelligent young person,' 
 said Mr. Miller, gravely. 
 
 1 Ye had measured them wi' your walking- 
 stick, Sir ; there 's just ae scale ye didna wipe 
 off, though ye are a carefu' mon, Mr. Miller ; 
 sae I laid the bait for ye, an' fine ye took 
 it.' 
 
 Miller took out his snuff-box, and tapping it, 
 said, — 
 
 4 Will ye go into partnership with me, my 
 dear } ' 
 
 4 Ay, Sir ! ' was the reply. • When I 'm 
 aulder an' ye 're younger.' 
 
 At this moment the four merchants, believing 
 it useless to disguise their co-operation, re- 
 turned to see what could be done. 
 
 ' We shall give you a guinea a barrel.' 
 1 Bulk. 
 
170 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Why, ye offered her twenty-two shillings 
 before.' 
 
 ' That we never did, Mr. Miller.' 
 
 1 Haw ! haw ! ' went Flucker. 
 
 Christie looked down and blushed. 
 
 Eyes met eyes, and without a word spoken 
 all was comprehended and silently approved. 
 There was no nonsense uttered about morality 
 in connexion with dealing. 
 
 Mr. Miller took an enormous pinch of snuff, 
 and drew for the benefit of all present the fol- 
 lowing inference : — 
 
 Mr. Miller's Apophthegm. 
 
 Friends and neighbours ! when a man's heed 
 is grey with age and thoucht (pause) he 's just 
 fit to go to schule to a young lass o 1 twenty. 
 
 There was a certain middle-aged fishwife, 
 called Beeny Liston, a tenant of Christie John- 
 stone's; she had not paid her rent for some time, 
 and she had not been pressed for it ; whether 
 this, or the whiskey she was in the habit of tak- 
 ing, rankled in her mind, certain it is she had 
 always an ill word for her landlady. 
 
 She now met her, envied her success, and 
 called out in a coarse tone, — 
 
 ' Oh, ye 're a gallant quean ; ye '11 be waur 
 than ever the noo.' 
 
Christie Job i stone . 171 
 
 1 What 's wrang, if ye please r ' said the 
 Johnstone, sharply. 
 
 Reader, did you ever see two fallow bucks 
 commence a duel } 
 
 They strut round, eight yards apart, tails up, 
 look carefully another way to make the other 
 think it all means nothing, and being both equally 
 sly, their horns come together as if by concert. 
 
 Even so commenced this duel of tongues be- 
 tween these two heroines. 
 
 Beeny Liston, looking at everybody but 
 Christie, addressed the natives who were con- 
 gregating, thus : — 
 
 ' Did ever ye hear o' a decent lass taking the 
 herrin' oot 0' the men's mooths. Is yon a 
 woman's pairt, I 'm asking ye ?' 
 
 On this, Christie, looking carefully at all the 
 others except Beeny, inquired with an air of 
 simple curiosity : — 
 
 ' Can onybody tell me wha Liston Carnie's 
 drunken wife is speakin' till ? No to ony de- 
 cent lass, though. Na ! ye ken she wad na 
 hae th' impudence ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, ye ken fine I 'm speakin' till yoursel'. 
 
 Here the horns clashed together. 
 
 1 To me, woman ? (with admirably acted sur- 
 prise). Oo, ay ! it will be for the twa years' 
 rent you're awin me. Giest!' 
 
i;2 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Been/ Listen. Ye 're just the impudentest 
 girrl i' the toon, an' ye hae proved it the day 
 (her arms akimbo). 
 
 Christie (arms akimbo) . Me, impudent? How 
 daur ye speak against my charackter, that 's 
 kenned for decency o' baith sides the Firrth > 
 
 Been/ (contemptuous!/). Oh, ye 're sly enough 
 to beguile the men ; but we ken ye. 
 
 Christie. I 'm no sly ; and (drawing near and 
 hissing the words) I 'm no like the woman Jean 
 an' I saw in Rose Street, dead drunk on the 
 causeway, while her mon was working for her at 
 sea. If ye 're no ben your hoose in ae minute, 
 I '11 say that will gar Liston Cairnie fling ye 
 ower the pier-head, ye fool-moothed drunken 
 leear. Scairt ! 1 
 
 If my reader has seen and heard Mademoi- 
 selle Rachel utter her famous Sorte^, in ' Vir- 
 ginie,' he knows exactly with what a gesture 
 and tone the Johnstone uttered this word. 
 
 Been/ (in a voice of whining surprise). Hech ! 
 what a spite Flucker Johnstone's dochter has 
 taen against us ! 
 
 Christie. Scairt ! 
 
 Been/ (in a coaxing voice, and moving a step). 
 Aweel ! what 's a' your paession, my boenny 
 woman ? 
 1 A local word ; a corruption from the French Sorter 
 
Christie Jobnstont. 173 
 
 Christie. Scairt ! 
 
 Beeny retired before the thunder and light- 
 ning of indignant virtue. 
 
 Then all the fishboys struck up a dismal chant 
 of victory. 
 
 ' Yoo-hoo ! Custy 's won the day ! Beeny's 
 scair-frV going up on the last syllable. 
 
 Christie moved slowly away towards her own 
 house, but before she could reach the door she 
 began to whimper, little fool. 
 
 Thereat chorus of young Athenians chanted : 
 
 ' Yu-hoo ! come back, Beeny, ye '11 maybe 
 win yet. Custy 's away gree-tin (going up on 
 the last syllable) . 
 
 ' I'm no greeting ye rude bairns,' said Chris- 
 tie, bursting into tears, and retiring as soon as 
 she had effected that proof of her philosophy. 
 
 It was about four hours later ; Christie had 
 snatched some repose. The wind, as Flucker 
 prognosticated, had grown to a very heavy gale, 
 and the Firth was brown and boiling. 
 
 Suddenly a clamour was heard on the shore, 
 and soon after a fishwife made her appearance, 
 with rather a singular burden. 
 
 Her husband, ladies ; rien que cela. 
 
 She had him by the scruff of the neck ; he 
 was dos-a-dos, with his booted legs kicking in 
 the air, and his fists making warlike but idle 
 
174 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 demonstrations, and his mouth uttering inef- 
 fectual bad language. 
 
 This worthy had been called a coward by 
 Sandy Liston, and being about to fight with 
 him, and get thrashed, his wife had whipped 
 him up and carried him away ; she now flung 
 him down, at some risk to his equilibrium. 
 
 1 Ye are not fit to feicht wi' Sandy Liston,' 
 said she ; ' if ye are for feichtin, here 's for 
 
 ye.' 
 
 As a comment to this proposal, she tucked up 
 the sleeves of her short gown. He tried to run 
 by her ; she caught him by the bosom and gave 
 him a violent push that sent him several paces 
 backwards; he looked half fierce, half as- 
 tounded ; ere he could quite recover himself, 
 his little servant forced a pipe into his hand, and 
 he smoked contented and peaceable. 
 
 Before tobacco the evil passions fall, they 
 tell me. 
 
 The cause of this quarrel soon explained it- 
 self ; up came Sandy Liston, cursing and 
 swearing. 
 
 1 What ! ye hae gotten till your wife's ; that 's 
 the place for ye, — to say there 's a brig in dis- 
 tress, and ye '11 let her go on the rocks under 
 your noses. But what are ye afraid o 1 ? There 's 
 na danger.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 175 
 
 ' Nae danger! ' said one of the reproached. 
 i Are ye fou r ' 
 
 1 Ye are fou wi' fear yoursel' ; of a' the beasts 
 that crawl the airth, a cooward is the ugliest, I 
 think. 1 
 
 1 The wifes will no let us,' said one, sulkily. 
 
 1 It 's the woman in your hairts that keeps ye,* 
 roared Sandy, hoarsely ; ' curse ye, ye are sure 
 
 to dee ane day, and ye are sure to be [a 
 
 past participle] soon or late, what signifies when ? 
 Oh, curse the hour ever I was born amang sic 
 a cooardly crew ! ' (Gun at sea.) 
 
 • There ! ' 
 
 ' She speaks till ye hersel' ; she cries for 
 maircy ; to think that of a 1 that hear ye cry, Al- 
 exander Liston is the only mon mon enough to 
 answer.' (Gun.) 
 
 1 You are mistaken* Mr. Alexander Liston/ 
 said a clear, smart voice, whose owner had min- 
 gled unobserved with the throng ; ' there are 
 always men to answer such occasions. Now, 
 my lads* your boats have plenty of beam, and, 
 well handled, should live in any sea. Who vol- 
 unteers with Alexander Liston and me } ' 
 
 The speaker was Lord Ipsden. 
 
 The fishwives of Newhaven, more accustomed 
 to measure men than poor little Lady Barbara 
 Sinclair, saw in this man what in point of fact he 
 
1 7 6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 was, a cool, daring devil, than whom none more 
 likely to lead men into mortal danger, or pull 
 them through it, for that matter. 
 
 They recognised their natural enemy, and 
 collected together against him, like hens at the 
 sight of a hawk. 
 
 4 And would you really entice our men till 
 their death ? ' 
 
 ' My life 's worth as much as theirs, I 
 suppose. 1 
 
 ' Nae, your life, — it 's na worth a button! 
 When you dee, your next kin will dance, and 
 wha '11 greet ? But our men hae wife and bairns 
 to look till.' (Gun at sea.) 
 
 i Ah ! I didn't look at it in that light,' said 
 Lord Ipsden. He then demanded paper and 
 ink ; Christie Johnstone, who had come out of 
 her house, supplied it from her treasures, and 
 this cool hand actually began to convey a hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand pounds away, upon a 
 sheet of paper blowing in the wind ; when he 
 had named his residuary legatee, and disposed 
 of certain large bequests, he came to the 
 point : — 
 
 4 Christie Johnstone, what can these people 
 live on, — two hundred a year > Living is cheap 
 here. Confound the wind 1 ' 
 
 ' Twa hundred > Fifty ! Vile Count. 1 
 
Christie Johnstone. 177 
 
 1 Don't call me Vile Count. I am Ipsden, 
 and my name 's Richard. Now, then, be smart 
 with your names. 1 
 
 Three men stepped forward, gave their names, 
 had their widows provided for, and went for 
 their sou'westers, etc. 
 
 1 Stay,' said Lord Ipsden, writing : ' To Chris- 
 tina Johnstone, out of respect for her character, 
 one thousand pounds.' 
 
 1 Richard ! dinna gang,' cried Christie. ' Oh, 
 dinna gang, dinna gang, dinna gang ! It 's no 
 your business.' 
 
 ' Will you lend me your papa's Flushing jacket 
 and sou'wester, my dear } If I was sure to be 
 drowned, I 'd go.' 
 
 Christie ran in for them. 
 
 In the mean time, discomposed by the wind, 
 and by feelings whose existence neither he, nor 
 I, nor any one suspected, Saunders, after a sore 
 struggle between the frail man and the perfect 
 domestic, blurted out, — 
 
 1 My Lord, I beg your Lordship's pardon, 
 but it blows tempestuous.' 
 
 1 That is why the brig wants us,' was the 
 reply. 
 
 ' My Lord, I beg your Lordship's pardon,' 
 whimpered Saunders ; ' but oh, my Lord, don't 
 go I It 's all very well for fishermen to be 
 
 N 
 
178 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 drowned ; it is their business, but not yours, 
 my Lord.' 
 
 ' Saunders, help me on with this coat.' 
 
 Christie had brought it. 
 
 i Yes, my Lord,' said Saunders, briskly, his 
 second nature reviving. 
 
 His Lordship, whilst putting on the coat and 
 hat, undertook to cool Mr. Saunders's aristo- 
 cratic prejudices. 
 
 ' Should Alexander Liston and I be drowned,' 
 said he, coolly, ' when our bones come ashore, 
 you will not know which are the fisherman's, 
 and which the Viscount's.' So saying, he joined 
 the enterprise. 
 
 1 I shall pray for ye, lad,' said Christie John- 
 stone ; and she retired for that purpose. 
 
 Saunders, with a heavy heart, to the nearest 
 tavern, to prepare an account of what he called 
 ' Heroism in High Life,' large letters and the 
 usual signs of great astonishment (! ! ! ! ! !), 
 for the ' Polytechnic Magazine.' 
 
 The commander of the distressed vessel had 
 been penny-wise. He had declined a pilot off 
 the Isle of May, trusting to fall in with one 
 close to the port of Leith ; but a heavy gale 
 and fog had come on. He knew himself in the 
 vicinity of dangerous rocks, and, to make mat- 
 ters worse, his ship, old and sore battered by a 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 79 
 
 long and stormy voyage, was leaky ; and unless 
 a pilot came alongside, his fate would be either 
 to founder, or run upon the rocks, where he 
 must expect to go to pieces in a quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 The Newhaven boat lay in comparatively 
 smooth water, on the lee side of the pier. 
 
 Our adventurers got into her, stepped the 
 mast, set a small sail, and ran out ! Sandy Lis- 
 ton held the sheet, passed once round the be- 
 laying-pin, and whenever a larger wave than 
 usual came at them, he slacked the sheet, 
 and the boat, losing her way, rose gently, like 
 a cork, upon seas that had seemed about to 
 swallow her. 
 
 But seen from the shore it was enough to 
 make the most experienced wince ; so com- 
 pletely was this wooden shell lost to sight, as 
 she descended from a wave, that each time her 
 reappearance seemed a return from the dead. 
 
 The weather was misty ; the boat was soon 
 lost sight of ; the story remains ashore. 
 
i8o Christie Johnstone, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TT was an hour later ; the natives of the New 
 -*■ Town had left the pier, and were about their 
 own doors, when three Buckhaven fishermen 
 came slowly up from the pier ; these men had 
 arrived in one of their large fishing-boats which 
 defy all weather. 
 
 The men came slowly up ; their petticoat 
 trousers were drenched, and their neck-hand- 
 kerchiefs and hair were wet with spray. 
 
 At the foot of the New Town they stood still 
 and whispered to each other. 
 
 There was something about these men that 
 drew the eye of Newhaven upon them. 
 
 In the first place, a Buckhaven man rarely 
 communicates with natives of Newhaven, ex- 
 cept at the pier, where he brings in his cod 
 and ling from the deep sea, flings them out like 
 stones, and sells them to the fishwives, then up 
 sail and away for Fifeshire. 
 
 But these men evidently came ashore to speak 
 to some one in the town. 
 
 They whispered together. Something ap- 
 peared to be proposed and demurred to ; but at 
 last two went slowly back towards the pier, 
 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 8 1 
 
 and the'eldest remained, with a fisherman's long 
 mackintosh coat in his hand, which the others 
 had given him as they left him. 
 
 With this in his hand, the Buckhaven fisher- 
 man stood in an irresolute posture ; he looked 
 down, and seemed to ask himself what course 
 he should take. 
 
 ' What 's wrang ? ' said Jean Carnie, who, 
 with her neighbours, had observed the men ; 
 1 I wish yon man may na hae ill news.' 
 
 1 What ill news wad he hae > ' replied another. 
 
 'Are ony freends of Liston Carnie here? 1 
 said the fisherman. 
 
 1 The wife 's awa' to Granton, Beeny Liston 
 they ca' her ; there 's his house,' added Jean, 
 pointing up the row. 
 
 ' Ay,' said the fisherman, ' I ken he lived there. 1 
 
 1 Lived there ! ' cried Christie Johnstone ; 
 4 oh, what 's this V 
 
 1 Freends,' said the man, gravely, ' his boat 
 is driving keel uppermost in Kircauldy Bay ; 
 we passed her near enough to read the name 
 upon her.' 
 
 1 But the men will have won to shore, please 
 God } ' 
 
 The fisherman shook his head. 
 
 1 She '11 hae coupit a mile wast Inch Keith, 
 an' the tide rinning ail the island an' a heavy 
 
1 82 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 sea gaun. This is a' Newhaven will see of 
 them (holding up the coat) till they rise to 
 the top in three weeks' time.' 
 
 The man then took the coat, which was now 
 seen to be drenched with water, and hung it up 
 on a line not very far from its unfortunate 
 owner's house ; then in the same grave and sub- 
 dued tone in which he had spoken all along, he 
 said, ' We are sorry to bring siccan a tale into 
 your toon, 1 and slowly moved off to rejoin his 
 comrades, who had waited for him at no great 
 distance. They then passed through the Old 
 Town, and in five minutes the calamity was 
 known to the whole place. 
 
 After the first stupor, the people in the New 
 Town collected into knots, and lamented their 
 hazardous calling, and feared for the lives of 
 those that had just put to sea in this fatal gale 
 for the rescue of strangers ; and the older ones 
 failed not to match this present sorrow with 
 others within their recollection. 
 
 In the middle of this, Flucker Johnstone 
 came hastily in from the Old Town, and told 
 them he had seen the wife, Beeny Liston, 
 coming through from Granton. 
 
 The sympathy of all was instantly turned in 
 this direction. 
 
 1 She would hear the news.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 183 
 
 ' It would fall on her like a thunder-clap.' 
 
 ' What would become of her r ' 
 
 Every eye was strained towards the Old 
 Town, and soon the poor woman was seen 
 about to emerge from it ; but she was walking 
 in her usual way. and they felt she could not 
 carry her person so if she knew. 
 
 At the last house she was seen to stop and 
 speak to a fisherman and his wife that stood at 
 their own door. 
 
 1 They are telling her,' was then the cry. 
 
 Beeny Liston then proceeded on her way. 
 
 Every eye was strained. 
 
 No 1 they had not told her. 
 
 She came gaily on. the unconscious object of 
 every eye and every heart. 
 
 The hands of this people were hard, and their 
 tongues rude, but they had shrunk from telling 
 this poor woman of her bereavement ; they 
 thought it kinder she should know it under her 
 own roof, from her friends or neighbours, than 
 from comparative strangers. 
 
 She drew near her own door. 
 
 And now a knot collected round Christie 
 Johnstone and urged her to undertake the sad 
 task. 
 
 1 You that speak sa learned, Christie, ye 
 should tell her ; we daur na? 
 
1 84 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 How can I tell her?' said Christie, turning 
 pale. * How will I tell her? Ise try.' 
 
 She took one trembling step to meet the 
 woman. Beeny's eye fell upon her. 
 
 ' Ay ! here 's the Queen V Newhaven,' cried 
 she, in a loud and rather coarse voice. ' The 
 men will hae ta leave the place now y 1 are 
 turned fisherman, I daur say. 1 
 
 ' Oh, dinna fleicht on me ! dinna fleicht on 
 me 1 ' cried Christie, trembling. 
 
 1 Maircy on us,' said the other, ' auld Flucker 
 Johnstone's dochter turned humble. What 
 next ? ' 
 
 1 I 'm vexed for speaking back till ye the 
 morn/ faltered Christie. 
 
 1 Hett,' said the woman, carelessly, ' let yon 
 flea stick i' the wa\ I fancy I began on ye. 
 Aweel, Cirsty,' said she, falling into a friendlier 
 tone ; ' it 's the place we live in spoils us. 
 Newhaven 's an impudent toon, as sure as 
 deeth. 
 
 ' I passed through the Auld Toon the noo, — 
 a place I never speak in ; an 1 if they did na 
 glower at me as I had been a strange beast. 
 
 1 They dam 1 to their very doors to glower at 
 me ; if ye '11 believe me, I thoucht shame. 
 
 ' At the hinder end my paassion got up, and I 
 faced a wife East-by, and I said, "What gars 
 
Christie Johnstone. 185 
 
 ye glower at me that way, ye ignorant wo- 
 man r " Ye would na think it, she answered like 
 honey itsel\ " I 'm askin' your paardon," says 
 she ; and her mon by her side said, " Gang 
 hame to your ain hoose, my woman, and Gude 
 help ye, and help us a' at our need," the decent 
 mon. " It 's just there I 'm for," said I, " to 
 get my mon his breakfast." ' 
 
 All who heard her drew their breath with 
 difficulty. 
 
 The woman then made for her own house, 
 but in going up the street she passed the wet 
 coat hanging on the line. 
 
 She stopped directly. 
 
 They all trembled. They had forgotten the 
 coat ; it was all over ; the coat would tell the 
 tale. 
 
 1 Aweel,' said she, ' I could sweer that 's 
 Liston Carnie's coat, a droukit wi 1 the rain ; ' 
 then she looked again at it, and added slowly, 
 1 if I did na ken he has his away wi' him at the 
 piloting.'' And in another moment she was in 
 her own house, leaving them all standing there 
 half stupefied. 
 
 Christie had indeed endeavoured to speak, 
 but her tongue had cloven to her mouth. 
 
 Whilst they stood looking at one another, and 
 at Beeny Liston's door, a voice that seemed in- 
 
1 86 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 credibly rough, loud, and harsh, jarred upon 
 them ; it was Sandy Liston, who came in from 
 Leith, shouting, — 
 
 1 Fifty pounds for salvage, lassies I Is na 
 thaat better than staying cooard-like aside the 
 women ? ' 
 
 4 Whisht I whisht ! ' cried Christie. ' We are 
 in heavy sorrow ; puir Liston Cairnie and his 
 son Willy lie deed at the bottom o' the Firrth.' 
 
 1 Gude help us ! ' said Sandy; and his voice 
 sank. 
 
 1 An', oh, Sandy, the wife does na ken, and 
 it 's hairt-breaking to see her and hear her ; we 
 canna get her tell 't ; ye 're the auldest mon 
 here ; ye '11 tell her, will ye no, Sandy ? ' 
 
 ' No, me, that I will not ! ' 
 
 1 Oh, yes ; ye are kenned for your stoot 
 heart an' coorage ; ye come fra' facing the 
 sea an 1 wind in a bit yawl.' 
 
 4 The sea and the wind,' cried he, contemptu- 
 ously ; ' they be , I 'm used wi' them ; but 
 
 to look a woman i' the face, an 1 tell her her 
 mon and her son are drowned since yestreen, 
 I hae na coorage for that.' 
 
 All further debate was cut short by the en- 
 trance of one who came expressly to discharge 
 the sad duty all had found so difficult. It was 
 the Presbyterian clergyman of the place ; he 
 
Christie Johnstone. 187 
 
 waved them back. * I know, I know," said 
 he, solemnly. 
 
 1 Where is the wife r ' 
 
 She came out of her house at this moment, 
 as it happened, to purchase something at Dry- 
 sale's shop, which was opposite. 
 
 4 Beeny,' said the clergyman, 'I have sorrow- 
 ful tidings. 1 
 
 ' Tell me them, Sir, 1 said she, unmoved. ' Is 
 it a deeth r ' added she, quietly. 
 
 1 It is, — death sudden and terrible ; in your 
 own house I must tell it you (and may God 
 show me how to break it to her). 1 
 
 He entered her house. 
 
 1 Aweel,' said the woman to the others, ■ it 
 maun be some far-awa' cousin, or the like, for 
 Liston and me hae nae near freends. Meg, ye 
 idle hizzy,' screamed she to her servant, who 
 was one of the spectators, ' your pat is no on 
 yet ; div ye think the men will no be hungry 
 when they come in fra the sea ? ' 
 
 ' They will never hunger nor thirst ony mair,' 
 said Jean, solemnly, as the bereaved woman 
 entered her own door. 
 
 There ensued a listless and fearful silence. 
 
 Every moment some sign of bitter sorrow 
 was expected to break forth from the house, 
 but none came; and amidst the expectation and 
 
1 88 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 silence the waves dashed louder and louder as 
 it seemed, against the dyke, conscious of what 
 they had done. 
 
 At last, in a moment, a cry of agony arose, 
 so terrible that all who heard it trembled, 
 and more than one woman shrieked in return 
 and fled from the door, at which, the next mo- 
 ment, the clergyman stood alone, collected 
 but pale, and beckoned. Several women 
 advanced. 
 
 1 One woman,' said he. 
 
 Jean Carnie was admitted, and after a while 
 returned. 
 
 ' She is come to herseiy whispered she ; ' I 
 am no weel myselV And she passed into her 
 own house. 
 
 Then Flucker crept to the door to see. 
 
 1 Oh, dinna spie on her, 1 cried Christie. 
 
 1 Oh, yes, Flucker,' said many voices. 
 
 1 He is kneelin',' said Flucker. ' He has her 
 hand, to gar her kneel tae, — she winna, — she 
 does na see him, nor hear him ; he will hae her. 
 He has won her to kneel. He is prayin', an' 
 greetin' aside her. I canna see noo, my een 's 
 blinded.' 
 
 'He's a gude mon, 1 said Christie. 'Oh, 
 what wad we do without the ministers ? ' 
 
 Sandy Liston had been leaning sorrowfully 
 
Christie Johnstone. 189 
 
 against the wall of the next house ; he now 
 broke out : — 
 
 4 An auld shipmate at the whale fishing ! an 1 
 noow we '11 never lift the dredging sang the- 
 gither again, in yon dirty detch that 's droowned 
 him. I maun hae whiskey, an 1 forget it aY 
 
 He made for the spirit-shop like a madman ; 
 but ere he could reach the door, a hand was 
 laid on him like a vice. Christie Johnstone had 
 literally sprung on him. She hated this horri- 
 ble vice, had often checked him; and now it 
 seemed so awful a moment for such a sin, that 
 she forgot the wild and savage nature of the 
 man who had struck his own sister and seri- 
 ously hurt her but a month before ; she saw 
 nothing but the vice and its victim, and she 
 seized him by the collar with a grasp from 
 which he in vain attempted to shake himself 
 loose. 
 
 4 No ! ye '11 no gang there at siccan a time.' 
 
 1 Hands off, ye daft jaud,' roared he, ' or 
 there'll be another deeth i 1 the toon.' 
 
 At the noise, Jean Carnie ran in. 
 
 ' Let the ruffian go,' cried she, in dismay. 
 ' Oh, Christie, dinna put your hand on a lion's 
 mane.' 
 
 ' Yes, I "11 put my hand on his mane, ere I '11 
 let him mak a beast o' himselY 
 
190 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Sandy, if ye hurt her, I '11 find twenty lads 
 that will lay ye deed at her feet. 1 
 
 ' Haud your whisht,' said Christie, very 
 sharply; 'he's no to be threetened.' 
 
 Sandy Liston, black and white with rage, 
 ground his teeth together, and said, lifting his 
 hand, ' Wull ye let me go, or must I tak my 
 hand till ye ? ' 
 
 4 No ! ' said Christie, ' I '11 no let ye go, sae 
 look me V the face; Fluckers dochter, your 
 auld comrade that saved your life at Holy Isle, 
 think o 1 his face, an look in mines, an' strike 
 me!' 
 
 They glared on one another, he fiercely and 
 unsteadily, she firmly and proudly. 
 
 Jean Carnie said afterwards, ' her eyes were 
 like coals of fire.' 
 
 ' Ye are doing what nae mon i' the toon daur; 
 ye are a bauld, unwise lassy.' 
 
 'It's you mak me bauld,' was the instant 
 reply. ' I saw ye face the mad sea, to save a 
 ship fra the rocks, an' will I fear a mon's hand, 
 when I can save (rising to double her height) 
 my feyther's auld freend fra the puir mon's 
 enemy, the enemy 0' mankind, the cursed, 
 cursed drink. Oh, Sandy Liston, hoow could 
 ye think to put an enemy in your mooth to 
 steal awa' your brains r ' 
 
Christie Johnstone . 191 
 
 'This's no Newhaven chat; wha lairns ye 
 sic words o' power ? ' 
 
 1 A deed mon ! ' 
 
 4 I would na wonder, y 1 are no canny ; she 's 
 ta'en a' the poower oot o' my body, I think. 1 
 Then suddenly descending to a tone of abject 
 submission, ' What 's your pleesure, Flucker 
 Johnstone's dochter ? ' 
 
 She instantly withdrew the offensive grasp, 
 and leaning affectionately on his shoulder, she 
 melted into her rich Ionic tones. 
 
 ' It 's no a time for sin ; ye '11 sit by my fire, an 1 
 get your dinner ; a bonny haggis hae I for you 
 an' Flucker, an' we '11 improve this sorrowfu' 
 judgment, an' ye '11 tell me o 1 auld times, — o' 
 my feyther dear, that likeit ye weel, Sandy ; 
 o' the storrms ye hae weathered, side by side ; 
 o' the muckle whales ye killed Greenland way ; 
 an' abune a', o' the lives ye hae saved at sea by 
 your daurin an' your skell ; an 1 , oh, Sandy, will 
 na that be better as sit an' poor leequid damna- 
 tion doown your throat, an 1 gie awa' the sense an' 
 feeling o' a mon for a sair heed and an ill name ? ' 
 
 1 I 'se gang, my lamb,' said the rough man, 
 quite subdued ; ' I daur say whiskey will no 
 pass my teeth the day.' 
 
 And so he went quietly away and sat by 
 Christie's fireside. 
 
1 92 Christie Johnstone . 
 
 Jean and Christie went towards the boats. 
 
 Jean, after taking it philosophically for half 
 a minute, began to whimper. 
 
 1 What 's wrang ? ' said Christie. 
 
 1 Div ye think my hairt 's no in my mooth wi' 
 you gripping yon fierce robber ? ' 
 
 Here a young fishwife, with a box in her 
 hand, who had followed them, pulled Jean by 
 the coats. 
 
 ' Hets 1 ' said Jean, pulling herself free. 
 
 The child then, with a pertinacity these little 
 animals have, pulled Christie's coats. 
 
 ' Hets I' said Christie, freeing herself more 
 gently. 
 
 1 Ye suld mairry Van Amburgh,' continued 
 Jean; ' ye are just such a lass as he is a lad/ 
 
 Christie smiled proudly, was silent, but did 
 not disown the comparison. 
 
 The little fishwife, unable to attract attention 
 by pulling, opened her box. and saying, ' Las- 
 sies, I'll let ye see my presoner ; hech ! he's 
 boenny ! ' pulled out a mouse by a string fas- 
 tened to his tail, and set him in the midst, for 
 friendly admiration. 
 
 1 I dinna like it ; I dinna like it 1 ' screamed 
 Christie. ' Jean, put it away ; it fears me, 
 Jean ! ' This she uttered (her eyes almost 
 starting from her head with unaffected terror) 
 
Christie Johnstone. 193 
 
 at the distance of about eight yards, whither 
 she had arrived in two bounds that would have 
 done no discredit to an antelope. 
 
 ' Het ! ' said Jean, uneasily, ' hae ye coowed 
 yon savage, to be scared at the wee beastie ? ' 
 
 Christie, looking askant at the animal, 
 explained : — 
 
 6 A moose is an awesome beast ; it 's no like 
 a mon ! ' and still her eye was fixed by fascina- 
 tion upon the four-footed danger. 
 
 Jean, who had not been herself in genuine 
 tranquillity, now turned savagely on the little 
 Wombwelless : ' An' div ye really think ye are 
 to come here wi' a' the beasts i' the Airk ? 
 Come, awa' ye go, the pair o 1 ye.' 
 
 These severe words, and a smart push, sent 
 the poor little biped off roaring, with the string 
 over her shoulder, recklessly dragging the ter- 
 rific quadruped, which made fruitless grabs at 
 the shingle. — Moral. Don't terrify bigger 
 folk than yourself. 
 
 Christie had intended to go up to Edinburgh 
 with her eighty pounds, but there was more 
 trouble in store this eventful day. 
 
 Flucker went out after dinner, and left her 
 with Sandy Liston, who was in the middle of 
 a yarn, when some one came running in and 
 told her Flucker was at the pier crying for her. 
 
 o 
 
194 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 She inquired what was the matter. ' Come, an' 
 ye "11 see,' was all the answer. She ran down to 
 the pier. There was poor Flucker lying on his 
 back ; he had slipped from the pier into a boat 
 that lay alongside ; the fall was considerable : 
 for a minute he had been insensible, then he 
 had been dreadfully sick, and now he was begin- 
 ning to feel his hurt ; he was in great anguish ; 
 nobody knew the extent of his injuries ; he 
 would let nobody touch him ; all his cry was 
 for his sister. At last she came ; they all made 
 way for her ; he was crying for her as she came 
 up. 
 
 ' My bairn ! my bairn ! ' cried she ; and the 
 poor little fellow smiled, and tried to raise him- 
 self towards her. 
 
 She lifted him gently in her arms. She was 
 powerful, and affection made her stronger ; she 
 carried him in her arms all the way home, and 
 laid him on her own bed. Willy Liston, her 
 discarded suitor, ran for the surgeon. There 
 were no bones broken, but his ankle was 
 severely sprained, and he had a terrible bruise 
 on the loins ; his dark, ruddy face was streaked 
 and pale ; but he never complained after he 
 found himself at home. 
 
 Christie hovered round him, a ministering 
 angel, applying to him with a light and loving 
 
Christie Johnstone. 1 9 5 
 
 hand whatever could ease his pain ; and he 
 watched her with an expression she had never 
 noticed in his eye before. 
 
 At last, after two hours' silence, he made 
 her sit in full view, and then he spoke to her ; 
 and what think you was the subject of his 
 discourse ? 
 
 He turned to and told her, one after another, 
 without preface, all the loving things she had 
 done to him ever since he was five years old. 
 Poor boy ! he had never shown much grati- 
 tude, but he had forgotten nothing, literally 
 nothing. 
 
 Christie was quite overcome with this unex- 
 pected trait. She drew him gently to her 
 bosom, and wept over him ; and it was sweet 
 to see a brother and sister treat each other al- 
 most like lovers, as these two began to do, they 
 watched each other's eye so tenderly. 
 
 This new care kept the sister in her own 
 house all the next day ; but towards the even- 
 ing, Jean, who knew her other anxiety, slipped 
 in, and offered to take her place for an hour by 
 Flucker's side ; at the same time she looked 
 one of those signals which are too subtle for 
 any but woman to understand. 
 
 Christie drew her aside, and learned that 
 Gatty and his mother were just coming through 
 
 o 2 
 
196 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 from Leith ; Christie ran for her eighty pounds, 
 placed them in her bosom, cast a hasty glance 
 at a looking-glass, little larger than an oyster- 
 shell, and ran out. 
 
 * Hech 1 What pleased the auld wife will be 
 to see he has a lass that can mak auchty pund 
 in a morning." 
 
 This was Christie's notion. 
 
 At sight of them she took out the bank-notes, 
 and with eyes glistening and cheeks flushing she 
 cried, — 
 
 ' Oh, Chairles, ye '11 no gang to jail ; I hae 
 the siller ! ' and she offered him the money 
 with both hands, and a look of tenderness and 
 modesty that embellished human nature. 
 
 Ere he could speak, his mother put out her 
 hand, and not rudely but very coldly repelling 
 Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner, — 
 
 * We are much obliged to you, but my son's 
 own talents have rescued him from his little 
 embarrassment.' 
 
 ' A nobleman has bought my picture,' said 
 Gatty, proudly. 
 
 ' For one hundred and fifty pounds,' said the 
 old lady, meaning to mark the contrast be- 
 tween that sum and what Christie had in her 
 hand. 
 
 Christie remained like a statue, with her arms 
 
Christie Johnstone. 197 
 
 extended and the bank-notes in her hand. Her 
 features worked ; she had much ado not to cry ; 
 and any one that had known the whole story 
 and seen this unmerited repulse, would have 
 felt for her ; but her love came to her aid. 
 She put the notes in her bosom, sighed, and 
 said, — 
 
 1 I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye 
 ken, but I 'm real pleased. 1 
 
 ' But, mother/ said Gatty, ' it was very kind 
 of Christie all the same. Oh, Christie ! ' said 
 he, in a tone of despair. 
 
 At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore 
 tried ; she turned away her head ; she was far 
 too delicate to let them know who had sent 
 Lord Ipsden to buy the picture. 
 
 Whilst she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in 
 her son's ear. — 
 
 ' Now, I have your solemn promise to do it 
 here, and at once ; you will find me on the 
 beach behind these boats. Do it.' 
 
 The reader will understand that during the 
 last few days Mrs. Gatty had improved her ad- 
 vantage, and that Charles had positively con- 
 sented to obey her ; the poor boy was worn 
 out with the struggle ; he felt he must have 
 peace, or die ; he was thin and pale, and sudden 
 twitches came over him; his temperament was 
 
198 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 not fit for such a battle ; and, it is to be ob- 
 served, nearly all the talk was on one side. He 
 had made one expiring struggle, — he described 
 to his mother an artist's nature, his strength, 
 his weakness ; he besought her not to be a 
 slave to general rules, but to inquire what sort 
 of a companion the individual Gatty needed ; 
 he lashed with true but brilliant satire the sort 
 of wife his mother was ready to see him sad- 
 dled with, — a stupid, unsympathizing creature, 
 whose ten children would, by nature's law, be 
 also stupid, and so be a weight on him till his 
 dying day. He painted Christie Johnstone, 
 mind and body, in words as true and bright as 
 his colours ; he showed his own weak points, 
 her strong ones, and how the latter would for- 
 tify the former. 
 
 He displayed, in short, in one minute more 
 intellect than his mother had exhibited in sixty 
 years ; and that done, with all his understand- 
 ing, wit, and eloquence, he succumbed like a 
 child to her stronger will ; he promised to break 
 with Christie Johnstone. 
 
 When Christie had recovered her composure 
 and turned round to her companions, she found 
 herself alone with Charles. 
 
 ' Chairles,' said she, gravely. 
 
 ' Christie,' said he, uneasily. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 199 
 
 4 Your mother does na like me. Oh, ye need 
 na deny it ; and we are na together as we used 
 to be, my lad.' 
 
 • She is prejudiced, but she has been the best 
 of mothers to me, Christie. 1 
 
 4 Aweel. 1 
 
 4 Circumstances compel me to return to 
 England.' 
 
 (Ah, coward ! anything but the real truth !) 
 
 4 Aweel, Chairles, it will no be for lang.' 
 
 4 I don't know ; you will not be so unhappy 
 as I shall, — at least I hope not.' 
 
 4 Hoow do ye ken that ? ' 
 
 4 Christie, do you remember the first night we 
 danced together ? ' 
 
 'Ay.' 
 
 4 And we walked in the cool by the seaside, 
 and I told you the names of the stars, and you 
 said those were not their real names, but nick- 
 names we give them here on earth. I loved you 
 that first night.' 
 
 4 And I fancied you the first time* I set eyes 
 on you. 1 
 
 k How can I leave you, Christie? What shall 
 I do?' 
 
 4 I ken what I shall do,' answered Christie, 
 coolly ; then bursting into tears, she added, ' I 
 shall dee ! I shall dee I ' 
 
200 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 4 No ! you must not say so ; at least, 1 will 
 never love any one but you.' 
 
 ' An' I '11 live as I am a 1 my days for your 
 sake. Oh, England ! I hae likeit ye sae weel, 
 ye suld na rob me o 1 my lad ; he 's a' the joy I 
 hae!' 
 
 1 I love you, 1 said Gatty. ' Do you love 
 me r ' 
 
 All the answer was, her head upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' I can't do it, 1 thought Gatty, l and I won't ! 
 Christie/ said he, ' stay here ; don't move from 
 here. 1 And he dashed among the boats in great 
 agitation. 
 
 He found his mother rather near the scene of 
 the late conference. 
 
 1 Mother,' said he, fiercely, like a coward as 
 he was, ' ask me no more ; my mind is made up 
 forever. I will not do this scoundrelly, heart- 
 less, beastly, ungrateful action you have been 
 pushing me to so long. 1 
 
 ' Take care, Charles, take care, 1 said the old 
 woman, trembling with passion, for this was a 
 new tone for her son to take with her. ' You 
 had my blessing the other day, and you saw 
 what followed it ; do not tempt me to curse an 
 undutiful, disobedient, ungrateful son. 1 
 
 ' I must take my chance, 1 said he, desper- 
 
Christie Johnstone. 20 1 
 
 ately, ' for I am under a curse, any way ! I 
 placed my ring on her finger, and held up my 
 hand to God and swore she should be my wife ; 
 she has my ring and my oath, and I will not per- 
 jure myself even for my mother.' 
 
 1 Your ring! Not the ruby ring I gave you 
 from your dead father's finger, — not that ! not 
 that ! ' 
 
 1 Yes ! yes ! I tell you yes ! And if he was 
 alive, and saw her, and knew her goodness, he 
 would have pity on me ; but I have no friend. 
 You see how ill you have made me. but you have 
 no pity ; I could not have believed it ; but since 
 you have no mercy on me, I will have the more 
 mercy on myself. I marry her to-morrow, and 
 put an end to all this shuffling and manoeu- 
 vring against an angel ! I am not worthy of 
 her, but I '11 marry her to-morrow. Good-by.' 
 
 1 Stay ! ' said the old woman, in a terrible 
 voice ; ' before you destroy me and all I have 
 lived for, and suffered and pinched for, hear 
 me. If that ring is not off the hussy's finger in 
 half an hour, and you my son again, I fall on 
 this sand and — ' 
 
 4 Then God have mercy on me, for I '11 see 
 the whole creation lost eternally, ere I '11 wrong 
 the only creature that is an ornament to the 
 world. 1 
 
202 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 He was desperate ; and the weak, driven 
 to desperation, are more furious than the 
 strong. 
 
 It was by Heaven's mercy that neither mother 
 nor son had time to speak again. 
 
 As they faced each other, with flaming eyes 
 and faces, all self-command gone, about to utter 
 hasty words, and lay up regret, perhaps, for all 
 their lives to come, in a moment, as if she had 
 started from the earth, Christie Johnstone stood 
 between them ! 
 
 Gatty's words, and still more his hesitation, 
 had made her quick intelligence suspect. She 
 had resolved to know the truth ; the boats of- 
 fered every facility for listening ; she had heard 
 every word. 
 
 She stood between the mother and son. 
 
 They were confused, abashed, and the hot 
 blood began to leave their faces. 
 
 She stood erect like a statue, her cheek pale 
 as ashes, her eyes glittering like basilisks ; she 
 looked at neither of them. 
 
 She slowly raised her left hand, she withdrew 
 a ruby ring from it, and dropped the ring on the 
 sand between the two. 
 
 She turned on her heel, and was gone as she 
 had come, without a word spoken. 
 
 They looked at one another stupefied at first; 
 
Christie Johnstone. 203 
 
 after a considerable pause the stern old woman 
 stooped, picked up the ring, and in spite of a 
 certain chill that the young woman's majestic 
 sorrow had given her, said, placing it on her 
 own finger, ' This is for your wife ! ' 
 
 1 It will be for my coffin, then, 1 said her son, 
 so coldly, so bitterly, and so solemnly, that the 
 mother's heart began to quake. 
 
 1 Mother,' said he, calmly, ' forgive me, and 
 accept your son's arm.' 
 
 1 I will, my son ! ' 
 
 4 We are alone in the world now, mother.' 
 
 Mrs. Gatty had triumphed, but she felt the 
 price of her triumph more than her victory. 
 It had been done in one moment, that for 
 which she had so laboured, and it seemed 
 that had she spoken long ago to Christie, 
 instead of Charles, it could have been done at 
 any moment. 
 
 Strange to say, for some minutes the mother 
 felt more uneasy than her son ; she was a 
 woman, after all, and could measure a woman's 
 heart, and she saw how deep the wound she 
 had given one she was now compelled to 
 respect. 
 
 Charles, on the other hand, had been so 
 harassed backwards and forwards, that to him 
 certainty was relief ; it was a great matter to be 
 
204 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 no longer called upon to decide. His mother 
 had said, ' Part,' and now Christie had said, 
 ' Part ; ' at least the affair was taken out of 
 his hands, and his first feeling was a heavenly 
 calm. 
 
 In this state he continued for about a mile, 
 and he spoke to his mother about his art, sole 
 object now ; but after the first mile he became 
 silent, distrait ; Christie's pale face, her mortified 
 air when her generous offer was coldly repulsed, 
 filled him with remorse. Finally, unable to bear 
 it, yet not daring to speak, he broke suddenly 
 from his mother without a word, and ran wildly 
 back to Newhaven ; he looked back only once, 
 and there stood his mother, pale, with her hands 
 piteously lifted towards heaven. 
 
 By the time he got to Newhaven 'he was as 
 sorry for her as for Christie. He ran to the 
 house of the latter ; Flucker and Jean told him 
 she was on the beach. He ran to the beach. 
 He did not see her at first, but presently look- 
 ing back, he saw her, at the edge of the boats, 
 in company with a gentleman in a boating-dress. 
 He looked. Could he believe his eyes? He 
 saw Christie Johnstone kiss this man's hand, 
 who then, taking her head gently in his two 
 hands, placed a kiss upon her brow, whilst she 
 seemed to yield lovingly to the caress. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 20$ 
 
 Catty turned faint, sick ; for a moment every- 
 thing swam before his eyes. He recovered 
 himself ; they were gone. 
 
 He darted round to intercept them ; Christie 
 had slipped away somewhere ; he encountered 
 the man alone ! 
 
2o6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 /^HRISTIE'S situation requires to be ex- 
 ^ plained. 
 
 On leaving Gatty and his mother, she went to 
 her own house. Flucker, who after looking 
 upon her for years as an inconvenient append- 
 age, except at dinner-time, had fallen in love 
 with her in a manner that was half pathetic, half 
 laughable, all things considered, saw by her face 
 she had received a blow, and raising himself in 
 the bed, inquired anxiously ' What ailed her ? ' 
 
 At these kind words Christie Johnstone laid 
 her cheek upon the pillow beside Flucker's and 
 said, — 
 
 ' Oh, my laamb, be kind to your puir sister 
 fra this hoor, for she has naething i' the warld 
 noo but yourselV 
 
 Flucker began to sob at this. 
 
 Christie could not cry ; her heart was like a 
 lump of lead in her bosom ; but she put her arm 
 round his neck, and at the sight of his sym- 
 pathy she panted heavily, but could not shed a 
 tear. She was sore stricken. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 207 
 
 Presently Jean came in, and as the poor girl's 
 head ached as well as her heart, they forced her 
 to go and sit in the air. She took her creepie 
 and sat, and looked on the sea ; but whether 
 she looked seaward or landward, all seemed 
 unreal, — not things, but hard pictures of things, 
 some moving, some still. Life seemed ended ; 
 she had lost her love. 
 
 An hour she sat in this miserable trance. She 
 was diverted into a better, because a somewhat 
 less dangerous form of grief, by one of those 
 trifling circumstances that often penetrate to the 
 human heart when inaccessible to greater things. 
 
 Willie the fiddler and his brother came 
 through the town, playing as they went, accord- 
 ing to custom ; their music floated past Christie's 
 ears like some drowsy chime, until, all of a 
 sudden, they struck up the old English air, 
 1 Speed the Plough.' 
 
 Now it was to this tune Charles Gatty had 
 danced with her their first dance the night they 
 made acquaintance. 
 
 Christie listened, lifted up her hands, and 
 crying, — 
 
 • Oh, what will I do ? what will I do r ' burst 
 into a passion of grief. 
 
 She put her apron over her head, and rocked 
 herself, and sobbed bitterly. 
 
208 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 She was in this situation when Lord Ipsden, 
 who was prowling about, examining the propor- 
 tions of the boats, discovered her. 
 
 4 Some one in distress ; that was all in his 
 way.' 
 
 4 Madam I ' said he. 
 
 She lifted up her head. 
 
 4 It is Christie Johnstone. I 'm so glad ; that 
 is, I 'm sorry you are crying, but I 'm glad I 
 shall have the pleasure of relieving you ; ' and 
 his Lordship began to feel for a cheque-book. 
 
 4 And div ye really think siller 's a cure for 
 every grief?' said Christie, bitterly. 
 
 { \ don't know/ said his Lordship; 'it has 
 cured them all as yet.' 
 
 4 It will na cure me, then ! ' and she covered 
 her head with her apron again. . 
 
 ' I am very sorry,' said he ; then, whispering, 
 ' tell me what is it, poor little Christie ! ' 
 
 4 Dinna speak to me : I think shame ; ask Jean. 
 Oh, Richard, I '11 no be lang in this world ! ' 
 
 4 Ah 1' said he, 4 I know too well what it is 
 now ; I know by sad experience. But, Chris- 
 tie, money will cure it in your case, and it shall, 
 too ; only instead of five pounds, we must put 
 a thousand pounds or two to your banker's ac- 
 count, and then they will all see your beauty, 
 and run after you.' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 209 
 
 1 How daur ye even hint to me that I 'm seek- 
 in' a lad r ' cried she, rising from her stool ; 4 I 
 would na care, suppose there was na a lad in 
 Britain.' And off she flounced. 
 
 ' Offended her by my gross want of tact,' 
 thought the Viscount. 
 
 She crept back, and two velvet lips touched 
 his hand. That was because she had spoken 
 harshly to a friend. 
 
 • Oh, Richard,' said she, despairingly, ' I '11 
 no be lang in this warld.' 
 
 He was touched ; and it was then he took 
 her head and kissed her brow, and said, ' This 
 will never do ; my child, go home and have a 
 nice cry, and I will speak to Jean ; and rely 
 upon me, I will not leave the neighbourhood 
 till I have arranged it all to your satisfaction.' 
 
 And so she went, a little — a very, very little 
 — comforted by his tone and words. 
 
 Now this was all very pretty ; but then, seen 
 at a distance of fifty yards, it looked very ugly. 
 And Gatty, who had never before known jeal- 
 ousy, the strongest and worst of human pas- 
 sions, was ripe for anything. 
 
 He met Lord Ipsden, and said at once, in 
 his wise, temperate way, — 
 
 1 Sir, you are a villain ! ' 
 
 Ipsden. Plait-il) 
 
210 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 Gatty. You are a villain ! 
 
 Ipsden. How do you make that out ? 
 
 Gatly. But, of course, you are not a coward 
 too. 
 
 Ipsden (ironically). You surprise me with 
 your moderation, Sir. 
 
 Gatty. Then you will waive your rank, — 
 you are a lord, I believe, — and give me 
 satisfaction. . 
 
 Ipsden. My rank, Sir, such as it is, engages 
 me to give a proper answer to proposals of this 
 sort ; I am at your orders. 
 
 Gatty. A man of your character must often 
 have been called to an account by your victims, 
 so — so (hesitating) perhaps you will tell me the 
 proper course. 
 
 Ipsden. I shall send a note to the castle, and 
 the Colonel will send me down somebody with 
 a moustache ; I shall pretend to remember 
 moustache, moustache will pretend he remem- 
 bers me ; he will then communicate with your 
 friend, and they will arrange it all for us. 
 
 Gatty. And perhaps, through your licentious- 
 ness, one or both of us will be killed. 
 
 Ipsden. Yes ! but we need not trouble 
 our heads about that ; the seconds undertake 
 everything. 
 
 Gatty. I have no pistols. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 2 1 1 
 
 Ipsden. If you will do me the honour to use 
 one of mine, it shall be at your service. 
 
 Gaily. Thank you. 
 
 Ipsden. To-morrow morning? 
 
 Gaily. No. I have four days' painting to do 
 on my picture ; I can't die till it is finished. 
 Friday morning. 
 
 Ipsden. He is mad. — I wish to ask you a 
 question ; you will excuse my curiosity. Have 
 you any idea what we are agreeing to differ 
 about } 
 
 Gaily. The question does you little credit, 
 my Lord ; that is to add insult to wrong. 
 
 He went off hurriedly, leaving Lord Ipsden 
 mystified. 
 
 He thought Christie Johnstone was some- 
 how connected with it ; but conscious of no 
 wrong, he felt little disposed to put up with 
 any insult, especially from this boy, to whom 
 he had been kind, he thought. 
 
 His Lordship was, besides, one of those 
 good, simple-minded creatures, educated abroad, 
 who, when invited to fight, simply bow, and 
 load two pistols, and get themselves called at six ; 
 instead of taking down tomes of casuistry and 
 puzzling their poor brains to find out whether 
 they are game-cocks or capons, and why. 
 
 As for Gatty, he hurried home in a fever of 
 
 r 4 
 
2 1 2 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 passion, begged his mother's pardon, and re- 
 proached himself for ever having disobeyed 
 her on account of such a perfidious creature as 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 He then told her what he had seen, as dis- 
 tance and imagination had presented it to him. 
 To his surprise the old lady cut him short. 
 
 1 Charles,' said she, ' there is no need to take 
 the girl's character away. She has but one 
 fault ; she is not in the same class of life as you, 
 and such marriages always lead to misery ; but 
 in other respects she is a worthy young woman. 
 Don't speak against her character or you will 
 make my flesh creep ; you don't know what her 
 character is to a woman, high or low.' 
 
 By this moderation perhaps she held him still 
 faster. 
 
 Friday morning arrived. Gatty had, by hard 
 work, finished his picture, collected his sketches 
 from Nature, which were numerous, left by 
 memorandum everything to his mother, and 
 Was, or rather felt, as ready to die as live. 
 
 He had hardly spoken a word, or eaten a 
 meal, these four days. His mother was in 
 anxiety about him. He rose early and went 
 down to Leith ; an hour later, his mother, find- 
 ing him gone out, rose, and went to seek him 
 at Newhaven. 
 
Christie Johnstone . 213 
 
 Meantime Flucker had entirely recovered, 
 but his sister's colour had left her cheeks, and 
 the boy swore vengeance against the cause of 
 her distress. 
 
 On Friday morning, then, there paced on 
 Leith Sands two figures. 
 
 One was Lord Ipsden. 
 
 The other seemed a military gentleman, who 
 having swallowed the mess-room poker, and 
 found it insufficient, had added the ramrods of 
 his company. 
 
 The more his Lordship reflected on Gatty, 
 the less, inclined he had felt to invite a satirical 
 young dog from barracks to criticise such a 
 rencontre ; he had therefore ordered Saunders 
 to get up as a field-marshal, or some such trifle ; 
 and what Saunders would have called incom- 
 parable verticality was the result. 
 
 The painter was also in sight. 
 
 Whilst he was coming up, Lord Ipsden was 
 lecturing Marshal Saunders on a point on 
 which that worthy had always thought himself 
 very superior to his master, — gentlemanly 
 deportment. 
 
 ' Now, Saunders, mind and behave like a 
 gentleman, or we shall be found out.' 
 
 ; I trust, my Lord, my conduct — ' 
 
 1 What I mean is, you must not be so over- 
 
214 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 poweringly gentleman-like as you are apt to be ; 
 no gentleman is so gentleman-like as all that ; 
 it could not be borne, c'est suffo quant ; and a 
 white handkerchief is unsoldier-like ; and no- 
 body ties a white handkerchief so well as that ; 
 of all the vices, perfection is the most intoler- 
 able.' His Lordship then touched with his 
 cane the generalissimo's tie, whose countenance 
 straightway fell, as though he had lost three 
 successive battles. 
 
 Gatty came up. 
 
 They saluted. 
 
 4 Where is your second, Sir ? ' said the 
 Marshal. 
 
 4 My second ? ' said Gatty. ' Ah ! I forgot 
 to wake him ; does it matter ? ' 
 
 ' It is merely a custom,' said Lord Ipsden, 
 with a very slightly satirical manner. ' Savana- 
 dero,' said he, ' do us the honor to measure the 
 ground, and be everybody's second.' 
 
 Savanadero measured the ground, and handed 
 a pistol to each combatant, and struck an im- 
 posing attitude apart. 
 
 ' Are you ready, gentlemen r ' said this Jack- 
 o'-both-sides. 
 
 ' Yes ! ' said both. 
 
 Just as the signal was about to be given, an 
 interruption occurred. ' I beg your pardon, 
 
Christie Johnstone. 215 
 
 Sir, 1 said Lord Ipsdcn to his antagonist ; ' lam 
 going to take a liberty — a great liberty — with 
 you, but I think you will find your pistol is only 
 at half-cock.' 
 
 1 Thank you, my lord ; what am I to do with 
 the thing ? ' 
 
 ' Draw back the cock, so, and be ready to 
 fire.' 
 
 k So ? ' Bang ! 
 
 He had touched the trigger as well as the 
 cock, so off went the barker ; and after a con- 
 siderable pause the field-marshal sprang yelling 
 into the air. 
 
 ' Hallo ! ' cried Mr. Gatty. 
 
 ' Ah ! oh ! I 'm a dead man,' whined the 
 general. 
 
 1 Nonsense ! ' said Ipsden, after a moment of 
 anxiety. ' Give yourself no concern. Sir,' said 
 he, soothingly, to his antagonist. ' A mere ac- 
 cident. Marechal, reload Mr. Gatty's pistol.' 
 
 1 Excuse me, my Lord — ' 
 
 ' Load his pistol directly,' said his Lordship, 
 sternly, ' and behave like a gentleman.' 
 
 1 My Lord ! my Lord ! but where shall I 
 stand to be safe ? ' 
 
 ' Behind me ! ' 
 
 The commander of division advanced reluc- 
 tantly for Gatty's pistol. 
 
2i£ Christie Johnstone, 
 
 1 No, my Lord,' said Gatty ; ' it is plain I am 
 not a fit antagonist. I shall but expose myself, 
 and my mother has separated us. I have lost 
 her. If you do not win her, some worse man 
 may ; but oh, if you are a man, use her tenderly.' 
 
 ' Whom?* 
 
 1 Christie Johnstone ! Oh, Sir, do not make 
 her regret me too much ! She was my treasure, 
 my consolation ; she was to be my wife ; she 
 would have cheered the road of life ; it is a 
 desert now. I loved her — I — I — ' 
 
 Here the poor fellow choked. 
 
 Lord Ipsden turned round, and threw 
 his pistol to Saunders, saying, ' Catch that, 
 Saunders.' 
 
 Saunders, on the contrary, by a single motion 
 changed his person from a vertical straight line 
 to a horizontal line, exactly parallel with the 
 earth's surface, and the weapon sang innoxious 
 over him. 
 
 His Lordship then, with a noble defiance of 
 etiquette, walked up to his antagonist and gave 
 him his hand, with a motion no one could resist; 
 for he felt for the poor fellow. 
 
 ' It is all a mistake,' said he. ' There is no 
 sentiment between La Johnstone and me but 
 mutual esteem. I will explain the whole thing; 
 / admire her for her virtue, her wit, her inno- 
 
Christie Johnstone. 217 
 
 cence, her goodness, and all that sort of thing ; 
 and she, — what she sees in me, I am sure I 
 don't know,' added he, slightly shrugging his 
 aristocratic shoulders. ' Do me the honour to 
 breakfast with me at Newhaven. 1 
 
 1 I have ordered twelve sorts of fish at the 
 " Peacock, " my Lord, 1 said Saunders. 
 
 ' Divine ! (I hate fish) I told Saunders all 
 would be hungry and none shot ; by-the-by, 
 you are winged, I think you said, Saunders ? ' 
 
 ' No, my Lord ; but look at my trousers. 1 
 
 The bullet had cut his pantaloons. 
 
 'I see ; only barked. So go and see about 
 our breakfast.' 
 
 1 Yes, my Lord ' (faintly). 
 
 1 And draw on me for fifty pounds worth of — 
 new trousers.' 
 
 ' Yes, my Lord' (sonorously). 
 
 The duellists separated, Gatty taking the short 
 cut to Newhaven; ;he proposed to take his 
 favourite swim there, to refresh himself before 
 breakfast ; and he went from his Lordship a 
 little cheered by remarks which fell from him, 
 and which, though vague, sounded friendly. 
 Poor fellow ! except when he had brush in 
 hand he was a dreamer. 
 
 This Viscount, who did not seem to trouble 
 his head about class dignity, was to convert 
 
2 1 8 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 his mother from her aristocratic tendencies, or 
 something. 
 
 Que sais-je I What will not a dreamer hope > 
 
 Lord Ipsden strolled along the sands, and 
 judge his surprise, when, attended by two foot- 
 men, he met at that time in the morning Lady 
 Barbara Sinclair. 
 
 Lord Ipsden had been so disheartened and 
 piqued by this lady's conduct, that for a whole 
 week he had not been near her. This line of 
 behaviour sometimes answers. 
 
 She met him with a grand display of cordiality. 
 
 She inquired, ' Whether he had heard of a 
 most gallant action, that, coupled with another 
 circumstance (here she smiled), had in part rec- 
 onciled her to the age we live in ? ' 
 
 He asked for further particulars. 
 
 She then informed him ' that a ship had been 
 ashore on the rocks, that no fisherman dared 
 venture out, that a young gentleman had given 
 them his whole fortune, and so bribed them to 
 accompany him; that he had saved the ship 
 and the men's lives, paid away his fortune, and 
 lighted an odious cigar and gone home, never 
 minding, amidst the blessings and acclamations 
 of a maritime population.' 
 
 A beautiful story she told him ; so beautiful, 
 in fact, that until she had discoursed ten min- 
 
Christie Johnstone. 219 
 
 utes he hardly recognised his own feat ; but 
 when he did, he blushed inside as well as out 
 with pleasure. Oh, music of music, — praise 
 from eloquent lips, and those lips, the lips we 
 love. 
 
 The next moment he felt ashamed, — ashamed 
 that Lady Barbara should praise him beyond 
 his merits, as he conceived. 
 
 He made a faint hypocritical endeavour to 
 moderate her eulogium. This gave matters an 
 unexpected turn ; Lady Barbara's eyes flashed 
 defiance. 
 
 ' I say it was a noble action, that one nursed 
 in effeminacy (as you all are) should teach the 
 hardy seamen to mock at peril, — noble fellow ! ' 
 
 i He did a man's duty, Barbara.' 
 
 ' Ipsden, take care, you will make me hate 
 you, if you detract from a deed you cannot emu- 
 late. This gentleman risked his own life to 
 save others ; he is a hero ! I should know him 
 by his face the moment I saw him. Oh that I 
 were such a man, or knew where to find such 
 a creature ! ' 
 
 The water came into Lord Ipsden's eyes ; he 
 did not know what to say or do ; he turned 
 away his head. 
 
 Lady Barbara was surprised ; her conscience 
 smote her. 
 
220 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 'Oh, dear!' said she; 'there now, I have 
 given you pain, — forgive me.; we can't all be 
 heroes. Dear Ipsden, don't think I despise you 
 now as I used. Oh, no ! I have heard of your 
 goodness to the poor, and I have more experi- 
 ence now. There is nobody I esteem more 
 than you, Richard, so you need not look so. 1 
 
 ' Thank you, dearest Barbara.' 
 
 'Yes, and if you were to be such a goose as 
 to write me another letter proposing absurdities 
 to me — ' 
 
 ' Would the answer be different } ' 
 
 1 Very different.' 
 
 ' Oh, Barbara, would you accept ? ' 
 
 4 Why, of course not ; but I would refuse 
 civilly.' 
 
 'Ah!' 
 
 ' There, don't sigh ; I hate a sighing man. 
 I '11 tell you something that I know will make 
 you laugh.' She then smiled saucily in his face, 
 and said, ' Do you remember Mr. ' 
 
 L'effrontde ! this was the earnest man. 
 
 But Ipsden was a match for her this time. 
 
 ' I think I do,' said he ; ' a gentleman who 
 wants to make John Bull little again into John 
 Calf ; but it won't do.' 
 
 Her Ladyship laughed. ' Why did you not 
 tell us that on Inch Coombe ?' 
 
Christie Johnstone, 22 1 
 
 'Because I had not read "The Catspaw " 
 then.' 
 
 1 " The Catspaw M ? Ah ! I thought it could 
 not be you. Whose is it ? ' 
 
 1 Mr. Jen-old's.' 
 
 1 Then Mr. Jerrold is cleverer than you.' 
 
 ' It is possible.' 
 
 ' It is certain ! Well, Mr. Jerrold and Lord 
 Ipsden, you will both be glad to hear that it 
 was, in point of fact, a bull that confuted the 
 advocate of the Middle Ages. We were walk- 
 ing ; he was telling me manhood was extinct 
 except in a few earnest men who lived upon the 
 past, its associations, its truth, when a horrid 
 bull gave — oh, such a bellow ! and came trot- 
 ting up. I screamed and ran ; I remember 
 nothing but arriving at the stile, and lo, on the 
 other side, offering me his arm with empresse- 
 ment across the wooden barrier, was — 
 
 1 Well ? ' 
 
 ' Well ! don't you see ? ' 
 
 ' No — oh — yes, I see 1 — fancy — ah ! Shall 
 F tell you how he came to get first over? He 
 ran more earnestly than you. 1 
 
 ' It is not Mr. Jerrold this time, I presume,' 
 said her satirical Ladyship. 
 
 1 No I you cannot always have him. I 
 venture to predict your Ladyship on your re- 
 
222 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 turn home gave this mediaeval personage his 
 congV 
 
 'No! 1 
 
 'No?' 
 
 1 I gave it him at the .stile 1 Let us be seri- 
 ous, if you please ; I have a confidence to make 
 you, Ipsden. Frankly, I owe you some apology 
 for my conduct of late ; I meant to be reserved, 
 I have been rude ; but you shall judge me. 
 A year ago you made me some proposals ; I re- 
 jected them because, though I like you — ' 
 
 ' You like me ? ' 
 
 ' I detest your character. Since then my 
 West India estate has been turned into specie ; 
 that specie, the bulk of my fortune, placed on 
 board a vessel ; that vessel lost, at least we 
 think so ; she has not been heard of.' 
 
 ' My dear cousin.' 
 
 ' Do you comprehend that now I am cooler 
 than ever to all young gentlemen who have 
 large incomes, and 1 (holding out her hand like 
 an angel), * I must trouble you to forgive me. 1 
 
 He kissed her lovely hand. 
 
 ' I esteem you more and more,' said he. 
 
 ' You ought, for it has been a hard struggle 
 to me not to adore you, because you are so 
 improved, mon cousin.' 
 
 ' Is it possible ? In what re9pect ? ' 
 
Christ it' Johnstone. 223 
 
 ' You arc browner and charitabler ; and I 
 should have been very kind to you, — mawkishly 
 kind, I fear, my sweet cousin, if this wretched 
 money had not gone down in the " Tisbe. 1 ' ' 
 
 4 Hallo I ' cried the Viscount. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' squeaked Lady Barbara, unused to 
 such interjections. 
 
 i Gone down in what r ' said Ipsden, in a loud 
 voice. 
 
 1 Don't bellow in people's ears. The "Tisbe," 
 stupid ! ' cried she, screaming at the top of her 
 voice. 
 
 1 Ri turn, ti turn, ti turn, turn, turn, tiddy, iddy,' 
 went Lord Ipsden. He whistled a polka. 
 
 Lady Barbara (inspecting him gravely). ' I 
 have heard it at a distance, but I never saw how 
 it was done before. It is very, very pretty ! ' 
 
 Ipsden. Polkc--vous, Madame) 
 
 Lady Barb. Si, je polke, Monsieur le Vicomte. 
 
 They polked for a second or two. 
 
 4 Well, I dare say I am wrong,' cried Lady 
 Barbara ; ' but I like you better now you are 
 a downright — ahem ! — than when you were 
 only an insipid non-intellectual ; you are greatly 
 improved. 1 
 
 Ips. In what respects ? 
 
 Lady Barb. ' Did I not tell you r Browner 
 and more impudent ; but tell me,' said she, 
 
224 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 resuming her sly, satirical tone, ' how is it that 
 you, who used to be the pink of courtesy, dance 
 and sing over the wreck of my fortunes ? ' 
 
 1 Because they are not wrecked.' 
 
 ' I thought I told you my specie is gone 
 down in the " Tisbe." ' 
 
 Ipsden. But the ' Tisbe ' has not gone down. 
 
 Lady Barb. I tell you it is. 
 
 Ipsden. I assure you it is not. 
 
 Lady Barb. It is not ? 
 
 Ipsden. Barbara ! I am too happy ; I begin 
 to nourish such sweet hopes once more. Oh, 
 I could fall on my knees and bless you for some- 
 thing you said just now. 
 
 Lady Barbara blushed to the temples. 
 
 1 Then why don't you ? ' said she. ' All you 
 want is a little enthusiasm.' Then recovering 
 herself, she said, — 
 
 ' You^kneel on wet sand, with black trousers 
 on ; that will never be ! ' 
 
 These two were so occupied that they did 
 not observe the approach of a stranger until 
 he broke in upon their dialogue. 
 
 An Ancient Mariner had been for some min- 
 utes standing off and on, reconnoitring Lord 
 Ipsden ; he now bore down, and with great 
 rough, roaring cordiality, that made Lady Bar- 
 bara start, cried out, — 
 
Christie Johnstone. 225 
 
 ' Give me your hand, Sir ; give me your 
 hand if you were twice a lord. 
 
 1 I could n't speak to you till the brig was safe 
 in port, and you slipped away; but I 've brought 
 you up at last ; and, give me your hand again, 
 Sir. I say, is n't it a pity you are a lord instead 
 of a sailor ? ' 
 
 Ipsden. But I am a sailor. 
 
 Ancient Mariner. That ye are, and as smart a 
 one as ever tied a true-lover's knot in the top. 
 But, tell the truth, you were never nearer los- 
 ing the number of your mess than that day in 
 the old ' Tisbe.' 
 
 Lady Barb. The old ' Tisbe ' I Oh 1 
 
 Ipsden. Do you remember that nice little 
 lurch she gave to leeward as we brought her 
 round ? 
 
 Lady Barb. Oh, Richard ! 
 
 Ancient Mariner. And that reel the old wench 
 gave under our feet, north the pier-head. I 
 would n't have given a washing-tub for her at 
 that moment. 
 
 Ipsden. Past danger becomes pleasure, &ir. 
 Olim et hece meminisse — I beg your pardon 
 Sir. 
 
 Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat, with jeel- 
 ing). God bless ye, Sir, and send ye many 
 happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady 
 15 Q 
 
226 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 I see alongside ; asking your pardon, Miss, for 
 parting pleasanter company; so I '11 sheer off. 
 
 And away went the skipper of the ' Tisbe/ 
 rolling fearfully. In the heat of this reminis- 
 cence the skipper of the yacht (they are all 
 alike, blue water once fairly tasted) had lost 
 sight of Lady Barbara ; he now looked round. 
 Imagine his surprise ! 
 
 His Ladyship was in tears. 
 
 'Dear Barbara,' said Lord Ipsden, 'do not 
 distress yourself on my account.' 
 
 ' It is not your fe-feelings I care about ; at 
 least, I h-h-hope not ; but I have been so un- 
 just, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice.' 
 
 ' Never mind ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, if you don't, I don't. I hate myself, 
 so it is no wonder you h-hate me.' 
 
 ' I love you more than ever.' 
 
 ' Then you are a good soul ! Of course you 
 know I always 1— esteemed you, Richard.' 
 
 ' No I I had an idea you despised me ! ' 
 
 ' How silly you are I Can't you see } When 
 I thought you were not perfection, which you 
 are now, it vexed me to death ; you never saw 
 me affront any one but you ? ' 
 
 ' No, I never did ! What does that prove ?' 
 
 ' That depends upon the wit of him that rea- 
 sons thereon/ (Coming to herself.) 
 
Christie Johnstone. 227 
 
 1 I love you, Barbara ! Will you honour me 
 with your hand ? ' 
 
 4 No ! I am not so base, so selfish : you are 
 worth a hundred of me, and here have I been 
 treating you de haul en has. Dear Richard ! 
 poor Richard ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! ' (A perfect flood 
 of tears.) 
 
 1 Barbara, I regret nothing ; this moment 
 pays for all.' 
 
 'Well, then, I will, since you keep pressing 
 me. There, let me go ; I must be alone ; I 
 must tell the sea how unjust I was, and how 
 happy I am, and when you see me again 
 you shall see the better side of your cousin 
 Barbara.' 
 
 She was peremptory. ' She had her folly and 
 his merits to think over/ she said ; but she 
 promised to pass through Newhaven, and he 
 should put her into her pony-phaeton, which 
 would meet her there. 
 
 Lady Barbara was only a fool by the excess 
 of her wit over her experience ; and Lord Ips- 
 den's love was not misplaced, for she had a 
 great heart which she hid from little people. 
 I forgive her ! 
 
 The resolutions she formed in Company with 
 the sea, having dismissed Ipsden, and ordered 
 her flunky into the horizon, will probably give 
 
 q 2 
 
228 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 our Viscount just half a century of conjugal 
 bliss. 
 
 As he was going, she stopped him and said, 
 ' Your friend had browner hands than I have 
 hitherto conceived possible. To tell the truth, 
 I took them for the claws of a mahogany table 
 when he grappled you, — is that the term? 
 C'est dgal ; I like him — ' 
 
 She stopped him again. ' Ipsden, in the 
 midst of all this, that poor man's ship is broken. 
 I feel it is ! You will buy him another, if you 
 really love me, for I like him.' 
 
 And so these lovers parted for a time, and 
 Lord Ipsden with a bounding heart returned to 
 Newhaven. He went to entertain his late vis* 
 d-vis at the ' Peacock.' 
 
 Meantime a shorter and less pleasant ren- 
 contre had taken place between Leith and that 
 ■village. 
 
 Gatty felt he should meet his lost sweet- 
 heart ; and sure enough, at a turn of the road 
 Christie and Jean came suddenly upon him. 
 
 Jean nodded, but Christie took no notice of 
 him ; they passed him ; he tun ed and followed 
 them, and said, ' Christie ! ' 
 
 ' What is your will wi' me ? ' said she, coldly. 
 
 'I — I — How pale you are 1 ' 
 
 ' I am no very weel,' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 229 
 
 * She has been watching over muckle wi' 
 Flucker,' said Jean. 
 
 Christie thanked her with a look. 
 
 ' I hope it is not — not — ' 
 
 1 Nae fears, lad,' said she, briskly ; ' I dinna 
 think that muckle o' ye.' 
 
 1 And I think of nothing but you,' said he. 
 
 A deep Hush crimsoned the young woman's 
 brow, but she restrained herself, and said icily, 
 'Thaat 's very gude o' ye, I 'm sure.' 
 
 Gatty felt all the contempt her manners and 
 words expressed. He bit his lips ; the tear 
 started to his eye. ' You will forget me,' said 
 he. ' I do not deserve to be remembered ; but 
 I shall never forget you. I leave for England. 
 I leave Newhaven forever, where I have been 
 so happy. I am going at three o'clock by the 
 steamboat. Won't you bid me good-by r ' He 
 approached her timidly. 
 
 ' Ay ! that wull do/ cried she. ' Gude be wi 1 
 ye, lad ; I wish ye nae ill.' She gave a com- 
 manding gesture of dismissal ; he turned away, 
 and went sadly from her. 
 
 She watched every motion when his back was 
 turned. 
 
 1 That is you, Christie,' said Jean ; ' use the 
 lads like dirt, an' they think a' the mair o' 
 
 ye.' 
 
230 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 'Oh, Jean, my hairt 's broken. I'm just 
 deeing for him. 1 
 
 ' Let me speak till him then,' said Jean ; ' I '11 
 sune bring him till his marrow-banes ; ' and she 
 took a hasty step to follow him. 
 
 Christie held her fast. ' I 'd dee ere I 'd give 
 in till them. Oh, Jean ! I'm a lassy clean 
 flung awa ; he has neither hairt nor spunk ava, 
 yon lad.' 
 
 Jean began to make excuses for him ; Christie 
 inveighed against him ; Jean spoke up for him 
 with more earnestness. 
 
 Now, observe, Jean despised the poor boy. 
 
 Christie adored him. 
 
 So Jean spoke for him, because women of 
 every degree are often one solid mass of tact ; 
 and Christie abused him, because she wanted 
 to hear him defended. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 23 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ]) ICHARD, Lord Viscount Ipsden, having 
 "■ dotted the sea-shore with sentinels, to tell 
 him of Lady Barbara's approach, awaited his 
 guest in the ' Peacock ; ' but as Gatty was a 
 little behind time, he placed Saunders sentinel 
 over the ' Peacock,' and strolled eastward. As 
 lie came out of the ' Peacock,' Mrs. Gatty came 
 down the little hill in front, and also proceeded 
 eastward ; meantime Lady Barbara and her es- 
 cort were not far from the New Town of New- 
 haven, on their way from Leith. 
 
 Mrs. Gatty came down, merely with a vague 
 fear. She had no reason to suppose her son's 
 alliance with Christie either would or could be 
 renewed ; but she was a careful player, and 
 would not give a chance away. She found he 
 was gone out unusually early, so she came 
 straight to the only place she dreaded ; it was 
 her son's last day in Scotland. She had packed 
 his clothes, and he had inspired her with confi- 
 dence by arranging pictures, etc., himself; she 
 had no idea he was packing for his departure 
 from this life, not Edinburgh only. 
 
232 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 She came, then, to Newhaven with no seri- 
 ous misgivings, for even if her son had again 
 vacillated, she saw that with Christie's pride 
 and her own firmness the game must be hers 
 in the end ; but, as I said before, she was one 
 who played her cards closely, and such seldom 
 lose. 
 
 But my story is with the two young fishwives, 
 who on their return from Leith found them- 
 selves at the foot of the New Town, Newhaven, 
 some minutes before any of the other persons 
 who, it is to be observed, were approaching it 
 from different points ; they came slowly in, 
 Christie in particular, with a listlessness she had 
 never known till this last week. For some days 
 her strength had failed her ; it was Jean that 
 carried the creel now. Before, Christie, in the 
 pride of her strength, would always do more 
 than her share of their joint labour ; then, she 
 could hardly be forced to eat, and what she did 
 eat was quite tasteless to her, and sleep left her, 
 and in its stead came uneasy slumbers, from 
 which she awoke quivering from head to foot. 
 
 Oh, perilous venture of those who love one 
 object with the whole heart ! 
 
 This great but tender heart was breaking day 
 by day. 
 
 Well, Christie and Jean t strolling slowly into 
 
Christie Johnstone. 233 
 
 the New Town of Newhaven, found an assem- 
 blage of the natives all looking seaward ; the 
 fishermen, except Sandy Liston, were away at 
 the herring-fishery, but all the boys and women 
 of the New Town were collected ; the girls 
 felt a momentary curiosity; it proved, however, 
 to be only an individual swimming in towards 
 shore from a greater distance than usual. 
 
 A little matter excites curiosity in such places. 
 
 The man's head looked like a spot of ink. 
 
 Sandy Liston was minding his own business, 
 lazily mending a skait-net, which he had at- 
 tached to a crazy old herring-boat hauled up 
 to rot. 
 
 Christie sat down, pale and languid, by him, 
 on a creepie that a lass who had been baiting a 
 line with musselshad just vacated ; suddenly 
 she seized Jean's arm with a convulsive motion. 
 Jean looked up ; it was the London steamboat 
 running out from Leith to Granton Pier to take 
 up her passengers for London. Charles Gatty 
 was going by that boat ; the look of mute de- 
 spair the poor girl gave went to Jean's heart; 
 she ran hastily from the group, and cried out 
 of sight for poor Christie. 
 
 A fishwife looking through a telescope at the 
 swimmer, remarked, 'He's coming in fast; 
 he 's a gallant swimmer, yon — ' 
 
234 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Can't he dee 't ? ' inquired Christie of Sandy 
 Liston. 
 
 1 Fine thaat,' was the reply ; ' he does it aye 
 o 1 Sundays when ye are at the kirk.' 
 
 'It's no oot o' the kirk-window ye '11 hae 
 seen him, Sandy, my mon,' said a young fishwife. 
 
 ' Rin for my glass, ony way, Flucker,' said 
 Christie, forcing herself to take some little 
 interest. 
 
 Flucker brought it to her ; she put her hand 
 on his shoulder, got slowly up, and stood on the 
 creepie, and adjusted the focus of her glass ; 
 after a short view she said to Flucker, — 
 
 ' Rin and see the nock.' She then levelled 
 her glass again at the swimmer. 
 
 Flucker informed her the nock said ' half 
 eleven/ — Scotch for 'half-past ten.' 
 
 Christie whipped out a well-thumbed almanac. 
 
 ' Yon nock 's aye ahint,' said she. She swept 
 the sea once more with her glass, then brought 
 it together with a click, and jumped off the 
 stool ; her quick intelligence viewed the mat- 
 ter differently from all the others. 
 
 1 Noow,' cried she, smartly, ' wha '11 lend me 
 his yawl ? ' 
 
 ' Hets ! dinna be sae interferin', lassy, 1 said 
 a fishwife. 
 
 ' Hae nane o' ye ony spunk ? ' said Christie, 
 
Christie Johnstone. 235 
 
 taking no notice of the woman. 'Speak, lad- 
 dies!' 
 
 ' M' uncle's yawl is at the pier-head; ye '11 
 get her, my woman,' said a boy. 
 
 ' A schell'n for wha 's first on board,' said 
 Christie, holding up the coin. 
 
 1 Come awa', Flucker, we '11 hae her schell'n ; ' 
 and these two .worthies instantly effected a false 
 start. 
 
 ' It's no under your jackets,' said Christie, 
 as she dashed after them like the wind. 
 
 'Haw I haw I haw I ' laughed Sandy. 
 
 1 What 's her business picking up a mon 
 against his will ? ' said a woman. 
 
 ' She 's an awfu' lassy,' whined another. 
 
 The examination of the swimmer was then 
 continued, and the crowd increased ; some 
 would have it he was rapidly approaching, 
 others that he made little or no way. 
 
 * Wha' est r ' said another. 
 
 4 It 's a lummy,' said a girl. 
 
 1 Na ! it 's no a lummy,' said another. 
 
 Christie's boat was now seen standing out 
 from the pier. Sandy Liston, casting a con- 
 temptuous look on all the rest, lifted himself 
 lazily into the herring-boat and looked seaward. 
 His manner changed in a moment. 
 
 1 The deevil ! ' cried he ; ' the tide 's turned ! 
 
2j6 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 You, wi' your glass, could you no see yon man 's 
 drifting oot to sea ? ' 
 
 ' Hech ! ' cried the women ; ? he '11 be 
 drooned — he '11 be drooned ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, he '11 be drooned/ cried Sandy, ' if 
 yon lassy does na come alongside him deevelich 
 quick ; he 's sair spent, I doot. 1 
 
 Two spectators were now added to the scene, 
 Mrs. Gatty and Lord Ipsden. Mrs. Gatty in- 
 quired what was the matter. 
 
 1 It's a mon drooning,' was the reply. - 
 
 The poor fellow, whom Sandy, by aid of his 
 glass, now discovered to be in a worn-out con- 
 dition, was about half a mile east of Newhaven 
 pier-head, and unfortunately the wind was nearly 
 due east. Christie was standing north-northeast, 
 her boat-hook jammed against the sail, which 
 stood as flat as a knife. 
 
 The natives of the Old Town were now seen 
 pouring down to the pier and the beach, and 
 strangers were collecting like bees. 
 
 ' After wit is everybody's wit ! ' 1 
 
 The affair was in the Johnstone's hands. 
 
 ' That boat is not going to the poor man,' said 
 Mrs. Gatty ; ' it is turning its back upon him.' 
 
 ' She canna lie in the wind's eye, for as clever 
 as she is,' answered a fishwife, 
 i Old Proverb. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 237 
 
 ' I ken wha it is,' suddenly squeaked a little 
 fishwife; 'it's Christie Johnstone's lad; it's 
 yon daft painter fr' England. Hech ! ' cried 
 she, suddenly, observing Mrs. Gatty, 'it's your 
 son, woman.' 
 
 The unfortunate woman gave a fearful scream, 
 and flying like a tiger on Liston, commanded 
 him ' to go straight out to sea and save her 
 son. 1 
 
 Jean Carnie seized her arm. ' Div ye see yon 
 boat r ' cried she, 'and div ye mind Christie, 
 the lass wha's hairt ye hae broken ? Aweel, 
 woman, it 's just a race bchvecn deeth and Cirsty 
 Johnstone for your son.' 
 
 The poor old woman swooned dead away. 
 They carried her into Christie Johnstone's 
 house and laid her down, then hurried back ; 
 the greater terror absorbed the less. 
 
 Lady Barbara Sinclair was there from Leith, 
 and seeing Lord Ipsden standing in the boat 
 with a fisherman, she asked him to tell her what 
 it was. Neither he nor any one answered her. 
 
 1 Why does n't she come about, Liston r ' 
 cried Lord Ipsden, stamping with anxiety and 
 impatience. 
 
 4 She '11 no be lang,' said Sandy ; ' but they '11 
 mak a mess o't wi' ne'er a man i' the boat.' 
 
 * Ye 're sure o' thaat ? ' put in a woman. 
 
238 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 1 Ay, about she comes,' said Liston, as the 
 sail came down on the first tack. He was 
 mistaken ; they dipped the lug as cleverly as 
 any man in the town could. 
 
 * Hech I look at her hauling on the rope like 
 a mon,' cried a woman. The sail flew up on 
 the other tack. 
 
 1 She 's an awfu' lassie,' whined another. 
 
 1 He 's awa',' groaned Liston, ' he 's doon I ' 
 
 1 No 1 he 's up again,' cried Lord Ipsden ; 
 1 but I fear he can't live till the boat comes to 
 him.' 
 
 The fisherman and the Viscount held on by 
 each other. 
 
 1 He does na see her, or maybe he 'd tak 
 hairt.' 
 
 • I 'd give ten thousand pounds if only he 
 could see her. My God ! the man will be 
 drowned under our eyes. If he but saw her ! ' 
 
 The words had hardly left Lord Ipsden's lips, 
 when the sound of a woman's voice came like 
 an jEolian note across the water. 
 
 ' Hurraih 1 ' roared Liston ; and every creature 
 joined the cheer. 
 
 1 She '11 no let him dee. Ah ! she 's in the 
 bows, hailing him an' waving the 1 lad's bonnet 
 ower her head to gie him coorage; Gude bless 
 ye, lass ! Gude bless ye ! ' 
 
Christie Johnstone. 239 
 
 Christie knew it was no use hailing him 
 against the wind ; but the moment she got the 
 wind she darted into the bows, and pitched in 
 its highest key her full and brilliant voice. After 
 a moment of suspense she received proof that 
 she must be heard by him, for on the pier now 
 hung men and women, clustered like bees, 
 breathless with anxiety, and the moment after 
 she hailed the drowning man, she saw and heard 
 a wild yell of applause burst from the pier, and 
 the pier was more distant than the man. She 
 snatched Flucker's cap, planted her foot on the 
 gunwale, held on by a rope, hailed the poor 
 fellow again, and waved the cap round and 
 round her head, to give him courage ; and in a 
 moment, at the sight of this, thousands of voices 
 thundered back their cheers to her across the 
 water. Blow, wind ! spring, boat ! and you, 
 Christie, still ring life towards those despairing 
 ears, and wave hope to those sinking eyes ! 
 Cheer the boat on, you thousands that look 
 upon this action! Hurrah! from the pier; 
 Hurrah ! from the town ; Hurrah ! from the 
 shore ; Hurrah ! now, from the very ships in 
 the roads, whose crews are swarming on the 
 yards to look ; five minutes ago they laughed at 
 you ; three thousand eyes and hearts hang upon 
 you now ; ay, these are the moments we live for 1 
 
240 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 And now dead silence. The boat is within 
 fifty yards ; they are all three consulting together 
 round the mast ; an error now is death ; his 
 forehead only seems above water. 
 
 4 If they miss him on that tack?' said Lord 
 Ipsden, significantly, to Liston. 
 
 ' He '11 never see London Brigg again, 1 was 
 the whispered reply. 
 
 They carried on till all on shore thought they 
 would run over him or past him. But no, at ten 
 yards distant they were all at the sail, and had 
 it down like lightning ; and then Flucker sprang 
 to the bows, the other boy to the helm. 
 
 Unfortunately, there were but two John- 
 stones in the boat ; and this boy, in his hurry, 
 actually put the helm to port instead of to star- 
 board. Christie, who stood amidships, saw the 
 error ; she sprang aft, flung the boy from the 
 helm, and jammed it hard-a-starboard with her 
 foot. The boat answered the helm, but too 
 late for Flucker ; the man was four yards from 
 him as the boat drifted by. 
 
 ' He's a deed mon ! ' cried Liston, on 
 shore. 
 
 The boat's length gave one more little chance ; 
 the after-part must drift nearer him, thanks to 
 Christie. Flucker flew aft, flung himself on his 
 back, and seized his sister's petticoats. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 241 
 
 -.' Fling yotirself ower the gunwale,' screamed 
 he. ' Ye '11 no hurt ; I'se haud ye.' 
 
 She flung herself boldly over the gunwale. The 
 man was sinking ; her nails touched his hair, her 
 fingers entangled themselves in it; she gave him 
 a powerful wrench and brought him alongside ; 
 the boys pinned him like wild cats. 
 
 Christie darted away forward to" the mast,' 
 passed a rope round it, threw it to the boys ; in 
 a moment it was under his shoulders. Christie 
 hauled on it from the fore-thwart, the boys lifted 
 him, and they tumbled him, gasping and gur- 
 gling like a dying salmon, into the bottom of the 
 boat, and flung net and jackets and sail over 
 him to keep the life in him. 
 
 Ah I draw your breath, all hands, at sea and 
 ashore, and don't try it again, young gentleman, 
 for there was nothing to spare ; when you 
 were missed at the bow two stout hearts quiv- 
 ered for you. Lord Ipsden hid his face in his two 
 hands, Sandy Liston gave a groan, and when 
 you were grabbed astern, jumped out of his boat 
 and cried, ' A jill o 1 whiskey for ony favour, for 
 it's turned me as seeck as a doeg.' He added, 
 ' He may bless yon lassy's fowr banes, for 
 she 's taen him oot o' death's maw as sure as 
 Gude 's in heaven ! ' 
 
 Lady Barbara, who had all her life been long- 
 
 R 
 
242 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 ing to see perilous adventures, prayed, and trem- 
 bled, and cried most piteously : and Lord Ips- 
 den's back was to her, and he paid no attention 
 to her voice ; but when the battle was won and 
 Lord Ipsden turned and saw her, she clung to 
 his arm and dried her tears ; and then the Old 
 Town cheered the boat, and the New Town 
 cheered the boat, and the towns cheered each 
 other ; and the Johnstones, lad and lass, set 
 their sail and swept back in triumph to the 
 pier. So then Lady Barbara's blood mounted 
 and tingled in her veins like fire. * Oh, how 
 noble 1 ' cried she. 
 
 ' Yes, dearest, 1 said Ipsden. ' You have seen 
 something great done at last, and by a woman, 
 tool' 
 
 'Yes,' said Barbara; ' how beautiful, oh, how 
 beautiful it all is I Only the next one I see, I 
 should like the danger to be over first, that is all.' 
 
 The boys and Christie, the moment they had 
 saved Gatty, up sail again for Newhaven ; they 
 landed in about three minutes at the pier. 
 Time. 
 
 M. SEC. 
 
 From Newhaven town to pier on foot . . .' i 30 
 
 First tack [ 5 30 
 
 Second tack, and getting him on board . . . 4 00 
 
 Back to the pier, going free 3 30 
 
 Total ,.,.... 14 30 
 
Christie Johnstone. 243 
 
 They came in to the pier, Christie sitting 
 quietly on the thwart after her work, the boy 
 steering, and Flucker standing against the mast, 
 hands in his pockets ; the deportment this young 
 gentleman thought fit to assume on this occasion 
 was ' complete apathy; ' he came into port with 
 the air of one bringing home the ordinary results 
 of his day's fishing. This was, I suppose, to im- 
 press the spectators with the notion that saving 
 lives was an every-day affair with La Famille 
 Johnstone. As for Gatty, he came to himself 
 under his heap of nets and jackets, and spoke 
 once between Death's jaw and the pier. 
 
 ' Beautiful ! ' murmured he, and was silent. 
 The meaning of this observation never trans- 
 pired, and never will in this world. Six months 
 afterwards, being subjected to a searching inter- 
 rogatory, he stated that he had alluded to the 
 majesty and freedom of a certain pose Christie 
 had adopted whilst hailing him from the boat ; 
 but, I reader, if he had wanted you and me to 
 believe it was this, he should not have been 
 half a year finding it out, — increduli odimus ! 
 They landed, and Christie sprang on | shore. 
 Whilst she was] wending her way through the 
 crowd, impeded by greetings and acclamations, 
 with every now and then a lass waving her ker- 
 chief or a lad his bonnet over the heroine's 
 
 r. 2 
 
244 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 head, poor Mrs. Gatty was receiving the atten- 
 tion of the New Town. They brought her to, 
 they told her the good news ; she thanked 
 God. 
 
 The whole story had spread like wildfire. 
 They expostulated with her ; they told her now 
 was the time to show she had a heart, and 
 bless the young people. 
 
 She rewarded them with a valuable precept, 
 
 ' Mind your own business I ' said she. 
 
 1 Hech! y' are a dour wife!' cried Newhaven. 
 
 The dour wife bent her eyes on the ground. 
 
 The people were still collected at the foot of 
 the street, but they were now in knots, when 
 in dashed Flucker, arriving by a short cut, and 
 crying, ' She does na ken, she does na ken; she 
 was ower moedest to look, I daur say, and ye '11 
 no tell her, for he 's a blackguard, an' he 's just 
 making a fule o' the puir lass, and if she kens 
 what she has done for him, she '11 be fonder o 1 
 him than a coow o' her cauf.' 
 
 1 Oh, Flucker, we maun tell her it 's her lad, 
 her ain lad she saved,' expostulated a woman. 
 
 ' Did ever my feyther do a good turn till ye ? ' 
 cried Flucker. ' Aweel, then, ye '11 no tell the 
 Iassy ; she's weel as she is; he 's gaun t' Enngland 
 the day. I cannie gie ye a' a hidin',' said he, with 
 an eye that flashed volumes of good intention on 
 
Christie Johnstone. 245 
 
 a hundred and fifty people, ' but I am feyther- 
 less and motherless, an' I can fa 1 on my knees 
 an 1 curse ye a' if ye do us sic an ill turn ; an* 
 then ye '11 see whether ye '11 thrive. 1 
 
 'We'll no tell, Flucker ; ye need na currse 
 us, ony way.' 
 
 His Lordship, with all the sharp authority of 
 a skipper, ordered Master Flucker to the pier, 
 with a message to the yacht. Flucker qua 
 yachtsman was a machine, and went as a matter 
 of course. ' I am determined to tell her,' said 
 Lord Ipsden to Lady Barbara. 
 
 1 But,' remonstrated Lady Barbara, ' the poor 
 boy says he will curse us if we do.' 
 
 4 He won't curse me.' 
 
 1 How do you know that ? ' 
 
 * Because the little blackguard's grog would 
 be stopped on board the yacht if he did.' 
 
 Flucker had not been gone many minutes 
 before loud cheering was heard, and Christie 
 Johnstone appeared, convoyed by a large de- 
 tachment of the Old Town ; she had tried to 
 slip away, but they would not let her. They 
 convoyed her in triumph till they saw the New 
 Town people, and then they turned and left 
 her. 
 
 She came in amongst the groups, a changed 
 woman ; her pallor and her listlessness were 
 
246 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 gone, the old light was in her eye and the 
 bright colour in her cheek, and she seemed 
 hardly to touch the earth. ' I 'm just droukit, 
 lassies,' cried she, gaily, wringing her sleeve. 
 Every eye was upon her. Did she know or did 
 she not know, what she had done ? 
 
 Lord Ipsden stepped forward ; the people 
 tacitly accepted him as the vehicle of their 
 curiosity. 
 
 ' Who was it, Christie ? ' 
 
 1 I dinna ken, for my pairt I * 
 
 Mrs. Gatty came out of the house. 
 
 ' A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie? ' 
 resumed Lord Ipsden. 
 
 ' Ye maun ask Flucker,' was the reply. ' I 
 could no tak muckle notice, ye ken, 1 putting 
 her hand before her eye, and half smiling. 
 
 ' Well ! I hear he is very good-looking ; and 
 I hear you think so, too.' 
 
 She glided to him and looked in his face. He 
 gave a meaning smile. The poor girl looked 
 quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent 
 start. 
 
 1 Christie ! where is Christie ? ' had cried a 
 well-known voice. He had learned on the pier 
 who had saved him ; he had slipped up among 
 the boats to find her ; he could not find his hat ; 
 he could not wait for it ; his dripping hair 
 
Christie Johnstone. 247 
 
 showed where he had been. It was her love, 
 whom she had just saved out of death's very 
 jaws. 
 
 She gave a cry of love, that went through 
 every heart, high or low, young or old, that 
 heard it. And she went to him, through the 
 air it seemed ; but quick as she was, another 
 was as quick ; the mother had seen him first, 
 and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With 
 another cry, the very key-note of her great and 
 loving heart, she flung her arms round — Mrs. 
 Gatty, who was on the same errand as herself. 
 
 * Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent ; 
 Hearts are not flint, and flint is rent.' 
 
 The old woman felt Christie touch her. She 
 turned from her son in a moment, and wept 
 upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and 
 kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom, and tried 
 to speak to her ; but all he could do was to sob 
 and choke, and kiss her hand again. 
 
 ' My daughter ! ' sobbed the old woman. 
 
 At that word Christie clasped her quickly ; 
 and then Christie began to cry. 
 
 ' I am not a stone, 1 cried Mrs. Gatty. ' I 
 gave him life ; but you have saved him from 
 death. Oh, Charles ! never make her repent 
 what she has done for you. 1 
 
248 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 She was a woman, after all, and prudence and 
 prejudice melted like snow before her heart. 
 
 There were not many dry eyes, — least of all 
 the heroic Lady Barbara's. 
 
 The three whom a moment had made one, 
 were becoming calmer, and taking one another's 
 hands for life, when a diabolical sound arose ; 
 and what was it but Sandy Liston, who, after 
 furious resistance, was blubbering with explosive 
 but short-lived violence 1 Having done it, he 
 was the first to draw everybody's attention to 
 the phenomenon ; and affecting to consider it a 
 purely physical attack, like a coup de soleiL or 
 so on, he proceeded instantly to Drysel's for 
 his panacea. 
 
 Lady Barbara enjoined Lord Ipsden to watch 
 these people, and not to lose a word they said ; 
 and after she had insisted upon kissing Christie, 
 she went off to her carriage. And she, too, 
 was so happy, she cried three distinct times on 
 her way to Edinburgh. 
 
 Lord Ipsden, having reminded Gatty of his 
 engagement, begged him to add his mother and 
 Christie to the party, and escorted Lady Bar- 
 bara to her phaeton. 
 
 So then the people dispersed by degrees. 
 
 ' That old lady's face seems familiar to me, 1 
 said Lord Ipsden, as he stood on the little 
 
Christie Johnstone. 249 
 
 natural platform by the ' Peacock. 1 ' Do you 
 know who she is. Saunders r ' 
 
 ' It is Peggy, that was cook in your Lord- 
 ship's uncle's time, my Lord. She married a 
 greengrocer, 1 added Saunders, with an injured 
 air. 
 
 ' Hech ! hech ! ' cried Flucker, ' Christie has 
 ta'en up her head wi 1 a cook's son. 1 
 
 Mrs. Gatty was ushered into the ' Peacock ' 
 with mock civility, by Mr. Saunders. No 
 recognition took place, each being ashamed of 
 the other as an acquaintance. 
 
 The next arrival was a beautiful young lady, 
 in a black silk gown, a plain but duck-like plaid 
 shawl, who proved to be Christie Johnstone, 
 in her Sunday attire. 
 
 When they met, Mrs. Gatty gave a little 
 scream of joy, and said, ' Oh, my child, if I 
 had seen you in that dress, I should never have 
 said a word against you. 1 
 
 ' Pars minima est ipsa puclla sui ! ' 
 
 His Lordship stepped up to her, took off his 
 hat, and said : ' Will Mrs. Gatty take from me 
 a commission for two pictures as big as herself, 
 and as bonny, 1 added he, doing a little Scotch. 
 He handed her a cheque, and turning to Gatty, 
 added, ' at your convenience, Sir, bicn entendu.' 
 
250 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 ' Hech! it's for five hundred pund, Chairles.' 
 
 1 Good gear gangs in little book,' 2 said Jean. 
 
 1 Ay, does it,' replied Flucker, assuming the 
 compliment. 
 
 ' My Lord, 1 said the artist, ' you treat art like 
 a prince, and she shall treat you like a queen. 
 When the sun comes out again, I will work for 
 you and fame. You shall have two things 
 painted, every stroke loyally in the sunlight. In 
 spite of gloomy winter and gloomier London, 
 I will try if I can't hang Nature and summer 
 on your walls forever. As for me, you know 
 I must go to Gerard Dow and Cuyp and 
 Pierre de Hoogh when my little sand is run ; 
 but my handwriting shall warm your children's 
 children's hearts, Sir, when this hand is dust.' 
 His eye turned inwards, he walked to and fro, 
 and his companions died out of his sight ; he 
 was in the kingdom of art. 
 
 His Lordship and Jean entered the ' Pea- 
 cock," followed by Flucker, 'who merely lin- 
 gered at the door to moralize as follows : — 
 
 ' Hech ! hech ! is na thaat lamentable ? 
 Christie's mon 's as daft as a drunk weaver.' 
 
 But one stayed quietly behind, and assumed 
 that moment the office of her life. 
 
 ' Ay ! ' he burst out again, ' the resources of 
 i Bulk. 
 
Chris /ie Johnstone. 251 
 
 our art arc still un fathomed ! Pictures are yet to 
 be painted that shall refresh mens inner souls, and 
 help their hearts against the artificial world, and 
 charm the fiend an>ay, like David's harp ! The 
 world, after centuries of lies, will give Nature and 
 truth a trial. What a paradise art wilt be, when 
 truths instead of lies shall be told on paper, on 
 marble, on canvas, and on the boards !■' 
 
 ' Dinner's on the boarrd, 1 murmured Chris- 
 tie, alluding to Lord Ipsden's breakfast ; ' and 
 I hae the charge o 1 ye,' pulling his sleeve hard 
 enough to destroy the equilibrium of a flea. 
 
 1 Then don't let us waste our time here. Oh, 
 Christie ! ' 
 
 * What est. my laddy r ' 
 
 1 I 'm so preciously hungry ! ' 
 
 ' C-way * then ! ' 
 
 OlT they ran, hand in hand, sparks of beauty, 
 love, and happiness flying all about them. 
 
 1 Come away. t. 
 
2 $2 Christie Johnstone . 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' 'T^HERE is nothing but meeting and parting 
 -*• in this world,' and you may be sure the 
 incongruous personages of our tale could not 
 long be together. Their separate paths had 
 met for an instant in one focus, furnished then 
 and there the matter of an eccentric story, and 
 then diverged forever. 
 
 Our lives have a general current, and also an 
 episode or two, and the episodes of a common- 
 place life are often rather startling ; in like man- 
 ner this tale is not a specimen, but an episode 
 of Lord Ipsden and Lady Barbara, who soon 
 after this married and lived like the rest of the 
 beau monde. In so doing they passed out of 
 my hands ; such as wish to know how Vis- 
 counts and Viscountesses feed and sleep and 
 do the domestic (so called) and the social (so 
 called), are referred to the fashionable novel, — 
 to Mr. Saunders, for instance, who has in the 
 press one of those cerberus-leviathans of fiction, 
 so common now, incredible as folio to future 
 ages. Saunders will take you by the hand and 
 lead you over carpets two inches thick, under 
 
tBristie Johnstone. 
 
 -OJ 
 
 rosy curtains, to dinner-tables. He will fete you. 
 and opera you, and dazzle your young imagina- 
 tion with epergnes and salvers and buhl and or- 
 molu. No fishwives or painters shall intrude 
 upon his polished scenes ; all shall be as gen- 
 teel as himself. Saunders is a good authority ; 
 he is more in the society, and far more in the 
 confidence, of the great, than most fashionable 
 novelists. Mr. Saunders's work will be in three 
 volumes ; nine hundred and ninety pages ! 
 
 In other words, this single work, of this in- 
 genious writer, will equal in bulk the aggregate 
 of all the writings extant by Moses, David, 
 Solomon, Isaiah, and St. Paul ! 
 
 I shall not venture into competition with this 
 behemoth of the salon ; I will evaporate in 
 thin generalities. 
 
 Lord Ipsden, then, lived very happily with 
 Lady Barbara, whose hero he straightway be- 
 came, and who nobly and poetically dotes upon 
 him. He has gone into political life to please 
 her, and will remain there — to please himself. 
 They were both very grateful to Newhaven ; 
 when they married, they vowed to visit it twice 
 a year, and mingle a fortnight's simple life with 
 its simple scenes ; but four years have passed, 
 and they have never been there again, and I 
 dare say never will ; but when Viscount Ipsden 
 
254 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 falls in with a brother aristocrat, who is crushed 
 by the fiend ennui, he remembers Aberford, and 
 condenses his famous recipe into a two-edged 
 hexameter, which will make my learned reader 
 laugh, for it is full of wisdom : — 
 
 ' Diluculo surgas ! miseris succurrere discas ! ' 
 
 Flucker Johnstone meditated during break- 
 fast upon the five hundred pounds, and regretted 
 he had not, years ago, adopted Mr. Gatty's pro- 
 fession ; some days afterwards he invited his 
 sister to a conference. Chairs being set, Mr. 
 Flucker laid down this observation, — that near 
 relations should be deuced careful not to cast 
 discredit upon one another ; that now his sister 
 was to be a lady, it was repugnant to his sense 
 of right to be a fisherman and make her ladyship 
 blush for him ; on the contrary, he felt it his 
 duty to rise to such high consideration that she 
 should be proud of him. 
 
 Christie acquiesced at once in this position, 
 but professed herself embarrassed to know how 
 such a ' ne'er do weel ' was to be made a source 
 of pride ; then she kissed Flucker, and said, in 
 a tone somewhat inconsistent with the above, 
 4 Tell me, my laamb 1 ' v 
 
 Her lamb informed her that the sea has many 
 paths ; some of them disgraceful, such as line or 
 
Christie Johnstone . 255 
 
 net fishing, and the periodical laying down on 
 rocky shoals, and taking up again, of lobster- 
 creels ; others, superior to anything the dry 
 land can offer in importance and dignity and 
 general estimation, such as the command of a 
 merchant-vessel trading to the East or West 
 Indies. Her lamb then suggested that if she 
 would be so good as to launch him in the mer- 
 chant-service, with a good rig of clothes and 
 money in his pocket, there was that in his head 
 which would enable him to work to windward 
 of most of his contemporaries. He bade her 
 calculate upon the following results : in a year 
 or two he would be second mate, and next year 
 first mate, and in a few years more, skipper ! 
 Think of that, lass ! Skipper of a vessel, whose 
 rig he generously left his sister free to deter- 
 mine ; premising that two masts were, in his 
 theory of navigation, indispensable, and that 
 three were a great deal more like Cocker than 
 two. This led to a general consultation ; 
 Flucker's ambition was discussed and praised. 
 That modest young gentleman, in spite of many 
 injunctions to the contrary, communicated his 
 sister's plans for him to Lord Ipsden, and af- 
 fected to doubt their prudence. The bait took ; 
 Lord Ipsden wrote to his man of business, and 
 an unexpected blow fell upon the ingenious 
 
256 Christie Johnstone, 
 
 Flucker. He was sent to school, there to learn 
 a little astronomy, a little navigation, a little 
 seamanship, a little manners, etc. ; in the mys- 
 teries of reading and writing his sister had al- 
 ready perfected him by dint of * the taws.' This 
 school was a blow ; but Flucker was no fool. 
 He saw there was no way of getting from school 
 to sea without working. So he literally worked 
 out to sea. His first voyage was distinguished 
 by the following peculiarities : attempts to put 
 tricks upon this particular novice generally ended 
 in the laugh turning against the experimenters, 
 and instead of drinking his grog, which he hates, 
 he secreted it and sold it for various advantages. 
 He has been now four voyages ; when he comes 
 ashore, instead of going to haunts of folly and 
 vice, he instantly bears up for his sister's house, 
 Kensington Gravel-pits, which he makes in the 
 following manner : he goes up the river, Heaven 
 knows where all ; this he calls running down 
 the longitude ; then he lands, and bears down 
 upon the Gravel-pits. In particular knowledge 
 of the names of streets he is deficient, but he 
 knows the exact bearings of Christie's dwelling. 
 He tacks and wears according as masonry com- 
 pels him, and he arrives at the gate. He hails 
 the house in a voice that brings all the inhabi- 
 tants of the row to their windows, including 
 
Christie Johnstone . 257 
 
 Christie ; he is fallen upon and dragged into 
 the house. The first thing is, he draws out 
 from his boots, and his back, and other hiding- 
 places, china crape and marvellous silk hand- 
 kerchiefs for Christie ; and she takes from his 
 pocket a mass of Oriental sugar-plums, with 
 which, but for this precaution, she knows by 
 experience he would poison young Charlie ; and 
 soon he is to be seen, sitting with his hand in 
 his sister's, and she looking like a mother upon 
 his handsome weather-beaten face, and Gatty, 
 opposite, adoring him as a specimen of male 
 beauty, and sometimes making furtive sketches 
 of him. And then the tales he always brings 
 with him ; the house is never very dull, but it 
 is livelier than ever when this inexhaustible 
 sailor casts anchor in it. 
 
 The friends (chiefly artists) who used to leave 
 at 9.30, stay till eleven ; for an intelligent sailor 
 is better company than two lawyers, two bishops, 
 three soldiers, and four writers of plays and 
 tales, all rolled together. And still he tells 
 Christie he shall command a vessel some day, 
 and leads her to the most cheering inferences 
 from the fact of his prudence and his general 
 width-awake ; in particular he bids her contrast 
 with him the general fate of sailors, eaten up by 
 land-sharks, particularly of the female gender, 
 
258 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 whom he demonstrates to be the worst enemies 
 poor Jack has ; he calls these sunken rocks, 
 fire-ships, and other metaphors. He concludes 
 thus : ' You are all the lass I mean to have, till 
 I 'm a skipper, and then I '11 bear up alongside 
 some pretty decent lass, like yourself, Christie, 
 and we '11 sail in company all our lives, let the 
 wind blow high or low.' Such is the gracious 
 Flucker become in his twentieth year. Last 
 voyage, with Christie's aid, he produced a sex- 
 tant of his own, and * made it twelve o'clock' 
 (with the sun's consent, I hope), and the eyes 
 of authority fell upon him. So who knows, 
 perhaps he may one day sail a ship ; and if he 
 does, he will be prouder and happier than if we 
 made him monarch of the globe. 
 
 To return to our chiefs. Mrs. Gatty gave 
 her formal consent to her son's marriage with 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 There were examples. Aristocracy had ere 
 ". now condescended to wealth ; earls had married 
 women rich by tallow-importing papas, and no 
 doubt had these same earls been consulted in 
 Gatty's case, they would have decided that 
 Christie Johnstone, with her real and funded 
 property, was not a villanous match for a green- 
 grocer's son, without a rapp ; 1 but Mrs. Gatty 
 1 A diminutive German coin. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 259 
 
 did not reason so, did not reason at all, luckily ; 
 her heart ran away with her judgment, and her 
 judgment ceasing to act, she became a wise 
 woman. 
 
 The case was peculiar. Gatty was an artist 
 pur sang, and Christie, who would not have 
 been the wife for a petit maitre, was the wife of 
 wives for him. 
 
 He wanted a beautiful wife to embellish his 
 canvas, disfigured hitherto by an injudicious 
 selection of models ; a virtuous wife, to be his 
 crown ; a prudent wife, to save him from ruin ; 
 a cheerful wife, to sustain his spirits, drooping 
 at times by virtue of his artist's temperament ; 
 an intellectual wife, to preserve his children 
 from being born dolts and bred dunces, and to 
 keep his own mind from sharpening to one point, 
 and so contracting and becoming monomania- 
 cal ; and he found all these qualities, together 
 with the sun and moon of human existence, true 
 love and true religion, in Christie Johnstone. 
 
 In similar cases foolish men have set to work 
 to make, in six months, their diamond of Nature 
 the exact cut and gloss of other men's pastes, 
 and nervously watching the process, have suf- 
 fered torture ; luckily Charles Gatty was not 
 wise enough for this. He saw Nature had dis- 
 tinguished her he loved beyond her fellows ; 
 
260 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 here, as elsewhere, he had faith in Nature, — 
 he believed that Christie would charm every- 
 body of eye, and ear, and mind, and heart, 
 that approached her ; he admired her as she 
 was, and left her to polish herself, if she chose. 
 He did well ; she came to London with a fine 
 mind, a broad brogue, a delicate ear ; she ob- 
 served how her husband's friends spoke, and in a 
 very few months she had toned down her Scotch 
 to a rich Ionic colouring, which her womanly 
 instinct will never let her exchange for the thin, 
 vinegar accents that are too prevalent in English 
 and French society ; and in other respects she 
 caught, by easy gradation, the tone of the new 
 society to which her marriage introduced her, 
 without, however, losing her charming self. 
 
 The wise dowager lodges hard by, having 
 resisted an invitation to be in the same house ; 
 she comes to that house to assist the young wife 
 with her experience, and to be welcome, — not 
 to interfere every minute, and tease her ; she 
 loves her daughter-in-law almost as much as she 
 does her son, and she is happy because he bids 
 fair to be an immortal painter, and, above all, 
 a gentleman, and she a wifely wife, a motherly 
 mother, and, above all, a lady. 
 
 This, then, is a happy couple. Their life is 
 full of purpose and industry, yet lightened by 
 
Christie Johnstone, 261 
 
 gaiety ; they go to operas, theatres, and balls, 
 for they are young. They have plenty of so- 
 ciety, real society, not the ill-assorted collec- 
 tion of a predetermined number of bodies, that 
 blindly assumes that name, but the rich commu- 
 nication of various and fertile minds ; they very, 
 very seldom consent to squat four mortal hours 
 in one chair (like old hares stiffening in their hot 
 forms), and nibbling, sipping, and twaddling, in 
 four mortal hours, what could have been eaten, 
 drunken, and said, in thirty-five minutes. They 
 are both artists at heart, and it shocks their na- 
 tures to see folks mix so very largely the inutile 
 with the insipidum, and waste at one huge but 
 barren incubation the soul and the stomach 
 and the irrevocable hours, things with which so 
 much is to be done. But they have many de- 
 sirable acquaintances, and not a few friends ; 
 the latter are mostly lovers of truth in their sev- 
 eral departments, and in all things : among them 
 are painters, sculptors, engineers, writers, con- 
 veners, thinkers ; these, acknowledging, even 
 in England, other gods besides the intestines, 
 meet often che\ Gatty, chiefly for mental inter- 
 course ; a cup of tea with such is found, by 
 experience, to be better than a stalled elk where 
 chit-chat reigns over the prostrate hours. 
 
 This, then, is a happy couple ; the very pigeons 
 
262 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 and the crows need not blush for the nest at 
 Kensington Gravel-pits. There the divine in- 
 stitution, Marriage, takes its natural colours, 
 and it is at once pleasant and good to catch 
 such glimpses of Heaven's design, and sad to 
 think how often this great boon, accorded by 
 God to man and woman, must have been abused 
 and perverted, ere it could have sunk to be the 
 standing butt of farce-writers, and the theme of 
 weekly punsters. 
 
 In this pair we see the wonders a male and 
 female can do for each other in the sweet bond 
 of holy wedlock. In that blessed relation alone 
 two interests are really one, and two hearts lie 
 safe at anchor side by side. 
 
 Christie and Charles are friends, — for they 
 are man and wife. 
 
 Christie and Charles are lovers still, — for 
 they are man and wife. 
 
 Christie and Charles are one forever, — for 
 they are man and wife. 
 
 This wife brightens the house from kitchen to 
 garret, for her husband ; this husband works 
 like a king for his wife's comfort, and for his 
 own fame, — and that fame is his wife's glory. 
 When one of these expresses or hints a wish, 
 the other's first impulse is to find the means, 
 not the objections. 
 
Christie Johnstone. 263 
 
 They share all troubles, and by sharing, halve 
 them. 
 
 They share all pleasures, and by sharing 
 double them. 
 
 They climb the hill together now, and many 
 a canty day they shall have with one another ; 
 and when, by the inevitable law, they begin to 
 descend towards the dark valley, they will still 
 go hand in hand, smiling so tenderly, and sup- 
 porting each other with a care more lovely than 
 when the arm was strong and the foot firm. 
 
 On these two temperate lives old age will de- 
 scend lightly, gradually, gently, and late, — and 
 late upon these evergreen hearts, because they 
 are not tuned to some selfish, isolated key. 
 These hearts beat and ring with the young 
 hearts of their dear children ; and years hence, 
 papa and mamma will begin life hopefully, wish- 
 fully, warmly again with each loved novice in 
 turn. 
 
 And when old age does come, it will be no 
 calamity to these as it is to you, poor battered 
 beau, laughed at by the fair ninnies who erst 
 laughed with you ; to you, poor follower of sal- 
 mon, fox, and pheasant, whose joints are stiffen- 
 ing, whose nerve is gone, — whose Golgotha 
 remains ; to you, poor, faded beauty, who have 
 staked all upon man's appetite, and not accu- 
 
264 Christie Johnstone. 
 
 mulated goodness or sense for your second 
 course ; to you, poor drawing-room wit, whose 
 sarcasm has turned to venom, and is turning to 
 drivel. 
 
 What terrors has old age for this happy pair ? 
 It cannot make them ugly, for though the pur- 
 ple light of youth recedes, a new kind of tranquil 
 beauty, the aloe-blossom of many years of inno- 
 cence, comes to and sits like a dove upon the 
 aged faces, where goodness, sympathy, and in- 
 telligence have harboured together so long, and 
 where evil passions have flitted (for we are all 
 human), but found no resting-place. 
 
 Old age is no calamity to them ; it cannot 
 terrify them, for ere they had been married a 
 week the woman taught the man, lover of truth, 
 to search for the highest and greatest truths in 
 a book written for men's souls, by the Author of 
 the world, the sea, the stars, the sun, the soul ; 
 and this book, Dei gratid, will, as the good 
 bishop sings, 
 
 ' Teach them to live, that they may dread 
 The grave as little as their bed.' 
 
 It cannot make them sad, for ere it comes, 
 loved souls will have gone from earth, and from 
 their tender bosom, but not from their memo- 
 ries, and will seem to beckon them now across 
 the cold valley to the golden land. 
 
\ 
 
 Christie Johnstone. 265 
 
 It cannot make them sad, for on earth the 
 happiest must drink a sorrowful cup more than 
 once in a long life, and so their brightest hopes 
 will have come to dwell habitually on things 
 beyond the grave ; and the great painter, jam 
 Senex, will chiefly meditate upon a richer land- 
 scape and brighter figures than human hand has 
 ever painted, — a scene whose glories he can see 
 from hence but by glimpses, and through a glass 
 darkly ; the great meadows on the other side of 
 Jordan, which are bright with the spirits of the 
 just that walk there, and are warmed with an 
 eternal sun, and ring with the triumph of the 
 humble and the true, and the praises of God 
 forever. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 This story was written three years ago, and 
 one or two topics in it are not treated exactly 
 as they would be if written by the same hand 
 to-day. But if the Author had retouched those 
 pages with his colours of 1853, he would (he 
 thinks) have destroyed the only merit they 
 have ; viz., that of containing genuine con- 
 temporaneous verdicts upon a cant that was 
 flourishing like a peony, and a truth that 
 was struggling for bare life,, in the year of 
 truth 1850. 
 
 He prefers to deal fairly with the public, 
 and with this explanation and apology to lay 
 at its feet a faulty but genuine piece of work. 
 
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