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AULD LIGHT IDYLLS. 
 
 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 AN EDINBURG-H ELEVEN. 
 
 By J. M. BARRIE, 
 
 Author of "J. Window in Thrums" ''When a Man's Single." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/auldlichtidyllsbOObarrrich 
 
TO 
 
 FREDERICK GREENWOOD 
 
AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
 
 Early this morning I opened a window in my 
 school-house in the glen of Quharity, awakened 
 by the shivering of a starving sparrow against 
 the frosted glass. As the snowy sash creaked in 
 my hand, he made off to the water-spout that 
 suspends its * ' tangles " of ice over a gaping tank, 
 and, rebounding from that, with a quiver of his 
 little black breast, bobbed through the network 
 of wire and joined a few of his fellows in a for- 
 lorn hop round the hen-house in search of food. 
 Two days ago my hilarious bantam-cock, saucy 
 to the last, my cheeriest companion, was found 
 frozen in his own water-trough, the corn-saucer 
 in three pieces by his side. Since then I have 
 taken the hens into the house. At meal-times they 
 litter the hearth with each other's feathers ; but 
 
 7 
 
 WiZ32^3S 
 
8 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 for the most part they give little trouble, roosting 
 on the rafters of the low-roofed kitchen among 
 staves and fishing-rods. 
 
 Another white blanket has been spread upon 
 the glen since I looked out last night ; for over 
 the same wilderness of snow that has met my 
 gaze for a week, I see the steading of Waster 
 Lunny sunk deeper into the waste. The school- 
 house, I suppose, serves similarly as a snow-mark 
 for the people at the farm. Unless that is Waster 
 Lunny's grieve foddering the cattle in the snow, 
 not a living thing is visible. The ghostlike hills 
 that pen in the glen have ceased to echo to the 
 sharp crack of the sportsman's gun (so clear in 
 the frosty air as to be a warning to every rabbit 
 and partridge in the valley) ; and only giant Cat- 
 law shows here and there a black ridge, rearing 
 his head at the entrance to the glen and struggHng 
 ineffectually to cast off his shroud. Most wintry 
 sign of all I think, as I close the window hastily, 
 is the open farm-stile, its poles lying embedded in 
 the snow where they were last flung by Waster 
 Lunny's herd. Through the still air comes from 
 a distance a vibration as of a tuning-fork : a 
 robin, perhaps, alighting on the wire of a broken 
 fence. 
 
 In the warm kitchen, where I dawdle over my 
 breakfast, the widowed bantam-hen has perched 
 on the back of my drowsy cat. It is needless to go 
 through the form of opening the school to-day ; for, 
 
A ULD UCHT ID YLS. 9 
 
 with the exception of Waster Lunny's girl, I have 
 had no scholars for nine days. Yesterday she 
 announced that there would be no more school- 
 ing till it was fresh, **as she wasna comin';" 
 and indeed, though the smoke from the farm 
 chimneys is a pretty prospect for a snowed-up 
 school-master, the trudge between the two houses 
 must be weary work for a bairn. As for the other 
 children, who have to come from all parts of the 
 hills and glen, I may not see them for weeks. 
 Last year the school was practically deserted for 
 a month. A pleasant outlook, with the March 
 examinations staring me in the face, and an in- 
 spector fresh from Oxford. I wonder what he 
 would say if he saw me to-day digging myself out 
 of the school-house with the spade I now keep for 
 the purpose in my bedroom. 
 
 The kail grows brittle from the snow in my 
 dank and cheerless garden. A crust of bread 
 gathers timid pheasants round me. The robins, 
 I see, have made the coal-house their home. 
 Waster Lunny's dog never barks without rousing 
 my sluggish cat to a joyful response. It is Dutch 
 courage with the birds and beasts of the glen, 
 hard driven for food ; but I look attentively for 
 them in these long forenoons, and they have be- 
 gun to regard me as one of themselves. My 
 breath freezes, despite my pipe, as I peer from the 
 door ; and with a fortnight-old newspaper I retire 
 to the ingle-nook. The friendliest thing I have 
 
lO A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 
 
 seen to-day is the well-smoked ham suspended 
 from my kitchen rafters. It was a gift from the 
 farm of TuUin, with a load of peats, the day be- 
 fore the snow began to fall. I doubt if I have 
 seen a cart since. 
 
 This afternoon I was the not altogether passive 
 spectator of a curious scene in natural history. 
 My feet encased in stout "tackety " boots, I had 
 waded down two of Waster Lunny's fields to 
 the glen burn : in summer the never-failing larder 
 from which, with wriggling worm or garish fly, I 
 can any morning whip a savory breakfast ; in the 
 winter time the only thing in the valley that 
 defies the ice-king's chloroform. I watched th ; 
 water twisting black and solemn through the 
 snow, the ragged ice on its edge proof of the 
 toughness of the struggle with the frost, fr^m 
 which it has, after all, crept only half victorious. 
 A bare wild rose-bush on the farther bank was 
 violently agitated, and then there ran from its 
 root a black-headed rat with wings. Such was 
 the general effect. I was not less interested when 
 my startled eyes divided this phenomenon into its 
 component parts, and recognized in the disturb- 
 ance on the opposite bank only another fierce 
 struggle among the hungry animals for existence : 
 they need no professor to teach them the doctrine 
 of the survival of the fittest. A weasel had gripped 
 a water-hen (whit-rit and beltie they are called 
 in these parts) cowering at the root of the rose- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. \ \ 
 
 bush, and was being dragged down the bank by 
 the terrified bird, which made for the water as its 
 only chance of escape. In less disadvantageous 
 circumstances the weasel would have made short 
 work of his victim ; but as he only had the bird 
 by the tail, the prospects of the combatants were 
 equalized. It was the tug-of-war being played 
 with a life as the stakes. " If I do not reach the 
 water," was the argument that went on in the 
 heaving little breast of the one, "I am a dead 
 bird." *' If this water-hen," reasoned the other, 
 " reaches the burn, my supper vanishes with her." 
 Down the sloping bank the hen had distinctly the 
 best of it, but after that came a yard of level snow, 
 and here she tugged and screamed in vain. I had 
 so far been an unobserved spectator; but my 
 sympathies were with the beltie, and, thinking it 
 high time to interfere, I jumped into the water. 
 The water-hen gave one mighty final tug and 
 toppled into the burn ; while the weasel viciously 
 showed me his teeth, and then stole slowly up 
 the bank to the rose-bush, whence, **girning," he 
 watched me lift his exhausted victim from the 
 water, and set off with her for the school-house. 
 Except for her draggled tail, she already looks 
 wonderfully composed, and so long as the frost 
 holds I shall have little difficulty in keeping her 
 with me. On Sunday I found a frozen sparrow, 
 whose heart had almost ceased to beat, in the 
 disused pigsty, and put him for warmth into my 
 
12 AULD LICHT IDYLS, 
 
 breast-pocket. The ungrateful little scrub bolted 
 without a word of thanks about ten minutes 
 afterward, to the alarm of my cat, which had not 
 known his whereabouts. 
 
 I am alone in the school-house. On just such 
 an evening as this last year, my desolation drove 
 me to Waster Lunny, where I was storm-stayed 
 for the night. The recollection decides me to 
 court my own warm hearth, to challenge my 
 right hand again to a game at the "dambrod" 
 against my left. I do not lock the school-house 
 door at nights ; for even a highwayman (there is 
 no such luck) would be received with open 
 arms, and I doubt if there be a barred door in all 
 the glen. But it is cosier to put on the shutters. 
 The road to Thrums has lost itself miles down 
 the valley. I wonder what they are doing out 
 in the world. Though I am the Free Church 
 precentor in Thrums (ten pounds a year, and the 
 little town is five miles away), they have not 
 seen me for three weeks. A packman whom I 
 thawed yesterday at my kitchen fire tells me 
 that last Sabbath only the Auld Lichts held serv- 
 ice. Other people realized that they were snowed 
 up. Far up the glen, after it twists out of view, 
 a manse and half a dozen thatched cottages that 
 are there may still show a candle-light, and the 
 crumbling gravestones keep cold vigil round the 
 gray old kirk. Heavy shadows fade into the sky 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 13 
 
 to the north. A flake trembles against the win- 
 dow ; but it is too cold for much snow to-night. 
 The shutter bars the outer world from the school- 
 house. 
 
14 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THRUMS. 
 
 Thrums is the name I give here to the handful 
 of houses jumbled together in a cup, which is the 
 town nearest the school-house. Until twenty 
 years ago its every other room, earthen-floored 
 and showing the rafters overhead, had a hand- 
 loom, and hundreds of weavers Hved and died 
 Thoreaus " ben the hoose " without knowing it. 
 In those days the cup overflowed and left several 
 houses on the top of the hill, where their cold 
 skeletons still stand. The road that climbs from 
 the square, which is Thrums' heart, to the north 
 is so steep and straight, that in a sharp frost chil- 
 dren hunker at the top and are blown down with 
 a roar and a rush on rails of ice. At such times, 
 when viewed from the cemetery, where the 
 traveller from the school-house gets his first 
 glimpse of the little town, Thrums is but two 
 church-steeples and a dozen red-stone patches 
 standing out of a snow-heap. One of the 
 steeples belong to the new Free Kirk, and the 
 other to the parish church, both of which the 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 5 
 
 first Auld Licht minister I knew ran past when 
 he had not time to avoid them by taking a back 
 wynd. He was but a pocket edition of a man, 
 who grew two inches after he was called ; but he 
 was so full of the cure of souls, that he usually 
 scudded to it with his coat-tails quarrelling behind 
 him. His successor, whom I knew better, was a 
 greater scholar, and said : '* Let us see what this 
 is in the original Greek," as an ordinary man 
 might invite a friend to dinner ; but he never 
 wrestled as Mr. Dishart, his successor, did with 
 the pulpit cushions, nor flung himself at the pul- 
 pit door. Nor was he so "hard on the Book," as 
 Lang Tammas, the precentor, expressed it, mean- 
 ing that he did not bang the Bible with his fist as 
 much as might have been wished. 
 
 Thrums had been known to me for years be- 
 fore I succeeded the captious dominie at the 
 school-house in the glen. The dear old soul who 
 originally induced me to enter the Auld Licht 
 kirk by lamenting the " want of Christ " in the 
 minister's discourses, was my first landlady. 
 For the last ten years of her life she was bedrid- 
 den, and only her interest in the kirk kept her 
 alive. Her case against the minister was that he 
 did not call to denounce her sufficiently often for 
 her sins, her pleasure being to hear him bewail- 
 ing her on his knees, as one who was probably 
 past praying for. She was as sweet and pure a 
 woiftan as I ever knew, and had her wishes been 
 
1 6 A ULD LIGHT ID VLS, 
 
 horses, she would have sold them and kept (and 
 looked after) a minister herself. 
 
 There are few Auld Licht communities in Scot- 
 land nowadays — perhaps because people are now 
 so well off, for the most devout Auld Lichts were 
 always poor, and their last years were generally 
 a grim struggle with the work-house. Many 
 a hdUvy-eyed, back-bent weaver has won his 
 Waterloo in Thrums fighting on his stumps. 
 There are a score or two of them left still, for, 
 though there are now two factories in the town, 
 the claiter of the hand-loom can yet be heard, 
 and they have been starving themselves of late 
 until they have saved up enough money to get 
 another minister. 
 
 The square is packed away in the centre of 
 Thrums, and irregularly built little houses 
 squeeze close to it like chickens clustering round 
 a hen. Once the Auld Lichts held property in 
 the square, but other denominations have bought 
 them out of it, and now few of them are even to 
 be found in the main streets that make for the 
 rim of the cup. They live in the kirk wynd, or 
 in retiring little houses, the builder of which does 
 not seem to have remembered that it is a good 
 plan to have a road leading to houses until after 
 they were finished. Narrow paths, straggling 
 round gardens, some of them with stunted gates, 
 which it is commoner to step over than to open, 
 have been formed to reach these dwellings, but 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 7 
 
 in winter they are running streams, and then the 
 best way to reach a house such as that of Tam- 
 my Mealmaker, the wright, pronounced wir-icht, 
 is over a broken dyke and a pig-sty. Tammy, 
 who died a bachelor, had been soured in his 
 youth by a disappointment hi love, of which he 
 spoke but seldom. She lived far away in a town 
 which he had wandered in in the days when his 
 blood ran hot, and they became engaged. Un- 
 fortunately, however. Tammy forgot her name, 
 and he never knew the address ; so there the 
 affair ended, to his silent grief. He admitted 
 himself, over his snuff-mull of an evening, that 
 he was a very ordinary character, but a certain 
 halo of horror was cast over the whole family by 
 their connection with little Joey Sutie, who was 
 pointed at in Thrums as the laddie that whistled 
 when he went past the minister. Joey became 
 a peddler, and was found dead one raw morning 
 dangling over a high wall within a few miles of 
 Thrums. When climbing the dyke his pack had 
 slipped back, the strap round his neck, and 
 choked him. 
 
 You could generally tell an Auld Licht in 
 Thrums when you passed him, his dull, vacant 
 face wrinkled over a heavy wob. He wore tags 
 of yarn round his trousers beneath the knee, that 
 looked like ostentatious garters, and frequently his 
 jacket of corduroy was put on beneath his waist- 
 coat. If he was too old to carry his load on his 
 
1 8 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 back, he wheeled it on a creaking barrow, and 
 when he met a friend they said, * ' Ay, Jeames, " and 
 "Ay, Davit," and then could think of nothing 
 else. At long intervals they passed through the 
 square, disappearing or coming into sight round 
 the townhouse which stands on the south side of 
 it, and guards the entrance to a steep brae that 
 leads down and then twists up on its lonely way 
 to the county town. I like to linger over the 
 square, for it was from an upper window in it 
 that I got to know Thrums. On Saturday nights, 
 when theAuld Licht young men came into the 
 square dressed and washed to look at the young 
 women errand-going, and to laugh some time 
 afterward to each other, it presented a glare of 
 light ; and here even came the cheap jacks and the 
 Fair Circassian, and the showman, who, besides 
 playing *' The Mountain Maid and the Shepherd's 
 Bride,'' exhibited part of the tail of Balaam's ass, 
 the helm of Noah's ark, and the tartan plaid in 
 which Flora McDonald wrapped Prince Charlie. 
 More select entertainment, such as Shuffle Kitty's 
 wax-work, whose motto was, *'A rag to pay, and 
 in you go," were given in a hall whose approach 
 was by an outside stair. On the Muckle Friday, 
 the fair for which children storing their pocket- 
 money would accumulate sevenpence halfpenny 
 in less than six months, the square was crammed 
 with gingerbread stalls, bag-pipers, fiddlers, and 
 monstrosities who were gifted with second-sight 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 9 
 
 There was a bearded man, who had neither legs 
 nor arms, and was drawn through the streets in 
 a small cart by four dogs. By looking at you he 
 could see all the clock-work inside, as could a boy 
 who was led about by his mother at the end of a 
 string. Every Friday there was the market, when 
 a dozen ramshackle carts containing vegetables 
 and cheap crockery filled the centre of the square, 
 resting in line on their shafts. A score of farmers' 
 wives or daughters in old-world garments squatted 
 against the town-house within walls of butter 
 on cabbage-leaves, eggs and chickens. Toward 
 evening the voice of the buckie-man shook the 
 square, and rival fish-cadgers, terrible characters 
 who ran races on horseback, screamed libels at 
 each other over a fruiterer's barrow. Then it was 
 time for douce Auld Lichts to go home, draw their 
 stools near the fire, spread their red handkerchiefs 
 over their legs to prevent their trousers getting 
 singed, and read their ''Pilgrim's Progress.'* 
 
 In my school-house, however, I seem to see the 
 square most readily in the Scotch mist which so 
 often filled it, loosening the stones and choking 
 the drains. There was then no rattle of rain 
 against my window-sill, nor dancing of diamond 
 drops on the roofs, but blobs of water grew on 
 the panes of glass to reel heavily down them. 
 Then the sodden square would have shed abun- 
 dant tears if you could have taken it in your 
 hands and wrung it like a dripping cloth. At 
 
2 o A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 such a time the square would be empty but for 
 one vegetable-cart left in the care of a lean collie, 
 which, tied to the wheel, whined and shivered 
 underneath. Pools of water gather in the coarse 
 sacks that have been spread over the potatoes and 
 bundles of greens, which turn to manure in their 
 lidless barrels. The eyes of the whimpering dog 
 never leave a black close over which hangs the 
 sign of the Bull, probably the refuge of the hawker. 
 At long intervals a farmer's gig rumbles over the 
 bumpy, ill-paved square, or a native, with his 
 head buried in his coat, peeps out of doors, 
 skurries across the way, and vanishes. Most of 
 the leading shops are here, and the decorous 
 draper ventures a few yards from the pavement 
 to scan the sky, or note the effect of his new ar- 
 rangement in scarves. Planted against his door 
 is the butcher, Renders Todd, white-aproned, and 
 with a knife in his hand, gazing interestedly at 
 the draper, for a mere man may look at an elder. 
 The tinsmith brings out his steps, and, mounting 
 them, stealthily removes the saucepans and 
 pepper-pots that dangle on a wire above his sign- 
 board. Pulling to his door he shuts out the foggy 
 light that showed in his solder-strewn workshop. 
 The square is deserted again. A bundle of sloppy 
 parsley slips from the hawker's cart and topples 
 over the wheel in driblets. The puddles in the 
 sacks overflow and run together. The dog has 
 twisted his chain round a barrel and yelps sharply. 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 2 1 
 
 As if in response comes a rush of other dogs. A 
 terrified fox-terrier tears across the square with 
 half a score of mongrels, the butcher's mastiff, and 
 some collies at his heels ; he is doubtless a stranger, 
 who has insulted them by his glossy coat. For 
 two seconds the square shakes to an invasion of 
 dogs, and then again there is only one dog in 
 sight. 
 
 No one will admit the Scotch mist. It '* looks 
 saft." The tinsmith "wudna wonder but what 
 it was makkin' for rain." Tammas Haggart and 
 Pete Lunan dander into sight bareheaded, and 
 have to stretch out their hands to discover what 
 the weather is like. By and by they come to a 
 standstill to discuss the immortality of the soul, 
 and then they are looking silently at the Bull. 
 Neither speaks, but they begin to move toward 
 the inn at the same time, and its door closes on 
 them before they know what they are doing. A 
 few minutes afterward Jinny Dundas, who is 
 Pete's wife, runs straight for the Bull in her short 
 gown, which is tucked up very high, and emerges 
 with her husband soon afterward. Jinny is vol- 
 uble, but Pete says nothing. Tammas follows 
 later, putting his head out at the door first, and 
 looking cautiously about him to see if any one is 
 in sight Pete is a U. P., and may be left to his 
 fate, but the Auld Licht minister thinks that, 
 though it be hard work, Tammas is worth saving. 
 
 To the Auld Licht of the past there were three 
 
2 2 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 degrees of damnation — auld kirk, play-acting, 
 chapel. Chapel was the name always given to 
 the English Church, of which I am too much an 
 Auld Licht myself to care to write even now. To 
 belong to the chapel was, in Thrums, to be a 
 Roman Catholic, and the boy who flung a clod of 
 earth at the English minister — who called the 
 Sabbath Sunday — or dropped a *^ divet " down his 
 chimney was held to be in the right way. The 
 only pleasant story Thrums could tell of the 
 chapel was that its steeple once fell. It is sur- 
 prising that an English church was ever suffered 
 to be built in such a place ; though probably 
 the county gentry had something to do with it. 
 They travelled about too much to be good men. 
 Small though Thrums used to be, it had four 
 kirks in all before the disruption, and then an- 
 other, which split into two immediately after- 
 ward. The spire of the parish church, known as 
 the auld kirk, commands a view of the square, 
 from which the entrance to the kirk-yard would be 
 visible, if it were not hidden by the town-house. 
 The kirk-yard has long been crammed, and is 
 not now in use, but the church is sufficiently 
 large to hold nearly all the congregations in 
 Thrums. Just at the gate lived Pete Todd, the 
 father of Sam'l, a man of whom the Auld Lichts 
 had reason to be proud. Pete was an every-day 
 man at ordinary times, and was even said, when 
 his wife^ who had been long ill, died, to have 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 2$ 
 
 clasped his hands and exclaimed, " Hip, hip, 
 hurrah ! " adding only as an afterthought, ** The 
 Lord's will be done." But midsummer was his 
 great opportunity. Then took place the rouping 
 of the seats in the parish church. The scene was 
 the kirk itself, and the seats being put up to auc- 
 tion were knocked down to the highest bidder. 
 This sometimes led to the breaking of the peace. 
 Every person was present who was at all partic- 
 ular as to where he sat, and an auctioneer was 
 engaged for the day. He rouped the kirk-seats 
 like potato-drills, beginning by asking for a bid. 
 Every seat was put up to auction separately ; for 
 some were much more run after than others, and 
 the men were instructed by their wives what to 
 bid for. Often the women joined in, and as they 
 bid excitedly against each other the church rang 
 with opprobrious epithets. A man would come 
 to the roup late, and learn that the seat he wanted 
 had been knocked down. He maintained that he 
 had been unfairly treated, or denounced the local 
 laird to whom the seat-rents went. If he did not 
 get the seat he would leave the kirk. Then the 
 woman who had forestalled him wanted to know 
 what he meant by glaring at her so, and the auc- 
 tion was interrupted. Another member would 
 "trip down the throat" of the autioneer that he 
 had a right to his former seat if he continued to 
 pay the same price for it. The auctioneer was 
 screamed at for favoring his friends, and at times 
 
24 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 the roup became so noisy that men and women 
 had to be forcibly ejected. Then was Pete's 
 chance. Hovering at the gate, he caught the 
 angry people on their way home and took them 
 into his workshop by an outside stair. There he 
 assisted them in denouncing the parish kirk, with 
 the view of getting them to forswear it. Pete 
 made a good many Auld Lichts in his time out 
 of unpromising material. 
 
 Sights were to be witnessed in the parish church 
 at times that could not have been made more 
 impressive by the Auld Lichts themselves. Here 
 sinful women were grimly taken to task by the 
 minister, who, having thundered for a time 
 against adultery in general, called upon one 
 sinner in particular to stand forth. She had to 
 step forward into a pew near the pulpit, where, 
 alone and friendless, and stared at by the congre- 
 gation, she cowered in tears beneath his denun- 
 ciations. In that seat she had to remain during 
 the forenoon service. She returned home alone, 
 and had to come back alone to her solitary seat 
 in the afternoon. All day no one dared speak to 
 her. She was as much an object of contumely as 
 the thieves and smugglers who, in the end of last 
 century, it was the privilege of Feudal Bailie 
 Wood (as he was called) to whip round the 
 square. 
 
 It is nearly twenty years since the gardeners 
 had their last "walk" in Thrums, and they 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 25 
 
 survived all the other benefit societies that walked 
 once every summer. There was a "weavers' 
 walk" and five or six others, the *' women's 
 walk " being the most picturesque. These were 
 processions of the members of benefit societies 
 through the square and wynds, and all the women 
 walked in white, to the number of a hundred or 
 more, behind the Tilliedrum band. Thrums having 
 in those days no band of its own. 
 
 From the northwest corner of the square a nar- 
 row street sets off, jerking this way and that, as if 
 uncertain what point to make for. Here lurks the 
 post-office, which had once the reputation of being 
 as crooked in its ways as the street itself 
 
 A railway line runs into Thrums now. The 
 sensational days of the post-ofhce were when the 
 letters were conveyed officially in a creaking old 
 cart from Tilliedrum. The **pony" had seen 
 better days than the cart, and always looked as if 
 he were just on the point of succeeding in run- 
 ning away from it. Hooky Crewe was driver — so 
 called because an iron hook was his substitute 
 for a right arm. Robbie Proctor, the blacksmith, 
 made the hook and fixed it in. Crewe suffered 
 from rheumatism, and when he felt it coming on 
 he stayed at home. Sometimes his cart came 
 undone in a snow-drift ; when Hooky, extricated 
 from the fragments by some chance wayfarer, 
 was deposited with his mail-bag (of which he al- 
 ways kept a grip by the hook) in a farmhouse. 
 
26 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 It was his boast that his letters always reached 
 their destination eventually. They might be a 
 long time about it, but **slow and sure" was his 
 motto. Hooky emphasized his ** slow and sure" 
 by taking a snuff. He was a godsend to the post- 
 mistress, for to his failings or the infirmities of 
 his gig were charged all delays. 
 
 At the time I write of, the posting of the letter 
 took as long and was as serious an undertaking 
 as the writing. That means a good deal, for 
 many of the letters were written to dictation by 
 the Thrums schoolmaster, Mr. Fleemister, who 
 belonged to the Auld Kirk. He was one of the 
 few persons in the community who looked upon 
 the despatch of his letters by the postmistress as 
 his right, and not a favor on her part ; there Vv^as 
 a long-standing feud between them accordingly. 
 After a few tumblers of Widow Stables' treacle- 
 beer — in the concoction of which she was the 
 acknowledged mistress for miles around — the 
 schoolmaster would sometimes go the length 
 of hinting that he could get the postmistress dis- 
 missed any day. This mighty power seemed to 
 rest on a knowledge of "steamed" letters. 
 Thrums had a high respect for the schoolmaster ; 
 but among themselves the weavers agreed that, 
 even if he did write to the Government, Lizzie 
 Harrison, the postmistress, would refuse to trans- 
 mit the letter. The more shrewd ones among us 
 kept friends with both parties ; for, unless you 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS, 27 
 
 could write "writ-hand," you could not compose 
 a letter without the schoolmaster's assistance ; 
 and, unless Lizzie was so courteous as to send 
 it to its destination, it might lie — or so it was 
 thought — much too long in the box. A letter 
 addressed by the schoolmaster found great dis- 
 favor in Lizzie's eyes. You might explain to her 
 that you had merely called in his assistance be- 
 cause you were a poor hand at writing yourself, 
 but that was held no excuse. Some addressed 
 their own envelopes with much labor, and sought 
 to palm off the whole as their handiwork. It 
 reflects on the postmistress somewhat that she 
 had generally found them out by next day, when, 
 if in a specially vixenish mood, she did not hesi- 
 tate to upbraid them for their perfidy. 
 
 To post a letter you did not merely saunter to 
 the post-office and drop it into the box. The cau- 
 tious correspondent first went into the shop and 
 explained to Lizzie how matters stood. She kept 
 what she called a bookseller's shop as well as the 
 post-office ; but the supply of books corresponded 
 exactly to tlie lack of demand for them, and her 
 chief trade was in nick-nacks, from marbles and 
 money-boxes, up to concertinas. If he found the 
 postmistress in an amiable mood, which was 
 only now and then, the caller led up craftily to 
 the object of his visit. Having discussed the 
 weather and the potato-disease, he explained that 
 his sister Mary, whom Lizzie would remember, 
 
28 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 had married a fishmonger in Dundee, The fish- 
 monger had lately started on himself and was 
 doing well. They had four children. The young- 
 est had had a severe attack of measles. No news 
 had been got of Mary for twelve months ; and 
 Annie, his other sister, who lived in Thrums, had 
 been at him of late for not writing. So he had 
 written a few lines ; and, in fact, he had the letter 
 with him. The letter was then produced, and 
 examined by the postmistress. If the address was 
 in the schoolmaster's handwriting, she professed 
 her inability to read it. Was this a / or an / or an 
 i ? was that a 6 or a c? /^ This was a cruel revenge on 
 Lizzie's part ; for the sender of the letter was com- 
 pletely at her mercy. The schoolmaster's name 
 being tabooed in her presence, he was unable to 
 explain that the writing was not his own ; and as 
 for deciding between the /'s and /'s, he could not 
 do it. Eventually he would be directed to put 
 the letter into the box. They would do their best 
 with it, Lizzie said, but in a voice that suggested 
 how little hope she had of her efforts to decipher 
 it proving successful. 
 
 There was an opinion among some of the peo- 
 ple that the letter should not be stamped by the 
 sender. The proper thing to do was to drop a 
 penny for the stamp into the box along with the 
 letter, and then Lizzie would see that it was all 
 right. Lizzie's acquaintance with the handwriting 
 of every person in the place who could write gave 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 29 
 
 her a great advantage. You would perhaps drop 
 into her shop some day to make a purchase, when 
 she would calmly produce a letter you had posted 
 several days before. In explanation she would 
 tell you that you had not put a stamp on it, or 
 that she suspected there was money in it, or that 
 you had addressed it to the wrong place. I re- 
 member an old man, a relative of my own, who 
 happened for once in his life to have several let- 
 ters to post at one time. The circumstance was 
 so out of the common that he considered it only 
 reasonable to make Lizzie a small present. 
 
 Perhaps the postmistress was belied ; but if she 
 did not "steam" the letters and confide their tid- 
 bits to favored friends of her own sex, it is diffi- 
 cult to see how all the gossip got out. The 
 school-master once played an unmanly trick on 
 her, with the view of catching her in the act. He 
 was a bachelor who had long been given up by 
 all the maids in the town. One day, however, 
 he wrote a letter to an imaginary lady in the 
 county-town, asking her to be his, and going into 
 full particulars about his income, his age, and his 
 prospects. A male friend in the secret, at the 
 other end, was to reply, in a lady's handwriting, 
 accepting him, and also giving personal particu- 
 lars. The first letter was written ; and an an. 
 swer arrived in due course — two days, the school- 
 master said, after date. No other person knew 
 of this scheme for the undoing of the post- 
 
30 A t/LD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 mistress, yet in a very short time the school- 
 master's coming marriage was the talk of 
 Thrums. Everybody became suddenly aware of 
 the lady's name, of her abode, and of the sum of 
 money she was to bring her husband. It was 
 even noised abroad that the schoolmaster had 
 represented his age as a good ten years less than 
 it was. Then the schoolmaster divulged every- 
 thing. To his mortification, he was not quite be- 
 lieved. All the proof he could bring forward to 
 support his story was this : that time would show 
 whether he got married or not. Foolish man ! 
 this argument was met by another, which was 
 accepted at once. The lady had jilted the school- 
 master. Whether this explanation came from the 
 post-office, who shall say? But so long as he 
 lived the schoolmaster was twitted about the 
 lady who threw him over. He took his revenge 
 in two ways. He wrote and posted letters ex- 
 ceedingly abusive of the postmistress. The 
 matter might be libellous ; but then, as he pointed 
 out, she would incriminate herself if she "brought 
 him up " about it. Probably Lizzie felt his other 
 insult more. By publishing his suspicions of her 
 on every possible occasion he got a few people 
 to seal their letters. So bitter was his feeling 
 against her that he was even willing to supply 
 the wax. 
 
 They know all about post-offices in Thrums 
 now, and even jeer at the telegraph-boy's uni- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID VIS. 3 1 
 
 form. In the old days they gathered round him 
 when he was seen in the street, and escorted him 
 to his destination in triumph. That, too, was after 
 Lizzie had gone the way of all the earth. But 
 perhaps they are not even yet as knowing as they 
 think themselves. I was told the other day that 
 one of them took out a postal-order, meaning to 
 send the money to a relative, and kept the order 
 as a receipt. 
 
 I have said that the town is sometimes full of 
 snow. One frosty Saturday, seven years ago, I 
 trudged into it from the school-house, and on the 
 Monday morning we could not see Thrums any- 
 where. 
 
 I was in one of the proud two-storied houses 
 in the place, and could have shaken hands with 
 my friends without from the upper windows. To 
 get out of doors you had to walk upstairs. The 
 outlook was a sea of snow fading into white hills 
 and sky, with the quarry standing out red and 
 ragged to the right like a rock in the ocean. The 
 Auld Licht manse was gone, but had left its 
 garden-trees behind, their lean branches soft with 
 snow. Roofs were humps in the white blanket. 
 The spire of the Established Kirk stood up cold 
 and stiff, like a monument to the buried inhab- 
 itants. 
 
 Those of the natives who had taken the pre- 
 caution of conveying spades into their houses the 
 night before, which is my plan at the school- 
 
32 AULD LICBT IDVLS. 
 
 house, dug themselves out. They hobbled cau- 
 tiously over the snow, sometimes sinking into it 
 to their knees, when they stood still and slowly 
 took in the situation. It had been snowing more 
 or less for a week, but in a commonplace kind of 
 way, and they had gone to bed thinking all was 
 well. This night the snow must have fallen as if 
 the heavens had opened up, determined to shake 
 themselves free of it forever. 
 
 The man who first came to himself and saw 
 what was to be done was young Renders Ram- 
 say. Renders had no fixed occupation, being 
 but an *'orra man " about the place, and the best 
 thing known of him is that his mother's sister was 
 a Baptist. He feared God, man, nor the minister ; 
 and all the learning he had was obtained from as- 
 siduous study of a grocer's window. But for one 
 brief day he had things his own way in the town, 
 or, speaking strictly, on the top of it. With a spade, 
 a broom, and a pickaxe, which sat lightly on his 
 broad shoulders (he was not even back-bent, and 
 that showed him no respectable weaver), Renders 
 delved his way to the nearest house, which formed 
 one of a row, and addressed the inmates down 
 the chimney. They had already been clearing it 
 at the other end, or his words would have been 
 choked. " You're snawed up. Davit," cried 
 Renders, in a voice that was entirely business- 
 like ; "hae ye a spade ? " A conversation ensued 
 up and down this unusual channel of comma- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 IZ 
 
 nication. The unlucky householder, taking no 
 thought of the morrow, was without a spade. 
 But if Renders would clear away the snow from 
 his door he would be "varra obleeged." Ren- 
 ders, however, had to come to terms first. ''The 
 chairge is saxpence. Davit," he shouted. Then a 
 haggling ensued. Renders must be neighborly. 
 A plate of broth, now — or, say, twopence. But 
 Renders was obdurate. "Fse nae time to argy- 
 bargy wi' ye. Davit. Gin ye're no willin' to say 
 saxpence, I'm aff to Will'um Pyatt's. Re's buried 
 too." So the victim had to make up his mind to 
 one of two things : he must either say saxpence 
 or remain where he was. 
 
 If Renders was ''promised" he took good care 
 that no sno wed-up inhabitant should perjure him- 
 self. Re made his way to a window first, and, 
 clearing the snow from the top of it, pointed out 
 that he could not conscientiously proceed further 
 until the debt had been paid. " Money doon," 
 he cried, as soon as he reached a pane of glass; 
 or, "Come awa wi* my saxpence noo." 
 
 The belief that this day had not come to Ren- 
 ders unexpectedly was borne out by the method 
 ot the crafty callant. Ris charges varied from 
 sixpence to half-a-crown, according to the wealth 
 and status of his victims ; and when, later on, 
 there were rivals in the snow, he had the discrim- 
 ination to reduce his minimum fee to threepence. 
 He had the honor of digging out three ministers 
 3 
 
34 ^ ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 at one shilling, one and threepence, and two 
 shillings respectively. 
 
 Half a dozen times within the next fortnight the 
 town was re-buried in snow. This generally- 
 happened in the night-time ; but the inhabitants 
 were not to be caught unprepared again. Spades 
 stood ready to their hands in the morning, and 
 they fought their way above ground without 
 Renders Ramsay's assistance. To clear the snow 
 from the narrow wynds and pends, however, 
 was a task not to be attempted ; and the Auld 
 Lichts, at least, rested content when enough light 
 got into their workshops to let them see where 
 their looms stood. Wading through beds of snow 
 they did not much mind ; but they wondered 
 what would happen to their houses when the thaw 
 came. 
 
 The thaw was slow in coming. Snow during 
 the night and several degrees of frost by day were 
 what Thrums began to accept as a revised order 
 of nature. Vainly the Thrums doctor, whose 
 practice extends into the glens, made repeated 
 attempts to reach his distant patients, twice 
 driving so far into the dreary waste that he could 
 neither go on nor turn back. A ploughman who 
 contrived to gallop ten miles for him did not get 
 home for a week. Between the town, which is 
 nowadays an agricultural centre of some impor- 
 tance and the outlying farms, communication was 
 cut off for a month ; and I heard subsequently of 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 35 
 
 one farmer who did not see a human being, uncon- 
 nected with his own farm, for seven weeks. The 
 school-house, which I managed to reach only two 
 days behind time, was closed for a fortnight, and 
 even in Thrums there was only a sprinkling of 
 scholars. 
 
 On Sundays the feeling between the different 
 denominations ran high, and the middling good 
 folk who did not go to church counted those who 
 did. In the Established Church there was a sparse 
 gathering, who waited in vain for the minister. 
 After a time it got abroad that a flag of distress 
 was flying from the manse, and then they saw 
 that the minister was storm-stayed. An office- 
 bearer offered to conduct service ; but the others 
 present thought they had done their duty and 
 went home. The U. P. bell did not ring at all, 
 and the kirk-gates were not opened. The Free 
 Kirk did bravely, however. The attendance in 
 the forenoon amounted to seven, including the 
 minister ; but in the afternoon there was a turn- 
 out of upward of fifty. How much denomina- 
 tional competition had to do with this, none can 
 say ; but the general opinion was that this muster 
 to afternoon service was a piece of vainglory. 
 Next Sunday all the kirks were on their mettle, 
 and, though the snow was drifting the whole day, 
 services were general. It was felt that after the 
 action of the Free Kirk the Established and the U. 
 P/s mugt show what they too were capable of, 
 
36 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 So, when the bells rang at eleven o'clock and two, 
 church-goers began to pour out of every close. 
 If I remember aright, the victory lay with the U. 
 P.'s by two women and a boy. Of course the 
 Auld Lichts mustered in as great force as ever. 
 The other Kirks never dreamed of competing with 
 them. What was regarded as a judgment on the 
 Free Kirk for its boastfulness of spirit on the pre- 
 ceding Sunday happened during the forenoon. 
 While the service was taking place a huge clod of 
 snow slipped from the roof and fell right against 
 the church door. It w^as some time before the 
 prisoners could make up their minds to leave by 
 the windows. What the Auld Lichts would have 
 done in a similar predicament I cannot even con- 
 jecture. 
 
 That was the first warning of the thaw. It 
 froze again ; there was more snow ; the thaw be- 
 gan in earnest ; and then the streets were a sight 
 to see. There was no traffic to turn the snow to 
 slush, and, where it had not been piled up in 
 walls a few feet from the houses, it remained in 
 the narrow ways till it became a lake. It tried 
 to escape through doorways, when it sank slowly 
 into the floors. Gentle breezes created a ripple 
 on its surface, and strong winds lifted it into the 
 air and flung it against the houses. It undermined 
 the heaps of clotted snow till they tottered like 
 icebergs and fell to pieces. Men made their way 
 through it on stilts. Had a frost followed, the 
 
A VLD LICHT ID YLS. 37 
 
 result would have been appalling ; but there was 
 no more frost that winter. A fortnight passed 
 before the place looked itself again, and even then 
 congealed snow stood doggedly in the streets, 
 while the country roads were like newly-ploughed 
 fields after rain. The heat from large fires soon 
 penetrated through roofs of slate and thatch ; and 
 it was quite a common thing for a man to be 
 flattened to the ground by a slithering of snow 
 from above just as he opened his door. But it 
 had seldom more than ten feet to fall. Most 
 interesting of all was the novel sensation experi- 
 enced as Thrums began to assume its familiar 
 aspect, and objects, so long buried that they had 
 been half forgotten, came back to view and use. 
 Storm-stead shows used to emphasize the sever- 
 ity of a Thrums winter. As the name indicates, 
 these were gatherings of travelling booths in the 
 winter-time. Half a century ago the country 
 was overrun by itinerant showmen, who went 
 their different ways in summer, but formed little 
 colonies in the cold weather, when they pitched 
 their tents in any empty field or disused quarry, 
 and huddled together for the sake of warmth, not 
 that they got much of it. Not more than five 
 winters ago we had a storm-stead show on a 
 small scale ; but nowadays the farmers are less 
 willing to give these wanderers a camping-place, 
 and the people are less easily drawn to the enter- 
 tainments provided, by fife and drum. The col- 
 
38 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 ony hung together until it was starved out, when 
 it trailed itself elsewhere. I have often seen it 
 forming. The first arrival would be what was 
 popularly known as " Saml Mann's Tumbling- 
 Booth," with its tumblers, jugglers, sword-swal- 
 lowers, and balancers. This travelling show 
 visited us regularly twice a year : once in sum- 
 mer for the Muckle Friday, when the performers 
 were gay and stout, and even the horses had 
 flesh on their bones ; and again in the ''back- 
 end " of the year, when cold and hunger had 
 taken the blood from their faces, and the scraggy 
 dogs that whined at their side were lashed for 
 licking the paint off the caravans. While the 
 storm-stead show was in the vicinity the villages 
 suffered from an invasion of these dogs. Noth- 
 ing told more truly the dreadful tale of the show- 
 man's life in winter. Sam'l Mann's was a big 
 show, and half a dozen smaller ones, most of 
 which were familiar to us, crawled in its wake. 
 Others heard of its whereabouts and came in from 
 distant parts. There was the well-known Gub- 
 bins with his "A' the World in a Box," a half- 
 penny peep-show, in which all the world was 
 represented by Joseph and his Brethren (with pit 
 and coat), the bombardment of Copenhagen, the 
 Battle of the Nile, Daniel in the Den of Lions, and 
 Mount Etna in eruption. "Aunt Maggy's Whirli- 
 gig" could be enjoyed on payment of an old 
 pair of boots, a collection of rags, or the like. 
 
AtTLD Lie HT IDYLS. 39 
 
 Besides these and other shows, there were the 
 wandering minstrels, most of whom were "Water- 
 loo veterans " wanting arms or a leg. I remem- 
 ber one whose arms had been "smashed by a 
 thunderbolt at Jamaica." Queer, bent old dames, 
 who superintended "lucky bags" or told fort- 
 unes, supplied the uncanny element, but hesi- 
 tated to call themselves witches, for there can 
 still be seen near Thrums the pool where these 
 unfortunates used to be drowned, and in the 
 session book of the Glen Quharity kirk can be 
 read an old minute announcing that on a certain 
 Sabbath there was no preaching because "the 
 minister was away at the burning of a witch." 
 To the storm-stead shows came the gypsies in 
 great numbers. Claypots (which is a corruption 
 of Claypits) was their headquarters near Thrums, 
 and it is still sacred to their memory. It was a 
 clachan of miserable little huts built entirely of 
 clay from the dreary and sticky pit in which they 
 had been flung together. A shapeless hole on 
 one side was the doorway, and a little hole 
 stuffed with straw in winter, the window. Some 
 of the remnants of these hovels still stand. Their 
 occupants, though they went by the name of 
 gypsies among themselves, were known to the 
 weavers as the Claypots beggars ; and their king 
 was Jimmy Pawse. His regal dignity gave 
 Jimmy the right to seek alms first when he chose 
 to do so ; thus he got the cream of a place before 
 
40 A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 
 
 his subjects set to work. He was rather foppish 
 in his dress ; generally affecting a suit of gray 
 cloth with showy metal buttons on it, and a 
 broad blue bonnet. His wife was a little body 
 like himself; and when they went a-begging, 
 Jimmy with a meal-bag for alms on his back, she 
 always took her husband's arm. Jimmy was the 
 legal adviser of his subjects ; his decision was 
 considered final on all questions, and he guided 
 them in their courtships as well as on their death- 
 beds. He christened their children and officiated 
 at their weddings, marrying them over the tongs. 
 The storm-stead show attracted old and young 
 — to looking on from the outside. In the day- 
 time the wagons and tents presented a dreary 
 appearance, sunk in snow, the dogs shivering 
 between the wheels, and but little other sign of 
 life visible. When dusk came the lights were 
 lit and the drummer and fifer from the booth of 
 tumblers were sent into the town to entice an 
 audience. They marched quickly through the 
 nipping, windy streets, and then returned with 
 two or three score of men, women, and children, 
 plunging through the snow or mud at their heavy 
 heels. It was Orpheus fallen from his high 
 estate. What a mockery the glare of the lamps 
 and the capers of the mountebanks were, and how 
 satisfied were we to enjoy it all without going 
 inside. I hear the " Waterloo veterans " still, and 
 remember their patriotic outbursts : 
 
AULD LIGHT ID YLS. 4 1 
 
 On the sixteenth day of June, brave boys, while cannon loud 
 
 did roar, 
 We being short of cavalry they pressed on us full sore ; 
 But British steel soon made them yield, though our numbers 
 
 was but few, 
 And death or victory was the word on the plains of Waterloo. 
 
 The storm-stead shows often found it easier to 
 sink to rest in a field than to leave it. For weeks 
 at a time they were snowed up, sufficiently to 
 prevent any one from Thrums going near them, 
 though not sufficiently to keep the pallid mum- 
 mers indoors. That would in many cases have 
 meant starvation. They managed to fight their 
 way through storm and snowdrift to the high 
 road and thence to the town, where they got 
 meal and sometimes broth. The tumblers and 
 jugglers used occasionally to hire an outhouse in 
 the town at these times — you may be sure they did 
 not pay for it in advance — and give performances 
 there. It is a curious thing, but true, that our 
 herd-boys and others were sometimes struck with 
 the stage-fever. Thrums lost boys to the show- 
 men even in winter. 
 
 On the whole, the farmers and the people 
 generally were won^derfully long-suffering with 
 these wanderers, who I believe were more hon- 
 est than was to be expected. They stole, cer- 
 tainly ; but seldom did they steal anything more 
 valuable than turnips. Sam'l Mann himself 
 flushed proudly over the effect his show once had 
 
42 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 on an irate farmer. The farmer appeared in the 
 encampment, whip in hand and furious. They 
 must get off his land before nightfall. The crafty- 
 showman, however, prevailed upon him to take 
 a look at the acrobats, and he enjoyed the per- 
 formance so much that he offered to let them stay 
 until the end of the week. Before that time came 
 there was such a fall of snow that departure was 
 out of the question ; and it is to the farmer's credit 
 that he sent Sam'l a bag of meal to tide him and 
 his actors over the storm. 
 
 There were times when the showmen made a 
 tour of the bothies, where they slung their poles 
 and ropes and gave their poor performances to 
 audiences that were not critical. The bothy being 
 strictly the ''man's" castle, the farmer never in- 
 terfered ; indeed, he was sometimes glad to see 
 the show. Every other weaver in Thrums used 
 to have a son a ploughman, and it was the men 
 from the bothies who filled the square on the 
 muckly. "Hands" are not huddled together 
 nowadays in squalid barns more like cattle than 
 men and women, but bothies in the neighbor- 
 hood of Thrums are not yet things of the past. 
 Many a ploughman delves his way to and from 
 them still in all weathers, when the snow is on the 
 ground; at the time of "hairst," and when the 
 turnip ''shaws" have just forced themselves 
 through the earth, looking like straight rows of 
 green needles. Here is a picture of a bothy of 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 43 
 
 to-day that I visited recently. Over the door there 
 is a waterspout that has given way, and as I 
 entered I got a rush of rain down my neck. The 
 passage was so small that one could easily have 
 stepped from the doorway onto the ladder stand- 
 ing against the wall, which was there in lieu of a 
 staircase. "Upstairs" was a mere garret, where 
 a man could not stand erect even in the centre. 
 It was entered by a square hole in the ceiling, at 
 present closed by a clap-door in no way dissim- 
 ilar to the trap-doors on a theatre stage. I 
 climbed into this garret, which is at present used 
 as a store-room for agricultural odds and ends. 
 At harvest-time, however, it is inhabited — full to 
 overflowing. A few decades ago as many as 
 fifty laborers engaged for the harvest had to be 
 housed in the farm out-houses on beds of straw. 
 There was no help for it, and men and women 
 had to congregate in these barns together. Up 
 as early as five in the morning, they were gener- 
 ally dead tired by night ; and, miserable though 
 this system of herding them together was, they 
 took it like stoics, and their very number served 
 as a moral safeguard. Nowadays the harvest is 
 gathered in so quickly, and machinery does so 
 much that used to be done by hand, that this 
 crowding of laborers together, which was the 
 bothy system at its worst, is nothing like what it 
 was. As many as six or eight men, however, are 
 put up in the garret referred to during '*hairst"- 
 
44 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 time, and the female laborers have to make the 
 best of it in the barn. There is no doubt that on 
 many farms the two sexes have still at this busy 
 time to herd together even at night. 
 
 The bothy was but scantily furnished, though 
 it consisted of two rooms. In the one, which 
 was used almost solely as a sleeping apartment, 
 there was no furniture to speak of, beyond two 
 closet beds, and its bumpy earthen floor gave it 
 a cheerless look. The other, which had a single 
 bed, was floored with wood. It was not badly 
 lit by two very small windows that faced each 
 other, and besides several stools, there was a 
 long form against one of the walls. A bright fire 
 of peat and coal — nothing in the world makes such 
 a cheerful red fire as this combination — burned 
 beneath a big kettle ("boiler" they called it), 
 and there was a "■ press " or cupboard containing 
 a fair assortment of cooking utensils. Of these 
 some belonged to the bothy, while others were 
 the private property of the tenants. A tin "pan " 
 and " pitcher" of water stood near the door, and 
 the table in the middle of the room was covered 
 with oilcloth. 
 
 Four men and a boy inhabited this bothy, and 
 the rain had driven them all indoors. In better 
 weather they spend the leisure of the evening at 
 the game of quoits, which is the standard pastime 
 among Scottish ploughmen. They fish the neigh- 
 boring streams, too, and have burn-trout for sup- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 4 5 
 
 per several times a week. When I entered, two 
 of them were sitting by the fire playing" draughts, 
 or, as they called it, "the dam-brod." The dam- 
 brod is the Scottish laborer's billiards ; and he 
 often attains to a remarkable proficiency at the 
 game. Wylie, the champion draught-player, was 
 once a herd-boy ; and wonderful stories are cur- 
 rent in all bothies of the times when his master 
 called him into the farm-parlor to show his skill. 
 A third man, who seemed the elder by quite 
 twenty years, was at the window reading a news- 
 paper ; and I got no shock when I saw that it was 
 the Saturday Review, which he and a laborer on an 
 adjoining farm took in weekly between them. 
 There was a copy of a local newspaper — the 
 People s Journal — also lying about, and some 
 books, including one of Darwin's. These were 
 all the property of this man, however, who did 
 the reading for the bothy. 
 
 They did all the cooking for themselves, living 
 largely on milk. In the old days, which the 
 senior could remember, porridge was so universally 
 the morning meal that they called it by that name 
 instead of breakfast. They still breakfast on por- 
 ridge, but often take tea *' above it." Generally 
 milk is taken with the porridge ; but * * porter " or 
 stout in a bowl is no uncommon substitute. Pota- 
 toes at twelve o'clock — seldom "brose" nowa- 
 days — are the staple dinner dish, and the tinned- 
 meats have become very popular. There are 
 
46 A ULD LICH T ID YLS. 
 
 bothies where each man makes his own food ; 
 but of course the more satisfactory plan is for 
 them to club together. Sometimes they get their 
 food in the farm-kitchen ; but this is only when 
 there are few of them and the farmer and his 
 family do not think it beneath them to dine with 
 the men. Broth, too, may be made in the kitchen 
 and sent down to the bothy. At harvest time the 
 workers take their food in the fields, when great 
 quantities of milk are provided. There is very 
 little beer drunk, and whiskey is only consumed 
 in privacy. 
 
 Life in the bothies is not, I should say, so lonely 
 as life at the school-house, for the hands have at 
 least each other's company. The hawker visits 
 them frequently still, though the itinerant tailor, 
 once a familiar figure, has almost vanished. 
 Their great place of congregating is still some 
 country smiddy, which is also their frequent 
 meeting-place when bent on black-fishing. The 
 flare of the black-fisher's torch still attracts salmon 
 to their death in the rivers near Thrums ; and 
 you may hear in the glens on a dark night the 
 rattle of the spears on the wet stones. Twenty 
 or thirty years ago, however, the sport was much 
 more common. After the farmer had gone to 
 bed, some half-dozen ploughmen and a few other 
 poachers from Thrums would set out for the 
 meeting-place. 
 
 The smithy on these occasions must have been 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 47 
 
 a weird sight ; though one did not mark that at 
 the time. The poacher crept from the darkness 
 into the glaring smithy light ; for in country parts 
 the anvil might sometimes be heard clanging at 
 all hours of the night. As a rule, every face was 
 blackened ; and it was this, I suppose, rather 
 than the fact that dark nights were chosen, that 
 gave the gangs the name of black-fishers. Other 
 disguises were resorted to ; one of the commonest 
 being to change clothes or to turn your corduroys 
 out-side in. The country folk of those days were 
 more superstitious than they are now, and it did 
 not take much to turn the black-fishers back. 
 There was not a barn or byre in the district that 
 had not its horseshoe over the door. Another 
 popular device for frightening away witches and 
 fairies was to hang bunches of garlic about the 
 farms. I have known a black-fishing expedition 
 stopped because a ** yellow yite," or yellow-ham- 
 mer, hovered round the gang when they were 
 setting out. Still more ominous was the "peat " 
 when it appeared with one or three companions. 
 An old rhyme about this bird runs — *'One is joy, 
 two is grief, three's a bridal, four is death." 
 Such snatches of superstition are still to be heard 
 amidst the gossip of a north-country smithy. 
 
 Each black-fisher brought his own spear and 
 torch, both more or less home-made. The spears 
 were in many cases ''gully-knives," fastened to 
 staves with twine and resin, called "rozet." The 
 
48 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 torches were very rough-and-ready things — rope 
 and tar, or even rotten roots dug from broken 
 trees — in fact, anything that would flare. The 
 black-fishers seldom journeyed far from home, 
 confining themselves to the rivers within a radius 
 of three or four miles. There were many reasons 
 for this : one of them being that the hands had to 
 be at their work on the farm by five o'clock in the 
 morning : another, that so they poached and let 
 poach. Except when in spate, the river I spe- 
 cially refer to offered no attractions to the black- 
 fishers. Heavy rains, however, swell it much 
 more quickly than most rivers into a turbulent 
 rush of water ; the part of it affected by the black- 
 fishers being banked in with rocks that prevent 
 the water's spreading. Above these rocks, again, 
 are heavy green banks, from which stunted trees 
 grow aslant across the river. The effect is fear- 
 some at some points where the trees run into 
 each other, as it were, from opposite banks. 
 However, the black-fishers thought nothing of 
 these things. They took a turnip lantern with 
 them — that is, a lantern hollowed out of a turnip, 
 with a piece of candle inside — but no lights- were 
 shown on the road. Every one knew his way 
 to the river blindfold ; so that the darker the 
 night the better. On reaching the water there 
 was a pause. One or two of the gang climbed 
 the banks to discover if any bailiffs were on the 
 watch ; while the others sat down, and with the 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 49 
 
 help of the turnip lantern ''busked '' their spears ; 
 in other words, fastened on the steel — or, it 
 might be, merely pieces of rusty iron sharpened 
 into a point at home — to the staves. Some had 
 them busked before they set out, but that was 
 not considered prudent ; for of course there was 
 always a risk of meeting spoil-sports on the way, 
 to whom the spears would tell a tale that could 
 not be learned from ordinary staves. Neverthe- 
 less little time was lost. Five or six of the gang 
 waded into the water, torch in one hand and spear 
 in the other ; and the object now was to catch 
 some salmon with the least possible delay, and 
 hurry away. Windy nights were good for the 
 sport, and I can still see the river lit up with the 
 lumps of light that a torch makes in a high wind. 
 The torches, of course, were used to attract the 
 fish, which came swimming to the sheen, and 
 were then speared. As little noise as possible 
 was made ; but though the men bit their lips in- 
 stead of crying out when they missed their fish, 
 there was a continuous ring of their weapons on 
 the stones, and every irrepressible imprecation 
 was echoed up and down the black glen. Two 
 or three of the gang were told off to land the 
 salmon, and they had to work smartly and deftly. 
 They kept by the sid^ of the spearsman, and the 
 moment he struck a fish they grabbed at it with 
 their hands. When the spear had a barb there 
 was less chance of the fish's being lost ; but often 
 4 
 
50 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 this was not the case, and probably not more than 
 two-thirds of the salmon speared were got safely 
 to the bank. The takes of course varied ; some- 
 times, indeed, the black-fishers returned home 
 empty-handed. 
 
 Encounters with the bailiffs were not infre- 
 quent, though they seldom took place at the 
 water's edge. When the poachers were caught 
 in the act, and had their blood up with the excite- 
 ment of the sport, they were ugly customers. 
 Spears were used and heads were broken. Strug- 
 gles even took place in the water, when there 
 was always a chance of somebody's being 
 drowned. Where the bailiffs gave the black- 
 fishers an opportunity of escaping without a fight 
 it was nearly always taken ; the booty being left 
 behind. As a rule, when the ''water watchers," 
 as the bailiffs were som.etimes called, had an 
 inkling of what was to take place, they reinforced 
 themselves with a constable or two and waited 
 on the road to catch the poachers on their way 
 home. One black-fisher, a noted character, was 
 nicknamed the ''Deil o' Glen Quharity." He 
 was said to have gone to the houses of the bailiffs 
 and offered to sell them the fish stolen from the 
 streams over which they kept guard. The " Deil " 
 was never imprisoned — partly, perhaps, because 
 he was too eccentric to be taken seriously. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 5 1 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE AULD LIGHT KIRK. 
 
 One Sabbath day in the beginning of the cent- 
 ury the Auld Licht minister at Thrums walked 
 out of his battered, ramshackle, earthen-floored 
 kirk with a following and never returned. The 
 last words he uttered in it were : " Follow me to 
 the commonty, all you persons who want to hear 
 the Word of God properly preached ; and James 
 Duphie and his two sons will answer for this on 
 the Day of Judgment/' The congregation, which 
 belonged to the body who seceded from the Es- 
 tablished Church a hundred and fifty years ago, 
 had split, and as the New Lights (now the U. 
 P.'s) were in the majority, the Old Lights, with the 
 minister at their head, had to retire to the com- 
 monty (or common) and hold service in the open 
 air until they had saved up money for a church. 
 They kept possession, however, of the white 
 manse among the trees. Their kirk has but a 
 cluster of members now, most of them old and 
 done, but each is equal to a dozen ordinary 
 church-goers, and there have been men and women 
 among them on whom memory loves to linger. 
 
52 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 For forty years they have been dying out, but 
 their cold, stiff pews still echo the Psalms of 
 David, and the Auld Licht kirk will remain open 
 so long as it has one member and a minister. 
 
 The church stands round the corner from the 
 square, with only a large door to distinguish it 
 from the other buildings in the short street. 
 Children who want to do a brave thing hit this door 
 with their fists, when there is no one near, and 
 then run away scared. The door, however, is 
 sacred to the memory of a white-haired old lady 
 who, not so long ago, used to march out of the 
 kirk and remain on the pavement until the psalm 
 which had just been given out was sung. Of 
 Thrums' pavement it may here be said that when 
 you come, even to this day, to a level slab you will 
 feel reluctant to leave it. The old lady was Mis- 
 tress (which is Miss) Tibbie McQuhatty, and she 
 nearly split the Auld Licht kirk over ''run line." 
 This conspicuous innovation was introduced by 
 Mr. Dishart, the minister, when he was young 
 and audacious. The old, reverent custom in the 
 kirk was for the precentor to read out the psalm 
 a line at a time. Having then sung that line he 
 read out the next one, led the singing of it, and 
 so worked his way on to line three. Where run 
 line holds, however, the psalm is read out first, 
 and forthwith sung. This is not only a flighty 
 way of doing things, which may lead to greater 
 scandals, but has its practical disadvantages, for 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 53 
 
 the precentor always starts singing in advance of 
 the congregation (Auld Lichts never being able to 
 begin to do anything all at once), and, increasing 
 the distance with every line, leaves them hope- 
 lessly behind at the finish. Miss McQuhatty 
 protested against this change, as meeting the 
 devil half way, but the minister carried his point, 
 and ever after that she rushed ostentatiously from 
 the church the moment a'psalm was given out, 
 and remained behind the door until the singing 
 was finished, when she returned, with a rustle, 
 to her seat. Run line had on her the effect of the 
 reading of the Riot Act. Once some men, capa- 
 ble of anything, held the door from the outside, 
 and the congregation heard Tibbie rampaging in 
 the passage. Bursting into the kirk she called 
 office-bearers to her assistance, whereupon the 
 minister in miniature raised his voice and de- 
 manded the why and wherefore of the ungodly 
 disturbance. Great was the hubbub, but the door 
 was fast, and a compromise had to be arrived at. 
 The old lady consented for once to stand in the 
 passage, but not without pressing her hands to 
 her ears. You may smile at Tibbie, but ah ! I 
 know what she was at a sick bedside. I have 
 seen her when the hard look had gone from her 
 eyes, and it would ill become me to smile too. 
 
 As with all the churches in Thrums, care had 
 been taken to make the Auld Licht one much too 
 large. The stair to the **laft" or gallery, which 
 
54 ^ ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 was originally little more than a ladder, is ready 
 for you as soon as you enter the doorway, but it 
 is best to sit in the body of the kirk. The plate 
 for collections is inside the church, so that the 
 whole congregation can give a guess at what you 
 give. If it is something very stingy or v ery liberal, 
 all Thrums knows of it within a few hours ; in- 
 deed, this holds good of all the churches, espe- 
 cially perhaps of the Free one, which has been 
 called the bawbee kirk, because so many half- 
 pennies find their way into the plate. On Satur- 
 day nights the Thrums shops are besieged for 
 coppers by housewives of all denominations, who 
 would as soon think of dropping a three-penny 
 bit into the plate as of giving nothing. Tammy 
 Todd had a curious way of tipping his penny into 
 the Auld Licht plate while still keeping his hand 
 to his side. He did it much as a boy fires a 
 marble, and there was quite a talk in the congre- 
 gation the first time he missed. A devout plan 
 was to carry your penny in your hand all the way 
 to church, but to appear to take it out of your 
 pocket on entering, and some plumped it down 
 noisily like men paying their way. I believe old 
 Snecky Hobart, who was a canty stock, but obsti- 
 nate, once dropped a penny into the plate and 
 took out a halfpenny as change, but the only un- 
 toward thing that happened to the plate was once 
 when the lassie from the farm of Curly Bog cap- 
 sized it in passing. Mr. Dishart, who was always 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 55 
 
 a ready man, introduced something into his ser- 
 mon that day about women's dress, which every 
 one hoped Christy Lundy, the lassie in question, 
 would remember. Nevertheless, the minister 
 sometimes came to a sudden stop himself when 
 passing from the vestry to the pulpit. The pas- 
 sage being narrow, his rigging would catch in a 
 pew as he sailed down the aisle. Even then, 
 however, Mr. Dishart remembered that he was 
 not as other men. 
 
 White is not a religious color, and the walls of 
 the kirk were of a dull gray. A cushion was 
 allowed to the manse pew, but merely as a symbol 
 of office, and this was the only pew in the church 
 that had a door. It was and is the pew nearest 
 to the pulpit on the minister's right, and one day 
 it contained a bonnet, which Mr. Dishart's pre- 
 decessor preached at for one hour and ten minutes. 
 From the pulpit, which was swaddled in black, 
 the minister had a fine sweep of all the congrega- 
 tion except those m the back pews downstairs, 
 who were lost in the shadow of the laft. Here 
 sat Whinny Webster, so called because, having 
 an inexplicable passion against them, he devoted 
 his life to the extermination of whins. Whinny 
 for years ate peppermint lozenges with impunity 
 in his back seat, safe in the certainty that the 
 minister, however much he might try, could not 
 possibly see him. But his day came. One after- 
 noon the kirk smelt of peppermints, and Mr. Dis- 
 
56 AtJLD LICHT ID YL3. 
 
 hart could rebuke no one, for the defaultet Was 
 not in sight. Whinny's cheek was working up 
 and down in quiet enjoyment of its lozenge, when 
 he started, noticing that the preaching had 
 stopped. Then he heard a sepulchral voice say 
 ** Charles Webster ! " Whinny's eyes turned to the 
 pulpit, only part of which was visible to him, and 
 to his horror they encountered the minister's head 
 coming down the stairs. This took place after 
 I had ceased to attend the Auld Licht kirk regu- 
 larly ; but I am told that as Whinny gave one 
 wild scream the peppermint dropped from his 
 mouth. The minister had got him leaning over 
 the pulpit door until, had he given by himself only 
 another inch, his feet would have gone into the 
 air. As for Whinny he became a God-fearing 
 man. 
 
 The most uncanny thing about the kirk was the 
 precentor's box beneath the pulpit. Three Auld 
 Licht ministers I have known, but I can only con- 
 ceive one precentor. Lang Tammas' box was 
 much too small for him. Since his disappearance 
 from Thrums, I believe they have paid him the 
 compliment of enlarging it for a smaller man, no 
 doubt with the feeling that Tammas alone could 
 look like a Christian m it. Like the whole con- 
 gregation, of course, he had to stand during the 
 prayers — the first of which averaged half an hour 
 m length. If he stood erect his head and shoul- 
 ders vanished beneath funereal trappings, when 
 
AULD LIGHT ID YLS. 5 7 
 
 he seemed decapitated, and if he stretched his 
 neck the pulpit tottered. He looked like the pillar 
 on which it rested, or he balanced it on his head 
 like a baker's tray. Sometimes he leaned forward 
 as reverently as he could, and then, with his long, 
 lean arms dangling over the side of his box, he 
 might have been a suit of "blacks" hung up to 
 dry. Once I was talking with Cree Queery, in a 
 sober, respectable manner, when all at once a 
 light broke out on his face. I asked him what he 
 was laughing at, and he said it was at Lang Tam- 
 mas. He got grave again when I asked him 
 what there was in Lang Tammas to smile at, and 
 admitted that he could not tell me. However, I 
 have always been of opinion that the thought of 
 the precentor in his box gave Cree a fleeting sense 
 of humor. 
 
 Tammas and Hendry Munn were the two paid 
 officials of the church, Hendry being kirk-officer ; 
 but poverty was among the few points they 
 had in common. The precentor was a cobbler, 
 though he never knew it, shoemaker being the 
 name in those parts, and his dwelling-room was 
 also his workshop. There he sat in his **brot/' 
 or apron, from early morning to far on to mid- 
 night, and contrived to make his six or eight shil- 
 lings a week. I have often sat with him in the 
 darkness that his ''cruizey" lamp could not 
 pierce, while his mutterings to himself of "ay, 
 ay, yes, umpha, oh ay, ay man," came as regu- 
 
58 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 larly and monotonously as the tick of his "wag- 
 at-the-wa' " clock. Hendry and he were paid no 
 fixed sum for their services in the Auld Licht kirk, 
 but once a year there was a collection for each of 
 them, and so they jogged along. Though not the 
 only kirk -officer of my time Hendry made the 
 most lasting impression. He was, I think, the 
 only man in Thrums who did not quake when 
 the minister looked at him. A wild story, never 
 authenticated, says that Hendry once offered Mr. 
 Dishart a snuff from his mull. In the streets 
 Lang Tammas was more stern and dreaded by 
 evil-doers, but Hendry had first place in the kirk. 
 One of his duties was to precede the minister from 
 the session-house to the pulpit and open the door 
 for him. Having shut Mr. Dishart in he strolled 
 aw^ay to his seat. When a strange minister 
 preached, Hendry was, if possible, still more at 
 his ease. This will not be believed, but I have 
 seen him give the pulpit-door on these occasions 
 a fling to with his feet. However ill an ordinary 
 member of the congregation might become in the 
 kirk he sat on till the service ended, but Hendry 
 would wander to the door and shut it if he noticed 
 that the wind was playing irreverent tricks with 
 the pages of Bibles, and proof could still be 
 brought forward that he would stop deliberately 
 in the aisle to lift up a piece of paper, say, that 
 had floated there. After the first psalm had 
 been sung it was Hendry's part to lift up the plate 
 
AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 59 
 
 and carry its tinkling contents to the session- 
 house. On the greatest occasions he remained so 
 calm, so indifferent, so expressionless, that he 
 might have been present the night before at a re- 
 hearsal. 
 
 When there was preaching at night the church 
 was lit by tallow candles, which also gave out all 
 the artificial heat provided. Two candles stood on 
 each side of the pulpit, and others were scattered 
 over the church, some of them fixed into holes on 
 rough brackets, and some merely sticking in their 
 own grease on the pews. Hendry superintended 
 the lighting of the candles, and frequently hobbled 
 through the church to snuff them. Mr. Dishart 
 was a man who could do anything except snuff a 
 candle, but when he stopped in his sermon to do 
 that he as often as not knocked the candle over. 
 In vain he sought to refix it in its proper place, 
 and then all eyes turned to Hendry. As coolly 
 as though he were in a public hall or place of en- 
 tertainment, the kirk-officer arose and, mounting 
 the stair, took the candle from the minister's re- 
 luctant hands and put it right. Then he returned 
 to his seat, not apparently puffed up, yet perhaps 
 satisfied with himself ; while Mr. Dishart, glaring 
 after him to see if he was carrying his head high, 
 resumed his wordy way. 
 
 Never was there a man more uncomfortably 
 loved than Mr. Dishart. Easie Haggart, his maid- 
 servant, reproved him at the breakfast-tablQ. 
 
6o A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 Lang Tammas and Sam'l Mealmaker crouched 
 for five successive Sabbath nights on his manse- 
 wall to catch him smoking (and got him). Old 
 wives grumbled by their hearths when he did not 
 look into despair of their salvation. He told the 
 maidens of his congregation not to make an idol 
 of him. His session saw him (from behind a hay- 
 stack) in conversation with a strange woman, and 
 asked grimly if he remembered that he had a wife. 
 Twenty were his years when he came to Thrums, 
 and on the very first Sabbath he knocked a board 
 out of the pulpit. Before beginning his trial ser- 
 mon he handed down the big Bible to the pre- 
 centor, to give his arms free swing. The con- 
 gregation, trembling with exhilaration, probed 
 his meaning. Not a square inch of paper, they 
 saw, could be concealed there. Mr. Dishart had 
 scarcely any hope for the Auld Lichts ; he 
 had none for any other denomination. Davit 
 Lunan got behind his handkerchief to think for 
 a moment, and the minister was on him like a 
 tiger. The call was unanimous. Davit proposed 
 him. 
 
 Every few years, as one might say, the Auld 
 Licht kirk gave way and buried its minister. The 
 congregation turned their empty pockets inside 
 out, and the minister departed in a farmer's cart. 
 The scene was not an amusing one to those who 
 looked on at it. To the Auld Lichts was then the 
 humiliation of seeing their pulpit ** supplied " on 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 6 1 
 
 alternate Sabbaths by itinerant probationers or 
 stickit ministers. When they were not starving 
 themselves to support a pastor the Auld Lichts 
 were saving up for a stipend. They retired with 
 compressed lips to their looms, and weaved and 
 weaved till they weaved another minister. With- 
 out the grief of parting with one minister there 
 could not have been the transport of choosing 
 another. To have had a pastor always might 
 have made them vainglorious. 
 
 They were seldom longer than twelve months 
 in making a selection, and in their haste they 
 would have passed over Mr. Dishart and mated 
 with a monster. Many years have elapsed since 
 Providence flung Mr. Watts out of the Auld Licht 
 kirk. Mr. Watts was a probationer who was 
 tried before Mr. Dishart, and, though not so 
 young as might have been wished, he found 
 favor in many eyes. ''Sluggard in the laft, 
 awake ! " he cried to Bell Whamond, who had 
 forgotten herself, and it was felt that there must 
 be good stuff in him. A breeze from Heaven 
 exposed him on Communion Sabbath. 
 
 On the evening of this solemn day the door of 
 the Auld Licht kirk was sometimes locked, and 
 the congregation repaired, Bible in hand, to the 
 commonty. They had a right to this common 
 on the Communion Sabbath, but only took ad- 
 vantage of it when it was believed that more per- 
 sons intended witnessing the evening service than 
 
62 A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 
 
 the kirk would hold. On this day the attendance 
 was always very great. 
 
 It was the Covenanters come back to life. To 
 the summit of the slope a wooden box was 
 slowly hurled by Hendry Munn and others, and 
 round this the congregation quietly grouped to 
 the tinkle of the cracked Auld Licht bell. With 
 slow, majestic tread the session advanced upon 
 the steep common with the little minister in their 
 midst. He had the people in his hands now, and 
 the more he squeezed them the better they were 
 pleased. The travelling pulpit consisted of two 
 compartments, the one for the minister and the 
 other for Lang Tammas, but no Auld Licht 
 thought that it looked like a Punch and Judy 
 puppet show. This service on the common was 
 known as the " tent preaching," owing to a tent's 
 being frequently used instead of the box. 
 
 Mr. Watts was conducting the service on the 
 commonty. It was a fine, still summer evening, 
 and loud above the whisper of the burn from 
 which the ~ common climbs, and the labored 
 **pechs" of the listeners, rose the preacher's 
 voice. The Auld Lichts in their rusty blacks 
 (they must have been a more artistic sight in the 
 olden days of blue bonnets and knee-breeches) 
 nodded their heads in sharp approval, for though 
 they could swoop down on a heretic like an eagle 
 on carrion, they scented no prey. Even Lang 
 Tammas, on whose nose a drop of water gath- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 63 
 
 ered when he was in his greatest fettle, thought 
 that all was fair and above-board. Suddenly a 
 rush of wind tore up the common, and ran 
 straight at the pulpit. It formed in a sieve, and 
 passed over the heads of the congregation, who 
 felt it as a fan, and looked up in awe. Lang 
 Tammas, feeling himself all at once grow 
 clammy, distinctly heard the leaves of the pulpit 
 Bible shiver. Mr. Watts' hands, outstretched to 
 prevent a catastrophe, were blown against his 
 side, and then some twenty sheets of closely 
 written paper floated into the air. There was a 
 horrible, deadsilence. The burn was roaring now. 
 The minister, if such he can be called, shrank back in 
 his box, and, as if they had seen it printed in letters 
 of fire on the heavens, the congregation reaHzed 
 that Mr. Watts, whom they had been on the point 
 of calling, read his sermon. He wrote it out on 
 pages the exact size of those in the Bible, and did 
 not scruple to fasten these into the Holy Book it- 
 self. At theatres a sullen thunder of angry voices 
 behind the scene represents a crowd in a rage, 
 and such a low, long-drawn howl swept the com- 
 mon when Mr. Watts was found out. To follow 
 a pastor who "read" seemed to the Auld Lichts 
 like claiming heaven on false pretences. In ten 
 minutes the session alone, with Lang Tammas 
 and Hendry, were on the common. They were 
 watched by many from afar off, and (when one 
 comes to think of it now) looked a little curious 
 
64 AULD Lie HT IDYLS. 
 
 jumping, like trout at flies, at the damning papers 
 still fluttering in the air. The minister was never 
 seen in our parts again, but he is still remembered 
 as ** Paper Watts/' 
 
 Mr. Dishart in the pulpit was the reward of his 
 upbringing. At ten he had entered the univer- 
 sity. Before he was in his teens he was practic- 
 ing the art of gesticulation in his father's gallery- 
 pew. From distant congregations people came 
 to marvel at him. He was never more than 
 comparatively young. So long as the pulpit 
 trappings of the kirk at Thrums lasted he could 
 be seen, once he was fairly under way with 
 his sermon, but dimly in a cloud of dust. He in- 
 troduced headaches. In a grand transport of en- 
 thusiasm he once flung his arms over the pulpit 
 and caught Lang Tammas on the forehead. 
 Leaning forward, with his chest on the cushions, 
 he would pommel the Evil One with both hands, 
 and then, whirling round to the left, shake his fist 
 at Bell Whamond's neckerchief. With a sudden 
 jump he would fix Pete Todd's youngest boy 
 catching flies at the laft window. Stiffening un- 
 expectedly, he would leap three times in the air, 
 and then gather himself in a corner for a fear- 
 some spring. When he wept he seemed to be 
 laughing, and he laughed in a paroxysm of tears. 
 He tried to tear the devil out of the pulpit rails. 
 When he was not a teetotum he was a windmill. 
 His pump position was the most appalling. 
 
A ULD LiCHT ID YLS. 6$ 
 
 Then he glared motionless at his admiring listen- 
 ers, as if he had fallen into a trance with his arm 
 upraised. The hurricane broke next moment. 
 Nanny Sutie bore up under the shadow of the 
 windmill — which would have been heavier had 
 Auld Licht ministers worn gowns — but the pump 
 affected her to tears. She was stone-deaf. 
 
 For the first year or more of his ministry an 
 Auld Licht minister was a mouse among cats. 
 Both in the pulpit and out of it they watched for 
 unsound doctrine, and when he strayed they took 
 him by the neck. Mr. Dishart, however, had 
 been brought up in the true way, and seldom 
 gave his people a chance. In time, it may be 
 said, they grew despondent, and settled in their 
 uncomfortable pews with all suspicion of lurking 
 heresy allayed. It was only on such Sabbaths as 
 Mr. Dishart changed pulpits with another minis- 
 ter that they cocked their ears and leaned forward 
 eagerly to snap the preacher, up. 
 
 Mr. Dishart had his trials. There was the 
 split in the kirk, too, that comes once at least 
 to every Auld Licht minister. He was long in 
 marrying. The congregation were thinking of 
 approaching him, through the medium of his 
 servant, Easie Haggart, on the subject of matri- 
 mony ; for a bachelor coming on for twenty-two, 
 with an income of eighty pounds per annum, 
 seemed an anomaly — when one day he took the 
 canal for Edinburgh, and returned vrith his bride. 
 5 
 
66 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 His people nodded their heads, but said nothing 
 to the minister. If he did not choose to take 
 them into his confidence, it was no affair of 
 theirs. That there was something queer about 
 the marriage, however, seemed certain. Sandy 
 Whamond, who was a soured man after losing 
 his eldership, said that he believed she had been 
 an '"Englishy" — in other words, had belonged 
 to the English Church ; but it is not probable that 
 Mr. Dishart would have gone the length of that. 
 The secret is buried in his grave. 
 
 Easie Haggart jagged the minister sorely. She 
 grew loquacious with years, and when he had 
 company would stand at the door joining in the 
 conversation. If the company was another 
 minister, she would take a chair and discuss Mr. 
 Dishart's infirmities with him. The Auld Lichts 
 loved their minister, but they saw even more 
 clearly than himself the necessity for his humilia- 
 tion. His wife made all her children's clothes, 
 but Sanders Gow complained that she looked too 
 like their sister. In one week three of the chil- 
 dren died, and on the Sabbath following it rained. 
 Mr. Dishart preached, twice breaking down alto- 
 gether, and gapmg strangely round the kirk 
 (there was no dust flying that day), and spoke of 
 the rain as angels' tears for three little girls. The 
 Auld Lichts let it pass, but, as Lang Tammas 
 said in private (for, of course, the thing was 
 much disoussed at the looms), if you materialize 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 67 
 
 angels in that way, where are you going to 
 stop ? 
 
 It was on the fast-days that the Auld Licht kirk 
 showed what it was capable of, and, so to speak, 
 left all the other churches in Thrums far behind. 
 The fast came round once every summer, begin- 
 ning on a Thursday, when all the looms were 
 hushed, and two services were held in the kirk, 
 of about three hours' length each. A minister 
 from another town assisted at these times, and 
 when the service ended the members filed in at 
 one door and out at another, passing on their 
 way Mr. Dishart and his elders, who dispensed 
 " tokens " at the foot of the pulpit. Without a 
 token, which was a metal lozenge, no one could 
 take the sacrament on the coming Sabbath, and 
 many a member has Mr. Dishart made miserable 
 by refusing him his token for gathering wild- 
 flowers, say, on a Lord's Day (as testified to by 
 another member). Women were lost who 
 cooked dinners on the Sabbath, or took to col- 
 ored ribbons, or absented themselves from church 
 without sufficient cause. On the fast-day, fists 
 were shaken at Mr. Dishart as he walked sternly 
 homeward, but he was undismayed. Next day 
 there were no services in the kirk, for Auld Lichts 
 could not afford many holidays, but they weaved 
 solemnly, with Saturday and the Sabbath and 
 Monday to think of. On Saturday, service be- 
 gan at two, and lasted until nearly seven. Two 
 
68 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 sermons were preached, but there was no inter- 
 val. The sacrament was dispensed on the Sab- 
 bath. Nowadays the * * tables " in the Auld 
 Licht kirk are soon ''served," for the attendance 
 has decayed, and most of the pews in the body 
 of the church are made use of. In the days of 
 which I speak, however, the front pews alone 
 were hung with white, and it was in them only 
 the sacrament was administered. As many 
 members as could get into them delivered up 
 their tokens and took the first table. Then they 
 made room for others, who sat in their pews 
 awaiting their turn. What with tables, the 
 preaching, and unusually long prayers, the serv- 
 ice lasted from eleven to six. At half-past six a 
 two hours' service began, either in the kirk or on 
 the common, from which no one who thought 
 much about his immortal soul would have dared 
 (or cared) to absent himself A four hours' serv- 
 ice on the Monday, which, like that of the Satur- 
 day, consisted of two services in one, but began 
 at eleven instead of two, completed the pro- 
 gramme. 
 
 On those days, if you were a poor creature and 
 wanted to acknowledge it, you could leave the 
 church for a few minutes and return to it, but the 
 creditable thing was to sit on. Even among the 
 children there was a keen competition, fostered 
 by their parents, to sit each other out, and be in 
 at the death. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 69 
 
 The other Thrums kirks held the sacrament at 
 the same time, but not with the same vehemence. 
 As far north from the school-house as Thrums is 
 south of it, nestles the little village of Quharity, 
 and there the fast-day was not a day of fasting. 
 In most cases the people had to go many miles 
 to church. They drove or rode (two on a horse), 
 or walked in from other glens. Without "the 
 tents," therefore, the congregation, with a long 
 day before them, would have been badly off. 
 Sometimes one tent sufficed ; at other times rival 
 publicans were on the ground. The tents were 
 those in use at the feeing and other markets, and 
 you could get anything inside them, from broth 
 made in a "boiler" to the firiest whiskey. They 
 were planted just outside the kirk-gate — long, 
 low tents of dirty white canvas — so that when 
 passing into the church or out of it you inhaled 
 their odors. The congregation emerged austerely 
 from the church, shaking their heads solemnly 
 over the minister's remarks, and their feet carried 
 them into the tent. There was no mirth, no un- 
 seemly revelry, but there was a great deal of 
 hard drinking. Eventually the tents were done 
 away with, but not until the services on the fast- 
 days were shortened. The Auld Licht ministers 
 were the only ones who preached against the 
 tents with any heart, and since the old dominie, 
 my predecessor at the school-house, died, there 
 
fO A I/IP LICHT ID VIS. 
 
 has not been an Auld Licht permanently resident 
 in the glen of Quharity. 
 
 Perhaps nothing took it out of the Auld Licht 
 tnales so much as a christening. Then alone 
 they showed symptoms of nervousness, more 
 especially after the remarkable baptism of Eppie 
 Whamond. I could tell of several scandals in con- 
 nection with the kirk. There was, for instance, 
 the time when Easie Haggart saved the minister. 
 In a fit of temporary mental derangement the 
 misguided man had one Sabbath day, despite 
 the entreaties of his affrighted spouse, called at the 
 post-office, and was on the point of reading the 
 letter there received when Easie, who had slipped 
 on her bonnet and followed him, snatched the 
 secular thing from his hands. There was the 
 story that ran like fire through Thrums and 
 crushed an innocent man, to the effect that Pete 
 Todd had been in an Edinburgh theatre counte- 
 nancing the play-actors. Something could be 
 made, too, of the retribution that came to Charlie 
 Ramsay, who woke in his pew to discover 
 that its other occupant, his little son Jamie, was 
 standing on the seat divesting himself of his 
 clothes in presence of a horrified congregation. 
 Jamie had begun stealthily, and had very little 
 on when Charlie . seized him. But having 
 my choice of scandals I prefer the christen- 
 ing one — the unique case of Eppie Whamond, 
 who was born late on Saturday night and 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID VLS. 7 1 
 
 baptized in the kirk on the following fore- 
 noon. 
 
 To the casual observer the Auld Licht always 
 looked as if he were returning from burying a 
 near relative. Yet when I met him hobbling 
 down the street, preternaturally grave and occu- 
 pied, experience taught me that he was preparing 
 for a christening. How the minister would have 
 borne himself in the event of a member of his 
 congregation's wanting the baptism to take place 
 at home it is not easy to say ; but I shudder to 
 think of the public prayers for the parents that 
 would certainly have followed. The child was 
 carried to the kirk through rain, or snow, or sleet, 
 or wind; the father took his seat alone in the 
 front pew, under the minister's eye, and the serv- 
 ice was prolonged far into the afternoon. But 
 though the references in the sermon to that un- 
 happy object of interest in the front pew were 
 many and pointed, his time had not really come 
 until the minister signed to him to advance as far 
 as the second step of the pulpit-stairs. The ner- 
 vous father clenched the railing in a daze, and 
 cowered before the ministerial heckling. From 
 warning the minister passed to exhortation, from 
 exhortation to admonition, from admonition to 
 searching questioning, from questioning to prayer 
 and wailing. When the father glanced up, there 
 was the radiant boy in the pulpit looking as if he 
 would like to jump down his throat. If he hung 
 
72 AULD Lie HT IDYLS. 
 
 his head the minister would ask, with a groan, 
 whether he was unprepared ; and the whole con- 
 gregation would sigh out the response that Mr. 
 Dishart had hit it. When he replied audibly to 
 the minister's uncomfortable questions, a pained 
 look at his flippancy travelled from the pulpit all 
 around the pews ; and when he only bowed his 
 head in answer, the minister paused sternly, and 
 the congregation wondered what the man meant. 
 Little wonder that Davie Haggart took to drink- 
 ing when his turn came for occupying that front 
 pew. 
 
 If wee Eppie Whamond's birth had been de- 
 ferred until the beginning of the week, or humil- 
 ity had shown more prominently among her 
 mother's virtues, the kirk would have been saved 
 a painful scandal, and Sandy Whamond might 
 have retained his eldership. Yet it was a foolish 
 but wifely pride in her husband's official position 
 that turned Bell Dundas' head — a wild ambition 
 to beat all baptismal record. 
 
 Among the wives she was esteemed a poor 
 body whose infant did not see the inside of the 
 kirk within a fortnight of its birth. Forty years 
 ago it was an accepted superstition in Thrums 
 that the ghosts of children who had died before 
 they were baptized went wailing and ringing their 
 hands round the kirk-yard at nights, and that 
 they would continue to do this until the crack of 
 doom. When the Auld Licht children grew up, 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID VIS. 73 
 
 too, they crowed over those of their fellows 
 whose christening had been deferred until a com- 
 paratively late date, and the mothers who had 
 needlessly missed a Sabbath for long afterward 
 hung their heads. That was a good and credita- 
 ble birth which took place early in the week, 
 thus allowing time for suitable christening 
 preparations ; while to be born on a Friday or a 
 Saturday was to humiliate your parents, be- 
 sides being an extremely ominous beginning 
 for yourself. Without seeking to vindicate 
 Bell Dundas' behavior, I may note, as an act 
 of ordinary fairness, that, being the leading 
 elder's wife, she was sorely tempted. Eppie 
 made her appearance at 9: 45 on a Saturday 
 night. 
 
 In the hurry and skurry that ensued, Sandy 
 escaped sadly to the square. His infant would 
 be baptized eight days old — one of the longest de- 
 ferred christenings of the year. Sandy was shiv- 
 ering under the clock when I met him accident- 
 ally and took him home. But by that time the 
 harm had been done. Several of the congrega- 
 tion had been roused from their beds to hear his 
 lamentations, of whom the men sympathized with 
 him, while the wives triumphed austerely over 
 Bell Dundas. As I wrung poor Sandy's hand, I 
 hardly noticed that a bright light showed dis- 
 tinctly between the shutters of his kitchen-win- 
 dow ; but the elder himself turned pale and 
 
74 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 breathed quickly. It was then fourteen minutes 
 past twelve. 
 
 My heart sank within me on the following 
 forenoon, when Sandy Whamond walked, with 
 a queer twitching face, into the front pew under 
 a glare of eyes from the body of the kirk and the 
 laft. An amazed buzz went round the church, 
 followed by a pursing up of lips and hurried 
 whisperings. Evidently Sandy had been driven 
 to it against his own judgment. The scene is 
 still vivid before me : the minister suspecting no 
 guile, and omitting the admonitory stage out of 
 compliment to the elder's standing ; Sandy's 
 ghastly face ; the proud godmother (aged twelve) 
 with the squalling baby in her arms ; the horror 
 of the congregation to a man and woman. A 
 slate fell from Sandy's house even as he held up 
 the babe to the minister to receive a " droukin " of 
 water, and Eppie cried so vigorously that her 
 shamed godmother had to rush with her to the 
 vestry. Now things are not as they should be 
 when an Auld Licht infant does not quietly sit 
 out her first service. 
 
 Bell tried for a time to carry her head high ; 
 but Sandy ceased to w^histle at his loom, and the 
 scandal was a rolling stone that soon passed over 
 him. Briefly it amounted to this : that a bairn 
 born within two hours of midnight on Saturday 
 could not have been ready for christening at the 
 kirk next day without the breaking of the Sabbath. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 75 
 
 Had the secret of the nocturnal light been mine 
 alone all might have been well ; but Betsy Mund's 
 evidence was irrefutable. Great had been Bell's 
 cunning, but Betsy had outwitted her. Passing 
 the house on the eventful night, Betsy had ob- 
 served Marget Dundas, Bell's sister, open the door 
 and creep cautiously to the window, the chinks 
 in the outside shutters of which she cunningly 
 closed up with "tow." As in a flash the disgusted 
 Betsy saw what Bell was up to, and, removing 
 the tow, planted herself behind the dilapidated 
 dyke opposite, and awaited events. Questioned 
 at a special meeting of the office-bearers in the 
 vestry, she admitted that the lamp was extin- 
 guished soon after twelve o'clock, though the fire 
 burned brightly all night. There had been un- 
 necessary feasting during the night, and six eggs 
 were consumed before breakfast-time. Asked 
 how she knew this, she admitted having counted 
 the eggshells that Marget had thrown out of doors 
 in the morning. This, with the testimony of the 
 persons from whom Sandy had sought condolence 
 on the Saturday night, was the case for the prose- 
 cution. For the defense. Bell maintained that all 
 preparations stopped when the clock struck 
 twelve, and even hinted that the bairn had been 
 born on Saturday afternoon. But Sandy knew that 
 he and his had got a fall. In the forenoon of the 
 following Sabbath the minister preached from the 
 text, **Be sure your sin will find you out; " and 
 
76 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 in the afternoon from *' Pride goeth before a fall." 
 He was grand. In the evening Sandy tendered 
 his resignation of office, which was at once ac- 
 cepted. Wobs were behind-hand for a week, 
 owing to the length of the prayers offered up for 
 Bell ; and Lang Tammas ruled in Sandy's stead. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 77 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LADS AND LASSES. 
 
 With the severe Auld Lichts the Sabbath began 
 at six o'clock on Saturday evening. By that time 
 the gleaming shuttle was at rest, Davie Haggart 
 had strolled into the village from his pile of 
 stones in the Whunny road ; Henry Robb, the 
 "dummy," had sold his last barrowful of " roz- 
 etty (resiny) roots " for firewood ; and the people, 
 having tranquilly supped and soused their faces 
 in their water-pails, slowly donned their Sunday 
 clothes. This ceremony was common to all ; but 
 here divergence set in. The gray Auld Licht, to 
 whom love was not even a name, sat in his high- 
 backed arm-chair by the hearth, Bible or "Pil- 
 grim's Progress " in hand, occasionally lapsing 
 into slumber. But — though, when they got the 
 chance, they went willingly three times to the 
 kirk — there were young men in the community 
 so flighty that, instead of dozing at home on Sat- 
 urday night, they dandered casually into the 
 square, and, forming into knots at the corners, 
 talked solemnly and mysteriously ot women. 
 
 Not even on the night preceding his wedding 
 
78 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 was an Auld Licht ever known to stay out after 
 ten o'clock. So weekly conclaves at street-cor- 
 ners came to an end at a comparatively early hour, 
 one Coelebs after another shuffling silently from 
 the square until it echoed, deserted, to the town- 
 house clock. The last of the gallants, gradually 
 discovering that he was alone, would look around 
 him musingly, and, taking in the situation, slowly 
 wend his way home. On no other night of the 
 week was frivolous talk about the softer sex in- 
 dulged in, the Auld Lichts being creatures of 
 habit, who never thought of smiling on a Mon- 
 day. Long before they reached their teens they 
 were earning their keep as herds in the surround- 
 mg glens or filling ' ' pirns " for their parents ; but 
 they were generally on the brink of twenty before 
 they thought seriously of matrimony. Up to that 
 time they only trifled with the other sex's affec- 
 tions at a distance — filling a maid's water-pails, 
 perhaps, when no one was looking, or carrying 
 her wob ; at the recollection of which they would 
 slap their knees almost jovially on Saturday night. 
 A wife was expected to assist at the loom as well 
 as to be cunning in the making of marmalade 
 and the firing of bannocks, and there was conse- 
 quently some heartburning among the lads for 
 maids of skill and muscle. The Auld Licht, how- 
 ever, who meant marriage seldom loitered in the 
 streets. By-and-bye there came a time when the 
 clock looked down through its cracked glass upon 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 79 
 
 the hemmed-in square and saw him not. His 
 companions, gazing at each others boots, felt 
 that something was going on, but made no re- 
 mark. 
 
 A month ago, passing through the shabby, 
 familiar square, I brushed against a withered old 
 man tottering down the street under a load of 
 yam. It was piled on a wheelbarrow, which his 
 feeble hands could not have raised but for the 
 rope of yarn that supported it from his shoulders ; 
 and though Auld Licht was written on his patient 
 eyes, I did not immediately recognize Jamie 
 Whamond. Years -ago Jamie was a sturdy weaver 
 and fervent lover, whom I had the right to call 
 my friend. Turn back the century a few decades, 
 and we are together on a moonlight night, taking 
 a short cut through the fields from the farm 
 of Craigiebuckle, Buxom were Craigiebuckle's 
 *'dochters," and Jamie was Janet's accepted 
 suitor. It was a muddy road through damp 
 grass, and we picked our way silently over its 
 ruts and pools. "I'm thinkin','' Jamie said at 
 last, a little wistfully, " that I might hae been as 
 weel wi'Chirsty." Chirsty was Janet's sister, and 
 Jamie had first thought of her. Craigiebuckle, 
 however, strongly advised him to take Janet in- 
 stead, and he consented. Alack ! heavy wobs 
 have taken all the grace from Janet's shoulders 
 this many a year, though she and Jamie go 
 bravely down the hill together. Unless they pass 
 
So AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 the allotted span of life, the " poor-house " will 
 never know them. As for bonny Chirsty, she 
 proved a flighty thing, and married a deacon in 
 the Established Church. The Auld Lichts groaned 
 over her fall, Craigiebuckle hung his head, and 
 the minister told her sternly to go her way. But 
 a few weeks afterward Lang Tammas, the chief 
 elder, was observed talking with her for an hour 
 in Cowrie's close ; and the very next Sabbath 
 Chirsty pushed her husband in triumph into her 
 father's pew. The minister, though completely 
 taken by surprise, at once referred to the stranger, 
 in a prayer of great length, as a brand that might 
 yet be plucked from the burning. Changing his 
 text, he preached at him ; Lang Ta/nmas, the 
 precentor, and the whole congregation (Chirsty 
 included) sang at him ; and before he exactly 
 realized his position he had become an Auld 
 Licht for life. Chirsty's triumph was complete 
 when, next week, in broad daylight, too, the 
 minister's wife called, and (in the presence of 
 Betsy Munn, who vouches for the truth of the 
 story) graciously asked her to come up to the 
 manse on Thursday, at 4 p.m., and drink a dish of 
 tea. Chirsty, who knew her position, of course 
 begged modestly to be excused ; but a coolness 
 arose over the invitation between her and Janet — 
 who felt slighted — that was only made up at the 
 laying-out of Chirsty's father-in-law, to which 
 Janet was pleasantly invited. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 8 1 
 
 When they had redd up the house, the Auld 
 Licht lassies sat in the gloaming at their doors on 
 three-legged stools, patiently knitting stockings. 
 To them came stiff-limbed youths who, with a 
 *'Blawy nicht, Jeanie" (to which the inevitable 
 answer was, "It is so, Cha-rles "), rested their 
 shoulders on the doorpost, and silently followed 
 with their eyes the flashing needles. Thus the 
 courtship began — often to ripen promptly into 
 marriage, at other times to go no farther. The 
 smooth-haired maids, neat in their simple wrap- 
 pers, knew they were on their trial, and that it be- 
 hoved them to be wary. They had not com- 
 passed twenty winters without knowing that 
 Marget Todd lost Davie Haggart because she 
 ''fittit" a black stocking with brown worsted, 
 and that Finny's grieve turned from Bell Whamond 
 on account of the frivolous flowers in her bonnet : 
 and yet Bell's prospects, as I happen to know, at 
 one time looked bright and promising. Sitting 
 over her father's peat-fire one night gossiping 
 with him about fishing-flies and tackle, I noticed 
 the grieve, who had dropped in by appointment 
 with some ducks' eggs on which Bell's clockin' 
 hen was to sit, performing some sleight-of-hand 
 trick with his coat-sleeve. Craftily he jerked and 
 twisted it, till his own photograph (a black 
 smudge on white) gradually appeared to view. 
 This he gravely slipped into the hands of the 
 maid of his choice, and then took his departure, 
 6 
 
82 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 apparently much relieved. Had not Bell's light- 
 headedness driven him away, the grieve would 
 have soon followed up his gift with an offer of 
 his hand. Some night Bell would have '*seen 
 him to the door," and they would have stared 
 sheepishly at each other before saying good-night. 
 The parting salutation given, the grieve would 
 still have stood his ground, and Bell would have 
 waited with him. At last, ** Will ye hae's, Bell ? " 
 would have dropped from his half-reluctant lips ; 
 and Bell would have mumbled, "Ay," with her 
 thumb in her mouth. *'Guid nicht to ye. Bell,'* 
 would be the next remark — "Guid nicht to ye, 
 Jeames," the answer; the humble door would 
 close softly, and Bell and her lad would have 
 been engaged. But, as it was, their attachment 
 never got beyond the silhouette stage, from 
 which, in the ethics of the Auld Lichts, a man can 
 draw back in certain circumstances without loss 
 of honor. The only really tender thing I ever 
 heard an Auld Licht lover say to his sweetheart 
 was when Cowrie's brother looked softly into 
 Easie Tamson's eyes and whispered^ **Do you 
 swite (sweat) } " Even then the effect was 
 produced more by the loving cast in Cowrie's 
 eye than by the tenderness of the words them- 
 selves. 
 
 The courtships were sometimes of long dura- 
 tion, but as soon as the young man realized that 
 he was courting he proposed. Cases were not 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 83 
 
 Wanting in which he realized this for himself, but 
 as a rule he had to be told of it. 
 
 There were a few instances of weddings among 
 the Auld Lichts that did not take place on Friday. 
 Betsy Munn's brother thought to assert his two 
 coal-carts, about which he was sinfully puffed up, 
 by getting married early in the week ; but he 
 was a pragmatical, feckless body, Jamie. The 
 foreigner from York that Finny's grieve after 
 disappointing Jinny Whamond took, sought to 
 sow the seeds of strife by urging that Friday was 
 an unlucky day ; and I remember how the minis- 
 ter, who was always great in a crisis, nipped the 
 bickering in the bud by adducing the conclusive 
 fact that he had been married on the sixth day of 
 the week himself It was a judicious policy on 
 Mr. Dishart's part to take vigorous action at once 
 and insist on the solemnization of the marriage 
 on a Friday or not at all, for he best kept super- 
 stition out of the congregation by branding it as 
 heresy. Perhaps the Auld Lichts were only igno- 
 rant of the grieve's lass' theory because they had 
 not thought of it. Friday's claims, too, were in- 
 controvertible ; for the Saturday's being a slack 
 day gave the couple an opportunity to put their 
 but and ben in order, and on Sabbath they had a 
 gay day of it — three times at the kirk. The honey- 
 moon over, the racket of the loom began again 
 on the Monday. 
 
 The natural politeness of the Allardice family 
 
§4 AVLD Lie HT IDYLS, 
 
 gave me my invitation to Tibbie's wedding-. I 
 was taking tea and cheese early one wintry after- 
 noon with the smith and his wife, when Httle Joey 
 Todd in his Sabbath clothes peered in at the pas- 
 sage, and then knocked primly at the door. 
 Andra forgot himself, and called out to him to 
 come in by ; but Jess frowned him into silence, 
 and, hastily donning her black mutch, received 
 Willie on the threshold. Both halves of the door 
 were open, and the visitor had looked us over 
 carefully before knocking ; but he had come with 
 the compliments of Tibbie's mother, requesting 
 the pleasure of Jess and her man that evening to 
 the lassie's marriage with Sam'l Todd, and the 
 knocking at the door was part of the ceremony. 
 Five minutes afterward Joey returned to beg a 
 moment of me in the passage ; when I, too, got 
 my invitation. The lad had just received, with 
 an expression of polite surprise, though he knew 
 he could claim it as his right, a slice of crumbling 
 shortbread, and taken his staid departure, when 
 Jess cleared the tea-things off the table, remarking 
 simply that it was a mercy we had not got beyond 
 the first cup. We then retired to dress. 
 
 About six o'clock, the time announced for the 
 ceremony, I elbowed my way through the ex- 
 pectant throng of men, women, and children that 
 already besieged the smith's door. Shrill demands 
 of ''Toss, toss!" rent the air every time Jess' 
 head showed on the window-blind, and Andra 
 
[A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 85 
 
 hoped, as I pushed open the door, " that I hadna 
 forgotten my bawbees.'* Weddings were cele- 
 brated among the Auld Lichts by showers of 
 ha'pence, and the guests on their way to the 
 bride's house had to scatter to the hungry rabble 
 like housewives feeding poultry. Willie Todd, 
 the best man, who had never come out so strong 
 in his life before, slipped through the back 
 window, while the crowd, led on by Kitty 
 McQueen, seethed in front, and making a bolt for 
 it to the *"Sosh," was back in a moment with a 
 handful of small change. "Dinna toss ower 
 lavishly at first," the smith whispered me ner- 
 vously, as we followed Jess and Willie into the 
 darkening wynd. 
 
 The guests were packed hot and solemn in 
 Johnny Allardice's " room : " the men anxious to 
 surrender their seats to the ladies who happened 
 to be standing, but too bashful to propose it ; 
 the ham and the fish frizzling noisily side by side 
 but the house, and hissing out every now and 
 then to let all whom it might concern know that 
 Janet Craik was adding more water to the gravy. 
 A better woman never lived ; but, oh, the hypo- 
 crisy of the face that beamed greeting to the 
 guests as if it had nothing to do but politely show 
 them in, and gasped next moment with upraised 
 arms over what was nearly a fall in crockery. 
 When Janet sped to the door her ''spleet new " 
 merino dress fell, to the pulling of a string, over 
 
86 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 her home-made petticoat, like the drop scene in 
 a theatre, and rose as promptly when she returned 
 to slice the bacon. The murmur of admiration 
 that filled the room when she entered with the 
 minister w^as an involuntary tribute to the 
 spotlessness of her wrapper and a great triumph 
 for Janet. If there is an impression that the 
 dress of the Auld Lichts was on all occasions 
 as sombre as their faces, let it be known 
 that the bride was but one of several in "whites," 
 and that Mag Munn had only at the last moment 
 been dissuaded from wearing flowers. The min- 
 ister, the Auld Lichts congratulated themselves, 
 disapproved of all such decking of the person, 
 and bowing of the head to idols ; but on such an 
 occasion he was not expected to observe it. Bell 
 Whamond, however, has reason for knowing 
 that, marriages or no marriages, he drew the line 
 at curls. 
 
 By-and-bye Sam'l Todd, looking a little dazed, 
 was pushed into the middle of the room to Tibbie's 
 side, and the minister raised his voice in prayer. 
 All eyes closed reverently, except perhaps the 
 bridegroom's, which seemed glazed and vacant. 
 It was an open question in the community 
 whether Mr. Dishart did not miss his chance at 
 weddings ; the men shaking their heads over the 
 comparative brevity of the ceremony, the women 
 worshipping him (though he never hesitated to 
 rebuke them when they showed it too openly) for 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 87 
 
 the urbanity of his manners. At that time, how- 
 ever, only a minister of such experience as Mr. 
 Dishart's predecessor could lead up to a mar- 
 riage in prayer without inadvertently joining the 
 couple ; and the catechizing was mercifully brief 
 Another prayer followed -the union ; the minister 
 waived his right to kiss the bride ; every one 
 looked at every other one as if he had for the 
 moment forgotten what he was on the point of 
 saying and found it very annoying ; and Janet 
 signed frantically to Willie Todd, who nodded 
 intelligently in reply, but evidently had no idea 
 what she meant. In time Johnny Allardice, our 
 host, who became more and more doited as 
 the night proceeded, remembered his instructions, 
 and led the way to the kitchen, where the guests, 
 having politely informed their hostess that they 
 were not hungry, partook of a hearty tea. Mr. 
 Dishart presided, with the bride and bridegroom 
 near him ; but though he tried to give an agree- 
 able turn to the conversation by describing the 
 extensions at the cemetery, his personality op- 
 pressed us, and we only breathed freely when he 
 rose to go. Yet we marvelled at his versatility. 
 In shaking hands with the newly-married couple 
 the minister reminded them that it was leap-year, 
 and wished them ** three hundred and sixty-six 
 happy and God-fearing days." 
 
 Sam'l's station being too high for it, Tibbie did 
 not have a penny wedding, which her thrifty 
 
88 A VLD LICHT ID YLS. 
 
 mother bewailed, penny weddings starting a 
 couple in life. I can recall nothing more char- 
 acteristic of the nation from which the Auld Lichts 
 sprang than the penny wedding, where the only 
 revellers that were not out of pocket by it were 
 the couple who gave the entertainment. The 
 more the guests ate and drank the better, pecuni- 
 arily, for their hosts. The charge for admission 
 to the penny wedding (practically to the feast that 
 followed it) varied in different districts, but with 
 us it was generally a shilling. Perhaps the penny 
 extra to the fiddler accounts for the name penny 
 wedding. The ceremony having been gone 
 through in the bride's house, there was an ad- 
 journment to a barn or other convenient place 
 of meeting, where was held the nuptial feast ; 
 long white boards from Rob Angus' saw-mill, 
 supported on trestles, stood in lieu of tables ; and 
 those of the company who could not find a seat 
 waited patiently against the wall for a vacancy. 
 The shilling gave every guest the free run of the 
 groaning board ; but though fowls were plentiful, 
 and even white bread too, little had been spent 
 on them. The farmers of the neighborhood, who 
 looked forward to providing the young people with 
 drills of potatoes for the coming winter, made a 
 bid for their custom by sending them a fowl 
 gratis for the marriage supper. It was popularly 
 understood to be the oldest cock of the farm-yard, 
 but for all that it made a brave appearance in a 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 89 
 
 shallow sea of soup. The fowls were always 
 boiled — without exception, so far as my memory 
 carries me ; the guid-wife never having the heart 
 to roast them, and so lose the broth. One round 
 of whiskey and water was all the drink to which 
 his shilling entitled the guest. If he wanted 
 more he had to pay for it. There was much 
 revelry, with song and dance, that no stranger 
 could have thought those stiff-limbed weavers 
 capable of; and the more they shouted and 
 whirled through the barn, the more their host 
 smiled and rubbed his hands. He presided at the 
 bar improvised for the occasion, and if the thing 
 was conducted with spirit his bride flung an 
 apron over her gown and helped him. I remem- 
 ber one elderly bridegroom who, having married 
 a blind woman, had to do double work at his 
 penny wedding. It was a sight to see him flit- 
 ting about the torch-lit barn, with a kettle of hot 
 water in one hand and a besom to sweep up 
 crumbs in the other. 
 
 Though Sam'l had no penny wedding, however, 
 we made a night of it at his marriage. 
 
 Wedding-chariots were not in those days, though 
 I know of Auld Lichts being conveyed to mar- 
 riages nowadays by horses with white ears. The 
 tea over, we formed in couples, and — the best 
 man with the bride, the bridegroom with the best 
 maid, leading the way — marched in slow proces- 
 sion in the moonlight night to Tibbie's new home, 
 
90 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 between lines of hoarse and eager onlookers. 
 An attempt was made by an itinerant musician 
 to head the company with his fiddle ; but instru- 
 mental music, even in the streets, was abhorrent 
 to sound Auld Lichts, and the minister had spoken 
 privately to Willie Todd on the subject. As a con- 
 sequence, Peter was driven from the ranks. The 
 last thing I saw that night, as we filed, bare-head- 
 ed and solemn, into the newly-married couple's 
 house, was Kitty McQueen's vigorous arm, in a 
 dishevelled sleeve, pounding a pair of urchins 
 who had got between her and a muddy ha'penny. 
 That night there was revelry and boisterous 
 mirth (or what the Auld Lichts took for such) 
 in Tibbie's kitchen. At eleven o'clock Davit 
 Lunan cracked a joke. Davie Haggart, in 
 reply to Bell Dundas' request, gave a song of 
 distinctly secular tendencies. The bride (who 
 had carefully taken off her wedding-gown on 
 getting home and donned a wrapper) coquet- 
 tishly let the bridegroom's father hold her 
 hand. In Auld Licht circles, when one of the 
 company was offered whiskey and refused it, the 
 others, as if pained even at the offer pushed it 
 from them as a thing abhorred. But Davie Hag- 
 gart set another example on this occasion, and 
 no one had the courage to refuse to follow it. 
 We sat late round the dying fire, and it was only 
 Willie Todd's scandalous assertion (he was but a 
 boy), about his being able to dance that induced 
 
A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 91 
 
 UG to think of moving. In the community, I 
 understand, this marriage is still memorable as 
 the occasion on which Bell Whamond laughed 
 in the minister's face. 
 
92 AULD LIGHT IDYLS, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE AULD LIGHTS IN ARMS. 
 
 Arms and men I sing: douce Jeemsy Todd, 
 rushing from his loom, armed with a bed-post ; 
 Lisbeth Whamond, an avenging whirlwind; 
 Neil Haggart, pausing in his thank-offerings to 
 smite and slay ; the impious foe scudding up the 
 bleeding Brae-head with Nemesis at their flash- 
 ing heels ; the minister holding it a nice question 
 whether the carnage was not justified. Then 
 came the two hours' sermons of the following 
 Sabbath, when Mr. Dishart, revolving like a tee- 
 totum in the pulpit, damned every bandaged per- 
 son present, individually and collectively ; and 
 Lang Tammas, in the precentor's box with a 
 plaster on his cheek, included any one the minis- 
 ter might have by chance omitted, and the con- 
 gregation, with most of their eyes bunged up, 
 burst into psalms of praise. 
 
 Twice a year the Auld Lichts went demented. 
 The occasion was the fast-day at Tilliedrum, 
 when its inhabitants, instead of crowding rever- 
 ently to the kirk, swooped profanely down in 
 their scores and tens of scores on our God-fearing 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 93 
 
 town, intent on making a day of it. Then did 
 the weavers rise as one man, and go forth to 
 show the ribald crew the errors of their way. 
 All denominations were represented, but Auld 
 Lichts led. An Auld Licht would have taken no 
 man's blood without the conviction that he would 
 be the better morally for the bleeding ; and if 
 Tammas Lunan's case gave an impetus to the 
 blows, it can only have been because it opened 
 wider Auld Lichts, eyes to Tilliedrum's desperate 
 condition. Mr. Dishart's predecessor more than 
 once remarked that at the Creation the devil put 
 forward a claim for Thrums, but said he would 
 take his chance of Tilliedrum ; and the statement 
 was generally understood to be made on the 
 authority of the original Hebrew. 
 
 The mustard-seed of a feud between the two 
 parishes, shot into a tall tree in a single night, 
 when Davit Lunan's father went to a tattie roup 
 at Tilliedrum and thoughtlessly died there. 
 Twenty-four hours afterward a small party of 
 staid Auld Lichts, carrying long white poles, 
 stepped out of various wynds and closes and 
 picked their solemn way to the house of mourn- 
 ing. Nanny Low, the widow, received them de- 
 jectedly, as one oppressed by the knowledge 
 that her man's death at such an inopportune 
 place, did not fulfil the promise of his youth ; 
 and her guests admitted bluntly that they were 
 disappointed in Tammas. Snecky Hobart's 
 
94 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 fathers unusually long and impressive prayer 
 was an official intimation that the deceased, in 
 the opinion of the session, sorely needed every- 
 thing of the kind he could get ; and then the 
 silent driblet of Auld Lichts in black stalked off 
 in the direction of Tilliedrum. Women left their 
 spinning-wheels and pirns to follow them with 
 their eyes along the Tenements, and the minister 
 was known to be holding an extra service at the 
 manse. When the little procession reached the 
 boundary-line between the two parishes, they sat 
 down on a dyke and waited. 
 
 By-and-bye half a dozen men drew near from 
 the opposite direction, bearing on poles the re- 
 mains of Tammas Lunan in a closed coffin. 
 The coffin was brought to within thirty yards of 
 those who awaited it, and then roughly lowered 
 to the ground. Its bearers rested morosely on 
 their poles. In conveying Lunan s remains to 
 the borders of his own parish, they were only 
 conforming to custom ; but Thrums and Tillie- 
 drum differed as to where the boundary-line was 
 drawn, and not a foot would either advance into 
 the other's territory. 
 
 For half a day the coffin lay unclaimed, and 
 the two parties sat scowling at each other. 
 Neither dared move. Gloaming had stolen into 
 the valley when Dite Deuchars, of Tilliedrum, 
 rose to his feet and deliberately spat upon the 
 goffin. A stone whizzed through the air ; and. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 95 
 
 then the ugly spectacle was presented, in the 
 gray night, of a dozen mutes fighting with their 
 poles over a coffin. There was blood on the 
 shoulders that bore Tammas' remains to Thrums. 
 After that meeting Tilliedrum lived for the fast- 
 day. Never, perhaps, was there a community 
 more given up to sin, and Thrums felt ''called" 
 to its chastisement. The insult to Lunan's cof- 
 fin, however, dispirited their weavers for a time, 
 and not until the suicide of Pitlums did they put 
 much fervor into their prayers. It made new 
 men of them. Tilliedrum's sins had found it out. 
 Pitlums was a farmer in the parish of Thrums, 
 but he had been born at Tilliedrum ; and Thrums 
 thanked Providence for that, when it saw him 
 suspended between two hams from his kitchen 
 rafters. The custom was to cart suicides to the 
 quarry at the Galla pond, and bury them near 
 the cairn that had supported the gallows ; but on 
 this occasion not a farmer in the parish would 
 lend a cart, and for a week the corpse lay on the 
 sanded floor as it had been cut down — an object 
 of awe-struck interest to boys who knew no bet- 
 ter than to peep through the darkened window. 
 Tilliedrum bit its lips at home. The Auld Licht 
 minister, it was said, had been approached on 
 the subject ; but, after serious consideration, did 
 not see his way to offering up a prayer. Finally 
 old Hobart and two others tied a rope round the 
 body, and dragged it from the farm to the 
 
96 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 cairn, a distance of four miles. Instead of this 
 incident's humbling Tilliedrum into attending 
 church, the next fast-day saw its streets deserted. 
 As for the Thrums Auld Lichts, only heavy wobs 
 prevented their walking erect like men who had 
 done their duty. If no prayer was volunteered 
 for Pitlums before his burial, there was a great 
 deal of psalm-singing after it. 
 
 By early morn on their fast-day the Tilliedrum- 
 mers were straggling into Thrums, and the weav- 
 ers, already at their looms, read the clattering of 
 feet and carts aright. To convince themselves, 
 all they had to do was to raise their eyes ; but the 
 first triumph would have been to TilHedrum if 
 they had done that. The invaders — the men in 
 Aberdeen blue serge coats, velvet knee-breeches, 
 and broad blue bonnets, and the wincey gowns 
 of the women set off with hooded cloaks of red 
 or tartan tapped at the windows and shouted in- 
 sultingly as they passed ; but, with pursed lips, 
 Thrums bent fiercely over its wobs, and not an 
 Auld Licht showed outside his door. The day 
 wore on till noon, and still ribaldry was master 
 of the wynds. But there was a change inside the 
 houses. The minister had pulled down his 
 blinds ; moody men had left their looms for stools 
 by the fire ; there were rumors of a conflict in 
 Andra Cowrie's close, from which Kitty McQueen 
 had emerged with her short gown in rags ; and Lang 
 Tammas was going from door to door. The 
 
A Uld licht Id vls. 97 
 
 austere precentor admonished fiery youth to be- 
 ware of giving way to passion ; and it was a 
 proud day for the Auld Lichts to find their leading 
 elder so conversant with apt Scripture texts. 
 They bowed their heads reverently while he thun- 
 dered forth that those who lived by the sword would 
 perish by the sword ; and when he had finished 
 they took him ben to inspect their bludgeons. I 
 have a vivid recollection of going the round of 
 the Auld Licht and other houses to see the sticks 
 and the wrists in coils of wire. 
 
 A stranger in the Tenements in the afternoon 
 would have noted more than one draggled youth 
 in holiday attire, sitting on a doorstep with a wet 
 cloth to his nose ; and, passing down the com- 
 monty, he would have had to step over prostrate 
 lumps of humanity from which all shape had 
 departed. Gavin Ogilvy limped heavily after his 
 encounter with Thrummy Tosh — a struggle that 
 was looked forward to eagerly as a bi-yearly 
 event ; Christy Davie's development of muscle 
 had not prevented her going down before the ter- 
 rible onslaught of Joe the miller, and Lang 
 Tammas' plasters told a tale. It was in the square 
 that the two parties, leading their maimed and 
 blind, formed in force ; Tilliedrum thirsting for its 
 opponent's blood, and Thrums humbly accepting 
 the responsibility of punching the fast-day break- 
 ers into the ways of rectitude. In the small, ill- 
 kept square the invaders, to the number of about 
 7 
 
98 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 a hundred, were wedged together at its upper end, 
 while the Thrums people formed in a thick line at 
 the foot. For its inhabitants the way to Tilliedrum 
 lay through this threatening mass of armed weav- 
 ers. No words were bandied between the two 
 forces ; the centre of the square was left open, 
 and nearly every eye was fixed on the town-house 
 clock. It directed operations and gave the signal 
 to charge. The moment six o'clock struck, the 
 upper mass broke its bonds and flung itself on the 
 living barricade. There was a clatter of heads 
 and sticks, a yelling and a groaning, and then the 
 invaders, bursting through the opposing ranks, 
 fled for TiUiedrum. Down the Tanage brae and 
 up the Brae-head they skurried, half a hundred 
 avenging spirits in pursuit. On the Tilliedrum 
 fast-day I have tasted blood myself. In the god- 
 less place there is no Auld Licht kirk, but there 
 are two Auld Lichts in it now who walk to Thrums 
 to church every Sabbath, blow or rain as it lists. 
 They are making their influence felt in TiUie- 
 drum. 
 
 The Auld Lichts also did valorous deeds at the 
 Battle of Cabbylatch. The farm land so named 
 lies a mile or more to the south of Thrums. You 
 have to go over the rim of the cut to reach it. It 
 is low-lying and uninteresting to the eye, except 
 for some giant stones scattered cold and naked 
 through the fields. No human hands reared these 
 bowlders, but they might be looked upon as 
 
AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 99 
 
 tombstones to the heroes who fell (to rise hur- 
 riedly) on the plain of Cabbylatch. 
 
 The fight of Cabbylatch belongs to the days of 
 what are now but dimly remembered as the Meal 
 Mobs. Then there was a wild cry all over the 
 country for bread (not the fine loaves that we 
 know, but something very much coarser), and 
 hungry men and women, prematurely shrunken, 
 began to forget the taste of meal. Potatoes were 
 their chief sustenance, and, when the crop failed, 
 starvation gripped them. At that time the 
 farmers, having control of the meal, had the 
 small towns at their mercy, and they increased 
 its cost. The price of the meal went up and up, 
 until the famishing people swarmed up the sides 
 of the carts in which it was conveyed to the 
 towns, and, tearing open the sacks, devoured it 
 in handfuls. In Thrums they had a stern sense 
 of justice, and for a time, after taking possession 
 of the meal, they carried it to the square and sold 
 it at what they considered a reasonable price. 
 The money was handed over to the farmers. The 
 honesty of this is worth thinking about, but it 
 seems to have only incensed the farmers the more ; 
 and when they saw that to send their meal to the 
 town was not to get high prices for it, they laid 
 their heads together and then gave notice that 
 the people who wanted meal and were able to 
 pay for it must come to the farms. In Thrums 
 no one who cared to live on porridge and ban- 
 
1 00 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 nocks had money to satisfy the farmers ; but, 
 on the other hand, none of them grudged going 
 for it, and go they did. They went in numbers 
 from farm to farm, Hke bands of hungry rats, and 
 throttled the opposition they not infrequently en- 
 countered. The raging farmers at last met in 
 council, and, noting that they were lusty men 
 and brave, resolved to march in armed force upon 
 the erring people and burn their town. Now we 
 come to the Battle of Cabbylatch. 
 
 The farmers were not less than eighty strong, 
 and chiefly consisted of cavalry. Armed with 
 pitchforks and cumbrous scythes where they were 
 not able to lay their hands on the more orthodox 
 weapons of war, they presented a determined ap- 
 pearance ; the few foot soldiers who had no cart 
 horses at their disposal bearing in their arms 
 bundles of firewood. One memorable morning 
 they set out to avenge their losses ; and by and 
 by a halt was called, when each man bowed his 
 head to listen. In Thrums, pipe and drum were 
 calling the inhabitants to arms. Scouts rushed 
 in with the news that the farmers were advanc- 
 ing rapidly upon the town, and soon the streets 
 were clattering with feet. At that time Thrums 
 had its piper and drummer (the bellman of a later 
 and more degenerate age) ; and on this occasion 
 they marched together through the narrow 
 wynds, firing the blood of haggard men and sum- 
 moning them to the square. According to my 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. i o i 
 
 informant's father, the gathering of these angry 
 and startled weavers, when he thrust his blue 
 bonnet on his head and rushed out to join them, 
 was an impressive and solemn spectacle. That 
 bloodshed was meant there can be no doubt ; for 
 starving men do not see the ludicrous side of 
 things. The difference between the farmers and 
 the town had resolved itself into an ugly and 
 sullen hate, and the wealthier townsmen who 
 would have come between the people and the 
 bread were fiercely pushed aside. There was no 
 nominal leader, but every man in the ranks 
 meant to fight for himself and his belongings ; 
 and they are said to have sallied out to meet the 
 foe in no disorder. The women they would fain 
 have left behind them ; but these had their own 
 injuries to redress, and they followed in their hus- 
 bands' wake, carrying bags of stones. The men, 
 who were of various denominations, were armed 
 with sticks, blunderbusses, anything they could 
 snatch up at a moment's notice ; and some of 
 them were not unacquainted with fighting. Dire 
 silence prevailed among the men, but the women 
 shouted as they ran, and the curious army moved 
 forward to the drone and squall of drum and 
 pipe. The enemy was sighted on the level land 
 of Cabbylatch ; and here, while the intending 
 combatants glared at each other, a well-known 
 local magnate galloped his horse between them 
 and ordered them in the name of the king to re- 
 
1 02 A tJLD LIGHT ID VLS. 
 
 turn to their homes. But for the farmers that 
 meant further depredation at the people's hands, 
 and the townsmen would not go back to their 
 gloomy homes to sit down and wait for sunshine. 
 Soon stones (the first, it is said, cast by a 
 woman), darkened the air. The farmers got the 
 word to charge, but their horses, with the best 
 intentions, did not know the way. There was a 
 stampeding in different directions, a blind rush- 
 ing of one frightened steed against another ; and 
 then the townspeople, breaking any ranks they 
 had hitherto managed to keep, rushed vindictive- 
 ly forward. The struggle at Cabbylatch itself 
 was not of long duration ; for their own horses 
 proved the farmer's worst enemies, except in the 
 cases where the sagacious animals took matters 
 into their own ordering and bolted judiciously 
 for their stables. The day was to Thrums. 
 
 Individual deeds of prowess were done that 
 day. Of these not the least fondly remembered 
 by her descendants were those of the gallant 
 matron who pursued the most obnoxious farmer 
 in the district even to his very porch with heavy 
 stones and opprobrious epithets. Once when he 
 thought he had left her far behind did he alight 
 to draw breath and take a pinch of snuff, and she 
 was upon him like a flail. With a terror-stricken 
 cry he leaped once more upon his horse and fled, 
 but not without leaving his snuff-box in the hands 
 of the derisive enemy. Meggy has long gone 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 05 
 
 to the kirk-yard, but the snuff-mull is still pre- 
 served. 
 
 Some ugly cuts were given and received, and 
 heads as well as ribs were broken ; but the 
 townsmen's triumph was short-lived. The ring- 
 leaders were whipped through the streets of 
 Perth, as a warning to persons thinking of taking 
 the law into their own hands ; and all the lasting 
 consolation they got was that, some time after- 
 ward, the chief witness against them, the parish 
 minister, met with a mysterious death. They 
 said it was evidently the hand of God ; but some 
 people looked suspiciously at them when they 
 said it 
 
i04 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE OLD DOMINIE. 
 
 From the new cemetery, which is the highest 
 point in Thrums, you just fail to catch sight of 
 the red school-house that nestles between two 
 bare trees, some five miles up the glen of Quhar- 
 ity. This was proved by Davit Lunan, tinsmith, 
 whom I have heard tell the story. It was in the 
 time when the cemetery gates were locked to keep 
 the bodies of suicides out, but men who cared to 
 risk the consequences could get the coffin over the 
 high dyke and bury it themselves. Peter Lundy's 
 coffin broke, as one might say, into the church- 
 yard in this way, Peter having hanged himself in 
 the Whunny wood when he saw that work he 
 must. The general feeling among the intimates 
 of the deceased was expressed by Davit when he 
 said : 
 
 ''It may do the crittur nae guid i' the tail o' 
 the day, but he paid for's bit o' ground, an' he's 
 in's richt to occupy it. " 
 
 The custom was to push the coffin on to the 
 wall up a plank, and then let it drop less carefully 
 into the cemetery. Some of the mourners were 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 05 
 
 dragging the plank over the wall, with Davit 
 Lunan on the top directing them, when they 
 seem to have let go and sent the tinsmith sud- 
 denly into the air. A week afterward it struck 
 Davit, when in the act of soldering a hole in 
 Leeby Wheens' flagon (here he branched off to 
 explain that he had made the flagon years before, 
 and that Leeby was sister to Tammas Wheens, 
 and married one Baker Robbie, who died of 
 chicken-pox in his forty-fourth year), that when 
 "up there" he had a view of Quharity school- 
 house. Davit was as truthful as a man who tells 
 the same story more than once can be expected 
 to be, and it is far from a suspicious circumstance 
 that he did not remember seeing the school-house 
 all at once. In Thrums things only struck them 
 gradually. The new cemetery, for instance, was 
 only so called because- it had been new once. 
 
 In this red stone school, full of the modern 
 improvements that he detested, the old dominie 
 whom I succeeded taught, and sometimes slept, 
 during the last five years of his cantankerous life. 
 It was in a little thatched school, consisting of 
 but one room, that he did his best work, some 
 five hundred yards away from the edifice that was 
 reared in its stead. Now dismally fallen into 
 disrepute, often indeed a domicile for cattle, the 
 ragged academy of Glen Quharity, where he held 
 despotic sway for nearly half a century, is falling 
 to pieces slowly in a howe that conceals it from 
 
I o6 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 the high-road. Even in its best scholastic days, 
 when it sent barefooted lads to college who 
 helped to hasten the Disruption, it was but a pile 
 of ungainly stones, such as Scott's Black Dwarf 
 flung together in a night, with holes in its broken 
 roof of thatch where the rain trickled through, and 
 never with less than two of its knotted little window- 
 panes stopped with brown paper. The twelve or 
 twenty pupils of both sexes who constituted the 
 attendance sat at the two loose desks, which 
 never fell unless you leaned on them, with an eye 
 on the corner of the earthen floor where the 
 worms came out, and on cold days they liked the 
 wind to turn the peat smoke into the room. One 
 boy, who was supposed to wash it out, got his 
 education free for keeping the school-house dirty, 
 and the others paid their way with peats, which 
 they brought in their hands, just as wealthier 
 school-children carry books, and with pence which 
 the dominie collected regularly every Monday 
 morning. The attendance on Monday mornings 
 was often small. 
 
 Once a year the dominie added to his income 
 by holding cockfights in the old school. This was 
 at Yule, and the same practice held in the parish 
 school of Thrums. It must have been a strange 
 sight. Every male scholar was expected to bring 
 a cock to the school, and to pay a shilling to the 
 dominie for the privilege of seeing it killed there. 
 The dominie was the master of the sports, assisted 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 07 
 
 by the neighboring farmers, some of whom might 
 be elders of the church. Three rounds were 
 fought. By the end of the first round all of the 
 cocks had fought, and the victors were then pitted 
 against each other. The cocks that survived the 
 second round were eligible for the third, and the 
 dominie, besides his shilling, got every cock killed. 
 Sometimes, if all stories be true, the spectators 
 were fighting with each other before the third 
 round concluded. 
 
 The glen was but sparsely dotted with houses 
 even in those days ; a number of them inhabited 
 by farmer-weavers, who combined two trades and 
 just managed to live. One would have a plough, 
 another a horse, and so in Glen Quharity they 
 helped each other. Without a loom in addition, 
 many of them would have starved, and on Satur- 
 days the big farmer and his wife, driving home 
 in a gig, would pass the little farmer carrying or 
 wheeling his wob to Thrums. When there was 
 no longer a market for the produce of the hand- 
 loom, these farms had to be given up, and thus it 
 is that the old school is not the only house in our 
 weary glen around which gooseberry and currant 
 bushes, once tended by careful hands, now grow 
 wild. 
 
 In heavy spates the children were conveyed to 
 the old school, as they are still to the new one, in 
 carts, and between it and the dominie's white- 
 washed dwelling-house swirled in winter a tor- 
 
I o8 AULD LICH T ID YLS. 
 
 rent of water that often carried lumps of the land 
 along with it. This burn he had at times to ford 
 on stilts. 
 
 Before the Education Act passed, the dominie 
 w^as not much troubled by the school inspector, 
 who appeared in great splendor every year at 
 Thrums. Fifteen years ago, however, Glen 
 Quharity resolved itself into a School Board, and 
 marched down the glen, with the minister at its 
 head, to condemn the school. When the dominie, 
 who had heard of their design, saw" the board 
 approaching, he sent one of his scholars, who 
 enjoyed making a mess of himself, wading across 
 the burn to bring over the stilts which were lying 
 on the other side. The board were thus unable 
 to send across a spokesman, and after they had 
 harangued the dominie, who was in the best of 
 tempers, from the wrong side of the stream, the 
 seige was raised by their returning home, this 
 time with the minister in the rear. So far as is 
 known, this was the only occasion on which the 
 dominie ever lifted his hat to the minister. He 
 was the Established Church minister at the top of 
 the glen, but the dominie was an Auld Licht, and 
 trudged into Thrums to church nearly every Sun- 
 day with his daughter. 
 
 The farm of Little Tilly lay so close to the 
 dominie's house that from one window he could 
 see through a telescope whether the farmer was 
 going to church, owing to Little Tilly's habit of 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 09 
 
 never shaving except with that intention, and of 
 always doing it at a looking-glass which he hung 
 on a nail in his door. The farmer was Estab- 
 lished Church, and when the dominie saw him in 
 his shirt-sleeves with a razor in his hand, he called 
 for his black clothes. If he did not see him it is 
 undeniable that the dominie sent his daughter to 
 Thrums, but remained at home himself. Possibly, 
 therefore, the dominie sometimes went to church, 
 because he did not want to give Little Tilly and 
 the Established minister the satisfaction of know- 
 ing that he was not devout to-day, and it is even 
 conceivable that had Little Tilly had a telescope 
 and an intellect as well as his neighbor, he would 
 have spied on the dominie in return. He sent the 
 teacher a load of potatoes every year, and the 
 recipient rated him soundly if they did not turn 
 out as well as the ones he had got the autumn 
 before. Little Tilly was rather in awe of the 
 dominie, and had an idea that he was a Free- 
 thinker, because he played the fiddle and wore a 
 black cap. 
 
 The dominie was a wizened-looking little man, 
 with sharp eyes that pierced you when they 
 thought they were unobserved, and if any visitor 
 drew near who might be a member of the board, 
 he disappeared into his house much as a startled 
 weasel makes for its hole. The most striking 
 thing about him was his walk, which to the casual 
 observer seemed a limp. The glen in our part is 
 
no A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 marshy, and to progress along it you have to 
 jump from one little island of grass or heather to 
 another. Perhaps it was this that made the dom- 
 inie take the main road and even the streets of 
 Thrums in leaps, as if there were bowlders or 
 puddles in the way. It is, however, currently 
 believed among those who knew him best, that he 
 jerked himself along in that way when he applied 
 for the vacancy in Glen Quharity school, and that 
 he was therefore chosen from among the candi- 
 dates by the committee of farmers, who saw that 
 he was specially constructed for the district. 
 
 In the spring the inspector was sent to report 
 on the school, and, of course, he said, with a 
 wave of his hand, that this would never do. So 
 a new school was built, and the ramshackle little 
 academy that had done good service in its day 
 was closed for the last time. For years it had 
 been without a lock ; ever since a blatter of wind 
 and rain drove the door against the fireplace. 
 After that it was the dominie's custom, on seeing 
 the room cleared, to send in a smart boy — a dux 
 was always chosen — who wedged a clod of earth 
 or peat between door-post and door. Thus the 
 school was locked up for the night. The boy 
 came out by the window, where he entered to 
 open the door next morning. In time grass hid 
 the little path from view that led to the old school, 
 and a dozen years ago every particle of wood 
 about the building, including the door and the 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 1 1 
 
 framework of the windows, had been burned by 
 travelling tinkers. 
 
 The board would have liked to leave the domi- 
 nie in his whitewashed dwelling-house to enjoy 
 his old age comfortably, and until he learned that 
 he had intended to retire. Then he changed his 
 tactics and removed his beard. Instead of railing 
 at the new school, he began to approve of it, and 
 it soon came to the ears of the horrified Estab- 
 lished minister, who had a man (EstabHshed) in 
 his eye for the appointment, that the dominie was 
 looking ten .years younger. As he spurned a pen- 
 sion he had to get the place, and then began a 
 warfare of dickerings between the board and him 
 that lasted until within a few weeks of his death. 
 In his scholastic barn the dominie had thumped 
 the Latin grammar into his scholars till they be- 
 came university bursars to escape him. In the 
 new school, with maps (which he hid in the hen- 
 house) and every other modern appliance for 
 making teaching easy, he was the scandal of the 
 glen. He snapped at the clerk of the board's 
 throat, and barred his door in the minister's face. 
 It was one of his favorite relaxations to peregri- 
 nate the district, telling the farmers who were not 
 on the board themselves, but were given to gos- 
 siping with those who were, that though he could 
 slumber pleasantly in the school so long as the 
 hum of the standards was kept up, he immediately 
 woke if it ceased. 
 
112 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 Having settled himself in his new quarters, the 
 dominie seems to have read over the code and 
 come at once to the conclusion that it would be 
 idle to think of straightforwardly fulfilling its re- 
 quirements. The inspector he regarded as a 
 natural enemy, who was to be circumvented by 
 much guile. One year that admirable Oxford 
 don arrived at the school, to find that all the chil- 
 dren, except two girls — one of whom had her face 
 tied up with red flannel — were away for the har- 
 vest. On another occasion the dominie met the 
 inspector's trap some distance from the school, 
 and explained that he would guide him by a short 
 cut, leaving the driver to take the dog-cart to a 
 farm where it could be put up. The unsuspecting 
 inspector agreed, and they set off, the obsequious 
 dominie carrying his bag. He led his victim into 
 another glen, the hills round which had hidden 
 their heads in mist, and then slyly remarked that 
 he was afraid they had lost their way. The min- 
 ister, who liked to attend the examination, re- 
 proved the dominie for providing no luncheon, 
 but turned pale when his enemy suggested that he 
 should examine the boys in Latin. 
 
 For some reason that I could never discover, 
 the dominie had all his life refused to teach his 
 scholars geography. The inspector and many 
 others asked him why there was no geography 
 class, and his invariable answer was to point to 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 1 13 
 
 his pupils collectively, and reply in an impressive 
 whisper : 
 
 "They winna hae her." 
 
 This story, too, seems to reflect against the 
 dominie's views on cleanliness. One examination 
 day the minister attended to open the inspection 
 with prayer. Just as he was finishing, a scholar 
 entered who had a reputation for dirt. 
 
 **Michty ! " cried a little pupil, as his opening 
 eyes fell on the apparition at the door, "there's 
 Jocky Tamson wi' his face washed ! " 
 
 When the dominie was a younger man he had 
 first clashed with the minister during Mr. Rat- 
 tray's attempts to do away with some old customs 
 that were already dying by inches. One was the 
 selection of a queen of beauty from among the 
 young women at the annual Thrums fair. The 
 judges, who were selected from the better-known 
 farmers as a rule, sat at the door of a tent that 
 reeked of whiskey, and regarded the competitors 
 filing by much as they selected prize sheep, with 
 a stolid stare. There was much giggling and 
 blushing on these occasions among the maidens, 
 and shouts from their relatives and friends to 
 "Haudyerhead up, Jean," and "Lat them see 
 yer een, Jess." The dominie enjoyed this, and 
 was one time chosen a judge, when he insisted 
 on the prize being bestowed on his own daughter, 
 Marget. The other judges demurred, but the 
 dominie remained firm and won the day. 
 8 
 
114 A t/LD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 **She wasna the best-faured among them," he 
 admitted afterward, ''but a man maun mak the 
 maist o' his ain." 
 
 The dominie, too, would not shake his head 
 with Mr. Rattray over the apple and loaf bread 
 raffles in the smithy, nor even at the Daft Days, 
 the black week of glum debauch that ushered in 
 the year, a period when the whole countryside 
 rumbled to the farmers' ''kebec" laden cart. 
 
 For the great part of his career the dominie had 
 not made forty pounds a year, but he " died 
 worth " about three hundred pounds. The moral 
 of his life came in just as he was leaving it, for 
 he rose from his death-bed to hide a whiskey- 
 bottle from his wife. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 1 5 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CREE QUEERY AND MYSY DROLLY. 
 
 The children used to fling stones at Grinder 
 Queery because he loved his mother. I never 
 heard the Grinder's real name. He and his 
 mother were Queery and Drolly, contemptuously 
 so-called, and they answered to these names. I 
 remember Creebest as a battered old weaver, who 
 bent forward as he walked, with his arms hang- 
 ing limp as if ready to grasp the shafts of the bar- 
 row behind which it was his life to totter up hill 
 and down hill, a rope of yarn suspended round 
 his shaking neck and fastened to the shafts, assist- 
 ing him to bear the yoke and slowly strangling 
 him. By and by there came a time when the 
 barrow and the weaver seemed both palsy- 
 stricken, and Cree, gasping for breath, would 
 stop in the middle of a brae, unable to push his 
 load over a stone. Then he laid himself down 
 behind it to prevent the barrow's slipping back. 
 On those occasions only the barefooted boys 
 who jeered at the panting weaver could put new 
 strength into his shrivelled arms. They did it by 
 telling him that he and Mysy would have to go 
 
1 1 6 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 to the *' poors-house" after all, at which the gray 
 old man would wmce, as if ''joukin" from a 
 blow, and, shuddering, rise, and, with a despe- 
 rate effort, gain the top of the incline. Small 
 blame perhaps attached to Cree if, as he neared 
 his grave, he grew a little dottle. His loads of 
 yarn frequently took him past the workhouse, and 
 his eyelids quivered as he drew near. Boys used 
 to gather round the gate in anticipation of his 
 coming, and make a feint of driving him inside. 
 Cree, when he observed them, sat down on his 
 barrow-shafts terrified to approach, and I see them 
 now pointing to the workhouse till he left his bar- 
 row on the road and hobbled away, his legs 
 cracking as he ran. 
 
 It is strange to know that there was once a time 
 when Cree was young and straight, a callant who 
 wore a flower in his button-hole and tried to be 
 a hero for a maiden's sake. 
 
 Before Cree settled down as a weaver, he was 
 knife and scissor grinder for three counties, and 
 Mysy, his mother, accompanied him wherever he 
 went. Mysy trudged alongside him till her eyes 
 grew dim and her limbs failed her, and then Cree 
 was told that she must be sent to the pauper's 
 home. After that a pitiable and beautiful sight 
 was to be seen. Grinder Queery, already a feeble 
 man, would wheel his grindstone along the long 
 high-road, leaving Mysy behind. He took the 
 stone on a few hundred yards, and then, hiding 
 
AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 117 
 
 it by the road-side in a ditch or behind a paling* 
 returned for his mother. Her he led — sometimes 
 he almost carried her — to the place where the 
 grindstone lay, and thus by double journeys 
 kept her with him. Every one said that Mysy's 
 death would be a merciful release — every one but 
 Cree. 
 
 Cree had been a grinder from his youth, hav- 
 ing learned the trade from his father, but he gave 
 it up when Mysy became almost blind. For a 
 time he had to leave her in Thrums with Dan'l 
 Wilkie's wife, and find employment himself in 
 Tilliedrum. Mysy got me to write several letters 
 for her to Cree, and she cried while telling me 
 what to say. I never heard either of them use a 
 term of endearment to the other, but all Mysy 
 could tell me to put in writing was : ' * Oh, my 
 son Cree ; oh, my beloved son ; oh, I have no 
 one but you ; oh Thou God, watch over my 
 Cree ! " On one of these occasions Mysy put 
 into my hands a paper, which she said would 
 perhaps help me to write the letter. It had been 
 drawn up by Cree many years before, when he 
 and his mother had been compelled to part for a 
 time, and I saw from it that he had been trying 
 to teach Mysy to write. The paper consisted of 
 phrases such as "Dear son Cree," ''Loving 
 mother," " I am takin' my food weel," ** Yester- 
 day," "Blankets," "The peats is near done," 
 * * Mr. Dishart, " ' ' Come home, Cree. " The grinder 
 
I iS A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 had left this paper with his mother, and she had 
 written letters to him from it. 
 
 When Dan'l Wilkie objected to keeping a cranky 
 old body like Mysy in his house, Cree came back 
 to Thrums and took a single room with a hand- 
 loom in it. The flooring was only lumpy earth, 
 with sacks spread over it to protect Mysy's feet. 
 The room contained two dilapidated old coffin, 
 beds, a dresser, a high-backed arm-chair, several 
 three-legged stools, and two tables, of which one 
 could be packed away beneath the other. In 
 one corner stood the wheel at which Cree had to 
 fill his own pirns. There was a plate-rack on 
 one wall, and near the chimney-piece hung the 
 wag-at-the-wall clock, the time-piece that was 
 commonest in Thrums at that time, and that got 
 this name because its exposed pendulum swung 
 along the wall. The two windows in the room 
 faced each other on opposite walls, and were so 
 small that even a child might have stuck in trying 
 to crawl through them. They opened on hinges, 
 like a door. In the wall of the dark passage 
 leading from the outer door into the room was a 
 recess where a pan and pitcher of water always 
 stood wedded, as it were, and a little hole, 
 known as the '*bole," in the wall opposite the 
 fire place contained Cree's library. It consisted 
 of Baxter's "Saints' Rest," Harvey's ''Medita- 
 tions," the ** Pilgrim's Progress," a work on folk- 
 lore, and several Bibles. The saut-backet, or 
 
A VLD LlCHT ID VLS, 1 19 
 
 salt-bucket, stood at the end of the fender, which 
 was half of an old cart-wheel. Here Cree 
 worked, whistUng '*Ower the watter for Char- 
 lie" to make Mysy think that he was as gay as a 
 mavis. Mysy grew querulous in her old age, 
 and up to the end she thought of poor, done Cree 
 as a handsome gallant. Only by weaving far on 
 into the night could Cree earn as much as six 
 shillings a week. He began at six o'clock in the 
 morning, and worked until midnight by the light 
 of his cruizey. The cruizey was all the lamp 
 Thrums had in those days, though it is only to be 
 seen in use now in a few old-world houses in the 
 glens. It is an ungainly thing in iron, the size of 
 a man's palm, and shaped not unlike the palm 
 when contracted and deepened to hold a liquid. 
 Whale-oil, lying open in the mould, was used, 
 and the wick was a rash with the green skin 
 peeled off. These rashes were sold by herd- 
 boys at a halfpenny the bundle, but Cree gathered 
 his own wicks. The rashes skin readily when 
 you know how to do it. The iron mould was 
 placed inside another of the same shape, but 
 slightly larger, for in time the oil dripped through 
 the iron, and the whole was then hung by a cleek 
 or hook close to the person using it. Even with 
 three wicks it gave but a stime of light, and never 
 allowed the weaver to see more than the half 
 of his loom at a time. Sometimes Cree used 
 threads for wicks. He was too dull a man to 
 
1 20 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 have many visitors, but Mr. Dishart called occa- 
 sionally and reproved him for telling his mother 
 lies. The lies Cree told Mysy were that he was 
 sharing the meals he won for her, and that he 
 wore the overcoat which he had exchanged years 
 before for a blanket to keep her warm. 
 
 There was a terrible want of spirit about 
 Grinder Queery. Boys used to climb on to his 
 stone roof with clods of damp earth in their 
 hands, which they dropped down the chimney. 
 Mysy was bedridden by this time, and the smoke 
 threatened to choke her ; so Cree, instead of 
 chasing his persecutors, bargained with them. 
 He gave them fly-hooks which he had busked 
 himself, and when he had nothing left to give 
 he tried to flatter them into dealing gently with 
 Mysy by talking to them as men. One night it 
 went through the town that Mysy now lay in bed 
 all day listening for her summons to depart. Ac- 
 cording to her ideas this would come in the form 
 of a tapping at the window, and their intention 
 was to forestall the spirit. Dite Gow's boy, who 
 is now a grown man, was hoisted up to one of the 
 little windows, and he has always thought of 
 Mysy since as he saw her then for the last time. 
 She lay sleeping, so far as he could see, and Cree 
 sat by the fireside looking at her. 
 
 Every one knew that there was seldom a fire 
 in that house unless Mysy was cold. Cree 
 seemed to think that the fire was getting low. In 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 121 
 
 the little closet, which, with the kitchen, made up 
 his house, was a corner shut off from the rest of 
 the room by a few boards, and behind this he 
 kept his peats. There was a similar receptacle 
 for potatoes in the kitchen. Cree wanted to get 
 another peat for the fire without disturbing Mysy. 
 First he took off his boots, and made for the peats 
 on tip-toe. His shadow was cast on the bed, 
 however, so he next got down on his knees and 
 crawled softly into the closet. With the peat in 
 his hands he returned in the same way, glancing 
 every moment at the bed where Mysy lay. 
 Though Tammy Gow's face was pressed against 
 a broken window, he did not hear Cree putting 
 that peat on the fire. Some say that Mysy heard, 
 but pretended not to do so for her son's sake ; 
 that she realized the deception he played on her 
 and had not the heart to undeceive him. But it 
 would be too sad to believe that. The boys left 
 Cree alone that night. 
 
 The old weaver lived on alone in that soHtary 
 house after Mysy left him, and by and by the 
 story went abroad that he was saving money. 
 At first no one believed this except the man who 
 told it, but there seemed after all to be something 
 in it. You had only to hit Cree's trouser pocket 
 to hear the money chinking, for he was afraid to 
 let it out of his clutch. Those who sat on dykes 
 with him when his day's labor was over, said 
 Ihat the weaver kept his hand all the time in his 
 
122 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 pocket, and that they saw his lips move as he 
 counted his hoard by letting it slip through his 
 fingers. . So there were boys who called " Miser 
 Queery " after him instead of Grinder, and asked 
 him whether he was saving up to keep himself 
 from the workhouse. 
 
 But we had all done Cree wrong. It came out 
 on his death-bed what he had been storing up 
 his money for. Grinder, according to the doctor, 
 died of getting a good meal from a friend of 
 his earlier days, after being accustomed to starve 
 on potatoes and a very little oatmeal indeed. 
 The day before he died this friend sent him half 
 a sovereign, and when Grinder saw it he sat up 
 excitedly in his bed and pulled his corduroys 
 from beneath his pillow. The woman who, out 
 of kindness, attended him in his last illness, 
 looked on curiously while Cree added the six- 
 pences and coppers in his pocket to the half- 
 sovereign. After all they only made some two 
 pounds, but a look of peace came into Cree's 
 eyes as he told the woman to take it all to a shop 
 in the town. Nearly twelve years previously, 
 Jamie Lownie had lent him two pounds, and 
 though the money was never asked for, it preyed 
 on Cree's mind that he was in debt. He paid 
 off all he owed, and so Cree's life was not, I 
 think, a failure, 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, \ 23 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE COURTING OF t'nOWHEAD's BELL. 
 
 For two years it had been notorious in the 
 square that Sam'l Dickie was thinking of courting 
 T'nowhead's Bell, and that if little Sanders 
 Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunciation of 
 Alexander Alexander), went in for her, he might 
 prove a formidable rival. Sam'l was a weaver in 
 the Tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter, whose 
 trade-mark was a bell on his horse's neck that 
 told when coal was coming. Being something 
 of a public man, Sanders had not, perhaps, so 
 high a social position as Sam'l, but he had suc- 
 ceeded his father on the coal-cart, while the 
 weaver had already tried several trades. It had 
 always been against Sam'l, too, that once when 
 the kirk was vacant, he had advised the selec- 
 tion of the third minister who preached for it 
 on the ground that it came expensive to pay a 
 large number of candidates. The scandal of 
 the thing was hushed up, out of respect for his 
 father, who was a God-fearing man, but Sam'l 
 was known by it in Lang Tammas' circle. The 
 coal-carter was called Little Sanders, to distin- 
 
124 A ^^LD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 guish him from his father, who was not much 
 more than half his size. He had grown up 
 with the name, and its inapplicability now came 
 home to nobody. Sam'l's mother had been more 
 far-seeing than Sanders'. Her man had been 
 called Sammy all his life, because it was the 
 name he got as a boy, so when their eldest 
 son was born she spoke of him as Sam'l while 
 still in the cradle. The neighbors imitated her, 
 and thus the young man had a better start in 
 life than had been granted to Sammy, his father. 
 
 It was Saturday evening— the night in the 
 week when Auld Licht young men fell in love. 
 Sam'l Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet 
 with a red ball on the top, came to the door of 
 a one-story house in the Tenements, and stood 
 there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweed 
 for the first time that week, and did not feel at 
 one with them. When his feeling of being a 
 stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and 
 down the road, which straggles between houses 
 and gardens, and then, picking his way over the 
 puddles, crossed to his father's hen-house and 
 sat down on it. He was now on his way to the 
 square. 
 
 Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dyke 
 knitting stockings, and Sam'l looked at her for a 
 time. 
 
 "Is't yersel', Eppie? " he said at last. 
 
 ^Mjt's a' that," said Eppi^. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 2 5 
 
 *' Hoo's a' wi' ye? " asked Sam'l. 
 
 "We're juist aff an' on," replied Eppie, cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 There was not much more to say, but as 
 Sam'l sidled off the hen-house, he murmured 
 politely, "Ay, ay." In another minute he would 
 have been fairly started, but Eppie resumed the 
 conversation. 
 
 "Sam'l," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, 
 "ye can tell Lisbeth Fargus I'll likely be drap- 
 pin' in on her aboot Mununday or Teisday." 
 
 Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Tam- 
 mas McQuhatty, better known as T'nowhead, 
 which was the name of his farm. She was thus 
 Bell's mistress. 
 
 Sam'l leaned against the hen-house, as if all 
 his desire to depart had gone. 
 
 "Hoo d'ye ken I'll be at the T'nowhead the 
 nicht ? " he asked, grinning in anticipation. 
 
 " Oujl'se warrant ye'U be after Bell," said Eppie. 
 
 "'Am no sae sure o' that, " said Sam'l, trying 
 to leer. He was enjoying himself now. 
 
 "'Am no sure o' that," he repeated, for Eppie 
 seemed lost in stitches. 
 
 "Sam'l!" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "Ye'U be speirin' her soon noo, I dinna 
 doot ? " 
 
 This took Sam'l, who had only been courting 
 Bell for a year or two, a little aback. 
 
126 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 "Hoo d'ye mean, Eppie?"' he asked. 
 
 "Maybe ye'll do't the nicht." 
 
 "Na, there's nae hurry," said Sam'l. 
 
 *'Weel, we're a' coontin' on't, Sam'L" 
 
 * * Gae wa wi' ye." 
 
 *^What for no?" 
 
 * ' Gae wa wi' ye, " said Sam'l again. 
 
 "Bell's gei an' fond o' ye, Sam'l." 
 
 "Ay," said Sam'l. 
 
 "But am dootin' ye're a fell billy wi' the 
 lasses. " 
 
 "Ay, oh, I d'na ken, moderate, moderate," 
 said Sam'l, in high delight. 
 
 "I saw ye," said Eppie, speaking with a wire 
 in her mouth, "gae'in on terr'ble wi' Mysy Hag- 
 gart at the pump last Saturday." 
 
 "We was juist amoosin' oorsels," said Sam'l. 
 
 "It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy," said Ep- 
 pie, " gin ye brak her heart." 
 
 "Losh, Eppie," said Sam'l, "I didna think o' 
 that.'' 
 
 "Ye maun ken weel, Sam'l, 'at there's mony a 
 lass wid jump at ye." 
 
 "Ou, weel," said Sam'l, implying that a man 
 must take these things as they come. 
 
 "For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l." 
 
 "Do ye think so, Eppie .? Ay, ay ; oh, I d'na 
 ken am onything by the ordinar." 
 
 " Ye mayna be," said Eppie, " but lasses 
 doesna do to be ower partikler," 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 2 7 
 
 Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart 
 again. 
 
 " Ye'll no tell Bell that? " he asked, anxiously. 
 
 *'Tell her what?" 
 
 *' Aboot me an' Mysy." 
 
 " Well see hoo ye behave yersel', Sam'l." 
 
 ''No 'at I care, Eppie ; ye can tell her gin 
 ye like. I widna think twice o' tellin' her 
 mysel'." 
 
 *' The Lord forgie ye for leein', Sam'l," said 
 Eppie, as he disappeared down Tammy Tosh's 
 close. Here he cam upon Renders Webster. 
 
 **Ye're late, Sam'l," said Renders. 
 
 *'What for?" 
 
 ** Ou, I was thinkin' ye wid be gaen the length 
 o' T'nowhead the nicht, an' I saw Sanders El- 
 shioner makkin's wy there an oor syne." 
 
 '* Did ye? " cried Sam'l, adding craftily, " but 
 it's naething to me." 
 
 *'Tod, lad," said Renders, "gin ye dinna 
 buckle to Sandexo'il be carryin' her off." 
 
 Sam'l flung b.xk his head and passed on. 
 
 *' Sam'l ! " cried Renders after him. 
 
 "Ay," said Sam'l, wheeling round. 
 
 " Gie Bell a kiss frae me." 
 
 The full force of this joke struck neither all at 
 once. Sam'l began to smile at it as he turned 
 down the school-wynd, and it came upon Renders 
 while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. 
 Then he slapped his le^s gleefully, and explained 
 
128 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 
 
 the conceit to WiU'um Byars, who went into the 
 house and thought it over. 
 
 There were twelve or twenty little groups of 
 men in the square, which was ht by a flare of oil 
 suspended over a cadger's cart. Now and again 
 a staid young woman passed through the square 
 with a basket on her arm, and if she had lingered 
 long enough to give them time, some of the idlers 
 would have addressed her. As it was, they gazed 
 after her, and then grinned to each other. 
 
 " Ay, Sam'l," said two or three young men, as 
 Sam'l joined them beneath the town-clock. 
 
 " Ay, Davit," replied Sam'l. 
 
 This group was composed of some of the 
 sharpest wits in Thrums, and it was not to be ex- 
 pected that they would let this opportunity pass. 
 Perhaps when Sam'l joined them he knew what 
 was in store for him. 
 
 '* Was ye lookin' for T'nowhead's Bell, Sam'l?" 
 asked one. 
 
 "Or mebbe ye was wan tin' the minister.?" 
 suggested another, the same who had walked out 
 twice with Chirsty Duff and not married her after 
 all. 
 
 Saml could not think of a good reply at the 
 moment, so he laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 *' Ondootedly she's a snod bit crittur," said 
 Davit, archly. 
 
 " An' michty clev.er wi' her fingers," added 
 Jamie Deucharg. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 29 
 
 " Man, I've thocht o' makkin' up to Bell myselV' 
 said Pete Ogle. " Wid there be ony chance, think 
 ye, Sam'l ? " 
 
 *' Fm thinkin' she widna hae ye for her first, 
 Pete," replied Sam'l, in one of those happy flashes 
 that come to some men, " but there's nae sayin' 
 but what she micht tak ye to finish up wi'. " 
 
 The unexpectedness of this sally startled every 
 one. Though Sam'l did not set up for a wit, 
 however, like Davit, it was notorious that he 
 could say a cutting thing once in a way. 
 
 " Did ye ever see Bell reddin' up ? " asked Pete, 
 recovering from his overthrow. He was a man 
 who bore no malice. 
 
 *' It's asicht," said Sam'l, solemnly. 
 
 ** Hoo will that be?" asked Jamie Deuchars. 
 
 '* It's weel worth yer while," said Pete, ** to 
 ging atower to the T'nowhead an' see. Ye'U 
 mind the closed-in beds i' the kitchen ? Ay, weel, 
 they're a fell spoilt crew, T'nowhead's litlins, an' 
 no that easy to manage. Th' ither lasses Lisbeth's 
 hae'n had a michty trouble wi' them. When they 
 war i' the middle o' their reddin' up the bairns 
 wid come tumlin' about the floor, but, sal, I assure 
 ye, Bell didna fash lang wi' them. Did she, 
 Sam'l .? " 
 
 " She did not," said Sam'l, dropping into a fine 
 mode of speech to add emphasis to his remark. 
 
 "I'll tell ye what she did," said Pete to the 
 others. **Shejuist lifted up the litlins, twa at a 
 9 
 
130 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 time, an* flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne 
 she snibbit the doors on them, an' keepit them 
 there till the floor was dry." 
 
 * ' Ay, man, did she so ? " said Davit, admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 ** I've seen her do't myseP," said Sam'l. 
 
 " There's no a lassie maks better bannocks this 
 side o' Fetter Lums," continued Pete. 
 
 " Her mither tocht her that," said Sam'l ; *'she 
 was a gran' han' at the bakin', Kitty Ogilvy." 
 
 '' I've heard say," remarked Jamie, putting it 
 this way so as not to tie himself down to any- 
 thing, *' 'at Bell's scones is equal to Mag Lunan's." 
 
 " So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. 
 
 " I ken she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," 
 said Pete. 
 
 " An' wi't a'," said Davit, "she's asnod, canty 
 bit stocky in her Sabbath claes." 
 
 ** If ony thing, thick in the waist," suggested 
 Jamie. 
 
 ** I dinna see that," said Sam'l. 
 
 *' I d'na care for her hair either," continued 
 Jamie, who was very nice in his tastes ; " some- 
 thing mair yallowchy wid be an improvement." 
 
 " A'body kens," growled Sam'l, "'at black 
 hair's the bonniest." 
 
 The others chuckled. 
 
 "Puir Sam'l !" Pete said. 
 
 Sam'l not being certain whether this should be 
 received with a smile or a frown, opened his 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 13 1 
 
 mouth wide as a kind of compromise. This was 
 position one with him for thinking things over. 
 
 Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the 
 length of choosing a helpmate for themselves. 
 One day a young man's friends would see him 
 mending the washing-tub of a maiden's mother. 
 They kept the joke until Saturday night, and then 
 he learned from them what he had been after. It 
 dazed him for a time, but in a year or so he grew 
 accustomed to the idea, and they were then mar- 
 ried. With a little help he fell in love just like 
 other people. 
 
 Sam'l was going the way of the others, but he 
 found it difficult to come to the point. He only 
 went courting once a week, and he could never 
 take up the running at the place where he left off 
 the Saturday before. Thus he had not, so far, 
 made great headway. His method of making up 
 to Bell had been to drop in at T'nowhead on 
 Saturday nights and talk with the farmer about 
 the rinderpest. 
 
 The farm kitchen was Bell's testimonial. Its 
 chairs, tables, and stools w^ere scoured by her to 
 the whiteness of Rob Angus' saw-mill boards, and 
 the muslin blind on the window was starched like 
 a child's pinafore. Bell was brave, too, as well 
 as energetic. Once Thrums had been overrun 
 with thieves. It is now thought that there may 
 have been only one, but he had the wicked 
 cleverness of a gang. Such was his repute that 
 
132 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 there were weavers who spoke of locking their 
 doors when they went from home. He was not 
 very skilful, however, being generally caught, 
 and when they said they knew he was a robber, 
 he gave them their things back, and went away. 
 If they had given him time there is no doubt that 
 he would have gone off with his plunder. One 
 night he went to T'nowhead, and Bell, who slept 
 in the kitchen, was awakened by the noise. She 
 knew who it would be, so she rose and dressed 
 herself, and went to look for him with a candle. 
 The thief had not known what to do when he got 
 in, and as it was very lonely he was glad to see 
 Bell. She told him he ought to be ashamed of 
 himself, and would not let him out by the door 
 until he had taken off his boots so as not to soil 
 the carpet. 
 
 On this Saturday evening Sam'l stood his 
 ground in the square, until by and by he found 
 himself alone. There were other groups there 
 still, but his circle had melted away. They went 
 separately, and no one said good-night. Each 
 took himself off slowly, backing out of the group 
 until he was fairly started. 
 
 Sam'l looked about him, and then, seeing that 
 the others had gone, walked round the town- 
 house into the darkness of the brae that leads 
 down and then up to the farm of T'nowhead. 
 
 To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus 
 you had to know her ways and humor them. 
 
A t/LD LiCttT ID YLS. 133 
 
 Sam'l, who was a student of women, knew this, 
 and so, instead of pushing the door open and 
 walking in, he went through the rather ridiculous 
 ceremony of knocking. Sanders Elshioner was 
 also aware of this weakness of Lisbeth's, but 
 though he often made up his mind to knock, the 
 absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so 
 when he reached the door. T'nowhead himself 
 had never got used to his wife's refined notions, 
 and when any one knocked he always started to 
 his feet, thinking there must be something wrong. 
 
 Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure 
 blocking the way in. 
 
 *' Sam'l," she said. 
 
 "Lisbeth," said Saml. 
 
 He shook hands with the farmer's wife, know- 
 ing that she liked it, but only said, *'Ay, Bell," 
 to his sweetheart, "Ay, T'nowhead," to Mc- 
 Quhatty, and "It's yersel', Sanders," to his rival. 
 
 They were all sitting round the fire ; T'nowhead, 
 with his feet on the ribs, wondering why he felt 
 so warm, and Bell darned a stocking, while Lis- 
 beth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes. 
 
 "Sit into the fire, Sam'l," said the farmer, not, 
 however, making way for him. 
 
 "Na, na," said Sam'l ; "I'm to bide nae time." 
 Then he sat into the fire. His face was turned 
 away from Bell, and when she spoke he answered 
 her without looking round. Sam'l felt a little 
 anxious. Sanders Elshioner, who had one leg 
 
134 AULb UctiT IDYlS, 
 
 shorter than the other, but looked well when sit- 
 ting, seemed suspiciously at home. He asked 
 Bell questions out of his own head, which was 
 beyond Sam'l, and once he said something to her 
 in such a low voice that the others could not 
 catch it. Tnowhead asked curiously what it 
 was, and Sanders explained that he had only said 
 *'Ay, Bell, the morn's the Sabbath." There was 
 nothing startling in this, but Sam'l did not like it. 
 He began to wonder if he were too late, and had 
 he seen his opportunity would have told Bell of a 
 nasty rumor that Sanders intended to go over to 
 the Free Church if they would make him kirk- 
 officer. 
 
 Sam'l had the good-will of T'nowhead's wife, 
 who liked a polite man. Sanders did his best, 
 but from want of practice, he constantly made 
 mistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his 
 hat in the house because he did not like to put up 
 his hand and take it off. T'nowhead had not taken 
 his off either, but that was because he meant to 
 go out by and by and lock the byre door. It was 
 impossible to say which of her lovers Bell pre- 
 ferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht 
 lassie was to prefer the man who proposed to her. 
 
 **Ye'll bide a wee, an hae something to eat ?" 
 Lisbeth asked Sam'l, with her eyes on the goblet. 
 
 "No, I thank ye," said Sam'l, with true gen- 
 tility. 
 
 *'Ye'll better." 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 135 
 
 *'I dinna think it." 
 
 ** Hoots aye ; what's to hender ye ? " 
 
 **Weelj since ye're sae pressin', I'll bide." 
 
 No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, 
 for she was but the servant, and T'nowhead knew 
 that the kick his wife had given him meant that 
 he was not to do so either. Sanders whistled to 
 show that he was not uncomfortable. 
 
 **Ay, then, I'll be stappin' over the brae," he 
 said at last. 
 
 He did not go, however. There was sufficient 
 pride in him to get him off his chair, but only 
 slowly, for he had to get accustomed to the 
 notion of going. At intervals of two or three 
 minutes he remarked that he must now be going. 
 In the same circumstances Sam'l would have 
 acted similarly. For a Thrums man, it is one of 
 the hardest things in life to get away from any- 
 where. 
 
 At last Lisbeth saw that something must be 
 done. The potatoes were burning, and T'now- 
 head had an invitation on his tongue. 
 
 "Yes, I'll hae to be movin'," said Sanders, 
 hopelessly, for the fifth time. 
 
 **Guid-nicht to ye, then, Sanders," said Lis- 
 beth. "Gie the door a fling-to ahent ye." 
 
 Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself 
 together. He looked boldly at Bell, and then 
 took off his hat carefully. Sam'l saw with mis- 
 givings that there was something in it which was 
 
136 AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 not a handkerchief. It was a paper bag glitter- 
 ing with gold braid, and contained such an as- 
 sortment of sweets as lads bought for their lasses 
 on the Muckle Friday. 
 
 " Hae, Bell," said Sanders, handing the bag to 
 Bell in an off-hand way as if it were but a trifle. 
 Nevertheless he was a little excited, for he went 
 off without saying good-night. 
 
 No one spoke. Bell's face was crimson. 
 T'nowhead fidgeted on his chair, and Lisbeth 
 looked at Sam'l. The weaver was strangely calm 
 and collected, though he would have liked to 
 know whether this was a proposal. 
 
 ''Sit in by to the table, Sam'l," said Lisbeth, 
 trying to look as if things were as they had been 
 before. 
 
 She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper 
 near the fire to melt, for melted butter is the shoe- 
 ing-horn that helps over a meal of potatoes. 
 Sam'l, however, saw what the hour required, and 
 jumping up, he seized his bonnet. 
 
 " Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth," 
 he said with dignity; " I'se be back in ten 
 meenits. " 
 
 He hurried out of the house, leaving the others 
 looking at each other. 
 
 "What do ye think .? " asked Lisbeth. 
 
 "I d'na ken," faltered Bell. 
 
 "Thae tatties is lang o' comin' to the boil,'* 
 said T'nowhead. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 137 
 
 In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam'l 
 would have been suspected of intent upon his 
 rival's life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did the 
 weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it 
 does not much matter what T'nowhead thought. 
 
 The ten minutes had barely passed when 
 Sam'l was back in the farm kitchen. He was too 
 flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth 
 did not expect it of him. 
 
 *'Bell, hae ! " he cried, handing his sweet- 
 heart a tinsel, bag twice the size of Sanders' 
 gift. 
 
 ** Losh preserve's ! " exclaimed Lisbeth ; " I'se 
 warrant there's a shillin's worth. " 
 
 "There's a' that, Lisbeth — an' mair," said 
 Sam'l firmly. 
 
 "I thank ye, Sam'l," said Bell, feeling an un- 
 wonted elation as she gazed at the two paper 
 bags in her lap. 
 
 "Ye're ower extravegint, Sam'l," Lisbeth 
 said. 
 
 "Not at all," said Sam'l ; "not at all. But I 
 widna advise ye to eat thae ither anes, Bell — 
 they're second quality." 
 
 Bell drew back a step from Sam'l. 
 
 " How do ye ken ? " asked the farmer shortly, 
 for he liked Sanders. 
 
 "I speired i' the shop," said Sam'l. 
 
 The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the 
 table with the saucer beside it, and Sam'l, like 
 
138 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 the others, helped himself. What he did was to 
 take potatoes from the pot with his fingers, peel 
 off their coats, and then dip them into the butter. 
 Lisbeth would have liked to provide knives and 
 forks, but she knew that beyond a certain point 
 T'nowhead was master in his own house. As for 
 Sam'l, he felt victory in his hands, and began to 
 think that he had gone too far. 
 
 In the mean time Sanders, little witting that 
 Sam'l had trumped his trick, was sauntering along 
 the kirk-wynd with his hat on the side of his 
 head. Fortunately he did not meet the minister. 
 
 The courting of T nowhead's Bell reached its 
 crisis one Sabbath about a month after the events 
 above recorded. The minister was in great force 
 that day, but it is no part of mine to tell how he 
 bore himself. I was there, and am not likely to 
 forget the scene. It was a fateful Sabbath for 
 T'nowhead's Bell and her swains, and destined to 
 be remembered for the painful scandal which 
 they perpetrated in their passion. 
 
 Bell was not in the kirk. There being an in- 
 fant of six months in the house it was a question 
 of either Lisbeth or the lassie's staying at home 
 with him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in a 
 general way, she could not resist the delight of 
 going to church. She had nine children besides 
 the baby, and being but a woman, it was the pride 
 of her life to march them into the T'nowhead pew, 
 so well watched that they dared not misbehave. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 139 
 
 and so tightly packed that they could not fall. 
 The congregation looked at that pew, the mothers 
 enviously, when they sang the lines — 
 
 " Jerusalem like a city is 
 Compactly built together." 
 
 The first half of the service had been gone 
 through on this particular Sunday without any- 
 thing remarkable happening. It was at the end 
 of the psalm which preceded the sermon that 
 Sanders Elshioner, who sat near the door, lowered 
 his head until it was no higher than the pews, 
 and in that attitude, looking almost like a four- 
 footed animal, shpped out of the church. In their 
 eagerness to be at the sermon many of the con- 
 gregation did not notice him, and those who did 
 put the matter by in their minds for future investi- 
 gation. Sam'l, however, could not take it so 
 coolly. From his seat in the gallery he saw San- 
 ders disappear, and his mind misgave him. With 
 the true lover's instinct he understood it all. San- 
 ders had been struck by the fine turn-out in the 
 T'nowhead pew. Bell was alone at the farm. 
 What an opportunity to work one's way up to a 
 proposal ! T'nowhead was so overrun with 
 children that such a chance seldom occurred, ex- 
 cept on a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, was off 
 to propose, and he, Sam'l, was left behind. 
 
 The suspense was terrible. Sam'l and Sanders 
 had both known all along that Bell would take 
 
1 40 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 the first of the two who asked her. Even 
 those who thought her proud admitted that she 
 was modest. Bitterly the weaver repented hav- 
 ing waited so long. Now it was too late. In ten 
 minutes Sanders would be at T'nowhead ; in an 
 hour all would be over. Sam'l rose to his feet in 
 a daze. His mother pulled him down by the 
 coat-tail, and his father shook him, thinking he 
 was walking in his sleep. He tottered past them, 
 however, hurried up the aisle, which was so nar- 
 row that Dan'l Ross could only reach his seat by 
 walking sideways, and was gone before the 
 minister could do more than stop in the middle of 
 a whirl and gape in horror after him. 
 
 A number of the congregation felt that day the 
 advantage of sitting in the laft. What was a 
 mystery to those downstairs was revealed to them. 
 From the gallery windows they had a fine open 
 view to the south ; and as Sam'l took the common, 
 which was a short cut through a steep ascent, to 
 T'nowhead, he was never out of their line of 
 vision. Sanders was not to be seen, but they 
 guessed rightly the reason why. Thinking he had 
 ample time, he had gone round by the main road 
 to save his boots — perhaps a little scared by what 
 was coming. Sam'l's design was to forestall him 
 by taking the shorter path over the burn and up 
 the commonty. 
 
 It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers 
 in the gallery braved the minister's displeasure to 
 
AULD LICH T ID YLS. 1 4 1 
 
 see who won. Those who favored SamTs suit 
 exultantly saw him leap the stream, while the 
 friends of Sanders fixed their eyes on the top of 
 the common where it ran into the road. Sanders 
 must come into sight there, and the one who 
 reached this point first would get Bell. 
 
 As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sab- 
 bath, Sanders would probably not be delayed. 
 The chances were in his favor. Had it been 
 any other day in the week Sam'l might have run. 
 So some of the congregation in the gallery were 
 thinking, when suddenly they saw him bend low 
 and then take to his heels. He had caught sight 
 of Sanders' head bobbing over the hedge that 
 separated the road from the common, and feared 
 that Sanders might see him. The congregation 
 who could crane their necks sufficiently saw a 
 black object, which they guessed to be the carter's 
 hat, crawling along the hedge-top. For a mo- 
 ment it was motionless, and then it shot ahead. 
 The rivals had seen each other. It was now a 
 hot race. Sam'l, dissembling no longer, clattered 
 up the common, becoming smaller and smaller to 
 the on-lookers as he neared the top. More than 
 one person in the gallery almost rose to their feet 
 in their excitement. Sam'l had it. No, Sanders 
 was in front. Then the two figures disappeared 
 from view. They seemed to run into each other 
 at the top of the brae, and no one could say who 
 was first. Th^ congregation looked at one 
 
1 42 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 another. Some of them perspired. But the min- 
 ister held on his course. 
 
 Sam'i had just been in time to cut Sanders out. 
 It was the weaver's saving that Sanders saw this 
 when his rival turned the corner ; for Sam'l was 
 sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and 
 gave in at once. The last hundred yards of the 
 distance he covered at his leisure, and when he 
 arrived at his destination he did not go in. It 
 was a fine afternoon for the time of year, and he 
 went round to have a look at the pig, about 
 which T'nowhead was a little sinfully puffed 
 up. 
 
 "Ay," said Sanders, digging his fingers critic- 
 ally into the grunting animal ; "quite so." 
 
 "Grumph," said the pig, getting reluctantly to 
 his feet. 
 
 "Ou, ay ; yes," said Sanders, thoughtfully. 
 
 Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and 
 looked long and silently at an empty bucket. 
 But whether his thoughts were of T'nowhead's 
 Bell, whom he had lost forever, or of the food the 
 farmer fed his pig on, is not known. 
 
 "Lord preserve's! Are ye no at the kirk.?" 
 cried 'Bell, nearly dropping the baby as Sam'l 
 broke into the room. 
 
 " Bell !" cried Sam'l. 
 
 Then T'nowhead's Bell knew that her hour had 
 come. 
 
 "Sam'l," she faltered. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 43 
 
 "Will you hae's, Bell?" demanded Sam'l glar- 
 ing at her sheepishly. 
 
 "Ay," answered Bell. 
 
 Sam'l fell into a chair. 
 
 "Bring's a drink o' water, Bell," he said. But 
 Bell thought the occasion required milk, and there 
 was none in the kitchen. She w^ent out to the 
 byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw 
 Sanders Elshioner sitting gloomily on the pig-sty. 
 
 " Weel, Bell," said Sanders. 
 
 " I thocht ye'd been at the kirk, Sanders," said 
 Bell. 
 
 Then there was a silence between them. 
 
 "Has Sam'l speired ye. Bell?" asked Sanders 
 stolidly. 
 
 "Ay," said Bell again, and this time there was 
 a tear in her eye. Sanders was a little better than 
 an "orra man," and Sam'l was a weaver, and 
 yet — But it was too late now. Sanders gave the 
 pig a vicious poke with a stick, and when it had 
 ceased to grunt. Bell was back in the kitchen. 
 She had forgotten about the milk, however, and 
 Sam'l only got water after all. 
 
 In after days, when the story of Bell's wooing 
 was told, there was some who held that the cir- 
 cumstances would have almost justified the lassie 
 in giving Sam'l the go-by. But these perhaps for- 
 got that her other lover was in the same predica- 
 ment as the accepted one — that of the two, in- 
 deed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to 
 
144 ^ ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 T'nowhead on the Sabbath of his own accord, 
 while Sam'l only ran after him. And then there 
 is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard of 
 her suitors' delinquencies until Lisbeth's return 
 from the kirk. Sam'l could never remember 
 whether he told her, and Bell was not sure 
 whether, if he did, she took it in. Sanders was 
 greatly in demand for weeks after to tell what he 
 knew of the affair, but though he was twice asked 
 to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected 
 thereafter to ministerial cross-examinations, this 
 is all he told. He remained at the pig-sty 
 until Sam'l left the farm, when he joined him 
 at the top of the brae, and they went home to- 
 gether. 
 
 " It's yersel, Sanders," said Sam'l. 
 
 *' It is so, Sam'l," said Sanders. 
 
 ''Very cauld," said Sam'l. 
 
 ''Blawy," assented Sanders. 
 
 After a pause — 
 
 *' Sam'l," said Sanders. 
 
 ''Ay." 
 
 "I'm hearin' ye're to be marrit." 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "Weel, Sam'l, she's a snod bit lassie." 
 
 " Thank ye," said Sam'l. 
 
 "I had ance a kin' o' notion o' Bell mysel/' 
 continued Sanders. 
 
 "Ye had?" 
 
 "Yes, Sam'l ; but I thocht better o't." 
 
A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 145 
 
 " Hoo d'ye mean ? " asked Sam'l, a little anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Weel, Sam'l, mairitch is a terrible respon- 
 sibeelity." 
 
 ** It is so," said Sam'l, wincing. 
 
 "An' no the thing to tak' up withoot conseeder- 
 ation." 
 
 **But it's a blessed and honorable state, San- 
 ders ; yeVe heard the minister on't." 
 
 "They say," continued the relentless Sanders, 
 "'at the minister doesna get on sair wi' the wife 
 himsel.'" 
 
 "So they do, " cried Sam'l, with a sinking at the 
 heart. 
 
 "I've been telt," Sanders went on, "'at gin ye 
 can get the upper han' o' the wife for a while at 
 first, there's the mair chance o' a harmonious 
 exeestence. " 
 
 "Bell's no the lassie," said Sam'l appealingly, 
 " to thwart her man." 
 
 Sanders smiled. 
 
 " D'ye think she is, Sanders ? " 
 
 "Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but 
 she's been ower lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae 
 learnt her ways. An a'body kens what a life 
 T'nowhead has wi' her." 
 
 "Guidsake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o* 
 this afore ? " 
 
 " I thocht ye kent o't, Sam'l." 
 
 They had now reached the square, and the U. P. 
 10 
 
1 46 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 
 
 kirk was coming out. The Auld Licht kirk would 
 be half an hour yet. 
 
 "But, Sanders," said Sam'l, brightening up, 
 **ye was on yer wy to spier her yersel.' " 
 
 ** I was, Sam'l," said Sanders, **and I canna 
 but be thankfu' ye was ower quick for's." 
 
 " Gin't hadna been you," said Sam'l, "I wid 
 never hae thocht o't. " 
 
 " I'm say in' naething again Bell," pursued the 
 other, ** but, man, Sam'l, a body should be mair 
 deleeberate in a thing o' the kind." 
 
 "It was michty hurried," said Sam'l, wo- 
 fully. 
 
 "It's a serious thing to spier a lassie," said 
 Sanders. 
 
 "It's an awfu' thing," said Sam'l. 
 
 "But we'll hope for the best," added Sanders in 
 a hopeless voice. 
 
 They were close to the Tenements now, and 
 Sam'l looked as if he were on his way to be 
 hanged. 
 
 "Sam'l!" 
 
 "Ay, Sanders." 
 
 "Did ye — did ye kiss her, Sam'l? " 
 
 "Na." 
 
 "Hoo?" 
 
 "There was verra little time, Sanders." 
 
 "Half an 'oor," said Sanders. 
 
 "Was there? Man, Sanders, to tell ye the 
 truth, I never thocht o't." 
 
AULD LICHT IDYLS. 
 
 147 
 
 Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled 
 with contempt for Sam'l Dickie. 
 
 The scandal blew over. At first it was ex- 
 pected that the minister would interfere to prevent 
 the union, but beyond intimating from the pulpit 
 that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond 
 praying for, and then praying for Sam'l and 
 Sanders at great length, with a word thrown in 
 for Bell, he let things take their course. Some 
 said it was because he was always frightened lest 
 his young men should intermarry with other de- 
 nominations, but Sanders explained it differently 
 to Sam'l. 
 
 " I hav'na a word to say agin the minister," he 
 said ; " they're gran' prayers, but, Sam'l, he's a 
 mairit man himsel.' " 
 
 " He's a' the better for that, Sanders, isna he ? " 
 
 "Do ye no see," asked Sanders compassion- 
 ately, '"at he's try in' to mak' the best o't ? " 
 
 '*0h, Sanders, man ! " said Sam'l. 
 
 " Cheer up, Sam'l," said Sanders, '' it'll sune be 
 ower. " 
 
 Their having been rival suitors had not inter- 
 fered with their friendship. On the contrary, while 
 they had hitherto been mere acquaintances, they 
 became inseparables as the weddmg-day drew 
 near.- It was noticed that they had much to say 
 to each other, and that when they could not get a 
 room to themselves they wandered about together 
 in the church-yard. When Sam'l had anything to 
 
148 A ULD LIGHT ID YtS. 
 
 tell Bell he sent Sanders to tell it, and Sanders did 
 as he was bid. There was nothing that he would 
 not have done for Sam'l. 
 
 The more obliging Sanders was, however, the 
 sadder Sam'l grew. He never laughed now on 
 Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent 
 half the day. Sam'l felt that Sanders' was the 
 kindness of a friend for a dying man. 
 
 It was to be a penny-wedding, and Lisbeth 
 Fargus said it was delicacy that made Sam'l 
 superintend the fitting-up of the barn by deputy. 
 Once he came to see it in person, but he looked 
 so ill that Sanders had to see him home. This 
 was on the Thursday afternoon, and the wedding 
 was fixed for Friday. 
 
 "Sanders, Sanders," said Sam'l, in a voice 
 strangely unlike his own, " it'll a' be owerby this 
 time the morn. " 
 
 "It will," said Sanders. 
 
 "If I had only kent her langer," continued 
 Sam'l. 
 
 "It wid hae been safer," said Sanders. 
 
 "Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell's bonnet ? " 
 asked the accepted swain. 
 
 "Ay," said Sanders reluctantly. 
 
 "I'm dootin' — I'm sair dootin' she's but a flichty, 
 light-hearted crittur after a'." 
 
 "I had ay my suspeecions o't," said Sanders. 
 
 "Ye hae kent her langer than me," said Sam'l. 
 
 " Yes/' said Sanders, "but there's nae gettin' 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 149 
 
 at the heart o* women. Man, Sam'l, they're des- 
 perate cunnin'." 
 
 *'Vm. dootin't ; I'm sair dootin't." 
 
 *' It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam'l, no to be in sic 
 a hurry i' the futur," said Sanders. 
 
 Sam'l groaned. 
 
 ** Ye'll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi' 
 the minister the morn's mornin','' continued 
 Sanders, in a subdued voice. 
 
 Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend. 
 
 "I canna do't, Sanders," he said, **I canna 
 do't." 
 
 ** Ye maun," said Sanders. 
 
 '* It's easy to speak," retorted Sam'l bitterly. 
 
 "We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l," said Sanders 
 soothingly, " an' every man maun bear his ain 
 burdens. Johnny Davie's wife's dead, an' he's no 
 repinin'." 
 
 ** Ay," said Sam'l, "but a death's no a mair- 
 itch. We hae haen deaths in our family too." 
 
 "It may a' be for the best," added Sanders, 
 " an' there wid be a michty tulk i' the hale coun- 
 try-side gin ye didna ging to the minister Hke a 
 man." 
 
 " I maun hae langer to think o't," said Sam'l. 
 
 "Bell's mairitch is the morn," said Sanders 
 decisively. 
 
 Sam'l i^lancpd up with a wild look in his eyes. 
 
 ''Sanders ! " he cried. 
 
 "Sam'l!" 
 
150 AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 "Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in 
 this sair affliction." 
 
 ''Nothing ava," said Sanders; "dount men- 
 tionU" 
 
 "But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your 
 rinnin' oot o' the kirk that awfu' day was at the 
 bottom o'd a'.'* 
 
 "It was so," said Sanders bravely. 
 
 "An' ye used to be fond o' Bell, Sanders." 
 
 "I dinna deny't." 
 
 "Sanders, laddie," said Sam'l, bending for- 
 ward and speaking in a wheedling voice, "I aye 
 thocht it was you she likit. " 
 
 "I had some sic idea mysel'," said Sanders. 
 
 "Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae 
 weel suited to ane anither as you an' Bell." 
 
 "Canna ye, Sam'l?" 
 
 "She widmak ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae 
 studied her weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, 
 clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her. 
 Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel', ' There's 
 a lass ony man micht be prood to tak.' A'body 
 says the same, Sanders. There's nae risk ava, 
 man : nane to speak o'. Tak her, laddie, tak 
 her, Sanders ; it's a grand chance, Sanders. 
 She's yours for the spierin'. I'll gie her up, 
 Sanders." 
 
 " Will ye, though .? " said Sanders. 
 
 "What d'ye think ? " asked Sam'l. 
 
 " If ye wid rayther," said Sanders politely. 
 
A ULD LICHT ib YLS. 151 
 
 ** There's my han' on't," said Sam'l. ** Bless 
 ye, Sanders ; yeVe been a true frien' to me." 
 
 Then they shook hands for the first time in 
 their lives ; and soon afterward Sanders struck 
 up the brae to T'nowhead. 
 
 Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had 
 been very busy the night before, put on his Sab- 
 bath clothes and strolled up to the manse. 
 
 *'But — but where is Sam'l ?" asked the min- 
 ister; ** I must see himself." 
 
 " It's a new arrangement." said Sanders. 
 
 " What do you mean, Sanders ? " 
 
 ** Bell's to marry me," explained Sanders. 
 
 **But — but what does Sam'l say?*' 
 
 "He's willinV said Sanders. 
 
 '* And Bell?" 
 
 *' She's willin', too. She prefers't." 
 
 "It is unusual," said the minister. 
 
 "It's a' richt," said Sanders. 
 
 "Well, you know best," said the minister. 
 
 "You see the hoose was taen, at ony rate," 
 continued Sanders. "An' I'll juist ging in till't 
 instead o' Sam'l." 
 
 "Quite so." 
 
 "An' I cudna think to disappoint the lassie." 
 
 "Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders," said 
 the minister ; " but I hope you do not enter upon 
 the blessed state of matrimony without full con- 
 sideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious 
 business, marriage." 
 
1^2 A ULb LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 '' It's a' that," said Sanders, " but Fm willin' to 
 Stan' the risk. " 
 
 So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders El- 
 shioner took to wife T'nowhead's Bell, and I re- 
 member seeing Sam'i Dickie trying to dance at 
 the penny wedding. 
 
 Years afterward it was said in Thrums that 
 Sam'l had treated Bell badly, but he was never 
 sure about it himself. 
 
 *'Itwas a near thing — a michty near thing," 
 he admitted in the square. 
 
 ''They say," some other weaver would remark, 
 " 'at it was you Bell liked best. " 
 
 "Id'nakin," Sam'l w^ould reply, "but there's 
 nae doot the lassie was fell fond o' me. Ou, a 
 mere passin' fancy 's ye micht say." 
 
AULD UCHT JDYLS, 153 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DAVIT LUNAN's political REMINISCENCES. 
 
 When an election-day comes round now, it 
 takes me back to the time of 1832. I would be 
 eight or ten years old at that time. James Strach- 
 an was at the door by five o'clock in the morn- 
 ing in his Sabbath clothes, by arrangement. We 
 was to go up to the hill to see them building the 
 bonfire. Moreover, there was word that Mr. 
 Scrimgour was to be there tossing pennies, just 
 like at a marriage. I was awakened before that 
 by my mother at the pans and bowls. I have 
 always associated elections since that time with 
 jelly-making ; for just as my mother would fill 
 the cups and tankers and bowls with jelly to 
 save cans, she was emptying the pots and pans 
 to make way for the ale and porter. James and 
 me was to help to carry it home from the square 
 — him in the pitcher and me in a flagon, because 
 I was silly for my age and not strong in the 
 arms. 
 
 It was a very blowy morning, though the rain 
 kept off, and what part of the bonfire had been 
 buil't already was found scattered to the winds. 
 
1 54 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 Before we rose a great mass of folks was getting 
 the barrels and things together again ; but some 
 of them was never recovered, and suspicion 
 pointed to William Geddes, it being well known 
 that William would not hesitate to carry off any- 
 thing if unobserved. More by token Chirsty 
 Lamby had seen him rolling home a barrowful of 
 firewood early in the morning, her having risen 
 to hold cold water in her mouth, being down 
 with the toothache. When we got up to the hill 
 everybody was making for the quarry, which be- 
 ing more sheltered was now thought to be a bet- 
 ter place for the bonfire. The masons had struck 
 work, it being a general holiday in the whole coun- 
 tryside. There was a great commotion of peo- 
 ple, all fine dressed and mostly with Glengarry 
 bonnets ; and me and James was well acquaint 
 with them, though mostly weavers and the like 
 and not my father's equal. Mr. Scrimgour was 
 not there himself ; but there was a small active 
 body in his room as tossed the money for him 
 fair enough ; though not so liberally as was ex- 
 pected, being mostly ha'pence where pennies was 
 looked for. Such was not my father's opinion, and 
 him and a few others only had a vote. He con- 
 sidered it was a waste of money giving to them 
 that had no vote and so taking out of other folks' 
 mouths ; but the little man said it kept everybody 
 in good-humor and made Mr. Scrimgour popular. 
 He was an extraordinary affable man and very 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 155 
 
 spirity, running about to waste no time in walking, 
 and gave me a shilling, saying to me to be a 
 truthful boy and tell my father. He did not 
 give .James anything, him being an orphan, but 
 clapped his head and said he was a fine boy. 
 
 The captain was to vote for the bill if he got in, 
 the which he did. It was the captain was to give 
 the ale and the porter in the square like a true 
 gentleman. My father gave a kind of laugh when 
 I let him see my shilling, and said he would keep 
 care of it for me ; and sorry I was I let him get 
 it, me never seeing the face of it again to this 
 day. Me and James was much annoyed with the 
 women, especially Kitty Davie, always push- 
 ing in when there was tossing, and tearing the 
 very ha'pence out of our hands ; us not caring so 
 much about the money, but humiliated to see 
 women mixing up in politics. By the time the 
 topmost barrel was on the bonfire there was a 
 great smell of whiskey in the quarry, it being a 
 confined place. My father had been against the 
 bonfire being in the quarry, arguing that the wind 
 on the hill would have carried off the smell of the 
 whiskey ; but Peter Tosh said they did not want 
 the smell carried off; it would be agreeable to 
 the masons for weeks to come. Except among 
 the women there was no fighting nor wrangling 
 at the quarry, but all in fine spirits. 
 
 I misremember now whether it was Mr. Scrim- 
 gour or the captain that took the fancy to my 
 
156 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 father's pigs ; but it was this day, at any rate, 
 that the captain sent him the game-cock. Which- 
 ever one it was that fancied the litter of pigs, 
 nothing would content him but to buy them, 
 which he did at thirty shiUings each, being the 
 best bargain ever my father made. Nevertheless 
 I'm thinking he was windier of the cock. The 
 captain, who was a local man when not with his 
 regiment, had the grandest collection of fighting- 
 cocks in the county, and sometimes came into the 
 town to try them against the town cocks. I mind 
 well the large wicker cage in which they were 
 conveyed from place to place, and never without 
 the captain near at hand. My father had a cock 
 that beat all the other town cocks at the cock- 
 fight at our school, which was superintended by 
 the elder of the kirk to see fair play ; but the 
 which died of its wounds the next day but one. 
 This was a great grief to my father, it having 
 been challenged to fight the captain's cock. 
 Therefore it was very considerate of the captain 
 to make my father a present of his bird ; father, in 
 compliment to him, changing its name from the 
 ''Deil" to the ''Captain." 
 
 During the forenoon, and I think until well on 
 in the day, James and me was busy with the 
 pitcher and the flagon. The proceedings in the 
 square, however, was not so well conducted as 
 in the quarry, many of the folk there assembled 
 showing a mean and grasping spirit. The cap- 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 157 
 
 tain had given orders that there was to be no stint 
 of ale and porter, and neither there was ; but 
 much of it lost through hastiness. Great barrels 
 was hurled into the middle of the square, where 
 the country wives sat with their eggs and butter 
 on market-day, and was quickly stove in with an 
 axe or paving-stone or whatever came handy. 
 Sometimes they would break into the barrel at 
 different points ; and then, when they tilted it up 
 to get the ale out at one hole, it gushed out at the 
 bottom till the square was flooded. My mother 
 was fair disgusted when told by me and James of 
 the waste of good liquor. It is gospel truth I 
 speak when I say I mind well of seeing Singer 
 Davie catching the porter in a pan as it ran down 
 the sire, and when the pan was full to overflow- 
 ing, putting his mouth to the stream and drinking 
 till he was as full as the pan. Most of the men, 
 however, stuck to the barrels, the drink running 
 in the street being ale and porter mixed, and left 
 it to the women and the young folk to do the 
 carrying. Susy M'Queen brought as many pans 
 as she could collect on a barrow, and was filling 
 them all with porter, rejecting the ale ; but indig- 
 nation was aroused against her, and as fast as she 
 filled the others emptied. 
 
 My father scorned to go to the square to drink 
 ale and porter with the crowd, having the election 
 on his mind and him to vote. Nevertheless he 
 instructed me and James to keep up a brisk trade 
 
158 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 with the pans, and run back across the gardens in 
 case we met dishonest folk in the streets who 
 might drink the ale. Also, said my father, we 
 was to let the excesses of our neighbors be a 
 warning in sobriety to us ; enough being as good 
 as a feast except when you can store it up for the 
 winter. By and by my mother thought it was 
 not safe me being in the streets with so many 
 wild men about, and would have sent James him- 
 self, him being an orphan and hardier ; but this I 
 did not like, but, running out, did not come back 
 for long enough. There is no doubt that the 
 music was to blame for firing the men's blood, 
 and the result most disgraceful fighting with no 
 object in view. There was three fiddlers and two 
 at the flute, most of them blind, but not the less 
 dangerous on that account ; and they kept the 
 town in a ferment, even playing the country-folk 
 home to the farms, followed by bands of towns- 
 folk. They were a quarrelsome set, the plough- 
 men and others ; and it was generally admitted 
 in the town that their overbearing behavior was 
 responsible for the fights. I mind them being 
 driven out of the square, stones flying thick ; also 
 some stand-up fights with sticks, and others fair 
 enough with fists. The worst fight I did not see. 
 It took place in a field. At first it was only be- 
 tween two who had been miscalling one another ; 
 but there was many looking on, and when the 
 town man was like getting the worst of it the 
 
AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 '59 
 
 others set to, and a most heathenish fray with no 
 sense in it ensued. One man had his arm broken. 
 I mind Hobart the bellman going about ringing 
 the bell and telling all persons to get within 
 doors ; but little attention was paid to him, it 
 being notorious that Snecky had had a fight earlier 
 in the day himself. 
 
 When James was fighting in the field, according 
 to his own account, I had the honor of dining 
 with the electors who voted for the captain, him 
 paying all expenses. It was a lucky accident my 
 mother sending me to the town-house, where the 
 dinner came off, to try to get my father home at 
 a decent hour, me having a remarkable power 
 over him when in liquor, but at no other time. 
 They were very jolly, however, and insisted on 
 my drinking the captain's health and eating more 
 than was safe. My father got it next day from 
 my mother for this ; and so would I myself, but 
 it was several days before I left my bed, com- 
 pletely knocked up as I was with the excite- 
 ment and one thing or another. The bonfire, 
 which was built to celebrate the election of Mr. 
 Scrimgour, v/as set ablaze, though I did not see 
 it, in honor of the election of the captain ; it 
 being thought a pity to lose it, as no doubt it 
 would have been. That is about all I remember 
 of the celebrated election of '32 when the Reform 
 Bill was passed. 
 
l6o A ULD LIGHT ID VLS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A VERY OLD FAMILY. 
 
 They were a very old family with whom Snecky 
 Hobart, the bellman, lodged. Their favorite dis- 
 sipation, when their looms had come to rest, was 
 a dander through the kirkyard. They dressed for 
 it : the three young ones in their rusty blacks ; 
 the patriarch in his old blue coat, velvet knee- 
 breeches, and broad blue bonnet ; and often of an 
 evening I have met them moving from grave to 
 grave. By this time the old man was nearly 
 ninety, and the young ones averaged sixty. They 
 read out the inscriptions on the tombstones in a 
 solemn drone, and their father added his reminis- 
 cences. He never failed them. Since the begin- 
 ning of the century he had not missed a funeral, 
 and his children felt that he was a great example. 
 Sire and sons returned from the cemetery invig- 
 orated for their daily labors. If one of them 
 happened to start a dozen yards behind the 
 others, he never thought of making up the dis- 
 tance. If his foot struck against a stone, he came 
 to a dead stop ; when he discovered that he had 
 stopped, he set off again. 
 
AULD LICHT IDYLS. i6i 
 
 A high wall shut off this old family's house and 
 garden from the clatter of Thrums, a wall that 
 gave Snecky some trouble before he went to live 
 within it. I speak from personal knowledge. 
 One spring morning, before the schoolhouse was 
 built, I was assisting the patriarch to divest the 
 gaunt garden pump of its winter suit of straw. I 
 was taking a drink, I remember, my palm over 
 the mouth of the wooden spout and my mouth at 
 the gimlet-hole above, when a leg appeared above 
 the corner of the wall against which the hen- 
 house was built. Two hands followed, clutching 
 desperately at the uneven stones. Then the leg 
 worked as if it were turning a grindstone, and 
 next moment Snecky was sitting breathlessly on 
 the dyke. From this to the hen-house, whose 
 roof was of "divets," the descent was compar- 
 atively easy, and a slanting board allowed the 
 daring bellman to slide thence to the ground. He 
 had come on business, and having talked it over 
 slowly with the old man he turned to depart. 
 Though he was a genteel man, I heard him sigh 
 heavily as, with the remark, "Ay, weel, I'll be 
 movin' again," he began to rescale the wall. The 
 patriarch, twisted round the pump, made no reply, 
 so I ventured to suggest to the bellman that he 
 might find the gate easier. "Is there a gate?" 
 said Snecky, in surprise, at the resources of civiliza- 
 tion. I pointed it out to him, and he went his 
 way chuckling. The old man to!d me that he 
 
 XX 
 
l62 A t/LD LICtiT IDVLS. 
 
 had sometimes wondered at Snecky's mode of 
 approach, but it had not struck him to say any- 
 thing. Afterward, when the bellman took up his 
 abode there, they discussed the matter heavily. 
 
 Hobart inherited both his bell and his nick- 
 name from his father, who was not a native of 
 Thrums. He came from some distant part where 
 the people speak of snecking the door, meaning 
 shut it. In Thrums the word used is steek, and 
 sneck seemed to the inhabitants so droll and 
 ridiculous that Hobart got the name of Snecky. 
 His son left Thrums at the age of ten for the 
 distant farm of Tirl, and did not return until the 
 old bellman's death, twenty years afterward ; 
 but the first remark he overheard on entering the 
 kirk-wynd was a conjecture flung across the street 
 by a gray-haired crone, that he would be "little 
 Snecky come to bury auld Snecky." 
 
 The father had a reputation in his day for 
 * ' crying " crimes he was suspected of having com- 
 mitted himself, but the Snecky I knew had too 
 high a sense of his own importance for that. On 
 great occasions, such as the loss of little Davy 
 Dundas, or when a tattie roup had to be cried, he 
 was even offensively inflated ; but ordinary an- 
 nouncements, such as the approach of a flying 
 stationer, the roup of a deceased weaver's loom, 
 or the arrival in Thrums of a cart-load of fine 
 *' kebec " cheeses, he treated as the merest trifles. 
 I see still the bent legs of the snuffy old man 
 
AULD LIGHT ID YLS. 163 
 
 straightening to the tinkle of his bell, and the 
 smirk with which he let the curious populace 
 gather round him. In one hand he ostentatiously- 
 displayed the paper on which what he had to cry 
 was written, but, like the minister, he scorned to 
 ** read." With the bell carefully tucked under his 
 oxter he gave forth his news in a rasping voice 
 that broke now and again into a squeal. Though 
 Scotch in his unofficial conversation, he was be- 
 lieved to deliver himself on public occasions in 
 the finest English. When trotting from place to 
 place with his news he carried his bell by the 
 tongue as cautiously as if it were a flagon of milk. 
 Snecky never allowed himself to degenerate 
 into a mere machine. His proclamations were 
 provided by those who employed him, but his 
 soul was his own. Having cried a potato roup, 
 he would sometimes add a word of warning, 
 such as, "I wudna advise ye, lads, to hae 01; *" 
 thing to do wi' thae tatties ; they're diseased. " 
 Once, just before the cattle market, he was sent 
 round by a local laird to announce that any drover 
 found taking the short cut to the hill through 
 the grounds of Muckle Plowy, would be prose- 
 cuted to the utmost limits of the law. The peo- 
 ple were aghast. *' Hoots, lads," Snecky said; 
 "dinnafash yoursel's. It's juist a haver o' the 
 g^ieve's." One of Hobart's ways of striking ter- 
 ror into evil-doers was to announce, when crying 
 a crime, that he himself knew perfectly well who 
 
164 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 the culprit was. " I see him brawly," he would 
 say, ** standing afore me, an' if he disna instantly 
 mak' retribution, I am determined this very day 
 to mak' a public example of him." 
 
 Before the time of the Burke and Hare mur- 
 ders, Snecky's father was sent round Thrums to 
 proclaim the startling news that a grave in the 
 kirk-yard had been tampered with. The " resur- 
 rectionist " scare was at its height then, and the 
 patriarch, who was one of the men in Thrums 
 paid to watch new graves in the night-time, has 
 often told the story. The town was in a ferment 
 as the news spread, and there were fierce, sus- 
 picious men among Hobart's hearers who already 
 had the rifler of graves in their eye. 
 
 He was a man who worked for the farmers 
 when they required an extra hand, and loafed 
 about the square when they could do without 
 ^-'^Ti. No one had a good word for him, and 
 lately he had been flush of money. That was 
 sufficient. There was a rush of angry men 
 through the " pend " that led to his habitation, 
 and he was dragged, panting and terrified, to 
 the kirk-yard before he understood what it all 
 meant. To the grave they hurried him, and 
 almost without a word handed him a spade. 
 The whole town gathered round the spot — a 
 sullen crowd, the women only breaking the si- 
 lence with their sobs, and the children clinging 
 to their gowns. The suspected resurrectionist 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 65 
 
 understood what was wanted of him, and, fling- 
 ing off his jacket, began to reopen the grave. 
 Presently the spade struck upon wood, and by 
 and by part of the coffin came in view. That 
 was nothing, for the resurrectionists had a way of 
 breaking the coffin at one end and drawing out 
 the body with tongs. The digger knew this. He 
 broke the boards with the spade and revealed an 
 arm. The people convinced, he dropped the arm 
 savagely, leaped out of the grave and went his 
 way, leaving them to shovel back the earth them- 
 selves. 
 
 There was humor in the old family as well as 
 in their lodger. I found this out slowly. They 
 used to gather round their peat fire in the even- 
 ing, after the poultry had gone to sleep on the 
 kitchen rafters, and take off their neighbors. 
 None of them ever laughed ; but their neighbors 
 did afford them subject for gossip, and the old 
 man was very sarcastic over other people's old- 
 fashioned ways. When one of the family wanted 
 to go out, he did it gradually. He would be 
 sitting "into the fire" browning his corduroy 
 trousers, and he would get up slowly. Then he 
 gazed solemnly before him for a time, and after 
 that, if you watched him narrowly, you would 
 see that he was really moving to the door. An- 
 other member of the family took the vacant seat 
 with the same precautions. Will'um, the eldest, 
 has a gun, which customarily stands behind the 
 
i66 A ulD LictiT Id Yls. 
 
 old eight-day clock ; and he takes it with him to 
 the garden to shoot the blackbirds. Long before 
 Will'um is ready to let fly, the blackbirds have 
 gone away ; and so the gun is never, never 
 fired ; but there is a determined look on Will'um's 
 face when he returns from the garden. 
 
 In the stormy days of his youth the old man 
 had been a ** Black Nib." The Black Nibs were 
 the persons who agitated against the French 
 war ; and the public feeling against them ran 
 strong and deep. In Thrums the local Black 
 Nibs were burned in effigy, and whenever they 
 put their heads out of doors they risked being 
 stoned. Even where the authorities were un- 
 prejudiced, they were helpless to interfere ; and 
 as a rule they were as bitter against the Black 
 Nibs as the populace themselves. Once the 
 patriarch was running through the street with a 
 score of the enemy at his heels, and the bailie, 
 opening his window, shouted to them r "Stane 
 the Black Nib oot o' the toon ! " 
 
 When the patriarch was a young man he was a 
 follower of pleasure. This is the one thing about 
 him that his family have never been able to 
 understand. A solemn stroll through the kirk- 
 yard was not sufficient relaxation in those riotous 
 times, after a hard day at the loom ; and he 
 rarely lost a chance of going to see a man 
 hanged. There was a good deal of hanging in 
 those days ; and yet the authorities had an ugly 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 167 
 
 way of reprieving condemned men on whom the 
 sight-seers had been counting. 
 
 An air uf gloom would gather on my old friend's 
 countenance when he told how he and his con- 
 temporaries in Thrums trudged every Saturday 
 for six weeks to the county town, many miles 
 distant, to witness the execution of some criminal 
 in whom they had local interest, and who, after 
 disappointing them again and again, was said to 
 have been bought off by a friend. His crime 
 had been stolen entrance into a house in Thrums 
 by the chimney, with intent to rob ; and though 
 this old-fashioned family did not see it, not the 
 least noticeable incident in the scrimmage that 
 followed was the prudence of the canny house- 
 wife. When she saw the legs coming down the 
 lum, she rushed to the kail-pot, which was on 
 the fire, and put on the lid. She confessed that 
 this was not done to prevent the visitor's scalding 
 himself, but to save the broth. 
 
 The old man was repeated in his three sons. 
 They told his stories precisely as he did himself, 
 taking as long in the telling and making the 
 points in exactly the same way. By and by 
 they will come to think that they themselves 
 were of those past times. Already the young 
 ones look like contemporaries of their father. 
 
l68 AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LITTLE RATHIE's "BURAL." 
 
 Devout - UNDER - Difficulties would have been 
 the name of LangTammas had he been of Cov- 
 enanting times. So I thought one wintry after- 
 noon, years before I went to the schoolhouse, 
 when he dropped in to ask the pleasure of my 
 company to the farmer of Little Rathie's *'bural." 
 As a good Auld Licht, Tammas reserved his 
 swallow-tail coat and *'lum hat" (chimney-pot) 
 for the kirk and funerals ; but the coat would have 
 flapped villanously, to Tammas* eternal ignominy, 
 had he for one rash moment relaxed his hold of 
 the bottom button, and it was only by walking 
 sideways, as horses sometimes try to do, that the 
 hat could be kept at the angle of decorum. Let 
 it not be thought that Tammas had asked me to 
 Little Rathie's funeral on his own responsibility. 
 Burials were among the few events to break the 
 monotony of an Auld Licht winter, and invitations 
 were as much sought after as cards to my lady's 
 dances in the south. This had been a fair aver- 
 age season for Tammas, though of his four burials 
 one had been a bairn's — a mere bagatelle ; but 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 69 
 
 had it not been for the death of Little Rathie I 
 would probably not have been out that year at all. 
 
 The small farm of Little Rathie lies two miles 
 from Thrums, and Tammas and I trudged man- 
 fully through the snow, adding to our numbers 
 as we went. The dress of none differed materi- 
 ally from the precentor's, and the general effect 
 was of septuagenarians in each other's best clothes, 
 though living in low-roofed houses had bent most 
 of them before their time. By a rearrangement 
 of garments, such as making Tammas change 
 coat, hat, and trousers with Craigiebuckle, Silva 
 McQueen, and Sam'l Wilkie respectively, a dex- 
 terous tailor might perhaps have supplied ach 
 with a ' * fit. " The talk was chiefly of Little Rathie, 
 and sometimes threatened to become animated? 
 when another mourner would fall in and restore 
 the more fitting gloom. 
 
 *'Ay, ay, "the new-comer would say, by way of 
 responding to the sober salutation, ' ' Ay, Johnny. *' 
 Then there was silence, but for the '* gluck '* with 
 which we lifted our feet from the slush. 
 
 '*So Little Rathie's been ta'en awaV' Johnny 
 would venture to say by and by. 
 
 *' He's gone, Johnny ; ay, man, he is so." 
 
 ''Death must come to all," some one would 
 waken up to murmur. 
 
 "Ay," Lang Tammas would reply, putting on 
 the coping-stone, " in the morning we are strong 
 and in the evening we are cut down. " 
 
1 7 O AULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 *' We are so, Tammas ; ou ay, we are so ; we're 
 here the wan day an' gone the neist. " 
 
 '* Little Rathie wasna a crittur I took till ; 
 no, I canna say he was, "said Bowie Haggart, so 
 called because his legs described a parabola, '* but 
 he maks a vary creeditable corp [corpse]. I will 
 say that for him. It's wonderfu' hoo death im- 
 proves a body. Ye cudna hae said as Little 
 Rathie was a weel-faured man when he was i' 
 the flesh." 
 
 Bowie was the wright, and attended burials in 
 his official capacity. He had the gift of words to 
 an uncommon degree, and I do not forget his 
 crushing blow at the reputation of the poet Burns, 
 as delivered under the auspices' of the Thrums 
 Literary Society. **I am of opeenion," said 
 Bowie, "that the works of Burns is of an im- 
 moral tendency. I have not read them myself, 
 but such is my opeenion." 
 
 ** He was a queer stock, Little Rathie, michty 
 queer," said Tammas Haggart, Bowie's brother, 
 who was a queer stock himself, but was not 
 aware of it; "but, ou, I'm thinkin' the wife 
 had something to do wi't. She was ill to manage, 
 an' Little Rathie hadna the way o' the women. 
 He hadna the knack o' managin' them 's ye 
 micht say — no. Little Rathie hadna the knack." 
 
 "They're kittle cattle, the women/' said the 
 farmer of Craigiebuckle — son of the Craigiebuckle 
 mentioned elsewhere — a little gloomily. "I've 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 7 j 
 
 often thocht maiterimony is no onlike the lucky- 
 bags th' auld wifies has at the muckly. There's 
 prizes an' blanks baith inside, but, losh, ye're far 
 frae sure what ye'U draw cot when ye put in yer 
 han'." 
 
 "Ou, weel," said Tammas complacently, 
 ** there*s truth in wh^t ye say, but the women can 
 be managed if ye have the knack." 
 
 "Some o' them," said Craigiebuckle woefully. 
 
 **Ye had yer wark wi' the wife yersel', Tam- 
 mas, so ye had," observed Lang Tammas, unbend- 
 ing to suit his company. 
 
 "Ye're speakin* aboot the bit wife's bural/' 
 said Tammas Haggart, with a chuckle ; " ay, ay, 
 that brocht her to reason. " 
 
 Without much pressure Haggart retold a story 
 known to the majority of his hearers. He had not 
 the "knack" of managing women apparently 
 when he married, for he and his gypsy wife 
 "agreed ill thegither" at first. Once Chirsty left 
 him and took up her abode in a house just across 
 the wynd. Instead of routing her out, Tammas, 
 without taking any one into his confidence, de- 
 termined to treat Chirsty as dead, and celebrate 
 her decease in a " lyke wake" — a last wake. 
 These wakes were very general in Thrums in the 
 old days, though they had ceased to be common 
 by the date of Little Rathie's death. For three 
 days before the burial the friends and neighbors 
 of the mourners were invited into the house to 
 
172 AULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 partake of food and drink by the side of the corpse. 
 The dead lay on chairs covered with a white sheet. 
 Dirges were sung and the deceased was extolled, 
 but when night came the lights were extinguished 
 and the corpse was left alone. On the morning 
 of the funeral tables were spread with a white 
 cloth outside the house, and food and drink were 
 placed upon them. No neighbor could pass the 
 tables without paying his respects to the dead; 
 and even when the house was in a busy, narrow 
 thoroughfare, this part of the ceremony was 
 never omitted. Tammas did not give Chirsty a 
 wake inside the house ; but one Friday morning-^ 
 it was market-day, and the square was conse- 
 quently full — it went through the town that the 
 tables were spread before his door. Young and 
 old collected, wandering round the house, and 
 Tammas stood at the tables in his blacks invit- 
 ing every one to eat and drink. He was pressed 
 to tell what it meant ; but nothing could be got 
 from him except that his wife was dead. At 
 times he pressed his hands to his heart, and then 
 he would make wry faces, trying hard to cry. 
 Chirsty watched from a window across the street, 
 until she perhaps began to fear that she really was 
 dead. Unable to stand it any longer, she rushed 
 out into her husband's arms, and shortly afterward 
 she could have been seen dismantling the tables. 
 "She's gone this fower year," Tammas said, 
 when he had finished his story, "but up to the 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 7 3 
 
 end I had no more trouble wi' Chirsty. No, I had 
 the knack o' her." 
 
 ''I've heard tell, though," said the sceptical 
 Craigiebuckle, " as Chirsty only cam back to ye 
 because she cudna bear to see the fowk makkin* 
 sae free wi' the whiskey." 
 
 "I mind hoo she bottled it up at ance and 
 drove the laddies awa'," said Bowie, "an' I hae 
 seen her after that, Tammas, giein' ye up yer fut 
 an' you no sayin* a word." 
 
 "Ou, ay," said the wife-tamer, in the tone of 
 a man who could afford to be generous in trifles, 
 *' women maun talk, an' a man hasna aye time 
 to conterdick them, but frae that day I had the 
 knack o' Chirsty.'' 
 
 ''Donal Elshioner's was a vary seemilar 
 case," broke in Snecky Hobart, shrilly. *'Maist 
 o' ye'll mind 'at Donal was michty plagueit wi' 
 a drucken wife. Ay, weel, wan day Bowie's 
 man was carryin' a coffin past Donal's door, and 
 Donal an' the wife was there. Says Donal, ' Put 
 doon yer coffin, my man, an* tell's wha it's for.' 
 The laddie rests the coffin on its end, an' says 
 he, ' It's for Davie Fairbrother's guidwife.* * Ay, 
 then,* says Donal, *tak' it awa', tak' it awa* to 
 Davie, an' tell 'im as ye ken a man wi' a wife 'at 
 wid be glad to neifer (exchange) wi* him.' Man, 
 that terrified Donal's wife ; it did so. " 
 
 As we delved up the twisting road between 
 two fields that leads to the farm of Little Rathie, 
 
174 ^ ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 the talk became less general, and another 
 mourner who joined us there was told that the 
 farmer was gone. 
 
 " We must all fade as a leaf," said Lang Tam- 
 mas. 
 
 *'So we maun, so we maun," admitted the 
 new-comer. "They say," he added, solemnly, 
 *' as Little Rathie has left a full teapot." 
 
 The reference was to the safe in which the old 
 people in the district stored their gains. 
 
 "He was thrifty," said Tammas Haggart, 
 "an' shrewd, too, was Little Rathie. I mind 
 Mr. Dishart admonishin' him for no attendin' a 
 special weather service i' the kirk, when Finny 
 an' Lintool, the twa adjoinin' farmers, baith at- 
 tendit. ' Ou,' says Little Rathie, ' I thocht to my- 
 sel', thinks I, if they get rain for prayin' for't on 
 Finny an' Lintool, we're bound to get the bene- 
 fit o't on Little Rathie.'" 
 
 "Tod," said Snecky, "there's some sense in 
 that ; an* what says the minister .? " 
 
 "I d'na ken what he said," admitted Haggart ; 
 "but he took Little Rathie up to the manse, an' 
 if ever I saw a man lookin' sma' it was Little 
 Rathie when he cam oot." 
 
 The deceased had left behind him a daughter 
 (herself now known as Little Rathie), quite ca- 
 pable of attending to the ramshackle "but and 
 ben ;" and I remember how she nipped off Tam- 
 mas' consolations to go out and feed the hens. To 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 1 7 5 
 
 the number of about twenty we assembled round 
 the end of the house to escape the bitter wind, 
 and here I lost the precentor, who, as an Auld 
 Licht elder, joined the chief mourners inside. The 
 post of distinction at a funeral is near the coffin ; 
 but it is not given to every one to be a relative of 
 the deceased, and there is always much competi- 
 tion and genteelly concealed disappointment over 
 the few open vacancies. The window of the 
 room was decently veiled, but the mourners out- 
 side knew what was happening within, and that 
 it was not all prayer, neither mourning. A few 
 of the more reverent uncovered their heads at in- 
 tervals ; but it would be idle to deny that there 
 was a feeling that Little Rathie's daughter was 
 favoring Tammas and others somewhat invidi- 
 ously. Indeed, Robbie Gibruth did not scruple to 
 remark that she had made " an inauspeecious be- 
 ginning. " Tammas Haggart, who was melan- 
 choly when not sarcastic, though he brightened up 
 wonderfully at funerals, reminded Robbie that 
 disappointment is the lot of man on his earthly 
 pilgrimage ; but Haggart knew who were to be 
 invited back after the burial to the farm, and was 
 inclined to make much of his position. The 
 secret would doubtless have been wormed from 
 him had not public attention been directed into 
 another channel. A prayer was certainly being 
 offered up inside ; but the voice was not the voice 
 of the minister. 
 
176 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 Lang Tammas told me afterward that it had 
 seemed at one time "vary queistionable " whether 
 Little Rathie would be buried that day at all. The 
 incomprehensible absence of Mr. Dishart (after- 
 ward satisfactorily explained) had raised the unex- 
 pected question of the legality of a burial in a case 
 where the minister had not prayed over the ' * corp. " 
 
 There had even been an indulgence in hot words, 
 and the Reverend Alexander Kewans, a *'stickit 
 minister," but not of the Auld Licht persuasion, 
 had withdrawn in dudgeon on hearing Tammas 
 asked to conduct the ceremony instead of himself. 
 
 But, great as Tammas was on religious ques- 
 tions, a pillar of the Auld Licht kirk, the Shorter 
 Catechism at his finger-ends, a sad want of words 
 at the very time when he needed them most in- 
 capacitated him for prayer in public, and it was 
 providential that Bowie proved himself a man of 
 parts. But Tammas tells me that the wright grossly 
 abused his position, by praying at such length 
 that Craigiebuckle fell asleep, and the mistress 
 had to rise and hang the pot on the fire higher up 
 the joist, lest its contents should burn before the 
 return from the funeral. Loury grew the sky, 
 and more and more anxious the face of Little 
 Rathie's daughter, and still Bowie prayed on. 
 Had it not been for the impatience of the precentor 
 and the grumbling of the mourners outside, there 
 is no saying when the remains would have been 
 lifted through the " bole, " or little window. 
 
AULD LICHT IDYLS. 177 
 
 Hearses had hardly come in at this time, and 
 the coffin was carried by the mourners on long 
 stakes. The straggling procession of pedestrians 
 behind wound its slow way in the waning light 
 to the kirk-yard, showing startlingly black against 
 the dazzling snow ; and it was not until the earth 
 rattled on the coffin-lid that Little Rathie's nearest 
 male relative seemed to remember his last mourn- 
 ful duty to the dead. Sidling up to the favored 
 mourners, he remarked casually and in the most 
 emotionless tone he could assume : " They're ex- 
 pec'in ye to stap doon the length o' Little Rathie 
 noo. Aye, aye, he's gone. Na, na, nae refoosal, 
 Da-avit ye was aye a guid friend till him, an' it's 
 onything a body can do for him noo." 
 
 Though the uninvited slunk away sorrowfully, 
 the entertainment provided at Auld Licht houses 
 of mourning was characteristic of a stern and so- 
 ber sect. They got to eat and to drink to the ex- 
 tent, as a rule, of a 'Mippy " of short bread and a 
 "brew" of toddy ; but open Bibles lay on the 
 table, and the eyes of each were on his neighbor's 
 to catch them transgressing, and offer up a prayer 
 for them on the spot. Ay me ! there is no Bowie 
 nowadays to fill an absent minister's shoes. 
 
 12 
 
178 A ULD LIGHT IDYLS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A LITERARY CLUB. 
 
 The ministers in the town did not hold with 
 literature. When the most notorious of the clubs 
 met in the town-house under the presidentship of 
 Gavin Ogilvy, who was no better than a poacher, 
 and was troubled in his mind because writers 
 called Pope a poet, there was frequently a wrangle 
 over the question, " Is literature necessarily im- 
 moral ? " It was a fighting club, and on Friday 
 nights the few respectable, God-fearing members 
 dandered to the town-house, as if merely curious 
 to have another look at the building. If Lang 
 Tammas, who was dead against letters, was in 
 sight they wandered off, but when there were no 
 spies abroad they slunk up the stair. The attend- 
 ance was greatest on dark nights, though Gavin 
 himself and some other characters would have 
 marched straight to the meeting in broad day- 
 light. Tammas Haggart, who did not think much 
 of Milton's devil, had married a gypsy woman for 
 an experiment, and the Coat of Many Colors did 
 not know where his wife was. As a rule, how- 
 
A ULD LtCHT ID YLS. 1 79 
 
 ever, the members were wild bachelors. When 
 they married they had to settle down. 
 
 Gavin's essay on Will'um Pitt, the Father of the 
 Taxes, led to the club's being bundled out of the 
 town-house, where people said it should never 
 have been allowed to meet. There was a terrible 
 towse when Tammas Haggart then disclosed the 
 secret of Mr. Byars' supposed approval of the club. 
 Mr. Byars was the Auld Licht minister whom Mr. 
 Dishart succeeded, and it was well known that he 
 had advised the authorities to grant the use of the 
 little town-house to the club on Friday evenings. 
 As he solemnly warned his congregation against 
 attending the meetings, the position he had taken 
 up created talk, and Lang Tammas called at the 
 manse with Sanders Whamond to remonstrate. 
 The minister, however, harangued them on their 
 sinfulness in daring to question the like of him, 
 and they had to retire vanquished though dissat- 
 isfied. Then came the disclosures of Tammas 
 Haggart, who was never properly secured by the 
 Auld Lichts until Mr. Dishart took him in hand. 
 It was Tammas who wrote anonymous letters to 
 Mr. Byars about the scarlet woman, and, strange 
 to say, this led to the club's being allowed to 
 meet in the town-house. The minister, after 
 many days, discovered who his correspondent 
 was, and succeeded in inveigling the stone- 
 breaker to the manse. There, with the door 
 snibbed, he opened out on Tammas, who, after 
 
iSo AVLD LICMT IDYLS. 
 
 his usual manner when hard pressed, pretended 
 to be deaf. This sudden fit of deafness so exas- 
 perated the minister that he flung a book atTam- 
 mas. The scene that followed was one that few 
 Auld Licht manses can have witnessed. Accord- 
 ing to Tammas, the book had hardly reached the 
 floor when the minister turned white. Tammas 
 picked up the missile. It was a Bible. The two 
 men looked at each other. Beneath the window 
 Mr. Byars' children were prattling. His wife was 
 moving about in the next room, little thinking 
 what had happened. The minister held out his 
 hand for the Bible, but Tammas shook his head, 
 and then Mr. Byars shrank into a chair. Finally, 
 it was arranged that if Tammas kept the affair to 
 himself the minister would say a good word to 
 the bailie about the literary club. After that the 
 stone-breaker used to go from house to house, 
 twisting his mouth to the side and remarking that 
 he could tell such a tale of Mr. Byars as would 
 lead to a split in the kirk. When the town-house 
 was locked on the club Tammas spoke out, but 
 though the scandal ran from door to door, as I 
 have seen a pig in a fluster do, the minister did 
 not lose his place. Tammas preserved the Bible, 
 and showed it complacently to visitors as the 
 present he got from Mr. Byars. The minister 
 knew this, and it turned his temper sour. Tam- 
 mas' proud moments, after that, were when he 
 passed the minister. 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. i8 1 
 
 Driven from the town-house, literature found a 
 table with forms round it in a tavern hard by, 
 where the club, lopped of its most respectable 
 members, kept the blinds down and talked openly 
 of Shakespeare. It was a low-roofed room, with 
 pieces of lime hanging from the ceiling and 
 peeling walls. The floor had a slope that tended 
 to fling the debater forward, and its boards, lying 
 loose on an uneven foundation, rose and looked 
 at you as you crossed the room. In winter, 
 when the meetings were held regularly every 
 fortnight, a fire of peat, sod, and dross lit up the 
 curious company who sat round the table shaking 
 their heads over Shelley's mysticism, or requiring 
 to be called to order because they would not wait 
 their turn to deny an essayist's assertion that 
 Berkeley's style was superior to David Hume's. 
 Davit Hume, they said, and Watty Scott. Burns 
 was simply referred to as Rob or Robbie. 
 
 There was little drinking at these meetings, for 
 the members knew wh^t they were talking about, 
 and your mind had to gallop to keep up with the 
 flow of reasoning. Thrums is rather a remarkable 
 town. There are scores and scores of houses in 
 it, that have sent their sons to college (by what a 
 struggle !), some to make their way to the front 
 in their professions, and others, perhaps, despite 
 their broadcloth, never to be a patch on their par- 
 ents. In that literary club there were men of a 
 reading so wide and catholic that it might put 
 
iS2 A ULD LICHT ID YLS. 
 
 some graduates of the universities to shame, and 
 of an intellect so keen that had it not had a crook 
 in it their fame would have crossed the county. 
 Most of them had but a threadbare existence, for 
 you weave slowly with a Wordsworth open before 
 you, and some were strange Bohemians (which 
 does not do in Thrums), yet others wandered in- 
 to the world and compelled it to recognize them. 
 There is a London barrister whose father be- 
 longed to the club. Not many years ago a man 
 died on the staff of the Times, who, when he was 
 a weaver near Thrums, was one of the club's 
 prominent members. He taught himself short- 
 hand by the light of a cruizey, and got a post on 
 a Perth paper, afterward on the Scotsman and the 
 Witness, and finally on the Times. Several other 
 men of his type had a history worth reading, but 
 it is not for me to write. Yet I may say that 
 there is still at least one of the original members 
 of the club left behind in Thrums to whom some 
 of the literary dandies might lift their hats. 
 
 Gavin Ogilvy I only knew as a weaver and a 
 poacher ; a lank, long-armed man, much bent 
 from crouching in ditches whence he watched his 
 snares. To the young he was a romantic figure, 
 because they saw him frequently in the fields 
 with his call-birds tempting siskins, yellow yites, 
 and linties to twigs which he had previously 
 smeared with lime. He made the lime from the 
 tough roots of holly ; sometimes from linseed oil, 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 183 
 
 which is boiled until thick, when it is taken out 
 of the pot and drawn and stretched with the hands 
 like elastic. Gavin was also a famous hare- 
 snarer at a time when the ploughman looked upon 
 this form of poaching as his perquisite. The 
 snare was of wire, so constructed that the hare 
 entangled itself the more when trying to escape, 
 and it was placed across the little roads through 
 the fields to which hares confine themselves, with 
 a heavy stone attached to it by a string. Once 
 Gavin caught a tod (fox) instead of a hare, and 
 did not discover his mistake until it had him by 
 the teeth. He was not able to weave for two 
 months. The grouse-netting was more lucrative 
 and more exciting, and women engaged in it with 
 their husbands. It is told of Gavin that he was 
 on one occasion chased by a game-keeper over 
 moor and hill for twenty miles, and that by and 
 by when the one sank down exhausted so did the 
 other. They would sit fifty yards apart, glaring 
 at each other. The poacher eventually escaped. 
 This, curious as it may seem, is the man whose 
 eloquence at the club has not been forgotten in 
 fifty years. **Thus did he stand," I have been 
 told recently, ''exclaiming in language sublime 
 that the soul shall bloom in immortal youth 
 through the ruin and wrack of time." 
 
 Another member read to the club an account of 
 his journey to Lochnagar, which was afterward 
 published in Chambers's Journal, He was cele- 
 
184 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 brated for his descriptions of scenery, and was 
 not the only member of the club whose essays 
 got into print. More memorable perhaps was an 
 itinerant match-seller known to Thrums and the 
 surrounding towns as the literary spunk-seller. 
 He was a wizened, shivering old man, often bare- 
 footed, wearing at the best a thin ragged coat 
 that had been black but was green-brown with 
 age, and he made his spunks as well as sold them. 
 He brought Bacon and Adam Smith into Thrums, 
 and he loved to recite long screeds from Spenser, 
 with a running commentary on the versification 
 and the luxuriance of the diction. Of Jamie's 
 death I do not care to write. He went without 
 many a dinner in order to buy a book. 
 
 The Coat of Many Colors and Silva Robbie were 
 two street preachers who gave the Thrums minis- 
 ters some work. They occasionally appeared at 
 the club. The Coat of Many Colors was so called 
 because he wore a garment consisting of patches 
 of cloth of various colors sewed together. It 
 hung down to his heels. He may have been 
 cracked rather than inspired, but he was a power 
 in the square where he preached, the women de- 
 claring that he was gifted by God. An awe filled 
 even the men when he admonished them for 
 using strong language, for at such a time he 
 would remind them of the woe which fell upon 
 Tibbie Mason. Tibbie had been notorious in her 
 day for evil-speaking, especially for her -free use 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 185 
 
 of the word handless, which she flung a hundred 
 times in a week at her man, and even at her old 
 mother. Her punishment was to have a son born 
 without hands. The Coat of Many Colors also 
 told of the liar who exclaimed, " If this is not gos- 
 pel true may I stand here forever," and who is 
 standing on that spot still, only nobody knows 
 where it is. George Wishart was the Coat's hero, 
 and often he has told in the square how Wishart 
 saved Dundee. It was the time when the plague 
 lay over Scotland, and in Dundee they saw it 
 approaching from the West in the form of a great 
 black cloud. They fell on their knees and prayed, 
 crying to the cloud to pass them by, and while 
 they prayed it came nearer. Then they lookd 
 around for the most holy man among them, to 
 intervene with God on their behalf All eyes 
 turned to George Wishart, and he stood up, 
 stretching his arms to the cloud, and prayed, and 
 it rolled back. Thus Dundee was saved from the 
 plague, but when Wishart ended his prayer he 
 was alone, for the people had all returned to their 
 homes. Less of a genuine man than the Coat of 
 Many Colors was Silva Robbie, who had horrid 
 fits of laughing in the middle of his prayers, and 
 even fell in a paroxysm of laughter from the chair 
 on which he stood. In the club he said things 
 not to be borne, though logical up to a certain 
 point. 
 Tammas Hagg:art was the most sarc^tic mem- 
 
1 86 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 ber of the club, being celebrated for his sarcasm 
 far and wide. It was a remarkable thing about 
 him, often spoken of, that if you went to Tam- 
 mas with a stranger and asked him to say a sar- 
 castic thing that the man might take away as a 
 specimen, he could not do it. "Na, na," Tam- 
 mas would say, after a few trials, referring to 
 sarcasm, "she's no a crittur to force. Ye maun 
 lat her tak' her ain time. Sometimes she's dry 
 like the pump, an' syne, again, oot she comes in 
 a gush." The most sarcastic thing the stone- 
 breaker ever said was frequently marvelled over 
 in Thrums, both before and behind his face, but, 
 unfortunately no one could ever remember what 
 it was. The subject, however, was Cha Tam- 
 son's potato pit. There is little doubt that it was 
 a fit of sarcasm that induced Tammas to marry a 
 gypsy lassie. Mr. Byars would not join them, 
 so Tammas had himself married by Jimmy 
 Pawse, the gay little gypsy king, and after that 
 the minister re-married them. The marriage 
 over the tongs is a thing to scandalize any well- 
 brought-up person, for, before he joined the 
 couple's hands, Jimmy jumped about in a start- 
 ling way, uttering wild gibberish, and after the 
 ceremony was over there was rough work, with 
 incantations and blowing on pipes. Tammas 
 always held that this marriage turned out better 
 than he had expected, though he had his trials 
 like other married men, Among^ them was 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 187 
 
 Chirsty's way of climbing on to the dresser to get 
 at the higher part of the plate-rack. One even- 
 ing I called in to have a smoke vi^ith the stone- 
 breaker, and vi^hile we were talking Chirsty 
 climbed the dresser. The next moment she was 
 on the floor on her back, wailing, but Tammas 
 smoked on imperturbably. "Do you not see 
 what has happened, man?" I cried. *'0u," 
 said Tammas, ** she's aye fa'in aff the dresser." 
 Of the school-masters who were at times mem- 
 bers of the club, Mr. Dickie was the ripest 
 scholar, but my predecessor at the school-house 
 had a way of sneering at him that was as good 
 as sarcasm. When they were on their legs at 
 the same time, asking each other passionately to 
 be calm, and rolling out lines from Homer that 
 made the inn-keeper look fearfully to the fasten- 
 ings of the door, their heads very nearly came 
 together, although the table was between them. 
 The old dominie had an advantage in being the 
 shorter man, for he could hammer on the table 
 as he spoke, while gaunt Mr. Dickie had to 
 stoop to it. Mr. McRittie's arguments were a 
 series of nails that he knocked into the table, and 
 he did it in a workmanlike manner. Mr. Dickie, 
 though he kept firm on his feet, swayed his body 
 until by and by his head was rotating in a large 
 circle. The mathematical figure he made was a 
 cone revolving on its apex. Gavin's reinstalment 
 in the chair year after year was made by the 
 
l88 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 disappointed dominie the subject of some tart 
 verses, which he called an epode, but Gavin 
 crushed him when they were read before the 
 club. " Satire, " he said, " is a legitimate weap- 
 on, used with michty effect by Swift, Sammy 
 Butler, and others, and I dount object to being 
 made the subject of creeticism. It has often 
 been called a t'nife (knife), but them as is not 
 used to t'nives cuts their hands, and ye'll a' ob- 
 serve that Mr. McRittie's fingers is bleedin'." All 
 eyes were turned upon the dominie's hand, and 
 though he pocketed it smartly, several members 
 had seen the blood. The dominie was a rare 
 visitor at the club after that, though he outlived 
 poor Mr. Dickie by many years. Mr. Dickie 
 was a teacher in Tilliedrum, but he was ruined 
 by drink. He wandered from town to town, re- 
 citing Greek and Latin poetry to any one who 
 would give him a dram, and sometimes he wept 
 and moaned aloud in the street, crying, " Poor 
 Mr. Dickie ! poor Mr. Dickie ! " 
 
 The leading poet in a club of poets was Dite 
 Walls, who kept a school when there were schol- 
 ars, and weaved when there were none. He 
 had a song that was published in a half-penny 
 leaflet about the famous lawsuit instituted by the 
 farmer of Teuchbusses against the Laird of Drum- 
 lee. The laird was alleged to have taken from 
 the land of Teuchbusses sufficient broom to make 
 a besom thereof, and I am not certain that the 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID YLS, 1 89 
 
 case is settled to this day. It was Dite, or an- 
 other member of the club, who wrote "The 
 Wife o' Deeside," of all the songs of the period 
 the one that had the greatest vogue in the county 
 at a time when Lord Jeffrey was cursed at every 
 fireside in Thrums. The wife of Deeside was 
 tried for the murder of her servant, who had in- 
 fatuated the young laird, and had it not been that 
 Jeffrey defended her, she would, in the words of 
 the song, have **hung like a troot." It is not 
 easy now to conceive the rage against Jeffrey 
 when the woman was acquitted. The song was 
 sung and recited in the streets, at the smiddy, in 
 bothies, and by firesides, to the shaking of fists 
 and grinding of teeth. It began : 
 
 *♦ Yell a' hae hear tell o' the wife o' Deeside, 
 Ye'U a' hae hear tell o' the wife o' Deeside, 
 She poisoned her maid for to keep up her pride, 
 Ye'll a' hae hear tell o' the wife o' Deeside." 
 
 Before the excitement had abated, Jeffrey was 
 in Tilliedrum for electioneering purposes, and he 
 was mobbed in the streets. Angry crowds pressed 
 close to howl " Wife o' Deeside ! " at him. A 
 contingent from Thrums was there, and it was 
 long afterward told of Sam'l Todd, by himself, 
 that he hit Jeffrey on the back of the head with a 
 clod of earth. 
 
 Johnny McQuhatty, a brother of the T'now- 
 head farmer, was the one taciturn member of the 
 
190 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 club, and you had only to look at him to know 
 that he had a secret. He was a great genius at 
 the hand-loom, and invented a loom for the weav- 
 ing of linen such as has not been seen before or 
 since. In the day-time he kept guard over his 
 " shop," into which no one was allowed to enter, 
 and the fame of his loom was so great that he 
 had to watch over it w^ith a gun. At night he 
 weaved, and when the result at last pleased him 
 he made the linen into shirts, all of which he 
 stitched together with his own hands, even to the 
 button-holes. He sent one shirt to the Queen, 
 and another to the Duchess of Athole, mention- 
 ing a very large price for them, which he got. 
 Then he destroyed his wonderful loom, and how 
 it was made no one will ever know. Johnny 
 only took to literature after he had made his 
 name, and he seldom spoke at the club except 
 when ghosts and the like v^^ere the subject of 
 debate, as they tended to be when the farmer of 
 Muckle Haws could get in a word. Muckle Haws 
 was fascinated by Johnny's sneers at superstition, 
 and sometimes on dark nights the inventor had to 
 make his courage good by seeing the farmer past 
 the doulie yates (ghost gates), which Muckle 
 Havrs had to go perilously near on his way home. 
 Johnny was a small man, but it was the burly 
 farmer who shook at sight of the gates standing 
 out white in the night. White gates have an evil 
 name still, and Muckle Haws was full of horrors 
 
A ULD LIGHT ID VLS. 191 
 
 as he drew near them, clinging to Johnny's arm. 
 It was on such a night, he would remember, that 
 he saw the White Lady go through the gates 
 greeting sorely, with a dead bairn in her arms, 
 while the water kelpie laughed and splashed in 
 the pools and the witches danced in a ring round 
 Broken Buss. That very night twelve months ago 
 the packman was murdered at Broken Buss, and 
 EaSie Pettie hanged herself on the stump of a tree. 
 Last night there were ugly sounds from the quarry 
 of Croup, where the bairn lies buried, and it's not 
 mous (canny) to be out at such a time. The 
 farmer had seen spectre maidens walking round 
 the ruined castle of Darg, and the castle all lit up 
 with flaring torches, and dead knights and ladies 
 sitting in the halls at the wine-cup, and the devil 
 himself flapping his wings on the ramparts. 
 
 When the debates were political, two members 
 with the gift of song fired the blood with their 
 own poems about taxation and the depopulation 
 of the Highlands, and by selling these songs from 
 door to door they made their livelihood. 
 
 Books and pamphlets were brought into the 
 town by the flying stationers, as they were called, 
 who visited the square periodically carrying their 
 wares on their backs, except at the Muckly, when 
 they had their stall and even sold books by auction. 
 The flying stationer best known to Thrums was 
 Sandersy Riach, who was stricken from head to 
 foot with the palsy, and could only speak with a 
 
192 A ULD LIGHT ID YLS. 
 
 quaver in consequence. Sandersy brought to the 
 members of the club all the great books he could 
 get second-hand, but his stock in trade was 
 Thrummy Cap and Akenstaff, the Fishwives of 
 Buckhaven, the Devil upon Two Sticks, Gilderoy, 
 Sir James the Rose, the Brownie of Badenoch, the 
 Ghaist of Firenden, and the like. It was from 
 Sandersy that Tammas Haggart bought his copy 
 of Shakespeare, whom Mr. Dishart could never 
 abide. Tammas kept what he had done from his 
 wife, but Chirsty saw a deterioration setting in 
 and told the minister of her suspicions. Mr. 
 Dishart was newly placed at the time and very 
 vigorous, and the way he shook the truth out of 
 Tammas was grand. The minister pulled Tam- 
 mas the one way and Gavin pulled him the other, 
 but Mr. Dishart was not the man to be beaten, 
 and he landed Tammas in the Auld Licht kirk 
 before the year was out. Chirsty buried Shakes- 
 peare in the yard. 
 
 THE END. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 When Andrew Riach went to London, his in- 
 tention was to become private secretary to a 
 member of the Cabinet. If time permitted, he 
 proposed writing for the press. 
 
 *'It might be better if you and Clarrie under- 
 stood each other," the minister said. 
 
 It was their last night together. They faced 
 each other in the manse-parlor at Wheens, whose 
 low, peeled ceiling had threatened Mr. Eassie at 
 his desk every time he looked up with his pen in 
 his mouth, until his wife died, when he ceased to 
 notice things. The one picture on the walls, an 
 engraving of a boy in velveteen, astride a tree, 
 entitled, "Boyhood of Bunyan," had started life 
 with him. The horsehair chairs were not torn, 
 and you did not require to know the sofa before 
 you sat down on it that day thirty years before, 
 when a chubby minister and his lady walked to 
 13 
 
194 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 the manse between two cartloads of furniture, 
 trying not to look elated. 
 
 Clarrie rose to go, when she heard her name. 
 The lovelight was in her eyes, but Andrew did 
 not open the door for her, for he was a Scotch 
 graduate. Besides, she might one day be his 
 wife. 
 
 The minister's toddy-ladle clinked against his 
 tumbler, but Andrew did not speak. Clarrie was 
 the girl he generally adored. 
 
 * ' As for Clarrie, " he said at last, * ' she puts me 
 in an awkward position. How do I know that I 
 love her ? " 
 
 "You have known each other along time," 
 said the minister. 
 
 His guest was cleaning his pipe with a hair- 
 pin, that his quick eye had detected on the carpet. 
 
 "And she is devoted to you," continued Mr. 
 Eassie. 
 
 The young man nodded. 
 
 "What I fear," he said, "is that we have 
 known each other too long. Perhaps my feeling 
 for Clarrie is only brotherly " 
 
 " Hers for you, Andrew, is more than sisterly." 
 
 "Admitted. But consider, Mr. Eassie, she has 
 only seen the world in soiries. Every girl has 
 her day-dreams, and Clarrie has perhaps made a 
 dream of me. She is impulsive, given to ideal- 
 ization, and hopelessly illogical." 
 
 The minister moved uneasily in his chair. 
 
BETTER DEAD, t^ 
 
 ** I have reasoned out her present relation to 
 me," the young man went on, "and, the more 
 you reduce it to the usual formulae, the more illo- 
 gical it becomes. Clarrie could possibly describe 
 me, but define me — never. What is our prospect 
 of happiness in these circumstances ? " 
 
 * ' But love " began Mr. Eassie. 
 
 ** Love ! " exclaimed Andrew. ** Is there such 
 a thing ? Reduce it to syllogistic form, and how 
 does it look in Barbara ? " 
 
 For the moment there was almost some expres- 
 sion in his face, and he suffered from a determina- 
 tion of words to the mouth. 
 
 ''Love and logic," Mr. Eassie interposed, **are 
 hardly kindred studies. " 
 
 * * Is love a study at all ? " asked Andrew, bit- 
 terly. "It is but the trail of idleness. But all 
 idleness is folly ; therefore, love is folly." 
 
 Mr. Eassie was not so keen a logician as his 
 guest, but he had age for a major premise. He 
 was easy-going rather than a coward ; a preacher 
 who, in the pulpit, looked difficulties genially in 
 the face, and passed them by. 
 
 Riach had a very long neck. He was twenty- 
 five years of age, fair, and somewhat heavily 
 built, with a face as inexpressive as book-covers. 
 
 A native of Wheens and an orphan, he had 
 been brought up by his uncle, who was a weaver 
 and read Herodotus in the original. The uncle 
 starved himself to buy books and talk about them, 
 
196 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 until one day he got a good meal, and died of it 
 Then Andrew apprenticed himself to a tailor. 
 
 When his time was out, he walked fifty miles 
 to Aberdeen University, and got a bursary. He 
 had been there a month, when his professor said 
 good-naturedly : 
 
 "Don't you think, Mr. Riach, you would get 
 on better if you took your hands out of your 
 pockets ? " 
 
 ' * No, sir, I don't think so," replied Andrew, in 
 all honesty. 
 
 When told that he must apologize, he did 
 not see it, but was willing to argue the matter 
 out. 
 
 Next year he matriculated at Edinburgh, sharing 
 one room with two others, studying through the 
 night, and getting their bed when they rose. He 
 was a failure in the classics, because they left you 
 where you were ; but in his third year he woke 
 the logic class-room, and frightened the professor 
 of moral philosophy. 
 
 He was nearly rusticated for praying at a de- 
 bating society for a divinity professor who was in 
 the chair. 
 
 ** O Lord ! '' he cried fervently, " open his eyes, 
 guide his tottering footsteps, and lead him from 
 the paths of folly into those that are lovely and of 
 good report, for lo ! his days are numbered and 
 the sickle has been sharpened, and the corn is 
 not yet ripe for the cutting." 
 
BETTER DEAD. igj 
 
 When Andrew graduated he was known as a 
 student of mark. 
 
 He returned to Wheens, before setting out for 
 London, with a consciousness of his worth. 
 
 Yet he was only born to follow, and his chance 
 of making a noise in the world rested on his meet- 
 ing a stronger than himself. During his sum- 
 mer vacations he had weaved sufficient to keep 
 himself during the winter on porridge and po- 
 tatoes. 
 
 Clarrie was beautiful and all that. 
 
 ** We'll say no more about it, then,'' the min- 
 ister said, after a pause. 
 
 "The matter," replied Andrew, "cannot be 
 dismissed in that way. Reasonable or not, I do 
 undoubtedly experience sensations similar to 
 Clarrie's. But in my love I notice a distinct ebb 
 and flow. There are times when I don't care a 
 hang for her. " 
 
 "Andrew!" 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Still, it is you who have 
 insisted on discussing this question in the particu- 
 lar instance. Love in the abstract is of much 
 greater moment. " 
 
 "I have sometimes thought, Andrew," Mr. Eas- 
 sie said, "That you are lacking in the imagina- 
 tive faculty." 
 
 " In other words, love is a mere fancy. Grant 
 that, and see to what it leads. By imagining 
 that I have Clarrie with me, I am as well off as if 
 
198 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 I really had. Why, then, should I go to needless 
 expense, and take her from you ? " 
 
 The white-haired minister rose, for the ten 
 o'clock bell was ringing and it was time for family 
 worship. 
 
 " My boy," he said, *' if there must be a sacri- 
 fice, let the old man make it. I, too, have im- 
 agination." 
 
 For the moment there was a majesty about him 
 that was foreign to his usual bearing. Andrew 
 was touched, and gripped his hand. "Rather," 
 he cried, 'Met the girl we both love remain with 
 you. She will be here waiting for me — should I 
 return. " 
 
 ■'More likely," said the minister, ''she will be 
 at the bank." 
 
 The banker was unmarried, and had once in 
 February and again in June seen Clarrie home 
 from the Dorcas Society. The town talked about 
 it. Strictly speaking, gentlemen should not at- 
 tend these meetings ; but in Wheens there was 
 not much difference between the men and the 
 women. 
 
 That night, as Clarrie bade Andrew farewell at 
 the garden gate, he took her head in his, hands 
 and asked what this talk about the banker meant. 
 It was no ignoble curiosity that prompted him. 
 He would rather have got engaged to her there 
 and then than have left without feeling sure of 
 her. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 199 
 
 His sweetheart looked her reply straight into 
 his eyes. 
 
 *' Andrew ! " was all she said. 
 
 It was sufficient. He knew that he did not re- 
 quire to press his point. 
 
 Lovers* watches stand still. At last Andrew 
 stooped and kissed her upturned face. 
 
 '*Ifa herring and a half," he said anxiously, 
 "cost three half-pence, how many will you get 
 for eleven pence ? " 
 
 Clarrie was mute. 
 
 Andrew shuddered ; he felt that he was making 
 a mistake. 
 
 " Why do I kiss you ? '* he cried. '* What good 
 does it do either of us ? *' 
 
 He looked fiercely at his companion, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 * ' Where, even, is the pleasure in it ? " he added 
 brutally. 
 
 The only objectionable thing about Clarrie was 
 her long hair. 
 
 She wore a black frock and looked very break- 
 able. Nothing irritates a man so much. 
 
 Andrew gathered her passionately in his arms 
 while a pained, puzzled expression struggled to 
 reach his face. 
 
 Then he replaced her roughly on the ground 
 and left her. 
 
 It was impossible to say whether they were 
 engaged. 
 
200 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Andrew reached King's Cross on the following 
 Wednesday morning. 
 
 It was the first time he had set foot in England, 
 and he naturally thought of Bannockburn. 
 
 He left his box in the cloak-room, and, finding 
 his way into Bloomsbury, took a bedroom at the 
 top of a house in Bernard Street. 
 
 Then he returned for his box, carried it on his 
 back to his lodgings, and went out to buy a straw 
 hat. It had not struck him to be lonely. 
 
 He bought two pork pies in an eating house in 
 Gray's Inn Road, and set out for Harley Street, 
 looking at London on the way. 
 
 Mr. Gladstone was at home, but all his private 
 secretaryships were already filled. 
 
 Andrew was not greatly disappointed, though 
 he was too polite to say so. In politics he was a 
 granite-headed Radical ; and on several questions, 
 such as the Church and Free Education, the two 
 men were hopelessly at variance. 
 
 Mr. Chamberlain was the man with whom, on 
 the whole, he believed it would be best to work. 
 But Mr. Chamberlain could not even see him. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 201 
 
 Looking back to this time, it is impossible not 
 to speculate upon how things might have turned 
 out had the Radical party taken Andrew to them 
 in his day of devotion to their cause. 
 
 This is the saddest spectacle in life, a brave 
 young man's first meeting with the world. How 
 rapidly the milk turns to gall ! For the cruellest 
 of his acts the vivisectionist has not even the ex- 
 cuse that science benefits. 
 
 Here was a young Scotchman, able, pure, of 
 noble ambition, and a first-medallist in metaphy- 
 sics. Genius was written on his brow. He 
 may have written it himself but it was there. 
 
 He offered to take a pound a week less than 
 any other secretary in London. Not a Cabinet 
 Minister would have him. Lord Randolph 
 Churchill would not speak to him. He had fifty- 
 eight testimonials with him. They would neither 
 read nor listen to them. 
 
 He could not fasten a quarrel on London, for 
 it never recognized his existence. What a com- 
 mentary on our vaunted political life ! 
 
 Andrew tried the press. 
 
 He sent one of the finest things that was ever 
 written, on the *' Ontology of Being " to paper 
 after paper, and it was never used. He threat- 
 ened the Times with legal proceedings if it did 
 not return the manuscript. 
 
 The Standard sent him somebody else's manu- 
 script, and seemed to think it would do as well. 
 
202 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 In a fortnight his enthusiasm had been bled to 
 death. 
 
 His testimonials were his comfort and his curse. 
 He would have committed suicide without them, 
 but they kept him out of situations. 
 
 He had the fifty-eight by heart, and went over 
 them to himself all day. He fell asleep with 
 them, and they were there when he woke. 
 
 The moment he found himself in a great man's 
 presence he began : 
 
 **From the Rev. Peter Mackay, D.D., author 
 of 'The Disruption Divines,' Minister of Free St. 
 King's, Dundee : — I have much pleasure in stat- 
 ing that I have known Mr. Andrew Gordon Cum- 
 mings Riach for many years, and have been led 
 to form a high opinion of his ability. In the 
 summer of i8 — Mr. Riach had entire charge of a 
 class in my Sabbath-school, when I had ample 
 opportunity of testing his efficiency, unwearying 
 patience, exceptional power of illustration, and 
 high Christian character," and so on. ' 
 
 Or he might begin at the beginning : 
 
 ''Testimonials in favor of Andrew G. C. Riach, 
 M. A. (Edin.), applicant for the post of private 
 secretary to any one of her Majesty's Cabinet Min- 
 isters, 6 Candlish Street, Wheens, N, B. — I, An- 
 drew G. C. Riach, beg to offer myself as a can- 
 didate for the post of private secretary, and submit 
 the following testimonials in my favor for your 
 consideration. I am twenty-five years of age, a 
 
BETTER DEAD. 203 
 
 Master of Arts of the University of Edinburgh^ 
 and a member of the Free Church of Scotland. 
 At the university I succeeded in carrying a 
 bursary of ;f 14 los. per annum, tenable for four 
 years. I was first-medallist in the class of logic 
 and metaphysics, thirteenth prizeman in mathe- 
 matics, and had a certificate of merit in the class 
 of natural philosophy, as will be seen from my 
 testimonials." 
 
 However, he seldom got as far as this. 
 
 It was when alone that these testimonials were 
 his truest solace. Had you met him in the 
 Strand conning them over, you might have taken 
 him for an actor. He had a yearning to stop 
 strangers in the streets and try a testimonial's 
 effect on them. 
 
 Every young man is not equally unfortunate. 
 
 Riach's appearance was against him. 
 
 There was a suggestion of latent strength about 
 him that made strangers uncomfortable. Even 
 the friends who thought they understood him liked 
 him to go away. 
 
 Lord Rosebery made several jokes to him, and 
 Andrew only looked at- him in response. The 
 general feeling was that he was sneering at you 
 somewhere in his inside. 
 
 Let us do no one an injustice. 
 
 As it turned out, the Cabinet and press were 
 but being used in this case as the means to an 
 end. 
 
204 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 A grand work lay ready for Andrew's hand 
 when he was fit to perform it, but he had to learn 
 naked truth first. It was ordained that they 
 should teach it him. Providence sometimes makes 
 use of strange instruments. 
 
 Riach had two pounds with him when he came 
 to London, and in a month they had almost 
 gone. 
 
 Now and again he made an odd five shillings. 
 
 Do you know how men in his position live in 
 London ? 
 
 He could not afford the profession of not having 
 any. 
 
 At one time he was a phrasemonger for politi- 
 cians, especially for the Irish members, who were 
 the only ones that paid. 
 
 Some of his phrases have become parliament- 
 ary. Thus, " Buckshot " was his. "Mend them 
 —End them," ''Grand Old Man," and ''Legisla- 
 tion by Picnic " may all be traced to the strug- 
 gling young man from Wheens.* 
 
 He supplied the material for obituary notices. 
 
 When the newspaper placards announced the 
 serious illness of a distinguished man, he made 
 up characteristic anecdotes about his childhood, 
 his reputation at school, his first love, and sent 
 them, as the reminiscences of a friend, to the 
 
 * Some time afterward Lord Rosebery convulsed an audi- 
 ence by a story about a friend of his who complained that 
 you get " no f orrarder " on claret. Andrew was that friend. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 205 
 
 great London dailies. These were the only- 
 things of his they used. As often as not, the in- 
 valid got better, and then Andrew went without 
 a dinner. 
 
 Once he offered his services to a Conservative 
 statesman ; at another time he shot himself in 
 the coat in Northumberland Street, Strand, to 
 oblige an evening paper (five shillings). 
 
 He fainted in the pit of a theatre to the bribe 
 of an emotional tragedian (a guinea). 
 
 He assaulted a young lady and her aunt with 
 a view to robbery, in a quiet thoroughfare, by ar- 
 rangement with a young gentleman, who rescued 
 them and made him run (ten shillings). 
 
 It got into the papers that he had fled from the 
 wax policeman at Tussaud's (half-a-crown). 
 
 More than once he sold his body in advance to 
 the doctors, and was never able to buy it out.* 
 
 It would be a labor, thankless as impossible, 
 to recover now all the devices by which Andrew 
 disgraced his manhood during these weeks rather 
 than die. As well count the "drinks" an actor 
 has in a day. 
 
 It is not our part to climb down into the depths 
 after him. He reappeared eventually, or this 
 record would never have been written, 
 
 * He had fine ideas, but no money to work them out. One 
 was to start a serious Spectator on the lines of the present one, 
 but not so flippant and frivolous. 
 
2o6 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 During this period of gloom, Clarrie wrote him 
 frequently long and tender epistles. 
 
 More strictly, the minister wrote them, for he 
 had the gift of beautiful sentiment in letters, which 
 had been denied to her. 
 
 She copied them, however, and signed them, 
 and they were a great consolation. 
 
 The love of a good girl is a priceless posses- 
 sion, or rather, in this case, of a good minister. 
 
 So long as you do not know which, it does not 
 make much difference. 
 
 At times Andrew's reason may have been un- 
 hinged, less on account of his reverses than be- 
 cause no one spoke to him. 
 
 There were days and nights when he rushed all 
 over London. 
 
 In the principal streets the stoHd-faced Scotch- 
 man in a straw hat became a familiar figure. 
 
 Strange fancies held him. He stood for an hour 
 at a time looking at his face in a shop- window. 
 
 The bootblacks pointed at him and he disap- 
 peared down passages. 
 
 He shook his fist at the 'bus conductors, who 
 would not leave him alone. 
 
 In the yellow night, policemen drew back 
 scared as he hurried past them on his way to 
 nowhere. 
 
 In the day-time Oxford Street was his favorite 
 thoroughfare. He was very irritable at this 
 
BETTER DEAD. 207 
 
 time, and could not leave his fellow-wayfarers 
 alone. 
 
 More than once he poked his walking-stick 
 through the eyeglass of a brave young gentle- 
 man. 
 
 He would turn swiftly round to catch people 
 looking at him. 
 
 When a small boy came in his way, he took 
 him by the neck and planted him on the curb- 
 stone. 
 
 If a man approached simpering, Andrew stop- 
 ped and gazed at him. The smile went from the 
 stranger's face ; he blushed or looked fierce. 
 When he turned round, Andrew still had his eye 
 on him. Sometimes he came bouncing back. 
 
 * ' What are you so confoundly happy about ? " 
 Andrew asked. 
 
 When he found a crowd gazing in at a '* while 
 you wait " shop window, or entranced over the 
 paving of a street — 
 
 "Splendid, isn't it?" he said to the person 
 nearest him. 
 
 He dropped a penny, which he could ill spare, 
 into the hat of an exquisite who annoyed him by 
 his way of lifting it to a lady. 
 
 When he saw a man crossing the street too 
 daintily, he ran after him and hit him over the 
 legs. 
 
 Even on his worst days his reasoning powers 
 
2o8 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 never left him. Once a mother let her child slip 
 from her arms to the pavement. 
 
 She gave a shriek. 
 
 "My good woman," said Andrew, testily, 
 " what difference can one infant in the world 
 more or less make ? " 
 
 We come now to an eccentricity, engendered 
 of loneliness, that altered the whole course of his 
 life. Want had battered down his door. Truth 
 had been evolved from despair. He was at last 
 to have a flash into salvation. 
 
 To give an object to his walks abroad he would 
 fasten upon a wayfarer and follow him till he ran 
 him to his destination. Chance led to his select- 
 ing one quarry rather than another. He would 
 dog a man's footsteps, struck by the glossiness of 
 his boots, or to discover what he was in such a 
 hurry about, or merely because he had a good 
 back to follow. Probably he seldom knew what 
 attracted him, and sometimes when he realized 
 the pursuit he gave it up. 
 
 On these occasions there was one person only 
 who really interested him. This was a man, 
 somewhat over middle age, of singularly noble 
 and distinguished bearing. His brow was fur- 
 rowed with lines, but they spoke of cares of the 
 past. Benevolence had settled on his face. It 
 was as if, after a weary struggle, the sun had 
 broken through the heavy clouds. He was attired 
 in the ordinary dress of an English gentleman ; 
 
BETTER DEAD, 209 
 
 but once, when he raised his head to see if it 
 rained, Andrew noticed that he only wore a 
 woollen shirt, without a neck-tie. As a rule, his 
 well-trimmed venerable beard hid this from view. 
 
 He seemed a man of unostentatious means. 
 Andrew lost him in Drury Lane and found him 
 again in Piccadilly. He was generally alone, 
 never twice with the same person. His business 
 was scattered, or it was his pleasure that kept 
 him busy. He struck the observer as always 
 being on the outlook for some one who did not 
 come. 
 
 Why attempt to account for the nameless fas- 
 cination he exercised over the young Scotchman ? 
 We speak lightly of mesmeric influence, but, after 
 all, there is only one mesmerist for youth — a good 
 woman or a good man. Depend upon it, that is 
 why so many *' mesmerists" have mistaken their 
 vocation. Andrew took to prowling about the 
 streets looking for this man, like a dog that has 
 lost its master. 
 
 The day came when they met. 
 
 Andrew was returning from the Crystal Palace, 
 which he had been viewing from the outside. 
 He had walked both ways. 
 
 Just as he rounded the upper end of Chancery 
 Lane, a man walking rapidly struck against him, 
 whirled him aside, and hurried on. 
 
 The day was done, but as yet the lamps only 
 dimmed the streets. 
 14 
 
210 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Andrew had been dreaming, and the jerk woke 
 him to the roar of London. 
 
 It was as if he had taken his fingers from his 
 ears. 
 
 He staggered, dazed, against a 'bus-horse, but 
 the next moment he was in pursuit of the stran- 
 ger. It was but a continuation of his dream. 
 He felt that something was about to happen. He 
 had never seen this man disturbed before. 
 
 Chancery Lane swarmed with lawyers, but if 
 they had not made way Andrew would have 
 walked over them. 
 
 He clove his way between those walking 
 abreast, and struck down an arm extended to 
 point out the Law Courts. When he neared the 
 stranger, he slightly slackened his pace, but it 
 was a stampede even then. 
 
 Suddenly the pursued came to a dead stop and 
 gazed for twenty minutes in at a pastry-cook s 
 window. Andrew waited for him. Then they 
 started off again, much more leisurely. 
 
 They turned Chancery Lane almost together. 
 All this time Andrew had failed to catch sight of 
 the other's face. 
 
 He stopped twice in the Strand for a few min- 
 utes. 
 
 At Charing Cross he seemed for a moment at a 
 loss. Then he sprang across the street, and went 
 back the way he came. 
 
 It was now for the first time that a strange no- 
 
BETTER DEAD. 21 1 
 
 tion illumined Andrew's brain. It bewildered 
 him, and left him in darkness the next moment 
 But his blood was running hot now, and his eyes 
 were glassy. 
 
 They turned down Arundel Street. 
 
 It was getting dark. There were not a dozen 
 people in the narrow thoroughfare. 
 
 His former thought leaped back into Andrew's 
 mind — not a fancy now, but a fact. The stran- 
 ger was following some one too. 
 
 For what purpose ? His own ? 
 
 Andrew did not put the question to himself. 
 
 There were not twenty yards between the three 
 of them. 
 
 What Riach saw in front was a short stout man 
 proceeding cheerfully down the street. He de- 
 layed in a doorway to light a cigar, and the 
 stranger stopped as if turned to stone. 
 
 Andrew stopped too. 
 
 They were like the wheels of a watch. The 
 first wheel moved on, and set the others going 
 again. 
 
 For a hundred yards or more they walked in 
 procession in a westerly direction without meet- 
 ing a human being. At last the first of the trio 
 half turned on his heel and leaned over the em- 
 bankment. 
 
 Riach drew back into the shade, just before the 
 stranger took a lightning glance behind him. 
 
 The young man saw his face now. It was 
 
212 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 never fuller of noble purpose ; yet why did An- 
 drew cry out ? 
 
 The next moment the stranger had darted for- 
 ward, slipped his arm round the little man's legs 
 and toppled him into the river. 
 
 There was a splash, but no shriek. 
 
 Andrew bounded forward, but the stranger held 
 him by one hand. His clear blue eyes looked 
 down a little wistfully upon the young Scotch- 
 man, who never felt the fascination of a master- 
 mind more than at that moment. As if feeling his 
 power, the elder man relaxed his hold and pointed 
 to the spot where his victim had disappeared. 
 
 ''He was a good man," he said, more to him- 
 self than to Andrew, "and the world has lost a 
 great philanthropist ; but he is better as he is. " 
 
 Then he lifted a paving-stone, and peered long 
 and earnestly into the waters. 
 
 The short, stout man, however, did not rise 
 again. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 213 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Lost in reverie, the stranger stood motionless 
 on the embankment. The racket of the city was 
 behind him. At his feet lay a drowned world, its 
 lights choking in the Thames. It was London, 
 as it will be on the last day. 
 
 With an effort he roused himself and took 
 Andrew's arm. 
 
 *'The body will soon be recovered," he said in 
 a voice of great dejection, '' and people will talk. 
 Let us go." 
 
 They retraced their steps up Arundel Street. 
 
 **Now," said Andrew's companion, "tell me 
 who you are. " 
 
 Andrew would have preferred to hear who the 
 stranger was. In the circumstances he felt that 
 he had almost a right to know. But this was not 
 a man to brook interference. 
 
 *'If you will answer me one question," the 
 young Scotchman said humbly, "I shall tell you 
 everything. " 
 
 His reveries had made Andrew quick-witted, 
 and he had the judicial mind which prevents one's 
 judging another rashly. Besides, his hankering 
 
214 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 after this man had already suggested an exculpa- 
 tion for him. 
 
 *' You are a Radical ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 The stranger's brows contracted. " Young 
 man," he said, ''though all the Radicals and 
 Liberals and Conservatives who ever, addressed 
 
 the House of Commons were in , I would not 
 
 stoop to pick them up, though I could gather 
 them by the gross." 
 
 He said this without an Irish accent, and An- 
 drew felt that he had better begin his story at 
 once. 
 
 He told everything. 
 
 As his tale neared its conclusion, his compan- 
 ion scanned him narrowly. 
 
 If the stranger's magnanimous countenance did 
 not beam down in sympathy upon the speaker, it 
 was because surprise and gratification filled it. 
 
 Only once an ugly look came into his eyes. 
 That was when Andrew had reached the middle 
 of his second testimonial. 
 
 The young man saw the look, and at the same 
 time felt the hold on his arm become a grip. 
 
 His heart came into his mouth. He gulped it 
 down, and, with what was perhaps a judicious 
 sacrifice, jumped the remainder of his testimo- 
 nials. 
 
 When the stranger heard how he had been 
 tracked through the streets, he put his head to the 
 side to think. 
 
I 
 
 BETTER DEAD. 215 
 
 It was a remarkable compliment to his abstrac- 
 tion that Andrew paused involuntarily in his story 
 and waited. 
 
 He felt that his future was in the balance. 
 Those sons of peers may faintly realize his position 
 whose parents have hesitated whether to make 
 statesmen or cattle-dealers of them. 
 
 ** I don't mind telling you," the stranger said 
 at last, " that your case has been under considera- 
 tion. When we left the embankment my inten- 
 tion was to dispose of you in a doorway. But 
 your story moves me strangely. Could I be cer- 
 tain that you felt the sacredness of human life — 
 as I fear no boy can feel it — I should be tempted 
 to ask you instead to become one of us." 
 
 There was something in this remark about the 
 sacredness of human life that was not what 
 Andrew expected, and his answer died un- 
 spoken. 
 
 ** Youth," continued the stranger, *' is enthusi- 
 asm, but not enthusiasm in a straight line. We are 
 impotent in directing it, like a boy with a toy 
 engine. How carefully the child sets it off, how 
 soon it goes off the rails ! So youth is wrecked. 
 The slightest obstacle sends it off at a tangent. 
 The vital force expended in a wrong direction does 
 evil instead of good. You know the story of 
 Atalanta. It has always been misread. She was 
 the type not of woman but of youth, and Hip- 
 pomenes personated age. He was the slow 
 
2l6 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 runner, but he won the race ; and yet how beauti- 
 ful, even where it runs to riot, must enthusiasm 
 be in such a cause as ours ! " 
 
 **If Atalanta had been Scotch," said Andrew, 
 ''she would not have lost that race for a pound 
 of apples. " 
 
 The stranger regarded him longingly, like a 
 father only prevented by state reasons from em- 
 bracing his son. 
 
 He murmured something that Andrew hardly 
 caught. 
 
 It sounded like : 
 
 ''Atalanta would have been better dead." 
 
 "Your nationality is in your favor," he said, 
 " and you have served your apprenticeship to our 
 calling. You have been tending toward us ever 
 since you came to London. You are an apple ripe 
 for plucking, and if you are not plucked now you 
 will fall. I would fain take you by the hand, and 
 yet " 
 
 "And yet?" 
 
 "And yet I hesitate. You seem a youth of the 
 fairest promise ; but how often have I let these 
 impulses deceive me ! You talk of logic, but is 
 it more than talk ? Man, they say, is a reason- 
 able being. They are wrong. He is only a being 
 capable of reason." 
 
 "Try me," said Andrew. 
 
 The stranger resumed in a lower key. 
 
 " You do not understand what you ask as yet," 
 
BETTER DEAD. 217 
 
 he said ; "still less what we would ask in return 
 of you. " 
 
 **I have seen something to-day," said Andrew. 
 
 *' But you are mistaken in its application. You 
 think I followed the man lately deceased as per- 
 tinaciously as you followed me. You are wrong. 
 When you met me in Chancery Lane, I was in 
 pursuit of a gentleman to whose case I have 
 devoted myself for several days. It has interested 
 me much. There is no reason why I should con- 
 ceal his name. It is one honored in this country, 
 Sir Wilfrid Lawson. He looked in on his man of 
 business, which delayed me at the shop window 
 of which you have spoken. I waited for him, 
 and I thought I had him this time. But you see 
 I lost him in the Strand after all. " 
 
 "But the other, then," Andrew asked, ''who 
 was he ? " 
 
 ' ' Oh, I picked him up at Charing Cross. He 
 was better dead. " 
 
 "1 think," said Andrew hopefully, "that my 
 estimate of the sacredness of human life is suf- 
 ficiently high for your purpose. If that is the 
 only point " 
 
 "Ah, they all say that until they join. I remem- 
 ber an excellent young man who came among us 
 for a time. He seemed discreet beyond his years, 
 and we expected great things of him. But it was 
 the old story. For young men the cause is as 
 demoralizing as boarding-schools are for girls." 
 
2l8 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 ''What did he do?" 
 
 " It went to his head. He took a bedroom in 
 Pall Mall and sat at the window with an electric 
 rifle picking them off on the door-steps of the 
 clubs. It was a noble idea, but of course it im- 
 perilled the very existence of the society. He 
 was a curate." 
 
 "What became of him ? " asked Andrew. 
 
 ** He is better dead," said the stranger, softly. 
 
 *'And the society you speak of, what is it? " 
 
 ''TheS. D. W. S. P." 
 
 ''TheS. D. W. S. P.?" 
 
 "Yes, the Society for Doing Without Some 
 People." 
 
 They were in Holburn, but turned up South- 
 ampton Row for quiet. 
 
 "You have told me," said the stranger, now 
 speaking rapidly, "that at times you have felt 
 tempted to take your life, that life for which you 
 will one day have to account. Suicide is the 
 coward's refuge. You are miserable ? When a 
 young man knows that, he is happy. Misery is 
 but preparing for an old age of delightful re- 
 miniscence. You say that London has no work 
 for you, that the functions to which you looked 
 forward are everywhere discharged by another. 
 That need not drive you to despair. If it proves 
 that some one should die, does it necessarily 
 follow that the some one is you ? " 
 
 " But is not the other's life as sacred as mine ? " 
 
BETTER DEAD. 219 
 
 ''That is his concern." 
 
 "Then you would have me " 
 
 "Certainly not. You are a boxer without 
 employment, whom I am showing what to hit. 
 In such a case as yours the society would be re- 
 presented by a third party, whose decision would 
 be final. As an interested person you would have 
 to stand aside." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 ' ' The arbitrator would settle if you should go. " 
 
 Andrew looked blank. 
 
 "Go.?" he repeated. 
 
 " It is a euphemism for die," said his companion 
 a little impatiently. "This is a trivial matter, and 
 hardly worth going into at any length. It shows 
 our process, however, and the process reveals the 
 true character of the organization. As I have 
 already mentioned, the society takes for its first 
 principal the sanctity of human life. Every one 
 who has mixed much among his fellow-creatures 
 must be aware that this is adulterated, so to speak, 
 by numbers of spurious existences. Many of 
 these are a nuisance to themselves. Others may 
 at an earlier period have been lives of great prom- 
 ise and fulfilment. In the case of the latter, how 
 sad to think that they should be dragged out into 
 worthlessness or dishonor, all for want of a 
 friendly hand to snap them short ! In the lower 
 form of life the process of preying upon animals 
 whose work is accomplished— that, is, of weeding 
 
220 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 — goes on continually. Man must, of course, be 
 more cautious. The grand function of the society 
 is to find out the persons who have a claim on it, 
 and in the interests of humanity to lay their con- 
 dition before them. After that, it is in the ma- 
 jority of cases for themselves to decide whether 
 they will go or stay on. " 
 
 "But," said Andrew, *'had the gentleman in 
 the Thames consented to go?" 
 
 *'No, that was a case where assistance had to 
 be given. He had been sounded, though." 
 
 "And do you find," asked Andrew, " that many 
 of them are — agreeable ? " 
 
 "I admit," said the stranger, "that so far that 
 has been our chief difficulty. Even the men we 
 looked upon as certainties have fallen short of 
 our expectations. There is Mallock now, who 
 said that life was not worth living. I called on 
 him only last week, fully expecting him to meet 
 me half way. '* 
 
 "And he didn't?" 
 
 "Mallock was a great disappointment," said 
 the stranger, with genuine pain in his voice. 
 
 He liked Mallock. 
 
 "However," he added, brightening, "his case 
 comes up for hearing at the next meeting. If I 
 have two-thirds of the vote we proceed with it. " 
 
 "But how do the authorities take it?" asked 
 Andrew. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the stranger. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 221 
 
 Andrew, however, could not think so. 
 
 **It is against the law, you know," he said. 
 
 **The law winks at it," the stranger said. 
 **Law has its feelings as well as we. We have 
 two London magistrates and a minister on the 
 executive, and the lord chief justice is an honorary- 
 member. " 
 
 Andrew raised his eyes. 
 
 *'This, of course, is private," continued the 
 stranger. "These men join on the understand- 
 ing that if any thing comes out they deny all con- 
 nection with us. But they have the thing at 
 heart. I have here a very kind letter from Glad- 
 stone " 
 
 He felt in his pockets. 
 
 *'I seem to have left it at home. However, 
 its purport was that he hoped we would not 
 admit Lord Salisbury an honorary member." 
 
 ''Why not?" 
 
 ' ' Well, the society has power to take from its 
 numbers so far as ordinary members are con- 
 cerned, but it is considered discourteous to reduce 
 the honorary list. " 
 
 "Then why have honorary members.?" asked 
 Andrew, in a burst of enthusiasm. 
 
 "It is a necessary precaution. They subscribe 
 largely too. Indeed, the association is now 
 established on a sound commercial basis. We 
 are paying six per cent. " 
 
 "None of these American preachers who come 
 
222 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 over to this country are honorary members?" 
 asked Andrew, anxiously. 
 
 "No; one of them made overtures to us, but 
 we would not listen to him. " 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing," said Andrew. 
 
 "To do the honorary list justice,'* said his 
 companion, "it gave us one fine fellow in our 
 honorary president. He is dead now. " 
 
 Andrew looked up. 
 
 "No, we had nothing to do with it. It was 
 Thomas Carlyle." 
 
 Andrew raised his hat. 
 
 "Though he was over eighty years of age," 
 continued the stranger, "Carlyle would hardly rest 
 content with merely giving us his countenance. 
 He wanted to be a working member. It was he 
 who mentioned Froude's name to us." 
 
 "For honorary membership .? " 
 
 "Not at all. Froude would hardly have com- 
 pleted the ' Reminiscences ' had it not been that 
 we could never make up our minds between him 
 and Freeman." 
 
 Youth is subject to sudden fits of despondency. 
 Its hopes go up and down like a bucket in a draw- 
 well. 
 
 "They'll never let me join," cried Andrew, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 His companion pressed his hand. 
 
 " Three black balls exclude," he said, ''but you. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 223 
 
 have the president on your side. With my in- 
 troduction you will be admitted a probationer, 
 and after that everything depends on yourself." 
 
 *'I thought you must be the president, from 
 the first," said Andrew, reverently. 
 
 He had not felt so humble since the first day he 
 went to the university and walked past and re- 
 past it, frightened to go in. 
 
 "How long," he asked, *'does the period of 
 probation last .? " 
 
 "Three months. Then you send in a thesis, 
 and if it is considered satisfactory you become a 
 member. " 
 
 "And if it isn't?" 
 
 The president did not say. 
 
 "A thesis," he said, ** is generally a paper with 
 a statement of the line of action you propose to 
 adopt, subject to the society's approval. Each 
 member has his specialty — as law, art, divinity, 
 literature, and the like." 
 
 " Does the probationer devote himself exclu- 
 sively during these three months to his thesis .? " 
 
 "On the contrary, he never has so much lib- 
 erty as at this period. He is expected to be prac- 
 tising." 
 
 "Practising?" 
 
 "Well, experimenting, getting his hand in, so 
 to speak. The member acts under instructions 
 only, but the probationer just does what he thinks 
 best." 
 
224 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 ''There is a man on my stair," said Andrew, 
 after a moment's consideration, "who asks his 
 friends in every Friday night, and recites to them 
 with his door open. I think I should like to be- 
 gin with him." 
 
 "As a society we do not recognize these pri- 
 vate cases. The public gain is so infinitesimal. 
 We had one probationer who constructed a very 
 ingenious water-butt for boys. Another had a 
 scheme for clearing the streets of the people who 
 get in the way. He got into trouble about some 
 perambulators. Let me see your hands." 
 
 They stopped at a lamp-post. 
 
 "They are large, which is an advantage," said 
 the president, fingering Andrew's palms; "but 
 are they supple ? " 
 
 Andrew had thought very little about it, and 
 he did not quite comprehend. 
 
 "The hands," explained the president, "are 
 perhaps the best natural weapon, but of course 
 there are different ways of doing it." 
 
 The young Scotchman's brain, however, could 
 not keep pace with his companion s words, and 
 the president looked about him for an illustration. 
 
 They stopped at Gower Street station and 
 glanced at the people coming out. 
 
 None of them was of much importance, but 
 the president left them alone. 
 
 Andrew saw what he meant now, and could 
 not but admire his forbearance. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 225 
 
 They turned away, but just as they emerged 
 into the blaze of Tottenham Court Road they ran 
 into two men, warmly shaking hands with each 
 other before they parted. 
 
 One of them wore an eye-glass. 
 
 "Chamberlain!" exclaimed the president, 
 rushing after him. 
 
 '* Did you recognize the other ? " said Andrew 
 panting at his heels. 
 
 "No ! who was it?" 
 
 '•■ Stead, of the Pall Mall Gazette. " 
 
 "Great God," cried the president, "two at a 
 time ! " 
 
 He turned and ran back. Then he stopped 
 irresolutely. He could not follow the one for 
 thought of the other. 
 15 
 
2 26 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The London cabman's occupation consists in 
 dodging thoroughfares under repair. 
 
 Numbers of dingy streets have been flung about 
 to help him. There is one of these in Blooms- 
 bury, which was originally discovered by a stu- 
 dent while looking for the British Museum. It 
 runs a hundred yards in a straight line, then stops 
 like a stranger who has lost his way, and hurries 
 by another route out of the neighborhood. 
 
 The houses are dull, except one, just where it 
 doubles, w^hich is gloomy. 
 
 This house is divided into sets of chambers, 
 and has a new frontage, but it no longer lets 
 well. A few years ago there were two funerals 
 from it within a fortnight, and soon afterward 
 another of the tenants was found at the foot of 
 the stairs with his neck broken. These fatalities 
 gave the house a bad name, as such things do in 
 London. 
 
 It was here that Andrew s patron, the president, 
 lived. 
 
 To the outcast from work, to g^i an object in 
 life is to be born again. Andrew bustled to the 
 
BETTER DEAD. 227 
 
 president's chambers on the Saturday night fol- 
 lowing the events already described, with his 
 chest well set. 
 
 His springy step echoed of wages in the hearts 
 of the unemployed. Envious eyes, following his 
 swaggering staff, could not see that but a few 
 days before he had been as the thirteenth person 
 at a dinner-party. 
 
 Such a change does society bring about when 
 it empties a chair for the superfluous man. 
 
 It may be wondered that he felt so sure of him- 
 self, for the night had still to decide his claims. 
 
 Andrew, however, had thought it all out in his 
 solitary lodgings, and had put fear from him. He 
 felt his failings and allo.wed for every one of them, 
 but he knew his merits too, and his testimonials 
 were in his pocket. Strength of purpose was his 
 weak point, and, though the good of humanity 
 was his load-star, it did not make him quite forget 
 self 
 
 It may not be possible to serve both God and 
 mammon, but since Adam the world has been at 
 it. We ought to know by this time. 
 
 The Society for Doing Without was as immoral 
 as it certainly was illegal. The president's mo- 
 •tives were not more disinterested than his ac- 
 tions were defensible. He even deserved punish- 
 ment. 
 
 All these things may be. The great social ques- 
 tion is not to be solved in a day. It never will 
 
228 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 be solved if those who take it by the beard are 
 not given an unbiassed hearing. 
 
 Those were the young Scotchman's views when 
 the president opened the door to him, and what 
 he saw and heard that night strengthened them. 
 
 It was characteristic of Andrew's host that at 
 such a time he could put himself in the young 
 man's place. 
 
 He took his hand and looked him in the face 
 more like a physician than a mere acquaintance. 
 Then he drew him aside into an empty room. 
 
 "Let me be the first to congratulate you," he 
 said; ''you are admitted." 
 
 Andrew took a long breath, and the president 
 considerately turned away his head until the 
 young probationer had regained his composure. 
 Then he proceeded : 
 
 "The society only asks from its probationers 
 the faith which it has in them. They take no 
 oath. We speak in deeds. The brotherhood do 
 not recognize the possibility of treachery ; but 
 they are prepared to cope with it if it comes. 
 Better far, Andrew Riach, to be in your grave, 
 dead and rotten and forgotten, than a traitor to 
 the cause." 
 
 The president's voice trembled with solemnity. 
 
 He stretched forth his hands, slowly repeating 
 the words "dead and rotten and forgotten," until 
 his wandering eyes came to rest on the young 
 man's neck. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 229 
 
 Andrew drew back a step and bowed silently, 
 as he had seen many a father do at a christening 
 in the kirk at Wheens. 
 
 **You will shortly," continued the president, 
 with a return to his ordinary manner, "hear an 
 address on female suffrage from one of the noblest 
 women in the land. It will be your part to listen. 
 To-night you will both hear and see strange things. 
 Say nothing. Evince no surprise. Some mem- 
 bers are irritable. Come ! " 
 
 Once more he took Andrew by the hand, and 
 led him into the meeting-room ; and still his eyes 
 were fixed on the probationer's neck. There 
 seemed to be something about it that he liked. 
 
 It was not then, with the committee all around 
 him, but long afterward at Wheens, that Andrew 
 was struck by the bareness of the chambers. 
 
 Without the president's presence they had no 
 character. 
 
 The trifles were absent that are to a room what 
 expression is to the face. 
 
 The tenant might have been a medical student 
 who knew that it was not worth while to unpack 
 his boxes. 
 
 The only ornament on the walls was an elabo- 
 rate sketch by a member, showing the arrange- 
 ment of the cellars beneath the premises of the 
 Young Men's Christian Association. 
 
 There were a dozen men in the room, including 
 the president of the Birmingham branch associa- 
 
230 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 tion and two members who had just returned 
 from a visit to Edinburgh. These latter had al- 
 ready submitted their report. 
 
 The president introduced Andrew to the com- 
 mittee, but not the committee to him. Several 
 of them he recognized from the portraits in the 
 shop windows. 
 
 They stood or sat in groups looking over a pro- 
 bationer's thesis. It consisted of diagrams of 
 machinery. 
 
 Andrew did not see the sketches, though they 
 were handed round separately for inspection, but 
 he listened eagerly to the president's explanations. 
 
 ''The first," said the president, "is a beautiful 
 little instrument worked by steam. Having 
 placed his head on the velvet cushion D, the sub- 
 ject can confidently await results. 
 
 ** No. 2 is the same model on a larger scale. 
 
 "As yet 3 can be of little use to us. It includes 
 a room 13 feet by 11. X is the windows and 
 other apertures ; and these being closed up and 
 the subjects admitted, all that remains to be done 
 is to lock the door from the outside and turn on 
 the gas. E, F, and K are couches, and L is a 
 square inch of glass through which results may 
 be noted. 
 
 " The specialty of 4, which is called the ' water 
 cure/ is that it is only workable on water. It is 
 generally admitted that release by drowning is 
 the pleasantest of all deaths ; and, indeed, 4, 
 
BETTER DEAD. 231 
 
 Speaking roughly, is a boat with a hole in the 
 bottom. It is so simple that a child could work 
 it. C is the plug. 
 
 *' No. 5 is an intricate instrument. The advan- 
 tage claimed for it is that it enables a large num- 
 ber of persons to leave together. " While the thesis 
 was under discussion, the attendance was in- 
 creased by a few members specially interested in 
 the question of female suffrage. Andrew observed 
 that several of these wrote something on a piece 
 of paper which lay on the table with a pencil 
 beside it, before taking their seats. 
 
 He stretched himself in the direction of this 
 paper, but subsided as he caught the eyes of two 
 of the company riveted on his neck. 
 
 From that time until he left the rooms one mem- 
 ber or other was staring at his neck. Andrew 
 looked anxiously in the glass over the mantel- 
 piece, but could see nothing wrong. 
 
 The paper on the table merely contained such 
 jottings as these : 
 
 ** Robert Buchanan has written another play." 
 
 ''Schnadhorst is in town." 
 
 *'Ashmead Bartlett walks in Temple Gardens 
 3 to 4.'* 
 
 ''Clement Scott (?)." 
 
 *' Query : Is there a dark passage near Hynd- 
 man's (Socialist's) house ? " 
 
 ''Talmage. Address, Midland Hotel." 
 
 '* Andrew Lang(?)." 
 
232 
 
 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 Andrew was a good deal interested in woman's 
 suffrage, and the debate on this question in the 
 students' society at Edinburgh, when he spoke for 
 an hour and five minutes, is still remembered by 
 the janitor who had to keep the door until the 
 meeting closed. 
 
 Debating societies, like the company of re- 
 porters, engender a familiarity of reference to 
 eminent persons, and Andrew had in his time 
 struck down the champions of woman's rights 
 as a boy plays with his ninepins. 
 
 To be brought face to face with a lady whose 
 name is a household word wheresoever a few 
 Scotchmen can meet and resolve themselves into 
 an argument was another matter. 
 
 It was with no ordinary mingling of respect 
 with curiosity that he stood up with the others to 
 greet Mrs. Fawcett as the president led her into 
 the room. The young man's face, as he looked 
 upon her for the first time, was the best book this 
 remarkable woman ever wrote. 
 
 The proceedings were necessarily quiet, and 
 the president had introduced their guest to the 
 meeting without Andrew's hearing a word. 
 
 He was far away in a snow-swept university 
 quadrangle on a windy night, when Mrs. Fawcett 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 Some one flung open the window, for the place 
 was close, and immediately the skirl of a bag- 
 piper broke the silence. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 233 
 
 It might have been the devil that rushed into 
 the room. 
 
 Still Andrew dreamed on. 
 
 The guest paused. 
 
 The members looked at each other, and the 
 president nodded to one of them. 
 
 He left the room, and about two minutes after- 
 ward the music suddenly ceased. 
 
 Andrew woke with a start in time to see him 
 return, write two words in the members' book, 
 and resume his seat. Mrs. Fawcett then began. 
 
 " I have before me," she said, turning over the 
 leaves of a bulky manuscript, " a great deal of 
 matter bearing on the question of woman's rights, 
 which at such a meeting as this may be considered 
 read. It is mainly historical, and while I am 
 prepared to meet with hostile criticism from the 
 society, I assume that the progress our agitation 
 has made, with its disappointments, its trials, and 
 its triumphs, has been followed more or less care- 
 fully by you all. 
 
 "Nor shall I, after the manner of speakers on 
 such an occasion, pay you the doubtful compli' 
 ment of fulsomely extolling your aims before your 
 face. 
 
 "I come at once to the question of woman's 
 rights in so far as the society can affect them, and 
 I ask of you a consideration of my case with as 
 little prejudice as men can be expected to ap- 
 proach it 
 
234 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 "In the constitution of the society, as it has 
 been explained to me, I notice chiefly two things 
 which would have filled me with indignation 
 twenty years ago, but only remind me how far 
 we are from the goal of our ambition now. 
 
 "The first is a sin of omission, the second one 
 of commission, and the latter is the more to be 
 deprecated in that you made it with your eyes 
 open, after full discussion, while the other came 
 about as a matter of course. 
 
 "I believe I am right in saying that the mem- 
 bership of this society is exclusively male, and 
 also that no absolute veto has been placed on 
 female candidature ? 
 
 "As a matter of fact, it never struck the found- 
 ers that such a veto in black and white was nec- 
 essary. When they drew up the rules of mem- 
 bership, the other sex never fell like a black 
 shadow on the paper ; it was forgotten. We owe 
 our eligibility to many other offices (generally 
 disputed at law) to the same accident. In short, 
 the unwritten law of the argumentum ad crinolinam 
 puts us to the side." 
 
 Having paid the society the compliment of be- 
 lieving that, however much it differed from her 
 views, it would not dismiss them with a laugh, 
 Mrs. Fawcett turned to the question of woman's 
 alleged physical limitations. 
 
 She said much on this point that Andrew saw 
 could not be easily refuted, but, interesting though 
 
BETTER DEAD. 235 
 
 she made it, we need not follow her over beaten 
 ground. 
 
 So far, the members had given her the courteous 
 non-attention which thoughtful introductory re- 
 marks can always claim. It was when she 
 reached her second head that they fastened upon 
 her words. 
 
 Then Andrew had seen no sharper audience 
 since he was one of a Scotch congregation on the 
 scent of a heretic. 
 
 "At a full meeting of committee," said Mrs. 
 Fawcett, with a ring of bitterness in her voice, 
 " you passed a law that women should not enjoy 
 the advantages of the association. Be they ever 
 so eminent, their sex deprives them of your care. 
 You take up the case of a petty maker of books 
 because his tea-leaf solutions weary you, and you 
 put a stop to him with an enthusiasm worthy of 
 a nobler object. 
 
 "But the woman is left to decay. 
 
 " This society at its noblest was instituted for 
 taking strong means to prevent men's slipping 
 down the ladder it has been such a toil to them 
 to mount, but the women who have climbed as 
 high as they can fall from rung to rung. 
 
 "There are female nuisances as well as male ; 
 I presume no one here will gainsay me that. But 
 you do not know them officially. The politicians 
 who joke about three acres and a cow, the writers 
 who are comic about mothers-in-law, the very 
 
236 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 boot-blacks, have your solicitude, but you ignore 
 their complements in the softer sex. 
 
 ''Yet you call yourselves a society for suppress- 
 ing excrescences ! Your president tells me you 
 are at present inquiring for the address of the man 
 w^ho signs himself ' Paterfamilias ' in the Times ; 
 but the letters from 'A British Matron * are of no 
 account. 
 
 '*I do not need to be told how Dr. Smith, the 
 fashionable physician, was precipitated down 
 that area the other day ; but what I do ask is, 
 Why should he be taken and all the lady doctors 
 left? 
 
 * ' Their degrees are as good as his. You are 
 too 'manly,' you say, to arrest their course. Is 
 injustice manliness .? We have another name for 
 it. We say you want the pluck. 
 
 "I suppose every one of you has been reading 
 a very able address recently delivered at the meet- 
 ing of the Social Science Congress. I refer to my 
 friend Mrs. Kendal's paper on the moral aspect 
 of the drama in this country. 
 
 "It is a powerful indictment of the rank and 
 file of her professional brothers and sisters, and 
 nowhere sadder, more impressive, or more unan- 
 swerable than where she speaks of the involuntary 
 fall of the actor into social snobbishness and pro- 
 fessional clap-trap. 
 
 "I do not know how the paper affected you. 
 But since reading it I have asked, in despair, 
 
BETTER DEAD. 237 
 
 How can this gifted lady continue to pick her 
 way between the snares with which the stage is 
 beset ? 
 
 **Is it possible that the time may come when 
 she will advertise by photographs and beg from 
 reporters the 'pars' she now so scathingly crit- 
 icises ? Nay, when I look upon the drop-scene 
 at the St. James' Theatre, I ask myself if the 
 deterioration has not already set in. 
 
 *' Gentlemen, is this a matter of indifference to 
 you ? But why do I ask ? Has not Mrs. Lynn 
 Linton another article in the new Nineteenth 
 Century that makes her worthy your attention ? 
 They are women, and the sex is outside your 
 sphere. " 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when Mrs. Fawcett 
 finished her address, and the society had adopted 
 the good old rule of getting to bed betimes. Thus 
 it was afterward that Andrew learned how long 
 and carefully the society had already considered 
 the advisability of giving women equal rights 
 with men. 
 
 As he was leaving the chambers the president 
 slipped something into his hand. He held it there 
 until he reached his room. 
 
 On the way a man struck against him, scanned 
 him piercingly, and then shuffled off. He was 
 muffled up, but Andrew wondered if he had not 
 seen him at the meeting. 
 
238 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 The young Scotchman had an uneasy feeling 
 that his footsteps were dogged. 
 
 As soon as he reached home, he unfolded the 
 scrap of paper that had been pushed into his hand. 
 It merely contained these words : 
 
 ** Cover up your neck 1 " 
 
BETTER DEAD, 239 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 On the following Tuesday, Andrew met the 
 president by appointment at the Marble Arch. 
 
 Until he had received his final instructions he 
 was pledged not to begin, and he had passed 
 these two intervening days staring at his empty 
 fireplace. 
 
 They shook hands silently, and passed into the 
 Park. The president was always thoughtful in 
 a crowd. 
 
 **In such a gathering as this," said Andrew, 
 pointing an imaginary pistol at a lecturer on so- 
 cialism, " you could hardly go wrong to let fly. " 
 
 ** You must not speak Hke that," the president 
 said gently, ** or we shall soon lose you. Your 
 remark, however, opens the way for what I have 
 to say. You have never expressed any curiosity 
 as to your possible fate. I hope this is not because 
 you under-estimate the risks. If the authorities 
 saw you 'letting fly,' as you term it, promis- 
 cuously, or even at a given object, they would 
 treat you as no better than a malefactor." 
 
 * ' I thought that all out yesterday, " said Andrew, 
 *'and I am amazed at the society's success in 
 escaping detection." 
 
240 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 " I feared this," said the president. "You are 
 mistaken. We don't always escape detection. 
 Sometimes we are caught " 
 
 ''Caught.?" 
 
 "Yes, and hanged." 
 
 "But if that is so, why does it not get into the 
 papers ? " 
 
 "The papers are full of it." 
 
 Andrew looked incredulous. 
 
 "In the present state of the law," said the 
 president, "motive in a murder goes for nothing. 
 However iniquitous this may be — and I do not 
 attempt to defend it — we accept it as a fact. 
 Your motives may have been unexceptionable, 
 but they hang you all the same. Thus, our mem- 
 bers when apprehended preserve silence on this 
 point, or say that they are Fenians. This is to 
 save the society. The man who got fifteen years 
 the other day for being found near St. Stephen's 
 with six infernal machines in his pockets was 
 really one of us. He was taking them to be re- 
 paired." 
 
 "And the other who got ten years the week 
 before?" 
 
 " He was from America, but it was for one of 
 our affairs that he was sentenced. He was quite 
 innocent. You see the dynamiters, vulgarly so 
 called, are playing into our hands. Suspicion 
 naturally falls on them. He was our fifth." 
 
 " I had no idea of this," murmured Andrew. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 241 
 
 **You see what a bad name does/' said the 
 president. "Let this be a warning to you, 
 Andrew." 
 
 ''But is this quite fair?" 
 
 "As for that, they like it — the leading spirits, I 
 mean. It gives them a reputation. Besides, 
 they hurt as well as help us. It was after their 
 appearance that the authorities were taught to be 
 distrustful. You have little idea of the precau- 
 tions taken nowadays. There is Sir William 
 Harcourt, for instance, who is attended by 
 policemen , every where. I used to go home from 
 the House behind him nightly, but I could never 
 get him alone. I have walked in the very 
 shadow of that man, but always in a com- 
 pany." 
 
 "You were never arrested yourself?" asked 
 Andrew. 
 
 "I was once, but we substituted a proba- 
 tioner. " 
 
 '^Then did he— was he " 
 
 "Yes, poor fellow." 
 
 «' Is that often done ? " 
 
 " Sometimes. You perhaps remember the 
 man who went over the embankment the night 
 we met ? Well, if I had been charged with that, 
 you would have had to be hanged." 
 
 Andrew took a seat to collect his thoughts. 
 
 "Was that why you seemed to take to me so 
 much ? " he asked wistfully. 
 16 
 
242 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 " It was only one reason," said the president, 
 soothingly. *'I liked you from the first." 
 
 "But I don't see," said Andrew, ''why I 
 should have suffered for your action. " 
 
 For the moment, his veneration for this 
 remarkable man hung in the balance. 
 
 " It would have been for the society's sake," 
 said the president, simply ; "probationers are 
 hardly missed." 
 
 His face wore a pained look, but there was no 
 reproach in his voice. 
 
 Andrew was touched. 
 
 He looked the apology, which, as a Scotch- 
 man, he could not go the length of uttering. 
 
 "Before I leave you to-day," said the presi- 
 dent, turning to a pleasanter subject, "I shall 
 give you some money. We do not, you under- 
 stand, pay our probationers a fixed salary." 
 
 "It is more, is it not ? " said Andrew, "in the 
 nature of a scholarship ? " 
 
 "Yes, a scholarship — for the endowment of 
 research. You see we do not tie you down to 
 any particular line of study. Still, I shall be 
 happy to hear of any programme you may have 
 drawn up." 
 
 Andrew hesitated. He did not know that, to 
 the president, he was an open book. 
 
 "I dare say I can read your thoughts," said 
 his companion. "There is an eminent person 
 whom you would like to make your first ? " 
 
BETTER DEAD. 243 
 
 Andrew admitted that this was so. 
 
 *'I do not ask any confidences of you," con- 
 tinued the president, "nor shall I discourage 
 ambition. But I hope, Andrew, you have only 
 in view the greatest good of the greatest number. 
 At such a time, it is well for the probationer to 
 ask himself two questions : Is it not self-glorifi- 
 cation that prompts me to pick this man out 
 from among so many ? and, Am I actuated by 
 any personal animosity ? If you cannot answer 
 both these questions in the negative, it is time to 
 ask a third. Should I go on with this under- 
 taking ? " 
 
 '*In this case," said Andrew, "I do not think 
 it is self-glory, and I am sure it is not spite. He 
 is a man I have a very high opinion of." 
 
 " A politician ? Remember that we are above 
 party considerations. " 
 
 "He is a politician," said Andrew, reluctantly, 
 * * but it is his politics I admire. " 
 
 "And you are sure his time has come? Then 
 how do you propose to set about it ? " 
 
 * * I thought of calling at his house, and putting 
 it to him." 
 
 The president's countenance fell. 
 
 "Well, well," he said, "that may answer. 
 But there is no harm in bearing in mind that 
 persuasion is not necessarily a passive force. 
 Without going the length of removing him your- 
 self, you know, you could put temptation in his 
 way. " 
 
244 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 ''If I know my man," said Andrew, "that 
 will not be required." 
 
 The president had drunk life's disappointments 
 to the dregs, but it was not in his heart to damp 
 the youth's enthusiasm. 
 
 Experience he knew to be a commodity for 
 which we pay a fancy price. 
 
 ''After that," said Andrew, "I thought of 
 Henry Irving." 
 
 "We don't kill actors," his companion said. 
 
 It was Andrew's countenance's turn to fall 
 now. 
 
 "We don't have time for it," the president 
 explained. "When the society was instituted, 
 we took a few of them, but merely to get our 
 hands in. We didn't want to bungle good cases, 
 you see, and it did not matter so much for them." 
 
 "How did you do it?" 
 
 "We waited at the stage door, and went off 
 with the first person who came out, male or 
 female. " 
 
 "But I understood you did not take up 
 women ? " 
 
 * ' Nor do we. Theatrical people constitute a 
 sex by themselves — like curates. " 
 
 "Then can't I even do the man who stands at 
 the theatre doors, all shirt-front and diamonds ? " 
 
 The president shivered. 
 
 '* If you happen to be passing, at any rate,'* 
 he said. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 245 
 
 " And surely some of the playwrights would 
 be better dead. They must see that them- 
 selves. " 
 
 "They have had their chance," said the presi- 
 dent. Despite his nationality, Andrew had not 
 heard the story, so the president told it him. 
 
 **Many years ago, when the drama was in 
 its infancy, some young men from Stratford- 
 on-Avon and elsewhere resolved to build a theatre 
 in London. 
 
 "The times, however, were moral, and no one 
 would imperil his soul so far as to give them a site. 
 
 "One night, they met in despair, when sud- 
 denly the room was illumined by lightning, and 
 they saw the devil in the midst of them. 
 
 "He has always been a large proprietor in 
 London, and he had come to strike a bargain with 
 them. They could have as many sites as they 
 chose, on one condition. Every year they must 
 send him a dramatist. 
 
 "You see he was willing to take his chance of 
 the players. 
 
 * * The compact was made, and up to the present 
 time it has been religiously kept. But this year, 
 as the day drew near, found the managers very 
 uneasy. They did what they could. They for- 
 warded the best man they had." 
 
 "What happened.?" asked Andrew, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "The devil sent him back," said the president 
 
246 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was one Sunday forenoon, on such a sunny 
 day as slovenly men seize upon to wash their 
 feet and have it over, that Andrew set out to call 
 on Mr. Labouchere. 
 
 The leaves in the squares were green, and the 
 twittering of the birds among the boughs was 
 almost gay enough to charm him out of the 
 severity of countenance which a Scotchman wears 
 on a Sunday with his blacks. 
 
 Andrew could not help regarding the mother- 
 of-pearl sky as a favorable omen. Several times 
 he caught himself becoming light-hearted. 
 
 He got the great Radical on the door-step, just 
 setting out for church. 
 
 The two men had not met before, but Andrew 
 was a disciple in the school in which the other 
 taught. 
 
 Between man and man formal introductions are 
 humbugs. 
 
 Andrew explained in a few words the nature of 
 his visit, and received a cordial welcome. 
 
 *'But I could call again," he said, observing the 
 hymn-book in the other's hand. 
 
 ''Nonsense," said Mr. Labouchere, heartily; 
 
BETTER DEAD. 247 
 
 **it must be business before pleasure. Mind the 
 step." 
 
 So saying, he led his visitor into a cheerful 
 snuggery at the back of the house. It was fur- 
 nished with a careful contempt for taste, and the 
 first thing that caught Andrew's eye was a pot of 
 apple-jam on a side-table. 
 
 ''I have no gum," Mr. Labouchere explained 
 hastily. 
 
 A handsomely framed picture, representing 
 Truth lying drowned at the bottom of a well, 
 stood on the mantelpiece ; indeed, there were 
 many things in the room that, on another occa- 
 sion, Andrew would have been interested to hear 
 the history of 
 
 He could not but know, however, that at 
 present he was to some extent an intruder, and 
 until he had fully explained his somewhat delicate 
 business he would not feel at ease. 
 
 Though argumentative, Andrew was essentially 
 a shy, proud man. 
 
 It was very like Mr. Labouchere to leave him 
 to tell his story in his own way, only now and 
 then, at the outset, interjecting a humorous 
 remark, which we here omit. 
 
 "I hope," said Andrew, earnestly, ''that you 
 will not think it fulsome on my part to say how 
 much I like you. In your public utterances you 
 have let it be known what value you set on pretty 
 phrases ; but I speak the blunt truth, as you have 
 
248 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 taught it. I am only a young man, perhaps 
 awkward and unpolished " 
 
 Here Andrew paused, but as Mr. Labouchere 
 did not say anything he resumed : 
 
 ' ' That as it may be, I should like you to know 
 that your political speeches have become part of 
 my life. When I was a student, it seemed to me 
 that the Radicalism of so-called advanced thinkers 
 was a half hearted sham ; I had no interest in 
 politics at all until I read your attack — one of 
 them — on the House of Lords. That day marked 
 an epoch in my life; I used to read the university 
 library copy of Truth from cover to cover. Some- 
 times I carried it into the class-room. That was 
 not allowed. I took it up my waistcoat. In 
 those days I said that if I wrote a book I would 
 dedicate it to you without permission ; and Lon- 
 don, when I came to it, was to me the town 
 where you lived. " 
 
 There was a great deal of truth in this ; indeed, 
 Mr. Labouchere's single-hearted enthusiasm — be 
 his politics right or wrong — is well calculated to 
 fascinate young men. 
 
 If it was slightly overcharged, the temptation 
 was great. Andrew was keenly desirous of car- 
 rying his point, and he wanted his host to see 
 that he was only thinking of his good. 
 
 ''Well, but what is it you would have me do ? " 
 asked Mr. Labouchere, who often had claimants 
 on his bounty and his autographs. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 249 
 
 ** I want you," said Andrew, eagerly, **to 
 die." 
 
 The two men looked hard at each other. There 
 was not even a clock in the room to break the 
 silence. At last the statesman spoke. 
 
 ''Why.? "he asked. 
 
 His visitor sank back in his chair, relieved. 
 
 He had put all his hopes in the other's common 
 sense. 
 
 It had never failed Mr. Labouchere, and now it 
 promised not to fail Andrew. 
 
 ''I am anxious to explain that," the young- 
 man said glibly. '*If you can look at yourself 
 with the same eyes with which you see other 
 people, it won't take long. Make a looking-glass 
 of me, and it is done. 
 
 *' You have now reached a high position in the 
 worlds of politics and literature, to which you 
 have cut your way unaided. 
 
 "You are a great satirist, combining instruction 
 with amusement, a sort of comic Carlyle. 
 
 "You hate shams so much that if man had 
 been constructed for it I dare say you would kick 
 at yourself. 
 
 "You have your enemies, but the very persons 
 who blunt their weapons on you do you the 
 honor of sharpening them on Truth. In short, 
 you have reached the summit of your fame, and 
 you are too keen a man of the world not to know 
 that fame is a touch-and-go thing." 
 
250 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Andrew paused. 
 
 * ' Go on, " said Mr. Labouchere. 
 
 ''Well, you have now got fame, honor, every- 
 thing for which it is legitimate in man to strive. 
 
 "So far back as I can remember, you have had 
 the world laughing with you. But you know 
 what human nature is. 
 
 "There comes a morning to all wits, when 
 their public wakes to find them bores. The fault 
 may not be the wit's, but what of that ? The 
 result is the same. 
 
 *' Wits are like theatres : they may have a 
 glorious youth and prime, but their old age is 
 dismal. To the outsider, like myself, signs are 
 not wanting — to continue the figure of speech — 
 that you have put on your last successful piece. 
 
 " Can you say candidly that your last Christmas 
 number was more than a reflection of its pred- 
 ecessors, or that your remarks this year on the 
 Derby Day took as they did the year before ? 
 
 "Surely the most incisive of our satirists will 
 not let himself degenerate into an illustration of 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer's theory that man repeats 
 himself, like history. 
 
 "Mr. Labouchere, sir, to those of us who have 
 grown up in your inspiration, it would indeed be 
 pitiful if this were so. " 
 
 Andrew's host turned nervously in his chair. 
 
 Probably he wished that he had gone to church 
 now. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 25 1 
 
 "You need not be alarmed," he said, with a 
 forced smile. 
 
 "You will die," cried Andrew, "before they 
 send you to the House of Lords ? " 
 
 " In which case the gain would be all to those 
 left behind." 
 
 "No," said Andrew, who now felt that he had 
 as good as gained the day ; ' ' there could not be 
 a greater mistake. 
 
 "Suppose it happened to-night, or even put it 
 off to the end of the week; see what would 
 follow. 
 
 "The ground you have lost so far is infinitesi- 
 mal. It would be forgotten in the general re- 
 gret. 
 
 "Think of the newspaper placards next morn- 
 ing, some of them perhaps edged with black ; the 
 leaders in every London paper and in all the 
 prominent provincial ones ; the six columns in 
 the Times ; the paragraphs in the World ; the 
 motion by Mr. Gladstone or Mr. Healy for the 
 adjournment of the House; the magazine articles ; 
 the promised memoirs ; the publication of post- 
 humous papers ; the resolution in the Northamp- 
 ton Town Council ; the statue in Hyde Park ! With 
 such a recompense, where would be the sacri- 
 fice?" 
 
 Mr. Labouchere rose and paced the room in 
 great mental agitation. 
 
 "Now look at the other side of the picture," 
 
252 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 said Andrew, rising and following him : " Truth 
 reduced to threepence, and then to a penny ; 
 yourself confused with Tracy Turnerelli or Martin 
 Tupper ; your friends running when you looked 
 like jesting ; the House emptying, the reporters 
 shutting their note-books, as you rose to speak ; 
 the great name of Labouchere become a synonym 
 for bore ! " 
 
 They presented a strange picture in that room, 
 its owner's face now a grayish-white, his suppli- 
 cant shaking with a passion that came out in 
 perspiration. 
 
 With a trembling hand Mr. Labouchere flung 
 open the window. The room was stifling. 
 
 There was a smell of new-mown hay in the air, 
 a gentle breeze tipped the well-trimmed hedge 
 with life, and the walks crackled in the heat. 
 
 But a stone's throw distant the sun was bathing 
 in the dimpled Thames. 
 
 There was a cawing of rooks among the tall 
 trees, and a church-bell tinkled in the ivy far 
 away across the river. 
 
 Mr. Labouchere was far away too. 
 
 He was a round-cheeked boy again, smothering 
 his kitten in his pinafore, prattling of Red Riding 
 Hood by his school-mistress' knee, and guddling 
 in the brook for minnows. 
 
 And now — and now ! 
 
 It was a beautiful world, and, ah, life is sweet 1 
 He pressed his fingers to his forehead. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 253 
 
 ** Leave me," he said hoarsely. 
 
 Andrew put his hand upon the shoulder of the 
 man he loved so well. 
 
 ** Be brave," he said ; "do it in whatever way 
 you prefer. A moment's suffering, and all will 
 be over. " 
 
 He spoke gently. There is always something 
 infinitely pathetic in the sight of a strong man in 
 pain. Mr. Labouchere turned upon him. 
 
 "Go," he cried, "or I will call the servants." 
 
 "You forget," said Andrew, "that I am your 
 guest. " 
 
 But his host only pointed to the door. 
 
 Andrew felt a great sinking at his heart. They 
 prate who say it is success that tries a man. He 
 flung himself at Mr. Labouchere's feet. 
 
 " Think of the public funeral," he cried. 
 
 His host seized the bell-rope and pulled it vio- 
 lently. 
 
 "If you will do it," said Andrew, solemnly. 
 "I promise to lay flowers on your grave every 
 day till I die." 
 
 " John," said Mr. Labouchere, " show this gen- 
 tleman out." 
 
 Andrew rose. 
 
 "You refuse? " he asked. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " You won't think it over ? If I call again, say 
 on Thursday " 
 
 "John I " said Mr. Labouchere. 
 
254 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Andrew took up his hat. His host thought he 
 had gone. But in the hall his reflection in a look- 
 ing-glass reminded the visitor of something. He 
 put his head in at the doorway again. 
 
 ** Would you mind telling me," he said, 
 *' whether you see anything peculiar about my 
 neck ? " 
 
 **It seems a good neck to twist," Mr. Labou- 
 chere answered, a little savagely. 
 
 Andrew then withdrew. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 This unexpected rebuff from Mr. Labouchere 
 rankled for many days in Andrew's mind. Had 
 he been proposing for the great statesman's hand, 
 he could not have felt it more. Perhaps he did 
 not make sufficient allowance for Mr. Labou- 
 chere ; it is always so easy to advise. 
 
 But to rage at a man (or woman) is the proof 
 that we can adore them ; it is only his loved ones 
 who infuriate a Scotchman. 
 
 There were moments when Andrew said to him- 
 self that he had nothing more to live for. 
 
 Then he would upbraid himself for having gone 
 about it too hurriedly, and in bitter self-contempt 
 strike his hand on the railings as he rushed by. 
 
 Work is the sovereign remedy for this unhealthy 
 state of mind, and fortunately Andrew had a 
 great deal to do. 
 
 Gradually the wound healed, and he began to 
 take an interest in Lord Randolph Churchill. 
 
 Every day the Flying Scotchman shoots its 
 refuse of clever young men upon London who 
 are too ambitious to do anything. 
 
 Andrew wa$ not one of these. 
 
2S6 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Seeking to carry off one of the greatest prizes 
 in his profession, he had aimed too high for a 
 beginner. 
 
 When he realized this he apprenticed himself, 
 so to speak, to the president, determined to acquire 
 a practical knowledge of his art in all its branches. 
 Though a very young man, he had still much to 
 learn. It was only in his leisure moments that 
 he gave way to dreams over a magnum opus. 
 
 But when he did set about it, which must be 
 before his period of probation closed, he had 
 made up his mind to be thorough. 
 
 The months thus passed quietly but not un- 
 profitably in assisting the president, acquainting 
 himself with the favorite resorts of interesting 
 persons and composing his thesis. 
 
 At intervals the monotony was relieved by 
 more strictly society work. On these occasions 
 he played a part not dissimilar to that of a junior 
 counsel. 
 
 The president found him invaluable in his raid 
 on the gentlemen with umbrellas who read news- 
 papers in the streets. 
 
 It was Andrew — though he never got the credit 
 of it — who put his senior in possession of the nec- 
 essary particulars about the comic writers whose 
 subject is teetotalism and spinsters. 
 
 He was unwearying, indeed, in his efforts with 
 regard to the comic journals generally, and the 
 first man of any note that he disposed of was 
 
BETTER DEAD. 257 
 
 Punch* s favorite artist on Scotch matters. This 
 was in an alley off Fleet Street. 
 
 Andrew took a new interest in the House of 
 Lords, and had a magnificent scheme for ending 
 it in half an hour. 
 
 As the members could never be got together in 
 any number, this fell through. 
 
 Lord Brabourne will remember the young man 
 in a straw hat, with his neck covered up, who at- 
 tended the House so regularly when it was 
 announced that he was to speak. That was 
 Andrew. 
 
 It was he who excitedly asked the Black Rod 
 to point out Lord Sherbrooke, when it was inti- 
 mated that this peer was preparing a volume of 
 poems for the press. 
 
 In a month's time Andrew knew the likeliest 
 places to meet these and other noble lords alone. 
 
 The publishing offices of England, the only 
 Conservative newspaper, had a fascination for 
 him. 
 
 He got to know Mr. Ashmead Bartletf s hours 
 of calling, until the sight of him on the pavement 
 was accepted as a token that the proprietor was 
 inside. 
 
 They generally reached the House of Com- 
 mons about the same time. 
 
 Here Andrew's interest was discriminated 
 among quite a number of members. Mr. Brad- 
 laugh, Mr. Sexton, and Mr. Majoribanks, the re- 
 17 
 
258 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 spected member for Berwickshire, were perhaps 
 his favorites ; but the one he dwelt wuth most 
 pride on was Lord Randolph Churchill. 
 
 One night he gloated so long over Sir George 
 Trevelyan leaning over Westminster Bridge that 
 in the end he missed him. 
 
 When Andrew made up his mind to have a man 
 he got to like him. This was his danger. 
 
 With press tickets, which he got very cheap, 
 he often looked in at the theatres to acquaint him- 
 self with the faces and figures of the constant 
 frequenters. 
 
 He drew capital pencil sketches of the leading 
 critics in his note-book. 
 
 The gentleman next him that night at "Man- 
 teaux Noirs " would not have laughed so heartily 
 if he had known why Andrew listened for his 
 address to the cabman. 
 
 The young Scotchman resented people's merri- 
 ment over nothing ; sometimes he took the under- 
 ground railway just to catch clerks at Tit-hits. 
 
 One afternoon he saw some way in front of 
 him in Piccadilly a man with a young head on 
 old shoulders. 
 
 Andrew recognized him by the swing of his 
 stick ; he could have identified his plaid among a 
 hundred thousand morning coats. It was John 
 Stewart Blackie, his favorite professor. 
 
 Since the young man graduated, his old precep- 
 tor had resigned his chair, and was now devoting 
 
BETTER DEAD. 259 
 
 his time to writing sonnets to himself in the 
 Scotch newspapers. 
 
 Andrew could not bear to think of it, and 
 quickened his pace to catch him up. But Blackie 
 was in great form, humming "Scots wha hae." 
 With head thrown back, staff revolving, and chest 
 inflated, he sang himself into a martial ecstasy, 
 and, drumming cheerily on the doors with his 
 fist, strutted along like a band of bag-pipers with 
 clan behind him, until he had played himself out 
 of Andrew's sight. 
 
 Far be it from our intention to maintain that 
 Andrew was invariably successful. That is not 
 given to any man. 
 
 Sometimes his hands slipped. 
 
 Had he learned the piano in his younger days 
 this might not have happened. But it he had 
 been a pianist the president would probably have 
 wiped him out — and very rightly. There can be 
 no doubt about male pianists. 
 
 Nor was the fault always Andrew's. When the 
 society was founded, many far-seeing men had got 
 wind of it, and had themselves elected honorary 
 members before the committee realized what they 
 were after. 
 
 This was a sore subject with the president ; 
 he shunned discussing it, and thus Andrew had 
 frequently to discontinue cases after he was well 
 on with them. 
 
 In this way inuch time was lost. 
 
26o BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Andrew was privately thanked by the com- 
 mittee for one suggestion, which, for all he knows, 
 may yet be carried out. The president had a 
 wide interest in the press, and on one occasion 
 he remarked to Andrew : 
 
 "Think of the snobs and the prigs who would 
 be saved if the Saturday Review and the Spectator 
 could be induced to cease publication ! " 
 
 Andrew thought it out, and then produced his 
 scheme. 
 
 The battle of the clans on the North Inch of 
 Perth had always seemed to him a master-stroke 
 of diplomacy. 
 
 ''Why," he said to the president, ''not set the 
 Saturday's staff against the Spectator's ? If about 
 equally matched, they might exterminate each 
 other." 
 
 So his days of probation passed, and the time 
 drew nigh for Andrew to show what stuff was 
 in him. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 261 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Andrew had set apart July 31st for killing Lord 
 Randolph Churchill. 
 
 As his term of probation was up in the second 
 week of August, this would leave him nearly a 
 fortnight to finish his thesis in. 
 
 On the 30th he bought a knife in Holborn suit- 
 able for his purpose. It had been his original 
 intention to use an electric rifle, but those he was 
 shown were too cumbrous for use in the streets. 
 
 The eminent statesman was residing at this 
 time at the Grand Hotel, and Andrew thought to 
 get him somewhere between Trafalgar Square and 
 the House. Taking up his position in a window 
 of Morley's Hotel at an early hour, he set him- 
 self to watch the windows opposite. The plan 
 of the Grand was well known to him, for he had 
 frequently made use of it as overlooking the 
 National Liberal Club, whose membership he had 
 already slightly reduced. 
 
 Turning his eyes to the private sitting-rooms, 
 he soon discovered Lord Randolph busily writing 
 in one of them. 
 
 Andrew had lunch at Morley's, so that he might 
 
26? BETTER DEAD, 
 
 be prepared for any emergency. Lord Randolph 
 wrote on doggedly through the forenoon, and 
 Andrew hoped he would finish what he was at 
 in case this might be his last chance. 
 
 It rained all through the afternoon. The thick 
 drizzle seemed to double the width of the street, 
 and even to Andrew's strained eyes the shadow 
 in the room opposite was obscured. 
 
 His eyes wandered from the window to the 
 hotel entrance, and as cab after cab rattled from 
 it he became uneasy. 
 
 In ordinary circumstances he could have picked 
 his man out anywhere, but in rain all men look 
 alike. He could have dashed across the street 
 and rushed from room to room of the Grand Hotel. 
 
 His self-restraint was rewarded. 
 
 Late in the afternoon Lord Randolph came to 
 the window. The flashing water-proofs and 
 scurrying umbrellas were a surprise to him, and 
 he knitted his brows in annoyance. 
 
 By and by his face was convulsed with 
 laughter. 
 
 He drew a chair to the window and stood on 
 it, that he might have a better view of the pave- 
 ment beneath. 
 
 For some twenty minutes he remained there 
 smacking his thighs, his shoulders heaving with 
 glee. 
 
 Andrew could not see what it was, but he 
 formulated a theory. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 263 
 
 Heavy blobs of rain that had gathered on the 
 window sill slowly released their hold from time 
 to time and fell with a plump on the hats of 
 passers-by. Lord Randolph was watching them. 
 
 Just as they were letting go he shook the 
 window to make the wayfarers look up. They 
 got the rain-drops full in the face, and then he 
 screamed. 
 
 About six o'clock Andrew paid his bill hur- 
 riedly and ran downstairs. Lord Randolph had 
 come to the window in his great-coat. His fol- 
 lower waited for him outside. It was possible 
 that he would take a hansom and drive straight 
 to the House, but Andrew had reasons for think- 
 ing this unlikely. The rain had somewhat 
 abated. Lord Randolph came out, put up his 
 umbrella, and, glancing at the sky for a moment, 
 set off briskly up St. Martin's Lane. 
 
 Andrew knew that he would not linger here, 
 for they had done St. Martin's Lane already. 
 
 Lord Randolph's movements these last days 
 had excited the Scotchman's curiosity. He had 
 been doing the London streets systematically 
 during his unoccupied afternoons. But it was 
 difficult to discover what he was after. 
 
 It was the tobacconist's shops that attracted him. 
 
 He did not enter, only stood at the windows 
 counting something. 
 
 He jotted down the result on a piece of paper 
 and then sped on to the next shop. 
 
264 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 In this way, with Andrew at his heels, he had 
 done the whole of the W. C. district, St. James', 
 Oxford Street, Piccadilly, Bond Street, and the 
 Burlington Arcade. 
 
 On this occasion he took the small thorough- 
 fares lying between upper Regent Street and Tot- 
 tenham Court Road. Beginning in Great Titch- 
 field Street he went from tobacconist's to tobac- 
 conist's, sometimes smiling to himself, at other 
 times frowning. Andrew scrutinized the windows 
 as he left them, but could make nothing of it. 
 
 Not for the first time he felt that there could be 
 no murder to-night unless he saw the paper first. 
 
 Lord Randolph devoted an hour to this work. 
 Then he hailed a cab. 
 
 Andrew expected this. But the statesman still 
 held the paper loosely in his hand. 
 
 It was a temptation. 
 
 Andrew bounded forward as if to open the cab 
 door, pounced upon the paper and disappeared 
 with it up an alley. After five minutes' dread lest 
 he might be pursued, he struck a match and 
 read : 
 
 "Great Titchfield Street— Branscombe 15, 
 Churchill 11, Langtry 8, Gladstone 4. 
 
 *' Mortimer Street — Langtry 11, Branscombe 9, 
 Gladstone 6, Mary Anderson 6, Churchill 3. 
 
 ''Margaret Street — Churchill 7, Anderson 6, 
 Branscombe 5, Gladstone 4, Chamberlain 4. 
 
 ''Smaller streets — Churchill 14, Branscombe 13, 
 
BETTER DEAD. 265 
 
 Gladstone 9, Langtry 9. Totals for to-day : 
 Churchill 35, Langtry 28, Gladstone 23, Brans- 
 combe 42, Anderson 12, Chamberlain nowhere." 
 Then followed, as if in a burst of passion, 
 **Branscombe still leading — confound her." 
 
 Andrew saw that Lord Randolph had been 
 calculating fame from Vesta boxes. 
 
 For a moment this discovery sent Andrew's 
 mind wandering. Miss Branscombe's photo- 
 graphs obstructed the traffic. Should not this be 
 put a stop to ? Ah, but she was a woman ! 
 
 This recalled him to himself. Lord Randolph 
 had departed, probably for St. Stephen's. 
 
 Andrew jumped into a hansom. He felt like 
 an exotic in a glass frame. 
 
 "The House," he said. 
 
 What a pity his mother could not have seen 
 him then ! 
 
 Perhaps Andrew was prejudiced. Undoubtedly, 
 he was in a mood to be easily pleased. 
 
 In his opinion, at any rate, Lord Randolph's 
 speech that night on the Irish question was the 
 best he ever delivered. 
 
 It came on late in the evening, and he stuck to 
 his text like a clergyman. He quoted from 
 Hansard to prove that Mr. Gladstone did not 
 know what he was talking about ; he blazed out 
 against the Parnellites till they were called to 
 order. The ironical members who cried ''Hear! 
 hear ! " regretted it. 
 
266 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 He had never been wittier, never more con- 
 vincing, never so magnificently vituperative. 
 
 Andrew was lifted out of himself. He jumped 
 in ecstasy to his feet. It was he who led the 
 applause. 
 
 He felt that this was a worthy close to a brill- 
 iant career. 
 
 We oldsters looking on more coolly could have 
 seen where the speech was lacking, so far as 
 Andrew was concerned. It is well known that 
 when a great man, of whom there will be biog- 
 raphers, is to die a violent death, his last utter- 
 ances are strangely significant, as if he foresaw 
 his end. 
 
 There was nothing of this in Lord Randolph's 
 speech. 
 
 The House was thinning when the noble lord 
 rose to go. Andrew joined him at the gate. 
 
 The Scotchman's nervous elation had all gone. 
 A momentary thrill passed through his veins as 
 he remembered that in all probability they would 
 never be together again. After that he was quite 
 calm. 
 
 The night was black. 
 
 The rain had ceased, but for an occasional 
 drop shaken out of a shivering star. 
 
 But for a few cabs rolling off with politicians, 
 Whitehall was deserted. 
 
 The very tax-collectors seemed to have got to 
 bed. 
 
BETTER DEAD. 267 
 
 Lord Randolph shook hands with two or three 
 other members homeward bound, walked a short 
 distance with one of them, and then set off to- 
 ward his hotel alone. 
 
 His pace was leisurely, as that of a man in 
 profound thought. 
 
 There was no time to be lost ; but Andrew 
 dallied. 
 
 Once he crept up and could have done it. He 
 thought he would give him another minute. 
 
 There was a footstep behind, and he fell back. 
 
 It was Sir William Harcourt. Lord Randolph 
 heard him, and, seeing who it was, increased 
 his pace. 
 
 The illustrious Liberal slackened at the same 
 moment. 
 
 Andrew bit his lip and hurried on. 
 
 Some time was lost in getting round Sir Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 He was advancing in strides now. 
 
 Lord Randolph saw that he was pursued. 
 
 When Andrew began to run, he ran too. 
 
 There were not ten yards between them at 
 Whitehall Place. 
 
 A large man turning the comer of Great Scot- 
 land Yard fell against Andrew. He was wheeled 
 aside, but Mr. Chaplin had saved a colleague's 
 life. 
 
 With a cry Andrew bounded on, his knife glis- 
 tening. 
 
268 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Trafalgar Square was a black mass. 
 
 Lord Randolph took Northumberland Avenue 
 in four steps, Andrew almost on the top of him. 
 
 As he burst through the door of the Grand 
 Hotel, his pursuer made one tremendous leap, 
 and his knife, catching Lord Randolph in the 
 heel, carried away his shoe. 
 
 Andrew's face had struck the steps. 
 
 He heard the word ** Fenian." 
 
 There was a rushing to and fro of lights. 
 
 Springing to his feet, he thrust the shoe into 
 his pocket and went home. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 269 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Tie this muffler round your neck." 
 
 It was the president who spoke. Andrew held 
 his thesis in his hand. 
 
 "But the rooms are so close," he said. 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it," said the 
 president. The blood rushed to his head, and 
 then left him pale. 
 
 " But why } " asked Andrew. 
 
 *'For God's sake, do as I bid you," said his 
 companion, pulling himself by a great effort to 
 the other side of the room. 
 
 " You have done it ? " he asked, carefully avoid- 
 ing Andrew's face. 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "Then we can go in to the others. Remem- 
 ber what I told you about omitting the first seven 
 pages. The society won't stand introductory 
 remarks in a thesis. " 
 
 The committee were assembled in the next 
 room. 
 
 When the young Scotchman entered with the 
 president, they looked him full in the neck. 
 
 " He is suffering from cold," the president said. 
 
270 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 No one replied, but angry eyes were turned on 
 the speaker. He somewhat nervously placed 
 his young friend in a bad light, with a table be- 
 tween him and his hearers. 
 
 Then Andrew began. 
 
 ''The Society for Doing Without," he read, 
 ''has been tried and found wanting. It has now 
 been in existence for some years, and its mem- 
 bers have worked zealously, though unostenta- 
 tiously. 
 
 "I am far from saying a word against them. 
 They are patriots as true as ever petitioned 
 against the Channel Tunnel." 
 
 "No compliments," whispered the president, 
 warningly. Andrew hastily turned a page, and 
 continued : 
 
 "But what have they done? Removed an in- 
 dividual here and there. That is the extent of it. 
 
 " You have been pursuing a half-hearted policy. 
 You might go on for centuries at this rate before 
 you made any perceptible difference in the 
 streets. 
 
 "Have you ever seen a farmer thinning tur- 
 nips ? Gentlemen, there is an example for you. 
 My proposal is that everybody .should have to 
 die on reaching the age of forty-five years. 
 
 " It has been the wish of this society to avoid 
 the prejudices engendered of party strife. But 
 though you are a social rather than a political 
 organization, you cannot escape politics. You 
 
BETTER DEAD. 271 
 
 do not call yourselves Radicals, but you work 
 for Radicalism. What is Radicalism ? It is a 
 desire to get a chance. This is an aspiration in- 
 herent in the human breast. It is felt most keenly 
 by the poor. 
 
 '* Make the poor rich, and the hovels, the mis- 
 ery, the immorality, and the crime of the East 
 End disappear. It is infamous, say the socialists, 
 that this is not done at once. Yes, but how is it 
 to be done ? Not, as they hold, by making the 
 classes and the masses change places. Not on 
 the lines on which the society has hitherto worked. 
 There is only one way, and I make it my text to- 
 night. Fortunately, it presents no considerable 
 difficulties. 
 
 "It is well known in medicine that the sim- 
 plest — in other words, the most natural — reme- 
 dies may be the most efficacious. 
 
 '' So it is in the social life. What shall we do, 
 society asks, with our boys.? I reply. Kill off the 
 parents. 
 
 "There can be little doubt that forty-five years 
 is long enough for a man to live. Parents must 
 see that. Youth is the time to have your fling. 
 
 " Let us see how this plan would revolutionize 
 the world. It would make statesmen hurry up. 
 At present, they are nearly fifty before you hear 
 of them. How can we expect the country to be 
 properly governed by men in their dotage ? 
 
 "Again, take the world of letters. Why does 
 
272 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 the literary aspirant have such a struggle ? Sim- 
 ply because the profession is overstocked with 
 seniors. I would like to know what Tennyson's 
 age is, and Ruskin's, and Browning's. Every one 
 of them is over seventy, and all writing away yet 
 as lively as you like. It is a crying scandal. 
 
 ** Things are the same in medicine, art, div- 
 inity, law — in short, in every profession and in 
 every trade. 
 
 "■ Young ladies cry out that this is not a marry- 
 ing age. How can it be a marrying age, with 
 gray-headed parents everywhere.? Give young 
 men their chance, and they will marry younger 
 than ever, if only to see their children grown up 
 before they die. 
 
 ''A word in conclusion. Looking around me, 
 I cannot but see that most, if not all, of my hear- 
 ers have passed what should plainly be the allot- 
 ted span of life to man. You would have to go. 
 
 ''But, gentlemen, you w^ould do so feeling that 
 you were setting a noble example. Younger, 
 and — may I say .? — more energetic men would fill 
 your places and carry on your work. You would 
 hardly be missed." 
 
 Andrew rolled up his thesis blandly, and strode 
 into the next room to await the committee's de- 
 cision. It cannot be said that he felt the slight- 
 est uneasiness. 
 
 The president followed, shutting the door be- 
 hind him. 
 
BETTER DEAD, 273 
 
 "You have just two minutes," he said. 
 
 Andrew could not understand it. 
 
 His hat was crushed on to his head, his coat 
 flung at him, he was pushed out at a window, 
 squeezed through a grating, and tumbled into a 
 passage. 
 
 **What is the matter? " he asked, as the presi- 
 dent dragged him down a back street. 
 
 The president pointed to the window they had 
 just left. 
 
 Half a dozen infuriated men were climbing 
 from it in pursuit. Their faces, drunk with rage, 
 awoke Andrew to a sense of his danger. 
 
 "They were drawing lots for you when I left 
 the room," said the president. 
 
 '* But what have I done ? " gasped Andrew. 
 
 *'They didn't like your thesis. At least, they 
 make that their excuse." 
 
 "Excuse?" 
 
 "Yes ; it was really your neck that did it." 
 
 By this time they were in a cab, rattling into 
 Gray's Inn Road. 
 
 "They are a poor lot," said Andrew, fiercely, 
 " if they couldn't keep their heads over my neck. " 
 
 "They are only human," retorted the presi- 
 dent. " For Heaven's sake, pull up the collar of 
 your coat. " 
 
 His fingers were itching, but Andrew did not 
 
 notice it. 
 
 "Where are we going?" he asked. 
 18 
 
274 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 '' To King's Cross. The midnight express 
 leaves in twenty minutes. It is your last chance. " 
 
 Andrew was in a daze. When the president had 
 taken his ticket for Glasgow he was still groping. 
 
 The railway officials probably thought him on 
 his honeymoon. 
 
 They sauntered along the platform beyond the 
 lights. 
 
 Andrew, who was very hot, unloosened his 
 great- coat. 
 
 In a moment a great change came over his 
 companion. All the humanity went from his 
 face, his whole figure shook, and it was only by 
 a tremendous effort that he chained his hands to 
 his sides. 
 
 **Your neck," he cried; "cover it up.*' 
 
 Andrew did not understand. He looked about 
 him for the committee. 
 
 *' There are none of them here, "he said feebly. 
 
 The president had tried to warn him. 
 
 Now he gave way. 
 
 The devil that was in him leaped at Andrew's 
 throat. 
 
 The young Scotchman was knocked into a 
 goods wagon, with the president twisted round 
 him. 
 
 At that moment there was heard the whistle of 
 the Scotch express. 
 
 ** Your blood be on your own head," cried the 
 president, yielding completely to temptation. 
 
BETTER DEAD. ^7$ 
 
 His fingers met round the young man's neck. 
 
 ''My God!" he murmured, in a delirious ec- 
 stasy, "what a neck, what a neck ! " 
 
 Just then his foot slipped. 
 
 He fell. Andrew jumped up and kicked him 
 as hard as he could three times. 
 
 Then he leaped to the platform, and, flinging 
 himself into the moving train, fell exhausted on 
 the seat. 
 
 Andrew never thought so much of the presi- 
 dent again. You cannot respect a man and kick 
 him. 
 
276 BETTER DEAD, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The first thing Andrew did on reaching Wheens 
 was to write to his London landlady to send on 
 his box with clothes by goods train ; also his to- 
 bacco pouch, which he had left on the mantel- 
 piece, and two pencils which she would find in 
 the tea-caddy. 
 
 Then he went round to the manse. 
 
 The minister had great news for him. 
 
 The master of the Wheens Grammer School had 
 died. Andrew had only to send in his testimo- 
 nials, and the post was his. 
 
 The salary was ^"200 per annum, with an assist- 
 ant and the privilege of calling himself rector. 
 
 This settled, Andrew asked for Clarrie. He 
 was humbler now than he had been, and in our 
 disappointments we turn to woman for solace. 
 
 Clarrie had been working socks for him, and 
 would have had them finished by this time had 
 she known how to turn the heel. 
 
 It is his sweetheart a man should be particular 
 about. Once he settles down it does not much 
 matter whom he marries. 
 
 All this and much more the good old minister 
 
BETTER DEAD. 277 
 
 pointed out to Andrew. Then he left Clarrie and 
 her lover together. 
 
 The winsome girl held one of the socks on her 
 knee — who will chide her ? — and a tear glistened 
 in her eye. 
 
 Andrew was a good deal afifected. 
 
 "Clarrie," he said softly, *'will you be my 
 wife?" 
 
 She clung to him in reply. He kissed her 
 fondly. 
 
 "Clarrie, beloved," he said nervously, after a 
 long pause, " how much are seven and thirteen ? " 
 
 "Twenty- three," said Clarrie, putting up her 
 mouth to his. 
 
 Andrew laughed a sad, vacant laugh. 
 
 He felt that he would never understand a 
 woman. But his fingers wandered through her 
 tobacco-colored hair. 
 
 He had a strange notion. 
 
 "Put your arms round my neck," he whispered. 
 
 Thus the old, old story was told once more. 
 
 A month afterward the president of the Society 
 for Doing Without received by post a box of bride- 
 cake, adorned with the silver gilt v/hich is also 
 largely used for coffins. 
 
 ****** 
 
 More than two years have passed since An- 
 drew's marriage, and already the minister has two 
 sweet grandchildren, in whom he renews his 
 youth. 
 
278 BETTER DEAD. 
 
 Except during schoolhours their parents' mar- 
 ried life is one long honey-moon. 
 
 Clarrie has put Lord Randolph Churchill's shoe 
 into a glass case on the piano, and, as is only- 
 natural, Andrew is now a staunch Conservative. 
 
 Domesticated and repentant, he has renounced 
 the devil and all her works. 
 
 Sometimes, when thinking of the past, the bab- 
 ble of his lovely babies jars upon him, and, still half- 
 dreaming, he brings their heads close together. 
 
 At such a time all the anxious mother has to 
 say is : 
 
 * 'Andrew ! " 
 
 Then with a start he lays them gently in a heap 
 on the floor, and, striding the room, soon regains 
 his composure. 
 
 For Andrew has told Clarrie all the indiscre- 
 tions of his life in London, and she has forgiven 
 everything. 
 
 Ah, what will not a wife forgive ! 
 
PENCIL PORTRAITS FROM 
 COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 I. 
 
 LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 The first time I ever saw Lord Rosebery was in 
 Edinburgh when I was a student, and I flung a clod 
 of earth at him. He was a peer; those were my 
 politics. 
 
 I missed him, and I have heard a good many 
 journalists say since then that he is a difficult man 
 to hit. One who began by liking him and is now 
 scornful, which is just the reverse process from mine, 
 told me the reason why. He had some brochures to 
 write on the Liberal leaders, and got on nicely till he 
 reached Lord Rosebery, where he stuck. In vain 
 he walked round his lordship, looking for an open- 
 ing. The man was naturally indignant ; he is the 
 father of a family. 
 
 Lord Rosebery is forty-one years of age, and has 
 missed many opportunities of becoming the bosom 
 
 279 
 
28o LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 friend of Lord Randolph Churchill. They were at 
 Eton together and at Oxford, and have met since. 
 As a boy, the Liberal played at horses, and the Tory 
 at running off with other boys' caps. Lord Ran- 
 dolph was the more distinguished at the university. 
 One day a proctor ran him down in the streets 
 smoking in his cap and gown. The undergraduate 
 remarked on the changeability of the weather, but 
 the proctor, gasping at such bravado, demanded his 
 name and college. Lord Randolph failed to turn up 
 next day at St. Edmund Hall to be lectured, but 
 strolled to the proctor's house about dinner-time. 
 " Does a fellow, name of Moore, live here ? " he 
 asked. The footman contrived not to faint. " He 
 do," he replied severely; *'but he are at dinner." 
 " Ah ! take him in my card," said the unabashed 
 caller. The Merton books tell that for this the 
 noble lord was fined ten pounds. 
 
 There was a time when Lord Rosebery would 
 have reformed the House of Lords to a site nearer 
 Newmarket. As politics took a firmer grip of him, 
 it was Newmarket that seemed a long way off. One 
 day at Edinburgh he realized the disadvantage of 
 owning swift horses. His brougham had met him 
 at Waverley Station to take him to Dalmeny. Lord 
 Roseberry opened the door of the carriage to put in 
 some papers, and then turned away. The coach- 
 man, too well bred to look round, heard the door 
 shut, and, thinking that his master was inside, set 
 off at once. Pursuit was attempted, but what was 
 
LORD ROSEBERY. 281 
 
 there in Edinburgh streets to make up on those 
 horses ! The coachman drove seven miles, until he 
 reached a point in the Dalmeny parks where it was 
 his lordship's custom to alight and open a gate. 
 Here the brougham stood for some minutes, await- 
 ing Lord Rosebery's convenience. At last the 
 coachman became uneasy and dismounted. His 
 brain reeled when he saw an empty brougham. He 
 could have sworn to seeing his lordship enter. There 
 were his papers. What had happened? With a 
 quaking hand the horses were turned, and, driving 
 back, the coachman looked fearfully along the sides 
 of the road. He met Lord Rosebery travelling in 
 great good humor by the luggage omnibus. 
 
 Whatever is to be Lord Rosebery's future, he has 
 reached that stage in a statesman's career when his 
 opponents cease to question his capacity. His 
 speeches showed him long ago a man of brilliant 
 parts. His tenure of the Foreign Office proved him 
 heavy metal. Were the Gladstonians to return to 
 power, the other Cabinet posts might go anywhere, 
 but the Foreign Secretary is arranged for. Where 
 his predecessors had clouded their meaning in words 
 till it was as wrapped up as a Mussulman's head, 
 Lord Rosebery's were the straightforward de- 
 spatches of a man with his mind made up. German 
 influence was spoken of; Count Herbert Bis- 
 marck had been seen shooting Lord Roseberry's 
 partridges. This was the evidence : there has never 
 been any other, except that German methods com- 
 
282 LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 mended themselves to the minister rather than 
 those of France. His relations with the French 
 government were cordial. " The talk of Bismarck's 
 shadow behind Rosebery," a great French politi- 
 cian said lately, " I put aside with a smile ; but how 
 about the Jews ? " Probably few persons realize 
 what a power the Jews are in Europe, and in Lord 
 Rosebery's position he is a strong man if he holds 
 his own with them. Any fears on that ground have, 
 I should say, been laid by his record at the Foreign 
 Office. 
 
 Lord Rosebery had once a conversation with 
 Prince Bismarck, to which, owing to some oversight, 
 the Paris correspondent of the Times was not in- 
 vited. M. Blowitz only smiled good-naturedly, and 
 of course his report of the proceedings appeared all 
 the same. Some time afterward Lord Rosebery 
 was introduced to this remarkable man, who, as is 
 well known, carries Cabinet appointments in his 
 pocket, and complimented him on his report. " Ah, 
 it was all right, was it ? " asked Blowitz, beaming. 
 Lord Rosebery explained that any fault it had was 
 that it was all wrong. " Then if Bismarck did not 
 say that to you," said Blowitz, regally, " I know he 
 intended to say it." 
 
 The "Uncrowned King of Scotland" is a title 
 that has been made for Lord Rosebery, whose 
 country has had faith in him from the beginning. 
 Mr. Gladstone is the only other man who can make 
 so many Scotsmen take politics as if it were the 
 
LORD ROSEBERY. 283 
 
 Highland Fling. Once when Lord Rosebery was 
 firing an Edinburgh audience to the delirium point, 
 an old man in the hall shouted out, " I dinna hear a 
 word he says, but it's grand, it's grand ! " During 
 the first Midlothian campaign Mr. Gladstone and 
 Lord Rosebery were the father and son of the Scot- 
 tish people. Lord Rosebery rode into fame on the 
 top of that wave, and he has kept his place in the 
 hearts of the people, and in oleographs on their 
 walls, ever since. In all Scottish matters he has the 
 enthusiasm of a Burns dinner, and his humor en- 
 ables him to pay compliments. When he says 
 agreeable things to Scotsmen about their country, 
 there is a twinkle in his eye and in theirs to which 
 English scribes cannot give a meaning. He has 
 unveiled so many Burns statues that an American 
 lecturess explains : " Curious thing, but I feel some- 
 how I am connected with Lord Rosebery. I go to 
 a place and deliver a lecture on Burns ; they collect 
 subscriptions for a statue, and he unveils it." Such 
 is the delight of the Scottish students in Lord Rose- 
 bery that he may be said to have made the tri- 
 umphal tour of the northern universities as their lord- 
 rector ; he lost the post in Glasgow lately through a 
 quibble, but had the honor with the votes. His ad- 
 dress to the Edinburgh undergraduates on " Patriot- 
 ism " was the best thing he ever did outside politics, 
 and made the students his for life. Some of them 
 had smuggled into the hall a chair with "Gaelic 
 chair " placarded on it, and the lord-rector unwit- 
 
284 LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 tingly played into their hands. In a noble perora- 
 tion he exhorted his hearers to high aims in life. 
 " Raise your country," he exclaimed [cheers] ; 
 " raise yourselves [renewed cheering] ; raise your 
 university [thunders of applause]." From the back 
 of the hall came a solemn voice, " Raise the chair ! " 
 Up went the Gaelic chair. 
 
 Even Lord Rosebery's views on imperial federa- 
 tion can become a compliment to Scotland. Hav- 
 ing been all over the world himself, and felt how he 
 grew on his travels. Lord Rosebery maintains that 
 every British statesman should visit India and the 
 colonies. He said that first at a semi-public dinner 
 in the country — and here I may mention that on 
 such occasions he has begun his speeches less fre- 
 quently than any other prominent politician with a 
 statement that others could be got to discharge the 
 duty better ; in other words, he has several times 
 omitted this introduction. On his return to London 
 he was told that his colleagues in the Administration 
 had been seeing how his scheme would work out. 
 " We found that if your rule were enforced, the 
 Cabinet would consist of yourself and Childers." 
 " This would be an ideal Cabinet," Lord Rosebery 
 subsequently remarked in Edinburgh, "for it would 
 be entirely Scottish," Mr. Childers being member 
 for a Scottish constituency. 
 
 The present unhappy division of the Liberal party 
 has made enemies of friends for no leading man 
 so little as for Lord Rosebery. There are forces 
 
LORD ROSEBERY. 285 
 
 working against him, no doubt, in comparatively 
 high places, but the Unionists have kept their re- 
 spect for him. His views may be wrong, but he is 
 about the only Liberal leader, with the noble excep- 
 tion of Lord Hartington, of whom troublous times 
 have not rasped the temper. Though a great reader, 
 he is not a literary man like Mr. Morley, who would, 
 however, be making phrases where Lord Rosebery 
 would make laws. Sir William Harcourt has been 
 spoken of as a possible prime minister, but surely it 
 will never come to that. If Mr. Gladstone's succes- 
 sor is chosen from those who have followed him on 
 the home-rule question, he probably was not rash in 
 himself naming Lord Rosebery. 
 
 Lord Rosebery could not now step up without 
 stepping into the premiership. His humor, which is 
 his most obvious faculty, has been a prop to him 
 many a time ere now, but, if I was his adviser, I 
 should tell him that it has served its purpose. 
 There are a great many excellent people who shake 
 their heads over it in a man who has become a power 
 in the land. " Let us be grave," said Dr. Johnson 
 once to a merry companion, " for here comes a fool." 
 In an unknown novel there is a character who says 
 of himself that " he is not stupid enough ever to be 
 a great man." I happen to know that this reflection 
 was evolved by the author out of thinking over Lord 
 Rosebery. It is not easy for a bright man to be 
 heavy, and Lord Rosebery's humor is so sponta- 
 neous that if a joke is made in their company he 
 
286 LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 has always finished laughing before Lord Harting- 
 ton begins. Perhaps when Lord Rosebery is on 
 the point of letting his humor run off with him in a 
 public speech, he could recover his solemnity by 
 thinking of the Examiner, 
 
ir. 
 
 PROFESSOR MASSON. 
 
 Though a man might, to my mind, be better 
 employed than in going to college, it is his own fault 
 if he does not strike on some one there who sends 
 his life off at a new angle. If, as I take it, the 
 glory of a professor is to give elastic minds their 
 proper bent, Masson is a name his country will 
 retain a grip of. There are men who are good to 
 think of, and as a rule we only know them from 
 their books. Something of our pride in life would 
 go with their fall. To have one such professor at a 
 time is the most a university can hope of human 
 nature ; so Edinburgh need not expect another just 
 yet. These, of course, are only to be taken as the 
 reminiscences of a student. I seem to remember 
 everything Masson said, and the way he said it. 
 
 Having, immediately before taken lodgings in a 
 crow's nest, my first sight of Masson was specially 
 impressive. It was the opening of the session, 
 when fees were paid, and a whisper ran round the 
 quadrangle that Masson had set off home with three 
 hundred one-pound notes stuffed into his trouser 
 pockets. There was a solemn swell of awestruck 
 
 287 
 
288 PROFESSOR MASS OAT. 
 
 Students to the gates, and some of us could not help 
 following him. He took his pockets coolly. When 
 he stopped it was at a second-hand bookstall, 
 where he rummaged for a long time. Eventually he 
 pounced upon a dusty, draggled little volume, and 
 went off proudly with it beneath his arm. He 
 seemed to look suspiciously at strangers now, but it 
 was not the money but the book he was keeping 
 guard over. His pockets, however, were unmis- 
 takably bulging out. I resolved to go in for liter- 
 ature. 
 
 Masson, however, always comes to my memory 
 first knocking nails into his desk or trying to tear 
 the gas-bracket from its socket. He said that the 
 Danes scattered over England, taking such a hold 
 as a nail takes when it is driven into wood. For 
 the moment he saw his desk turned into England ; 
 he whirled an invisible hammer in the air, and 
 down it came on the desk with a crash. No one 
 who has sat under Masson can forget how the 
 Danes nailed themselves upon England. His desk 
 is thick with their tombstones. It was when his 
 mind groped for an image that he clutched the 
 bracket. He seemed to tear his good things out of 
 it. Silence overcame the class. Some were fasci- 
 nated by the man ; others trembled for the bracket. 
 It shook, groaned, and yielded. Masson said an- 
 other of the things that made his lectures literature ; 
 the crisis was passed; and everybody breathed 
 again. 
 
PROfi'ESSOR MASSOJ^. 289 
 
 He masters a subject by letting it master him ; 
 for though his critical reputation is built on honesty, 
 it is his enthusiasm that makes his work warm with 
 life. Sometimes he entered the class-room so full 
 of what he had to say that he began before he 
 reached his desk. If he was in the middle of a 
 peroration when the bell rang, even the back benches 
 forgot to empty. There were the inevitable students 
 to whom literature is a trial, and sometimes they 
 call attention to their sufferings by a scraping of 
 the feet. Then the professor tried to fix his eye- 
 glass on them, and when it worked properly they 
 were transfixed. As a rule, however, it required so 
 many adjustments that by the time his eye took 
 hold of it he had remembered that students were 
 made so, and his indignation went. Then, with the 
 light in his eye that some photographer ought to 
 catch, he would hope that his lecture was not dis- 
 turbing their conversation. It was characteristic of 
 his passion for being just that, when he had criti- 
 cised some writer severely he would remember that 
 the backbenches could not understand that criticism 
 and admiration might go together, unless they were 
 told so again. 
 
 The test of a sensitive man is that he is careful 
 of wounding the feelings of others. Once, I re- 
 member, a student was reading a passage aloud, 
 assuming at the same time such an attitude that the 
 professor could not help remarking that he looked 
 like a teapot. It was exactly what he did look like, 
 19 
 
29<5 PROFESSOR MASSON. 
 
 and the class applauded. But next moment Masson 
 had apologized for being personal. Such reminis- 
 cences are what make the old literature class- 
 room to thousands of graduates a delight to think 
 of. 
 
 When the news of Carlyle's death reached the 
 room, Masson could not go on with his lecture. 
 Every one knows what Carlyle has said of him ; and 
 no one who has heard it will ever forget what he has 
 said of Carlyle. Here were two men who under- 
 stood each other. One of the Carlylean pictures 
 one loves to dwell on shows them smoking together, 
 with nothing breaking the pauses but Mrs. Carlyle's 
 needles. Carlyle told Masson how he gave up 
 smoking and then took to it again. He had walked 
 from Dumfriesshire to Edinburgh to consult a doctor 
 about his health, and was advised to lose his pipe. 
 He smoked no more, but his health did not improve, 
 and then one day he walked in a wood. At the 
 foot of a tree lay a pipe, a tobacco pouch, a match- 
 box. He saw clearly that this was a case of Prov- 
 idential interference, and from that moment he 
 smoked again. There the professor's story stops. 
 I have no doubt, though, that he nodded his head 
 when Carlyle explained what the pipe and tobacco 
 were doing there. Masson's " Milton " is, of 
 course, his great work, but for sympathetic analysis 
 I know nothing to surpass his " Chatterton." 
 Lecturing on Chatterton one day, he remarked, 
 with a slight hesitation, that had the poet mixed a 
 
PROFESSOR MASSON. 291 
 
 little more in company and — and smoked, his mor- 
 bidness would not have poisoned him. That turned 
 my thoughts to smoking, because I meant to be a 
 Chatterton, but greater. Since then the professor 
 has warned me against smoking too much. He was 
 smoking at the time. 
 
 This is no place to follow Masson's career, nor to 
 discuss his work. To reach his position one ought 
 to know his definition of a man of letters. It is 
 curious, and, like most of his departures from the 
 generally accepted, sticks to the memory. By a 
 man of letters he does not mean the poet, for in- 
 stance, who is all soul, so much as the strong- 
 brained writer whose guardian angel is a fine sanity. 
 He used to mention John Skelton, the Wolsey satir- 
 ist, and Sir David Lindsay, as typical men of letters 
 from this point of view, and it is as a man of letters 
 of that class that Masson is best considered. In an 
 age of many whipper-snappers in criticism, he is 
 something of a Gulliver. 
 
 The students in that class liked to see their pro- 
 fessor as well as hear him. I let my hair grow long 
 because it only annoyed other people, and one day 
 there was dropped into my hand a note containing 
 sixpence and the words : " The students sitting be- 
 hind you present their compliments, and beg that 
 you will get your hair cut with the enclosed, as it in- 
 terferes with their view of the professor." 
 
 Masson, when he edited MacmillarCs, had all the 
 best men round him. His talk of Thackeray is 
 
292 PROP'ESSOR MASSON. 
 
 specially interesting, but he always holds that in 
 conversation Douglas Jerrold was unapproachable. 
 Jerrold told him a good story of his seafaring days. 
 His ship was lying off Gibraltar, and for some hours 
 Jerrold, though only a midshipman, was left in 
 charge. Some of the sailors begged to g<t\. ashore, 
 and he let them, on the promise that they would 
 bring him back some oranges. One of them disap- 
 peared, and the midshipman suffered for it. More 
 than twenty years afterward Jerrold was looking in 
 at a window in the Strand when he seemed to know 
 the face of a weatherbeaten man who was doing the 
 same thing. Suddenly he remembered, and put his 
 hand on the other's shoulder. " My man," he said, 
 " you have been a long time with those oranges ! " 
 The sailor recognized him, turned white, and took 
 to his heels. There is, too, the story of how Dickens 
 and Jerrold made up their quarrel at the Garrick 
 Club. It was the occasion on which Masson first 
 met the author of " Pickwick. " Dickens and Jer- 
 rold had not spoken for a year, and they both hap- 
 pened to have friends at dinner in the strangers' 
 room, Masson being Jerrold's guest. The two 
 host sat back to back, but did not address each 
 other, though the conversation was general. At 
 last Jerrold could stand it no longer. Turning, he 
 exclaimed, " Charley, my boy, how are you ? " 
 Dickens wheeled round and grasped his hand. 
 
 Many persons must have noticed that, in appear- 
 ance, Masson is becoming more and more like Car- 
 
PROFESSOR MASSON. 293 
 
 lyle every year. How would you account for it ? 
 It is a thing his old students often discuss when 
 they meet, especially those of them who, when at 
 college, made up their minds to dedicate their first 
 book to him. The reason they seldom do it is be- 
 cause the book does not seem good enough. 
 
III. 
 
 PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 
 
 Lately I was told that Blackie — one does not 
 say Mr. Cromwell — is no longer professor of Greek 
 in Edinburgh University. What nonsense some 
 people talk ! As if Blackie were not part of the 
 building ! In his class one day he spoke touchingly 
 of the time when he would have to join Socrates in 
 the Elysian fields. A student cheered — no one 
 knows why. " It won't be for some time yet," 
 added John Stuart. 
 
 Blackie takes his ease at home, in a dressing- 
 gown and straw hat. This shows that his plaid 
 really does come off. " My occupation nowadays," 
 he said to me recently, " is business, blethers, bothers, 
 beggars, and backgammon." He has also started 
 a profession of going to public meetings, and hurry- 
 ing home to write letters to the newspapers about 
 them. When the editor shakes the manuscript, a 
 sonnet falls out. I think I remember the professor's 
 saying that he had never made five shillings by his 
 verses. To my mind they are worth more than that. 
 
 Though he has explained them frequently, there 
 is still confusion about Blackie's politics. At Man- 
 chester they thought he was a Tory, and invited him 
 294 
 
PROFESSOR JOHN STUAR T BLA CKIE. 295 
 
 to address them, on that understanding. " I fancy 
 I astonished them," the professor said to me. This 
 is quite possible. Then he was mistaken for a 
 Liberal. The fact is that Blackie is a philosopher, 
 who follows the golden mean. He sees this himself. 
 A philosopher who follows the golden mean is thus 
 a man who runs zig-zag between two extremes. 
 You will observe that he who does this is some time 
 before he arrives anywhere. 
 
 The professor has said that he has the strongest 
 lungs in Scotland. Of the many compliments that 
 might well be paid him, not the least worthy would 
 be this : that he is as healthy mentally as physically. 
 Mrs. Norton begins a novel with the remark that 
 one of the finest sights conceivable is a well-pre- 
 served gentleman of middle age. It will be some 
 time yet before Blackie reaches middle age, but 
 there must be something wrong with you if you can 
 look at him without feeling refreshed. Did you 
 ever watch him marching along Princes Street on a 
 warm day, when every other person was broiling in 
 the sun ? His head is well thrown back, the staff, 
 grasped in the middle, jerks back and forward like 
 a weaver's shuttle, and the plaid flies in the breeze. 
 Other people's clothes are hanging limp. Blackie 
 carries his breeze with him. 
 
 A year or two ago Mr. Gladstone, when at Dalmeny, 
 pointed out that he had the advantage over Blackie 
 in being of both Highland and Lowland extraction. 
 The professor, however, is as Scotch as the thistle 
 
296 PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 
 
 or his native hills, and Mr. Gladstone, quite justifi- 
 ably, considers him the most outstanding of living 
 Scotsmen. Blackie is not quite sure himself. Not 
 long ago I heard him read a preface to a life of Mr. 
 Gladstone that was being printed at Smyrna in 
 modern Greek. He told his readers to remember 
 that Mr. Gladstone was a great scholar and an up- 
 right statesman. They would find it easy to do this 
 if they first remembered that he was Scottish. 
 
 The World included Blackie in its list of " Celeb- 
 rities at Home." It said that the door was opened 
 by a red-headed lassie. That was probably meant 
 for local color, and it amused every one who knew 
 Mrs. Blackie. The professor is one of the most 
 genial of men, and will show you to your room him- 
 self, talking six languages. This tends to make the 
 conversation one-sided, but he does not mind that. 
 He still writes a good deal, spending several hours 
 in his library daily, and his talk is as brilliant as 
 ever. His writing nowadays is less sustained than 
 it was, and he prefers flitting from one subject to 
 another, to evolving a great work. When he dips his 
 pen into an ink-pot, it at once writes a sonnet — so 
 strong is the force of habit. Recently he wrote a 
 page about Carlyle in a little book issued by the 
 Edinburgh students' bazaar committee. In this he 
 reproved Carlyle for having " bias." Blackie won- 
 ders why people should have bias. 
 
 Some readers of this may in their student days 
 have been invited to the Greek professor's house to 
 
PliOFESSOR JOHN STtJAR T BLA CKIE. 297 
 
 breakfast, without knowing why they were selected 
 from among so many. It was not, as they are prob- 
 ably aware, because of their classical attainments, 
 for they were too thoughtful to be in the prize-list ; 
 nor was it because of the charm of their manners or 
 the fascination of their conversation. When the 
 professor noticed any physical peculiarity about a 
 student, such as a lisp, or a glass eye, or one leg 
 longer than the other, or a broken nose, he was at 
 once struck by it, and asked him to breakfast. They 
 were very lively breakfasts, the eggs being served 
 in tureens ; but sometimes it was a collection of the 
 maimed and crooked, and one person at the table- 
 not the host himself — used to tremble lest, making 
 mirrors of each other, the guests should see why 
 they were invited. 
 
 Sometimes, instead of asking a student to break- 
 fast, Blackie would instruct another student to re- 
 quest his company to tea. Then the two students 
 were told to talk about paulo-post futures in the 
 cool of the evening, and to read their Greek Testa- 
 ment and to go to the pantomime. The professor 
 never tired of giving his students advice about the 
 preservation of their bodily health. He strongly 
 recommended a cold bath at six o'clock every morn- 
 ing. In winter, he remarked genially, you can 
 break the ice with a hammer. According to him- 
 self, only one enthusiast seems to have followed his 
 advice, and he died. 
 
 In Blackie's class-room there used to be a dem- 
 
298 PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 
 
 onstration every time he mentioned the name of a 
 distinguished politician. Whether the demonstra- 
 tion took the professor by surprise, or whether he 
 waited for it, will never perhaps he known. But 
 Blackie at least put out the gleam in his eye, and 
 looked as if he were angry. " I will say Beacons- 
 field," he would exclaim (cheers and hisses). " Bea- 
 consfield" (uproar). Then he would stride forward, 
 and, seizing the railing, announce his intention of 
 saying Beaconsfield until every goose in the room 
 was tired of cackling. (" Question.") " Beacons- 
 field." ("No, no.") "Beaconsfield." ("Hear, 
 hear," and shouts of "Gladstone.") "Beaconsfield." 
 (" Three cheers for Dizzy.") Eventually the class 
 would be dismissed as — (i) idiots, (2) a beargarden, 
 (3) a flock of sheep, (4) a pack of numskulls, (5) 
 hissing serpents. The professor would retire, ap- 
 parently fuming, to his anteroom, and five minutes 
 afterward he would be playing himself down the 
 North Bridge on imaginary bagpipes. This sort of 
 thing added a sauce to all academic sessions. There 
 was a notebook also, which appeared year after 
 year. It contained the professor's jokes of a former 
 session, carefully classified by an admiring student. 
 It was handed down from one year's men to the 
 next ; and thus, if Blackie began to make a joke 
 about haggis, the possessor of the book had only 
 swiftly to turn to the H's, find what the joke was, 
 and send it along the class quicker than the pro- 
 fessor could speak it. 
 
PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 299 
 
 In the old days the Greek professor recited a 
 poem in honor of the end of the session. He com- 
 posed it himself, and, as known to me, it took the 
 form of a graduate's farewell to his alma mater. 
 Sometimes he would knock a map down as if over- 
 come with emotion, and at critical moments a 
 student in the back benches would accompany him 
 on a penny trumpet. Now, I believe, the Hellenic 
 Club takes the place of the Hclass-room. All the 
 eminent persons in Edinburgh attend its meetings, 
 and Blackie, the Athenian, is in the chair. The 
 policeman in Douglas Crescent looks skeered when 
 you ask him what takes place on these occasions. 
 It is generally understood that toward the end of 
 the meeting they agree to read Greek next time. 
 
IV. 
 
 PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. 
 
 Here is a true story that the general reader may 
 jump, as it is intended for Professor Calderwood 
 himself. Some years ago an English daily paper 
 reviewed a book entitled " A Handbook of Moral 
 Philosophy." The professor knows the work. The 
 " notice " was done by the junior reporter, to whom 
 philosophical treatises are generally intrusted. He 
 dealt leniently, on the whole, with Professor Calder- 
 wood, even giving him a word of encouragement 
 here and there. Still the criticism was severe. 
 The reviewer subsequently went to Edinburgh 
 University, and came out 144th in the class of 
 moral philosophy. 
 
 That student is now, I believe, on friendly terms 
 with Professor Calderwood, but has never told him 
 this story. I fancy the professor would like to 
 know his name. It may perhaps be reached in this 
 way : He was the young gentleman who went to 
 his classes the first day in a black coat and silk hat, 
 and was cheered round the quadrangle by a body of 
 admiring fellow-students, who took him for a pro- 
 fessor. 
 300 
 
PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD, 301 
 
 Calderwood contrives to get himself more in touch 
 with the mass of his students than some of his fel- 
 low-professors, partly because he puts a high ideal 
 before himself, and to some extent because his sub- 
 ject is one that Scottish students revel in. Long 
 before they join his class they know that they are 
 moral philosophers; indeed, they are sometimes 
 surer of it before they enroll than afterward. Their 
 essays begin in some such fashion as this : " In 
 joining issue with Reid, I wish to take no unfair 
 advantage of my antagonist ; " or, " Kant is sadly 
 
 at fault when he says that " or, " It is strange 
 
 that a man of Locke s attainments should have been 
 
 blind to the fact " When the professor reads 
 
 out these tit-bits to the class, his eyes twinkle. 
 Some students, of course, are not such keen philos- 
 ophers as others. Does Professor Calderwood 
 remember the one who was never struck by any- 
 thing in moral philosophy until he learned by 
 accident that Descartes lay in bed till about twelve 
 o'clock every morning ? Then it dawned on him 
 that he, too, must have been a philosopher all his 
 life without knowing it. One year a father and 
 son were in the class. The father got so excited 
 over volition and the line that divides right from 
 wrong that he wrenched the desk before him from 
 its sockets and hit it triumphantly, meaning that he 
 and the professor were at one. He was generally 
 admired by his fellow-students, because he was the 
 only one in the class who could cry out " Hear, 
 
302 PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. 
 
 hear," and even "Question," without blushing. 
 The ison, on the other hand, was blase^ and would 
 have been an agnostic, only he could never remem- 
 ber the name. Once a week Calderwood turns his 
 class into a debating society, and argues things out 
 with his students. This field-day is a joy to them. 
 Some of them spend the six days previous in pre- 
 paring posers. The worst of the professor is that 
 he never sees that they are posers. What is the use 
 of getting up a question of the most subtle kind, 
 when he answers it right away ? It makes you sit 
 down quite suddenly. There is an occasional stu- 
 dent who tries to convert liberty of speech on the 
 discussion day into license, and of him the profes- 
 sor makes short work. The student means to turn 
 the laugh on Calderwood, and then Calderwood 
 takes advantage of him, and the other students 
 laugh at the wrong person. It is the older students, 
 as a rule, who are most violently agitated over these 
 philosophical debates. One with a beard cracks his 
 fingers, after the manner of a child in a village 
 school that knows who won the battle of Bannock- 
 burn, and feels that he must burst if he does not let 
 it out at once. A bald-headed man rises every 
 minute to put a question, and then sits down, look- 
 ing stupid. He has been trying so hard to remem- 
 ber what it is that he has forgotten. There is a 
 legend of two who quarrelled over the Will and 
 fought it out on Arthur's Seat. 
 
 One year, however, a boy of sixteen or so, with 
 
PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD, 303 
 
 a squeaky voice and a stammer, was Calderwood's 
 severest critic. He sat on the back bench, and 
 what he wanted to know was something about the 
 infinite. Every discussion day he took advantage of 
 a lull in the debate to squeak out, " With regard to 
 the infinite," and then could never get any further. 
 No one ever discovered what he wanted enlighten- 
 ment on about the infinite. He grew despondent as 
 the session wore on, but courageously stuck to his 
 point. Probably he is a soured man now. For 
 purposes of exposition, Calderwood has a black- 
 board in his lecture-room, on which he chalks circles 
 that represent the feelings and the will, with arrows 
 shooting between them. In my class there was a 
 boy, a very little boy, who had been a dux at school 
 and was a dunce at college. He could not make 
 moral philosophy out at all, but did his best. Here 
 were his complete notes for one day : " Edinburgh 
 University ; Class of Moral Philosophy ; Professor 
 Calderwood; Lecture 64; Jan. 11. 18 — You rub 
 out the arrow, and there is only the circle left." 
 
 Professor Calderwood is passionately fond of 
 music, as those who visit at his house know. He is 
 of opinion that there is a great deal of moral philos- 
 ophy in " The Dead March in Saul." Once he 
 said something to that effect in his class, adding 
 enthusiastically that he could excuse the absence of 
 a student who had been away hearing " The Dead 
 March in Saul." After that he received a good 
 many letters from students, worded in this way : 
 
304 PJiOFESSOR CALDERWOOD. 
 
 " Mr. McNaughton (bench 7) presents his compli- 
 ments to Professor Calderwood, and begs to state 
 that his absence from the class yesterday was owing 
 to his being elsewhere, hearing ' The Dead March in 
 Saul.' " " Dear Professor Calderwood : I regret 
 my absence from the lecture to-day, but hope you 
 will overlook it, as I was unavoidably detained at 
 home, practising * The Dead March in Saul.' 
 Yours, truly, Peter Webster." " Professor Calder- 
 wood : Dear Sir, — As I was coming to the lecture 
 to-day, I heard * The Dead March in Saul ' being 
 played in the street. You will, I am sure, make 
 allowance for my non-attendance at the class, as I 
 was too much affected to come. It is indeed a 
 grand march. Yours, faithfully, John Robbie." 
 " The students whose names are subjoined thank 
 the professor of moral philosophy most cordially for 
 his remarks on the elevating power of music. They 
 have been encouraged thereby to start a class for 
 the proper study of the impressive and solemn 
 march to which he called special attention, and hope 
 he will excuse them, should their practisings occa- 
 sionally prevent their attendance at the Friday 
 lectures." Professor Calderwood does not lecture 
 on " The Dead March in Saul " now. 
 
 The class of moral philosophy is not for the few, 
 but the many. Some professors do not mind what 
 becomes of the nine students, so long as they can 
 force on every tenth. Calderwood, however, con- 
 siders it his duty to carry the whole class along with 
 
PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. 305 
 
 him ; and it is, as a consequence, almost impossible to 
 fall behind. The lectures are not delivered, in the 
 ordinary sense, but dictated. Having explained 
 the subject of the day with the lucidity that is this 
 professor's peculiar gift, he condenses his remarks 
 into a proposition. It is as if a minister ended his 
 sermon with the text. Thus : " Proposition 34 : 
 Man is born into the world — (You have got that ? 
 See that you have all got it.) Man is born into the 
 world with a capacity — with a capacity " (Anx- 
 ious student : " If you please, professor, where did 
 you say man was born into ? ") " Into the world, 
 
 with a capacity to distinguish " ("With a 
 
 what, sir ? ") — " with a capacity to distinguish " 
 
 (Student : " Who is born into the world ? ") " Per- 
 haps I have been reading too quickly. Man is born 
 into the world, with a capacity to distinguish be- 
 tween — distinguish between " (student shuts his 
 
 book, thinking that completes the proposition — ) 
 " distinguish between right and wrong — right — and 
 wrong. You have all got Proposition 34, gentle- 
 men?^' 
 
 Once Calderwood was questioning a student 
 about a proposition, to see that he thoroughly under- 
 stood it. "Give an illustration," suggested the 
 professor. The student took the case of a murderer. 
 " Very good," said the professor. " Now give me 
 another illustration." The student pondered for a 
 a little. " Well," he said at length, " take the case 
 of another murderer." 
 20 
 
3o6 PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. 
 
 Professor Calderwood has such an exceptional 
 interest in his students that he asks every one of 
 them to his house. This is but one of many things 
 that makes him generally popular ; he also invites 
 his ladies' class to meet them. The lady whom 
 you take down to supper suggests Proposition 41 as 
 a nice thing to talk about, and asks what you think 
 of the metaphysics of ethics. Professor Calder- 
 wood sees the ladies into the cabs himself. It is 
 the only thing I ever heard against him. 
 
V. 
 
 PROFESSOR TAIT. 
 
 Just as I opened my desk to write enthusiastically 
 of Tait, I remembered having recently deciphered a 
 pencil note about him, in my own handwriting, on 
 the cover of Masson's " Chronological List," which 
 I still keep by me. I turned to the note to see if 
 there was life in it yet. " Walls," it says, " got 2S. 
 for T. and T. at Brown's, i6 Walker Street." I don't 
 recall Walls, but T. and T. was short for " Thomson 
 and Tait's Elements of Natural Philosophy " (ele- 
 ments !), better known in my year as the " Student's 
 First Glimpse of Hades." Evidently Walls sold 
 his copy, but why did I take such note of the ad- 
 dress ? I fear T. and T. is one of the " Books Which 
 Have Helped Me." This somewhat damps my ardor. 
 
 When Tait was at Cambridge, it was flung in the 
 face of the mathematicians that they never stood 
 high in Scriptural knowledge. Tait and another* 
 were the two of whom one must be first wrangler, 
 and they agreed privately to wipe this stigma from 
 mathematics. They did it by taking year about the 
 prize which was said to hang out of their reach. It 
 is always interesting to know of professors who have 
 done well in Biblical knowledge. All Scottish stu- 
 dents at the English universities are not so success- 
 
 307 
 
3o8 PROFESSOR TAIT. 
 
 ful. I knew a Snell man who was sent back from 
 the Oxford entrance exam., and he always held him- 
 self that the Biblical questions had done it. 
 
 Turner is said by medicals to be the finest lect- 
 urer in the university. He will never be that so 
 long as Tait is in the natural philosophy chair. 
 Never, I think, can there have been a more superb 
 demonstrator. I have his burly figure before me. 
 The small twinkling eyes had a fascinating gleam 
 in them ; he could concentrate them until they held 
 the object looked at ; when they flashed round the 
 room he seemed to have drawn a rapier. I have 
 seen a man fall back in alarm under Tait's eyes, 
 though there were a dozen benches between them. 
 These eyes could be merry as a boy's, though, as 
 when he turned a tube of water on students who 
 would insist on crowding too near an experiment, 
 for Tait's was the humor of high spirits. I could 
 conceive him at marbles still, and feeling annoyed 
 at defeat. He could not fancy anything much 
 funnier than a man missing his chair. Outside his 
 own subject he is not, one feels, a six-footer. When 
 Mr. R. L. Stevenson's memoir of the late Mr. Fleem- 
 ing Jenkin was published, Tait said at great length 
 that he did not like it ; he would have had the sketch 
 by a scientific man. But though scientists may be 
 the only men nowadays who have anything to say, 
 they are also the only men who can't say it. Scien- 
 tific men out of their sphere know for a fact that 
 novels are not true. So they draw back from novel- 
 
PROFESSOR TAIT. 309 
 
 ists who write biography. Professor Tait and Mr. 
 Stevenson are both men of note, who walk different 
 ways, and when they meet neither likes to take the 
 curbstone. If they were tied together for life in a 
 three-legged race, which would suffer the more ? 
 
 But if Tait's science weighs him to the earth, he 
 has a genius for sticking to his subject, and I am 
 lost in admiration every time I bring back his lect- 
 ures. It comes as natural to his old students to say 
 when they meet, " What a lecturer Tait was ! " as 
 to Englishman to joke about the bagpipes. It is 
 not possible to draw a perfect circle, Chrystal used 
 to say, after drawing a very fine one. To the same 
 extent it was not possible for Tait never to fail in his 
 experiments. The atmosphere would be too much 
 for him once in a session, or there were other hostile 
 influences at work. Tait warned us of these before 
 proceeding to experiment, but we merely smiled. 
 We believed in him as though he were a Bradshaw 
 announcing that he would not be held responsible 
 for possible errors. 
 
 I had forgotten Lindsay — " the mother may forget 
 her child." As I write, he has slipped back into 
 his chair on the professor's right, and I could 
 photograph him now in his brown suit. Lindsay 
 was the imperturbable man who assisted Tait in his 
 experiments, and his father held the post before him. 
 When there were many of us together we could 
 applaud Lindsay with burlesque exaggeration, and 
 he treated us good-humoredly, as making something 
 
3IO 
 
 PROFESSOR TAIT. 
 
 considerable between us. But I once had to face 
 Lindsay alone, in quest of my certificate ; and sud- 
 denly he towered above me, as a waiter may grow 
 tall when you find that you have not money enough 
 to pay the bill. He treated me most kindly ; did 
 not reply, of course, but got the certificate, and 
 handed it to me as a cashier contemptuously shovels 
 you your pile of gold. Long ago I pasted up a crack 
 in my window with the certificate, but it said, I 
 remember, that I had behaved respectably — so far 
 as I had come under the eyes of the professor. Tait 
 was always an enthusiast. 
 
 We have been keeping Lindsay waiting. When 
 he had nothing special to do, he sat indifferently in 
 his chair, with the face of a precentor after the ser- 
 mon has begun. But though it was not very likely 
 that Lindsay would pay much attention to talk about 
 such playthings as the laws of nature, his fingers 
 went out in the direction of the professor when the 
 experiments began. Then he was not the precentor ; 
 he was a minister in one of the pews. Lindsay was 
 an inscrutable man, and I shall not dare to say that 
 he even half-wished to see Tait fail. He only looked 
 on, ready for any emergency ; but if the experiment 
 would not come off, he was as quick to go to the 
 professor's assistance as a member of Parliament is 
 to begin when he has caught the Speaker's eye. 
 Perhaps Tait would have none of his aid, or pushed 
 the mechanism for the experiment from him — an in- 
 timation to Lindsay to carry it quickly to the ante- 
 
PROFESSOR TAIT. 311 
 
 room. Do you think Lindsay read the instructions 
 so ? Let me tell you that your mind fails to seize 
 hold of Lindsay. He marched the machine out of 
 Tait's vicinity as a mother may push her erring boy 
 away from his father's arms, to take him to her heart 
 as soon as the door is closed. Lindsay took the 
 machine to his seat, and laid it before him on the 
 desk, with well-concealed apathy. Tait would flash 
 his eye to the right to see what Lindsay was after, 
 and there was Lindsay sitting with his arms folded. 
 The professor's lecture resumed its way, and then 
 out went Lindsay's hands to the machine. Here 
 he tried a wheel ; again he turned a screw ; in time 
 he had the machine ready for another trial. No one 
 was looking his way, when suddenly there was a 
 whizz — bang, bang. All eyes were turned upon 
 Lindsay, the professor's among them. A cheer 
 broke out as we realized that Lindsay had done the 
 experiment. Was he flushed with triumph ? Not a 
 bit of it ; he was again sitting with his arms folded. 
 A Glasgow merchant of modest manners, when cross- 
 examined in a law court, stated that he had a con- 
 siderable monetary interest in a certain concern. 
 " How much do you mean by a * considerable mon- 
 etary interest ' ? " demanded the contemptuous bar- 
 rister who was cross-examining him. " Oh," said 
 the witness, humbly, " a maiter o' a million an' a 
 half — or, say, twa million." That Glasgow man in 
 the witness-box is the only person I can think of, 
 when looking about me for a parallel to Lindsay. 
 
3^- 
 
 PROFESSOR TAIT. 
 
 While the professor eyed him and the students delir- 
 iously beat the floor, Lindsay quietly gathered the 
 mechanism together and caried it to the ante-room. 
 His head was not flung back nor his chest forward, 
 like one who walked to music. In his hour of 
 triumph he was still imperturbable. I lie back in 
 my chair to-day, after the lapse of years, and ask 
 myself again. How did Lindsay behave after he en- 
 tered the ante-room, shutting the door behind him t 
 Did he give way ? There is no one to say. When 
 he returned to the class-room he wore his familiar 
 face ; a man to ponder over. 
 
 There is a legend about the natural philosophy 
 class-room, the period long antecedent to Tait. 
 The professor, annoyed by a habit students had got 
 into of leaving their hats on his desk, announced 
 that the next hat placed there would be cut in pieces 
 by him in presence of the class. The warning had 
 its effect, until one day when the professor was 
 called for a few minutes from the room. An under- 
 graduate, to whom the natural sciences, unrelieved, 
 were a monotonous study, slipped into the ante- 
 room, from which he emerged with the professor's 
 hat. This he placed on the desk, and then stole in 
 a panic to his seat. An awe fell upon the class. 
 The professor returned, but when he saw the hat he 
 stopped. He showed no anger. " Gentlemen," he 
 said, " I told you what would happen if you again 
 disobeyed my orders." Quite blandly he took a 
 pen-knife from his pocket, slit the hat into several 
 
PROFESSOR TAIT. 313 
 
 pieces, and flung them into the sink. While the 
 hat was under the knife, the students forgot to dem- 
 onstrate ; but as it splashed into the sink, they gave 
 forth a true British cheer. The end. 
 
 Close to the door of the natural philosophy room 
 is a window that in my memory will ever be sacred 
 to a janitor. The janitors of the university were of 
 varied interest, from the merry one who treated us 
 as if we were his equals, and the soldier who some- 
 times looked as if he would like to mow us down, 
 to the Head Man of All, whose name I dare not 
 write, though I can whisper it. The janitor at the 
 window, however, sat there through the long even- 
 ings while the Debating Society (of which I was a 
 member) looked after affairs of state in an adjoining 
 room. We were the smallest society in the univer- 
 sity and the longest winded, and I was once nearly 
 expelled for not paying my subscription. Our grand 
 debate was, " Is the policy of the government worthy 
 the confidence of this society ? " and we also read 
 about six essays yearly on " The Genius of Robert 
 Burns;" but it was on private business that we 
 came out strongest. The question that agitated 
 us most was whether the meeting should be opened 
 with prayer, and the men who thought they should 
 would not so much as look at the men who thought 
 they should not. When the janitor was told that 
 we had begun our private business, he returned to 
 his window and slept. His great day was when we 
 could not form a quorum, which happened now and 
 then. 
 
314 PROFESSOR TAIT. 
 
 Gregory was a member of that society — what has 
 become of Gregory? He was one of those men 
 who professors say have a brilliant future before 
 them, and who have not since been heard of. Mor- 
 ton, another member, was of a different stamp. He 
 led in the debate on " Beauty of the Mind v. Beauty 
 of the Body." His writhing contempt for the beauty 
 that is only skin-deep is not to be forgotten. How 
 noble were his rhapsodies on the beauty of the 
 mind ! And when he went to Calderwood's to sup- 
 per, how quick he was to pick out the prettiest girl, 
 who took ten per cent, in moral philosophy, and to 
 sit beside her all the evening ! Morton had a way 
 of calling on his friends the night before a degree 
 examination to ask them to put him up to as much 
 as would pull him through. 
 
 Tait used to get greatly excited over the rectorial 
 elections, and, if he could have disguised himself, 
 would have liked, I think, to join in the fight round 
 the Brewster statue. He would have bled for the 
 Conservative cause, as his utterances on university 
 reform have shown. The reformers have some 
 cause for thinking that Tait is a greater man in his 
 class-room than when he addresses the graduates. 
 He has said that the less his students know of his 
 subject when they join his class, the less, probably, 
 they will have to unlearn. Such views are behind 
 the times that feed their children on geographical 
 biscuits in educational nurseries with astronomical 
 ceilings and historical wall-papers. 
 
VI. 
 
 PROFESSOR CAMPBELL ERASER. 
 
 Not long ago I was back in the Old University — 
 how well I remember pointing it out as the jail to a 
 stranger who had asked me to show him round. I 
 was in one of the library ante-rooms, when some 
 one knocked, and I looked up, to see Campbell 
 Eraser framed in the doorway. I had not looked 
 on that venerable figure for half a dozen years. I 
 had forgotten all my metaphysics. Yet it all came 
 back with a rush. I was on my feet, wondering if 
 I existed strictly so called. 
 
 Calderwood and Eraser had both their followings. 
 The moral philosophers wore an air of certainty, for 
 they knew that if they stuck to Calderwood he would 
 pull them through. You cannot lose yourself in the 
 back garden. But the metaphysicians had their 
 doubts. Eraser led them into strange places, and 
 said he would meet them there again next day. 
 They wandered to their lodgings, and got into diffi- 
 culties with their landlady for saying that she was 
 only an aggregate of sense phenomena. Eraser was 
 rather a hazardous cure for weak intellects. Young 
 men whose anchor had been certainty of themselves 
 went into that class floating buoyantly on the sea of 
 
 315 
 
3i6 PHOFESSOR CAMPBELL FRASER. 
 
 facts, and came out all adrift — on the sea of theory 
 — in an open boat — rudderless — one oar — the boat 
 scuttled. How could they think there was any 
 chance for them, when the professor was not even 
 sure of himself ? I see him rising in a daze from 
 his chair and putting his hands through his hair. 
 "Do I exist," he said, thoughtfully, "strictly so 
 called ? " The students (if it was the beginning of 
 the session) looked a little startled. This was a 
 matter that had not previously disturbed them. Still, 
 if the professor was in doubt, there must be some- 
 thing in it. He began to argue it out, and an un- 
 comfortable silence held the room in awe. If he 
 did not exist, the chances were that they did not 
 exist either. It was thus a personal question. The 
 professor glanced round slowly for an illustration. 
 " Am I a table ? " A pained look travelled dver the 
 class. Was it just possible that they were all tables ? 
 It is no wonder that the students who do not go to 
 the bottom during their first month of metaphysics 
 begin to give themselves airs strictly so called. In 
 the privacy of their room at the top of the house, 
 they pinch themselves to see if they are still there. 
 
 He would, I think, be a sorry creature who did 
 not find something to admire in Campbell Fraser. 
 metaphysics may not trouble you, as it troubles him, 
 but you do not sit under the man without seeing his 
 transparent honesty and feeling that he is genuine. 
 In appearance and in habit of thought he is an ideal 
 philosopher, and his communings with himself have 
 
PROFESSOR CAMPBELL ERASER, 317 
 
 lifted him to a level of serenity that is worth strug- 
 gling for. Of all the arts professors in Edinburgh, 
 he is probably the most difficult to understand, and 
 students in a hurry have called his lectures childish. 
 If so, it may be all the better for them. For the 
 first half of the hour, they say, he tells you what he 
 is going to do, and for the second half he revises. 
 Certainly he is vastly explanatory, but then he is not 
 so young as they are, and so he has his doubts. 
 They are so cock-sure that they wonder to see him 
 hesitate. Often there is a mist on the mountain 
 when it is all clear in the valley. 
 
 Eraser's great work is his edition of Berkeley, a 
 labor of love that should live after him. He has 
 two Berkeleys, the large one and the little one, and, 
 to do him justice, it was the little one he advised us 
 to consult. I never read the large one myself, 
 which is in a number of monster tomes, but I often 
 had a look at it in the library, and I was proud to 
 think that an Edinburgh professor was the editor. 
 When Glasgow men came through to talk of their 
 professors, we showed them the big Berkeley, and 
 after that they were reasonable. There was one 
 man in my year who really began the large Berkeley, 
 but after a time he was missing, and it is believed 
 that some day he will be found flattened between the 
 pages of the first volume. 
 
 The " Selections " was the text-book we used in 
 the class. It is sufficient to prove that Berkeley 
 wrote beautiful English. I am not sure that any 
 
3i8 PROFESSOR CAMPBELL ERASER. 
 
 one has written such English since. We have our 
 own " stylists," but how self-conscious they are after 
 Berkeley ! It is seven years since I opened my 
 *' Selections," but I see that I was once more of a 
 metaphysician than I have been giving myself 
 credit for. The book is scribbled over with posers 
 in my handwriting about dualism and primary real- 
 ities. Some of the comments are in short-hand, 
 which I must at one time have been able to read, 
 but all are equally unintelligible now. Here is one 
 of my puzzlers : " Does B here mean impercipient 
 and unperceived subject or conscious and percipi- 
 ent subject ? " Observe the friendly B. I dare say 
 further on I shall find myself referring to the pro- 
 fessor as F. I wonder if I ever discovered what B 
 meant. I could not now tell what I meant, myself. 
 As many persons are aware, the " Selections " 
 consist of Berkeley's text with the professor's notes 
 thereon. The notes are explanatory of the text, 
 and the student must find them an immense help. 
 Here, for instance, is a note : " Phenomenal or 
 sense dependent existence can be substantiated and 
 caused only by a self-conscious spirit, for otherwise 
 there could be no propositions about it expressive 
 of what is conceivable ; on the other hand, to affirm 
 that phenomenal or sense dependent existence, 
 which alone we know, and which alone is conceiv- 
 able, is, or even represents, an inconceivable non- 
 phenomenal or abstract existence, would be to affirm 
 a contradiction in terms." There we have it. 
 
PROFESSOR CAMPBELL ERASER. 319 
 
 As a metaphysician I was something of a disap- 
 pointment. I began well, standing, if I recollect 
 aright, in the three examinations, first, seventeenth, 
 and seventy-seventh. A man who sat beside me — 
 man was the word we used — gazed at me reverently 
 when I came out first, and I could see by his eye 
 that he was not sure whether I existed properly so 
 called. By the second exam, his doubts had gone, 
 and by the third he was surer of me than of himself. 
 He came out fifty-seventh, this being the grand tri- 
 umph of his college course. He was the same 
 whose key translated eras donaberis hcedo " To-mor- 
 row you will be presented with a kid," but who, 
 thinking that a little vulgar, refined it down to 
 "To-morrow you will be presented with a small 
 child." 
 
 In the metaphysics class I was like the fountains 
 in the quadrangle, which ran dry toward the middle 
 of the session. While things were still looking 
 hopeful for me, I had an invitation to breakfast 
 with the professor. If the fates had been so pro- 
 pitious as to forward me that invitation, it is possi- 
 ble that I might be a metaphysician to this day, but 
 I had changed my lodgings, and, when I heard of 
 the affair, all was over. The professor asked me to 
 stay behind one day after the lecture, and told me 
 that he had got his note back with " Left : no ad- 
 dress " on it. " However," he said, " you may keep 
 this," presenting me with the invitation for the Sat- 
 urday previously. I mention this to show that even 
 
320 PROCESSOR CAMPBELL PRASBR. 
 
 professors have hearts. That letter is preserved 
 with the autographs of three editors, none of which 
 anybody can read. 
 
 There was once a medical student who came up 
 to my rooms early in the session, and I proved to 
 him in half an hour that he did not exist. He got 
 quite frightened, and I can still see his white face 
 as he sat staring at me in the gloaming. This 
 shows what metaphysics can do. He has recov- 
 ered, however, and is sheep-farming now, his exam- 
 iners never having asked him the right questions. 
 
 The last time Fraser ever addressed me was when 
 I was capped. He said, " I congratulate you, Mr. 
 Smith," and one of the other professors said, " I 
 congratulate you, Mr. Fisher." My name is neither 
 Smith nor Fisher, but no doubt the thing was kindly 
 meant. It was then, however, that the professor of 
 metaphysics had his revenge on me. I had once 
 spelt Fraser with a " z." 
 
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