Wjt^ p— >*? ft "'yy^ ' fl rm m 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 ■ 
 
 B M ID? Mbb 
 
 Cottagers of 
 Glenburnie 
 
I E R K E L E Y\ 
 
 LIBRv^Y | 
 
 UNIVE«SJ.ptOF I 
 CAlJK>fcNU / 
 

 -£/-*< 
 
 ^^v 
 
The Cottagers of Glenbi h 
 
 Fron .*. 
 
T >-< E 
 
 COTTAqEi^S 
 
THE 
 
 Cottagers of Glenburnie 
 
 £ ScoUie^ J ale. 
 
 RY 
 
 ELIZABETH HAMILTON. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL 
 
 iS 9 8. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &> Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press 
 
1 \55oQ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 An Arrival, 
 
 PAOB 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 
 History of Mrs Mason's Childhood, 
 
 IO 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Hislory of Mrs Mason Continued, ... 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 History of Mrs Mason Continued, . . 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mrs Mason's Story Concluded, ... 54 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Domestic Sketches. — Picture of Glenburnie. — View of 
 
 a Scotch Cottage in the Last Century, . . 63 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 A Peep behind the Curtain.— Hints on Gardening, . 78 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Family Sketches, 8y 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Domestic Rebellion, ..... 104 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Containing a Useful Prescription, . .117 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 An Escape from Earthly Cares and Sorrows, . . 12S 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Doctrine of Liberty and Equality, . . .130 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 The Force of Prejudice, . . . .141 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Changes, . . . . . .152 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Marriage and a Wedding, . . . . 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 An Unexpected Meeting between Old Acquaintances, 178 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Receipt for Making a thorough Servant, . . 189 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Concerning the Duties of a Schoolmaster, . . 197 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Conclusion, . . . . 212 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 F.vJract of a Letter addressed to the Author, . 218 
 
THE 
 
 Cottagers of Glenburnie. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN ARRIVAL. 
 
 N the fine summer of the year 1788, as Mr 
 Stewart of Gowan Brae, and his two 
 daughters, were one morning sitting down 
 to breakfast, they were told by the ser- 
 vant, that a gentlewoman was at the door, 
 who desired to speak with Mr Stewart on 
 business. ' She comes in good time,' said 
 Mr Stewart ; ' but do you not know who 
 she is ? ' No, sir,' returned the servant, 
 ' she is quite a stranger, and speaks Englified, and is 
 very lame, but has a wondrous pleasant countenance.' 
 Mr Stewart, without further inquiry, hastened to the 
 door, while the young ladies continued the interroga- 
 tions. 
 
 ' Did she come in her own carriage, or in a hack ?' 
 asked Miss Stewart. ' She came riding on a double 
 horse,' replied the lad. ' Riding double !' cried Miss 
 Stewart, resuming her seat, ' I thought she had been 
 
 1 A 
 
2 The Cottagers 
 
 a lady. Come, Mary, let us have our breakfast. My 
 goodness ! I hope papa is not bringing the woman 
 here.' 
 
 As she spoke, the door opened, and Mr Stewart 
 entered with the stranger leaning on his arm. Her 
 respectful salute was returned by Miss Stewart with 
 that sort of reserve which young ladies, who are 
 anywise doubtful of being entitled to all that they 
 assume, are apt to put on when addressing them- 
 selves to strangers, of whose rank they are uncertain ; 
 but, by her sister Mary, it was returned with a frank- 
 ness natural to those who do not fear being demeaned 
 by an act of courtesy. 
 
 ' Indeed, you must breakfast with us, my good 
 Mrs Mason,' said Mr Stewart, placing a chair; 'my 
 daughters have often heard of you from their mother. 
 They are no strangers either to your name or charac- 
 ter ; and therefore must be prepared to show you 
 esteem and respect' 
 
 Miss Stewart coloured, and drew up her head very 
 scornfully ; of which Mrs Mason took no notice, but 
 humbly thanking the good gentleman for his kind- 
 ness, added, ' that he could scarcely imagine how 
 much pleasure it gave her, to see the children of one 
 whom she had so loved and honoured ; and she was 
 loved and honoured by all who knew her,' continued 
 she. ' Both the young ladies resemble her : may they 
 be as like her in their minds as in their persons ! ' 
 
 ' God grant they may,' said the father, sighing, ' and 
 I hope her friends will be theirs through life.' 
 
 Miss Stewart, who had been all this time looking 
 out of the window, began her breakfast, without taking 
 any notice of what was said ; but Mary, who never 
 heard her mother spoken of without sensible emotion, 
 bowed to Mrs Mason, with a look expressive of her 
 
of Glenbumie. 3 
 
 gTatitude ; and observing, with compassion, how much 
 she appeared exhausted by the fatigue of travelling, 
 urged the necessity of her taking refreshment and re- 
 pose. Mr Stewart warmly seconded his daughter's 
 invitation, who, having learned that Mrs Mason had 
 travelled night and day in the stage coach, and only 
 
 stopped at , until a horse could be prepared to 
 
 bring her forward to Gowan Brae, was anxious that she 
 should devote the remainder of the day to rest. The 
 weary stranger thankfully acceded to the kind pro- 
 posal ; and Mary, perceiving how lame she was, of- 
 fered her assistance to support her to her room, and 
 conducted her to it with all that respectful kindness, 
 which age or indisposition so naturally excite in an 
 artless mind. 
 
 When Mary returned to the parlour, she found her 
 father at the door, going out ; he gave her a smile of 
 approbation as he passed, and kindly tapping her on 
 the neck, said, 'she was a dear good lassie, and a 
 comfort to his heart.' 
 
 Miss Stewart, who thought that every praise be- 
 stowed on her sister, conveyed a reproach to her, now 
 broke silence, in evident displeasure with all the party. 
 'She was sure, for her part, she did not know what 
 people meant by paying such people so much atten- 
 tion. But she knew well enough it was all to get their 
 good word ; but for her part, she scorned such mean- 
 ness. She scorned to get the good word of any one, 
 by doing what was so improper.' 
 
 ' And what, my dear Bell, is improper in what I 
 have now done?' said Mary, in a mild tone of expos- 
 tulation. 
 
 ' Improper !' returned her sister, ' I don't know 
 what you call improper, if you think it proper to keep 
 company with a servant, and to make as much fuss 
 
4 The Cottagers 
 
 about her too, as if she were a lady. Improper, in- 
 deed ! And when you know too, that Captain Mollins 
 was to come here to-day ; and that I had hoped my 
 father would ask him to dinner : but my friends are 
 never to be minded — they are to be turned out to 
 make room for every trumpery person you choose to 
 pick up !' 
 
 c Indeed, sister, you do me injustice,' said Mary ; 
 ' you know I did not bring Mrs Mason here ; but 
 when I heard her name, I recollected all that our dear 
 mother had often told us of her extraordinary worth ; 
 and I thought, if it had pleased God to have spared 
 her, how glad she would have been to have seen one 
 she so much esteemed ; for though my mother was born 
 in a higher station, and bred to higher views than 
 we have any right to, she had no pride, and treated 
 all who were worthy of her notice with kindness.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Miss Stewart, ' it was her only fault. 
 She was a woman of family : and with her connexions, 
 if she had held her head a little higher, and never 
 taken notice of people because of their being good, 
 and such stuff, she might have lived in a genteeler 
 style. I am sure she gave as much to poor people 
 every year as might have given handsome dinners to 
 half the gentry in the country ; and, to curry favour 
 with my father, you encourage him in the same mean 
 ways. But I see through your mean arts, Miss, and I 
 despise them.' 
 
 ' Indeed, sister, I have no arts,' said Mary, 1 1 wish 
 to follow the example that was set us by the best of 
 mothers, and I am sure we cannot have a better model 
 for our conduct.' 
 
 ' Do as you please, Miss !' cried her sister, choking 
 with rage; and, leaving the room, slapped the door 
 after her with a violence which awaked their guest, 
 
of Glenburnie. 5 
 
 and brought their father up from his study to see what 
 was the matter. He found Mary in tears, and instantly 
 conjectured the cause of the uproar. ' I see how it is.' 
 said he : ' Bell has been giving vent to the passion 
 which I saw brewing in her breast, from the moment 
 that I brought this worthy woman into the room. The 
 ridiculous notions that she has got about gentility, 
 seem to have stifled every good feeling in her mind. 
 But it is my own fault. This is the effect of sending 
 her, on account of these accomplishments, to that 
 nursery of folly and impertinence, where she learned 
 nothing but vanity and idleness.' 
 
 ' Indeed, sir,' said Mary, ' my sister is very accom- 
 plished, and very genteel ; and it is natural that she 
 should wish to get into genteel company, to which she 
 thinks our taking notice of people in an inferior station 
 presents an obstacle.' 
 
 ' Then she thinks very foolishly, and very absurdly,' 
 replied Mr Stewart. ' My father was an honest man, 
 and therefore I am not ashamed of my origin ; but, 
 were I ashamed of it, could I by that make any one 
 forget it ? Does not all the country know that I am 
 but a farmer's son ? and though, by being factor on the 
 estate of Longlands, I have been brought into the 
 company of higher people, it is by my character, and 
 not by my situation, that I have gained a title to their 
 respect. Depend upon it, Mary, that as long as people 
 in our private station rest their claims to respect upon 
 the grounds of upright conduct and unblemished vir- 
 tue, they will not fail to meet with the attention they 
 deserve ; and, that the vain ambition of being esteemed 
 richer or greater than we really are, is a contemptible 
 meanness, and will not fail to expose us to many morti- 
 fications. What in reality can be more mean than to 
 be ashamed of noticing a deserving person, because 
 
6 The Cottagers 
 
 they are poor? — unless,, indeed, it be the meanness of 
 courting the favour of one who is rich and wicked.' 
 
 Mary expressed her assent ; and Mr Stewart pro- 
 ceeded. ' As to Mrs Mason,' said he, ' she was, it is 
 true, but a servant in the house of Lord Longlands ; 
 and was brought up by the old lady from a child to be 
 a servant. Your mother was then in the house, in a 
 state of dependence, as a poor relation ; and would 
 have found her situation miserable, had it not been al- 
 leviated by the kind attentions of this good girl, Betty 
 Mason, who performed for her many friendly offices 
 essential to her comfort ; and was, in sickness, her sole 
 support and consolation. For the old lady, though 
 pride made her treat my wife as a relation, so far as to 
 give her a seat at her table, was a woman of a coarse 
 and selfish mind, and gave herself little trouble about 
 the feelings or comforts of any one. What my poor dear 
 angel suffered while she was in that great house, was 
 well known to me, and went to my heart. Then, seized 
 with a fever at a time the house was full of company, 
 she was so neglected, that she would inevitably have 
 lost her life, but for the care of Mason, who watched 
 her night and day. She always called her her pre- 
 server : and can we, my dear Mary, forget the obliga- 
 tion? No, no. Never shall one who showed kind- 
 ness to her, find aught but kindness at Gowan Brae. 
 Tell your sister that I say so ; and that if she does not 
 choose to treat Mrs Mason as my guest ought to be 
 treated, she had better keep her room. — But who comes 
 here ? A fine gentleman, I think. Do you know who 
 he is?' 'I never saw him, sir,' returned Mary; 'but 
 I suppose it is a Captain Mollins, whom my sister met 
 with when she went to the ball with Mrs Flinders.' 
 
 ' Mrs Flinders is a vain giddy woman,' said Mr 
 Stewart, 'and I do not like any one the better for 
 
of Glcnburnie. 7 
 
 being of her acquaintance ; but I will not prejudge the 
 merits of the gentleman.' Captain Mollins was then 
 shown in, and was received by Mr Stewart with a grave 
 civility, which might have embarrassed some people — 
 but the captain was not so easily abashed; saying, 
 that he had the honour of bringing a message for Miss 
 Stewart from Mrs Flinders. He took his seat, and 
 began talking of the weather with all the ease of an old 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Miss Stewart, who, in expectation of the captain's 
 visit, had changed her dress, walked into the room, 
 with a smile, or rather simper, on her countenance ; 
 through which an acute observer would, however, 
 have seen the remains of the recent storm. Her eyes 
 sparkled, but her eyebrows were not yet unbent to the 
 openness of good humour : her voice was, however, 
 changed to the tone of pleasure; and so much wit did 
 she find in the captain's conversation, that every sen- 
 tence he uttered produced a laugh. They had, indeed, 
 all the laugh to themselves ; for, as they only spoke 
 about the ball, and as neither Mr Stewart or Mary had 
 be 2n there, they could have no clue to the meaning of 
 the many brilliant things that were said. But when 
 the old gentleman heard the captain ask his daughter 
 whether she was not acquainted with some of the 
 quizzes whom he had seen speak to her, and saw his 
 daughter blush indignant at the charge, he thought it 
 time to ask for an explanation ; and begged the captain 
 to inform him of whom he spoke. 
 
 The captain turned off the question with a laugh 
 — saying, ' he was only rallying Miss Stewart about a 
 gentleman in a green coat, who had the assurance to 
 ask her to dance — one of the town's people — and you 
 know, sir, what a vulgar set they are, he, he, he !' 
 
 'O shockingly vulgar indeed,' said Miss Stewart; 
 
8 The Cottagers 
 
 ' but we have no acquaintance with them, I assure you 
 we visit none but the families in the country.' 
 
 'Then you have no remorse for your cruelty to 
 that poor Mr Fraser,' cried the captain. ' He looked 
 so mortified when you refused him — I shall never for- 
 get it, he, he, he !' 
 
 ' Ha, ha, ha— Well you are so comical,' said Miss 
 Stewart, endeavouring to prevent her father, who was 
 about to speak ; but the old gentleman would be heard. 
 'Was it Mr Fraser, did you say, sir, that asked my 
 daughter?' 
 
 'Yes, Fraser, Fraser, that was his name, I think 
 — a little squat vulgar fellow — one you probably don't 
 know.' 
 
 ' But I do know him, sir,' returned Mr Stewart ; 
 ' that little fat vulgar fellow is my nephew, sir — my 
 daughter's cousin-german ! A man of whose notice 
 she ought to be proud, for he is respected as a bene- 
 factor to the whole neighbourhood. Were she to be 
 ashamed to acknowledge her relationship to such a 
 man, because he wears plain manners and a plain coat, 
 I should be ashamed of her. Had my nephew been 
 less successful in business than he has been, he would 
 have still merited esteem ; for though of no high birth, 
 he possesses the heart, and soul, and spirit, of a 
 gentleman.' 
 
 ' Very true, sir — very true, indeed,' said the cap- 
 tain, with undaunted assurance. ' Mr Fraser is a very 
 worthy man ; he gives excellent dinners ; I have the 
 honour of knowing him intimately ; have dined with 
 
 him twice a week ever since I have been at ; a 
 
 very worthy man, indeed. I believe he dines with Mrs 
 Flinders to-day, and will probably see Miss Stewart 
 home ; for I hope she won't mortify her friend, by re- 
 fusing her invitation.' 
 
of Glenbumie. 9 
 
 Miss Stewart looked at her father, who was ex- 
 ceedingly averse from the proposal. At length, how- 
 ever, she carried her point, as she generally did ; for 
 Mr Stewart, though he saw, and hourly felt, the con- 
 sequence of his indulgence, wanted the firmness that 
 was necessary to enforce obedience, and to guide the 
 conduct of this froward and self-willed child. 
 
 i >^^j^ ; ^"^ 
 
 . / 
 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 DISSERTATION ON DRESS. — ANTIQUATED PRECEPTS. — 
 HISTORY OF MRS MASON'S CHILDHOOD. 
 
 R STEWART being called away on busi- 
 ness, left it in charge with his daughter 
 Mary to prevent the departure of their 
 guest during his absence : a commission 
 which she gladly undertook to execute, 
 saying, that she should watch for the 
 moment of her awakening in the adjoin- 
 *^i^* ing room. In going to it she passed the 
 door of her sister's apartment, which 
 stood ajar, as was indeed its usual state; 
 for she had, among her other accomplishments, ac- 
 quired such a habit of slapping it after her, that the 
 spring of the lock was always broken. 
 
 Mary hearing herself called on, entered, and asked 
 if she could render her any assistance in dressing. 
 ' O yes,' cried Bell, ' if you will only come and help 
 me to find my things ; I don't know, I am sure, where 
 they are all gone to. I have looked all these drawers 
 through, and I cannot find a single pair of stockings 
 fit to put on. What shall I do ? I have nothing fit 
 to wear. O me ! what shall I do ?' 
 
The Cottagers of Glcnburnie. 1 1 
 
 ' What ! nothing fit to wear, among all these heaps 
 of clothes ?' said Mary ; ' I believe few girls in the 
 country have such a well-stored wardrobe. We, at 
 any rate, have no reason to complain, as we always 
 find my father' 
 
 'My father!' interrupted Bell, 'I am sure my 
 father would never let us wear any thing in the fashion, 
 if he could. But what should he know about dress at 
 Gowan Brae? — I wonder you have not more spirit 
 than to fall in with his old-fashioned notions.' 
 
 ' My father wishes us always to be dressed accord 
 ing to our station and our fortune,' returned Mary ; 
 ' and I think it a pity such notions should ever be out 
 of fashion.' 
 
 ' But they are,' said Bell, ' and that's enough. Who 
 thinks of being so mean as to confess that they cannot 
 afford anything expensive ? I wish you saw how the 
 young ladies in Edinburgh dress ! I don't mean those 
 who have fortunes, for there is nothing in that ; but 
 those who have not a shilling to depend on. Yet they 
 are all so fine, that one is ashamed to be seen beside 
 them ! Look there, and see whether I have one de- 
 cent thing to put on.' 
 
 'Indeed, your things are very good,' returned 
 Mary, ' if you would be persuaded to keep them pro- 
 perly. I wonder you would not do it for the sake of 
 having a comfortable room ; for it is always so strewed 
 with litter, that one never can find a chair to sit down on ; 
 and think how your things must be spoiled by the dust. 
 
 ' But who can be at the trouble of fold-folding their 
 things as you do?' cried Bell; 'and, besides, it is so 
 like an old maid. Well, now that you have put that 
 gown in order, I think it will do ; and now, if you 
 would let me have your new cap, I should be quite 
 smart.' 
 
12 The Cottagers 
 
 ' And why not wear your own ? It is surely the 
 same, if not better than mine is.' 
 
 ' O no,' returned Miss Bell, ' it is all torn to pieces.' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 ' Why, I forgot to put it in the box ; and so it met 
 with a misfortune — How could I help it ? I am sure 
 I never saw such a thing in my life ; nor any one else. 
 These vile little terrier puppies ! I never knew the 
 like of them ; but they are just kept about the house 
 to plague me. I had only lain down upon my bed to 
 read a novel I got from Mrs Flinders, when I heard 
 the nasty things come into the room : but I could not 
 be at the trouble to put them out, I was so interested 
 in the book. Little did I think it was my cap they 
 were tearing to pieces, all the while they went bounc- 
 ing and jumping about the room. Whurt, whurt ! 
 cried one ; Wouf, wouf ! cried the other ; but I still 
 read on, till I was so much affected by the story, that 
 I was obliged to get up to look for my pocket-hand- 
 kerchief — when, lo ! the first thing I beheld was the 
 fragments of my poor cap ! not one morsel of it to- 
 gether. The lace torn into perfect scraps, and the 
 ribbon quite useless ! Do now let me have your cap 
 like a good creature, and I promise to take care of it.' 
 
 Mary, who was indeed a good creature, could 
 refuse her sister nothing when she spoke to her with 
 temper. She brought her the cap, and assisted her in 
 dressing her hair for it ; but could not avoid taking 
 the opportunity of giving her a few cautionary hints, 
 with regard to forming hasty intimacies with the stran- 
 gers she met at Mount Flinders. Bell was instantly 
 in arms in defence of her friend's associates, who were 
 all excessively genteel ; but happily the carriage was at 
 the door, and the coachman so impatient, that she 
 had no time for a further discussion. She was no 
 
of Glenburnie. 1 3 
 
 sooner gone than Mary went to inquire for her guest ; 
 and as the cordial invitation she carried her was given 
 with evident good will, it was accepted of in the spirit 
 of gratitude. 
 
 Mr Stewart did not return till the evening of the 
 following day ; but in the interim the time passed 
 cheerfully. The conversation often turned upon a 
 topic that was ever interesting to the heart of Mar}- — 
 the virtues of her mother, on which she delighted to 
 expatiate; she likewise spoke of her brothers, who 
 had been recommended by her mother to her parti- 
 cular care. ' I deeply feel,' said Mary, ' the import- 
 ance of the trust ; and I daily pray to God for strength 
 to execute it. What, alas ! can I do for my brothers, 
 but give them the best advice I can, when they are at 
 home with me, and write to them when they are at 
 school ? They are indeed very good boys, and never 
 refuse to attend to what I say, unless in regard to the 
 respect I wish them to pay my sister. But she is con- 
 stantly finding fault with some of them ; and is, I 
 fear, so jealous of their attachment to me, that she 
 will never love them as she ought, which often makes 
 me very unhappy ; for I have been used to hear my 
 mother say, that young men generally turned out well, 
 who had a peaceful happy home ; and, besides, what 
 can be so delightful as a family of love !' 
 
 ' True,' replied Mrs Mason, ' it is one of the cha- 
 racteristics of heaven. But in this life, my dear Miss 
 Mary, every one must have their trials ; and were it 
 not for the contrariety of dispositions and tempers, 
 how few trials should we have to encounter in domes- 
 tic life ! To yield to those who in their turn yield to 
 us, is an easy task, and would neither exercise our 
 patience, nor forbearance, nor fortitude ; and are not 
 these most precious virtues ?' 
 
14 Tlie Cottagers 
 
 ' How like that is to my good mother ! ' cried 
 Maiy. ' Oh, Mrs Mason, if I had always such a 
 friend as you beside me, to put me in mind of my 
 duty, and to support me in performing it, I think I 
 should never sink under it, as I sometimes do.' 
 
 ' And have you not a friend, a guide, and a sup- 
 porter, in Him who called you to these trials of your 
 virtue ? Consider, my dear young lady, it is your hea- 
 venly Father who has set the task — perform it as unto 
 Him, and when you have to encounter opposition, or 
 injustice, you will no longer find them intolerable.' 
 
 ' Thank you, thank you,' replied Mary ; ' I fear I 
 do not always reflect so much on this as I ought. I 
 shall, however, endeavour to keep it more in mind for 
 the future. But tell me, Mrs Mason, how it is that 
 you come to think so justly — so like my dear mother? 
 You must, like her, have had the advantage of an 
 excellent education. And yet, pardon me, for I sup- 
 pose I have been misinformed, but I understood that 
 you were not, when young, in a situation in which 
 you could be supposed to receive the benefit of much 
 instruction. I now see you have had greater advan- 
 tages than I imagined.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Mrs Mason, smiling, ' my advan- 
 tages indeed were great. I had a good mother, who, 
 when I was a little child, taught me to subdue my 
 own proud spirit, and to be tractable and obedient. 
 Many poor people think that their children will learn 
 this time enough, when they go into the world ; and 
 that, as they will meet with hardships when they grow 
 up, it would be a pity to make them suffer by contra- 
 dicting them when they are little. But what does a 
 child suffer from the correction of a judicious parent, 
 in comparison of what grown people suffer from their 
 passions ? my mother taught me the only true road 
 
of Glenbumie. 1 5 
 
 to obedience, in the love and fear of God. I learned 
 from her to read, but she read ill herself, and could 
 not instruct me in a proper method ; nor could she 
 afford to send me to school, for she was reduced to 
 extreme poverty. She died when I was ten years old, 
 and I thank God for enabling me to add to the com- 
 forts of the last year of her life by my industry.' 
 
 ' Why, what could you do for her at that tender 
 age ?' said Mary, ' you were but a little child.' 
 
 ' I was so, Miss,' replied Mrs Mason, ' but I could 
 knit stockings, though I wore none ; and having knit 
 a pair for the gardener's wife at Hill Castle, I was re- 
 commended by her to the housekeeper, who had the 
 gout in her feet, and wanted a pair knit of lamb's 
 wool, to wear in the winter. I happened to please 
 her ; and when she paid me, she not only gave me 
 twopence over and above the price, but a bit of sweet- 
 cake, which I immediately put in my pocket, saying, 
 I would take it to my mother. This brought on some 
 questions, the result of which was an order to come 
 to the castle daily for my mother's dinner. Never, 
 never shall I forget the joy of heart with which I went 
 home with these glad tidings ; nor the pious gratitude 
 with which my mother returned her thanks to God for 
 this unlooked-for mercy ! She hoped that I would 
 gain the favour of benefactors by my diligence and in- 
 dustry, and she was not disappointed. The house- 
 keeper spoke of me to her lady, who desired that when 
 I next came I might be taken up to her room, that 
 she might see me. Her orders were obeyed next day, 
 and with trembling limbs and a beating heart did 
 I approach her. She asked me several questions, and 
 was so well satisfied with my answers, that she said 
 she was sure I was a good girl, and that she would 
 give me education to make me a good servant, and 
 ( 
 
1 6 The Cottagers 
 
 that I should live at the castle under the care of Jack 
 son. Seeing me hesitate, she looked angry, and 
 asked me if I was too proud to be a servant under 
 Jackson ? ' O no,' I cried, ' I would be happy to 
 do anything for Mrs Jackson, but I cannot leave my 
 mother. She is not able to leave her bed, and I do 
 everything for her ; she has no one but me to help her.' 
 ' It is very true, my lady,' said the housekeeper, 
 and she then gave such an account of all I did for my 
 mother, as seemed to astonish the old lady, who, in a 
 gentler tone, said that I was a good girl, a very good 
 girl ; and should come to live with her when my 
 mother died, which could be at no great distance. 
 The possibility of my mother's death had never be- 
 fore occurred to me ; and when my lady put half-a- 
 crown into my hand, which she said was to serve for 
 earnest, I looked at it with horror, considering it 
 as making a sort of bargain for my mother's life. 
 With tears running down my cheeks, I begged her 
 to take back the money, for that I should be ready to 
 serve her by night or by day for what she pleased 
 to give me; but she refused, and telling me I was 
 a little fool, bade me take the silver to my mother, 
 and say, that she should have as much every week. 
 ' Your ladyship will not be long troubled with the 
 pensioner/ said the housekeeper ; 'for I am much 
 mistaken if she has many weeks to live.' I was 
 so struck at hearing this sad sentence, that I went 
 home with a heavy heart, and complained to my 
 mother of her having concealed from me that she 
 was so very ill. She said she knew how much I had 
 to do, that my exertions were beyond my strength ; 
 and therefore she had not had the heart to afflict 
 me with speaking of her situation. But she saw 
 that her trust in Providence had not been in vain. 
 
of Glcnburnie. 17 
 
 The Lord, who had through life so graciously sup- 
 plied her wants, had heard her prayers in behalf of 
 her child. ' Yes,' repeated she, ' my prayers have 
 been answered in peace. I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth ; continue to serve Him, my dear bairn, and 
 though we now part, we shall hereafter meet in joy.' 
 She continued some time apparently engaged in fer- 
 vent prayer. At length her lips ceased to move, and 
 I thought she had fallen asleep. I made up our 
 little fire, and having said my prayers, gently crept 
 to bed. She was then gone, but I did not know that 
 her soul had fled. Cold as she was, I did not think 
 it was the coldness of death ! But when I awoke in 
 the morning, and found that she no longer breathed, 
 and saw that her face was altered, though it still 
 looked mild and pleasing, I was seized with inexpres- 
 sible terror: this did not, however, last. I recollected 
 that God was still present with me ; and, casting 
 myself on my knees before Him, I held up my little 
 hands to implore His protection, engaging, in the 
 language of simplicity, that I would be evermore His 
 obedient child. 
 
 1 This action inspired me with courage. I delibe- 
 rately dressed myself, and went over to the farmer's 
 to tell of my sad loss, which was indeed proclaimed 
 by my tears rather than my words. Nothing could 
 exceed the kindness of all our neighbours upon this 
 occasion. They clubbed among them the expenses 
 of my mother's funeral, and resolved that all she had 
 should be kept for me. They made a sort of a rude 
 inventory of her little effects ; and on searching her 
 pockets, discovered the half-crown piece which had 
 been the prelude to all my sorrows. At sight of it, 
 my tears flowed afresh, and I cried out that I would 
 not have that big shilling — I would never touch it, 
 
 B 
 
1 8 The Cottagers 
 
 for it was it that had brought on my mother's death. 
 I then, as well as I could, told all that my lady had 
 said to me when she gave it, and was greatly sur- 
 prised to find, that, instead of joining in my aversion 
 to the half-crown, my good neighbours considered it 
 as an auspicious omen of my future fortune. Nor 
 have I had any reason to view it in a contrary light; 
 for though my life (the rest of which has been spent 
 in Lord Longland's family) has not been free from 
 troubles, it has been sweetened by many mercies. 
 But I must have tired you with talking of myself/ 
 continued Mrs Mason ; ' for what interest can you 
 take in the story of my childhood ?' 
 
 ( But I do indeed, Mrs Mason, I take a great in- 
 terest in it,' cried Mary ; ' and I have learned from 
 it more of the consequences of early education than 
 from many of the books I have read upon the subject. 
 Pray, tell me how you went on at Hill Castle ? and 
 tell me how soon it was that you saw my mother, and 
 what she was then like ?' 
 
 ' She was then exactly what you are now, my dear 
 young lady. The same height, the same soft voice, 
 the same fair complexion, and the same mild expres- 
 sion in her eyes. I could almost think it her that 
 now stands before me.' 
 
 ' Well, but you must go on from the time you went 
 home. Did the old lady receive you kindly?' 
 
 ' She meant to do so,' returned Mrs Mason ; ' but 
 she had a stern manner, and exacted such minute 
 and punctual obedience, as rendered it difficult to 
 please her. Indeed she was never pleased except by 
 those who flattered her grossly ; and it was, as I soon 
 saw, by flattery, that her own woman, Mrs Jackson, 
 had made herself such a favourite. But though I 
 could not approve the means, I must say this for 
 
of Glcnbumie, 19 
 
 M rs Jackson, that she did not make a bad use of her 
 favour, at least with regard to me, or to those she 
 thought she had in her power; but she was so jealous 
 of any one obtaining my lady's ear except herself, 
 that it made her often guilty of endeavouring to 
 create a prejudice against those whose influence she 
 had any dread of. I was warned of this by my first 
 friend, the old housekeeper, who, on the day after I 
 went home, called me into her little parlour, and 
 said, that as she had been the means of bringing me 
 to the house, she would always be my friend as long 
 as I was good and obedient ; but that, as she wished 
 me well, she would not have me speak of her kind- 
 ness ; for that, said she, would not please Mrs Jack- 
 son, for she likes to think that people owe everything 
 to her — aye, even before my lady herself. For though 
 my lady may be angry, she will forget and forgive ; 
 but if you once show Jackson that you wish to please 
 anybody before her, she will neither forget nor forgive 
 it to you as long as you live ; and while you look to 
 her as all in all, she will be very kind to you, and 
 make my lady kind to you too ; for she does with my 
 lady what she pleases.' 
 
 ' I dropped my little curtsey, and " Thank you, 
 ma'am," at the end of her discourse ; but I suppose I 
 did not seem satisfied, for she asked me if I was thinking 
 of what she had been saying to me ? ' Yes, ma'am," 
 said I, "but" — "But what?" said she. It was in 
 vain she asked ; I could not express myself — for I 
 could not point out where the error lay, though I felt 
 that the conduct she recommended was somewhat 
 opposite to that uprightness and sincerity which my 
 mother had so strictly enforced. I resolved, however, 
 to exert myself to gain Mrs Jackson's good will, by 
 diligence and attention ; and thought, in spite of all 
 
20 The Cottagers 
 
 the housekeeper said, that she must love me the bet- 
 ter for being grateful to whoever was kind to me. 
 
 ' As our progress in everything depends upon our 
 diligence, and as even in childhood we soon learn 
 what we resolve to learn, Mrs Jackson had little 
 trouble in the task of teaching me. I soon worked 
 at my needle as well as was possible for a child of my 
 age ; and she did not spare me, for she was wont to 
 boast to my lady at night of what I had performed in 
 the day. I never had a minute's time to play ; but 
 though such close confinement was not good for my 
 health, it was good for giving me a habit of applica- 
 tion, the most essential of all habits for those who are 
 to earn their bread. 
 
 ' By the time I was twelve years old, Mrs Jackson 
 found me so useful an assistant, that I should proba- 
 bly have been fit for nothing but needle-work all my 
 life long, had not my lady been so pleased with my 
 performance, as to resolve to employ me in assisting 
 her in the embroidering of a set of chair covers, which 
 were to be done in a fancy way of her own contriv- 
 ance. I now sat all the day in her dressing-room, and 
 had nothing to complain of except hunger; but of 
 my being hungry my lady never thought, though 
 she must have known that I often fasted nine, and 
 sometimes ten hours at a time ; for I never durst rise 
 from my work until she went down to dinner ; but, 
 though thoughtless of my wants, she was in other 
 respects very kind to me, and gave me every encour- 
 agement by praising my work. The more satisfaction 
 she expressed in me, the less gracious did Mrs Jack- 
 son become. She would on some days scarcely speak 
 to me; and though I begged to know if I had offended 
 her, would make me no other answer than that I was 
 now too fine a lady to mind anything she could say. 
 
of Glenbumie. 2 1 
 
 This made me very unhappy, so that I often cried 
 sadly when I was sitting at my work alone ; and was 
 one day observed by my lady, who, though my back 
 was towards her, had seen my face in the glass as she 
 entered the room. She asked what was the matter 
 with me in a tone so peremptory, that I dared not re- 
 fuse to answer j and with many tears I confessed, that 
 Mrs Jackson was displeased with me, and I knew not 
 for what. 
 
 ' " But I shall know," said my lady, pulling the bell 
 with violence — " Jackson cannot be angry without 
 a cause." Jackson appeared ; and without hesitation 
 denied the charge. " Me angry with the poor child !" 
 said she ; how could she think me angry with her ? 
 Am not I her best friend? But it is evident what 
 the matter is, my lady; the poor young creature is 
 broken-hearted from confinement; and besides, she 
 is getting uppish notions, from sitting up like a lady 
 from morning to night. But your ladyship pleases 
 to have her beside you, to be sure, or you would not 
 have her, and so I say nothing ; but if I were to pre- 
 sume to speak, I should say that it would do the poor 
 thing more good to let her do a little stirring work 
 under the housemaid now and then ; for I don't like 
 to see young creatures spoiled till they are good for 
 nothing; but if your ladyship thinks that she can 
 work the chair-covers better than I can, your ladyship 
 knows best." 
 
 ' Whether my lady saw through the motives of this 
 advice or no, I cannot tell, but she complied with it, 
 and I was immediately consigned to Molly the house- 
 maid, who was one of the most active and clever ser- 
 vants I have ever known. 
 
 ' I had been so cramped by constant sitting, that I 
 found it very difficult to go about my new occupation 
 
22 Tlie Cottagers 
 
 with the activity which Molly required, and of which 
 she set me the example. But I soon acquired it; 
 and Molly confessed she never had to tell me the 
 same thing twice. This made her take pains with 
 me ; and I have often since found the advantage of 
 having learned from her the best way of doing all 
 sorts of household work. She was of a hasty temper, 
 but very good-natured upon the whole; and if she 
 scolded me heartily for any little error in the way of 
 doing my work, she praised me as cordially for taking 
 pains to rectify it. As there were many polished 
 grates to scour, and a vast number of rooms to keep 
 clean, we had a great deal to do ; but it was made 
 easy by regularity and method ; so that in winter we 
 had time to sit down to our needles in the evening, 
 and in summer generally contrived to get a walk as 
 far as the dairy. 
 
 ' I was a year and a-half under Molly, and thought 
 it a happy time ; for though I worked hard, I got 
 health and spirits, and was as gay as a lark. When 
 Molly was going to be married, she desired the house- 
 keeper to ask my lady to permit me to be her bride- 
 maid. We were both called into my lady's room, 
 when she repeated the request; and taking me by 
 the hand, " It is but justice," says she, " to tell your 
 ladyship how this lassie has behaved. I thought 
 when she began she never would have made a ser- 
 vant, because she never had been used to it ; but I 
 soon found that she had a willing mind, and that was 
 everything. She has been greater help to me than 
 some that were twice her age ; and in the eighteen 
 months she has been with me, she has never disap- 
 pointed me by any neglect, nor ever told me an un- 
 truth, or given me a saucy answer. And she has 
 been so civil and discreet, I wish to put what respect 
 
of Glenburnie. 23 
 
 on her is in my power ; and if your ladyship pleases 
 to let her be my bridemaid, I shall take it as a great 
 favour to myself." My lady looked at Jackson, who 
 was dressing out her toilet, and had stopped to listen 
 to Molly's speech. " Do you think she can be spared, 
 Jackson ?" said my lady. " Indeed," replied Jackson, 
 " if you ask me, my lady, I certainly do not think 
 she can." 
 
 ' " If you please, my lady," said Molly, " the new 
 housemaid says she will think nothing of doing all the 
 work to give a ploy to poor Betty : the dairy-maid too 
 will help her ; there is not a servant in the house that 
 would not, she is so obliging and so good-natured a 
 lassie." 
 
 ' "Oh if you are to dictate to my lady, that's an- 
 other thing," cried Jackson ; " I supposed my lady 
 was to do as she pleased." 
 
 " And so I will," said my lady, peevishly ; " go 
 down stairs now (to me), and I will think of it." In 
 a short time Jackson came down exultingly, and bid 
 me go to my work, for that my lady did not choose 
 that I should have my head turned, and be made good 
 for nothing by going about to weddings. 
 
 ' I made no answer, but I could not help being 
 much vexed ; for it was the first time I had the pros- 
 pect of any pleasure ; and the idea of seeing a dance, 
 and enjoying all the merriment of such a happy day, 
 had quite elated my spirits, which were now as sud- 
 denly depressed. I endeavoured to hide my tears ; 
 but Jackson, who was put out of temper by the con- 
 sciousness of having treated me harshly, was glad to 
 throw the blame from herself, and therefore accused 
 Molly of having spoiled and misled me, by filling my 
 head with folly; an accusation that vexed me even 
 more than my disappointment.' 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HISTORY OF MRS MASON CONTINUED. 
 
 FTER dinner, Mrs Mason, at Miss Mary's 
 request, resumed the account of her life, 
 which we shall give as nearly as possible 
 in her own words, without taking notice 
 of the observations that were made by her 
 young friend ; or of interruptions that oc- 
 curred to break the thread of her story: — 
 Jackson, who had now got over her 
 fears of my lady's taking a fancy to me, be- 
 gan to wish for my assistance in the work she was 
 about; and got my lady prevailed upon to put me 
 once more under her direction. She took care that I 
 had full employment, and I thank her for it, though it 
 was not to show her goodwill that she did it, but the 
 contrary ; for she still retained a grudge at me, for the 
 affection I had expressed for Molly ; and it was in this 
 spirit that she laid out my work. As you have been at 
 Hill Castle, you must remember the old tower, and that 
 there are four rooms in it, one over the other to the top. 
 The lowest of these rooms, that on the ground-floor, 
 with the iron-barred windows, was Jackson's own apart- 
 
The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 25 
 
 ment, and where I likewise slept in a little press-bed. 
 There could not, to be sure, be a more dismal looking 
 place ; and indeed they said it had, in the old times, 
 been used as a prison, and was said by all the servants 
 to be haunted. But I had no leisure for thinking of 
 such things ; for, besides the quantity of needle-work 
 which Mrs Jackson exacted from me, I had all the 
 apartments of the tower, from top to bottom, com- 
 mitted to my care, and had to sweep and dust them, 
 and to rub the furniture every day ; so that in the day 
 I was too busy, and by the time I went to bed too 
 sleepy, to think about the ghost. 
 
 Ever since I had been at the Castle, the tower 
 rooms had only been occasionally in use, when the 
 house was full of company ; but now the upper one 
 was, we heard, to be occupied by a cousin of my 
 lady's, who was spoken of by Jackson with the con- 
 tempt which servants are too apt to feel towards the 
 humble friends or poor relations of the families they 
 live with. I thought, I confess it with some vexation, 
 of the additional trouble which this new guest was to 
 occasion me ; and, on the evening of her arrival, went 
 to make up her room with no great cheerfulness. On 
 opening the door, I saw the young lady sitting at the 
 window, and would have gone back, but she desired 
 me to come in, in a voice so sweet, and yet so sor- 
 rowful, that it seemed to go to my very heart. I saw 
 she had been weeping, but she dried her tears, and 
 condescended to enter into conversation with me, 
 asking me how long I had been at service, and other 
 kindly questions. 
 
 ' Four years at service, and not yet fifteen ! ' said 
 she ; ' poor girl ! your parents must have been in great 
 distress to part with you so soon.' ' I have no parents, 
 ma'am,' said I ; ' my father was carried off in a fever 
 
26 The Cottagers 
 
 before I was born, and my mother died ten years 
 after; and then my lady was so good as to let me 
 come here to learn to be a servant.' 
 
 ' And you were thankful for getting leave to come 
 to learn to be a servant?' said Miss Osburne; 'what 
 a lesson for me !' She seemed for some moments 
 buried in thought ; and then, speaking to me again, 
 ' You are right to be thankful, Betty ; God Almighty, 
 who is the Father of the fatherless, will never forsake 
 us while we trust in Him ; and we ought to submit 
 ourselves to all His dispensations, and even to be 
 thankful for those that appear the darkest.' 
 
 When I looked at her lovely face, as it was again 
 bathed in tears, which fell fast as she spoke to me, I 
 thought her an angel ! so superior did she seem to 
 any human being that I had ever seen. The meek- 
 ness with which she bore her afflictions, increased my 
 respect ; but that one in the rank of a lady could have 
 her heart thus touched by grief, appeared to me in- 
 comprehensible ; for I was then so ignorant as to 
 think that the sorrows of life were only tasted in their 
 bitterness by those of lowly station. 
 
 You, my dear Miss Mary, have doubtless heard 
 enough of the history of your mother's family, to 
 know the sad change of circumstances which she 
 experienced on the death of her parents, an event 
 that had then lately taken place. I was unable to 
 form in my mind any notion of how this change 
 affected her ; for to me she appeared still placed in 
 a situation so high above all want, as to be most 
 enviable. She had no hard work to do, no task to 
 perform, and which, sick or well, must be accom- 
 plished; but servants to attend her, and fine rooms 
 to sit in, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and the 
 niceties of a plentiful table to eat. Alas ! I soon 
 
of Glenbutnie. 27 
 
 learned, from closer observation, how little these 
 things tend to happiness; and that peace of mind, 
 the only happiness to be had on earth, is distributed 
 by Providence with an equal hand among all the 
 various classes in society. 
 
 The kind manner in which Miss Osburne spoke to 
 me, made me take such pleasure in serving her, as 
 made all my work seem light. My attention did not 
 escape her notice, and O how richly did she repay it ! 
 Finding that I read indifferently, and not so as to 
 understand what I read, she proposed giving me a 
 daily lesson, which I thankfully accepted ; and, that 
 it might not interfere with my work, I got up an hour 
 earlier every morning, which I employed so diligently, 
 that even Mrs Jackson was fully satisfied. 
 
 I had now acquired sense enough to know what 
 an inestimable benefit was conferred upon me by my 
 dear Miss Osburne's kind instructions. To her good- 
 ness I am indeed indebted for all I know. From her 
 I not only learned to read with propriety, to write a 
 tolerable hand, and to cast accounts ; but, what was 
 more valuable than all these, from her I learned to 
 think. She opened to me the book of Providence, 
 and taught me to adore the wisdom, the justice, and 
 the mercy of my God, in all His dealings with the 
 human race. She taught me to explore my own heart ; 
 to be sensible of its errors and its weaknesses ; and to 
 be tender of the faults of others, in proportion as I 
 was severe upon my own. My mother had endea- 
 voured to lay in me the foundation of Christian prin- 
 ciples when I was a child ; but it was not until I had 
 learned from this dear young lady to search the Scrip- 
 tures for instruction, instead of running them over as a 
 task, that Christian principles were rooted in my heart. 
 
 What could I do for her in return? If I could 
 
28 The Cottagers 
 
 have laid down my life, it would have been too little , 
 and if, in any instance, I proved of service, or of com- 
 fort to her, I consider it a happiness for which I am 
 most truly thankful. 
 
 Her situation at Hill Castle was indeed a thorny 
 one. She was there encompassed with many evils ; 
 and, in one instance, beset with snares, which it re- 
 quired no common prudence to escape. But her 
 prudence was never put to sleep, as in other young 
 people it often is, by vanity ; and with all the meek- 
 ness and gentleness of a saint, she had all the wisdom 
 and the firmness of a noble and enlightened mind. 
 My lady and Jackson were the only persons that ever 
 saw Miss Osburne without loving her. But my lady, 
 though she sometimes took fancies to particular people, 
 which lasted for a little while, never loved any one for 
 their good qualities ; and had a spite at Miss Osburne 
 for being so much better informed, and so much wiser 
 than she was herself; and it was enough to prevent 
 Jackson from loving her, that she was so loved by me. 
 
 But, notwithstanding all my lady's crossness to 
 her, Miss Osburne endeavoured to make her happy, 
 by labouring to bring about a reconciliation between 
 her and her son; and she so far succeeded, as to prevail 
 on him to come to the castle on the death of his lady, 
 and to leave his little boy (the present lord) under his 
 mother's care. I never thought my lady loved the 
 child ; but, as the heir of the family, she was proud of 
 him, and indulged his humour in everything, so that 
 his temper was quite spoiled. He took a fancy to 
 play in Jackson's room, in preference to the nursery, 
 and was attended by his maid, a very aitful woman, 
 who had contrived to make the child fond of her, by 
 giving him in secret quantities of sweet-cake, which, 
 on account of his stomach, he was forbid to eat. 
 
of Glenburnie. 29 
 
 When he could not be bribed into doing what she 
 pleased, she had nothing for it but to frighten him ; 
 and, in order to do so effectually, used to tell him 
 stories of hobgoblins, and to make a noise as of some 
 spirit coming to take him away; on hearing which, 
 the little creature would run panting and terrified, to 
 hide his head in her lap. You can have no notion 
 how his nerves were shaken by this. I believe he feels 
 it to the present day, and am sure that much of his 
 oddity, and his bad temper, of which the world talks 
 so much, might all be traced to the bad management 
 of Jenny Thomson. 
 
 ' It one day happened, that while I was busied in 
 getting up a suit of lace for my lady, the little lord 
 came into our room, as usual, to play. Two pieces of 
 the lace which I had ironed were hung on the screen 
 by the fire, and while I was smoothing out another for 
 the iron, he snatched one of the pieces from the screen, 
 and twisted it round his neck. I flew to rescue it, 
 and called Jenny to desire him to give it up, which 
 she did in a wheedling tone, promising at the same 
 time that she would give him a piece of plum-cake. 
 
 ! I know that you have none to give me/ cried he \ 
 1 1 have eat all up, so I don't mind you.' ' And don't 
 you mind me?' cried I, 'what mischief are you doing 
 me ! Your grand-mamma will be so angry with me, 
 that I must tell her the truth, and then she will be 
 angry with you too.' ' I don't care,' cried Lord Lin- 
 top, twisting the lace firmer round his neck. Seeing 
 that no other means would do, I took hold of him to 
 take it from him by force. He immediately set up a 
 scream of passion, but I persisted, and disengaged 
 the lace as gently as I could from his grasp ; but no 
 sooner had I succeeded, than he snatched up the 
 other piece, and, in a transport of rage, threw it on 
 
30 The Cottagers 
 
 the fire, driving the screen down at the same time 
 with great violence. 
 
 The fire was strong, and the lace dry, so that its 
 destruction was the work of a moment. At the ex- 
 pense of burning my hand and arm, I saved a frag- 
 ment, but it could be of no use, and I really became 
 sick with terror and vexation. 
 
 Jenny desired me not to vex myself, for that it 
 was easy to say that the screen fell by accident, and 
 that my lord would be a good boy, and say that he 
 saw it fall, and that the lace which hung on it fell 
 into the fire ; ' and then what can my lady say, you 
 know?' cried she, perfectly satisfied with the arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 1 Her story might do very well,' I said, ' provided 
 there was none to witness against us.' 
 
 ' And who can witness against us ?' said she, ' has 
 not the door been shut all the time ? Who then can 
 witness against us ?' 
 
 ' O Jenny,' returned I, ' there are witnesses whom 
 no door can shut out, — God and our own consciences. 
 If these witness against us, what does it signify whether 
 my lady be pleased or no ? I hope I shall never be 
 so wicked as to tell a wilful falsehood.' 
 
 'Wicked, indeed!' repeated Jenny, very angrily. 
 ' Where have you lived all your days, I wonder, that 
 you can talk such nonsense ! as if servants must not 
 always do such things, if they would keep their place ? 
 I know more of the world than you do, Mrs Wisdom, 
 and can tell you that you will not find many masters 
 or mistresses that do not like better to be imposed 
 upon than to know the truth, when it does not happen 
 to be agreeable. How long, think you, should I keep 
 my place, were I to tell all the truths about every- 
 thing that Lord Lintop does? but I know better; I 
 
of Glenburnie. 31 
 
 always think with myself, before I go up, of what they 
 would like to hear ; and in all the places I have been 
 in, I have found it turn to my advantage. Take my 
 advice, and tell the story as I have made it out, or 
 depend upon it you will get yourself brought into a 
 pretty scrape.' 
 
 She was called to go up to my lady with her little 
 charge, and I was left alone in a very disconsolate 
 state. The temptation to follow her advice was strong, 
 but, thank God, my principles were stronger ; and the 
 consequences of beginning a course of sin by depart- 
 ing from truth, were so deeply imprinted on my mind, 
 that I was preserved from the snare. 
 
 On telling Jackson what had happened, she was 
 at first thrown into a mighty passion, and would have 
 cast the blame on me if it had been possible; but, 
 though always unreasonable while her anger lasted, 
 she was too good a woman not to be shocked at the 
 thoughts of making up a deliberate and wicked lie, 
 in order to deceive her mistress. We were still in 
 consultation, when my lady rang her bell for Jackson, 
 who returned in a moment, to tell me that I must 
 immediately go up and answer for myself; but that 
 as my friend Miss Osburne was there, I need not be 
 afraid, for she would certainly take my part. 
 
 I went up, as you may believe, with a beating 
 heart. As soon as I opened the door, my lady, in a 
 sharp voice, asked me what I had done with her fine 
 lace ? adding, that I had better tell the truth at once, 
 than make any evasion. ' I will indeed tell the truth, 
 my lady,' said I ; ' and though I am very sorry for 
 the loss, your ladyship will be convinced that I could 
 not help it, and am not to blame.' I then told the 
 story simply as it had happened ; but, while telling 
 it, plainly saw that what I said made no impression. 
 
32 The Cottagers 
 
 When I had finished, my lady looked me full in the 
 face, her eyes quite wild with rage and indignation, 
 and, bursting into a sort of scornful laugh, ' A pretty 
 story truly you have made out indeed ! ' cried she. 
 ' This is all the good of your reading the Bible for- 
 sooth ! first to destroy my lace through carelessness, 
 and then to lay the blame upon the poor child ! the 
 heir of the family ! one whom such a creature as you 
 ought to have thought yourself honoured in being 
 permitted to wipe the dirt from his shoes ? And yet 
 you dare to lay your faults to his door ; to complain 
 of him, and to complain of him to me ? What assur- 
 ance ! But I am happy to have detected you ; you 
 are a vile hypocrite, and shall no longer be harboured 
 in this house. I give you warning to provide your- 
 self in another place.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to have offended your ladj'ship,' said 
 I, very humbly ; ' but indeed I have told the truth, 
 and I am sure Jenny cannot be so wicked as not to 
 confirm every word I have said.' 
 
 ' Pardon me for interfering,' said Miss Osburne, 
 1 but I have such good reason for having a high 
 opinion of Betty's principles, that I am convinced she 
 is incapable of being guilty of what you attribute to 
 her. I could stake my life on her sincerity. Do, my 
 dear madam, take a little time for inquiry before you 
 condemn.' 
 
 This reasonable advice seemed like throwing oil 
 on the fire of my lady's pride, and she became more 
 angry than ever. She, however, desired Jenny to be 
 immediately called. As soon as she entered, she was 
 desired to tell without fear, in what manner the acci- 
 dent had happened. ' I am sure, my lady,' said the 
 artful girl, ' it was, as your ladyship says, an accident ; 
 for I am sure Mrs Mason had no intention whatever 
 
of Glenburnie. 33 
 
 to drive down the screen, nor do I believe she saw 
 when she did it, for it was in turning round that she 
 pushed it over, and the lace just fell into the fire, and 
 was burned in a moment.' 
 
 ' And where was Lord Lintop at the time?' asked 
 Miss Osburne. 
 
 ' I believe he was standing at the table,' returned 
 Jenny, hesitatingly. ' O, now I recollect, he was 
 playing with his little coach, the coach which her 
 ladyship gave him, and which he is so fond of, that 
 he would never let it be out of his hand ; but, indeed, 
 he loves everything that his grand-mamma gives him ; 
 I never saw so dear a tractable creature in all my life.' 
 
 1 Are you sure that he was then playing with the 
 coach?' asked Miss Osburne. ' O very sure and 
 certain,' returned Jenny ; ' I remember it particularly, 
 because I had just put a string to it, as we went into 
 Mrs Jackson's room.' 
 
 ' I shall refresh your memory, however,' said Miss 
 Osburne, rising, and opening the door of a closet, 
 from whence she returned with the coach in her hand, 
 ' This toy has been in that closet since yesterday 
 evening, that I took it from the child when he was 
 going to bed. In this instance, therefore, you have 
 not been correct.' 
 
 ' That is of no consequence,' said my lady ; ' the 
 child might have been playing with some other toy ; 
 all I ask is, did he touch the lace ?' 
 
 ' He ! poor innocent darling ! ' cried Jenny ; no, 
 as I hope to be saved, he was not even near it.' 
 
 ' O Jenny, what a sin are you committing !' I ex- 
 claimed. But her ladyship commanded me to be 
 silent, and to leave the room.' 
 
 I went, grieved and astonished at her injustice, 
 but rejoicing in my innocence. Jackson was very 
 
 c 
 
34 The Cottagers 
 
 kind to me, and assured me that my lady would, when 
 left to herself, come round, but that there would be no 
 good in speaking to her at present. There was indeed 
 no good in it ; for all that Miss Osburne said in my 
 defence, only made her more positive in asserting the 
 truth of Jenny's story ; and when my amiable friend 
 would have questioned the child, she helped him to all 
 his answers ; and it is surprising how soon children can 
 observe who is on their side, and how soon they can 
 learn to practise the little arts of cunning and deceit. 
 
 My leaving the castle was now a thing fixed and 
 certain ; and the only consolation I could receive in 
 the view of it, was from a knowledge of carrying with 
 me the good-will of all that knew me. I was shocked 
 at the thoughts of being thrown into the world without 
 a friend ; but I was reminded by dear Miss Osburne, 
 that the friendship of man is but a bending reed, in 
 comparison of the protection of Him, who is, to all 
 that put their trust in Him, a tower of strength. 
 
 I was now to go in three days, and was not yet 
 provided for ; but Miss Osburne had written about 
 me to a friend of hers, and I hoped her application 
 would be successful. In the meantime Lord Long- 
 lands arrived at the castle, to prepare his mother 
 for the reception of his intended bride, the heiress 
 of Merriton, whose great fortune made her a more 
 acceptable daughter-in-law to the old lady than my 
 lord's first wife had been ; and Jackson, seeing my 
 lady in such high good humour, thought it a favourable 
 time to soften her in my behalf. She began by telling 
 her how sorry I was to leave the castle, and then ven- 
 tured to say many things in my praise ; taking care, 
 at the sametime, to contrast all she said in my favour, 
 with the idleness and self-conceit of Jenny, whose 
 word, she said, would never be taken before mine by 
 
of Glenburnie. 35 
 
 any one who knew us both, as she did. Poor Jackson 
 had reason to repent her zeal ; for she found my lady 
 so prepossessed in favour of my adversary, that all 
 she said against her was attributed to spite. And 
 she now saw, that by having accustomed her lady to 
 flattery, she had exposed her to the arts of a more 
 cunning flatterer than herself. In fact, Jenny looked 
 to Jackson's place, and would have succeeded in her 
 designs, had it not been for a very extraordinary acci- 
 dent, which brought all her character to light. 
 
 On the morning that I was to leave the castle, 
 Miss Osburne told Lord Longlands that his mother 
 was that day to part with the most attached and faith- 
 ful creature in the world, on account of her having 
 thrown the blame of burning a piece of lace on little 
 Charles. My lord inquired into the particulars, and 
 resolved to have the matter investigated fairly before 
 I went, and on my lady's coming in told her his de- 
 sign. Both Jenny and I were summoned to appear; 
 and my lord, having first requested that no one should 
 speak but the person he called on for an answer, first 
 desired me to tell my story ; and when I had finished, 
 called on Jenny for hers. She began much in the 
 same way she had done before ; but, in concluding, 
 added what she had not then said, that I had imme« 
 diately entreated her not to tell how it happened, but 
 to join me in saying it was Lord Lintop who threw 
 down the screen, for that my lady would not be angry 
 if she thought he did it. She was then beginning a 
 long harangue upon her good will to me, and the 
 hardships she lay under in being looked down upon 
 by all the servants in the house, because she would 
 not join me in making up a story against her dear 
 innocent child, to save me from my lady's anger. 
 Lord Longlands desired her to stop ; and then asked 
 
36 The Cottagers 
 
 rne what I had done with the lace, which the child 
 had twisted up, and which I said was torn. I had, I 
 said, given it to Mrs Jackson. She was called on, 
 and the lace was produced in the state I had described 
 it. On examining it, my lord called for his son, and 
 taking him on his knee, asked him if he remembered 
 the story he had told him of the little boy who always 
 spoke the truth? ' Yes, papa,' said the child. ' Will 
 you be a good boy like him,' said my lord, ' that I 
 may love you?' 'Yes, papa.' 'Well then, tell me 
 truly what you did with the piece of lace you tore from 
 this ? ' holding up the fragment. The child coloured 
 as red as scarlet ; and my lord kissing him, very mildly, 
 and in a cheerful encouraging voice, repeated the 
 question. ' I — I believe I hid it, papa,' said he. 
 
 ' Where did you hide it, my dear ? tell me truly, 
 and you shall have a ride upon the little horse this 
 very evening.' The boy looked round for Jenny, as 
 fearing to displease her : but her face was hid from 
 him by the back of the chair ; and his papa seeing 
 how it was, asked if Jenny had helped him to hide it ? 
 'No, no.' 'Where then had he put it?' 'He had 
 put it,' he said, ' in the back of his coat' This seemed 
 very unintelligible ; but, as he persisted in it, my lord 
 begged of Miss Osburne to desire one of the maids to 
 bring all the child's clothes into the room. Jenny 
 would have gone for them, but was not permitted to 
 leave the room. As soon as they were brought in, 
 Lord Lintop pointed to the little green coat, which I 
 well remembered him to have worn, and turning it 
 over, showed a rip in the seam, just by the pocket 
 hole, which Miss Osburne enlarged with her scissors, 
 and in a moment produced the lace. ' You are a good 
 boy, indeed,' exclaimed my lord, again caressing the 
 child. 'Now tell me, Charles, whether the piece of 
 
of Glenbumie. 37 
 
 lace that you threw into the fire was completely burned 
 or not ?' 'I don't know, indeed, papa : for I was very 
 naughty ; but I won't be naughty again if you forgive 
 me. I did not intend to tear the lace, but was only 
 just making a rope of it about my neck ; and so Betty 
 Mason flew to take it from me, and I did not like to 
 have it taken ; and held it, and we struggled a great 
 while — and — and ' — 
 
 ' And you were angry, and threw the other piece 
 into the fire, to vex Betty Mason : did you not ? ' 
 
 'Yes, papa.' 
 
 'You are an excellent evidence,' cried my lord, 
 J and shall have the ride I promised you : but now, 
 mark the consequence of being naughty. Look at 
 that woman there (turning to Jenny) ; see how she 
 is overwhelmed by shame and disgrace for having 
 wickedly persevered in telling a wicked lie, which she 
 probably thought would never be detected. But liars 
 never escape detection ; sooner or later they fall into 
 their own snares.' Jenny, loudly sobbing, now fell 
 down upon her knees to ask forgiveness ; but my 
 lord, waving his hand, bade her instantly leave the 
 room, and deliver up to his mother's maid all that she 
 had in her charge. ' Nor dare, upon your life,' cried 
 he, 'to approach this boy, or to speak one single 
 word to him while you live. Go, vile woman, — had I 
 known your character I should sooner have seen him 
 in his grave than placed him under your care !' 
 
 I was really sorry for the poor girl, and was bold 
 enough to intercede for her, but to no purpose. My 
 lord was inflexible; for a liar, he said, could have 
 no good principle. ' His lordship acts wisely and 
 nobly,' cried Miss Osburne ; ' and now, that no doubt 
 can rest upon the integrity of poor Mason, I hope, 
 Madam, you will not part with her ?' 
 
33 The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 
 
 ' I have no wish to part with her,' said my lady. 
 'That is not sufficient,' rejoined Lord Longlands; 'she 
 has been injured, and the injury must be repaired.' 
 Then ringing the bell, he desired the housekeeper and 
 Jackson, with all the other servants who were at hand, 
 to attend. They quickly obeyed the summons ; very 
 anxious to know what was going forward. 
 
 As soon as they were all assembled, my lord ad- 
 dressed them in a speech which I shall never forget. 
 ' I sent for you,' said he, ' in order to inform you, 
 that the woman who has left the room, is discarded 
 from my service on account of her having been guilty 
 of telling a wicked and malicious lie, in order to 
 throw the blame of a trifling accident upon an inno- 
 cent person. It likewise has been proved to our satis- 
 faction, that the conduct of this young woman, whom 
 she would have injured, has not only been blameless, 
 but highly meritorious; for she has shown that she 
 feared God, by speaking the truth before Him, with an 
 upright heart. For what you have suffered, Betty 
 Mason,' added he, 'both my mother and I are heartily 
 sorry ; and my son, who was the first occasion of it, 
 is ready to make you all the reparation in his power, 
 by asking your pardon. — Go, child, and ask Betty 
 Mason to forgive you.' 
 
 I would have prevented his having the mortifica- 
 tion, but my lord insisted that he should ; and then 
 taking from his purse this large gold piece, he pre- 
 sented it to me, desiring me to keep it as a memorial 
 of the happy consequences that result from a faithful 
 adherence to truth and sincerity. 
 
 Here Mrs Mason showed the gold coin to Miss 
 Mary Stewart. And as speaking of its history led to 
 a digression which it is unnecessary to follow, we shall 
 close the chapter. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HISTORY OF MRS MASON CONTINUED. 
 
 S soon as an opportunity offered for re- 
 suming her story, Mrs Mason, at Mary's 
 request, proceeded as follows : — 
 
 My Lord Longlands left the castle in 
 i^^^r*0 a day or two for Merriton Hall ; and on 
 the day after his arrival there, he wrote to 
 Miss Osburne, to inform her, that he had 
 prevailed on his intended bride to take 
 me into her service as a waiting-maid; and 
 hoped Miss Osburne would prevail on his mother to 
 part with me, to which the old dowager did not very 
 readily consent. But though she made a great favour 
 of it, it was at length happily settled ; and on the night 
 that Lord and Lady Longlands arrived at the castle, 
 after their marriage, I entered on my place. I found 
 7iy young mistress so amiable, so reasonable, and sweet- 
 tempered, that pleasing her would have been an easy 
 task, even to one less disposed to please her than I was. 
 I was congratulated by all the servants on my promo- 
 tion, and indeed thought myself the happiest creature in 
 the world. But my happiness was soon overcast ; for 
 in the midst of all the bustle of this first and only gay 
 
40 The Cottagers 
 
 season at the castle, your dear mother, my kind bene- 
 factress, was seized with a fever of a very malignant 
 and dangerous nature. She was three days ill before 
 the dowager-lady could be persuaded that anything 
 ailed her but a cold ; but when the doctor was at last 
 sent for, and explained the nature of her complaint, 
 all communication was cut off between the tower and 
 the other part of the house ; and, as I had already ex- 
 posed myself to the infection, I was, at my earnest 
 entreaty, permitted to remain with the dear sufferer, 
 whom I nursed night and day for several weeks. Nor 
 did I ever catch the infection, from which I was pre- 
 served, under Providence, by the attention I paid to 
 the doctor's advice ; for though the weather was then 
 cold, I followed his directions in keeping the windows 
 constantly up, so that a current of fresh air passed 
 continually through the room, which was a great com- 
 fort to the patient, and I believe tended more to her 
 recovery than all the medicines she swallowed. 
 
 At length, thank God, she did recover ; and oh, 
 how much did she then overrate the little service 
 I had it in my power to perform ; for what did I 
 more than was my bounden duty? Never shall I 
 forget the day she first was permitted to go down 
 stairs. With what unfeigned piety did she return 
 thanks to the Almighty for her preservation ! How 
 earnestly did she pray, that the life He had preserved 
 might be spent in His service, and in the service of 
 her fellow-creatures ! And it was so spent ; I am 
 certain that it was, though I, alas ! had no longer the 
 benefit of beholding her example ; for, before she re- 
 covered, my lord and lady had set off for England, 
 and had reached their seat in Yorkshire, to which I 
 was ordered to follow them by the stage-coach. 
 
 I was much agitated at the thoughts of leaving the 
 
of Glcnbiirnie. 4 1 
 
 castle, though. I expected to return to it with my lady 
 in the following summer. But it had been my little 
 world, and I was a stranger to all without its walls : 
 and, where I was going, I should have no kind Miss 
 Osburne to direct and counsel me ; no one who cared 
 for me as Jackson did ; or the old housekeeper, for 
 whom I regularly knit a pair or two of lamb's-wool 
 stockings every year as long as she lived. I went away 
 loaded with keepsakes from her and from Jackson, 
 and indeed from all the servants in the family, who 
 vied with each other in showing their good will. I 
 did not see the dowager-countess ; but Jackson told 
 me she was in such bad humour at my lord taking 
 his son away to send to school, that she could not see 
 any one with pleasure who was going to his house. 
 Your poor mamma suffered more from this bad tem- 
 per of the old lady than the servants did ; but she 
 neither complained of it herself, nor would suffer a 
 complaint of it to be made before her. I durst not 
 even drop a hint of it when we parted, which we did 
 with many tears on both sides. 
 
 I was received very graciously by my amiable mis- 
 tress, and had the comfort of finding a very well re- 
 gulated family, where, though there was a number of 
 servants, there was no confusion, every one's business 
 being so well ordered and so distinctly defined. My 
 lady, in arranging her household, was much indebted 
 to the advice of an old aunt, Miss Maiden, a maiden 
 lady who lived with her, and who had a great deal 
 of good sense, and with a sober and religious turn of 
 mind, was at the same time so lively and cheerful, 
 that her company was liked by young and old. 
 
 The family soon went to London, where my lord 
 and lady were obliged to go to great assemblies, and 
 to places of public amusement, as other great people 
 
42 The Cottagers 
 
 do ; but Miss Maiden never went to any of these 
 places, and when they were out, spent all her time in 
 reading. As her eyes were weak, she was obliged to 
 employ her maid to read for her, which the poor girl 
 thought a grievous task. Upon her complaining of it 
 to me, I told her how willingly I should relieve her, 
 if she could prevail on her lady to accept my services. 
 On the first evening that she happened to be alone, I 
 was accordingly sent for. The book that she was 
 then engaged in, was a history of the Old World 
 before the coming of our Saviour. The subject was 
 new to me, and the names were many of them very 
 hard ; but as I took pains, I soon got into the way of 
 pronouncing them. 
 
 Miss Maiden observing that I took pleasure in 
 understanding what I read, was so kind as to take the 
 trouble of explaining to me all the difficult passages. 
 She said she was sensible, that to one like me, it 
 could be of little consequence to know what had been 
 done so many ages ago by great kings and warriors > 
 but that there was no sort of knowledge without its 
 use; that the observations I made upon the conse- 
 quences of the pride, vain-glory, and ambition of those 
 conspicuous characters of whom we read, would im- 
 prove the powers of my understanding, and open my 
 mind to perceive the value of those Christian prin- 
 ciples which lead to peace here and happiness here- 
 after ; and would prove that it was not in the power 
 of all the riches or all the glory of the world to give ^ 
 content ; for, that to fear God, and to keep His com- 
 mandments, was the end of life. 
 
 I learned a great deal from the comments of this 
 good lady upon what I read to her ; and as all her 
 instructions were given with a view to strengthen me 
 in the performance of duty, I have reason to be 
 
of Glcnburnie. 43 
 
 thankful for such an opportunity of improvement. 
 During the five years that she lived, I continued to 
 be her reader every winter ; for it was only in winter 
 that she was ever left alone by my lady, who, when 
 in the country, lived a very domestic life. She had 
 all this time but one drawback on her happiness — 
 the want of children ; but at length this blessing 
 also was granted; and in the sixth year of her 
 marriage she produced a daughter. The joy of this 
 event was clouded by the death of her good aunt, 
 who expired after a short illness, before Lady Har- 
 riet was six weeks old. Her death was the death of 
 the righteous, full of faith, and hope, and joy. She 
 saw that it would be a loss to my lady, whose only 
 fault was an extreme indolence of temper. But she 
 did what she could to counsel her against the conse- 
 quences ; and, among other pieces of advice, recom- 
 mended it to her to place the whole management of 
 the nursery under my care. My lady told me this 
 when she proposed it to me, and told me also the 
 reasons she had given, which were too honourable 
 for me to repeat. 
 
 I knew nothing of the management of children, 
 but resolved to fulfil the trust to the best of my abili- 
 ties, and spare no pains to learn the best modes of 
 treating them in sickness and in health. As the family 
 increased, my duties enlarged ; but the only and the 
 perpetual difficulty with which I had to struggle, arose 
 from the obstinacy and self-sufficiency of the nurses. 
 Knowing, however, that I had the authority of my lord 
 and lady on my side, I generally prevailed, and, after 
 two or three months, brought them into my ways ; 
 but I saw enough to convince me how sadly off the 
 children of great families must be when they are left 
 altogether to the management of such sort of people. 
 
44 The Cottagers 
 
 Finding it to be the great object with the nurses 
 to save themselves trouble, I laboured to convince 
 them, that by firmly adhering to my plan, they 
 would most certainly attain their end, for that nothing 
 could be so troublesome as children whose tempers 
 were spoiled by mismanagement. Very little trouble, 
 indeed, did these little darlings cost to any of them ; 
 and as to myself, the constant vigilance with which I 
 watched over them, was a source of pleasure and 
 delight. From being always kindly treated, and hav- 
 ing their little humours checked in the bud, from a 
 certainty that they would never obtain their object 
 by crying, or by peevishness, they were the most 
 docile and tractable little creatures in the world. 
 They learned to be thankful for all that was done for 
 them, and to treat others with respect, as they them- 
 selves were treated. As they were never out of my 
 sight, I could answer for it, that they never saw or 
 heard a thing that was improper, nor witnessed a 
 single instance of falsehood or deceit. You may im- 
 agine how much I became attached to them, and yet 
 it is impossible that you should; for none but a 
 mother, and a fond mother, can knuw what my heart 
 felt, and still feels towards them. My love for them 
 made everything a pleasure; and, while a sense of 
 being accountable to God for the manner in which I 
 discharged my trust increased my diligence, I was 
 full of gratitude for being appointed to the delightfu.' 
 task. 
 
 Some months after the birth of Master Edward, 
 the fourth and last of her children, my lady went 
 with my lord to Scotland, to pay a visit to the coun- 
 tess-dowager, whom they had never seen since the 
 year they were married, owing to some quarrel about 
 an estate, which the old lady would not give up to 
 
of Glcnbio nie. 45 
 
 my lord, though he had a right to it, and she had 
 no other child but himself. But her heart was set 
 upon the world, and when that is the case, it signi- 
 fies little whether people be poor or rich, for they 
 still think they can never have enough ; and though 
 they have much more than they can use, they go on 
 craving and craving for more, till they drop into the 
 grave. So it was with the old lady, who grew fonder 
 of money every year she lived ; and though she 
 would not part with the estate, she was brought to 
 forgive my lord for claiming it, and expressed a wish 
 to see him, which his lady urged him to comply 
 with. 
 
 I should much have liked to have gone with them, 
 but they resolved on leaving all the children under 
 my care in Yorkshire, except Master Merriton, the 
 elder of the two young gentlemen, who was to accom- 
 pany them, attended by Mrs Dickens, the woman who 
 had been his nurse. 
 
 The two young ladies, and the infant with his 
 nurse, were left entirely to my care ; and, thank God, 
 all that I undertook to do for them prospered. In 
 order to be able to instruct them, I was at pains to 
 instruct myself. Lady Charlotte, though little more 
 than five years old, could read very prettily ; and, in 
 reading, neither she nor any of the other children 
 ever had another mistress ; nor had I any trouble in 
 teaching them ; for though I gave them very short 
 lessons, I had got the way of making them attend to 
 their book while they were engaged with it, and took 
 care that they should never find it wearisome. When 
 my lord and lady returned, they expressed the highest 
 satisfaction with the progress that their children had 
 made; and, to show their satisfaction, made me a 
 handsome present, which was more precious to me, 
 
46 The Cottagers 
 
 on account of its being a proof of approbation, than 
 ten times its value. I was not, however, to get leave 
 to enjoy it in peace; for I soon observed that it had 
 stirred up the envy of Mrs Dickens, who, during the 
 time they had been in Scotland, had insinuated her- 
 self into my lady's favour in an extraordinary manner, 
 and conscious of her influence, she took every occa- 
 sion of showing that she would not be directed by me. 
 The girl who kept Master Edward had been in a 
 manner brought up to the business under my imme- 
 diate eye ; she was a staid and sober person, of good 
 principles, and veiy diligent in the discharge of her 
 duty: but she soon became an object of dislike to 
 Mrs Dickens, who, as I afterwards found, told my 
 lady in secret a thousand lies of the poor girl. All 
 now went wrong. Contention followed contention. 
 I gave up many things for the sake of peace : every 
 thing indeed, except where the interests of the children 
 were at stake ; but there I thought it my duty to be firm. 
 
 I shall not trouble you with an account of all the 
 arts which this wicked woman employed to effect her 
 purpose, and she did effect it ; for she had contrived 
 to make my lady think that I set my judgment above 
 hers, and boasted of having more authority in the nur- 
 sery than her ladyship had, and that all the people in 
 it were my servants. My lady was too indolent to 
 make strict inquiry into the truth. Mrs Dickens had 
 made herself agreeable by flattering her about the 
 children, whom she praised as if they had been more 
 than human creatures ; while I, wishing my lady to 
 throw her praise and blame into the proper scales, 
 was at pains to point out their faults as well as their 
 perfections. Still, however, my lady had too much re- 
 gard for me to hurt my feelings. 
 
 In order to gratify Dickens, without appearing to 
 
of Glen bumie. 4 7 
 
 blame me, she, on our going up to town, told me that 
 my lord and she had resolved on making an alteration 
 in the establishment ; to place the two young ladies 
 under my care, and the children in the nursery under 
 the care of Dickens. 
 
 I had nothing to do but to obey. An apartment 
 was fitted up for the young ladies and me, immediately 
 under the nursery, which was at the very top of the 
 house. It consisted of a sitting-room, in which was a 
 settee-bed for me to sleep on, and opened with fold- 
 ing doors into a small room, in which were two field- 
 beds for the young ladies. I had reason to rejoice in 
 the change, for I once more lived in peace ; but I was 
 not without anxiety on account of the dear infants, as 
 I by no means thought the woman, who had been 
 taken on Mrs Dickens' recommendation to supply the 
 place of Peggy, was at all equal to the charge. But 
 as my opinion Avas not asked, I had no right to give 
 it, nor indeed had I many opportunities of observa- 
 tion, as our establishments were quite distinct. We 
 came to town in November, and it was now the end of 
 March ; the 28th was Master Merriton's birthday, who 
 was then three years old. It was kept with great pomp 
 and splendour ; all the first company in London were 
 invited to the great ball that was given on the occa- 
 sion ; and as the housekeeper had a great deal to do, 
 I, after the young ladies went to bed, gave her all the 
 assistance in my power, which kept me up long be- 
 yond my usual time. I was very much fatigued, and 
 consequently very much inclined to sleep ; but sleepy 
 as I was, the habit of watchfulness was so strong in me, 
 that I awakened at every little noise that stirred. I 
 thought I heard a sort of crackling in the nursery over 
 my head, and sat up to listen ; but it ceased, and I 
 again returned to rest. In about hall-an-hour I was 
 
48 TJie Cottagers 
 
 again awakened. The room was full of smoke, and 
 the smell of fire so strong,, that I had but a moment 
 for recollection; but, thank God, my presence of 
 mind did not forsake me. I flew to the beds of my 
 little charge ; and taking up Lady Harriet in my arms, 
 and dragging Lady Charlotte half asleep after me, I 
 hastened to the stairs : the smoke came from above, 
 so that as we went down we breathed more freely. We 
 reached my lady's room in an instant ; the door was 
 unbolted — it was no time for ceremony — I rushed in ; 
 but mindful of my lady's situation, I spoke as calmly 
 as in such circumstances was possible. I entreated 
 them instantly to rise, but did not wait to say more ; 
 for, seeing the smoke increase, I hastened on with the 
 children, crying out ' fire !' to alarm the servants above 
 and below. 
 
 The housekeeper was the first to hear me : to her 
 I left the children, and again flew upstairs. I met my 
 lord carrying my lady in his arms, calling out for help ; 
 but I did not stop, for I knew they were in safety. 
 
 I was soon at the foot of the nursery stairs, but 
 oh ! what smoke had I then to pass through ! How I 
 got through God only knows ; for it was His Al- 
 mighty arm that supported me. On opening the nur- 
 sery door, the flames burst out upon me ; but I had 
 a thought how it would be, and had wrapped my- 
 self in a blanket, which I knew the flames would not 
 lay hold of, as they would upon my cotton night- 
 gown. I could not speak for suffocation ; but getting 
 to the first of the two beds, I dragged off the clothes 
 from Mrs Dickens, which was all I could do to awaken 
 her. I then seized the child, who slept in a little bed 
 beside her, and was making my way out, when the 
 little infant set up a scream. He slept with his maid 
 in a detached bed, to which the flames had not yet 
 
of Glenburnie. 49 
 
 reached, but all between was in a blaze. I made a 
 spring, and reached the place ; but no maid was there, 
 only the child alone. I snatched him up beneath my 
 arm, and, again passing by her, made an effort to call 
 out to poor Dickens. She started up, and, as I thought, 
 followed me; but this effort to save her had nearly 
 cost me dear ; for I thought I should have expired in- 
 stantly. Providence restored my strength, and darting 
 through the flames, I got to the top of the stairs, where, 
 I believe, I fainted, for I fell down the whole of the 
 flight altogether senseless; nor do I remember any- 
 thing further, till I found myself in a strange bed, with 
 strange faces round me. 
 
 I called out to ask if the children were safe ? ' They 
 are; they are safe !' returned a voice which I knew to 
 be my lord's. He advanced to my bed-side. ' You 
 are my preserver, Mason,' said he ; ' thank God you 
 are restored to life. We shall never forget that you 
 have saved us and ours from destruction. Think, 
 in the meantime, of nothing but of taking care of 
 yourself.' 
 
 Pain now reminded me of the escape I had made. 
 The pain I suffered was indeed excessive ; nor could 
 it be otherwise, for I had broken my thigh bone in 
 the fall, and dislocated the joint immediately above ; 
 so that I soon knew that lameness for life would be 
 my portion. But the thoughts of having been instru- 
 mental in saving the lives of the family was a cordial 
 which kept up my heart. Still, however, I was very 
 anxious to learn all the particulars of the sad disaster. 
 The nurse who took care of me would tell me nothing. 
 It was of no use to ask the surgeons ; for they only 
 desired me to keep myself quiet, and to give myself 
 no anxiety. 
 
 In a fe^ days the housekeeper came to see me, 
 
 D 
 
50 The Cottagers 
 
 and though she resolved to be extremely cautious, she 
 could not resist the temptation of being the first to 
 tell me all. 
 
 ' I was scarcely in my senses with the fright,' said 
 she, ' but flew, as you desired me, to awaken the ser- 
 vants. And men and women were all up in a minute, 
 some flying one way, and some another, till my lord 
 brought them all to order by his commanding voice. 
 He sent one to alarm the neighbours ; one for the fire- 
 engines ; and one over the way to the colonel's, to 
 ask for shelter for the family ; and, placing my lady in 
 a chair by the parlour-door, he ran up stairs again in 
 distraction, thinking his sons were lost. The smoke 
 was so thick he did not see you, but he heard your 
 fall, and received his children from your arms, though 
 you knew nothing of it. Two of the men were at his 
 back, and he made them lift you, and carry you over 
 with the rest ; for my lady was by this time carried 
 over likewise, and all the children. In the midst of 
 this bustle some one called out for James ; but no one 
 had seen him. I went to his door, but it was locked. 
 At last he answered. " Don't you know that the house 
 is on fire?" cried I. He first swore, and then blessed 
 himself, but out he came sure enough, and who came 
 with him, do you think, but Sally, the saucy minx, crying 
 and screaming, that she was ruined ! she was ruined ! 
 
 '"Ruined!" cried I, "who cares for your being 
 ruined? but what will you say to setting my lord's 
 house on fire, and burning all the family in their 
 beds ! " No more time was there for speaking ; the 
 staircase was all in a blaze ; the flames came with 
 such speed that little could be saved, even out of my 
 lord's room, except papers, and such like. We were 
 all obliged to fly with what we had on, and all were 
 safe except poor Mrs Dickens.' 
 
of Glenburnie. 5 1 
 
 ' And did she perish ! ' cried I, in great agony. 
 ' O yes, poor soul/ returned the housekeeper, ' she 
 did indeed perish ! Never was there anything so 
 horrid, or so shocking ! God in His mercy preserve 
 us all from such a dreadful end !' 
 
 Here poor Mrs Nelson perceiving how much I was 
 agitated, and recollecting that she had been warned 
 against telling me the woful tale, stopped short to 
 comfort me, and entreated that I would deny having 
 heard anything of the matter from her. 
 
 1 O no,' said I, ' Mrs Nelson ; let us never allow 
 ourselves to depart from truth ; it is the beginning ot 
 all iniquity. But O that unhappy woman ! hurried 
 into eternity with all her sins upon her head ! without 
 a moment, a single moment, to pray for mercy on her 
 soul. And yet, perhaps, she might, perhaps — 
 
 ' No, no,' cried Mrs Nelson, ' she was in no state 
 to pray ; for she was in a state of intoxication, utterly 
 deprived of her senses. Sally has confessed all. You 
 never heard such plans of wickedness. Sally, it seems, 
 had been her emissary and confidant, when they lived 
 together at Sir William Blendon's. And it was with 
 a view to get her to be under her that she fell out 
 with Peggy, and got her turned out, and got all the 
 management of the nursery to herself. They then 
 went on at full career, no one to control them, going 
 out, one or other of them, night after night, to the 
 feasts and junkettings which in this wicked town go 
 on among servants all the winter. And for the men- 
 servants, there may, to be sure, be some excuse, for 
 you know, poor fellows, they never get leave to go 
 to bed till morning, and it cannot be expected that 
 they should sit and mope alone ; but then, when they 
 carouse together, they entice the maids to meet them, 
 by giving them balls, and treats, and such like, of 
 
52 The Cottagers 
 
 which no good can come ; nor, to be sure, would any 
 woman, who regards her character, go to be seen at 
 such places, though they were to be made, as Sally 
 was, queen of the ball. For it seems she was greatly 
 taken out, and had more lovers than any of them 
 among the footmen. Mrs Dickens did not go to 
 meet lovers, but to get drink ; and when she stayed 
 at home, Sally brought her enough to please her ; but 
 she never ventured on a great dose till near bed-time, 
 when she was pretty sure of being safe. One night, 
 indeed, my lady came up to the nursery, when she 
 was conscious of being in no condition to speak to 
 her, and what do you think the wicked woman did ? 
 It makes one's hair stand on end to think of it; 
 why she fell down on her knees, and pretended to 
 be saying her prayers ! and as my lady would not 
 disturb her devotions by speaking, she thought she 
 had a fine escape. O poor woman ! little did she 
 think how soon she should be called to answer for 
 this hypocrisy, without a moment's time to pray for 
 mercy on her soul ! 
 
 ' It seems that on the night of the fire, Sally, 
 having an assignation with James, pressed her to take 
 even more than her usual quantity ; and as she was 
 very far gone, she was obliged to help her in taking 
 off her clothes, and in getting into bed, that bed from 
 which she was no more to rise ! Sally, after having 
 watched till all was quiet, put out her candle, as she 
 thought ; but she confessed she only turned it down, 
 for she never would use an extinguisher, and as the 
 candlesticks have wide sockets, a long piece of small 
 candle can scarcely be put down in them without the 
 chance of turning over ; but she did not wait to see 
 whether it did or no ; nor is she certain whether she 
 might not have let a spark fall into the linen-press, 
 
of Glcnhurnic. 53 
 
 where she had just been with the candle ; for she says 
 she never had any fear of fire in all her life, and 
 whenever she went into a press, always thrust the 
 candle before her, without dread or care.' 
 
 ' It was,' I said, ' from the linen-press that the 
 flames issued, when I entered the room.' 
 
 c That might be,' said Mrs Nelson ; 'but the chair 
 with the candle was just beside it, so there is no 
 saying which took fire first.' 
 
 ' And was there no attempt made to save Mrs 
 Dickens ?' cried I ; 'did she never wake?' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' said Mrs Nelson, ' she awoke, and got 
 to the windows ; the people in the street saw her, and 
 heard her screams ; for she screamed most terribly ! 
 and they got a ladder, and put it up, and thought to 
 have brought her down on it, but before any one 
 could make the top, the floor fell in, and she disap- 
 peared.' 
 
 Here Mrs Mason was obliged to pause, so much 
 was she agitated with the recollection of this dreaded 
 scene. When she had a little recovered, she pro- 
 ceeded, as will be found in the next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MRS MASON'S STORY CONCLUDED. 
 
 S soon as the doctors thought it safe for 
 me to speak to them, the children were 
 brought to see me ; and you may im- 
 agine what joy it gave me to embrace the 
 \&7$^*0 little darlings, and to hear them tell me 
 that they knew I had saved their lives ; 
 and that God had permitted me to save 
 them, because He loved me for bein£ 
 good. Pretty little creatures ! I shall 
 never forget how their fond expressions went to my 
 heart. They were attended by Peggy, who was sent 
 for by my lady, and taken back into her service as 
 soon as she learned all the history of the impositions 
 practised by Dickens to get her away. 
 
 1 was, however, grieved by the bad accounts of 
 my lady's health. She continued poorly, and my lord 
 thinking she would be better in the country, took a 
 furnished house at Richmond, about eight miles from 
 London, where she was shortly afterwards delivered 
 of a dead child. Her recovery was long doubtful ; 
 and by the doctor's advice, my lord went with her to 
 51 
 
The Cottagers of Glenbumie. 5 5 
 
 spend the summer at Clifton, near the Bristol hot- 
 wells, which seemed to me like a sentence of death ; 
 for it is there that people who have consumptions are, 
 if able to afford it, sent to die. But it pleased God 
 that my lady should not be taken from her family so 
 soon. 
 
 By the time that I was able to go to Clifton, which 
 was about the middle of July, I found her restored 
 almost to her usual health. I could then only walk 
 on crutches, but I was so wearied of doing nothing 
 that I was very anxious to resume my duty; and as 
 I had one of my lord's carriages to travel in, I could 
 suffer nothing from the journey. 
 
 I was extremely anxious before leaving London to 
 see Sally, who had been represented to me as suffer- 
 ing under all the horrors of remorse, on account of 
 the misfortunes she had occasioned ; but it was not 
 till after many messages that I could prevail on her 
 to come to me. She, however, came at length ; and 
 began, as soon as she saw me, to profess her sorrow 
 for what I had suffered, and to beg my forgiveness. 
 She wept bitterly ; and, hoping that her heart was 
 touched by penitence, I endeavoured to comfort her, 
 by expatiating on the mercies of God, and on the 
 hopes that were held forth in the gospel to those who 
 truly repented of their sins. 
 
 It was a language she did not understand, for she 
 had been brought up in deplorable ignorance; and 
 told me she had never heard anybody speak of such 
 things, but a neighbour, who was a Methodist, and 
 that she thought it had been all Tabernacle talk. It 
 was very melancholy to hear a woman in whom the 
 greatest of all possible trusts had been reposed, ac- 
 knowledge herself thus ignorant of all the doctrines of 
 Christianity. What wonder that her moral conduct 
 
56 The Cottagers of 
 
 should have been so bad; for on what foundation 
 can the moral conduct of one in her station, or in- 
 deed in any station, rest, when you take away the 
 fear of God ? 
 
 Hoping that I might by my instructions make 
 some impression upon her mind, I spared no pains 
 with this unfortunate creature ; and might, I really 
 believe, have succeeded in confirming her good reso- 
 lutions, had she not been laid hold of by some enthu- 
 siasts, who laboured at what they called her conver- 
 sion. Before any good habit had been formed, and 
 while her mind was yet in a state of profound igno- 
 rance, her imagination was so warmed by their dis- 
 courses, as to make her boast of being in a state of 
 grace ; and before I left London, her divine raptures 
 were quoted by some of these pious visionaries as a 
 proof of saintship. But, alas ! the fire of zeal was 
 soon exhausted ; and the poor creature being desti- 
 tute of solid principle, and considering herself in a 
 state of reprobation, flew to the society of her former 
 associates, as a resource from thought. The conse- 
 quences were dreadful : she was soon plunged into 
 vice, and died in misery ; but this did not come to 
 my knowledge for several years. 
 
 On going to Clifton, I was received by my lord and 
 lady more like a friend than a servant. They indeed 
 told me that I was to be as a servant no longer : for 
 that I was henceforth to be English governess to 
 their children, with a salary of thirty pounds a-year. 
 A Swiss governess for the young ladies had been 
 already some weeks with them ; and though, I con- 
 fess, I had a sort of prejudice against her at first, 
 on account of her being a foreigner, I soon found that 
 she was a person of great integrity, and had a truly 
 pious and amiable mind. She was as agreeably dis- 
 
of Glenburnie. 5 7 
 
 appointed in me as I was in her j for she thought it 
 impossible that a person could be so suddenly raised, 
 without assuming some airs of arrogance and self- 
 conceit. But I had seen enough of this to be upon 
 my guard, lest my heart should be puffed up ; and 
 had always thought it a base thing in persons, who 
 saw themselves regarded more than others, to take 
 advantage of it for the indulgence of their own capri- 
 cious humours. For twelve years Mademoiselle and 
 I went on hand in hand, labouring for the good of 
 our pupils ; and had the pleasure of seeing them 
 grow up, under our eyes, promising to be blessings to 
 the land, and the pleasure and glory of all their con- 
 nections. 
 
 My lord and lady doated on their children ; and 
 well they might, for never were any like them. The 
 young ladies, so graceful, so sweet-tempered, and so 
 accomplished ! and the young gentlemen, so well be- 
 haved, and at the same time so clever, that all thek 
 masters said, they learned better and faster than any 
 scholars they had. Lady Charlotte was very handsome, 
 and had many admirers, before she was eighteen ; but 
 she had no liking to any of them, and said, she should 
 never marry any one whom she could not look up to 
 as a friend and guide. She was just nineteen when 
 young Sir William Bandon came to spend the Christ- 
 mas holidays at the Park ; and I soon perceived, by 
 the -way she spoke of him, that his attentions were 
 agreeable to her. We went up to town, and Sir 
 William soon after declared himself. My lord was 
 highly pleased with his character ; so that everything 
 was soon agreed on, and the marriage was to take 
 place at Easter ; but, alas ! before Easter, my lord 
 was carried off by a fever of less than a fortnight's 
 duration. 
 
58 The Cottagers 
 
 By this event, all our joy was changed into mourn- 
 ing. I could not have felt more if I had lost a father. 
 He was, indeed, as a father to all his dependants. A 
 friend to the poor ; and in his conduct, an example 
 to poor and rich. He had great influence ; and he 
 made it his business to exert it for the glory of God, 
 and the good of society. O what a change did his 
 death occasion, succeeded as he was by one so little 
 like himself ! 
 
 Lord Lintop had indeed never been a comfortable 
 son to him ; but my lord left him no excuse, for he 
 was the kindest and best of fathers. My lady, too, 
 had, from the time he was a boy, done all in her 
 power to gain his affections ; but he had an inveter- 
 ate prejudice against her, on account of her being a 
 stepmother — a prejudice which, I verily believe, was 
 first sown in the nursery by his maid, Jenny Thom- 
 son, who used always to threaten him with a step- 
 mother as with a monster — and he never got the bet- 
 ter of the impression. He was indeed of a cold and 
 reserved temper, and had a very narrow heart. Much 
 inclined to avarice, except upon his own pleasures, 
 and they were all of the selfish sort. 
 
 As my lord died without a will, Lord Lintop imme- 
 diately entered upon possession of all ; my lady having 
 nothing at her disposal but her own fortune, and her 
 jointure, which was, to be sure, very great ; yet I 
 thought it a sad thing to see her and her children 
 turned out, as it were, of her own house, and obliged 
 to go to seek a place to lay her head. But to her, 
 alas ! it was of no consequence where she went ; the 
 hand of death was on her, and in three months she 
 followed my lord to the grave. 
 
 1 1 find I must pass over this,' said Mrs Mason, 
 wiping the tears from her eyes ; ' there is no need of 
 
of Glcuburnie. 59 
 
 distressing you with an account of all my sorrows. 
 It was the least of them, that I found myself without 
 a home ! I had saved of my wages about one hundred 
 and fifty pounds, which my lord's steward had placed 
 out for me, at five per cent, in the public funds. 
 Lady Charlotte, upon her marriage, presented me 
 with fifty more, and promised to give me twenty 
 pounds a year, until her own brother, Mr Merriton, 
 should come of age. I would have refused the an- 
 nuity, but she insisted on it, saying, she was ashamed 
 it was so little ; but that Lord Longlands taking 
 advantage of a clause in her mother's settlement, had 
 refused paying her fortune till her brother Edward 
 was of age : and then,' said she, ' Mrs Mason,' throw- 
 ing her arms affectionately round my neck, ' then we 
 may all be happy.' She had written to her brothers, 
 she said ; for I forgot to mention that they had the 
 year before been sent abroad on their travels with 
 their tutor, and are now, I believe, in Switzerland, 
 where Lady Charlotte and Sir William are to see 
 them in their way to Italy. They pressed me to ac- 
 company them ; but my lameness was such an obstacle, 
 that I could not think of going to be a burden to them ; 
 and while I hoped that Lady Harriet would be left at 
 home, I wished to stay, that I might be near her , 
 but at length the guardians consented that she should 
 go with her sister ; so I was at once bereft of them all. 
 Thus have I been suddenly, in the course of a few 
 months, deprived of all my earthly comforts, and 
 thrown from a state of ease and luxury, into a state 
 of comparative indigence. But how ungrateful should 
 I be to God, were I to repine ! How rich would my 
 poor mother have thought herself with thirty pounds 
 a year ! nay, with the half of that sum. Ill would it 
 then become me to murmur at the wise dispensations 
 
60 The Cottagers 
 
 of Providence, which have doubtless been ordered 
 not less in wisdom than in mercy. My first thoughts 
 were to go into a lodging in London, and take in 
 needlework, by which I should be able to earn a 
 sufficiency for the supply of all my wants. But, from 
 being unable to take exercise, good air has become 
 so essential to my health, that I dreaded the conse- 
 quences of being pent up in the unwholesome atmos- 
 phere of that immense place; and I had besides such a 
 hankering after my native country, that I wished of 
 all things to return to it. 
 
 While I was still hesitating, a young man, who 
 came up to London to seek a situation as a gardener, 
 brought a letter to me from a niece of Jackson's, 
 with whom I had continued to correspond ; and by 
 his conversation concerning all the friends of my 
 youth, increased my desire of revisiting scenes that 
 were still dear to my recollection. He told me of a 
 cottage near Hill Castle that was now empty, and 
 advised me to ask it of the young earl, who could 
 Mot surely refuse such a trifle to one who had lived 
 so long in the family, and to whom, as he said, the 
 family owed such obligation. Hut he was mistaken. 
 I petitioned for it, and was refused. Perhaps to soften 
 the refusal, I was at the same time told that Lord 
 Longlands had resolved against having any cottages 
 on the estate, and was to have them all destroyed. 
 
 ' True,' said Miss Mary, ' It is very true, indeed. 
 xMy father was directed to give orders for that purpose, 
 out took the liberty of remonstrating. All that he 
 could do, however, was to prevent the poor cottars 
 from being turned out for another term ; but they are 
 all to go at Martinmas ; and, as fast as their houses 
 are empty, they are to be thrown down. The cottage 
 you wish for is already demolished to the very ground, 
 
of Glenbumie. 61 
 
 and has left the place so desolate ! It goes to one's 
 heart to see it. But after refusing it to you, the 
 owner can have no heart. I hope you will never ask 
 another favour from him while you live ? ' 
 
 ' I hope I shall have no need,' replied Mrs Mason. 
 ' But though I should have been thankful for his 
 granting my request, I have no right to resent his re- 
 fusing me.' 
 
 ' And I shall thank him for refusing you, if it brings 
 you to live nearer us,' said Miss Mary. 
 
 'Though I shall be at double the distance, still it 
 won't be far,' returned Mrs Mason, ' I am to take up 
 my residence at Glenburnie.' 
 
 ' At Glenburnie !' repeated Miss Mary ; ' what 
 place can there be at Glenburnie fit for you to live in?' 
 
 ' Oh I shall make it fit,' said Mrs Mason ; ' and if 
 I am so happy as to be useful to the good people 
 there, I shall think myself fortunate in my choice. 
 On being refused by Lord Longlands, I gave up all 
 thoughts of settling on his territories, and made in- 
 quiries in the neighbourhood of Merriton. Through 
 the friends of the young man I have already men- 
 tioned, I heard that the only relation I have in the 
 world was married to one of the small farmers in 
 Glenburnie, and to this couple I applied to take me as 
 a lodger. I had great difficulty in bringing them to the 
 point, as they feared I would not be pleased with the 
 accommodation ; but at length I so far succeeded, that 
 I fixed to live with them three months upon trial, and 
 that at the end of that time we should each be at 
 liberty to separate without offence. From all that I 
 have heard, no situation could be more suitable to my 
 purpose. In a place where money is scarce, my in- 
 come, slender as it is, may be useful. After a life of 
 full employment I could not be happy in idleness; 
 
62 
 
 The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 
 
 and as these good people have a large family, I shall 
 have among diem constant employment in the way 
 that habit has rendered most delightful to me, that of 
 training youth to usefulness and virtue.' 
 
 Miss Mary began to express her fears of the trouble 
 which Mrs Mason was about to bring upon her own 
 head, when her father entered ; and from the way in 
 which he spoke upon the subject, she soon saw that 
 he had already discussed it, and knew Mrs Mason's 
 determination to be unalterable. They, however, pre- 
 vailed upon her to remain their guest for another night; 
 and obtained her promise, that if her situation at Glen- 
 burnie proved uncomfortable, she would return to 
 Gowan Brae. 
 
 ^PISpSsP^ 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DOMESTIC SKETCHES. — PICTURE OF GLENBURNIE. 
 
 VIEW OF A SCOTCH COTTAGE IN THE 
 LAST CENTURY. 
 
 ARLY on the following morning, Mr 
 Stewart and Miss Mary met to consult 
 together upon the means they should 
 employ to render Mrs Mason's situation 
 at the farmer's somewhat comfortable ; 
 and after some deliberation, resolved, 
 that they would postpone all prepara- 
 tions for that purpose, till they had visit- 
 ed the place, and seen what the house 
 afforded. 
 
 In the course of their conversation, Miss Mary 
 expressed her surprise, that so good a couple as the 
 Earl and Countess of Longlands should not have 
 thought it an incumbent duty to make an ample 
 provision for one, who had rendered them such im- 
 portant services. 
 
 ' You are mistaken,' said Mr Stewart, ' they were 
 not deficient in gratitude ; and, to my certain know- 
 ledge, intended to settle on her a very liberal inde- 
 pendency. But my lord was still in the prime of life, 
 63 
 
64 The Cottagers 
 
 and thought he had many years to live. He therefore 
 delayed to do, what he imagined might at any time 
 be accomplished : and after his death, his lady, who 
 was always indolent, gave herself up to the indulgence 
 of grief so as utterly to forget every duty ; but of this 
 you will have no hint from Mrs Mason : for hers is 
 truly a good mind, and one that sees every thing in the 
 best light. She knows not what I have endeavoured 
 to do for her, with the present lord ; and she shall 
 never know it, for it would only hurt her to be assured 
 of his total want of liberality and gratitude.' 
 
 Mr Stewart was here interrupted by the unexpected 
 entrance of his eldest daughter and her friend Mrs 
 Flinders, whose animated looks bespoke the near pro- 
 spect of some new scheme of pleasure. After a few 
 preliminary remarks on the fineness of the season, etc., 
 etc., Mrs Flinders gradually disclosed the purpose of 
 her visit, which was no other than to obtain Mr 
 Stewart's consent to his daughter's accompanying her 
 to the Edinburgh races. Mr Stewart was on many 
 accounts averse to the proposal ; nor did Mrs Flinders's 
 assurances of the great advantages to be derived to a 
 young lady, from being seen in public, and introduced 
 to all the people of fashion at the races, produce the 
 least alteration in his sentiments. But he had not 
 firmness to resist the torrent of entreaty : and after he 
 had permitted a reluctant consent to be extorted from 
 him, the remaining articles were easily adjusted: His 
 daughter had no difficulty in obtaining from him the 
 money she thought requisite for the purchase of new 
 dresses ; and her sister, ever willing to promote her 
 gratification, promised to pack up, and send her, with 
 other things, some handsome ornaments, that had been 
 presented to Ver by a near relation, to whom she had 
 paid attention in a fit of illness. 
 
of Glcnburnie. 65 
 
 Elated with her victory, Bell seemed to tread on 
 air ; and after she got into the carriage, called out to 
 her sister, that she should write her a full account of 
 the race week. She bowed graciously to her father 
 as the carriage drove off; but he appeared not to 
 notice the salute. Pensive and dissatisfied, he re- 
 turned to the house, and found Mary with Mrs 
 Mason, giving her an account of all that had just 
 passed. 'Well,' said he, addressing himself to Mrs 
 Mason, ' you have heard of the new trouble that has 
 been prepared for me by this giddy woman, to whom 
 Bell has unfortunately attached herself ? These races ! 
 How unfit a scene for a young woman in my daugh- 
 ter's station ; and under how unfit a conductor will 
 she there appear ! I wish I had been more firm ; but 
 1 could not. O that she were not too headstrong to 
 take advice, and too self-sufficient to think that she 
 stands in need of an adviser. I am troubled about 
 her intimacy with these Flinders more than I can 
 express.' 
 
 ' But, sir,' said Mrs Mason, ' have you not a right 
 to dictate to your daughter what company she ought 
 to keep ? If you really thinkMrs Flinders an improper 
 associate, why do you permit her to go to her house ?' 
 
 ' Because,' replied Mr Stewart, ' I cannot bear to 
 see my child unhappy. I have not courage to en- 
 counter sour looks, and all the murmurings of discon- 
 tent. 'This girl, who is when in good humour so 
 lively and engaging, treats every opposition to her 
 will as an act of cruel tyranny ; and I cannot bear 
 being treated by the child I doat on as a tyrant.' 
 
 'Still, my dear sir,' said Mrs Mason, 'as Miss 
 Stewart is not deficient in understanding, you might, 
 I think, by a little firmness, teach her the propriety of 
 submitting to your will.' 
 
66 The Cottagers 
 
 'Alas !' returned Mr Stewart, 'she always thinks 
 herself in the right ; and it is impossible, utterly im- 
 possible, to convince her, in any instance, that she is 
 otherwise. Her mind got a wrong bias from the first, 
 and I fear it is now too late to think of curing it. 
 But I have myself to blame. Had she been brought 
 up with the rest of my family, under the watchful eye 
 of their dear mother, she would never have been thus 
 froward and intractable ; yet I know not how our 
 other children escaped spoiling, for my wife was all 
 tenderness and indulgence.' 
 
 1 True,' replied Mrs Mason, ' but her indulgence 
 would be of a nature tending to foster the best affec- 
 tions of the heart, not the indulgence of the passions, 
 which engenders pride and selfishness.' 
 
 'Your distinction is a just one,' said Mr Stewart, 
 ' but unhappily her grandmother could not discrimi- 
 nate ; and after the death of my parents, Bell came 
 home to us. I saw that she was too unmanage- 
 able for her mother's gentle spirit to control, and 
 therefore urged sending her to a school, where a 
 daughter of a friend was going ; but there, alas ! in- 
 stead of getting quit of her bad habits, she lost the 
 good that counterbalanced them, and acquired such 
 a love of dress, and so many foolish notions about 
 gentility, as have utterly destroyed all relish for do- 
 mestic happiness. Think of her flying off, as she has 
 done, the very day that we expect her brothers home 
 from school ! Is it not heartless ?' 
 
 ' So she will admit, when she is herself a mother,' 
 replied Mrs Mason. The rest of her speech was lost ; 
 for from the bark of joy which the dogs began to send 
 forth, Mr Stewart perceived that his sons were near 
 at hand, and eagerly flew out to meet them. They 
 were already folded in Mary's arms, and sprang to 
 
of Glenburnie, 67 
 
 their father with all the alacrity of confiding love. 
 Every care was now forgotten ; without doors and 
 within, above stairs and below, all was holiday at 
 Gowan Brae. Mrs Mason, to whom the sight of a 
 happy family afforded one of the highest gratifica- 
 tions, was no unmoved spectator of the joyful scene. 
 She readily consented to postpone her departure till 
 the following day, and prompted, by her cheerfulness, 
 the amusements of the evening. 
 
 In order to gratify the boys, it was proposed that 
 the whole party should accompany Mrs Mason to 
 Glenburnie, on an Irish car, a vehicle well adapted to 
 such excursions, and which was consequently a great 
 favourite with the younger part of the family. Just 
 as they finished an early dinner, the car was brought 
 to the door. Robert, the eldest boy, begged leave to 
 drive, to which, as the roads were good, and the horse 
 steady, Mr Stewart made no objection. They were 
 all seated in a moment ; Mrs Mason and Mr Stewart 
 on one side, and Mary and her two younger brothers 
 on the other. Robert, vaulting into his proper station, 
 seized the reins ; and, after two gentle strokes with 
 the whip, prevailed on old Gray to move forward, 
 which he did very sagaciously, with less speed than 
 caution, until they reached the turnpike road, where 
 he mended his pace into a sober trot, which, in less 
 than two hours, brought them to the road that turns 
 into the Glen, or valley of Glenburnie. 
 
 They had not proceeded many paces before they 
 were struck with admiration at the uncommon wild- 
 ness of the scene which now opened to their view. 
 The rocks which seemed to guard the entrance of the 
 Glen were abrupt and savage, and approached so near 
 each other, that one could suppose them to have been 
 riven asunder to give a passage to the clear stream 
 
68 The Cottagers 
 
 which flowed between them. As they advanced, the 
 hills receded on either side, making room for meadows 
 and corn fields, through which the rapid burn pursued 
 its way in many a fantastic maze. 
 
 If the reader is a traveller he must know, and if he 
 is a speculator in canals he must regret, that rivers 
 have in general a trick of running out of the strait line. 
 But however they may in this resemble the moral con- 
 duct of man, it is but doing justice to these favourite 
 children of nature, to observe, that, in all their wan- 
 derings, each stream follows the strict injunctions of 
 its parent, and never for a moment loses its original 
 character. That our burn had a character of its own, 
 no one who saw its spirited career could possibly 
 have denied. It did not, like the lazy and luxuriant 
 streams, which glide through the fertile valleys of the 
 south, turn and wind in listless apathy, as if it had no 
 other object than the gratification of ennui or caprice. 
 Alert, and impetuous, and persevering, it even from 
 its infancy dashed onward, proud and resolute ; and 
 no sooner met with a rebuff from the rocks on one 
 side of the Glen, than it flew indignant to the other, 
 frequently awaking the sleeping echoes by the noise 
 of its wild career. Its complexion was untinged by 
 the fat of the soil ; for in truth the soil had no fat to 
 throw away. But little as it owed to nature, and still 
 less as it was indebted to cultivation, it had clothed 
 itself in many shades of verdure. The hazel, the 
 birch, and the mountain-ash, were not only scattered 
 in profusion through the botton, but in many places 
 reached to the very tops of the hills. The mea- 
 dows and corn-fields, indeed, seemed to have been 
 encroachments made by stealth on the sylvan reign ; 
 for none had their outlines marked with the ma- 
 thematical precision, in which the modern improver 
 
of Glenburnie. 69 
 
 so much delights. Not a straight line was to be seen 
 in Glenbmnie. The very ploughs moved in curves ; 
 and, though much cannot be said of the richness of 
 the crops, the ridges certainly waved with all the grace 
 and pride of beauty. 
 
 The road which winded along the foot of the hills, 
 on the north side of the Glen, owed as little to art as 
 any country road in the kingdom. It was very nar- 
 row, and much encumbered by loose stones, brought 
 down from the hills above by the winter torrents. 
 
 Mrs Mason and Mary were so enchanted by the 
 change of scenery, which was incessantly unfolding to 
 their view, that they made no complaint of the slow- 
 ness of their progress, nor did they much regret being 
 obliged to stop a few minutes at a time, where they 
 found so much to amuse and to delight them. But 
 Mr Stewart had no patience at meeting with obstruc- 
 tions which, with a little pains, could have been so 
 easily obviated ; and, as he walked by the side of the 
 car, expatiated upon the indolence of the people of the 
 Glen, who, though they had no other road to the 
 market, could contentedly go on from year to year, 
 without making an effort to repair it. 'How little 
 trouble would it cost,' said he, ' to throw the smaller 
 of these loose stones into the these holes and ruts, and 
 to remove the larger ones to the side, where they 
 would form a fence between the road and the hill ! 
 There are enough of idle boys in the Glen to effect all 
 this, by working at it for one hour a week during the 
 summer. But then their fathers must unite in setting 
 them to work ; and there is not one in the Glen who 
 would not sooner have his horses lamed, and his carts 
 torn to pieces, than have his son employed in a work 
 that would benefit his neighbours as much as himself!' 
 
 As he was speaking, they passed the door of one of 
 
/O The Cottagers 
 
 these small farmers ; and immediately turning a sharp 
 corner, began to descend a steep, which appeared so 
 unsafe, that Mr Stewart made his boys alight, which 
 they could do without inconvenience, and going to the 
 head of the horse, took its guidance upon himself. 
 
 At the foot of this difficulty, the road again 
 made a sudden turn, and discovered to them a mis- 
 fortune which threatened to put a stop to their pro- 
 ceeding any further for the present evening. It was 
 no other than the overturn of a cart of hay, occasioned 
 by the breaking down of the bridge along which it 
 had been passing. Happily for the poor horse that 
 drew this ill-fated load, the harness by which he was 
 attached to it was of so frail a nature, as to make little 
 resistance, so that he and his rider escaped unhurt 
 from the fall, notwithstanding its being one of con- 
 siderable depth. 
 
 At first, indeed, neither boy nor horse were seen ; 
 but as Mr Stewart advanced to examine, whether by 
 removing the hay, which partly covered the bridge, 
 and partly hung suspended on the bushes, the road 
 might still be passable, he heard a child's voice in the 
 hollow, exclaiming, ' Come on, ye muckle brute ! ye 
 had as weel come on ! I'll gar ye ! I'll gar ye ! That's 
 it ! Ay, ye're a gude beast now.' 
 
 As the last words were uttered, a little fellow, of 
 about ten years of age, was seen issuing from the 
 hollow, and pulling after him with all his might a 
 great long-backed clumsy animal of the horse species, 
 though apparently of a very mulish temper. 
 
 'You have met with a sad accident,' said Mr 
 Stewart ; ' how did all this happen 7 
 
 ' You may see hoo it happened, plain eneugh,' re- 
 turned the boy; 'the brig brak, and the cart coup- 
 pet,' 
 
of Glenbumie. 7 1 
 
 'And did you and the horse coup likewise ?' said 
 Mr Stewart. 
 
 1 Oa ye, we a' couppet thegither, for I was riding 
 on his back ?' 
 
 ' And where is your father, and all the rest of the 
 folk?' 
 
 ' Whar sud they be but in the hayfield ? Dinna ye 
 ken that we're takin' in our hay ? John Tamson's 
 and Jamie Forster's was in a wook syne, but we're ay 
 ahint the lave.' 
 
 All the party were greatly amused by the compo- 
 sure which the young peasant evinced under his mis- 
 fortune, as well as by the shrewdness of his answers ; 
 and having learned from him that the hayfield was at 
 no great distance, gave him some halfpence to hasten 
 his speed, and promised to take care of his horse till 
 he should return with assistance. 
 
 He soon appeared, followed by his father, and two 
 other men, who came on, stepping at their usual pace. 
 'Why, farmer,' said Mr Stewart, 'you have trusted 
 rather too long to this rotten plank, I think (pointing 
 to where it had given way) ; ' if you remember the last 
 time I passed this road, which was several months since, 
 I then told you that the bridge was in danger, and 
 showed you how easily it might be repaired ? ' 
 
 'It is a' true,' said the farmer, moving his bonnet; 
 but I thought it would do weel eneugh. I spoke to 
 Jamie Forster and John Tamson about it ; but they 
 said they would no fash themselves to mend a brig 
 that was to serve a' the folk in the Glen.' 
 
 ' But you must now mend it for your own sake,' 
 said Mr Stewart, ' even though d the folk in the Glen 
 should be the better for it.' 
 
 ' Aye, sir,' said one of the men, ' that's spoken like 
 yoursel' ! gin every body would follow your example, 
 
72 The Cottagers 
 
 there would be nothing in the world but peace and 
 good neighbourhood. Only tell us what we are to do, 
 and I'll work at your bidding till it be pitch dark. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mr Stewart, ' bring down the planks 
 that I saw lying in the barn-yard, and which, though 
 you have been obliged to step over them every day 
 since the stack they propped was taken in, have never 
 been lifted. You know what I mean.' 
 
 ' O yes, sir,' said the farmer, grinning, ' we ken 
 what ye mean weel eneugh : and indeed I may ken, 
 for I have fallen thrice ow're them since they lay 
 there ; and often said they sud be set by, but we 
 cou'dna be fashed.' 
 
 While the farmer, with one of the men, went up, 
 taking the horse with them, for the planks in question, 
 all that remained set to work, under Mr Stewart's 
 directions, to remove the hay, and clear away the 
 rubbish ; Mrs Mason and Mary being the only idle 
 spectators of the scene. In little more than half an 
 hour, the planks were laid and covered with sod cut 
 from the bank, and the bridge now only wanted a 
 little gravel to make it as good as new. This addi- 
 tion, however, was not essential towards rendering it 
 passable for the car, which was conveyed over it in 
 safety ; but Mr Stewart foreseeing the consequences of 
 its remaining in this unfinished state, urged the farmer 
 to complete the job on the present evening, and at the 
 same time promised to reimburse him for the expense. 
 The only answer he could obtain was, ' Ay, ay, we'll 
 do it in time, but I'se warrant it '11 do weel eneugh.' 
 
 Our party then drove off, and at every turning of 
 the road, expressed fresh admiration at the increasing 
 beauty of the scene. Towards the top of the Glen, 
 the hills seemed to meet, the rocks became more 
 freauent and more prominent, sometimes standing 
 
of Glenburnie. 73 
 
 naked and exposed, and sometimes peeping over the 
 tops of the rowan-tree and weeping birch, which grew 
 in great abundance on all the steepy banks. At 
 length the village appeared in view. It consisted of 
 about twenty or thirty thatched cottages, which, but for 
 their chimneys, and the smoke that issued from them, 
 might have passed for so many stables or hog sties, 
 so little had they to distinguish them as the abodes of 
 man. That one horse, at least, was the inhabitant of 
 every dwelling, there was no room to doubt, as every 
 door could not only boast its dunghill, but had a small 
 cart stuck up on end directly before it ; which cart, 
 though often broken, and always dirty, seemed osten- 
 tatiously displayed as a proof of wealth. 
 
 In the middle of the village stood the kirk, an 
 humble edifice, which meekly raised its head but a few 
 degrees above the neighbouring houses. It was, how- 
 ever, graced by an ornament of peculiar beauty. Two 
 fine old ash trees, which grew at the east end, spread 
 their protecting arms over its lowly roof ; and served 
 all the uses of a steeple and a belfry ; for on one of 
 the loftiest of these branches was the bell suspended, 
 which, on each returning Sabbath, 
 
 4 Rang the blest summons to the house of God.' 
 
 On the other side of the church-yard stood the 
 Manse, distinguished from the other houses in the 
 village, by a sash window on each side of the door, 
 and garret windows above, which showed that two 
 floors were, or might be, inhabited : for in truth the 
 house had such a sombre air, that Mrs Mason, in 
 passing, concluded it to be deserted. 
 
 As the houses stood separate from each other at 
 the distance of many yards, she had time to contem- 
 plate the scene ; and was particularly struck with the 
 
74 The Cottagers 
 
 numbers of children, which, as the car advanced, poured 
 forth from every little cot, to look at the strangers and 
 their uncommon vehicle. On asking for John Mac- 
 Clarty's, three or four of them started forward to offer 
 themselves as guides ; and running before the car, 
 turned down a lane towards the river, on a road so 
 deep with ruts, that, though they had not twenty yards 
 to go, it was attended with some danger. Mrs Mason, 
 who was shaken to pieces by the jolting, was very glad 
 to alight ; but her limbs were in such a tremor, that 
 Mr Stewart's arm was scarcely sufficient to support her 
 to the door. 
 
 It must be confessed, that the aspect of the dwell- 
 ing, where she was to fix her residence, was by no 
 means inviting. The walls were substantial ; built, 
 like the houses in the village, of stone and lime; but 
 they were blackened by the mud which the cart-wheels 
 had spattered from the ruts in winter ; and on one 
 side of the door completely covered from view by 
 the contents of a great dunghill. On the other, and 
 directly under the window, was a squashy pool, formed 
 by the dirty water thrown from the house, and in it 
 about twenty young ducks were at this time dabbling. 
 
 At the threshold of the door, room had been left 
 for a paving-stone, but it had never been laid ; and 
 consequently the place became hollow, to the great 
 advantage of the younger ducklings, who always found 
 in it a plentiful supply of water, in which they could 
 swim without danger. Happily Mr Stewart was pro- 
 vided with boots, so that he could take a firm step in 
 it, while he lifted Mrs Mason, and set her down 
 in safety within the threshold. But an unforeseen 
 danger awaited her, for there the great whey pot had 
 stood since morning, when the cheese had been made; 
 and was at the present moment filled with chickens, 
 
of Glenburnie. 75 
 
 who were busily picking at the bits of curd, which had 
 hardened on the sides, and cruelly mocked their wishes. 
 Over this Mr Stewart and Mrs Mason unfortunately 
 stumbled. The pot was overturned, and chickens 
 cackling with hideous din flew about in all the 
 directions, some over their heads, others making 
 their way by the hallan (or inner door) into the house. 
 The accident was attended with no further bad 
 consequences, than a little hurt upon the shins : and 
 all our party were now assembled in the kitchen ; but 
 though they found the doors of the house open, they 
 saw no appearance of any inhabitants. At length 
 Mrs MacClarty came in, all out of breath, followed by 
 her daughters, two big girls of eleven and thirteen years 
 of age. She welcomed Mrs Mason and her friends 
 with great kindness, and made many apologies for 
 being in no better order to receive them ; but said 
 that both her gude man and herself thought that her 
 cousin would have stayed at Gowan Brae till after the 
 fair, as they were too far off at Glenburnie to think of 
 going to it : though it would, to be sure, be only 
 natural for Mrs Mason to like to see all the grand 
 sights that were to be seen there ; for, to be sure, she 
 would gang many places before she saw the like. Mrs 
 Mason smiled, and assured her she would have more 
 pleasure in looking at the fine view from her door 
 than in all the sights at the fair. 
 
 ' Ay, it's a bonny piece of corn to be sure,' returned 
 Mrs MacClarty, with great simplicity ; ' but then, 
 what with the trees, and rocks, and wimplings o' the 
 burn, we have nae room to make parks of ony size.' 
 
 ' But were your trees, and rocks, and wimplings of 
 the burn all removed,' said Mr Stewart, ' then your 
 prospect would be worth the looking at, Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty : would it not ?' 
 
76 The Cottagers 
 
 Though Mr Stewart's irony was lost upon the 
 good woman, it produced a laugh among the young 
 folks, which she, however, did not resent, but imme- 
 diately fell to busying herself in sweeping in the 
 hearth, and adding turf to the fire, in order to make 
 the kettle boil for tea. 
 
 ' I think,' said Miss Mary, ' you might make your 
 daughters save you that trouble ;' looking at the two 
 girls, who stood all this time leaning against the wall. 
 
 ' O poor things,' said their mother, ' they have no' 
 been used to it ; they have eneugh o' time for wark 
 yet.' 
 
 ' Depend upon it,' said Mrs Mason, ' young people 
 can never begin too soon ; your eldest daughter there 
 will soon be as tall as yourself.' 
 
 ' Indeed she's of a stately growth,' said Mrs Mac* 
 Clarty, pleased with the observation ; ' and Jenny 
 there is little ahint her ; but what are they but bairns 
 yet for a' that ! In time, I warrant, they'll do weel 
 eneugh. Meg can milk a cow as weel as I can do, 
 when she likes.' 
 
 ' And does she not always like to do all she can ?' 
 said Mrs Mason. 
 
 ' O, we manna complain,' returned the mother, 
 ' she does weel eneugh.' 
 
 The gawky girl now began to rub the wall up and 
 down with her dirty fingers ; but, happily, the wall 
 was of too dusky a hue to be easily stained. And 
 here let us remark the advantages which our cottages 
 in general possess over those of our southern neigh- 
 bours ; theirs being so whitened up, that no one can 
 have the comfort of laying a dirty hand upon them, 
 without leaving the impression ; an inconvenience 
 which reduces people in that station, to the necessity 
 of learning to stand upon their legs, without the 
 
of Glenburnie. jj 
 
 assistance of their hands ; whereas in our country, cus- 
 tom has rendered the hands in standing at a door, or 
 in going up or down a stair, no less necessary than 
 the feet, as may be plainly seen in the finger marks 
 which meet one's eye in all directions. 
 
 Some learned authors have indeed adduced this 
 propensity, in support of the theory which teaches, 
 that mankind originally walked upon all fours, and 
 that standing erect is an outrage on the laws of nature ; 
 while others, willing to trace it to a more honourable 
 source, contend, that as the propensity evidently pre- 
 vails chiefly among those who are conscious of being 
 able to transmit the colour of their hands to the ob- 
 jects on which they place them, it is decidedly an im- 
 pulse of genius, and, in all probability, derived from 
 our Pictish ancestors, whose passion for painting is 
 well known to have been great and universal. 
 
P* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A PEEP BEHIND THE CURTAIN. — HINTS ON 
 GARDENING. 
 
 'HILE Mrs MacClarty was preparing tea 
 for her guests, Mrs Mason cast her ex- 
 ploring eye on the house and furniture. 
 She soon saw, that the place they were 
 in served the triple capacity of kitchen, 
 parlour, and bed-room. Its furniture was 
 suitably abundant. It consisted, on one 
 side, of a dresser, over which were shelves 
 filled with plates and dishes, which she 
 supposed to be of pewter : but they had been so be- 
 dimmed by the quantities of flies that sat upon them, 
 that she could not pronounce with certainty as to the 
 metal they were made of. On the shelf that projected 
 immediately next the dresser, was a number of delf 
 and wooden bowls, of different dimensions, with horn 
 spoons, etc. These, though arranged with apparent 
 care, did not entirely conceal from view the dirty 
 nightcaps and other articles, that were stuffed in 
 behind. 
 
 Opposite the fire-place were two beds, each enclosed 
 in a sort of wooden closet, so firmly built as to exclude 
 
 7 3 
 
The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 79 
 
 the entrance of a breath of air except in front, where 
 were small folding doors, which were now open, and 
 exhibited a quantity of yarn hung up in bunches — 
 affording proof of the good wife's industry. The port- 
 able furniture, as chairs, tables, etc., were all, though 
 clumsy, of good materials ; so that Mrs Mason thought 
 the place wanted nothing but a little attention to 
 neatness, and some more light, to render it tolerably 
 comfortable. 
 
 Miss Mary Stewart took upon herself the trouble 
 of making tea, and began the operation, by rinsing all 
 the cups and saucers through warm water ; at which 
 Mrs MacClarty was so far from being offended, that 
 the moment she perceived her intention, she stepped 
 to a huge Dutch press, and having, with some diffi- 
 culty, opened the leaves, took from a store of nice 
 linen, which it presented to their view, a fine damask 
 napkin, of which she begged her to make use. 
 
 ' You have a noble stock of linen, cousin,' said 
 Mrs Mason. ' Few farmers' houses in England could 
 produce the like ; but I think this is rather too fine for 
 common use.' 
 
 'For common use!' cried Mrs MacClarty; 'na, 
 na, we're no sic fools as put our napery to use ! I 
 have a dizen table-claiths in that press, thretty years 
 old, that were never laid upon a table. They are a' 
 o' my mother's spinning. I have nine o' my ain 
 makin' forby, that never saw the sun but at the bookin 
 washing. Ye neednabe telling us o' England !' 
 
 ' It is no doubt a good thing,' said Mrs Mason, ' to 
 have a stock of goods of any kind, provided one has 
 a prospect of turning them to account ; but I confess 
 I think the labour unprofitably employed, which, 
 during thirty years, is to produce no advantage, and 
 that linen of an inferior quality would be preferable, 
 
80 The Cottagers 
 
 as it would certainly be more useful. A towel of nice 
 clean huck-a-back would wipe a cup as well, and bet- 
 ter, than a damask napkin.' 
 
 'Towels!' cried Mrs MacClarty, 'na, na, we 
 manna pretend to towels : we just wipe up the things 
 wi' what comes in the gait.' 
 
 On saying this, the good woman, to show how 
 exactly she practised what she spoke, pulled out from 
 between the seed tub and her husband's dirty shoes 
 (which stood beneath the bench by the fireside), a 
 long blackened rag, and with it rubbed one of the 
 pewter plates, with which she stepped into the closet 
 for a roll of butter. ' There,' says she, ' I am sure 
 ye'll say that ye never ate better butter in your life. 
 There's no in a' Glenburnie better kye than our's. I 
 hope ye'll eat heartily, and I am sure ye're heartily 
 welcome.' 
 
 ' Look, sister,' cried little William, ' see there are 
 the marks of a thumb and two fingers ! Do scrape it 
 off, it is so nasty.' 
 
 ' Dear me,' said Mrs MacClarty, ' I did na mind 
 that I had been stirring the fire, and my hands were a 
 wee sooty; but it will soon scrape off; there's a dirty 
 knife will take it aff in a minute.' 
 
 ' Stop, stop,' cried Miss Mary, ' that knife will only 
 make it worse ! pray let me manage it myself.' 
 
 She did so manage it, that the boys, who were very 
 hungry, contrived to eat it to their oatcakes with 
 great satisfaction ; but though Mrs Mason made the 
 attempt, the disgust with which she began, was so 
 augmented by the sight of the numerous hairs which, 
 as the butter was spread, bristled up upon the surface, 
 that she found it impossible to proceed. 
 
 Here, thought she, is a home in which peace and 
 plenty seems to reign, and yet these blessings, which 
 
of Glenburnie. 81 
 
 I thought invaluable, will not be sufficient to afford 
 me any comfort, from the mere want of attention to 
 the article of cleanliness. But may I not remedy 
 this ? She looked at Mrs MacClarty, and in the mild 
 features of a face, which, notwithstanding all the dis- 
 advantages of slovenly dress, and four days' soil (for 
 this was Thursday), was still handsome, she thought 
 she perceived a candour that might be convinced, 
 and a good nature that would not refuse to act upon 
 conviction. Of the countenances of the two girls she 
 could not judge so favourably. The elder appeared 
 morose and sullen, and the younger stupid and insen- 
 sible. She was confirmed in her opinion by observing, 
 that though their mother had several times desired 
 them to go to the field for their father, neither of them 
 stirred a step. 
 
 ' Do you not hear your mother speaking to you ?' 
 said Mr Stewart, in a tone of authority. The eldest 
 coloured, and hung down her head ; the younger girl 
 looked in his face with a stupid stare, but neither of 
 them made any answer. 
 
 ' Ye?// gang, I ken, my dear,' said Mrs MacClarty, 
 addressing herself to the younger ; ' O ay, I ken ye'll 
 gang, like a good bairn, Jean. 
 
 Jean looked at her sister; and Mrs MacClarty, 
 ashamed of their disobedience, but still willing to 
 palliate the faults which her own indulgence had 
 created, said, ' that indeed they never liked to leave 
 her, poor things ! they were so bashful ; but that in 
 time they would do weel eneugh.' 
 
 ' They will never do well if they disobey their 
 mother,' said Mr Stewart ; ' you ought to teach your 
 children to obey you, Mrs MacClarty, for their sakes 
 as well as for your own. Take my word for it, that if 
 you don't, they, as well as you, will suffer from the 
 
 F 
 
82 The Cottagers 
 
 consequences. But come, boys, we shall go to the 
 field ourselves, and see how the farmer's work goes on.' 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, glad of his proposal, went to the 
 door to point the way. Having received her directions, 
 Mr Stewart, pointing to the pool at the threshold, 
 asked her how she could bear to have such dirty doors. 
 ' Why does not your husband fetch a stone from the 
 quarry?' said he. 'People, who are far from stones 
 and from gravel, may have some excuse ; but you have 
 the materials within your reach, and by half-a-day's 
 labour could have your door made clean and comfort- 
 able. How then can you have gone on so long with 
 it in this condition V 
 
 ' Indeed, I kenna, sir,' said Mrs MacClarty ; ' the 
 gudeman just canna be fash'd.' 
 
 ' And cannot you be fash'd to go to the end of the 
 house to throw out your dirty water? Don't you see 
 how small a drain would from that carry it down to 
 the river, instead of remaining here to stagnate, and 
 to suffocate you with intolerable stench !' 
 
 ' O, we're just used to it,' said Mrs MacClarty, 
 ' and we never mind it. We cou'dna be fash'd to 
 gang sae far wi' a' the slaistery.' 
 
 ' But what,' returned Mr Stewart, ' will Mrs Mason 
 think of all this dirt ? She has been used to see things 
 in a very different sort of order ; and if you will be 
 advised by her, she will put you upon such a method 
 of doing everything about your house, as will soon 
 give it a very different appearance.' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Mrs MacClarty, ' I aye feared she would 
 be owre nice for us. She has been sae lang amang 
 the Englishers, that she maun hae a hantel o' out- 
 landish notions. But we are owre auld to learn, and 
 we just do weel eneugh.' 
 
 Mr Stewart shook his head, and followed his 
 
of Glenburnie. 83 
 
 sons, who had by this time disengaged the gate from 
 the posts, to which it had been attached by an old 
 cord of many knots. 
 
 While Mr Stewart had been engaging the farmer's 
 wife in conversation at the door, his daughter had 
 been earnestly exhorting Mrs Mason to return to 
 Go wan Brae, and to give up all thoughts of remaining 
 in a situation in which she could not probably enjoy 
 any degree of comfort ; but her arguments made no 
 impression. Mrs Mason adhered inflexibly to her 
 resolution of making a trial of the place; and, on 
 Mrs MacClarty's entrance, begged to see the room 
 she was to occupy. 
 
 4 That you sal,' said Mrs MacClarty ; ' but, indeed, 
 it's no in sic order as I could wish, for it's cram fou 
 o' woo'; it was put in there the day of the sheep- 
 shearing, and we have never ta'en the fash to put it 
 by ; for, as I said before, we did not expect ye 
 till after the fair.' She then opened the door that 
 was placed in the middle, exactly between the two 
 beds, the recesses of which formed the entry of the 
 dark passage, through which they groped their way to 
 the spence, or inner apartment, which was nearly of 
 the same size as the kitchen. Mrs Mason was pre- 
 pared for seeing the fleeces, which were piled up in 
 the middle of the floor ; but was struck with dismay 
 at the fusty smell, which denoted the place to be 
 without any circulation of air. She immediately ad- 
 vanced to the window, in the intension of opening 
 it for relief. But, alas ! it was not made to open ; 
 and she heard for her comfort, that it was the same 
 with all the other windows in the house. The bed, 
 which was opposite to it, was shut up on three sides, 
 like those in the kitchen. At the foot was a dark 
 closet, in which Mrs Mason's trunks were already 
 
84 The Cottagers 
 
 placed. Between the window and the fire-place was 
 a large chest of drawers of mahogany; and on the 
 other side of the window an eight day clock in a 
 mahogany case. The backs of the chairs were of the 
 same foreign wood, betokening no saving of expense ; 
 yet, upon the whole, all had a squalid and gloomy 
 aspect. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty tossed down the bed to show the 
 fineness of the ticking, and the abundance of the 
 blankets, which she took care to tell were all of her 
 own spinning. She received the expected tribute of 
 applause for her good housewifery, though Mrs Mason 
 could not help observing to her what a risk she ran of 
 having it all lost for want of air. ' See the proof of 
 what I say,' said she, 'in that quantity of moths ! they 
 will soon leave you little to boast of your blankets.' 
 
 ' Moths !' repeated Mrs MacClarty, ' there never 
 was sic a sight o' moths as in this room ; we are just 
 eaten up wi' them, and I am sure I kenna how they 
 can win in, for no ae breath o' wind ever blew here !' 
 
 ' That is just the thing that induces them to breed 
 in this place,' returned Mrs Mason. ' Plenty of air 
 would soon rid you of the grievance ; since the win- 
 dow is unfortunately fast, I must beg to have a fire 
 kindled here as soon as your maid comes from the 
 hay-field.' 
 
 ' A fire !' repeated Mrs MacClarty, ' I thought you 
 had found it owre warm.' 
 
 ' It is not to increase the heat that I ask for a fire,' 
 returned Mrs Mason, ' but to increase the circulation 
 of air. If the doors are left open, the air will come 
 sweeping in to feed the fire, and the room will by that 
 means be ventilated, which it greatly stands in need of. 
 I can at present breathe in it no longer.' 
 
 By the help of Miss Mary's arm, Mrs Mason got 
 
of Glen bu rn ic. 8 5 
 
 out into the open air, and gladly assented to her 
 friend's proposal of taking a view of the garden, which 
 lay at the back of the house. On going to the wicket 
 by which it entered, they found it broken, so that they 
 were obliged to wait until the stake which propped it 
 was removed : nor was this the only difficulty they had 
 to encounter ; the path, which was very narrow, was 
 damp, by sippings from the dirty pool : and on each 
 side of it the ground immediately rose, and the docks 
 and nettles which covered it, consequently grew so 
 high, that they had no alternative but to walk sideways, 
 or to separate.' 
 
 ' Ye'll see a bonny garden if ye gang on,' said Mrs 
 MacClarty. ' My son's unco proud o't.' 
 
 ' I wonder your son can let these weeds grow here 
 so rank/ said Miss Mary ; ' I think if he is proud of 
 the garden he should take some pains to make the 
 entrance to it passable ?' 
 
 ' Oh, it does weel eneugh for us,' returned the con- 
 tented mother. 'But saw ye ever sic fine suthern 
 wood ? or sic a bed of thyme ? we have twa rose- 
 bushes down yonder too, but we canna get at them 
 for the nettles. My son gets to them by speeling 
 the wa,' but he would do ony thing for flowers. His 
 father's often angry at the time he spends on them.' 
 
 ' Your husband then has not much taste for the 
 garden, I suppose,' said Mrs Mason ; ' and indeed so 
 it appears, for here is ground enough to supply a 
 large family with fruit and vegetables all the year 
 round ; but I see scarcely any thing but cabbages and 
 weeds.' 
 
 ' Na, na, we have some leeks too,' said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, ' and green kail in winter in plenty. We dinna 
 pretend to kick-shaws ; green kail's gude eneugh 
 for us.' 
 
86 The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 
 
 1 But,' said Miss Mary, ' any one may pretend to 
 what they can produce by their own labour. Were 
 your children to dress and weed this garden, there 
 might be a pretty walk ; there you might have a plot 
 of green peas ; there another of beans ; and under 
 your window you might have a nice border of flowers 
 to regale you with their sweet smell. They might do 
 this too at very little trouble.' 
 
 'Ay, but they canna be fashed,' said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty ; ' and it does just weel eneugh.' 
 
 Mr Stewart now appeared, and with him the farmer, 
 who saluted Mrs Mason with a hearty welcome, and 
 pressed all the party to go in and taste his whisky, to 
 prevent, as he said, the tea from doing them any harm. 
 As the car was now ready, Mr Stewart begged to be 
 excused from accepting the invitation ; and after lay- 
 ing a kind injunction on Mrs Mason, to consider no 
 place so much her home as Gowan Brae, he set oft 
 with his family on their return homewards. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FAMILY SKETCHES. 
 
 RS MASON, unwilling to give trouble, 
 and anxious not to disgust her new 
 acquaintances by the appearance of 
 fastidiousness, gave no further direc- 
 tions concerning her apartment, than 
 was barely necessary towards putting it 
 in a habitable state. This being done, 
 she entered cheerfully into conversa- 
 tion with the fanner, whom she found 
 possessed of much plain good sense, 
 and a greater stock of information than she could 
 have supposed within his reach. She was struck with 
 the force and rationality of his observations on various 
 subjects, and almost sorry when their chat was inter- 
 rupted bya call to supper, which was now upon thetable. 
 It consisted, besides the family dishes of sowens and 
 milk, of a large trencher full of new potatoes, the first 
 of the season, and intended as a treat for the stranger. 
 The farmer and his three sons sat down on one side, 
 the good wife and her two daughters on the other, 
 leaving the arm chair at the head for Mrs Mason, 
 87 
 
88 The Cottagers 
 
 and a stool at the foot for Grizzy, who sat with her 
 back to the table, only turning round occasionally to 
 help herself. 
 
 When all were seated, the farmer, taking off a large 
 blue bonnet, which, on account of his bald crown, he 
 seldom parted with through the day, and looking round 
 to see that all were attentive, invited them to join in 
 the act of devotion which preceded every meal, by 
 saying, ' Let us ask a blessing.' 
 
 Mrs Mason, who had been so long accustomed to 
 consider the standing posture as expressive of greater 
 reverence, immediately stood up; but she was the 
 only one that moved ; all the rest of the party keep- 
 ing their seats, while the farmer, with great solemnity, 
 pronounced a short but emphatic prayer. This being 
 finished, Mrs Mason was desired to help herself; and 
 such was the impression made by the pious thankful- 
 ness which breathed in the devotional exercise in which 
 she had just engaged, that viands less acceptable to 
 her palate would at that moment have been eaten with 
 relish. The sowens were excellent : the milk was 
 sweet ; and the fresh raised potatoes, bursting from 
 the coats in which they had been boiled, might have 
 feasted a queen. It is indeed ten thousand to one 
 that any queen ever tasted of the first of vegetables 
 in this its highest state of perfection. Mrs Mason 
 was liberal of her praise ; and both the farmer and 
 his wife were highly gratified by her expressions of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 The meal concluded as it had begun, with prayer ; 
 and Mrs Mason retired to her room under a full con- 
 viction, that in the society of people who so sincerely 
 served and worshipped God, all the materials of hap- 
 piness would be within her reach. 
 
 Her bed appeared so inviting from the delicate 
 
of Gloiburnie. 89 
 
 whiteness of the linen, that she hastened to enjoy in 
 it the sweets of repose ; but no sooner had her head 
 reached the pillow, than she became sick, and was so 
 overcome by a feeling of suffocation that she was 
 obliged to sit up for air. Upon examination she 
 found, that the smell which annoyed her proceeded 
 from new feathers put into the pillow before they had 
 been properly dried, and when they were consequently 
 full of the animal oil, which, when it becomes rancid, 
 sends forth an intolerable effluvium. Having removed 
 the annoyance, and made of her clothes a bundle to 
 support her head, she again composed herself to sleep, 
 but, alas ! in vain ; for the enemy by whom she was 
 now attacked, she found to be sworn against sleep. 
 The assault was made by such numbers in all quarters, 
 and carried on with such dexterity by the merciless 
 and agile foe, that after a few ineffectual attempts at 
 offensive and defensive warfare, she at length resigned 
 herself to absolute despair. The disgusting idea of 
 want of cleanliness, which their presence excited, was 
 yet more insufferable than the piercing of their little 
 fangs. But, on recollecting how long the room had 
 been filled with the fleeces, she gladly flattered herself, 
 that they were only accidental guests, and that she 
 might soon be able to effect their banishment. 
 
 As day advanced, the enemy retired; and poor 
 Mrs Mason, fatigued and wearied, at length sunk to 
 rest. Happily she was undisturbed by the light ; for 
 though her window, which was exactly opposite to the 
 bed, was not shaded by a curtain, the veil of dust which 
 it had contracted in the eighteen years it had stood 
 unwiped, was too thick to permit the rays of the sun 
 to penetrate. ' 
 
 As the clock struck eight, she hastened out of bed, 
 vexed at having lost so much of the day in sleep ; and 
 
90 The Cottagers 
 
 on perceiving, when about half dressed, that she had 
 in her room neither water nor hand-basin to wash in, ' 
 she threw on her dimity bed-gown, and went out to 
 the kitchen, to procure a supply of these necessary 
 articles. She there found Meg and Jean ; the former 
 standing at the table, from which the porridge dishes 
 seemed to have been just removed ; the latter killing 
 flies at the window. Mrs Mason addressed herself to 
 Meg, and after a courteous good morrow, asked her 
 where she should find a hand-basin ? ' I dinna ken,' 
 said Meg, drawing her finger through the milk that had 
 been spilled upon the table. ' Where is your mother ?' 
 asked Mrs Mason. ' I dinna ken,' returned Meg, con- 
 tinuing to dabble her hands through the remaining 
 fragments of the feast. 
 
 'If you are going to clean that table,' said Mrs 
 Mason, ' you will give yourself more work than you 
 need, by daubing it all over with the porridge ; bring 
 your cloth, and I shall show you how I learned to clean 
 our tables when I was a girl like you.' 
 
 Meg continued to make lines with her fore finger. 
 
 ' Come,' said Mrs Mason, ' shall I teach you ?' 
 
 ' Na,' said Meg, ' I sal dight nane o't. I'm ga'an' 
 to the schule.' 
 
 ' But that need not hinder you to wipe up the table 
 before you go,' said Mrs Mason. ' You might have 
 cleaned it up as bright as a looking-glass in the time 
 that you have spent in spattering it and dirtying your 
 fingers. Would it not be pleasanter for you to make 
 it clean than to leave it dirty ?' 
 
 ' I'll no be at the fash,' returned Meg, making off 
 to the door as she spoke. 
 
 Before she got out, she was met by her mother, 
 who, on seeing her, exclaimed, ' Are ye no awa yet 
 bairns ! I never saw the like. Sic a fecht to get you 
 
of Glenburnie. 91 
 
 to the schule ! Nae wonner ye learn little, when you're 
 at it. Gae awa like good bairns; for there's nae schulin' 
 in the morn, ye ken ; it's the fair day.' 
 
 Meg set off after some farther parley, but Jean 
 continued to catch the flies at the window, taking no 
 notice of her mother's exhortations, though again re- 
 peated in pretty nearly the same terms. 
 
 'Dear me!' said the mother, 'what's the matter 
 wi' the bairn ! what for winna ye gang, when Meg's 
 gane ? Rin, and ye'll be after her or she wins to the 
 end o' the loan.' 
 
 I'm no ga'an the day,' says Jean, turning away 
 her face. 
 
 'And whatfore are no ye ga'an, my dear?' says her 
 mother. 
 
 ' Cause I hinna got my questions,' replied Jean.' 
 
 ' O, but ye may gang for a' that,' said her mother ; 
 'the maister will no be angry. Gang, like a gude 
 bairn.' 
 
 ' Na,' said Jean, ' but he will be angry, for I didna 
 get them the last time either.' 
 
 'And whatfor didna ye get them, my dear?' said 
 Mrs MacClarty, in a soothing tone. 
 
 ' Cause they were kittle, and I couldna be fashed ;' 
 replied the hopeful girl, catching, as she spoke, another 
 handful of flies. 
 
 Her mother, finding that entreaties were of no avail, 
 endeavoured to speak in a more peremptory accent ; 
 and even laid her commands upon her daughter to 
 depart immediately ; but she had too often permitted 
 her commands to be disputed, to be surprised at their 
 being now treated with disrespect. Jean repeated her 
 determined purpose of not going to school that day ; 
 and the firmer she became in opposition, the authori- 
 tative tone of the mother gradually weakened ; till at 
 
92 The Cottagers 
 
 length by saying, that 'if she did nagang to the schule, 
 she suldna stand there,' she acknowledged herself to be 
 defeated, and the point to be given up. 
 
 Mrs Mason, who had stood an unobserved specta- 
 tor of this scene, was truly shocked at such a derelic- 
 tion of the parental authority, which she believed must 
 inevitably produce consequences of the most deplorable 
 nature. She came forward, and stopping the little girl, 
 as she was slinking out at the door, asked her, ' if she 
 really meant to disobey her mother, by staying from 
 school?' Jean made no answer, but the indulgent 
 mother, unwilling that any one should open her eyes 
 to that to which she resolved to be blind, instantly 
 made her spoilt child's apology, by observing, that 
 ' the poor thing had na' gotten her questions, and didna 
 like to gang, for fear o' the maister's anger.' 
 
 ' But ought she not to have got her questions, as 
 her master enjoined, instead of idling here all the 
 morning ?' said Mrs Mason. 
 
 ' Ou ay,' returned Mrs MacClarty, ' she shu'd ha' 
 gotten her questions, nae doubt ; but it was unco 
 fashious, and ye see she hasna a turn that gait, poor 
 thing ! but in time she'll do weel eneugh.' 
 
 ' Those who wait till evening for sunrise,' said Mrs 
 Mason, ' will find that they have lost the day. If you 
 permit your daughter,, while a child, to disobey her 
 parent and her teacher, she will never learn to obey 
 her God. But, perhaps I interfere too far. If I do, 
 you must forgive me ; for, with the strong impression 
 which I have upon my mind of the consequences o 
 a right education, I am tempted to forget that my 
 advice may sometimes be unacceptable.' 
 
 ' Hoot,' said Mrs MacClarty, who did not per- 
 fectly comprehend the speech, ' maiden's bairns are 
 aye weel-bred, ye ken, cousin; but I fear ye hinna 
 
of Glenburnie. 93 
 
 sleepit weel, that ye have been sae lang o' rising. Its 
 a lang time since the kettle has been boiling for your 
 breakfast.' 
 
 ' I shall be ready for it very soon,' said Mrs Mason ; 
 ' but I came in search of a basin and water, which 
 Grizzy has forgot to put in my room, and until I wash, 
 I can proceed no further in dressing myself.' 
 
 ' Dear me,' replied Mrs MacClarty, ' I'm sure 
 you're weel eneugh. Your hands ha' nae need of 
 washing, I trow. Ye ne'er do a turn to file them.' 
 
 ' You can't surely be in earnest,' replied Mrs 
 Mason. ' Do you think I could sit down to breakfast 
 with unwashed hands ? I never heard of such a thing, 
 and never saw it done in my life.' 
 
 ' I see nae gude o' sic nicety,' returned her 
 friend ; ' but it is easy to gie ye water eneugh, though 
 I am sure I dinna ken what to put it in, unless ye 
 tak ane o' the parridge plates : or may be the calf's 
 luggie may do better, for it 'ill gie you eneugh o' 
 room.' 
 
 ' Your own bason will do better than either,' said 
 Mrs Mason. ' Give me the loan of it for this morn- 
 ing, and I shall return it immediately, as you must 
 doubtless often want it through the day.' 
 
 ' Na, na,' returned Mrs MacClarty, ' I dinna fash 
 wi' sae mony fykes. There's ay water standing in some- 
 thing or other, for ane to ca' their hands through when 
 they're blacket. The gudeman indeed is a wee conceity 
 like yoursel,' an' he coft a brown bason for his shaving 
 in on Saturdays, but it's in use a' the week haudin' milk,' 
 or I'm sure ye'd be welcome to it. I shall see an 
 get it ready for the morn.' 
 
 Poor Mrs Mason, on whose nerves the image pre- 
 sented by this description of the alternate uses of the 
 utensil in question, produced a sensible effect, could 
 
94 The Cottagers 
 
 scarcely command voice to thank her cousin for the 
 civil offer. Being, however, under the necessity of 
 choosing for the present, she without hesitation pre- 
 ferred the calf's luggie to the porridge plate; and 
 indeed considered the calf as being so much the 
 cleanlier animal than his mistress, that she would in 
 every way have preferred him for an associate. 
 
 Mrs Mason was not ill-pleased to find that she was 
 to breakfast by herself; the rest of the family, having 
 long ago finished their morning repast, were now en- 
 gaged in the several occupations of the day. 
 
 The kail-pot was already on the fire to make broth 
 for dinner, and Mrs MacClarty busied in preparing 
 the vegetables which were to be boiled in it. When 
 her guest, on hearing her desire Grizzel to make haste, 
 and sit down to her wheel, thought it time to remind 
 her, that her bed was still to make, and her room to 
 be put in order ; and that Grizzel's assistance would 
 be necessary for both. 
 
 It was not easy to persuade the good woman that 
 it would not be time enough in the dusk of the evening; 
 but as Mrs Mason declared it essential to her comfort, 
 Grizzy was ordered to attend her, and to do whatever 
 she desired. By her directions, the stout girl fell to 
 work, and hoisted out the bed and bed-clothes, which 
 she carried to the barn-yard ; the only place about the 
 house where there was a spot of green grass. The 
 check curtains followed, and in their removal effected 
 the sudden ruin of many a goodly cobweb, which 
 had never before met with the smallest molestation. 
 When the lower valance was removed, it displayed a 
 scene still more extraordinary ; a hoard of the remains 
 of the old shoes that had ever been worn by any 
 member of the family; staves of broken tubs, ends of 
 decayed rope, and a long etcetera of useless articles, 
 
of Glenburnie. 95 
 
 so covered with blue mould and dust, that it seemed sur- 
 prising the very spiders did not quit the colony in disgust. 
 
 Mrs Mason sickened at the sight. Perceiving what 
 an unpleasant task she should be obliged to impose 
 on her assistant, she deemed herself in justice bound 
 to recompense her for the trouble ; and, holding up a 
 half-crown piece, told her, that if she performed all 
 she required of her on the present occasion, it should 
 be her own. No sooner was Grizzy made certain of 
 the reward, which had till now been promised in inde- 
 finite terms, than she began in such good earnest, 
 that Mrs Mason was glad to get out of the room. 
 After three large buckets full of dirt and trumpery had 
 been carried out, she came to Mrs Mason for fresh 
 instructions. She then proceeded to wash the bed- 
 posts with soap and water, after which, the chairs, the 
 tables, the clock-case, the very walls of the room, as 
 well as everything it contained, all underwent a com- 
 plete cleaning. 
 
 The window, in which were nine tolerably large 
 panes of glass, was no sooner rendered transparent, 
 than Grizzy cried out in ecstasy, 'that she couldna' 
 have thought it would have made sic a change. Dear 
 me ! how heartsome it looks now, to what it us't !' 
 said the girl, her spirit rising in proportion to the 
 exertion of her activity. 
 
 ' And in how short a time has it been cleaned !' 
 said Mrs Mason. ' Yet, had it been regularly cleaned 
 once a week, as it ought to have been, it would have 
 cost far less trouble. By the labour of a minute or 
 two, we may keep it constantly bright; and surely 
 few days pass in which so much time may not be 
 spared. Let us now go to the kitchen window, and 
 make it likewise clean.' Grizzy with alacrity obeyed. 
 But before the window could be approached, it was 
 
g6 The Cottagers 
 
 found necessary to remove the heap of dusty articles 
 piled up in the window sill, which served the purpose 
 of family library, and repository of what is known by 
 the term odds and ends. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, who had sat down to spin, did 
 not at first seem willing to take any notice of what 
 was going forward; but on perceiving her maid be- 
 ginning to meddle with the things in the window, she 
 could no longer remain a neutral spectator of the 
 scene. Stopping her wheel, she, in a voice indicating 
 the reverse of satisfaction, asked what she was about ? 
 Mrs Mason took it upon her to reply. ' We are going 
 to make your window bright and clean for you, cousin,' 
 said she. ' If you step into my room, and take a look 
 at mine, you will see what a difference there is in it ; 
 and this, if these broken panes were mended, would 
 look every bit as well.' 
 
 ' It does weel eneugh] returned Mrs MacClarty ; ' it 
 wants nae cleanin'. It does just weel eneicgh. What's 
 the guid o' takin' up the lassie's time wi' nonsense ? 
 she'll break the window too, and the bairns hae broken 
 eneugh o' it already.' 
 
 ' But if these panes were mended, and the window 
 cleaned, without and within,' said Mrs Mason, 'you 
 cannot think how much more cheerful the kitchen 
 would appear.' 
 
 ' And how long will it bide clean, if it were ?' said 
 Mrs MacClarty. ' It would be as ill as ever in a 
 month, and wha cou'd be at the fash o' ay cleanin' at it,' 
 
 ' Even once a month would keep it tolerable, but 
 once a week would keep it very nice ; your little girls 
 might rub it bright of a morning, without the least 
 trouble in the world. They might learn, too, to whiten 
 the window-sill, and to keep it free from rubbish, by 
 laying the books, and all these articles, in their proper 
 
of Gleiiburnie. 97 
 
 places, instead of letting them remain here covered 
 with dust. You cannot imagine what good it would 
 do your young people, did they learn betimes to 
 attend to such matters ; for, believe me cousin, habits 
 of neatness, and of activity, and of attention, have a 
 greater effect upon the temper and disposition than 
 most people are aware of.' 
 
 ' If my bairns do as weel as I hae done, they'll do 
 weel eneugh,' said Mrs MacClarty, turning her wheel 
 with great speed. 
 
 Mr MacClarty's voice was just at that moment 
 heard calling on Grizzy to drive the fowls out of 
 the corn-field, which necessarily put a stop to all 
 further proceedings against the window. Mrs Mason 
 therefore returned to her own apartment ; and greatly 
 pleased with the appearance which it now assumed, 
 cheerfully sat down to her accustomed labours of 
 the needle, of which she was such complete mis- 
 tress, that it gave no interruption to the train of her 
 reflections. On taking a view of her present situation, 
 and comparing it with the past, she carefully sup- 
 pressed every feeling that could lead to discontent. 
 Instead of murmuring at the loss of those indulgences, 
 which long habit had almost converted into neces- 
 saries of life, she blessed God for the enjoyment of 
 such a state of health as none of the luxuries of wealth 
 could purchase ; and for which those who possessed 
 them so often sighed in vain. Considering all the 
 events of her life as ordered under the wise dispen- 
 sation of Providence, she looked to the subordinate 
 situation in which she had been placed, as a school in 
 which it was intended that she should learn the im- 
 portant lesson of humility ; and when she looked back, 
 it was for the purpose of inquiring how she had ful- 
 filled the duties of the lot assigned her. 
 
 G 
 
98 The Cottagers 
 
 She was now, for the first time in her life, com- 
 pletely her own mistress ; but she was already sen- 
 sible, that the idea of a life completely independent of 
 the will of others is merely visionary, and that in all 
 situations, some portion of one's own will must neces- 
 sarily be sacrificed. She saw that the more nearly 
 people approached each other in their habits and 
 opinions, the less would the sacrifice be felt ; but 
 while she entertained a hope of being able to do more 
 good in her present situation than she could in any 
 other, she resolved to remain where she was. ' Surely,' 
 said she to herself, ' I must be of some use to the 
 children of these good people. They are ill brought 
 up, but they do not seem deficient in understanding ; 
 and if I can once convince them of the advantage they 
 will derive from listening to my advice, I may make a 
 lasting impression on their minds.' 
 
 While engaged by these reflections, as she busily 
 pursued her work, she was startled by a sudden noise, 
 followed by an immediate diminution of light ; and 
 on looking up, perceived her window all over bespat- 
 tered with mud. A tittering laugh betrayed the 
 aggressors, and directed her attention to the side 
 where they stood, and from which she knew they 
 could not retreat without being seen. She therefore 
 continued quietly on the watch, and in a little time 
 saw Jean and her younger brother issue from the 
 spot, and hastily run down the bank that led to the 
 river. 
 
 Mrs Mason had been for above twenty years em- 
 ployed in studying the tempers and dispositions of 
 children ; but as she had never before seen an instance 
 of what appeared to be unprovoked malignity in the 
 youthful mind, she was greatly shocked at the disco- 
 very ; and thought it incumbent on her to inform 
 
of Glenbmnie. 99 
 
 their mother of the incident, and to give her opinion 
 of it in the plainest terms. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty perceiving that Mrs Mason had 
 something extraordinary to communicate, stopped her 
 wheel to listen ; and when the window was mentioned, 
 asked, with great anxiety, whether it was broken?' 
 ' No,' said Mrs Mason, ' the mud they threw at it 
 was too soft to break the glass ; it is not to the injury 
 done the windows that I wish to call your attention, 
 but to the dispositions of your children ; for what must 
 the dispositions be that lead them to take pleasure in 
 such an act ?' 
 
 ' Hoot,' said Mrs MacClarty, ' is that it a' ? ane 
 wou'd ha' thought the window had been a' to shivers, 
 by the way you spoke. If its but a wee clarted, there's 
 nae sae muckle ill done. I told ye it was nonsense to 
 be at sae muckle fash aboot it ; for that it would na' 
 get leave to bide clean lang.' 
 
 1 But if your children were better taught,' said Mrs 
 Mason, ' it might get leave to bide clean long enough. 
 If the same activity which they have displayed in 
 dirtying it, had been directed into proper channels, 
 your cottage might have been kept in order by their 
 little hands, and your garden, and all about your doors, 
 made neat and beautiful. Children are naturally active; 
 but unless their activity be early bent to useful pur- 
 poses, it will only lead them into mischief. Were your 
 children' — 
 
 ' Hoot,' said Mrs MacClarty, peevishly, ' my bairns 
 are just like other folks. A' laddies are full o' mischief. 
 I'm sure there's no a yard i' the town where they can 
 get a flower or apple keepit for them. I wonder what 
 ye would ha' said if ye had seen the minister's yetts 
 the day after they were painted, slacked and blacketa' 
 owre wi' dirt, by the laddies frae the schule ?' 
 
100 The Cottagers 
 
 * I would have said,' returned Mrs Mason, ' what I 
 said before, that all that bent to mischief in the children 
 arises from the neglect of the parents, in not directing 
 their activity into proper channels. Do you not think 
 that each of these boys would, if properly trained, find 
 as much amusement in works that would tend to orna- 
 ment the village, or in cultivating a few shrubs and 
 flowers to adorn the walls of their own cottages, as they 
 now appear to find in mischief and destruction ? Do 
 you not think, that that girl of yours might have been 
 so brought up as to have had more pleasure in clean- 
 ing a window of her father's house, than in bedaubing 
 it with mud ? Allowing the pleasure of being mis- 
 chieviously active, and the pleasure of being usefully 
 active, to be at present equal ; do you think that the 
 consequences will not be different? " Train up a child 
 in the way he should go," says Solomon, and depend 
 upon it, that in the way you train him he will go, 
 whether you desire it or not. If you permit a child 
 to derive all his pleasure from doing ill to others, he 
 will not, when he is grown up, be inclined to do much 
 good. He will, even from his youth, be conscious of 
 deserving the ill will of his neighbours, and must of 
 course have no good will to them. His temper will 
 thus be soured. If he succeeds in life he will be proud 
 and overbearing ; if he does not, he will become sulky, 
 and morose, and obdurate.' 
 
 ' Weel/ said the farmer, who had been listening to 
 the latter part of the conversation, ' it's a' true that 
 ye say, but how is it to be helpit ? Do you think cor- 
 rupt nature can be subdued in ony other way than by 
 the grace of God ?' 
 
 ' If I read my Bible right,' returned Mrs Mason, 
 ' the grace of God is a gift which, like all the other 
 gifts of divine love, must be sought by the appointed 
 
of Glenburnie. 101 
 
 means. It is the duty of a parent to put his children 
 upon the way of thus seeking it ; and, as far as it is 
 in his power, to remove the obstacles that would pre- 
 vent it.' 
 
 1 The minister himsel' could speak nae better,' re- 
 turned the farmer. ' But when folks gi' their bairns 
 the best education in their power, what mair can 
 they do?' 
 
 4 In answer to your question,' replied Mrs Mason, 
 • I will put one to you. Suppose you had a field which 
 produced only briers and thorns, what method would 
 you take to bring it into heart ?' 
 
 ' I would nae doubt rute out the briers and thorns, 
 as weel as I could,' returned the farmer. 
 
 ' And after you had opened the soil by ploughing, 
 and enriched it by the proper manure, you would sow 
 good seed in it, and expect, by the blessing of heaven, 
 to reap, in harvest, the reward of your labours,' said 
 Mrs Mason. 
 
 ' To be sure I would,' said the farmer. 
 
 ' And do you imagine,' said Mrs Mason, ' that the 
 human soul requires less care in culturing it than is 
 necessary to your field ? Is it merely by teaching them 
 to say their questions, or even teaching them to read, 
 that the briers and thorns of pride and self-will will be 
 rooted up from your children's minds?' 
 
 ' We maun trust a' to the grace of God,' said the 
 fanner. 
 
 ' God forbid that we should put trust in aught be- 
 side,' returned Mrs Mason ; ' but if we hope for a 
 miraculous interposition of divine grace, in favour of 
 ourselves or of our children, without taking the means 
 that God has appointed, our hope does not spring 
 from faith but from presumption. It is just as if you 
 were neither to plough nor sow your fields, and yet 
 
102 The Cottagers 
 
 expect that Providence would bless you with an abund- 
 ant crop.' 
 
 ' But what means ought we to use that we do not 
 use ?' said the farmer. ' We send our bairns to the 
 schule, and we take them to the kirk, and we do our 
 best to set them a good example. I ken na what we 
 could do mair.' 
 
 ' You are a good man,' said Mrs Mason, with com- 
 placency ; ' and happy will it be for your children if 
 they follow your example. But let us drop all allusion 
 to them in particular, and speak only of training up 
 youth to virtue, as a general principle. By what you 
 say, you think it sufficient to sow the seed ; I contend 
 for the necessity of preparing the soil to receive it : 
 and say, that without such preparation, it will never 
 take root, nor vegetate.' 
 
 'I canna' contradict you,' returned the farmer; 
 ' but I wish you to explain it better. If you mean that 
 we ought to give our bairns lessons at hame, I can tell 
 you that we have not time for it, nor are we book- 
 learned eneugh to make fine speeches to them, as the 
 like of you might do ; and if we were, I fear it wad 
 do little gude.' 
 
 ' Believe me,' replied Mrs Mason, ' set lessons, and 
 fine harangues, make no part of my plan of prepara- 
 tion, which consists of nothing else than a watchful 
 attention to the first appearances of what is in its 
 nature evil, and whether it comes in the shape of self- 
 will, passion, or perverseness, nipping it in the very 
 bud; while, on the other hand, I would tenderly cherish 
 every kindly affection, and enforce attention to the feel- 
 ings of others ; by which means I would render children 
 kind-hearted, tractable, and obedient. This is what I 
 call the preparation of the soil : now let us see the con- 
 sequences. — When a child, who has been accustomed 
 
of Glenburnie. 103 
 
 to prompt and cheerful obedience, learns to read the 
 commandment, honour thy father and thy mother, will 
 he not be more apt to practise the duty then inculcated 
 than one who had from infancy indulged in contrary 
 habits ? And what doth the gospel teach ? doth it not 
 urge us to subdue all selfish and vindictive passions, in 
 order that we may cherish the most perfect love to God 
 and man ? Now, if we have permitted our children to 
 indulge these passions, how do we prepare them for 
 practising the gospel precepts ? Their duty to God 
 and man requires, that they should make the best use 
 of every power of mind and body : the activity natural 
 to youth is a power included in this rule ; and if we 
 permit them to waste it in effecting mischief, and in 
 destroying or disturbing the happiness of others, can 
 we say that we are not counteracting the express will 
 of our divine Master ? How can we flatter ourselves, 
 that with such habits the divine precepts will make 
 much impression on their minds.' 
 
 Before Mrs Mason had finished her speech, her 
 voice was drowned in the noise of a violent quarrel 
 that had taken place between the farmer's two elder 
 sons. Perceiving that the dispute would not be easily 
 settled, she retired to her room ; but was overtaken in 
 the passage by Mrs MacClarty, who said in a whisper, 
 1 1 hope ye'll say naething o' Jenny's playing the truant 
 frae the schule. Her father mauna ken o't, he wad be 
 sae angry.' — ' Alas !' said Mrs Mason, ' you know not 
 how much you are your child's enemy ! but I shall be 
 silent' 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DOMESTIC REBELLION. 
 
 RS MASON enjoyed the reward of her 
 exertions, and of Grizzel's labour, in a 
 night of sweet and uninterrupted repose. 
 She was awakened at early dawn by the 
 farmer calling his sons to get up to pre- 
 pare for the labours of the day; and 
 looking out beheld the clouds already 
 decked in the colours of the morning, 
 inviting her to the most glorious sight 
 on which the eye of man can look. The 
 invitation was not given in vain, she rose and dressed 
 herself : and taking her staff and crutch, she sallied 
 from her room, earnestly wishing to escape observation. 
 The young men, in no hurry to obey their father's 
 summons, were still in bed. On passing through the 
 dark passage where they slept, she could not help won- 
 dering at the perverted ingenuity which could contrive 
 to give the sleeping rooms of a country house all 
 the disadvantages which attend the airless abodes of 
 poverty in the crowded lanes of great and populous 
 cities. 
 
of Glendurnie. 105 
 
 From the length of time that the outer door had 
 been shut, the closeness of the house had become very 
 unpleasant to her lungs. Welcome therefore was the 
 reviving breeze of morning ! Welcome the freshness 
 of the coming day, which now burst upon the senses. 
 It was not, indeed, until she had removed some paces 
 from the house that she fully felt its influence ; for 
 while near the door, the smell of the squashy pool, 
 and its neighbour, the dunghill, were so powerful as to 
 subdue the fragrance of earth's fruits and flowers. 
 
 Having taken the road towards the river, she, on 
 its first turning, found herself in full view of the water- 
 fall, and was arrested by admiration at the many 
 beauties of the scene. Seating herself upon a pro- 
 jecting rock, she contemplated the effulgent glory of 
 the heavens, as they brightened into splendour at the 
 approach of the lord of day ; and when her eyes were 
 dazzled by the scene, turned to view the living waters, 
 pouring their crystal flood over the craggy precipice, 
 shaded by the spreading boughs of birch and alder. 
 
 The good woman's heart glowed with rapture : but 
 it did not vainly glow, as does the heart or the imagina- 
 tion of many a pretender to superior taste ; for the 
 rapture of her heart was fraught with gratitude. She 
 saw the God of nature in His works, and blessed the 
 goodness which, even in the hour of creation, ordained 
 that they should not only contribute to the use, but 
 add to the enjoyments of the human race. ' The eye 
 is never satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing ;' 
 and He who implanted these desires, has He not mer- 
 cifully provided for their gratification ? What are all 
 the works of man, what all the pomp and splendour 
 of monarchs, compared with the grandeur of such a 
 scene ? But the sights that are designed by man as 
 proofs of his creative skill, are only to be seen by the 
 
106 The Cottagers 
 
 rich and great ; while the glorious works of God are 
 exhibited to all. Whilst she pursued this thought a 
 little farther, it occurred to Mrs Mason that all that is I 
 rare is in general useless ; and that all that is most truly 
 valuable is given in common, and placed within the 
 reach of the poor and lowly. ' Let the poor then 
 praise Thee !' she exclaimed. • Let the lowly in heart 
 rejoice in Thy salvation. Let us rejoice in the light 
 which shines from on high to illumine the soul, as Thy 
 sun illumines the earth ! O that men would praise 
 the Lord for His goodness, and for His mercies to the 
 children of men.' 
 
 While Mrs Mason was thus indulging the grateful 
 feelings of her heart by sending up her tribute of praise 
 to the Almighty Giver of all good, her ears were sud- 
 denly assailed by the harsh sound of discord ; and on 
 moving a few steps she discovered that a violent dis- 
 pute had taken place between the farmer and his eldest 
 son. In the hope of making peace she advanced 
 towards them, but before she turned the corner she 
 paused, doubting whether it were not better to take no 
 notice of having heard the fray. The voices stopped ; 
 and proceeding, she saw the farmer hastily unsaddling 
 a horse ; and the son at the same moment issuing from 
 the door, but pulled back by his mother, who held the 
 skirt of his coat, saying, ' I tell ye, Sandy, ye mauna 
 gang to anger your father.' 
 
 'But I sal gang,' cried Sandy, in a sullen tone. 
 ' I winna be hindered. I sal gang, I tell ye, whether 
 my father likes it or no.' 
 
 'Ye may gang, ye dour loon,' says the father; 
 ' but if ye do, ye sal repent it as lang as ye live.' 
 
 ' Hoot na,' returned the mother, ' ye'll forgi'e him ; 
 and ye had as weel let him gang, for ye see he winna 
 be hindered !' 
 
of Glcnbumie. 107 
 
 'Where is the young man going to?' asked Mrs 
 Mason. 
 
 'Where sud he be for gain' to, but to the fair?' 
 returned the mother; 'it's only natural. But our 
 gudeman's unco particular, and never lets the lads 
 get ony daffin.' 
 
 ' Daftin !' cried the farmer ; ' is druckenness daffin t 
 Did na he gang last year, and come hame as drunk 
 as a beast ? And ye wad have him tak the brown 
 mare too, without ever speiring my leave : saddled 
 and bridled too, forsooth, like ony gentleman in the 
 land ! But ye sal baith repent it : I tell ye, ye'se 
 repent it.' 
 
 ' O, I did na ken o' the mare.' 
 
 'But is it possible,' said Mrs Mason, addressing 
 herself to the young man, 'is it possible that you 
 should think of going to any place in direct opposition 
 to your father's will ? I thought you would have been 
 better acquainted with your duty than to break the 
 commands of God, by treating your parents in such a 
 manner.' 
 
 ' I am sure he has been weel taught,' said the 
 mother ; but I kenna how it is, our bairns never mind 
 a word we say !' 
 
 ' But he will mind you,' said Mrs Mason, ' and set 
 a better example of obedience to his brothers and 
 sisters, than he is now doing. Come, I must reconcile 
 all parties. Will you not give me your hand ?' 
 
 ' I'll no stay frae the fair for naebody,' said the 
 sullen youth, endeavouring to pass; 'a' the folk in 
 the Glen are gain', and I'll gang too, say what ye 
 wull.' 
 
 Mrs Mason scarcely believed it possible that he 
 could be so very hardy, until she saw him set off with 
 sullen and determined step, followed by his mother's 
 
io8 The Cottagers 
 
 eye, who, on seeing him depart, exclaimed, 'Hech 
 me ! ye're an unco laddie.' 
 
 The farmer appeared to feel more deeply, but he 
 said nothing. Grasping the mane of the mare, he 
 turned to lead her down the road to his fields, and 
 had advanced a few steps, when his wife called after 
 him, to inquire what he was going to do with the 
 saddle which he carried on his shoulders ? ' Do wi' 
 it!' repeated he, 'I have naething to do wi' it!' 
 Then dashing it on the ground, he proceeded with 
 quickened pace down the steep. 
 
 'Wae's me!' said Mrs MacClarty, 'the gudeman 
 talcs Sandie's dourness mickle to heart !' 
 
 'And is it any wonder that he should take it to 
 heart?' said Mrs Mason. 'What can be more dread- 
 ful to a parent than to see a son, setting out in life, 
 with such dispositions ? What can be expected of one 
 who is capable of such undutiful behaviour?' 
 
 ' To be sure,' said the goodwife, ' the lad's unco 
 wilfu'. There's nae gude in hindering him, for he 
 maun ay tak his ain gait. But a' lads are just the 
 same, and the gudeman shou'd na be sae hard on him, 
 seeing he's yet but young.' 
 
 ' Mistress !' hallooed the voice of Grizzel from the 
 house ; ' I wish ye wad come and speak to Meg. She 
 winna be hinderit putting her fingers in the kirn, and 
 licking the cream.' 
 
 ' If I were at you,' cried Mrs MacClarty, ' I'd gar 
 you — ' 
 
 She was as good as her word ; and in order to show 
 Mrs Mason the good effect of her advice, she ran that 
 moment into the kitchen, and gave her daughter a hearty 
 slap upon the back. The girl went a few steps further 
 off, and deliberately applied her tongue to the back of 
 her hand, where part of the cream was still visible. 
 
of Glcnburnie. 109 
 
 'Go, ye idle whippy !' said her mother, 'and let 
 me see how weel ye'll ca' the kirn.' 
 
 ' I winna kirn the day,' returned Meg ; ' I'm gain' 
 to milk the kye. Jean may kirn; she has naething 
 else to do.' 
 
 ' I'm aye set to kirn,' says Jean, whimpering. ' I 
 never saw sic wark. I tell ye, I winna kirn mair than 
 Meg. Grizzy can milk the cows hersel'. She does 
 na' want her help.' 
 
 ' But, girls,' said Mrs Mason, ' when I was a little 
 girl like either of you, I never thought of choosing 
 my work ; I considered it my business to follow my 
 mother's directions. Young people ought to obey, 
 and not to dictate.' 
 
 ' Hear ye that !' said Mrs MacClarty : ' But Jean 
 will gang to the kirn I ken, like a good bairn ; and 
 she sal get a dad o' butter to her bread.' 
 
 ' But I winna hae't frae the hairin' knife,' said 
 Jean, ' for the last I got stack i' my throat.' 
 
 'Bless me!' cried Mrs Mason, in amazement, 
 ' how does your butter come to be so full of hairs ? 
 where do they come from ?' 
 
 ' O, they are a' frae the cows,' returned Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty. ' There has been lang a hole in the milk 
 sythe, and I have never been at the fash to get it 
 mended ; but as I tak ay care to sythe the milk 
 through my fingers, I wonder how sae mony hairs 
 win in.' 
 
 'Ye need na wonder at that,' observed Grizzel, 
 ' for the house canna be soopit but the dirt flees into 
 the kirn.' 
 
 ' But do you not clean the churn before you put 
 in the cream?' asked Mrs Mason, more and more 
 astonished. 
 
 'Na, na,' returned Mrs MacClarty, 'that wadna 
 
I io The Cottagers 
 
 be canny, ye ken. Naebody hereabouts would clean 
 their kirn, for ony consideration. I never heard o' sic 
 a thing i' my life.' 
 
 Mrs Mason found it difficult to conceal the disgust 
 which this discovery excited ; but resolving to be 
 cautious of giving offence by the disclosure of her 
 sentiments, she sat down in silence, to watch the 
 farther operations of the morning. While Jean was 
 slowly turning the churn with unwilling hand, her 
 mother was busily employed in making the cheese. 
 Part of the milk destined to that purpose was already 
 put upon the fire, in the same iron pot in which the 
 chickens had been feasting, and on which the hardened 
 curd, at which they had been picking, was still visible 
 towards the rim. The remainder of the milk was 
 turned into a large tub. and to it that upon the fire 
 was added, as soon as it was of a proper heat. So 
 far, all was done well and cleverly. Mrs MacClarty 
 then took down a bottle of rennet, or yearning, as she 
 called it ; and having poured in what she thought a 
 sufficient quantity, tucked up the sleeve of her gown, 
 and dashing in her arm, stirred the infusion with equal 
 care and speed. 
 
 ' I believe, cousin,' said Mrs Mason, hesitatingly, 
 ' I believe — you forgot to wash your hands.' 
 
 ' Hoot !' returned the good wife, ' my hands do 
 weel eneugh. I canna be fashed to clean them at 
 every turn.' 
 
 ' But you go about your work with such activity,' 
 rejoined Mrs Mason, 'that I should think it would 
 give you little trouble, if you were once accustomed 
 to it ; and by all that I have observed, and I have had 
 many opportunities of observation, I believe that in 
 the management of a dairy, cleanliness is the first, the 
 last, the one art needful.' 
 
of Glenburnie. 1 1 1 
 
 'Cleanly!' repeated Mrs MacClarty; 'nae ane 
 ever said that I wasna' cleanly. There's no' a mair 
 cleanly person i' the parish. Cleanly, indeed ! Ane 
 wad think ye was speaking to a bairn.' 
 
 Mrs Mason offered a few words in explanation, 
 and then retired to her own apartment, to which she 
 saw it would be necessary to confine herself in order 
 to enjoy any tolerable degree of comfort. She there- 
 fore began to consider how it might be rendered more 
 airy and commodious ; and, after dinner, observing 
 that the farmer's mind still brooded on his son's 
 behaviour, she gladly introduced the subject of her 
 projected alterations, hoping thus to divert his thoughts 
 into another channel. The first thing she proposed 
 was to have hinges for the frame of the window, that 
 it might open and shut at pleasure. To this the 
 farmer said he should have no objection, but that ' he 
 ken'd it wad soon be broken to pieces, blawin' wi' the 
 wund.' 
 
 ' O, but you mistake me,' said Mrs Mason. ' I 
 intend that it should be fastened when open with an 
 iron hook, as they constantly fasten the cottage win- 
 dows in England.' 
 
 ' And wha do ye think wad put in the cleek ?' re- 
 turned he. ' Is there ane, think ye, about this hoose, 
 that wad be at sic a fash ?' 
 
 'Why, what trouble is there in it?' said Mrs 
 Mason. ' It is only teaching your children to pay a 
 little attention to such things, and they will soon come 
 to find no trouble in them. They cannot too soon 
 learn to be neat and regular in their ways.' 
 
 ' Ilka place has just its ain gait,' said the goodwite, 
 'and ye needna think that ever we'll learn yours. 
 And, indeed, to be plain wi' you, cousin, I think you 
 have owre mony fykes. There, didna' ye keep Grizzy 
 
112 The Cottagers 
 
 for mair than twa hours yesterday morning, soopin' 
 and dustin' your room in every corner, and cleanin' 
 out the twa bits o' buird, that are for naething but to 
 set your feet on after a'.' 
 
 ' But did you know how dirty they were ?' said Mrs 
 Mason. 
 
 ' Hoot ! the chickens just got their meat on them 
 for twa or three weeks, pour wee beasties ! the buirds 
 war a wee thought darted wi' parritch, but it was weel 
 dried on, and ye wadna' been a bit the waar.' 
 
 ' But are the boards the worse for being scoured ?' 
 asked Mrs Mason ; ' or would they have been the 
 worse, if they had been scoured when you took them 
 from the chickens, or, while they were feeding on them?' 
 
 ' O to be sure it wad ha' been an easy matter to ha' 
 scour't them then, if we had thought of being at the 
 fash,' returned Mrs MacClarty. 
 
 ' In my opinion,' rejoined Mrs Mason, ' this fear of 
 being fashed is the great bar to all improvement. I 
 have seen this morning that you are not afraid of work, 
 for you have exerted yourself with a degree of activity 
 that no one could excel ; yet you dread the small addi- 
 tional trouble that would make your house cheerful, 
 clean, and comfortable. You dread the trouble of 
 attention, more than the labour of your hands ; and 
 thus, if I mistake not, you often bring upon yourself 
 trouble which timely attention would have spared. 
 Would it not be well to have your children taught 
 such habits of attention and regularity, as would make 
 you more easy, and them more useful, both to them- 
 selves and you?' 
 
 'As for my bairns,' returned Mrs MacClarty, 'if 
 they pleasure me, they do weel eneugh.' 
 
 'There's a great spice o' good sense in what 
 Mrs Mason has said, though,' said the farmer j ' but 
 
of Glenburnie. 1 1 3 
 
 it's no easy for folk like us to be put out o' their ain 
 gait.' 
 
 In truth, Mrs MacClarty was one of those seem- 
 ingly good-natured people who are never to be put 
 out of their own way ; for she was obstinate to a de- 
 gree ; and so perfectly self-satisfied, that she could not 
 bear to think it possible that she might in any thing 
 do better than she did. Thus, though she would not 
 argue in favour of sloth or dirt in general, she never- 
 theless continued to be slothful and dirty, because she 
 vindicated herself in every particular instance of either ; 
 and though she did not wish that her chi-ldren should 
 be idle, obstreperous, disobedient, and self-willed, she 
 effectually formed them to those habits, and then took 
 credit to herself for being one of the best of mothers ! 
 
 Mrs Mason had discernment enough to see how 
 much pride there was in that pretended contentment, 
 which constantly repelled every idea of improvement. 
 She saw that though Mrs MacClarty took no pains to 
 teach her children what was truly useful, she en- 
 couraged, with respect to them, an undefined senti- 
 ment of ambition, which persuaded her, that her 
 children were born to rise to something great, and 
 that they would in time overtop their neighbours. 
 Mrs Mason saw the unhappy effects which this would 
 infallibly produce upon minds brought up in ignor- 
 ance ; she therefore resolved to do all in her power to 
 obviate the consequences ; and from the opinion she 
 had formed of the farmer's sense and principles, had 
 no doubt of his co-operating with her in the work of 
 reformation. 
 
 While musing on the subject, as she sat by her 
 window in the twilight, she saw the two younger lads 
 run hastily past ; and soon heard from their mother 
 such an exclamation of sorrow as convinced her they 
 
1 14 The Cottagers 
 
 had been the messengers of bad news. She therefore 
 speedily proceeded but, * and there she found the poor 
 woman wringing her hands, and lamenting herself 
 bitterly. The farmer entered at the same moment ; 
 and on seeing him she redoubled her lamentations, still 
 calling out, ' O Sandy ! Sandy ! O that I should ha' 
 lived to see this day ! O Sandy ! Sandy !' 
 
 ' Sandy !' repeated the alarmed father, ' what is the 
 matter wi' Sandy ? for God's sake, speak ! Is my son 
 gane ! is he killed?' 
 
 ' No, no, he's war' than killed ! O that I should 
 have seen this day !' 
 
 'Speak Robert,' said Mrs Mason, 'you can tell 
 what has befallen your brother ; let your father know 
 the truth.' Robert was silent ; but the youngest boy 
 eagerly came forward, and said, ' that Jamie Bruce had 
 brought word that Sandy was aff to be a soger.' 
 
 'And where did you see Jamie Bruce?' asked his 
 father. 
 
 ' It was Rob that spoke wi' him ; it wasna' me,' said 
 the little boy, hanging down his head. 
 
 ' Where could you, Rob, meet Jamie Bruce?' said 
 the farmer. ' Did not I send you to the West Craft ? 
 how could you then see ony ane comin' frae the fair ? 
 Speak, sir ! and tell truth, I desire you.' 
 
 ' I just thought I wad gang a wee while up to the 
 road to see the folk coming frae the fair before I gied 
 to the Craft,' returned Robert. ' I kent there wad be 
 time eneugh.' 
 
 'Aye,' said the father, sighing; 'it's just the way 
 wi' ye a' ! ye just do what ye like yoursel's ! Now, see 
 what comes o' it ! Here's Sandy done for himsel' wi' 
 
 * The English reader is referred to Home Tooke for the 
 etymology of this word. 
 
of Glcnburmc. 115 
 
 a vengeance ! He too wad do naething but what he 
 liked ! see what he'll make o't now, but to be tied up 
 to a stake and lashed like a dog ! a disgrace, as he is, 
 to us a' ! I wou'd rather he had ne'er been born !' 
 
 ' Alake ! gudeman,' cried the poor mother, weeping 
 bitterly ; alake ! hae pity on me, and try to get him aff.' 
 
 'It will do nae gude,' says her husband, in a 
 softened accent, and wiping a tear which stole down 
 his cheek ; ' it will do nae gude, I tell ye. We shall 
 never have comfort in him while we live, for he is ane 
 that will never be advised. Ye ken he never minds a 
 word we say — yet I canna think o' his being made a 
 reprobate.' 
 
 ' He need not necessarily be a reprobate in the 
 army,' said Mrs Mason. ' I should hope his principles 
 will preserve him from that ; and if he behaves well, 
 he will be treated kindly, and may come in time to be 
 promoted. But you are not yet certain that he is en- 
 listed. The person who gave the information may 
 himself have been misinformed. Make inquiry into 
 the fact, and then take the steps that, on considera- 
 tion, appear to be most prudent and judicious.' 
 
 The gleam of hope which was presented in these 
 words, revived the spirits of the disconsolate parents \ 
 and the father in haste set off for the village, to learn 
 to a certainty the fate of his untoward son. 
 
 Evening was now far advanced. The cows, which 
 the boys should have brought home to be milked, 
 were still lowing in the West Croft ; and when Mrs 
 MacClarty desired Robert to go for them, she ob- 
 tained no other answer, than that ' Grizzy might gang 
 as weel as him.' Grizzel was busy in washing up the 
 dishes wanted for supper, and which had remained 
 unwashed from breakfast time till now. They had 
 been left to the care of Meg, who had neglected them, 
 
n6 
 
 The Cottagers of Glenburuie. 
 
 and by this neglect made the task more difficult to 
 Grizzy, who was, therefore, in very bad humour, and 
 began loudly to complain of Meg and Rob ; who, in 
 their turns, raised their voices in defence and mutual 
 accusation. The din of the squabble became insuf- 
 ferable. Mrs Mason retired from it with horror, and 
 shut herself up in her room, where she meditated, 
 with deep regret, on the folly of those who, having 
 been placed by Almighty God in situations most 
 favourable to the enjoyment of peace and the exer- 
 cise of virtue are insensible to the blessing ; and by 
 permitting their passions to reign without control, de- 
 stroy at once both peace and virtue. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 •Af CONTAINING A USEFUL PRESCRIPTION. 
 
 E'S gane !' said the farmer, as he opened 
 the cottage door. ' It is just as I kent 
 it wa'd be. They enticed him wi' 
 drink ! and then, when his senses war 
 gane, they listet him.' 
 
 ' And sal I never see him mair !' 
 cried his wife. ' Will ye no try to get 
 him aff ? Maun my bairn gang wi' the 
 loons and vagabonds, and do at their 
 bidding what he ne'er wad do at ours ? Oh ! it will 
 break my heart !' 
 
 ' Na,' says the farmer, ' I canna' think o' it ! I 
 maun try. Gang, Rob, and saddle the mare. I can- 
 na' ride lang at a time for this rheumatic ; but whan 
 it comes Til light and walk. It is a fine night, and I 
 may be there lang before the break of day. Oh, Mrs 
 Mason ! little do our bairns think o' the sorrow they 
 bring upon our hearts !' 
 
 ' I hope/ said Mrs Mason, ' all your children now 
 present will take warning, and learn to submit them- 
 selves betimes to the duty of obedience ; and that you 
 will both enforce that duty, as you are enjoined by 
 
1 1 8 The Cottagers 
 
 God to do it. Take comfort, then, and assure your- 
 self that this event may turn out in the end to be a 
 blessing.' 
 
 The farmer said he trusted in God that it might be 
 so ; and having provided himself with what money he 
 thought necessary, he, with a heavy heart, departed. 
 
 On the following day many of the neighbours came 
 to inquire for Mrs MacClarty ; and on hearing that 
 the farmer had gone alone, they all expressed a good- 
 natured concern, saying, that he might have been 
 sure there was not a man in the place who would not 
 willingly have gone with him, had he mentioned his 
 intention. By noon-time he was expected back, but 
 eight in the evening came, and still there was no ap- 
 pearance of his return. Mrs Mason now became truly 
 uneasy, and was doubly distressed as Mrs MacClarty 
 seemed to depend on her for comfort. She proposed 
 asking some of the neighbours to set off on horseback 
 for intelligence, and sent to several ; but they all de- 
 clined the expedition as unnecessary, assuring her that 
 the farmer must have gone on to the head-quarters of 
 the recruiting party, which were at a town about twelve 
 miles from that in which the fair had been held. This 
 assurance tended, in some degree, to lessen their alarm. 
 They went to bed ; but after passing a watchful and 
 sleepless night, arose to fresh anxiety ; for the first 
 thing they heard was, that a man had passed through 
 
 Glenburnie, who had seen Sandy at with the 
 
 recruiting party the night before, and that the farmer 
 had not been there. Jamie Bruce, who had brought 
 the first account of Sandy from the fair, now offered 
 to go in search of the old man, for whose fate all 
 had, from this intelligence, become anxious. He had 
 scarcely been gone an hour, when Meg came running 
 in from the door, where she had been idling all the 
 
of Glenbumie. 119 
 
 morning, and exclaimed that her father was coming 
 down the loan in a cart ! 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, starting up at the news, flew out 
 to meet her husband. Her cousin followed in great 
 agitation, and soon perceived that the poor man was 
 too ill to reach the house without assistance. Friendly 
 assistance was at hand, for the cart was already sur- 
 rounded by the neighbours ; but all were so anxious 
 to have their curiosity gratified, relative to the cause, 
 that not one thought of offering a hand until their 
 questions had been answered. Mrs Mason at length, 
 by her remonstrances, restored silence, and got the 
 people to help the poor sufferer to his bed ; on which 
 he was no sooner laid, than his wife flew to give him 
 a dram of whisky, which she had been taught to con- 
 sider as the only cordial for fatigue. But Mrs Mason 
 observing how very feverish he appeared, begged her 
 to desist, and at the same time hastened the prepara- 
 tion of a dish of tea, which having prevailed on him 
 to swallow, she addressed the people who crowded 
 round his bed, entreating they would leave him to the 
 repose of which he stood so much in need. This was 
 not a matter so easily to be accomplished; for so eager 
 were they all engaged in conversation, that, among so 
 many louder tongues, her voice had little chance of 
 being heard. 
 
 ' Hech me !' cried one, ' I never heard o' sic a 
 thing i' my life !' 
 
 ' I have gane to the Lammas fair these thretty 
 years,' said another, an' ne'er heard tell o' ony body 
 being robbet, in a' my days.' 
 
 ' But I mind o' just sic anither thing happenin' to 
 auld John Robson, when he came frae the fair o' 
 Glasgow, ae night,' said the shoemaker. 
 
 ' Glasgow !' exclaimed two or three of the women, 
 
120 TJie Cottagers 
 
 1 Glasgow, by a' accounts, is an unco place for wicked- 
 ness ; but then wha can wonder, whar there's sae mony 
 factories.' 
 
 ' There is muckle gude as weel as ill in't, Janet,' 
 returned the shoemaker. 
 
 Mrs Mason, perceiving the dispute likely to grow 
 warm, again entreated them to remember how much 
 their poor neighbour stood in need of sleep. Her 
 efforts to establish quietness were all exerted in vain. 
 No sooner did one set of people go away, than another 
 set poured in, all in their inquiries equally friendly, 
 equally loud, and equally loquacious; unfortunately, 
 discovering that the poor man was still awake, the 
 most forward teased him with questions. From his 
 replies it appeared that as he had reached within 
 half-a-mile of the town, he was met at a lonely part 
 of the road by two men, habited like sailors, who, 
 as he afterwards learned, had been seen begging at the 
 fair, where to excite compassion they had pretended 
 to be lame. He was then leading his horse, which 
 they seized by the bridle, and rudely demanded money 
 to drink. He gave them a sixpence ; but they said 
 it was not enough, and with many imprecations de- 
 manded more. While he hesitated they knocked him 
 down, and beat him dreadfully with their sticks. They 
 then took from him the old pocket-book, in which he 
 had put the notes intended for his son's release, and 
 left him senseless on the ground. A little before day- 
 break he so far recovered as to be able to raise him- 
 self ; and looking round for his mare, perceiving her 
 grazing by the road-side, at no great distance. With 
 much pain and great difficulty he reached the town, 
 and went to the public-house to which he had been 
 directed as the quarters of the Serjeant ; but on arriv- 
 ing there had the mortification to find that the Serjeant 
 
of Glen bu rn ie. 1 2 1 
 
 and his recruits had set oft" at midnight for the head- 
 quarters, and that, consequently, all hopes of obtain- 
 ing his son's dismissal were at an end. 
 
 He was, however, advised to send in pursuit of the 
 robbers ; and having obtained a warrant, lent his mare 
 to the constable, who promised that he should have his 
 money before night ; but night came on, and neither 
 constable nor mare returned. He felt himself, in the 
 meantime, grow worse and worse ; and as soon as day 
 appeared resolved to return home. Ill as he was able 
 to walk, he had, by resting every second step, got for- 
 ward to the entrance of the Glen ; where, finding that 
 his strength entirely failed him, he took refuge in the 
 first cottage ; and, anxious to get to his own home, 
 procured a cart, in which he proceeded as has been 
 related. 
 
 He was now very ill indeed ; the pain in his head 
 and limbs becoming every minute more violent, while 
 the increased flushing in his face gave evident proof of 
 the fever that burned in every vein. 
 
 The only precaution which the good people, who 
 came to see him, appeared now to think necessary, 
 was carefully to shut the door, which usually stood 
 open ; and as a large fire was burning in the grate, 
 exactly opposite to his bed, the effect was little short 
 of suffocation. Mrs Mason perceived this, and endea- 
 voured to remedy it, but in vain. The prejudice against 
 fresh air appeared to be universal. Neither could she 
 get any creature to understand how much harm the 
 din of so many voices was likely to occasion. Mrs 
 MacClarty, who, from being accustomed to speak to 
 her children in an exalted pitch, in order to enforce 
 attention, had herself contracted a habit of speaking 
 loud, was quite insensible to the noise that now buzzed 
 in the ear of her sick husband ; and would on no ac 
 
122 The Cottagers 
 
 count run the risk of offending any of her neighbours 
 by refusing them admittance to his bedside. 
 
 The fever in consequence increased. Mrs Mason 
 seeing that it was likely to be attended with danger 
 proposed sending for the doctor ; but Mrs MacClarty 
 acceded to the general opinion that it would be time 
 eneugh to send when he became worse. 
 
 ' But if you wait until he becomes worse,' said 
 Mrs Mason, ' it may then be too late. A fever may 
 be stopped in the beginning, which, if permitted to go 
 on for a couple of days, it may be impossible to cure. 
 We at present are ignorant of the nature of the fever 
 with which your husband is attacked, and may there- 
 fore administer what is improper. I have no notion 
 of drugs doing much good in any case ; but what I 
 want to have advice for is to be put upon the proper 
 way of managing his disorder. You are, by the advice 
 of your neighbours, giving him a variety of things, 
 which, for aught you know, may all have opposite pro- 
 perties ; and though they may each have done good 
 in some instances, may all be equally unfit in the pre- 
 sent. Take my advice, at least until you send for 
 a doctor, to give him nothing but plenty of cooling 
 drink.' 
 
 ' Na, na,' returned Mrs MacClarty, ' I ha' nae sic 
 little regard for my gudeman as to gie him naething 
 but water and sour milk whey, as ye wad hae me. 
 What has done gude to ithers may do gude to him ; 
 and I'm mista'en if auld John Smith hae na as mickle 
 skeel as ony doctor amang them.' 
 
 Auld John Smith just then arrived, and, after talk- 
 ing a great deal of nonsense about the nature of the 
 disorder, took out his rusty lancet, and bled the patient 
 in the arm, at the same time recommending a poultice 
 of herbs to be applied to his head, and another of the 
 
of Glenburnie. 123 
 
 Game kind to his stomach ; desiring, above all things, 
 that he might be kept warm, and get nothing cold to 
 drink. 
 
 Poor Mrs Mason was greatly shocked to see the 
 life of a father of a family thus sported with by an 
 ignorant and presuming blockhead ; but found that 
 her opinions were looked upon with the eye of jealous 
 prejudice ; and that while she continued the advocate 
 of fresh air and cooling beverage, she must lay her 
 account to meet with opposition. In spite of auld 
 John Smith's infallible remedies, the farmer became 
 evidently worse. When he was past all hope the 
 doctor was sent for ; who, on seeing him, and inquiring 
 into the mode of treatment he had received, solemnly 
 declared that if they had intended to kill him they 
 could not have fallen on a method more effectual. 
 He did not think it probable that he would live above 
 three days ; but said the only chance he had was in 
 removing him from that close box in which he was 
 shut up, and admitting as much air as possible into 
 the apartment. After giving some further directions 
 concerning the patient, he warned them of the infec- 
 tious nature of the disease, and mentioned the neces- 
 sity of taking every precaution against spreading so 
 fatal a disorder. Without listening to what was said 
 in reply, he mounted his horse, and was out of sight 
 in a minute. 
 
 No sooner did the fatal sentence which the doctor 
 had pronounced reach the ears of the unhappy wife 
 than she gave way to utter despair. The neighbours, 
 who had been watching for the doctor's departure, 
 poured in to comfort her ; but Mrs Mason, resolving 
 to make a vigorous exertion in behalf of the poor 
 man's life, represented, in strong terms, the necessity 
 of an immediate compliance with the doctor's direc- 
 
124 The Cottagers 
 
 tions, and proposed that all should go home but those 
 who could lend assistance in removing him to her 
 room; where, as she had now got the window to open, 
 he would at once have air and quiet. To this pro- 
 position a violent opposition was made by all the good 
 people assembled ; in which Mrs MacClarty loudly 
 joined, declaring, ' she wa'd never see her gudeman 
 turn'd out o' his ain gude warm bed into a cauld room. 
 She cou'dna bear the thoughts o' onything so cruel.' 
 
 ' Is it not more cruel,' said Mrs Mason, ' to let 
 him remain here, to be stifled to death by the bad air 
 which now surrounds him, and which no one can 
 breathe in safety ? By removing him, he has at least 
 a chance of his recovery ; here he can have none.' 
 
 ' If it's the wull o' God that he's to dee,' said 
 Peter Macglashon, who was the oracle of the parish, 
 ' it's a' ane whar ye tak him ; ye canna hinder the 
 wull o' God.' 
 
 ' It is not only the will of God, but the command 
 of God, that we should use the means,' said Mrs 
 Mason. ' We should do our utmost, and then look 
 up to God for His blessing, and for resignation to His 
 will. When we do not make use of the reason He has 
 bestowed upon us, we are at once guilty of disobedi- 
 ence and presumption.' 
 
 'That's no soond doctrine/ said Peter; 'It's the 
 law of works.' 
 
 ' No,' returned Mr Mason, ' its the law of faith, to 
 which we show our obedience by works. If, contrary 
 to the command of God, we run upon our own de- 
 struction, or permit the destruction of a fellow creature, 
 we do not show faith but contempt. Every one of 
 you here present, who comes to lend assistance to the 
 family, is performing an act of charity and benevolence, 
 such as God has commanded us to perform to each 
 
of Glenbumie. 125 
 
 other ; but whoever comes without that intention, and 
 knowing that he can be of no use, puts his life to 
 needless risk ; and, by tempting Providence, commits 
 an act of sin.' 
 
 'Say ye sae,' said limping Jacob, the precentor, 
 rising from the seat he had taken by the bedside. 
 ' Ye speak wi' authority, I maun confess ; but how 
 can ye prove the danger ?' 
 
 ' It is easily proved,' replied Mrs Mason. ' You 
 know that God has ordained that life should be pre- 
 served by food taken into the stomach, and air breathed 
 into the lungs. If poison is put into our food we all 
 know the consequence. Now, it has been clearly 
 proved that poisonous air is equally fatal to life as 
 poisoned food. By the breath of persons in fever, 
 and other infectious diseases, the air is thus poisoned, 
 and hence arises the necessity of admitting a current 
 of air to carry off the infection.' 
 
 ' But, madam,' said a pale-faced man, ' ii that were 
 true, the air that gaed out wad poison a' the toon. 
 What say ye to that ?' 
 
 ' I say,' returned Mrs Mason, ' that if you were to 
 take an ounce or two of arsenic, and put it into that 
 dram glass full of water, you would run the immediate 
 risk of your life by swallowing it ; but that if you were 
 to dissolve the same quantity in yonder tub with ten 
 gallons of water, the risk would be diminished ; and 
 that if you were to put it in the river, all the people 
 of Glenburnie might drink of the water without injury. 
 The bad air which surrounds our poor friend in that 
 close place is the arsenic in a glass of water; it cannot 
 be breathed with impunity. Had he been placed as 
 I at first recommended, the greater quantity of air 
 would have diminished the danger ; but let us still do 
 what is in our power to remedy the evil.' 
 
125 The Cottagers 
 
 ' I never heard better sense in my life,' said the 
 pale-faced man ; ' if either me or my wife can do you 
 any good we shall stay and help you ; if no, we shall 
 gang hame and remember you in our prayers. I shall 
 never forget what you have now told us as long as I 
 live.' 
 
 ' I have nae faith in't, said Peter Macglashon ; • it's 
 a' dead works ; and if I werna' sae sick, I wad gi' her 
 a screed o' doctrine ; but I kenna' what ails me, I'm 
 unco far frae week' 
 
 Peter then went off, and all the rest of the people, 
 one by one, followed his example. In a short time 
 the pale-faced stranger returned, and, addressing him- 
 self to Mrs Mason, said, ' that though he was but a 
 stranger in Glenburnie, yet as he was the farmer's 
 nearest neighbour, he thought it his duty to offer his 
 services to the utmost, in the present situation of the 
 family ; and that though he was now convinced of the 
 danger, he would willingly encounter it, to be of use. 
 He had,' he said, ' lately suffered much from sickness 
 himself, and, therefore, he knew how to feel for those 
 that suffered.' There was something in this man's 
 manner that greatly pleased Mrs Mason, and she 
 frankly accepted his kind offer, pointing out where 
 his assistance might be essentially useful to Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, who, oppressed with fatigue, had, by her per- 
 suasion, gone to take a little rest. While she was 
 speaking to him the minister of the parish came in. 
 He had but just returned from a long journey, the 
 only one he had taken for many years, and though 
 much tired, no sooner heard that he had been sent 
 for in his absence to visit a sick parishioner, than he 
 instantly proceeded to administer comfort to the dis- 
 tressed. Learning from Mrs Mason the state of insen- 
 sibility to which the sick man was now reduced, he 
 
of Glcnbutnic. 
 
 127 
 
 desired his children to be called, in order that they 
 might benefit by the impression which such serious 
 acts of devotion are calculated to make ; and when 
 they were assembled, he, with solemn fervency, suppli- 
 cated the God of all mercy and consolation in behalf 
 of the sufferer and his afflicted family. While he spoke, 
 tears flowed from the eyes of the most insensible; and 
 Mrs Mason was not without hope that the spirit of 
 obedience, which he prayed might henceforth fill the 
 hearts of the children, would be seen in its effects ; 
 and that, sensible of the misery which self-will and 
 obstinacy had produced, they would learn to rever- 
 ence their Creator, by keeping the passions which op- 
 posed His law under due subjection. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM EARTHLY CARES AND 
 SORROWS. 
 
 RS MASON'S apprehensions concerning 
 the consequences of the infectious air 
 were too effectually realised. While the 
 farmer yet hovered on the brink of 
 death, his wife, and Robert his second 
 TCg^fSTsy son > were both taken ill; and great 
 reason there was to fear that the fever 
 might go through the whole family. By 
 means of the surgeon, who was imme- 
 diately sent for, an account of Mrs 
 Mason's distressed situation reached her friends at 
 Gowan Brae ; and no sooner were they informed of it, 
 than the car was despatched for her, with a trusty 
 servant, by whom Miss Mary wrote, earnestly entreat- 
 ing her not to permit any scruples to prevent her 
 compliance with their request. 
 
 Mrs Mason might indeed have been well justified 
 in leaving a house where she had not now a bed to 
 sleep on, she having insisted upon Mrs MacClarty's 
 occupying her's. 
 
 Had Mrs MacClarty continued in health, she would 
 128 
 
The Cottagers of Glenbumie. 1 29 
 
 have gone without hesitation; because she saw that 
 her cousin's mind was too full of prejudice to permit 
 her to reap any benefit from one who had the advan- 
 tage of more experience than herself; but now that 
 the poor woman was in a state of suffering, and in- 
 capable of giving any directions, Mrs Mason would 
 on no account leave her. Having returned a grateful 
 answer to her friends at Gowan Brae, she dismissed 
 their messenger, and proceeded in arranging the busi- 
 ness of the family, with all the prudence and activity 
 which become natural to minds that have been long 
 accustomed to exertion. She was no longer troubled 
 with useless visits from the neighbours, whom she had 
 partly offended, and partly terrified, by her discourse 
 on the nature of infection. Peter Macglashon, her 
 great opponent, had taken to his bed on going home, 
 and was now dangerously ill of the fever ; and auld 
 John Smith and his wife had happily been affronted 
 by sending for the doctor. So that few now came 
 near the house, excepting William Morison, the pale- 
 faced stranger, whom we have already mentioned, and 
 Peggy his wife, a very clever sensible woman. All 
 the village indeed offered their services; and Mrs 
 Mason, though she blamed the thoughtless custom of 
 crowding into a sick-room, could not but admire the 
 kindness and good nature with which all the neigh- 
 bours seemed to participate in the distress of this 
 afflicted family. 
 
 The minister and his niece were particularly atten- 
 tive. The former paid Mrs Mason a daily visit ; and, 
 as often as circumstances would permit, performed 
 the sacred offices of his function in devout and fervent 
 prayer. The latter came in person to solicit Mrs 
 Mison to sleep at the manse; but William Morison 
 and his wife had anticipated her in the offer of a bed ; 
 
130 The Cottagers 
 
 and as their house was near at hand, she preferred 
 going there, especially as Peggy had undertaken the 
 management of Mrs MacClarty's dairy, and also the 
 preparation of all the victuals. Meg and Jean were 
 sent to assist her in these offices; but she found them 
 so obstinate and unmanageable, that they were rather 
 a hindrance than a help. Nor was Grizzy of much 
 greater use. Strong and active as she was, she seemed 
 to feel everything a trouble that she was desired to 
 do ; and though she would have lifted a heavy burden 
 without murmuring, grumbled sadly at being desired 
 to rinse a few cups or basins, and still more at the 
 fatigue of putting them in their proper places. This 
 was, however, insisted upon by Mrs Mason, under 
 whose directions all was preserved in order. In the 
 attendance on the persons of the sick, she was assisted 
 by an old woman of the village, but all the medicines 
 were administered by her own hands. She was anxious 
 to have Robert removed from the dark and airless 
 passage in which he lay ; but he so violently opposed 
 the measure, that she could not get it effected, so 
 that she was obliged to leave him to his fate, and 
 after the third day the doctor gave little hopes of his 
 recovery. As to his poor father, his death had been 
 for some time hourly expected ; but towards the even- 
 ing of the twenty-fourth day he appeared somewhat 
 to revive. His senses returned ; and observing Mrs 
 Mason by his bedside, he asked her for his wife and 
 children. On his repeating the question, Mrs Mason 
 found herself under the painful necessity of informing 
 him of the situation of his wife and son : to which he 
 made no other answer, than that they were in the 
 hands of a merciful God, and in life and death he sub- 
 mitted to His will. 
 
 On the minister coming in, he spoke to him in the 
 
of Glenburnie. 1 3 1 
 
 same strain of pious resignation. ' I know,' he said, 
 1 that my hour is at hand ; but though I walk through 
 the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, 
 knowing that the Redeemer of the world has paved 
 the way. He will guide His flock like a shepherd, and 
 none that believe on Him shall be lost. After much 
 conversation of the same kind, in which he strongly 
 evinced the faith and hope of a Christian — that faith 
 and that hope which transforms the death-bed of the 
 cottager into a scene of glory, on which kings and 
 conquerors might look with envy, and in comparison 
 of which all the grandeur of the world is contemptible 
 — he desired to see his daughters and his little boy, 
 They came to his bedside, and with a feeble and 
 broken voice, he spoke to them as follows : ' My dear 
 bairns, it is God's will that I should be taken frae you ; 
 but God can never be taken frae you, if you learn by 
 times to put your trust in Him, and pray for His 
 Spirit to subdue the corrupt nature in your hearts. I 
 have grievously wronged you, I maun confess : the 
 thought of it is heavy on my heart. For though I 
 weel knew the corruption that was in your natures, I 
 did not teach you to subdue it, so as to put you in the 
 way of God's grace, which is promised to the obedient. 
 It has pleased God to punish me for this neglect. 
 Through the mercies of the Saviour I hope for pardon ; 
 but I canna' die in peace till I warn you of the con- 
 sequences of continuing in a contentious and dis- 
 obedient spirit. If it pleases God to spare my dear 
 wife' — here his feelings overpowered him, and his 
 voice was so choked by sobs, that it became quite 
 inarticulate. 
 
 All remained profoundly silent ; and at length the 
 dying man so far recovered as to be about to proceed, 
 when the door, which at his desire had been shut, flew 
 
132 The Cottagers 
 
 suddenly open ; and Sandy, with hasty and tremulous 
 steps, ran in, crying, ' Hide me, hide me, mother ! for 
 God's sake find out some place to hide me in !' 
 
 ' Sandy ! ' exclaimed the dying man, ' is it indeed 
 my son, my son Sandy ? Thank God, I sal see him 
 ere I die, to gie him my blessing. Come, Sandy, 
 winna ye come to me ? Dinna be frightened. Ye 
 hae cost me sair ; but God kens how truly I forgie 
 you ; come and tak' my blessing.' 
 
 Sandy uttered a deep groan ; and, hiding his face 
 with both hands, fell prostrate at his father's bedside. 
 The minister raised him up and bade him take com- 
 fort. 
 
 ' Comfort !' cried he, ' Oh there's nae comfort for 
 me ; I have been the death of my father : is it not me 
 that has brought his gray hairs wi' sorrow to the 
 grave ?' 
 
 ' But your father has forgiven you,' said the minis- 
 ter ; ' he is ready to give you his blessing.' 
 
 ' And will you bless me ?' said Sandy, ' O my 
 father, I dinna deserve your blessing ; but let me ance 
 mair hear your voice.' 
 
 ' God Almighty bless you, my son, and give you a 
 heart to serve Him, and to walk in His ways.' — ' Is it 
 not Sandy that I hear?' cried his mother, rushing to 
 the bedside, and clasping her son in her arms ; ' O 
 Sandy, what have ye brought upon us a' ?' 
 
 There was no time to answer, for the exertion was 
 so much beyond her strength, that she would have 
 fallen lifeless on the ground had not her son pre- 
 vented it, by clasping her to his breast. ' My mother ! 
 Have I killed my mother too !' exclaimed the affrighted 
 youth, hanging over her with a look of inexpressible 
 horror. 
 
 ' Yes,' uttered a loud and rough voice from behind, 
 
of Glenburnie. 133 
 
 1 you would rather kill twenty mothers than fight the 
 French ; but (swearing a horrid oath) you shan't find 
 it so easy to get off next time, my lad.' Two others 
 sprung forward at the same moment, and laid hold of 
 their prisoner, who was too much stupefied by the 
 variety of his emotions to make any resistance, or 
 even to utter a single word. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said the minister, gently laying his 
 hand upon the hand of the foremost, as it eagerly 
 grasped the young man's shoulder, ' there is no occa- 
 sion to use any violence. You are, I suppose, in the 
 performance of your duty ; and I give you my word 
 you shall here meet with no resistance ; but in the name 
 of the parents who gave you birth, I conjure you to 
 act like men, and not like savage brutes.' 
 
 ' We are no savages,' returned the foremost ; ' we 
 are his Majesty's soldiers, and come to execute his 
 Majesty's orders on the body of this deserter, who will 
 be tried and shot as sure as he stands there.' 
 
 ' It may be so,' said the minister ; ' only give him 
 a few minutes to take leave of his dying parents.' 
 
 ' O my poor mother,' cried Sandy, ' must I be torn 
 from you ? what, what shall I do ? Wretch that I am, 
 it is me, me that has brought you to the grave.' 
 
 ' You will indeed injure her by this agitation,' said 
 Mrs Mason ; ' carry her back to her bed ; these men 
 will assist you in the office, for I see they are not 
 strangers to humanity. 
 
 ' God pity the poor woman,' said the corporal ; ' I 
 shall give her all the help in my power.' So saying, 
 he would have taken her from Sandy's arms, but could 
 not prevail on him to part with his burden, though his 
 knees trembled under him, while he carried her 
 through the passage to Mrs Mason's room, where 
 she was put to bed. She instantly became deliri- 
 
134 The Cottagers 
 
 ous ; and in her raving called out that the house was 
 on fire, and that she and her children would perish in 
 the flames ; then springing up, she caught her son by 
 the arm, continuing to cry, ' Help, help,' in a wild and 
 mournful voice, till her strength was exhausted, and 
 she again sank upon her pillow. The feelings of her 
 son may perhaps be imagined, but cannot be described: 
 nor were any of the by-standers unaffected by the scene. 
 Even the rough soldier, though little accustomed to the 
 melting mood, felt all the sympathies of his nature 
 working in his breast. He was not, however, forgetful 
 of his duty ; for while Mrs Mason was administering a 
 cordial to the poor mother, he drew his prisoner from 
 the room. 
 
 On Mrs Mason's returning to the outer room 
 she found him standing over his father's bed ; his 
 eye fixed upon the altered countenance of the dying 
 man, who, since the entrance of the soldiers, had 
 never shown any other sign of sensibility than the 
 utterance of a faint groan. He was now speechless, 
 but his hands were lifted up in the attitude of prayer. 
 ' Come, my brethren,' said the minister, ' let us unite 
 our prayers to those of the departing spirit. The death- 
 bed of a good man is the porch of heaven. Angels 
 and archangels are now joint-witnesses with us of this 
 solemn scene. To Him in whose hands are the issues 
 of life and death let us lift the voice of supplication, 
 that living, we may live to Him, and dying, we may be 
 received into His glory.' 
 
 The imposing solemnity of the scene aided the 
 views of the venerable pastor, in making a deep 
 impression upon his audience. His prayer, though 
 delivered in language the most simple, had all the 
 effects of eloquence upon the heart ; and in the 
 breasts of the hardy veterans, touched some chords, 
 
of Glenbumie. 135 
 
 which had, but for this adventure, lain for ever dor- 
 mant. Far from hurrying away their prisoner with 
 brutal violence, they patiently waited until he had at- 
 tained some degree of composure ; and then respect- 
 fully addressing the minister, they begged that he 
 would exhort the young man not to resist them in the 
 performance of their duty. Mr Gourlay, sensible 
 of the reasonableness of their request, went up to 
 Sandy, who was then gazing in speechless sorrow on 
 his father's corpse. After speaking with him for a 
 few minutes, he took his hand, and turning to the chief 
 of the party, ' Here, friend,' said he, ' I commit to your 
 care this bruised reed, and I am persuaded you will 
 treat him with humanity. Go in peace : in all circum- 
 stances perform your duty with the courage that be- 
 comes an immortal spirit ; and whatever doctrine may 
 be preached to rouse your bravery, believe me, that 
 even in the field of battle, it is only a good man that 
 can die with glory! 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF LIBERTY AND EQUALITY 
 M> STRIPPED OF ALL SEDITIOUS IMPORT. 
 
 HE morning of the day on which the 
 farmer was to be buried was rendered 
 . remarkable by the uncommon denseness 
 of an autumnal fog. To Mrs Mason's 
 eye it threw a gloom over the face of 
 nature ; nor, when it gradually yielded 
 to the influence of the sun, and slowly 
 retiring from the valley, hung as if 
 rolled into masses midway upon the 
 mountains, did the changes thus pro- 
 duced excite any admiration. Still, wherever she 
 looked, all seemed to wear the aspect of sadness. 
 As she passed from Morison's to the house of mourn- 
 ing, the shocks of yellow corn, spangled with dew- 
 drops, appeared to her to stand as mementoes of the 
 vanity of human hopes, and the inutility of human 
 labours. The cattle, as they went forth to pasture, 
 lowing as they went, seemed as if lamenting, that the 
 hand which fed them was at rest ; and even the 
 robin-red-breast, whose cheerful notes she had so 
 often listened to with pleasure, now seemed to send 
 i 3 6 
 
of Glenhtrnie. 137 
 
 forth a song of sorrow expressive of dejection and 
 woe. 
 
 The house of the deceased was already filled with 
 female guests ; the barn was equally crowded with 
 men ; and all were, according to the custom of the 
 country, banqueted at the expense of the widow and 
 orphans, whose misfortunes they all the while very 
 heartily deplored. Mrs Mason's presence imposed 
 silence upon the women ; but, in the barn, the absence 
 of Sandy, who ought to have presided at his father's 
 funeral, was freely descanted on, and the young man 
 either blamed or pitied, according to the light in 
 which his conduct happened to be viewed. Various 
 reports concerning him were whispered through the 
 throng ; but of his actual situation, all were evidently 
 ignorant. Amid rumours so various and contradictory, 
 none knew what to believe ; all, however, agreed in 
 lamenting, that so respectable a man as the farmer, 
 having two sons grown up to manhood, should never- 
 theless have his head laid in the grave by a little boy. 
 The poor child, on whom the office of chief mourner 
 thus devolved, looked grave and sad; but he was 
 rather bewildered than sorrowful, and in the midst of 
 the tears which he shed felt an emotion of pleasure 
 from the novelty of the scene. 
 
 At length Mr Gourlay rose, and all was hushed in 
 silence. Every heart joined in the solemn prayer, in 
 which the widow and the orphans were recommended 
 to the throne of grace. The bier was then lifted. 
 From the garden, to which she had retired apart from 
 the crowd, Mrs Mason viewed the solemn procession, 
 which, as the rocks reverberated the dismal note of 
 the church-bell, tolling at measured intervals, slowly 
 proceeded to the destined habitation of the dead. 
 Casting her eyes upon the rustic train who followed, 
 
138 The Cottagers 
 
 she could not help contrasting the outward circum- 
 stances of this solemnity with those that had attended 
 the last event of a similar nature in which she had 
 been interested. She had seen her noble master con- 
 ducted to the grave in all the splendour befitting his 
 high station. Many were the lofty plumes that adorned 
 his stately hearse ; rich and brilliant were the banners 
 and trophies that waved over it. Horses and their 
 riders clad in all the insignia of woe (the horse and 
 the rider being equal strangers to the sentiment), had 
 lent their imposing influence to the spectacle, while a 
 long train of empty carriages, distinguished by coronets 
 and armorial bearings, gave notice to the gazers, that 
 the dust which was about to be consigned to worms 
 was of high and illustrious descent. But there neither 
 friend nor neighbour were to be seen. There, with 
 the exception of a few faithful servants, all the actors 
 in the solemnity were engaged in performing a part in 
 which they had no interest. 
 
 Here all were interested. 
 
 The hoary-headed elders, who had the place of 
 honour next the corpse, thought, as they looked at it, 
 on the unblemished life of him who had been so long 
 their associate in such duties ; and wept for the man in 
 whom they hoped their children's children would have 
 found a friend. The distant farmers, who had bought 
 and sold with him, paid the tribute that was due to 
 his character and integrity ; while those with whom he 
 had lived in the constant intercourse of kindness and 
 good neighbourhood, betrayed, in their countenances, 
 the sorrow of their hearts. 
 
 She continued to gaze after the mourners, till an 
 angle of the wall of the churchyard intercepted her 
 view; soon after all was still. The last toll of the 
 bell died away upon the distant hills, and gave place 
 
of Glenburnie. 139 
 
 to a silence particularly solemn and impressive. It 
 denoted the conclusion of that ceremony which returns 
 dust to dust. ' Where now,' thought she, ' are the 
 distinctions of rank? Where those barriers which, 
 in this world, separate man from man? Even here 
 sorrow embalms the memory of the righteous alone. 
 When selfishness is silent, the heart pays its tribute tc 
 nought but worth. Why, then, should those of lowly 
 station envy the trappings of vanity, that are but the 
 boast of a moment, when, by piety and virtue, they 
 may attain a distinction so much more lasting and 
 glorious ? To the humble and the lowly are the gates 
 of Paradise thrown open. Nor is there any other 
 path which leads to them, but that which the gospel 
 points out to all. In that path may the grace of God 
 enable me to walk ; so that my spirit may join the 
 spirits of the sanctified — the innumerable host, that 
 ' out of every tribe, and nation, and language, shall 
 meet together before the throne of the Eternal, to 
 worship, and give praise, and honour, and glory, to 
 Him that liveth for ever and ever.' 
 
 From these solemn meditations Mrs Mason was 
 called to witness the reading of the farmer's will. He 
 had performed the duty of an honest man in making 
 it while he was in perfect health ; wisely thinking that 
 if he deferred it till the hour of sickness he might then 
 neither have the ability nor inclination to give his mind 
 to worldly cares. 
 
 To his wife he bequeathed a free cottage in the 
 village, and an annuity which he considered equal to 
 her wants. To each of his younger children he left 
 the sum of forty pounds, and to his eldest son the 
 farm, burthened with the above provision for the rest 
 of the family. In case the elder son should choose to 
 go abroad, or enter into business, the farm was to go 
 
140 The Cottagers of Glcnburnie. 
 
 to the second, and the elder to have only a younger 
 child's portion. By a clause in the will the widow was 
 to retain possession of the farm till the Candlemas 
 after her husband's death. So much more consider- 
 ation had this humble cottager for the feelings of a 
 wife than is often shown in the settlements of the rich 
 and great ! 
 
 The minister, who read the will, addressed himself 
 in finishing it to the friends and neighbours who were 
 present, and proposed that they should alternately lend 
 their assistance in managing the business of the har- 
 vest for the widow and her family. The proposal was 
 readily agreed to by the men ; while Mrs Mason, on 
 her part, cheerfully undertook the superintendence of 
 the household work and dairy, until her cousin should 
 be so far recovered as to be able to resume the task. 
 
 As soon as all the strangers were dismissed, Mrs 
 Mason informed her cousin of the arrangements that 
 had been made, with which she appeared perfectly 
 satisfied. Depressed by grief and sickness, she still 
 considered her recovery as hopeless, and submitted to 
 her fate with that species of quiescence which is often 
 a substitute for the true spirit of resignation. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE FORCE OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 T appeared extraordinary to Mrs Mason 
 that she should have been so long for- 
 gotten by her friends at Gowan Brae. 
 Nearly a fortnight had now elapsed since 
 Mr Stewart's last visit; and though he 
 had been invited to the funeral he had 
 neither come nor sent any apology for his 
 absence, which appeared the more unac- 
 countable from the circumstance of his 
 having been seen that very day riding full speed on the 
 road to the market town. Certain that neither Mr 
 Stewart nor Mary could be actuated by caprice, she 
 feared that some misfortune had befallen them ; but 
 though every day added to her anxiety she had no 
 means of relieving it, all hands being now engaged in 
 getting in the harvest, and she was too wise to torment 
 herself by shaping the form of uncertain evils. She 
 had indeed no leisure for such unprofitable work: every 
 moment of her time being fully occupied in managing 
 the business of the family, or in attendance on the in- 
 
142 The Cottagers 
 
 valids, who, though now recovering rapidly, were still 
 so weak as to require her constant care. 
 
 The business of the family had never been so well con- 
 ducted as since its mistress had been incapacited from 
 attending to it. By the effects of forethought, order, 
 and regularity, the labour was so much diminished to 
 the servant, that she willingly resigned herself to Mrs 
 Mason's directions, and entered into all her plans. 
 The girls, though at first refractory, and often inclined 
 to rebel, were gradually brought to order • and finding 
 that they had no one to make excuses for their dis- 
 obedience, quietly performed their allotted tasks. 
 They began to taste the pleasure of praise, and, en- 
 couraged by approbation, endeavoured to deserve it ; 
 so that, though their tempers had been too far spoiled 
 to be brought at once into subjection, Mrs Mason 
 hoped that by steadiness she should succeed in re- 
 forming them. 
 
 Mrs MacClarty, who was not so changed by sick- 
 ness or so absorbed in grief, as to be indifferent to the 
 world and its concerns, fretted at the length of her 
 confinement, which was rendered doubly grievous to 
 her from the hints she occasionally received of the new 
 methods of management introduced by Mrs Mason, 
 which she could on no account believe equal to her 
 own. Her friend and benefactress became the object 
 of her jealousy and aversion. The neighbours, with 
 whom she had cultivated the greatest intimacy, en- 
 couraged this dislike ; and on all their visits of con- 
 dolence, expressed in feeling terms their sense of the 
 sad change that had taken place in the appearance of 
 the house, which they said was ' now sae unco, they 
 wad scarcely ken it for the same place.' 
 
 'Aye!' exclaimed the wife of auld John Smith, 
 who happened to visit the widow the first evening she 
 
of Glenburnie. 143 
 
 was able to sit up to tea, ' aye, alake ! its weel seen 
 that whar there's new lairds there's new laws. But 
 how can your woman and your bairns put up wi' a' 
 this fashery ?' 
 
 ' I kenna, truly/ replied the widow : but Mrs 
 Mason has just sic a way wi' them, she gars them do 
 ony thing she likes. Ye may think it is an eery thing 
 to me to see my poor bairns submittin' that way to 
 pleasure a stranger in a' her nonsense.' 
 
 ' An eery thing, indeed !' said Mrs Smith ; ' gif ye 
 had but seen how she gar'd your dochter Meg clean 
 out the kirn ! outside and inside ! ye wad hae been 
 wae for the poor lassie. I trow, said I, Meg, it wad 
 ha' been lang before your mither had set you to sic a 
 turn ? Aye, says she, we have new gaits now, and she 
 looket up and leugh.' 
 
 ' New gaits, I trow !' cried Sandy Johnstone's 
 mother, who had just taken her place at the tea-table ; 
 ' I ne'er ken'd gude come o' new gaits in a' my days. 
 There was Tibby Bell at the head o' the Glen, she fell 
 to cleaning her kirn ae day, and the very first kirning 
 after her butter was burstet, and gude for naething. 
 I'm sure it gangs to my heart to see your wark sae 
 managed. It was but the day before yesterday that 
 I came upon Madam as she was haddin' the strainer, 
 as she called it, to Grizzy, desiring her a' the time she 
 poured the milk, to beware of letting in ane o' the 
 cow's hairs that were on her goon. Hoot ! says I, 
 cow's hairs are canny, they'll never choak ye.' ' The 
 fewer of them that are in the butter the better,' says 
 she. ' Twa or three hairs are better than the blink o' 
 an ill ee,' says I. ' The best charm against witchcraft 
 is cleanliness,' says she. ' I doubt it muckle,' says I, 
 ' auld ways are aye the best !' 
 
 ' Weel done !' cried Mrs Smith. ' I trow ye gae 
 
144 The Cottagers 
 
 her a screed o' yer mind ! But here comes Grizzy 
 frae the market ; let us hear what she says to it' 
 
 Grizzel advanced to her mistress, and with alacrity 
 poured into her lap the money she had got for her 
 cheese and butter ; proudly at the same time observ- 
 ing that it was more by some shillings than they had 
 ever got for the produce of one week before that 
 lucky day. 
 
 1 What say ye ?' cried the wife of auld John Smith : 
 are the markets sae muckle risen ? That's gude news 
 indeed !' 
 
 ' I didna say that the markets were risen,' returned 
 the maid ; ' but we never got sae muckle for our butter 
 nor our cheese by a penny i' the pound weight, as I 
 got the day. A' the best folks in the town were striving 
 for it. I could ha' sell'd twice as muckle at the same 
 price.' 
 
 1 Ye had need to be weel paid for it,' said Sandy 
 Johnstone's mother, ' for I fear ye had but sma' 
 quantity to sell.' 
 
 ' We never had sae muckle in ae week before,' said 
 Grizzy ; ' for ye see,' continued she, ' the milk used 
 aye to sour before it had stood half its time ; but noo 
 the milk dishes are a' sae clean that it keeps sweet to 
 the last' 
 
 ' And dinna ye think muckle o' the fash ?' said Mrs 
 Smith. 
 
 ' I thought muckle o't at first,' returned Grizzy ; 
 ' but when I got into the way o't I fand it nae trouble 
 at a'.' 
 
 ' But hoo do you find time to get thro' sae muckle 
 wark ?' said the widow Johnstone. 
 
 ' I never,' answered Grizzy, ' got thro' my wark sae 
 easy in my life ; — for ye see Mrs Mason has just a set 
 time for ilka turn ; so that folk are never rinning in ane 
 
of Glcnbumie. 145 
 
 anither's gait ; and everything is set by clean, ye see, 
 so that it's just ready for use.' 
 
 ' She maun hae an unco airt,' said Mrs MacClarty, 
 ' to gar ye do sae muckle and think sae little o't. I'm 
 sure ye ken hoo you used to grumble at being put to do 
 far less. But I didna bribe ye wi' halff-croon pieces, 
 as she does.' 
 
 ' It's no the half-crown she gae me, that gars me 
 speak,' cried Grizzy ; ' but I sal always say that she is 
 a most discreet and civil person, ay, and ane that taks 
 a pleesure in doing gude. I am sure, mistress, she has 
 done mair gude to you than ye can ere repay, gif you 
 were to live this hunder year.' 
 
 'I sal ne'er say that she hasna been very kind,' 
 returned Mrs MacClarty ; ' but thank the Lord, a' 
 body has shewn kindness as weel as her. It's no' 
 lessening o' her to say that we hae other freends 
 forby.' 
 
 ' Freends ! ' repeated Grizzy ; ' what hae a' your 
 freends done for you in comparison wi' what she has 
 done, and is e'now doin' for you ! Aye, just e'now, 
 while I am speaking. — But I forget that she charged 
 me no' to tell.' 
 
 'Isna' she gane to Gowan Brae?' said Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty ; 'what good can she do by that ?' 
 
 ' Aye,' cried Mrs Smith, ' what gude can the poor 
 widow get by her gaen to visit amang the gentles ! 
 Didna I see her ride by upon the minister's black 
 horse, behind the minister's man, and the minister 
 himsel' ridin' by her side?' 
 
 ' She's no' gane to Gowan Brae, tho',' returned 
 Grizzy, ' nor the minister neither ; I ken whaur they're 
 gane to weel eneugh.' 
 
 ' But what are they gane about ?' asked Mrs Mac- 
 Clarty, alarmed ; ' is ony thing the matter wi' my puir 
 
 K 
 
146 The Cottagers 
 
 Sandy ? for my heart aye misgi'es me about his no' 
 comin' to see me.' 
 
 Grizzy made no answer. The question was again 
 repeated in an anxious and tremulous voice by her 
 mistress, but still she remained silent. 
 
 ' Alake !' cried Mrs Smith, ' I dread that the sough 
 that gaed through o' his having deserted had some truth 
 in't, tho' William Morison wadna let a word be said at 
 the burial.' 
 
 ' O woman ! for pity's sake speak,' said the widow ; 
 1 is na' my bairn already lost to me ? Wharfore then 
 will ye not tell me what has happened, seeing it canna' 
 be waur than what has already befa'an me !' 
 
 1 1 promised no to tell,' said Grizzy ; ' but since 
 ye will ha' it, I maun let ye ken, that if Sandy be not 
 doomed to death this very day, it will be through the 
 exertions of Mrs Mason.' 
 
 'Doomed to death!' repeated the widow; 'my 
 Sandy doomed to death ! my bairn, that was just 
 the very pride o' my heart ! Alake ! alake ! his poor 
 father !' 
 
 A kindly shower of tears came to the relief of the 
 poor mother's heart, as she uttered the name of her 
 husband ; and as she was too much weakened by sick- 
 ness to struggle against the violence of her emotions, 
 they produced an hysterical affection, which alarmed 
 those about her for her life. Her life was however in 
 no danger. Soon after being put to bed she became 
 quite composed ; and then so strongly insisted upon 
 being informed of every particular relative to her son 
 that Grizzy was compelled to give a faithful account of 
 all she knew. 
 
 ' Ye have thought,' said she, ' that your seem' Sandy 
 while you were in the fever was but a dream • and Mrs 
 Mason thinking it best that ye should continue in the 
 
of Glenbumie. 1 47 
 
 delusion, has never contradickit ye. But it was nae 
 dream ; your son was here the very day his father died ; 
 and ye saw him, and faintet awa' in his arms/ 
 
 ' Wharefore then did he leave me ?' exclaimed the 
 widow ; ' what for did he na stay to close his father's 
 eyes, and to lay his father's head i' the grave, as becam' 
 the duty o' a first-born son ?' 
 
 ' Alake !' returned the damsel, ' ye little ken how 
 sair the struggle was ere he could be brought to part 
 frae the lifeless corpse ! Had ye seen how he graspet 
 the clay cauld hand ! Had ye heard how he sobbet 
 over it, and how he begget and prayed but for another 
 moment to gaze on the altered face, it wad hae gane 
 near to break your heart. I'm sure mine was sair for 
 the poor lad. And then to see him dragget awa' as a 
 prisoner by the sodgers ! O it was mair pitifu' than 
 your heart can think !' 
 
 ' The sogers !' repeated Mrs MacClarty, ' what had 
 the vile loons to do wi' my bairn ! the cruel mis- 
 creants ! was there nane to rescue him out of their 
 bluidy hands ?' 
 
 ' Na, na,' returned Grizzy ; ' the minister gaed his 
 word that he shou'dna be rescued. And, to say the 
 truth, the sogers behaved wi' great discretion. They 
 shewed nae signs of cruelty; but only said it would 
 na be consistent wi' their duty to let their prisoner 
 escape.' 
 
 ' And what had my bairn done to be made a pri- 
 soner o' ?' cried the widow. 
 
 ' Why ye ken,' returned Grizzy, ' that Sandy was 
 ay a wilfu' lad; so it's no to be wondered at that 
 when he was ordered to stand this gait, and that gait, 
 and had his hair tugget till it was ready to crack, and 
 his neck made sair wi' standing ajee, he should tak it 
 but unco ill. So he disobeyed orders ; and then they 
 
148 The Cottagers 
 
 lashed him, and his proud stamack cou'dna get o'er 
 the disgrace ; and than he ran aff, and hade himsel 
 three days in the muirs. On the fourt day he cam' 
 here ; and then the sogers got haud o' him ; and they 
 took him awa' to be tried for a deserter. So ye see 
 Mrs Mason then got the minister to apply to the 
 captains and the coronels about him ; but they said 
 they had resolved to mak' an example o' him, and 
 naething cou'd mak' them relent. So a' that the 
 minister said, just gaed for naething; for they said, 
 that by the law of court marshall he maun be shot. 
 Weel, a' houp was at an end ; when by chance Mrs 
 Mason fand oot that the major of the regiment was 
 the son of an auld freend o' hers, ane that she had 
 kent and been kind to when he was a bairn ; and so 
 she wrate a lang letter to him, and had an answer, 
 and wrate another ; and by his appointment, she and 
 the minister are gane this very day to bear witness in 
 Sandy's favour, and I wad fain houp they winna miss 
 o' their errand.' 
 
 The suspense in which poor Mrs MacClarty was 
 now involved, with respect to her son's destiny, ap- 
 peared more insupportable than the most dreadful 
 certainty. The stream of consolation that was poured 
 upon her by her loquacious friends only seemed to 
 add to her distress. She made no answer to their 
 observations, but, with her eyes eagerly bent towards 
 the door, she fearfully listened to the sound of every 
 passing footstep. At length the approach of horses 
 was distinctly heard. Her maid hastily ran to the 
 door for intelligence ; and the old women, whose 
 curiosity was no less eager, as hastily followed. The 
 poor mother's heart grew faint. Her head drooped 
 upon her hands, and a sort of stupor came over her 
 senses. She sat motionless and silent ; nor did the 
 
of Glenburnie. 149 
 
 entrance of the minister and Mrs Mason seem to be 
 observed. Mrs Mason, who at a glance perceived 
 that the sickness was the sickness of the mind, kindly 
 took her hand, and bid her be of good cheer, for that 
 if she would recover all her family would do well. 
 
 1 Is he to live ?' said Mrs MacClarty, in a low and 
 hollow voice, fixing her eyes on Mrs Mason's, as if 
 expecting to read in them the doom of her son. 
 
 ' Give thanks to God,' returned the minister, ' your 
 son lives ; God and his judges have dealt mercifully 
 with him and you.' 
 
 On hearing these blessed words, the poor agitated 
 mother grasped Mrs Mason's hand, and burst into a 
 flood of tears. The spectators were little less affected ; 
 a considerable time elapsed before the silence that 
 ensued was broken. At length, in faltering accents, 
 the widow asked, whether she might hope to see her 
 son again.' 
 
 ' Is he no' to come hame,' said she, ' to fill his 
 father's place, and to take possession o' his inherit- 
 ance ? If they have granted this, I will say that they 
 have been mercifu' indeed, but if no — ' 
 
 ' Though they have not granted this,' returned the 
 minister, ' still they have been merciful, aye most mer- 
 ciful. For your son's offences were aggravated, his 
 life was in their hands, it was most justly forfeited, 
 yet they took pity on him, and spared him, and are 
 you not grateful for this ? if you are not, I must tell 
 you your ingratitude is sinful.' 
 
 Oh ! you kenna' what it is to hae a bairn ? re- 
 turned Mrs MacClarty, in a doleful tone. ' My poor 
 Sandy ! I never had the heart to contradick him sin' 
 he was born, and now to think what command he 
 maun be under ! but I ken he'll ne'er submit to it, nor 
 will I ever submit to it either. We have eneugh o' 
 
1 50 The Cottagers 
 
 substance to buy him aff, and if we sell to the last rag, 
 he shall never gang wi' these sogers; he never shall.' 
 
 ' You speak weakly, and without consideration,' 
 rejoined the minister. ' Your duty, as a parent, is to 
 teach your children to obey the laws of God and their 
 country. By nourishing them in disobedience you 
 have prepared their hearts to rebel against the one, 
 and to disrespect the other. And now that you see 
 what the consequence has been to this son, whom 
 ungoverned self-will has brought to the very brink of 
 destruction, instead of being convinced of your error 
 you persist in it, and would glory in repeating it. 
 Happily your son is wiser ; he has profited by his 
 misfortunes, and has no regret but for the conduct 
 that led to them.' 
 
 ' He was enticed to it,' cried Mrs MacClarty. 
 ' He never wad have listed in his sober senses.' 
 
 ' Who enticed him to disobey his father by going 
 to the fair?' returned the minister. 'It is the first 
 error that is the fatal cause of all that follows ; so true 
 it is, that when we leave the path of duty but a single 
 step, we may by that step be involved in a labyrinth 
 from which there is no returning. Be thankful that 
 your son has seen his error, and that he has repented 
 of it, as becomes a Christian ; and let it be your busi- 
 ness to confirm these sentiments, and to exhort him, 
 by his future conduct, to retrieve the past ; so shall 
 the blessing of God attend him wherever it may be 
 his destiny to go.' 
 
 ' And where is he to go ? ' said Mrs MacClarty. 
 ' To the East Indies,' returned the minister. ' To- 
 morrow he will be on his way for that fine country, 
 from which he may yet return to gladden your heart.' 
 
 ' Alake, my heart will never be gladdened mair!' 
 said the poor widow, weeping as she spoke. 
 
of Glenburnie. 151 
 
 Mrs Mason was moved by her tears, though vexed 
 by her folly ; and therefore spoke to her only in the 
 strain of consolation. But Mr Gourlay, incensed at 
 the little gratitude she expressed for her son's deliver- 
 ance, could not forbear reminding her of the predica- 
 ment in which he so lately stood, and from which he 
 had been rescued by Providence, through the agency 
 of Mrs Mason. In conclusion, he exhorted her to be 
 thankful to God for having given her such a friend. 
 
 'The Lord will bless her for what she has done !' 
 cried Mrs MacClarty. 
 
 ' The Lord has already blessed her,' returned the 
 minister ; ' for a heart filled with benevolence is the 
 first of blessings. But/ continued he, ' she has it still 
 in her power to render you more essential service than 
 any she has yet performed.' 
 
 'Say you sae?' cried Mrs MacClarty, eagerly. 
 
 1 Yes,' returned Mr Gourlay ; ' for if you will listen 
 to her advice, she will instruct you in the art of 
 governing your children's passions, and of teaching 
 them to govern themselves ; and thus, by the blessing 
 of God, she may eventually be the means of rescuing 
 them from a sentence of condemnation — more awful 
 than the most awful that any human tribunal can pro- 
 nounce.' 
 
 The widow felt too much respect for her pastor to 
 dispute the truth of his observation, though she pro- 
 bably entered a silent protest against its obvious 
 inference. She, however, thanked him for his kind 
 intentions ; and he immediately after took his leave. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 Y the terms of his father's will, Robert, 
 on his brother's leaving the kingdom, 
 became the legal possessor of the farm. 
 He wanted three years of one-and- 
 twenty; but as his mother agreed to 
 assist him in its management, it was 
 thought for the interest of the family 
 that he should succeed to it without 
 delay. 
 
 No sooner was this point settled 
 than the young man, who had ever shown a sulky 
 antipathy to Mrs Mason, began to treat her with a 
 rudeness that was too marked to be overlooked ; nor 
 did he receive any check from his mother for his 
 bearish behaviour, except when she now and then, in 
 a feeble tone, exclaimed, ' Hoot, Robby, that's no 
 right.' The girls, too, who had just begun to appear 
 sensible of the advantage of those habits of diligence 
 and decorum to which Mrs Mason had introduced 
 them, were no sooner under their mother's directions 
 than they relaxed into indolence, and became as pert 
 and obstreperous as ever. Mrs Mason saw that the 
 15a 
 
The Cottagers of Glcnbumie. 153 
 
 reign of anarchy was fast approaching. She likewise 
 saw that her presence, which retarded it, was con- 
 sidered by all the family a restraint; she therefore 
 determined to come to an explanation on the subject, 
 and as soon as possible to change her quarters. 
 
 In pursuance of her design, Mrs Mason took the 
 very first opportunity of speaking to Robert and his 
 mother; and after reminding them that the term 
 agreed on between her and the late farmer, as a trial 
 of her plan, had nearly expired, she informed them 
 that, for reasons on which she should not now enter, 
 she thought it best for both parties that her stay should 
 not extend beyond it. Robert looked surprised, and 
 even vexed ; but it was the vexation of pride. He, 
 however, remained silent. His mother, though much 
 at a loss in what way to take Mrs Mason's notice, 
 thought it necessary to speak for both ; but she did 
 not speak much to the purpose. Jealous of Mrs 
 Mason's superior sense, and at the same time con- 
 scious of the obligations she owed to her unwearied 
 benevolence, she felt her presence as a burthen ; but 
 not being able to trace the cause of this feeling to its 
 true and real source, which was no other than her own 
 ignorance and pride, she durst not, even to herself, 
 own that she disliked her. 
 
 'I'm sure,' said she, 'I hope — I'm sure — for my 
 part — I say, I'm sure — that, as far as I ken, we have 
 done a' in oor poo'er to make ye comfortable ; but to 
 be sure I ay thought it was nae place for you. Our 
 ways were a' sae different, though I am sure ye ha' 
 been very kind : I'm sure we're a' sensible o' that ; 
 but young folk dinna like to be contradickit ; they're 
 no ay sae wise as ane wad wish them ; but they're 
 just neebor-like. I'm sure if it's onything they have 
 said that gars ye think o' leaving us, I canna help't ; 
 
154 The Cottagers 
 
 but I hope ye'll no blame me, for I'm sure Robby 
 kens how often I have said, that they ought a' to be 
 civil to you.' 
 
 ' What need ye be clashing sae mickle about it,' 
 cried Robert, interrupting her ; ' we did weel eneugh 
 before she cam, and we'll do weel eneugh when she's 
 gane.' So saying, he went away, banging the door 
 after him with even more than usual violence. 
 
 Mrs Mason took no notice of his behaviour ; but, 
 unwilling to continue a conversation so little agree- 
 able, she went to her own room, which she had for 
 the last ten days seldom quitted but at the hour of 
 meals. Disappointed in the hopes she had formed, 
 of finding a home in the house of a kinswoman, and 
 mortified by the seeming neglect of the family at 
 Gowan Brae, on whose friendship she had depended 
 with undoubting confidence, her spirits were inclined 
 to sadness ; but she would not give way to the depres- 
 sion. Recollecting how mercifully all the events of 
 her life had hitherto been ordered, she chased away 
 despondency by trust in God ; and, resolving to act 
 to the best of her judgment, fearlessly left the conse- 
 quences to His disposal. 
 
 After some consideration, she resolved to apply to 
 William Morison and his wife to take her as a lodger. 
 They were poor; and therefore the small sum she 
 could afford to pay might to them be particularly use- 
 ful. They were humble, and therefore would not re- 
 fuse to be instructed in matters which they had never 
 before had any opportunity to learn. She might then 
 do good to them and to their children ; and where she 
 could do most good, there did Mrs Mason think it 
 would be most for her happiness to go. 
 
 No sooner did she give a hint of her intention to 
 Morison and his wife, than she perceived, from their 
 
of Glcnbumie. 155 
 
 brightened looks, that she had judged truly in imagin- 
 ing that her offer would be received with joy. — These 
 poor people had been sorely visited by affliction ; but 
 their good principles and good sense had taught them 
 to make a proper use of the visitation, in checking the 
 spirit of pride and presumption. Their resignation 
 to the will of God was cheerful and unfeigned, and 
 therefore led to redoubled efforts of industry; but 
 their exertions had not as yet effectually relieved them 
 from the extreme poverty to which they had been 
 reduced. After gratefully acknowledging their sense 
 of Mrs Mason's kindness, in giving their house a pre- 
 ference, and declaring how much they deemed them- 
 selves honoured by having her beneath their roof, 
 they looked at each other and paused, as if struck 
 by the recollection of some invincible obstacle. Mrs 
 Mason perceived their embarrassment, and asked the 
 cause. 
 
 ' What makes you hesitate ?' said she, ' I am afraid 
 you think seven shillings a week too little for my board 
 and lodging ; but you know I am to find my own 
 wh eaten bread, and my own tea, and' 
 
 ' O Madam, you are o'er generous,' cried Peggy, 
 interrupting her ; ' you give o'er mickle by a great 
 deal ; but still I fear, that in winter we may not be 
 able to make things comfortable to you. Were it in 
 summer we should do weel eneugh.' 
 
 ' Then why not in winter ? ' said Mrs Mason j ' I 
 shall advance money to buy coals if that be all.' 
 
 ' Don't speak of it, Peggy,' said William, gently 
 pulling his wife's sleeve ; ' though it be winter, we shall 
 do weel eneugh, there's nae fear.' 
 
 ' Na, na, gudeman,' returned Peggy, 'you're no sae 
 strong yet as to be able to sleep without a bed through 
 the winter in this cauld house \ it mauna be.' 
 
156 The Cottagers 
 
 1 Without a bed !' cried Mrs Mason ; ' why should 
 he be without a bed ?' 
 
 ' Why, Madam,' said William, ' since my wife has 
 let the cat out o' the bag, as the saying is, it's as weel 
 to tell you the truth. We have not a bed in the house 
 but one; and that was bought for us by gude Mr 
 Stewart of Gowan Brae, at the time that a' our furni- 
 ture was rouped aff frae our house at ' 
 
 ' Had we been now as we were then,' cried Peggy, 
 ' how comfortable could we have made Mrs Mason ! 
 She should have had no more to do but just to speak 
 her wishes.' 
 
 ' I don't fear being comfortable enough as it is,' 
 said Mrs Mason ; ' but what is become of the bed I 
 slept on for so many weeks, and which you so kindly 
 offered for my accommodation during all the time of 
 Mrs MacClarty's illness ?' 
 
 ' O the want o' a bed was naething then,' returned 
 Peggy ; ' the weather was warm, and some weel-laid 
 straw did us vastly weel ; for my own part I could put 
 up with it all the year through ; but my gudeman has 
 been sae weakly since he had the rheumatism, that I 
 would be feared for his being the waur o't.' 
 
 ' And did you really put yourselves to such a shift 
 in order to oblige me ? ' said Mrs Mason. ' What 
 kindness ! what delicacy in concealing the extent of 
 the obligation ! it grieves me to learn that hearts so 
 warm should have experienced misfortune ; and by 
 the hint you gave of selling off your furniture on leav- 
 ing , I fear your circumstances have not been so 
 
 prosperous as I heartily wish them.' 
 
 ' Since my misfortunes have been in some measure 
 brought on by my own indiscretion, I ought not to 
 complain,' said William. 
 
 ' Indeed, Madam, he does himself wrang,' cried 
 
of Glenburnie. 157 
 
 Peggy, ' he never was guilty o' ony indiscretion in his 
 days ; but just only trusted o'er far to the honesty 
 and discretion of a fau'se-hearted loon, that cheated 
 mony a man that ken'd mair o' business than he did. 
 It was nae fau't o' William's that the man was a rogue ; 
 yet he blames himsel in a way that vexes me to hear 
 him.' 
 
 ' I do blame myself/ said William ; ' for had I 
 been contented to go on with my business, as my 
 father did before me, on a scale within my means, my 
 profits, though small, would have been certain. But 
 I wished to raise my wife and bairns above their sta- 
 tion ; and God, who saw the pride of my heart, has 
 punished me.' 
 
 ' If you only risked your own,' said Mrs Mason, 
 ' your ambition was blameless, and your exertions 
 laudable. 
 
 ' Alas ! Madam,' returned William, ' no man that 
 enters into what they call speculations in business can 
 say that he risks only his own : he risks the money of 
 his friends, and of his neighbours, and of all who, from 
 confidence in his honesty, give him trust or credit. 
 Grant that neither friend nor neighbour had suffered — ■ 
 and I hope to God that in the end none will suffer a 
 farthing's loss by me — yet how can I answer to my 
 conscience for the ruin I have brought upon my wife 
 and children ? Nay, Peggy, you must not hinder me 
 to speak. You ken that had your honest father seen 
 what has happened, it would ha' brought his grey hairs 
 wi' sorrow to the grave. He told me that he gi'ed ye 
 to me wi' better will than to a richer man, because he 
 ken'd I loved ye weel, and would ay be kind to ye, 
 and that the siller he had gathered wi' mickle care 
 and toil, I wouldna lightly spend upon my pleasure — 
 O I canna bear to think on't ! When I look round 
 
158 The Cottagers 
 
 these bare wa's, and see what I have reduced you to, 
 I think myseF little better than a villain !' 
 
 Peggy hastily brushing away a falling tear, held 
 out her hand to her husband, saying with a smile, ' Ye 
 maun be an unco sort o' villain, William, for I would 
 rather beg my bread wi' you through the warld than 
 be the greatest lady in the land ! But what will Mrs 
 Mason think of us ?' 
 
 • I think,' said Mrs Mason, ' that you are a worthy 
 couple, and that you deserve to be happy, and will be 
 happy too, in the end — not the less so, perhaps, for 
 having known misfortune.' 
 
 1 O that you could gar my gudeman think sae ! ' 
 cried Peggy ; ' I'm ay telling him that if he wouldna 
 tine heart we ha' tint naething. We are yet but young, 
 we ha' promising bairns, gude health, and the warld 
 for the winning ; what should we desire mair ! Could 
 we but contrive to make the house fit to receive you, 
 I should have no fears for the future. You would 
 bring a blessing with you ; I'm sure you would.' 
 
 Mrs Mason obviated every difficulty, by saying, 
 that she meant to furnish her own apartment; and 
 after a little further conversation, in which everything 
 was arranged to mutual satisfaction, she set out on her 
 return to the farm, animated by the delightful hope of 
 having it in her power to dispense a degree of happi- 
 ness to her fellow creatures. As she slowly proceeded 
 homeward, an elderly man, mounted on a good horse, 
 prepared for carrying double, passed her on the road, 
 and having stopped a minute at Mrs MacClarty's door, 
 turned again to meet her. On coming up, he said he 
 was sent by Mr Stewart of Gowan Brae, with his and 
 Miss Mary's compliments, to beg that she would do 
 them the favour of going there to dinner, and that 
 they should send her back in a few days. Observing 
 
of Glenburnie. 159 
 
 that Mrs Mason hesitated concerning what answer she 
 should give, the faithful old servant proceeded to en- 
 force the message, by telling her he was sure it would 
 do them good to see her, 'for I am far mista'en, madam,' 
 said he, ' if they dinna stand in need o' comfort.' 
 
 ' Has any misfortune befallen the family ?' asked 
 Mrs Mason, anxiously. 
 
 ' I kenna, madam,' returned the servant, ' whether 
 it can be weel called a misfortune ; for a marriage 
 may be vexatious to ane's friends that's nae misfor- 
 tune in the end.' 
 
 1 And Miss Stewart has occasioned this vexation, 
 I suppose?' said Mrs Mason. 
 
 ' Ye guess right,' returned the old man ; ' she has 
 made a match to please hersel', and as she has brewed 
 sae she maun drink ; but my poor master taks it sair 
 to heart ; and it is e'en hard eneugh that the bairn 
 should cross him maist that he never crossed in his life.' 
 
 Mrs Mason made no reply ; but directing him to 
 the stable to put up his horse for half an hour, said 
 she should then be ready to accompany him. Having 
 informed her cousin, in friendly terms, of the arrange- 
 ments she had made with the Morisons, and assured 
 her of the continuance of her kindness and goodwill, 
 she quickly made what little preparations were neces- 
 sary for her departure, and was on the road to Gowan 
 Brae before Mrs MacClarty had recovered her as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 As Mrs Mason rode from the door, Robert made 
 his appearance. His mother, on seeing him, burst 
 into a violent flood of tears, and accused him as the 
 cause of her losing the best friend that she ever had 
 in the world — ' one who,' she said, ' was a credit to 
 her family, and an honour and a credit to them all.' 
 She reminded him of all that she had done for them 
 
i6o The Cottagers of Glenbumie. 
 
 in sickness — how she had attended his dying father — 
 what exertions she had made to save his brother's 
 life — what care she had taken of the family — how 
 little trouble she had given, and how generously she 
 had paid for the little trouble she occasioned. ' And 
 now,' cried she, 'she'll be just the same friend to the 
 Morisons she has been to us ! I wou'dna wonder that 
 they got every farthing she has in the warld. Scores 
 o' fine silk goons, and grand petticoats and stockings ; 
 and sic a sight o' mutches and laces as wad fill twa o' 
 Miss Tweedy's shop ! Ay, ay, the Morisons will get 
 it a', and a' her money foreby ! They'll no be the 
 fools to part wi' her that we ha' been; they're o'er 
 cunning for that !' 
 
 Robert, who, in his treatment of Mrs Mason, had 
 had no other end in view than the immediate gratifi- 
 cation of his own bad temper, was enraged at this 
 representation of the advantages which his neighbour's 
 family were likely to derive from the event. Far, 
 however, from acknowledging that he had been to 
 blame, he insolently retorted on his mother, and poured 
 on her a torrent of abuse. The poor woman attempted 
 to speak in her own justification ; but her voice was 
 drowned in the louder and more vehement accents of 
 her hopeful son. She had then no other resource but 
 tears, and bitterly did she weep — bitterly did she lament. 
 Her tears and lamentations aggravated the stings of 
 conscience in Robert's heart ; but where the passions 
 are habitually uncontrolled, the stings of conscience 
 have no other effect than to increase the irritation. 
 
 Had Mrs MacClarty been capable of reasoning, 
 how would her soul have been wrung with remorse, 
 had she then said to herself — There was a time when 
 this boy's passions might have been subdued; when, with 
 a little care, he might have learned to control them. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A MARRIAGE AND A WEDDING. 
 
 RS MASON had no sooner entered the 
 S| gate leading up to Gowan Brae than 
 her kind friends were at the door ready 
 to receive her. 'You are very good,' 
 said Mr Stewart, as he conducted her 
 to the parlour, 'you are very good in 
 coming to us after our apparent neglect 
 of you, in circumstances that called for 
 a double portion of attention ; but when 
 you know all that has happened, you 
 will forgive us.' 
 
 ' I do know all, my good sir,' returned Mrs Mason ; 
 ' your trusty old Donald has told me enough to show 
 me how fully your time has been occupied. I feel for 
 the vexation you have suffered, but it is past, and I 
 trust all may yet go well.' 
 
 Mr Stewart shook his head. ' We had better not 
 speak of it,' said he, in a melancholy voice. 
 
 'Well, we shall not speak of it, then,' said Mrs 
 Mason ; I had rather speak of the boys. When did 
 you hear of them ? When are they to have a holiday 
 at Gowan Brae?' 
 
 161 i 
 
1 62 The Cottagers 
 
 Having thus given a turn to the conversation, she 
 endeavoured to keep it up with cheerfulness ; and so 
 far succeeded, that a stranger would have thought all 
 the party in excellent spirits. 
 
 After dinner, as soon as the servant who attended 
 them had left the room, Mr Stewart became absent 
 and thoughtful. A pause ensued in the conversation, 
 during which Mary kept her eyes anxiously fixed upon 
 her father. Starting at length from his reverie, he 
 turned to Mrs Mason, and said it was now time to 
 give her a full account of all that had taken place, but 
 that he found he must leave the task to Mary. ' I 
 have not patience to go over it,' said he ; ' but I wish 
 for your advice, and you must therefore know all. I 
 shall be back by the time Mary has finished the recital, 
 and in the meantime must speak to my labourers.' 
 
 'My dear father!' said Mary, looking wistfully 
 after him as he left the room ; ' my dear good father 
 will never be happy again ! ' 
 
 ' With such a daughter as you, how can he be un- 
 happy?' said Mrs Mason. 'Your duty and affection 
 will soon make him forget the disappointment he has 
 had in your sister, and perhaps this match of hers may 
 not turn out so bad as he apprehends.' 
 
 ' Oh, it cannot turn out well,' said Mary. ' How 
 can any match turn out well that begins as this has 
 done, by wounding the heart of so good, so kind a 
 father ?' 
 
 ' Young women seldom argue in this way now-a- 
 days,' returned Mrs Mason. ' Love is, in the creed of 
 sentiment, and of plays and novels, a sufficient excuse 
 for the breach of every duty, both before marriage and 
 after it.' 
 
 c I believe I am as capable of a strong attachment 
 as my sister is,' said Mary ; ' but I could not love a 
 
of Glenburnie. 163 
 
 man without first esteeming him, and I could not 
 esteem the man who, in pursuance of his own selfish 
 purposes, led me into the guilt of ingratitude, false- 
 hood, and dissimulation.' 
 
 ' But you know, my dear, that in every clandestine 
 correspondence, art and dissimulation are absolutely 
 indispensable,' said Mrs Mason. 
 
 ' And therefore,' cried Mary, ' I abhor every thing 
 clandestine. But perhaps I think worse of Mr Mollins 
 than he deserves. You shall read my sister's letters, 
 and judge for yourself.' 
 
 ' I shall read them afterwards,' said Mrs Mason ; 
 'but wish you in the meantime to give me some 
 account of what has happened, that I may be pre- 
 pared to speak upon it with your father. Where did 
 your sister meet with Captain Mollins? who is he? 
 what do you know of his character, or what did she 
 know of it ? It is of those particulars that I long to 
 be informed.' 
 
 ' It is,' replied Mary, ' in her intimacy with Mrs 
 Flinders that all our vexations have originated. Yet 
 Mrs Flinders meant no harm to Bell, but the contrary. 
 She is a vain, showy woman, and liked to have a 
 young person of Bell's appearance in her train ; for 
 you know that my sister has naturally a genteel air, 
 and such a taste in dress as sets it off to the best 
 advantage. She was much admired by all the gentle- 
 men who visited at Mount Flinders ; but though taken 
 notice of when there by many of the first people in 
 the country, I know not how it was, but no one endea- 
 voured to keep up the acquaintance, except officers 
 and students from Edinburgh, and such sort of people 
 who were in the country only by chance. Still every 
 one spoke of the great advantage and happiness of 
 her being honoured with the friendship of so fine a 
 
164 The Cottagers 
 
 lady as Mrs Flinders ; for, excepting my father, I do 
 not know a person in the country that makes such a 
 distinction between being genteel and being respect- 
 able, as would lead them to decline for their children 
 an introduction to whatever was beyond their station. 
 I confess I thought my father's objections the effects 
 of prejudice, and entertained a hope that Bell would 
 make a conquest of some man of fortune. With this 
 view, I rejoiced in the prospect of her being seen to 
 such advantage at the races. I did not know that 
 Captain Mollins was to be of the party ; for though 
 he was much at Mount Flinders, his acquaintance 
 with the family was so merely accidental, that it did 
 not warrant his being treated as an intimate. 
 
 ' You will find by my sister's letters how much she 
 was intoxicated by the gay and brilliant scene to 
 which she was introduced at Edinburgh. The atten- 
 tion she met with was indeed sufficient to turn a wiser 
 head; for she danced at the balls with lords and 
 baronets, and was constantly in the parties of a fine 
 lady, a Mrs Spurton, whose equipage was described 
 in the newspapers as the finest that had ever appeared. 
 Bell spoke of this lady as the intimate friend of Mrs 
 Flinders, and the most charming of human beings. 
 Her husband too was a delightful man : intimately 
 acquainted with the first nobility, and quite regardless 
 of expense. Mr and Mrs Flinders were thrown en- 
 tirely into the back ground by this still more brilliant 
 pair ; but Captain Mollins, who was a prime favourite 
 of Mr Spurton's, gained not a little in Bell's opinion, 
 from the avowed friendship of so great a man. 
 
 ' As my sister had no one but me to whom she 
 could communicate the overflowings of her heart, she 
 gave me a full description of the events of each suc- 
 cessive day ; and from the delight with which she 
 
of Glcnbumic. 165 
 
 dwelt on the compliments paid to her beauty by men 
 of superior rank, I had no suspicion of Mollins being 
 all the time a favoured lover. Nor do I believe he 
 would have proved so at the last, had any of the lords 
 she danced with stepped forward as declared admirers. 
 But, alas ! they one by one took leave ; and in ten 
 days after the last of the races, their own party was 
 the only one that remained in Edinburgh. It was 
 then that Bell for the first time communicated to me 
 an account of the embarrassment in which she had 
 involved herself, by contracting debts for articles of 
 dress, which she said it was absolutely impossible to 
 do without ; and which, by Mrs Flinders' advice, she 
 had taken from the most fashionable milliner and 
 mantua-maker in town. Mrs Flinders, indeed, told 
 her that genteel people never paid in ready money, 
 and that many young ladies never paid their bills at 
 all, or entertained a thought of paying them, till they 
 were married ; but Bell's early prejudices upon this 
 subject had been so strongly impressed, that she could 
 not easily reconcile herself to this new doctrine. Her 
 pride was mortified at being obliged to implore the 
 forbearance of tradespeople, at whose expense her 
 vanity had been fed; but the dread of exposing to 
 her father the extent of her extravagance, compelled 
 her to submit to the mortification. Her gay friend 
 laughed at her scruples, and reminding her of the 
 independent fortune of which she was to come into 
 possession at her marriage, advised her by all means 
 to hasten the period of her emancipation. The inde- 
 pendent fortune to which Mrs Flinders alluded, and 
 which, in the zeal of her friendship, she always repre- 
 sented as very considerable, is in fact no more than 
 fifteen hundred pounds. I always considered the 
 exaggerated reports which Mrs Flinders spread of it 
 
1 66 The Cottagers 
 
 <v 
 
 as ill-judged kindness; but my sister viewed it in a 
 different light, and was evidently pleased with the 
 fiction, from which she derived a momentary addition 
 to her consequence. How far Mr Mollins was de- 
 ceived by these representations I know not ; but his 
 attentions, which seemed during the race-week to have 
 rather slackened, became now more assiduous than 
 ever. This you will perceive, from the hints inci- 
 dentally scattered through these letters ; but nothing 
 they contain would lead one to suspect that they had 
 then formed any serious engagement. I was the less 
 suspicious of this, because I was persuaded that Bell 
 would be too proud of having made a conquest of a 
 man of rank and fortune to conceal a circumstance so 
 flattering. At length, in a few hasty lines, written to 
 inform me that she was next day to set off on a jaunt 
 to the Highlands, with the Spurtons, Flinders, and Mr 
 Mollins, she so far let me into the secret as to say 
 that " she approached the crisis of her fate, and that 
 she would soon be either the most miserable or the 
 happiest of human beings." 
 
 ' I could not conceal this circumstance from my 
 father, who was far from partaking of the sanguine 
 hopes I entertained of the result. He did not doubt 
 that Mollins was a man of fortune ; but he thought 
 the match unsuitable; and declared that, in his ex- 
 perience, he had never seen any unions so productive 
 of happiness as those that were cemented by a cor- 
 respondence in circumstances and views, not only 
 between the parties themselves, but extended to their 
 friends and connections. While we were still debating 
 this point, as we sat at breakfast the following morn- 
 ing, my father received a letter, which he read with 
 such marks of agitation and dismay as quite appalled 
 me. He threw it to me when he had finished, and 
 
of Gienburn te. 1 67 
 
 hiding his face with both his hands, burst into tears. 
 I eagerly looked at the signature, but the name was 
 unknown to me. The contents briefly stated that 
 respect for my father's character induced the writer to 
 inform him that his daughter was on the brink of ruin. 
 That, by the vain and foolish pair under whose pro- 
 tection he had unfortunately placed her, she had been 
 introduced to society the most contemptible ; a gambler 
 of the name of Spurton, and his wife, the kept-mistress 
 of a man of quality ; and that these worthless people 
 had betrayed her to a needy adventurer, to whom 
 even her small fortune was a consideration sufficient 
 to tempt him to the darkest deed of villany, that of 
 sacrificing a young woman's happiness, and a worthy 
 father's peace.' 
 
 ' On reading this letter,' continued Mary, ' I boldly 
 pronounced it the work of an incendiary, and en- 
 treated my father to be comforted, as I could prove it 
 to be, at least, partly false. "That the Spurtons are 
 persons of irreproachable character, I can have no 
 doubt," said I. " How 3lse could they get into the 
 society of people of rank and fortune ? Were he a 
 gambler, and she a woman of doubtful reputation, do 
 you think that ladies and gentlemen of undoubted 
 character would have gone to their balls, or been par- 
 takers of their splendid festivals ? Yet that they did 
 so I can prove, for at one of these balls Mr Spurton 
 introduced a lord to my sister, and called him his par- 
 ticular friend ! This of itself is conclusive testimony 
 in their favour." I then endeavoured to persuade him 
 that all the information given concerning Mr Mollins 
 was equally false and malicious ; and that, though he 
 might be vain and extravagant, and have a thousand 
 faults, he was doubtless a man of fortune, and well 
 received by the world.' 
 
168 The Cottagers 
 
 ' " But may he not be a villain to seduce my 
 daughter's affections, and bring her to ruin and dis- 
 grace?" said my father. 
 
 ' " Of that," I replied, " I had no apprehensions ; 
 I too well knew my sister, to fear that her affections 
 would ever be seduced by love. On the contrary, I 
 was convinced that the man who could most certainly 
 gratify her ambition would still have in her heart the 
 decided preference." 
 
 ' By these arguments I in some degree tranquillised 
 my father's mind ; but his anxiety to prevent my sister 
 from taking any irretrievable step, induced him to set 
 off for Edinburgh without delay. Learning, on his 
 arrival there, that the Flinders' had set out with the 
 intention of going by Perth to Blair in Athole, he 
 took the same route. At every inn on the road, he, 
 in answer to his inquiries, received such intelligence 
 as left no room to doubt that he should speedily over* 
 take them ; but by the time he reached Perth, he was 
 too much fatigued to pursue the journey on horseback. 
 He therefore was obliged to order a chaise, and as 
 soon as it could be got ready, proceeded by Dunkeld 
 to Blair, and from Blair onward all the way to Inver- 
 ness. There, at the door of the head inn, he saw 
 the three carriages, whose route he had so diligently 
 traced ; but what was his disappointment on finding 
 that they were filled by strangers ! 
 
 1 The strangers were not destitute of humanity, and 
 perceiving how deeply he was chagrined, endeavoured 
 to soothe and tranquillise his spirits. In this they were 
 kinder than his own child, whom, soon after he entered 
 Perth, on his return, he saw talking from the window 
 of the inn to a gentleman who stood in the street 
 below. As the chaise drew up, she caught the glance 
 of her father's eye and retreated, uttering a screaming 
 
of Glenburnie. 169 
 
 exclamation ; Mollins, to whom she had been talking, 
 running at the same time into the house. You may 
 imagin e how my father was agitated. He involuntarily 
 pursued his way up stairs to the room where Bell was. 
 As he entered, she threw herself into a chair by the 
 window, and either fainted or pretended to faint. 
 " In the name of goodness, what is the meaning of 
 all this ?" said my father, addressing himself to Mrs 
 Flinders, who was holding her smelling-bottle to my 
 sister, who was supported by Captain Mollins. 
 
 < "Why, Miss Stewart," cried Mrs Flinders, "what 
 can be the matter with you ? It is only your father ! 
 Bless me, poor dear, what weak nerves you have ! 
 Pray, sir, speak to her; tell her you are not angry. 
 Indeed, Miss, your papa is not displeased with you. 
 Your papa is " 
 
 ' " She best knows whether I have cause to be dis- 
 pleased with her," said my father gravely. My sister, 
 opening her eyes, looked expressively at Mollins, who 
 seemed in great confusion, and as if undetermined 
 what to do. At length, holding up Bell's hand, which 
 was folded in his, and turning towards my father, he 
 stammered out, " You see, sir — you perceive, sir — this 
 lady, sir — this lady is my wife." 
 
 ' " And who are you, sir ?" cried my father, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 ' " I, I, I, sir, am a gentleman," returned Mollins. 
 
 " O yes, sir," cried Mrs Flinders, " we all know that 
 Captain Mollins is quite a gentleman ; a man of for- 
 tune too. Miss Stewart has had great luck, I assure 
 you ; but it was very sly of her to get married without 
 telling me." 
 
 ' My father, without taking any notice of Mrs 
 Flinders, advanced towards Bell, and taking her hand 
 in a solemn manner — " Isabel," said he, " infatuated 
 
170 The Cottagers 
 
 girl that you are, listen to me, I conjure you. By the 
 laws of this country, you have it now in your power, 
 by acknowledging a marriage with this man, to fix 
 yourself upon him as his wife. But think, I beseech 
 you, before you ratify the sentence of your own misery. 
 For what but misery can be the consequences of a 
 union, which substitutes a falsehood for the marriage 
 vow ; and which, by the manner of it, proclaims to 
 the world that the woman had ceased to respect her- 
 self!" 
 
 ' Mollins here began to bluster ; but my father 
 silenced him, and proceeded while Bell wept and 
 sobbed aloud. " My Isabel, my dear child, have I 
 then been so unkind a father, that you should thus 
 break from my arms, to rush into the arms of — you 
 know not whom ? But I mean not to upraid you. I 
 only mean to tell you, that however faulty, nay, how- 
 ever guilty you may have been, your father's arms are 
 still open to receive you, and that peace still waits you 
 in your father's house." 
 
 ' " Pray, sir," cried Mr Flinders interrupting him ; 
 " Pray think of your daughter's character ; after Mol- 
 lin's declaration, it would be ruined, absolutely ruined." 
 
 ' " And will such a marriage as this wipe out the 
 stain ?" returned my father. " Is it not saying to the 
 world, that after having sacrificed delicacy and modesty 
 at the shrine of folly, she stooped to solder her reputa- 
 tion by a falsehood. No, no. If she is thus sunk, thus 
 degraded, let her, by humility and penitence, purify her 
 own heart, and mine shall be open to receive her. 
 Come, my child, my Isabel ; come to that home where 
 no upbraidings " 
 
 ' " Sir," interrupted Mollins, to whom Mr Flinders 
 had been all this time making signals to speak, " Sir, I 
 claim this lady as my wife. Heaven and earth shall 
 
of Glenburnie. 171 
 
 not separate us ; for am I not her husband ? • Say, my 
 love, my dearest, fairest creature, are you not mine in 
 the eye of heaven ?" 
 
 ' " Speak at once," cried my father, " are you that 
 man's wife?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Bell, in a voice scarcely audible ; 
 and giving her hand to Mollins as she spoke. 
 
 '" Poor misguided child !" said my father, "may 
 you never have cause to repent of the rash act, though 
 it sends a knell to your father's heart." ' 
 
 He then turned to go, but was surrounded by the 
 Flinders, and the other people, all calling out that he 
 must not leave them in ill-will, but stay and be recon- 
 ciled, and dine with them comfortably. Mrs Flinders 
 was flippantly urgent, saying that she was sure it would 
 be very hard if he bore any resentment against her, 
 that she had treated his daughter like a sister. 
 
 ' I can have no resentment,' he returned, ' against 
 any of this party ; for I never feel resentment where I 
 have not previously felt respect.' So saying, he quitted 
 them, and went to another room. 
 
 In the evening he received a note from my sister, 
 entreating to be admitted. I shall at some other time 
 give you a particular account of all that passed ; it is 
 enough at present to say that they consented to remain 
 with him at Perth until they could be regularly married, 
 which they were on the following Monday ; after which 
 they came all together to Edinburgh, where my father 
 had scarcely arrived before he was seized with a return 
 of what we here call a rose fever ; a disorder to which 
 he has been often subject. I set off for Edinburgh 
 immediately on hearing of his illness, and found him 
 much distressed in spirits, but not, the physician as- 
 sured me, in any danger. My father told me that Mr 
 Mollins had been very attentve to him ; and that from 
 
172 The Cottagers 
 
 all he had seen he thought him a good-natured, vain, 
 silly fellow. I was glad to find him thus far recon- 
 ciled, and said all in my power to persuade him that 
 all might yet turn out better than he expected. He 
 assured me that he was as willing to hope as I was, 
 but that he could as yet find nothing to rest his hopes 
 upon. ' As yet,' said he, ' I neither know what, nor 
 who he is : but as he never, upon any occasion, gives 
 a direct and explicit answer to any question, I am at a 
 loss to determine whether the ambiguity of his expres- 
 sions arises from a confused intellect, or from a desire 
 of concealment. The behaviour of your sister too, 
 gives me great uneasiness. She keeps aloof from me 
 as if I were her enemy. Alas ! how little have I de- 
 served this of her !' 
 
 ' The first time I was alone with my sister,' con- 
 tinued Mary, ' I endeavoured to expostulate with her 
 on the impropriety of keeping at such a distance from 
 her father, and treating him with such reserve, but she 
 immediately flew into a passion, and said that her father 
 had used both her and Mr Mollins extremely ill, and 
 that if Mr Mollins had taken her advice he would never 
 have spoken to him again, after the vile aspersions he 
 had thrown upon his character, by seeming to doubt 
 whether he was a gentleman. Mr Mollins, she said, 
 despised such base insinuations ; and as his friend 
 Lord Dashmore justly observed, he knew too much of 
 the world to be surprised at the mean and vulgar no- 
 tions of those who knew nothing of life or manners. 
 For her share, she expected to meet with a great deal 
 of envy and ill-nature, and she saw she should not be 
 disappointed. 
 
 ' " My dear sister ! how thoughtlessly you speak !" 
 returned I. " Were you married to the greatest lord 
 in Christendom, I should not envy you your good luck. 
 
of Glenbutnie. 173 
 
 But is it not natural that your father should wish to 
 know the real circumstances and situation of your hus- 
 band, and does it not seem strange that either of you 
 should wish to conceal them from him ?" 
 
 ' " Mr Mollins has a right to act just as he pleases," 
 cried my sister. " I hope no one will dispute that ! 
 but I can tell you he has not so little spirit as to 
 submit to be questioned. He despises such meanness. 
 No wonder, living, as he has done all his life, in the 
 first of company." 
 
 ' A great deal more passed to as little purpose ; 
 my sister getting more and more angry as she spoke. 
 We were interrupted by Mr Mollins, who entered 
 holding two open letters in his hand, which he pre- 
 sented to my sister with a careless air, though vexation 
 was visibly painted on his countenance. 
 
 ' " You must give them to our father, my love !" 
 said he, forcing a smile, " for you know these are his 
 business, not mine." 
 
 ' " Ah dear Mollins," cried Bell, looking at the 
 contents of the letters, " you know not how you would 
 oblige me by settling these trifles. I will rather want 
 the diamond ear-rings, indeed I will. I will rather do 
 anything than speak to my father now, he is so peevish 
 and so cross." 
 
 ' " But I tell you I can't — upon my faith, my love, 
 I can't," returned Mollins ; my steward has run off, 
 and I know not when I may get a remittance. I 
 would not tell you before for fear of vexing you, 
 though it is of very little consequence ; for I shall not 
 lose more than a few hundreds by the rascal. But it 
 puts me to present inconvenience. Pray ask the old 
 gentleman for a hundred pounds at once. It will 
 oblige me. Pray do, and these bills shall be paid 
 directly." 
 
174 The Cottagers 
 
 ' " A hundred pounds ! " cried Bell ; " why, my 
 dear Mollins, I imagine you believe my father thinks 
 as little of a hundred pounds as you do." 
 
 ' " O the old curmudgeon ! " cried Mollins, " I 
 forgot what a close hunks he is ; but your sister here 
 will coax him into it; I know he can refuse her 
 nothing." 
 
 ' It were in vain to attempt describing to you what 
 I suffered, when, worn out by their teazing and urgent 
 importunity, I at length was prevailed on to speak to 
 my father on the subject of my sister's unpaid bills. 
 I anticipated all that he would feel upon the occasion; 
 for though I well knew that no one regards money less 
 for its own sake than he does, I likewise knew that 
 few consider extravagance in a light so serious as that 
 in which he views it. He considers it as the parent 
 of every vice, and the grave of every virtue ; and has 
 therefore laboured to impress a just abhorrence of it 
 upon our minds. You may then imagine what an 
 effect the knowledge of my sister's extravagance pro- 
 duced upon him. It instantly impressed him with an 
 idea of her levity and want of principle, which it is 
 impossible to eradicate, and from which he forbodes 
 the most shocking consequences. Had she deigned 
 to make proper concessions, she might, perhaps, have 
 lessened the impression ; but she affects to ascribe all 
 he says to the meanest motives, and in return for all 
 his tender anxiety for her honour and happiness, speaks 
 to him with the haughty air of a person who has been 
 deeply injured. In short, though my father paid all 
 the expenses of their living with him in Edinburgh, 
 and all the debts my sister had contracted, he got no 
 thanks ; but, on the contrary, seemed rather to have 
 given offence than to have conferred obligation. I 
 believe I have mentioned that, by the terms of my 
 
of Glenburnie. 175 
 
 grandfather's will, the sum of fifteen hundred pounds 
 was to be paid to her on the day of her marriage. Mr 
 Mollins seems to despise this paltry fortune as scarcely 
 worth his acceptance. Yet, would you believe it, he, 
 on my father's speaking to him on the subject, the day 
 after we returned home, absolutely refused to permit 
 two-thirds of this to remain in trustees' hands for the 
 benefit of my sister, and insists on having the whole 
 paid down to him, on the terms of the will ! This 
 circumstance — but here comes my father, who will tell 
 you all about it himself.' 
 
 ' Well, Mrs Mason, Mary has by this time given 
 you a full account of our vexation,' said Mr Stewart. 
 ' It may be explained in a few words. My daughter 
 will be one of the many victims to the epidemical 
 frenzy which has of late spread through the country, 
 the desire of shining in a sphere above our own. 
 People who labour under this disease mistake show 
 for splendour, and splendour for happiness ; and, while 
 their pulses throb with the fever of vanity, think no 
 sacrifice too great for procuring a momentary gratifi- 
 cation to its insatiable thirst. From the palace to the 
 cottage the fever rages with equal force, sweeping 
 before it every worthy feeling and every solid virtue. 
 O my friend ! could we but look into the interior of 
 all the families in the kingdom, what scenes of domes- 
 tic misery would present themselves to our view, all 
 originating in this accursed passion for gentility !' 
 
 ' I believe, indeed,' said Mrs Mason, ' that with 
 regard to my own sex at least, the love of dress, and 
 desire of admiration, have ruined hundreds for one 
 that has been brought to misery through the strength 
 of other passions.' 
 
 ' True,' replied Mr Stewart. ' But it is not to that 
 silly vanity alone that I allude ; it is to that still sillier 
 
176 The Cottagers 
 
 ambition of figuring in a higher station which destroys 
 all notions of right and wrong, rendering vice and 
 folly, if gilded by fashion, the objects of preference, 
 nay, of high and first regard. What would my daughter 
 Bell have thought of such a silly fellow as Mollins, if 
 he had been the son of a neighbouring farmer?' 
 
 ' Indeed, my good sir,' returned Mrs Mason, ' there 
 is no accounting for the fancies of young people — one 
 sees such marriages. So — ' 
 
 ' Believe me,' interrupted Mr Stewart, 'such matches 
 may always be accounted for. No unsuitable or in- 
 congruous marriage ever yet took place but where 
 there was some wrong bias in the mind, some disease 
 lurking in the imagination, which inflamed the vanity 
 in that very way which the marriage promised to 
 gratify. Had Bell's passion for wealth been born of 
 avarice, she would have despised this Mollins ; but a 
 man who lived among lords and ladies was, in her eye, 
 irresistible. It is this propensity that will be her ruin. 
 Yes, my good friend, I see it plainly. Their vanity is 
 greater than their fortune can support. Mollins ac- 
 knowledges that he is already embarrassed. He will 
 soon be more so ; they will live beyond their income, 
 in order to keep up with the gay and giddy fools whose 
 steps they follow. Bell's beauty, her levity, her want 
 of fixed and solid principle ; — O, Mrs Mason, what a 
 shocking view does it present ! I see her ruin before 
 me. Night and day it haunts my imagination. A 
 foreboding voice incessantly whispers, that if she ever 
 returns to her father's house, she will return dis- 
 honoured and disgraced. O may I ere then be laid 
 beside her angel mother in the silent grave ! ' 
 
 After a considerable pause, Mrs Mason addressed 
 herself to the afflicted father. She could not in con- 
 science say that his fears were groundless; but she 
 
of Glcnburnie. 
 
 77 
 
 endeavoured to chequer them with hope, assuring hnn 
 that the time would come when his daughter would 
 learn to prize the blessings of domestic happiness, and 
 that the good principles she had imbibed in youth 
 would in the meantime prevent her from straying far 
 from the path of duty. At Mr Stewart's request, she 
 promised to remain at Gowan Brae until Mr and Mrs 
 Mollins returned from Mount Flinders, and then to 
 take an opportunity of speaking to Mrs Mollins on 
 the subject of her future plans. 
 
 
 M 
 
CHAPTER XVL 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING BETWEEN OLD 
 ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 RS MASON had spent a full week at 
 Gowan Brae before the quiet of the 
 well-ordered family was interrupted by 
 the return of the new-married pair. They 
 at length came, accompanied by Mr 
 Flinders, who, with Mr Mollins, went 
 immediately into Mr Stewart's business- 
 room, Bell meantime going into the par- 
 lour. On seeing Mrs Mason she drew 
 herself up haughtily, with a look expres- 
 sive of surprise; and, in return to her salutation, 
 dropped a very distant curtsey. The good woman 
 perfectly understood the meaning of her behaviour; 
 but, not at all discomposed by it, placidly resumed 
 her work. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mary, ' I suppose your time has been 
 pleasantly spent at Mount Flinders, as you have stayed 
 so much longer than you intended.' 
 
 ' One's time is always spent pleasantly there,' re- 
 turned BeH. ' How can it be otherwise with people 
 
 who always keep company with people of fashion like 
 i 7 8 
 
The Cottagers of Glenbumie. 179 
 
 themselves ! It is some advantage, indeed, to have 
 such neighbours : so gay and so agreeable ; and we 
 have been so happy ! Do you know we never sat 
 down to dinner till six o'clock, nor have gone to bed 
 till past three in the morning.' 
 
 'Then,' said Mary, smiling, 'you dined at the 
 same hour that our ploughmen dine all the winter; 
 and as to going to bed at three in the morning, the 
 shepherd has kept still genteeler hours than you, for I 
 believe that during the last week he has never gone 
 to bed till daybreak.' 
 
 ' I wonder how you can talk of such vulgar 
 wretches,' returned Mrs Mollins. ' If you would but 
 do yourself justice, you might soon rise out of the low 
 sphere in which you have been buried. You ought 
 now to aspire to something superior. I am sure I 
 shall always be happy to assist you ; and, with Mr 
 Mollins's connections, you may get into the genteelest 
 society when you please. Do you know that Lord 
 Dashmore has been two days at Mount Flinders, and 
 paid Mr Mollins and me such attention? He has 
 invited us to spend our Christmas at Dashmore Lodge. 
 Won't it be charming ! But his lordship has quite a 
 friendship for Mr Mollins. They played together at 
 billiards all the morning : and Mr Harry Spend as- 
 sured me that Mr Mollins was by far the most grace- 
 ful player of the two ; but every one observes what a 
 fine figure Mr Mollins has.' 
 
 'But, my dear Bell, did not Mr Mollins tell my 
 father that business called him immediately to Eng- 
 land ? How is it, then, that he contrives to spend his 
 Christmas at Dashmore Lodge?' 
 
 ' How little you know of genteel life !' cried Mrs 
 Mollins. ' Do you think that men of fashion tie 
 themselves down to rules of going here or there to 
 
I So The Cottagers 
 
 a day, as my father does ? Mr Mollins ought, to be 
 sure, to visit his estate in Dorsetshire this winter, but 
 a few weeks' delay can be of no consequence. And, 
 besides, were he to go there at Christmas time, he 
 must entertain all his neighbours, which, he says, 
 would be a great bore ; so he thinks it better to put 
 it off till they have gone up to Parliament, and then 
 he will leave me at Bath, and take a dash down by 
 himself. But I hear the gentlemen coming in ; pray 
 don't say that I mentioned — ' 
 
 At that moment the door opened ; and Mr Stewart 
 entered, saying, with a disturbed air, that his daughter's 
 presence was necessary, and that he wished Mrs Mason 
 and Mary to accompany her to his writing-chamber. 
 While he spoke, Mr Flinders softly came up, and laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, ' I wish, Mr Stewart,' said 
 he, ' I really wish I could persuade you to consent 
 with cheerfulness. You cannot fail to offend Mr 
 Mollins by betraying such a want of confidence in 
 his honour. Has he not promised, on the word of 
 a gentleman, to make a settlement on Mrs Mollins 
 suitable to his fortune?' 
 
 ' Where is his fortune !' cried Mr Stewart, peevishly. 
 ' He may carry it all on his back for aught I know to 
 the contrary.' 
 
 'I do assure you, you wrong my friend Mollins 
 greatly,' replied Mr Flinders. ' Mr Spurton told me 
 lie had hunted over his estate in Dorsetshire many 
 times, and that his father kept the best pack of hounds 
 in the country. Do you think, my dear sir, that if I 
 had not known him to be a man of fortune — ' 
 
 ' Pho !' said Mr Stewart, ' if he is a man of fortune, 
 why should he scruple to secure to my daughter this 
 small sum?' 
 
 ' Because you see, my dear sir, that to settle for- 
 
of Glenbumie. iSi 
 
 mally such a trifling matter would be, in his opinion, 
 a sort of disgrace ; and, besides, I dare say he wants 
 the money.' 
 
 ' I dare say he does,' said Mr Stewart, drily, ' and 
 he must have it too. But I shall take all here to wit- 
 ness my intentions.' Mr Stewart then advanced to 
 Mrs Mason to give her his arm, while Mr Flinders, 
 Mrs Mollins, and Mary, stepped before them into the 
 other room. 
 
 Mollins, who, as they entered, was sitting at the 
 table, leaning his head upon his hand, apparently 
 buried in thought, roused himself on seeing them, and 
 was about to speak with his usual flippancy, when, 
 perceiving Mrs Mason, he started, and momentarily 
 changed colour, his complexion quickly varying from 
 the pale hue of ashes to the deepest crimson. 
 
 Mrs Mollins observing her husband's confusion, 
 went up and whispered to him : ' I don't wonder at 
 your being surprised, my dear, to find such people 
 here ; but don't appear to mind it ; my father has such 
 odd notions !' 
 
 ' Does she know me ?' cried Mollins, eagerly ; 
 ' has he told you that she knows me ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Mrs Mason, who overheard the question ; 
 ' Mrs Mollins does not know that I have ever had the 
 honour of seeing you ; perhaps if she had — but you 
 and I shall talk of that another time, Mr Mollins. We 
 are here, I understand, just now upon business. I hope 
 I may tell Mr Stewart that you are willing to settle his 
 daughter's fortune in any way he pleases.' 
 
 ' You are very good, Mrs Mason,' cried Mollins in 
 great confusion ; ' you were always good. I — I shall 
 be guided by you entirely — only — only promise — you 
 know what I mean — you ' 
 
 ' I do know what you mean,' said Mrs Mason, 
 
1 82 The Cottagers 
 
 ' and I shall promise to be your friend if I find that 
 you deserve it.' Then, without taking any notice of 
 the exclamations of surprise and astonishment that 
 were bursting from every tongue, she invited Mr Mol- 
 lins to a private conference in the adjoining room. In 
 about half an hour they returned, and Mr Mollins, ad- 
 dressing himself to Mr Stewart, said, that as Mrs Mason 
 had convinced him of the propriety of signing the 
 papers he had shown him, he was now willing to do it 
 immediately. The papers were signed and witnessed 
 in solemn silence : Mr Flinders biting his lip all the 
 while, not knowing what to make of the sudden turn 
 which the appearance of Mrs Mason had given to the 
 business. He began to entertain some unfavourable 
 suspicions with regard to Mollins ; but recollecting the 
 obligations he had been under to him for introducing 
 him to two lords and a sporting baronet at the cock- 
 pit, gratitude sealed his lips, and he took leave without 
 any apparent diminution of regard. 
 
 'I am glad that he is gone !' cried Mary. 'We 
 may now speak freely, and I am sure we all long to 
 know how you and Mr Mollins come to be so well 
 acquainted. My sister won't say so, but I see she is 
 dying to hear.' 
 
 ' I want to hear nothing about it,' cried Mrs Mol- 
 lins ; 'but I know you always take a pleasure in mortify- 
 ing me — I know you do.' 
 
 ' Bell,' said Mr Stewart, ' if Mr Mollins has no 
 acquaintances of whom he need be more ashamed, I 
 congratulate you. I rejoice at least that I shall now 
 have an opportunity of knowing who and what your 
 husband is ; for I confess that ' 
 
 ' And what should you know of any one at Gowan 
 Brae?' cried Mrs Mollins. 'I am sure if it was not 
 for seeing the Court Calendar at Mount Flinders, I 
 
of Glen burn ie. 183 
 
 should not have known the names of above twenty 
 people in my life. But you have such a hatred to 
 strangers, and such a prejudice against any one that 
 is in the least genteel, that I believe you would rather 
 have seen me married to a shoemaker than to a gentle- 
 man.' 
 
 ' You had better not speak against shoemakers, my 
 dear,' said Mrs Mason, ' as you happen to be nearly 
 connected with several of them. I have on my feet 
 at the present moment a pair of shoes made by your 
 father-in-law, and I never wore better in my life ; and 
 though I believe he never was out of his native village, 
 he is a very honest man.' 
 
 ' Mr Mollins' father a shoemaker !' cried Bell ; ' I 
 wonder what you will say next. I declare I am quite 
 diverted.' She then burst into an hysterical laugh, 
 which ended in a passionate flood of tears. Poor 
 Mary, who was really sorry for her sister, endeavoured 
 to soothe the raging storm, but was repelled with in- 
 dignation ; and Mrs Mason, who knew better how to 
 treat such cases, begged her to desist until the tempest 
 had spent itself. She then drew near, and in a gentle 
 voice said, ' Believe me, I should hate myself, Mrs 
 Mollins, if I could take pleasure in distressing you; 
 but I have thought it better that you should know the 
 truth than expose yourself to ridicule, by speaking of 
 your husband's family, or of his circumstances or situa- 
 tion, in such a tone as that you lately assumed.' 
 
 Mrs Mollins, who was now quite exhausted, uttered 
 a deep groan ; then, after a few heavy sobs, cried, ' If 
 I have been deceived I shall never see him again. No, 
 I shall never live with him. I shall die sooner — Oh !' 
 — then covering her face with her hands, she again 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 ' My dear Bell,' said Mr Stewart, taking her hand 
 
184 The Cottagers 
 
 affectionately, 'you are still my child, your father's 
 house will be ever open to you. But remember the 
 vows that are upon you. You have bound yourself by 
 ties that are as indissoluble as they are sacred, and 
 though your husband were the lowest, nay, even the 
 worst of mankind, your fate is bound in his.' 
 
 ' But her husband is neither the one nor the other,' 
 said Mrs Mason. ' He is, as I have told you, the son 
 of an honest tradesman who lives in a small village in 
 Yorkshire, and ' 
 
 ' And — and — the — the estate in Dorsetshire, how 
 did he come by it ?' sobbed Mrs Mollins. 
 
 ' He came by it,' said Mrs Mason, • as people who 
 forsake the direct path of truth come by all they 
 boast of, telling one falsehood to support another; a 
 species of lying, which, as it goes under the appellation 
 of quizzing or humming, is often mistaken for wit.' 
 
 ' Scoundrel ! villain !' cried Mr Stewart, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 ' Nay, my good sir, be not so violent,' said Mrs 
 Mason. ' He has been wrong, but he has been led 
 step by step into error, and I really hope his heart is 
 not corrupted. I think it is a proof of it that he has 
 permitted me to tell all I know concerning him with- 
 out disguise.' 
 
 Mr Stewart beckoning her to proceed, she thus 
 continued : — 
 
 ' When I first saw him he was about ten or twelve 
 years old, and had obtained great praise for managing 
 the horse he rode at our village races. I did not see 
 the race, but I saw the little fellow when he came to 
 my lady for his reward. She liked his appearance, 
 and engaged him for a page ; for she had always two 
 that attended in the drawing-room, dressed in coats 
 covered with lace. Jack was a great favourite with 
 
of Glcnbitmie. 183 
 
 all the house. He was indeed a very good-natured 
 boy, but was spoiled among the servants ; and as he 
 grew too tall for a page, my lady, when he was about 
 sixteen, got him into one of the offices about Court as 
 an under clerk. His salary was very small, but as he 
 had a great ambition to be a gentleman, he was highly 
 delighted with the promotion, and might have gone 
 on very well had he not been led to gambling in the 
 lottery. He had at one time, as we were told, pawned 
 all his clothes, and was on the very brink of despera- 
 tion, when fortune turned, and he got a prize of about 
 1500 pounds. The sum appeared to him immense : 
 he gave up his employment, and purchasing a com- 
 mission in a newly-raised regiment, commenced his 
 career as a gentleman and man of fashion. One good 
 trait still remained j he did not forget his friends in 
 this change of circumstances, but sent fifty pounds to 
 his old father, and presents to his mother and sisters, 
 who still speak of him as the best-hearted creature in 
 the world.' 
 
 ' Then there is some good in him ! ' cried Mr 
 Stewart. ' O yes, there must be some good in him. 
 Come, he is not so bad as I thought, after all.' 
 
 ' Indeed there is good in him,' said Mrs Mason. 
 * He has only been led astray by vanity, and the 
 foolish wish of being thought a great man. Had he 
 been contented to rest upon his character for_ respect- 
 ability, he would never have been otherwise than 
 respectable ; but his ambition to be genteel led him 
 into the society of the showy and the dissipated, 
 among whom he soon spent all his money ; and when 
 his regiment was disbanded, he found himself so much 
 in debt, that he was obliged to leave England ; and 
 having met with the Flinders' at Bath, came down to 
 this country, where he hoped to retrieve his fortune 
 
1 86 The Cottagers 
 
 by a lucky marriage. In order to support the appear- 
 ance of a gentleman, he borrowed money on his half- 
 pay ; and having once been asked whether he be- 
 longed to the Mollins's of Mollins Hall, in Dorset- 
 shire, he resolved to acknowledge the relationship, 
 and accordingly gave himself out for the head of the 
 family. You now know as much as I do, excepting 
 with respect to a snare into which he was led by a 
 gambler of the name of Spurton, whom he met at 
 Edinburgh, and which might have led to fatal conse- 
 quences. But from these he is now happily rescued. 
 I must, however, in justice to poor Jack, say a few 
 words more. He sincerely loves your daughter, and 
 as he was in quest of a fortune far greater than hers, 
 he would never have married her but from motives of 
 affection. He at first, indeed, was made to believe 
 that she was a great heiress ; for so Mrs Flinders gave 
 out ; and before he was undeceived, his affections 
 were engaged to her ; so that they are, in this respect, 
 exactly upon a footing.' 
 
 ' They are, in every respect, upon a footing,' cried 
 Mr Stewart. ' If his father is an honest tradesman, 
 what is her father but an honest farmer ? Believe me, 
 I am quite relieved. You have taken a weight off my 
 heart, Mrs Mason, by your account. If he has sense 
 to apply to business, I shall put him in the way of 
 doing it, and all may yet be well. Go, Mary, and 
 bring him to us. I believe the poor fellow is ashamed 
 to show his face.' 
 
 Mary went out and soon returned, leading in her 
 brother-in-law, who wore indeed a very humbled and 
 mortified aspect; and though much cheered by the 
 reception given him by Mr Stewart, he seemed evi- 
 dently afraid to approach his wife, who, with averted 
 face, sat sad and dejected, twisting the string of her 
 
of Glenburnie. 187 
 
 apron in the comer. Some days elapsed before she 
 could be brought into spirits ; but the absolute anni- 
 hilation of all her vain hopes and aspiring views had 
 already produced a salutary effect upon her temper. 
 
 Of all the plans of life that were suggested to 
 Mollins, that which seemed most agreeable to his 
 wishes was an employment in the West Indies, which 
 he knew it was at present in the power of Mr Flinders 
 to procure for him. But an application to Mr Flin- 
 ders would necessarily be productive of explanations 
 so mortifying, that it was vehemently opposed by Mrs 
 Mollins, who said she would rather starve than be so 
 looked down on by Mrs Flinders, who now respected 
 her, because she thought she was married to a man of 
 fortune. 
 
 ' And if Mrs Flinders respects her friends only on 
 account of their fortunes, I would not give that pinch 
 of snuff for her respect,' cried Mr Stewart. 
 
 ' O, it is not fortune that Mrs Flinders minds,' said 
 Mrs Mollins ; it is only being genteel and stylish — 
 and — and all that.' 
 
 ' And what right has Mrs Flinders to be genteel, 
 and stylish, and all that, except from fortune ? ' re- 
 turned Mr Stewart. ' Who are those Flinders ? ' Are 
 they not the grandchildren of old Winkie Flinders 
 that kept the little public-house at the end of the 
 green loan ? And was not the father of this Flinders 
 transported for hen-stealing ? and did he not marry a 
 planter's widow, and defraud her children, who, for 
 aught I know, are now begging their bread, while this 
 Flinders and his cousin, who was a broken milliner, 
 are revelling in the fortune that should by right have 
 been theirs ! ' 
 
 ' O dear sir, you have such a memory for these 
 tilings. But you know that nobody minds them but 
 
1 88 The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 
 
 yourself; and that all the great people court Mr and 
 Mrs Flinders, both in town and country.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' said Mr Stewart, ' the vulgar of all 
 ranks are mean and selfish. But don't mistake me, 
 Bell; I do not despise the Flinders' on account of 
 their want of birth, but on account of their paltry 
 attempts at concealing the meanness of their origin 
 by parade and ostentation. It is they, and such as 
 they, who, by giving a false bent to ambition, have 
 undermined our national virtues, and destroyed our 
 national character ; and they have done this by lead- 
 ing such as you to connect all notions of happiness 
 with the gratification of vanity, and to undervalue the 
 respect that attends on integrity and wisdom.' 
 
 After some further discussion, the application to 
 Mr Flinders was agreed on ; but it failed of the ex- 
 pected success ; so that poor Mollins would still have 
 remained unprovided for, had it not been for the 
 friendship of his wife's cousin, the honest manufac- 
 turer whose attentions she had treated with such 
 contempt. By the interest of this worthy man, an 
 employment under government was obtained for Mol- 
 lins, on condition that he and his wife should live in 
 retirement, far from those temptations to extravagance 
 which experience had proved they were so little able 
 to resist. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 RECEIPT FOR MAKING A THOROUGH 
 SERVANT. 
 
 RS MASON having with difficulty at 
 length prevailed on Mr Stewart to con- 
 sent to her departure, and having heard 
 from the Morisons that everything was 
 ready for her reception, took the oppor- 
 tunity of the first fine day to set out on 
 her return to Glenburnie. 
 
 It was a hard frost ; but though the 
 air in the shade was keen and piercing, 
 its keenness was unfelt when in the 
 kindly rays of the soul-enlivening sun. Mrs Mason, 
 though she had not the eye of a painter, or connois- 
 seur, enjoyed in perfection the pleasures of taste, in 
 as far as they arise from feeling and observation ; and 
 as she considered all the beauties of nature as proofs 
 of the divine beneficence, the contemplation of them 
 always served to increase her confidence in the pro- 
 tection of the Almighty, of whose immediate presence 
 they were to her a sacred pledge. To a person thus 
 disposed, every change of season has some peculiar 
 189 
 
190 The Cottagers 
 
 charm, and every object appears placed in a point of 
 view in which all that is lovely is seen to most advan- 
 tage. She had no doubt that the air of cheerfulness 
 which the bright sky diffused over the face of nature 
 imparted a sensible delight to all the animal creation ; 
 and saw with pleasure, as she passed through the farm 
 of Gowan Brae, the out-lying cattle, roused from their 
 cold beds, and dressing their shaggy sides, by rubbing 
 them against the silver stems of the weeping birch, 
 whose pendent branches shivered over the stream. 
 The little birds, who, during the late stonns, seemed 
 to have been annihilated, were now heard chirruping 
 in every sheltered nook, or seen in flocks lightly flitting 
 from field to field. As the day advanced, the plants 
 on the sunny side of the road, glittering with dew 
 drops, exhibited a fine contrast to the part that was 
 still in shade, where every bushy brier and scrambling 
 bramble were clothed in feathery frost-work. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mrs Mason, as she cast her eyes over 
 the dazzling prospect, ' Yes, all the works of God are 
 good and beautiful ; all the designs of Providence 
 must terminate in producing happiness and joy. The 
 piercing cold of winter prepares the earth for the pro- 
 duction of its summer fruits ; and when the sorrows 
 of life pierce the heart, is it not for the same bene- 
 volent purpose ? When they are never felt, how many 
 are the noxious weeds that overrun the soil ! Let me 
 then be thankful for the wholesome correctives that 
 have been sent in mercy. Neither winter nor poverty 
 are without their days of sunshine, their moments of 
 enjoyment. See that group of children upon the ice ! 
 Heaven bless the merry elves ! how joyously they 
 laugh, and sport, and scamper, little caring how keen 
 the cold wind may blow, so that it brings them the 
 pleasure of a slide.' Mrs Mason pursued the train of 
 
of Glen bu rn ie. 1 9 1 
 
 her reflections till she arrived at Morison's cottage, 
 where she was received with a cordial welcome, to the 
 comforts of ' a blazing ingle and a clean hearth-stane.' 
 On examining her own apartment, she was delighted 
 to find that everything was arranged to her wish, and 
 far beyond her expectations ; nor could she persuade 
 herself that her room had not undergone some very 
 material and expensive alteration. This striking im- 
 provement was, however, merely the result of a little 
 labour and attention ; but so great was the effect thus 
 produced, that though the furniture was not nearly so 
 costly as the furniture of her room at Mrs MacClarty's, 
 it appeared in all respects superior. 
 
 Mrs Morison was highly gratified by the approba- 
 tion bestowed upon her labours ; and pointing to her 
 two little girls, told Mrs Mason how much they had 
 done to forward the work, and that they were proud 
 to find her pleased with it. Mrs Mason thanked them, 
 and presented each with a ribbon as an encourage- 
 ment for good behaviour ; assuring them, at the same 
 time, that they would through life find happiness the 
 reward of usefulness. 
 
 'Alas !' said Mrs Morison, 'they must be obliged 
 to work ; poor things, they have nothing else to de- 
 pend on.' 
 
 ' And on what can they depend so well as on their 
 own exertions ?' replied Mrs Mason. ' Let them learn 
 to excel in what they do, and look to the blessing of 
 God upon their labours, and they may then pity the 
 idle and the useless.' 
 
 ' If you could but get my poor gudeman to think 
 in that way,' said Peggy, ' your coming to us would, 
 indeed, be a blessing to our family.' 
 
 'Fear not,' said Mrs Mason; 'as his health 
 amends his spirits will return, and in the good provi- 
 
192 The Cottagers 
 
 dence of God he will find some useful opening for his 
 industry. Who ever saw the righteous man forsaken, 
 or the righteous man's children either, so long as they 
 walk in their father's steps? But now I must give 
 some directions to my two little handmaids, whose 
 attendance I shall take, week about. I see they are 
 willing, and they will soon be able to do all that I 
 require.' 
 
 'I'll answer for their being willing,' cried their 
 mother, looking fondly at the girls ; ' but ye winna 
 tak' it ill if they shouldna just fa' at ance into your 
 ways.' 
 
 ' If they are willing,' said Mrs Mason, ' they will 
 soon learn to do everything in the best way possible. 
 All I want of them is to save themselves trouble, by 
 getting into the habit of minding what they have to 
 do. Any one who is willing may soon become a use- 
 ful servant, by attending to three simple rules.' 
 
 'To three rules!' cried Peggy, interrupting her; 
 ' that's odd, indeed. But my gudeman maun hear 
 this. ' Come, William, and hear Mrs Mason tell our 
 lassies a' the duties of a servant.' 
 
 ' I fear the kail will be cauld before she gets 
 through them all,' said William, smiling; 'but I'm 
 ready to listen to her, though it should.' 
 
 'Your patience won't be long tried, said Mrs 
 Mason ; ' for I have already told your girls, that, in 
 order to make good servants, they have only to attend 
 to three simple rules.' 
 
 'Well, what are they?' said the husband and wife, 
 speaking both at once. 
 
 ' They are,' returned Mrs Mason, ' To do ex'ery- 
 tking in its proper ti?ne ; to keep everything to its proper 
 use; and to put everything in its proper place! 
 
 ' Well said !' cried William ; ' and as I live, these 
 
of Glcnburnie. 193 
 
 same rules will mak a weel-ordered house ! My 
 lassies shall get them by heart, and repeat them ilka 
 morning after they say their prayers.' 
 
 William kept his word ; and Mrs Mason, finding 
 that she would be supported by the parents, did not 
 despair of being truly useful to the children, by con- 
 veying to them the fruits of her experience. Mrs 
 Morison was a neat orderly person, and liked to see 
 her house and children what she called iveel redd tip; 
 but her notions of what was necessary to comfort fell 
 far short of Mrs Mason's. Neither had she been 
 accustomed to that thorough-going cleanliness, which 
 is rather the fruit of habitual attention than of periodi- 
 cal labour; and which, like the pure religion that 
 permits not the accumulation of unrepented sins upon 
 the conscience, makes holiday of every day in the 
 week. Mrs Morison was a stranger to the pride 
 which scorns instruction. She did not refuse to adopt 
 methods that were better than her own, merely because 
 they were new ; nor, though she loved her children as 
 fondly and as dearly as any mother in the world, did 
 she ever defend their faults. But as her children were 
 early inspired with a desire to please, they did not 
 often stand in need of correction ; and stood more in 
 awe of their father's frown than those who have been 
 nurtured in self-will stand in awe of a severe beating. 
 
 Mrs Mason had not been many weeks a resident 
 in the family till the peculiar neatness of William's 
 cottage attracted the notice of the neighbours. The 
 proud sneered at what they called the pride of the 
 broken merchant ; the idle wondered how folk could 
 find time for sic useless wark ; and the lazy, while 
 they acknowledged that they would like to live in the 
 same comfort, drew in their chairs to the fire, and 
 said, they couldna be fashed. 
 
194 The Cottagers 
 
 The air of cheerfulness which was diffused around 
 him had a happy effect upon William's spirits; but 
 the severity of the winter was adverse to the recovery 
 of his health. The rheumatism, which had settled in 
 his left arm, had now rendered it entirely useless, and 
 thus defeated all his schemes of getting into employ- 
 ment. The last sale of his effects had been so pro- 
 ductive, that his creditors were paid seventeen shillings 
 in the pound ; but the remainder of what was due to 
 them lay heavy on his heart ; and, notwithstanding 
 his efforts at resignation, the thoughts of what his wife 
 and children must suffer from the pressure of poverty, 
 drew from his bosom many a deep-drawn sigh. 
 
 The more Mrs Mason saw of William, the more 
 deeply did she become interested in his situation ; 
 and as no scheme occurred to her that was likely to 
 improve it, she resolved to consult her good friend, 
 the minister, whose mind she knew to be no less 
 active than benevolent. An invitation to dine at the 
 manse was, therefore, gladly accepted oi ; and scarcely 
 had she taken her seat until the subject was intro- 
 duced, and William's affairs became the topic of con- 
 versation. Miss Gourlay expressed great concern; 
 but, recollecting that she had forgot to give directions 
 for making sauce for the pudding, left the room in the 
 middle of Mrs Mason's speech. Her uncle, though 
 he listened with great attention, made no other reply, 
 than by saying, that he should be better able to speak 
 upon the subject after dinner; adding, with a smile, 
 that ' he never talked well with a hungry stomach.' 
 
 The nice roast fowl and boiled beef and greens 
 being at that moment placed upon the table, pre- 
 vented all reply; but when the cloth was removed 
 and grace said, and the glasses filled, Mr Gourlay, 
 looking significantly after the sturdy lass who had 
 
of Glenburnie. 195 
 
 attended, said, 'Well, madam, now the hurly-burly* 3 
 done, we may, without fear of interruption, enter on 
 the business of poor Morison, whom I from my heart 
 wish to serve. I have thought of a plan for him ; 
 which, if he has no objections to it, will keep him 
 above want. What would you think of his becoming 
 schoolmaster?' 
 
 ' 1 should think well of it,' replied Mrs Mason, ' if 
 nothing more were to be required of him than teach- 
 ing writing, arithmetic, and reading English.' 
 
 ' Nothing more shall be required of him,' replied 
 Mr Gourlay. 'We have suffered enough from the 
 pedantry of a blockhead, who piqued himself upon 
 hie, hcec, hoe, and who, though he has no more pre- 
 tensions to being a scholar than my horse, is as proud 
 as he is stupid. Until he came into the office, the 
 school of Glenburnie had always maintained a respect- 
 able character ; and the instruction which our youth 
 received at it was, so far as it went, solid and useful. 
 But in the twelve years that it has been kept by Brown, 
 it has, I verily believe, done more harm than good. 
 It could not, indeed, be otherwise ; for it was an ever- 
 lasting scene of noise, riot, and confusion.' 
 
 ' I should have thought, sir, that your authority 
 would have been sufficient to introduce better regu- 
 lations. Is not the parish school in some measure 
 under your control ?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Mr Gourlay, ' control is, in this 
 country, out of the question ; nor do I believe that, if 
 it were permitted, it would answer any good purpose ; 
 for who would embroil themselves, by opposing the 
 pride and perverseness of an obstinate blockhead, 
 unless when zeal was whetted by personal animosity? 
 and under such malign influence, control would soon 
 be converted into an engine of oppression,' 
 
tg6 The Cottagers of Glenbumie. 
 
 ' But might not your advice, sir — ' 
 
 'Advice! Surely, my good madam, you must 
 know too much of the world to imagine that a self- 
 sufficient pedant will ever be advised. No pope of 
 Rome, in the days of papal power, was ever more 
 jealous of his title to infallibity, than the schoolmaster 
 of Glenburnie. I once, and only once, endeavoured 
 to persuade him how much he would abridge his own 
 labour, and facilitate the improvement of his scholars, 
 by adopting a regular method of teaching, and intro- 
 ducing certain rules into his school. But if I had 
 attempted to take from him his bread, he could not 
 have been more indignant, nor considered himself 
 as more deeply injured. He never forgave me ; and 
 I really believe that the grudge he entertained against 
 me was the primary motive of his leaving the kirk 
 and running after these enthusiasts, among whom he 
 has now commenced preaching.' 
 
 * # * # 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the 
 entrance of one of Mr Gourlay's parishioners ; a cir- 
 cumstance which affords a favourable opportunity of 
 concluding the present chapter. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 M> CONCERNING THE DUTIES OF A SCHOOL- 
 
 £#|&$) MASTER. 
 
 HE day after her visit to the minister, 
 Mrs Mason took the first opportunity 
 of speaking to Morison of the scheme 
 which had been suggested. The colour 
 which shot across his pallid cheek, and 
 the animation which lighted up his lan- 
 guid eye, as he in mute attention listened 
 to' the proposal, showed how deeply 
 it interested him. His joy was, how- 
 ever, dashed by diffidence. He had not been trained 
 to the business of teaching, and feared that it required 
 abilities superior to his. While he expressed his 
 thanks, and intimated his apprehensions, with a 
 simplicity and candour peculiar to his character, 
 his wife, who sympathised more deeply in his grati- 
 tude than in his fears, exhorted Mrs Mason never to 
 mind what her gudeman said of himself; for that it 
 was just his way, always to think lowlier of himself 
 than he need do. ' I am sure,' continued she, ' that 
 not a lord in all the land writes a more beautiful 
 hand ; and as for reading, he may compare wi' the 
 
 197 
 
198 The Cottagers 
 
 minister himseP ! the kittlest word carina' stop him.' 
 Observing Mrs Mason smile, she paused, and then 
 good-humouredly added, ' I canna expect every ane 
 to think as highly of my gudeman as I do ; but I am 
 sure I may safely say, that baith for learning and 
 worth he's equal to a higher post than being school- 
 master o' Glenburnie.' 
 
 ' You are perfectly right,' cried Mr Gourlay, who 
 had entered unobserved by any one ; and I believe we 
 are all of the same opinion with regard to your hus- 
 band's merit. Nay, you need not blush at having 
 praised him, unless indeed you are ashamed at being 
 so unfashionable a wife.' 
 
 ' O sir,' returned Peggy, blushing yet more deeply, 
 ' we have nothing to do with fashion, but I hope we 
 shall be grateful to God and our friends for all their 
 kindness, and that you will prevail on William not to 
 put from him such an advantage as this blessed offer.' 
 
 William, fearing that Mr Gourlay would misinter- 
 pret the reluctance hinted at, eagerly declared how 
 joyfully he should accept the employment, did he con- 
 sider himself fully qualified for discharging its duties ; 
 but that his want of experience in the art of teaching 
 destroyed his confidence, and rendered him hopeless 
 of success. 
 
 ' And it is upon that very circumstance that my 
 hopes of your success are founded,' replied Mr Gour- 
 lay. 'You are not, I imagine, too proud to be ad- 
 vised ?' 
 
 ' No, indeed, sir, I am not,' cried William. 
 
 ' Then, as you are not wedded to any particular 
 method, you will honestly inquire, and candidly 
 follow, what appears to be the best ; nor obstinately 
 refuse to adopt improvements that have been sug- 
 gested by others, when their utility has been placed 
 
of Glenburnie. 199 
 
 beyond a doubt. I do not say that you are at present 
 qualified ; I only say, that, by candid inquiry and 
 vigilant attention, you will soon become qualified for 
 the discharge of an office, the duties of which are, in 
 my opinion, seldom, understood. A country school- 
 master, who considers himself hired to give lessons in 
 certain branches of learning, and, when he has given 
 these, thinks he has done his duty, knows not what 
 his duty is.' 
 
 ' And what, sir, if I may take the liberty of asking, 
 what, in your opinion, is the nature and extent of the 
 duties incumbent on the schoolmaster who would con- 
 scientiously discharge his trust?' 
 
 ' As a preliminary to the answer of your question,' 
 replied the pastor, ' let me ask you, what is the end 
 you aim at, in sending your children to school ?' 
 
 ' I send them,' returned William, ' in order that 
 they may learn to read and write, and cast accounts ; 
 all of which they might, to be sure, have learned from 
 me at home, but not so well, because I could not have 
 given them their lessons so regularly.' 
 
 ' That is one reason, to be sure,' said Mr 
 Gourlay, ' and a good one ; but why do you wish 
 them to be instructed in the branches you have men- 
 tioned?' 
 
 1 1 wish them to learn to read,' returned William, 
 ' that their minds may be enlarged by knowledge, and 
 that they may be able to study the Word of God, and 
 I have them taught to write and cast accounts, that 
 thay may have it in their power to carry on business, 
 if it should be their lot to engage in any.' 
 
 ' That is to say,' replied Mr Gourlay, ' that you are 
 anxious to give your children such instruction as may 
 enable them faithfully to discharge their religious and 
 social duties. Your object is laudable ; but it is not 
 
200 The Cottagers 
 
 merely by teaching them to read and write that it is to 
 be accomplished. If their minds are not in some de- 
 gree opened, they will never use the means thus put 
 into their hands ; and if their hearts are not in some 
 degree cultivated, the means of knowledge will lead 
 them rather to evil than to good. Even as to the art 
 of reading, the acquirement of it will be useless, if the 
 teacher has confined his instructions to the mere sounds 
 of words, especially where these sounds are very dif- 
 ferent from those which we are accustomed to use in 
 conversing with each other.' 
 
 ' I confess, sir,' said William, ' I never could find 
 out the reason why all the children at our schools are 
 taught to roar, and sing out what they read, in such an 
 unnatural tone ; but as the custom is so universal, I 
 thought there surely must be some use in it ; and, in- 
 deed, I know many people who think it would not be 
 decent, nor proper, to read the Bible without some- 
 thing of the same tone.' 
 
 ' Nothing can be more absurd than such a notion,' 
 returned Mr Gourlay ; ' for if we sincerely respect the 
 Word of God, we ought to do all in our power to ren- 
 der it intelligible to ourselves and others. How else 
 can we expect to profit by the instruction it conveys ? 
 The mere sound, without the sense, will do us no 
 more good than a tune on the bagpipes. Yet, if we 
 are once taught at school to connect notions of piety 
 with certain discordant accents, it is ten to one U we 
 ever get so far quit of the impression, as to pay atten- 
 tion to the religious truths that are delivered with a 
 natural and proper accent; while the greatest non- 
 sense and absurdity, if conveyed to our ears in a solemn 
 drawl, will pass for superior sanctity. It thus becomes 
 easy for fools and hypocrites to impose on the cre- 
 dulity of the multitude.' 
 
of Glenburnie. 201 
 
 'But, sir,' said Mrs Mason, 'it is not by fools and 
 hypocrites alone that these false tones are made the 
 vehicles of instruction. Of all the excellent sermons 
 given us by the gentlemen who assisted at your 
 preachings, how few were delivered with such pro- 
 priety as to do full justice to the sentiments they 
 conveyed ?' 
 
 ' I cannot deny the truth of your observation,' re- 
 turned Mr Gourlay. ' It is to be regretted that those 
 who have early engaged in the study of the learned 
 languages seldom consider the art of reading English 
 an object worthy their attention. They, therefore, are 
 at little pains to correct the bad method so generally 
 acquired at country schools. With regard to our pea- 
 santry, the effects of that bad method are still more 
 unfortunate : it frequently renders their boasted advan- 
 tages of education useless. This would not be the 
 case, did the schoolmaster consider it his duty to teach 
 his pupils to read with understanding, and carefully to 
 observe whether they know the meaning and import of 
 the words they utter. This they never can do, if they 
 are not taught to read distinctly, and as nearly as 
 possible in the tone of conversation. Nor is this all ; 
 in order to reap instruction from what they read, their 
 minds must be in a state to receive it. Were this at- 
 tended to by the parents at home, the schoolmaster 
 would have an easy task; but, instead of bestowing 
 this necessary preparation, there seems to be, from the 
 palace to the cottage, a combination among parents of 
 all descriptions, to nurture in the minds of infants all 
 those passions which reason and religion must be ap- 
 plied to subdue. The schoolmaster who lends his 
 endeavours to remedy this evil, renders a more im- 
 portant service to the community than is in the power 
 of any other public functionary. It should, there- 
 
202 The Cottagers 
 
 fore, be his first object to train his pupils to habits 
 of order and subordination, not by means of terror, 
 but by a firmness which is not incompatible with 
 kindness and affection.' 
 
 ' But how,' said Morison, ' without punishment, can 
 order and subordination be enforced? and will not 
 punishment beget terror, and terror beget aversion ? I 
 should think that a severe schoolmaster never could 
 be beloved, and I fear a lenient one would never be 
 obeyed. This is my great difficulty.' 
 
 • Did you ever know a child complain of being 
 punished when sensible that the punishment was just?' 
 replied Mr Gourlay. ' No ; there is a sense of justice 
 implanted in the human mind, which shows itself even 
 in the first dawn of reason, and would always operate, 
 were it not stifled by the injudicious management of 
 parents, who do not punish according to justice, but 
 according to caprice. Of this the schoolmaster, who 
 follows a well-digested plan, will never be guilty. He 
 will be careful to avoid another common error of 
 parents, who often, by oversight, lead their children to 
 incur the penalty, and then enforce it, when in reality 
 it is they, and not the children, who ought to pay the 
 forfeit. I should pronounce the same sentence on the 
 master, who punished a boy at school for playing or 
 making a noise, if it appeared that he had provided 
 him with no better employment. This is the great 
 fault in all our country schools. The children spend 
 three-fourths of their time in downright idleness, and 
 when fatigued with the listlessness of inaction, have 
 no other resource but in making noise or doing mis- 
 chief.' 
 
 ' But surely, sir,' said William, ' the master cannot 
 hear them all say their lessons at once ?' 
 
 ' True,' replied Mr Gourlay ; ' but while he hears 
 
of Glenburnie. 203 
 
 one may not the others be at work the while ? I will 
 show you a book written by one Mr David Manson, a 
 schoolmaster in the north of Ireland, which contains 
 an account of what he calls his play-school ; the re- 
 gulations of which are so excellent, that every scholar 
 must have been made insensibly to teach himself, 
 while he all the time considered himself as assisting 
 the master in teaching others. All were thus at the 
 same time actively engaged ; but so regulated as to 
 produce not the least confusion or disturbance.' 
 
 Mr Morison expressed great satisfaction in having 
 such assistance offered him with regard to the method 
 of teaching, and begged Mr Gourlay still farther to 
 oblige him by giving his opinion on the moral in- 
 struction which it was the duty of a schoolmaster to 
 convey. 
 
 In reply to this, Mr Gourlay observed that the 
 school in which the greatest number of moral habits 
 were acquired, would certainly be the best school of 
 moral instruction. ' Every person capable of reflec- 
 tion attaches great importance to what we call good 
 principles,' continued the worthy pastor ; ' now what 
 are good principles but certain truths brought habi- 
 tually to recollection as rules of conscience and guides 
 of conduct ? Our knowledge of all the truths ot re- 
 velation can be of no further use to us than as they are 
 thus, by being habitually referred to, wrought into the 
 frame of our mind, till they become principles ot 
 action and motives of conduct. By a mere repetition 
 of the words in which these truths are conveyed, this 
 will never be effected. The teacher, therefore, who 
 wishes that his instructions may have the force of 
 principles, must endeavour to bring the truths he in- 
 culcates into such constant notice, that they may 
 become habitual motives to the will. In a school 
 
204 The Cottagers 
 
 wheie there is no order, no subordination, a boy may 
 read lessons of obedience and self-government, day 
 after day, without having any impression made upon 
 his mind. Has he learned to steal and to tell lies ; 
 occasional punishment will not be sufficient to enforce 
 the principles of truth and honesty. In order to con- 
 vert sincerity and integrity into abiding habits of the 
 mind, the love of these virtues must be strengthened 
 by a conviction of the estimation in which they are 
 held by God and man. Falsehood and dishonesty 
 must be rendered objects of abhorrence ; and this 
 they will soon become if constantly and regularly at- 
 tended by shame and disgrace. This comes to be the 
 more incumbent on the schoolmaster, because (I am 
 sorry to say it) lying is too generally considered by the 
 poor as a very slight offence, or rather indeed as an 
 excusable artifice, often necessary, sometimes even 
 laudable. It is truly shocking to find the prevalence 
 of this vice in a country that boasts of the degree of 
 instruction given to the poor. But where shall we find 
 the tradesman on whose word one can depend with 
 confidence ? Is it among the enthusiasts who pretend 
 to the greatest portion of religious zeal ? No. Go to 
 the next town and bespeak a pair of shoes of one of 
 these saints ; will he not solemnly promise that they 
 shall be made by a certain day, while he, in his con- 
 science, knows they will not then have had a single 
 stitch put into them ? So it is with tradesmen in every 
 branch of business. And has this want of probity no 
 effect upon the moral character? Is it consistent 
 with the belief of our being accountable to the God oj 
 truth ? And were the doctrine of our being thus ac- 
 countable wrought into our minds as an abiding prin- 
 ciple, would it be possible that it should have no 
 greater effect upon our actions ? Remember, that you 
 
of Glenburnic. 205 
 
 being called to the office of instruction, you are bound 
 to do all that is in your power to lead the little child- 
 ren unto Him who declared, that for this end He came 
 into the world, to bear witness to the truth. With this 
 impression constantly on your mind, you need be under 
 no apprehensions concerning the success that will at- 
 tend your labours.' 
 
 Morison warmly expressed the gratitude he truly 
 felt for the instructions of his good pastor, and declared 
 himself convinced by his arguments of the nature and 
 extent of the duties he had to perform ; but added, 
 that, so far from being deterred, he was more inclined 
 than ever to undertake the task, provided Mrs Mason 
 would become his coadjutor in the instruction of the 
 girls, for which she should have half the salary of the 
 school. To this proposal Mrs Mason cheerfully 
 agreed; and as the heritors had, with one consent, 
 determined to leave the choice of a schoolmaster to 
 the minister, Morison soon received a regular appoint- 
 ment to the office; orders being at the same time issued 
 to prepare the school-house and the premises attached, 
 for the reception of his family. 
 
 While the repairs were under consideration, Mrs 
 Mason received a visit from Mj Stewart, who glad- 
 dened her heart by a letter which had been directed to 
 his care. At the first glance she saw that it had come 
 from Italy, and that the cover had been directed by 
 Lady Harriet Bandon. The tears of joy which burst 
 from her eyes prevented her for some moments from 
 proceeding to read the contents. They were such as 
 increased her emotion of gratitude and tenderness. 
 She clasped her hands, and looking up to heaven, 
 blessed the God of mercies for having preserved the 
 family to whom she was devoted in attachment, and 
 for having bestowed on them such hearts as would 
 
206 The Cottagers 
 
 render them blessings to the world. She then showed 
 Mr Stewart the letter, which contained the most cordial 
 assurances of the never-ceasing regard and affection of 
 her beloved pupils, and a short account of their tour, 
 with special injunctions to send them, in return, a 
 particular account of her health, and of all that had 
 happened to her since they parted. A postscript was 
 added by Mr Merriton, requesting that she would lay 
 out the remittance he enclosed of twenty pounds, in 
 doing all the good that such a trifle could effect. By 
 thus putting it in her power to gratify her benevolence, 
 the writer well knew he was affording the most delicate 
 proof of his regard. As such Mrs Mason received it ; 
 but she now found that Mr Stewart was commissioned 
 to make the comfort of her situation a first object of 
 attention. Her annuity was to be increased, if neces- 
 sary, to even double the sum at first promised her ; but 
 she declined accepting any more than was sufficient 
 for the purchase of some additional articles of fur- 
 niture for the habitation to which she was soon to 
 remove. 
 
 The house allotted to the village teacher was large, 
 but so ill planned as to be incommodious and uncom- 
 fortable. The alterations suggested by Mrs Mason 
 removed these objections, and were favourable to her 
 plans of order and cleanliness. A useless appendage, 
 which projected by the back-door entrance, and which 
 had hitherto been the receptacle of dirt and rubbish, 
 was converted into a nice scullery, where the washing 
 of clothes or dishes was carried on, so that the kitchen 
 was kept always neat and clean. The two little girls 
 had now acquired such a taste for neatness, and such 
 habits of activity, that they not only took unwearied 
 pains to make everything appear to the best advantage 
 in the kitchen and parlour, which were often liable to 
 
of Glenburnie. 207 
 
 be seen by strangers, but were so orderly and regular 
 in their exertions, that, from the garrets downwards, 
 not a pile of dust found a resting-place where it might 
 remain unmolested. 
 
 Those who had known the house in its former con- 
 dition were amazed at the transformation, and could 
 scarcely believe that such a change could be effected 
 without the help of enchantment. Nor was it to the 
 inside of the house that the transformation was con- 
 fined ; without doors it was perhaps still more remark- 
 able. The school-house being set back from the 
 street, left an area of the width of ten or twelve yards 
 in front of the house; and on this convenient spot 
 the former incumbent had erected a pig-sty, and piled 
 up a nasty dunghill. Every shower of rain washed 
 part of the contents into the unpaved footpath, through 
 which the children paddled ankle-deep in mud up to 
 the school-room door. But they were used to it, and 
 no one in the village had ever objected to the incon- 
 venience. 
 
 Morison having removed the incumbrances, sowed 
 the area with grass-seeds, and round it made a border 
 to be filled with flowers and shrubs. It was then 
 railed in, leaving a road up to the school, and an 
 entrance, by a neat wicker gate, to the front door of 
 the dwelling-house. Planting, watering, and rearing 
 the shrubs and flowers which ornamented the borders 
 of the grass-plot, became the favourite amusement of 
 the elder school-boys ; and, being the reward of good 
 behaviour, was considered as a mark of favour which 
 all were ambitious to obtain. 
 
 The school-room had been left in a ruinous con- 
 dition ; the tables and benches broken or disfigured ; 
 the plaster in some places peeled off the walls, and in 
 others scrawled over with chalk or ochre ; the panes 
 
2o8 The Cottagers 
 
 of the windows broken and stuffed with rags; and 
 the floor covered with such a thick paste of dirt, 
 that it was not till after much hard labour that the 
 pavement was rendered visible. 
 
 All was now put in complete repair, and on the 
 first of May the school opened with forty scholars. 
 The twenty-five boys, and the fifteen girls, who made 
 up this number, came pouring in pell-mell, in the dis- 
 orderly manner to which they had been formerly accus- 
 tomed; and observing that the desks and benches 
 were not yet placed, they were proceeding in groups 
 rudely to seize on them, but were arrested by the 
 master, who commanded silence in a tone of such 
 authority as forced attention. Having formed them 
 into a circle round his chair, he explained to them 
 that the school was henceforth to be governed by 
 rules, to which he would exact the most complete 
 obedience ; and then examining the boys as to their 
 respective progress, he formed them into separate 
 classes, making the girls meantime stand apart. 
 
 The boys were then led out of the school, that they 
 might then make their entrance in proper order. Those 
 of the first class taking the lead, were directed how to 
 clean their feet upon the scraper and well-bound wisps 
 of straw, which served instead of mats. They next 
 placed for themselves their forms and benches, oppo- 
 site a double slip of wood fixed to the wall, marked 
 No. i, and stuck full of pegs for their hats to hang 
 on ; the second and third classes marched in, each in 
 their turn, and took their places in equal order. Mrs 
 Mason meanwhile allotted to the girls their proper 
 stations, near her chair at the upper end of the school- 
 room, where they were concealed from view by a 
 screen, which formed a sort of moveable partition 
 between them and the boys. 
 
 At first several of the children were refractory, and 
 
of Glenburnie. 209 
 
 many symptoms of a mutinous disposition appeared ; 
 but by patience and perseverance all were so com- 
 pletely brought into subjection, that by the time the 
 minister visited the school, at the conclusion of the 
 first month, all the plans he had suggested were com- 
 pletely carried into execution. Each of the three 
 classes were, according to Manson's method, divided j 
 into three distinct orders, viz., landlord, tenants, and 
 under-tenants. The landlord prescribed the lesson, 
 which was to be received as rent from his tenants ; 
 each of the tenants had one or two under-tenants, 
 who were in like manner bound to pay him a certain 
 portion of reading or spelling lesson ; and, when the 
 class was called up, the landlord was responsible to 
 the master, as superior lord, not only for his own 
 diligence, but for the diligence of his vassals. The 
 landlord, who appeared to have neglected his duty, or 
 who permitted the least noise or disturbance in his 
 class, was degraded to the rank of an under-tenant. 
 It was, therefore, his interest not to permit any in- 
 fringement of the rules. When these were in any 
 instance broken, it became his duty to inform the 
 master, who called the culprit before him, attended 
 by the landlord and tenants of his class. If the 
 tenants who formed his jury found him guilty of the 
 charge, sentence of punishment was immediately pro- 
 nounced. If idleness was the crime, the culprit was 
 obliged to sit in a corner, having his eyes blindfolded, 
 and his hands tied across ; if disobedience had been 
 proved against him, he was imprisoned in a large 
 chair turned to the wall ; and if noise, he was obliged 
 to carry a drum upon his back round the school. 
 Nor after punishment did a boy immediately regain 
 his rank ; he was obliged to sit apart from his com- 
 panions the whole of the following day, without being 
 
 o 
 
210 The Cottagers 
 
 permitted, while in disgrace, to look upon a book. 
 All the lads, especially those who were at a more 
 advanced period, found this species of punishment 
 more intolerable than any manual chastisement that 
 could have been inflicted; and the consequence of 
 this was highly favourable to the master's views. 
 
 Mr Gourlay, having examined the state of each class, 
 distributed to the landlords and head-tenants the pre- 
 miums provided by Mrs Mason, who devoted to this 
 use part of the money sent by Mr Merriton. These 
 consisted of light hoes, small spades, and other imple- 
 ments of gardening, together with parcels of flower- 
 seed suited to the season of the year. He next visited 
 the girls' school, where, extraordinary as it may appear, 
 Mrs Mason had encountered greater difficulties than 
 had occurred to M orison in the execution of his task. 
 She had, indeed, since her residence in Glenburnie, 
 frequently observed that the female children of the 
 poor had far less appearance of intelligence and saga- 
 city than the males of the same age ; and could not 
 otherwise account for this than by supposing that their 
 education had been more neglected. This, as far as 
 schooling was concerned, was not the case ; but while 
 the boys, by being constantly engaged either in ob- 
 serving the operations that were going on without- 
 doors, or in assisting them, had their attention exer- 
 cised and their observation called forth, the girls, till 
 able to spin, were without object or occupation. After 
 the first week the labour of the wheel became mecha- 
 nical, and required no exertion of the mental faculties. 
 The mind, therefore, remained inert; and the power 
 of perception, from being so long dormant, became at 
 length extinct. The habits acquired by such beings 
 were not easily to be changed ; for nothing is so in- 
 tractable as stupidity. 
 
of Glenburnie. 2 1 1 
 
 But Mrs Mason having discovered the root of 
 the disease, judiciously applied proper remedies. It 
 was her first care to endeavour to rouse the sleep- 
 ing faculties. To effect this, she not only con- 
 trived varieties of occupation, but made all the girls 
 examine and sit in judgment on the work that was 
 done. Considering the business of household work 
 as not merely useful to girls in their station as an 
 employment to which many of them would be de- 
 voted, but as a means of calling into action their 
 activity and discernment, she allotted to them, by 
 pairs, the task of cleaning the school-room ; and on 
 Saturday the two girls who had best performed the 
 duties assigned them were promoted to the honour of 
 dusting and rubbing the furniture of her parlour. As 
 to the rest, the morning was devoted to needle-work, 
 the afternoon to instruction in reading ; but whether 
 at the needle or book, she rendered their tasks easy 
 and cheerful by the pleasantness of her manners, which 
 were always kind and affectionate. 
 
 When Mr Gourlay distributed the rewards pre- 
 pared for the girls whose behaviour had been most 
 approved, he expressed great approbation at their 
 progress ; and particularly noticed their improvement 
 in personal neatness and good-breeding, which assured 
 him of the attention they were likely to pay to the 
 instruction of their teacher in points still more essen- 
 tial, and concluded by giving a suitable exhortation. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 RS MASON had not been many months 
 in her employment of schoolmistress, 
 when she received a great addition to 
 her consequence in the eyes of her 
 neighbours, by the accession of Mr Mer- 
 riton to the estate and title of Long- 
 lands, on the sudden decease of his 
 elder brother. The amiable disposition 
 of this young nobleman left no room to 
 doubt of his gratitude to the preserver 
 of his life, and the instructress of his infancy. The 
 friendship of Mrs Mason was therefore considered of 
 great importance by those who in any way depended 
 on the favour or protection of their superior lord. But 
 even where there was no interested motive, the use 
 which she had already made of his bounty, and the 
 certainty that she would have the means of doing still 
 farther good, had a wonderful effect in increasing the 
 opinion of her wisdom. 
 
 Of all the people in the village, it was to poor Mrs 
 MacClarty alone that this opinion came too late to 
 
The Cottagers of Glenburnle. 213 
 
 be of any use. When she observed the thriving ap- 
 pearance of the Morisons, and how fast they were 
 rising into notice and respect, her heart was torn be- 
 tween envy and regret. Far was she, however, from 
 imputing to herself any blame ; she, on the contrary, 
 believed all the blame to rest with Mrs Mason, who 
 was so unnatural as to leave her own relations, ' and 
 to tak up wi' strangers, who were neither kith nor kin 
 to her ;' nor did she omit any opportunity of railing 
 at the pride of the schoolmaster's wife and daughters, 
 who, she said, c were now sae saucy as to pretend 
 that they couldna sit doon in comfort in a hoose 
 that wasna' clean soopit.' 
 
 She for a time found many among the neighbours 
 who readily acquiesced in her opinions, and joined 
 in her expressions of contempt ; but by degrees the 
 strength of her party visibly declined. Those who 
 had their children at school were so sensible of the 
 rapid improvement that had been made in their 
 tempers and manners, as well as in their learning, 
 that they could not help feeling some gratitude to 
 their instructors ; and Mrs Mason having instructed 
 the girls in needle-work, without any additional charge, 
 added considerably to their sense of obligation. Even 
 the old women, who, during the first summer, had 
 most bitterly exclaimed against the pride of inno- 
 vation, were by mid-winter inclined to alter their 
 tone. How far the flannel waistcoats and petticoats 
 distributed among them contributed to this change 
 of sentiment cannot be positively ascertained; but 
 certain it is, that as the people were coming from 
 Church the first fine day of the following spring, all 
 stopped a few moments before the school-house to 
 inhale the fragrance of the sweetbrier, and to admire 
 the beauty of the crocuses, primroses, and violets, 
 
214 The Cottagers 
 
 which embroidered the borders of the grass-plots. 
 Mrs MacClarty, who, in great disdain, asked auld 
 John Smith's wife 'what a' the folk's were glowering 
 at ? ' received for answer that they were ' lookin' at 
 the bonniest sight in a' the town,' pointing at the same 
 time to the spot. 
 
 ' Eh ! ' returned Mrs MacClarty, ' I wonder what 
 the warld will come to at last, since naething can serve 
 the pride o' William Morison, but to hae a flower 
 garden whar' gude Mr Brown's midden-stead stood 
 sappy for mony a day ! he's a better man than will 
 ever stand on William M orison's shanks.' 
 
 ' The flowers are a hantle bonnier than the midden 
 tho,' and smell a hantle sweeter too, I trow,' returned 
 Mrs Smith. 
 
 This striking indication of a change of sentiment 
 in the most sturdy stickler for the gude auld gaits, fore- 
 boded the improvements that were speedily to take 
 place in the village of Glenburnie. These had their 
 origin in the spirit of emulation excited among the 
 elder school-boys, for the external appearance of their 
 respective homes. The girls exerted themselves with 
 no less activity to effect a reformation within doors ; 
 and so successful were they in their respective opera- 
 tions, that by the time the Earl of Longlands came to 
 take possession of Hill Castle, when he, accompanied 
 by his two sisters, came to visit Mrs Mason at Glen- 
 burnie, the village presented such a picture of neatness 
 and comfort, as excelled all that in the course of their 
 travels they had seen. The carts, which used formerly 
 to be stuck up on end before every door, were now 
 placed in wattled sheds attached to the gable end of 
 the dwelling, and which were rendered ornamental 
 from their coverings of honeysuckle or ivy. The bright 
 and clear glass of the windows was seen to advantage 
 
of Glenburnie. 2 1 5 
 
 peeping through the foliage of the rose trees and other 
 flowering shrubs that were trimly nailed against the 
 walls. The gardens on the other side were kept with 
 equal care. There the pot-herb flourished. There 
 the goodly rows of bee-hives evinced the effects of the 
 additional nourishment afforded their inhabitants, and 
 showed that the flowers were of other use besides re- 
 galing the sight or smell. 
 
 Mrs Mason, at the request of her noble benefac- 
 tors, conducted them into several of the cottages, where, 
 merely from the attention paid to neatness, all had the 
 air of cheerfulness and contentment. She was no less 
 pleased than were the cottagers at the expressions of 
 approbation which were liberally bestowed by her ad- 
 miring friends ; who particularly noticed the dress of 
 the young women, which, equally removed from the 
 slovenliness in which so many indulge on working 
 days, as from the absurd and preposterous attempt at 
 fashion, which is on Sundays so generally assumed, 
 was remarkable for neatness and simplicity. 
 
 Great as was Mrs Mason's attachment to the 
 family of Longlands, she would not consent to relin- 
 quish her employment and go to reside at Hill Castle, 
 as they proposed she should immediately do. She 
 continued for some years to give her assistance to 
 Morison in conducting the school, which was now 
 increased by scholars from all parts of the country ; 
 and was amply repaid for her kindness by the un- 
 deviating gratitude of the worthy couple and their 
 children, from whom she experienced a constant in- 
 crease of friendship and affection. 
 
 The happy effects of their joint efforts in improving 
 the hearts and dispositions of the youth of both sexes, 
 and in confirming them in habits of industry and virtue, 
 were so fully displayed, as to afford the greatest satis- 
 
216 The Cottagers 
 
 faction to their instructors. To have been educated 
 at the school of Glenburnie was considered as an ample 
 recommendation to a servant, and implied a security 
 for truth, diligence, and honesty. And fortunate was 
 the lad pronounced, whose bride could boast of the 
 tokens of Mrs Mason's favour and approbation ; for 
 never did these fail to be followed by a conduct that 
 insured happiness and prosperity. 
 
 The events that took place among her friends while 
 Mrs Mason remained at Glenburnie, shall now be 
 briefly noticed. The first of these was Rob Mac- 
 Clarty's taking to wife the daughter of a smuggler, a 
 man of notoriously bad character, who, it was said, 
 tricked him into the marriage. Mrs MacClarty's op- 
 position was violent, but abortive, and ended in an 
 irreconcilable quarrel between her and her son. On 
 being turned out of his house, she went with her daugh- 
 ters to reside at a country town in the neighbourhood, 
 where the latter were employed by a manufacturer in 
 flowering muslin. Their gains were considerable ; but 
 as all they earned was laid out on finery, it only added 
 to their vanity and pride. Meg was in her seventeenth 
 year detected in an intrigue with one of the workmen, 
 and as her seducer refused to marry her, she was ex- 
 posed to disgrace. Leaving to her mother the care of 
 her infant, she went to Edinburgh to look for service, 
 and was never heard of more. Jean's conduct was in 
 some respects less culpable ; but her notions of duty 
 were not such as to afford much comfort to her mother's 
 heart. 
 
 At Gowan Brae all went on prosperously. Mr 
 Stewart had the happiness of seeing his daughter Mary 
 united to an excellent young man, who had a hand- 
 some property in the immediate neighbourhood, and 
 farmed his own estate. His sons turned out as well 
 
of Glenbumie. 2 1 7 
 
 as he could possibly have expected. And Mr and 
 Mrs Mollins, though not all he could have wished, were 
 more reasonable and happy than he had at one time 
 any grounds to expect they would ever be. 
 
 In the second year of his keeping school, Morison 
 had the heart-felt happiness of paying to his creditors 
 the full amount of all he owed them ; and from that 
 moment he seemed to enjoy the blessings of life with 
 double relish. Mrs Mason, perceiving that his daugh- 
 ters were now qualified to succeed her in the charge 
 of the school, at length acceeded to the wishes of her 
 friends, and took possession of the pretty cottage 
 which had been built for her by Lord Longlands, in 
 the midst of the pleasure grounds at Hill Castle. In 
 that sweet retreat she tranquilly spent the last days of 
 a useful life ; looking to the past with gratitude, and 
 to the future with the full assurance of the hope which 
 is mingled with peace and joy. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF 
 'THE COTTAGERS OF GLENBURNIE.' 
 
 ADAM, — It appears very surprising, that, 
 well acquainted as you evidently are 
 with the past and present state of the 
 families about Glenburnie, you should 
 nevertheless be so ignorant of the his- 
 tory of Jean MacClarty, as not to know 
 that she some years ago married a cousin 
 of her own, and that they keep a well- 
 known inn on the road. As their 
 
 circumstances are, I fear, in a declining state, and as 
 it may be in your power to avert their utter ruin, by 
 inducing travellers to give a preference to their house, 
 at which none, alas ! now stop but from dire neces- 
 sity, I shall be at pains to furnish you with such an 
 exact description of it, as cannot fail to be instantly 
 recognised. 
 
 I might begin by mentioning the slovenliness ap- 
 parent about the entrance, the dirty state of the door- 
 steps, etc. ; but as it is not altogether peculiar to this 
 
 3l8 
 
The Cottagers of Glenburnie. 219 
 
 inn, it might serve to mislead you. I shall, therefore, 
 conduct you into the passage, the walls of which seem 
 to have been painted at the time the colour called 
 Paris mud was so much in fashion. The pavement 
 and the stairs have a still blacker groundwork, over 
 which lies a coat of sand, which answers the purpose 
 of a register, and enables them to measure the size of 
 every foot that treads the carpets of the adjoining 
 rooms, as you will perceive on entering the best 
 dining-room, into which you will of course be con- 
 ducted. 
 
 You will imagine on entering it, that you have imme- 
 diately succeeded to a company who have been regal- 
 ing themselves with rum-punch and tobacco ; but you 
 need not scruple to occupy the room on that account, 
 as I assure you the smell is perennial, and has been so 
 carefully preserved in its original purity, that you will 
 find it at all seasons of the year the same. The floor 
 is completely covered with carpet, but what that car- 
 pet covers can only be conjectured, the nails with 
 which it is fastened to the floor having never been 
 removed : and this circumstance, together with the 
 black dust which lies in heaps round the edges, and 
 works up through the thinner part of the fabric, has 
 led many to suppose that a manufactory of charcoal 
 is carried on below ! 
 
 The tables you will find still more worthy your 
 attention. On those that have been much in use 
 you will observe many curious figures traced in ale, 
 etc., bearing a striking resemblance to the Lichen 
 Geographicus, well known to botanists. The chairs 
 you will probably find it advisable to dust before 
 sitting down, and this will be done with great alacrity 
 by the sturdy lass, who, bare-legged and with untied 
 nightcap and scanty bed gown, will, soon after your 
 
220 The Cottagers 
 
 arrival, hurry into the room with a shovelful of coals 
 as a kindling for your fire. As there will, on this 
 occasion, be an absolute necessity for removing at 
 least part of the immense pile of white ashes with 
 which the grate is filled, and which have remained 
 undisturbed since the room was last in use, I would 
 hint the propriety of keeping at a due distance from 
 the scene of action; but when the bars have been 
 raked, I would recommend you not to suffer the farther 
 removal of the ashes, as, if you are any way squeamish, 
 I can assure you they will be of use as a covering to 
 the hearth, especially if your immediate predecessors 
 have been fond of tobacco. 
 
 In the article of attendance you will find this inn 
 to be no less remarkable than in the particulars above 
 described. The waiters are of both sexes, and all are 
 equally ingenious in delay. It is a rule of the house 
 that your bell shall never be answered twice by the 
 same person ; and this is attended with many advan- 
 tages. It in the first place gives you time to know 
 your own mind, and affords you an opportunity, in 
 repeating your orders to so many different people, of 
 making any additions that may in the interim have 
 occurred. It in the next place keeps up the character 
 of the house by making you believe it to be full of 
 company ; and lastly, it provides an excuse for all the 
 mistakes that may be made in obeying your direc- 
 tions. 
 
 If you dine at Mrs MacClarty's I shall not anticipate 
 the pleasure of your meal, farther than to assure you that 
 you may depend on having here the largest and fattest 
 mutton of its age that is anywhere to be met with, and 
 that though it should be roasted to rags, the vegetables 
 will not be more than half boiled. I cannot forbear 
 warning you on the subject of the salt, which you will 
 
of Glenlnimie. 221 
 
 conclude from its appearance to be mixed with pepper, 
 but I am well informed that it is free from all such 
 mixture. As to the knives and forks, spoons, plates, 
 etc., it is needless to tell you that they are in excellent 
 order, as you will at a glance perceive them to have 
 been recently wiped. 
 
 In order to obtain a complete notion of the com- 
 forts of this excellent inn, you must not only dine 
 but sleep there : in which case you must of neces- 
 sity breakfast before leaving it, as, at whatever hour 
 you rise the carriage will not be got ready till you 
 have taken that meal. Nor must you expect that 
 breakfast will be on the table in less than an hour from 
 the time from your ordering it, even though all the 
 foreiuentioned waiters should in succession have told 
 you it would be up in five minutes. At length, one 
 bustles in with the tea equipage and toast swimming in 
 butter. After this has had half an hour to cool, another 
 appears armed with the huge tea kettle, which he 
 places on the hearth, while he goes in search of the 
 tea. Another half hour passes, during which you re- 
 peatedly ring the bell, but to no purpose. By this 
 time you are in despair — the bare-legged wench runs 
 in, bearing the tea caddie in her black hand, and say- 
 ing, that she has been but this moment able to get it 
 from her mistress. Her mistress you need not expect 
 to see ; as she makes a point of never appearing 
 to ladies, not being in a dress to be seen by them ; 
 and being, moreover, greatly troubled with weak 
 nerves. 
 
 If you are so unfortunate as not to have a travelling 
 carriage, I hope you will not travel this road in rainy 
 weather ; as the glasses of Mr MacClarty's chaises were 
 all broken at an election, about two years ago, and have 
 not been yet repaired. This will account for the heap 
 
222 The Cottagers 
 
 of wet straw at the bottom of the carriage, which, as 
 it is never changed, must of course smell somewhat 
 fusty. The linings are likewise in a very bad condi- 
 tion ; but on the stuffing of the cushions time has made 
 little alteration ; and as you may be curious to know 
 of what materials it is composed, I am happy to be 
 able to inform you, having been at the trouble to dis- 
 sect one on purpose ; when, to my great astonishment, 
 I found, instead of the usual quantity of tow and horse- 
 hair, an assemblage of old ropes, every piece of which 
 was so ingeniously knotted, as to evince in how many 
 useful purposes they have been employed before they 
 reached their destined state of preferment. 
 
 My earnest desire of rendering an essential service 
 to the daughter of my old friend Mrs MacClarty, has, 
 I am afraid, led me to trespass too long upon your 
 patience ; but the preference shown by travellers for 
 the inn at the next stage, will be a sufficient apology 
 for my partiality, and account for the dread I entertain 
 of the impending ruin which threatens to overwhelm 
 this last branch of the old and respectable stock of 
 the MacClartys. When I inform you that the rival inn 
 is kept by a scholar of Mrs Mason's, you will quickly 
 perceive that my fears are not without foundation; and 
 yet I must own the reason of the preference given to 
 it by the public appears to me to imply a contradic- 
 tion. Why are people of fortune so fond of travelling 
 but on account of the variety it affords ? And when 
 one finds at an inn, as at that which I now speak of, 
 the same neatness, cleanness, regularity, and quiet, 
 as at one's own house, the charm of variety must be 
 surely wanting. 
 
 Yet these innkeepers seem to thrive amazingly. 
 They indeed trust nothing entirely to the discretion of 
 servants. They superintend all that is done in every 
 
of Glenburnie. 
 
 223 
 
 department with their own eyes ; and as any injury 
 that happens to furniture, carriages, etc., etc., is in- 
 stantly repaired, the saving in tear and wear must be 
 considerable. Add to this, what is saved in the article 
 of attendance by method, and in the article of food 
 by good cookery, and you will not wonder that they 
 should prosper. Alas ! I fear they will continue to 
 prosper, and that their example will soon be too 
 generally followed, and complete the ruin of my un- 
 fortunate friends. 
 
 I remain, etc 
 
 Printed by Ballantynh, Hanson «§>•» Co. 
 Edinburgh & London 
 
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 TO— ^ 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 ; 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 < 
 
 b 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. 
 
 Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 SEP 71986 
 
 
 
 AUTO. DISC. 
 
 
 
 AUG 1 5 1986 
 
 
 
 SENT ON ILL 
 
 
 
 JUL 1 4 1999 
 
 
 
 U C BERKELEY 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 FORM NO. DD6, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 ®s 
 
GMf/Mi 
 
 "•n ■«***&