{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_69051/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_69051","id":"gutenberg_69051","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69051","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Edinburgh (Scotland) -- Fiction","Short stories, English -- Scottish authors"],"text":"ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN\n OF\n EDINBURGH.\n\n BY\n ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,\n\n AUTHOR OF \u201cMYSTERIOUS LEGENDS OF EDINBURGH,\u201d \u201cCURIOUS STORIED\n TRADITIONS OF SCOTTISH LIFE,\u201d ETC.\n\n EDINBURGH:\n WILLIAM P. NIMMO.\n 1867.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe stories in this volume owe their publication to the favour\nextended to my Book of Legends. If I had any apology to make it could\nonly--independently of what is due for demerits which the cultivators\nof \u201cthe gay science\u201d will not fail to notice--consist in an answer to\nthe charge that books of this kind feed a too natural appetite for\nimages and stimulants which tends to voracity, and which again tends\nto that attenuation of the mental constitution deserving of the name\nof _marasmus_. I may be saved the necessity of such an apology by\nreminding the reader that, although I plead guilty to the charge of\ninvention, I have generally so much of a foundation for these stories\nas to entitle them to be withdrawn from the category of fiction. On\nthis subject the reader may be inclined to be more particular in his\ninquiry than suits the possibility of an answer which may at once be\nsafe and satisfactory. I would prefer to repose upon the generous\nexample of that philanthropic showman, who leaves to those who look\nthrough his small windows the choice of selecting his great duke out\nof two personages, both worthy of the honour. The reader may believe,\nor not believe, but it is not imperative that he should do either;\nfor even at the best--begging pardon of my fair readers for the\nLatin--_fides semper est inevidens in re testificata_.\n\n A. L.\n\n YORK LODGE, TRINITY,\n _January 1867_.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n THE STORY OF THE TWO RED SLIPPERS, 1\n\n THE STORY OF THE DEAD SEAL, 13\n\n THE STORY OF MRS HALLIDAY, 35\n\n THE STORY OF MARY BROWN, 60\n\n THE STORY OF THE MERRILLYGOES, 88\n\n THE STORY OF THE SIX TOES, 115\n\n THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG, 137\n\n THE STORY OF PINCHED TOM, 160\n\n THE STORY OF THE IRON PRESS, 177\n\n THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER, 190\n\n THE STORY OF MARY MOCHRIE AND THE MIRACLE OF THE COD, 214\n\n THE STORY OF THE PELICAN, 238\n\n THE STORY OF DAVIE DEMPSTER\u2019S GHAIST, 255\n\n THE STORY OF THE GORTHLEY TWINS, 277\n\n THE STORY OF THE CHALK LINE, 299\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n ROMANCES\n OF THE\n OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Two Red Slippers.\n\n\nThe taking down of the old house of four or five flats, called\nGowanlock\u2019s Land, in that part of the High Street which used to be\ncalled the Luckenbooths, has given rise to various stories connected\nwith the building. Out of these I have selected a very strange\nlegend--so strange, indeed, that, if not true, it must have been the\nproduction, _quod est in arte summa_, of a capital inventor; nor need I\nsay that it is of much importance to talk of the authenticity of these\nthings, for the most authentic are embellished by invention, and it is\ncertainly the best embellished that live the longest; for all which we\nhave very good reasons in human nature.\n\nGowanlock\u2019s Land, it would seem, merely occupied the site of an older\nhouse, which belonged, at the time of Prince Charlie\u2019s occupation of\nthe city, to an old town councillor of the name of Yellowlees. This\nolder house was also one of many stories, an old form in Edinburgh,\nsupposed to have been adopted from the French; but it had, which was\nnot uncommon, an entry from the street running under an arch, and\nleading to the back of the premises to the lower part of the tenement,\nthat part occupied by the councillor. There was a lower flat, and one\nabove, which thus constituted an entire house; and which, moreover,\nrejoiced in the privilege of having an extensive garden, running\ndown as far as the sheet of water called the North Loch, that secret\n\u201cdomestic witness,\u201d as the ancients used to say, of many of the dark\ncrimes of the old city. These gardens were the pride of the rich\nburghers of the time, decorated by Dutch-clipped hollies and trim\nboxwood walks; and in our special instance of Councillor Yellowlees\u2019s\nretreat, there was in addition a summer-house, or rustic bower,\nstanding at the bottom; that is, towards the north, and close upon\nthe loch. I may mention also, that in consequence of the damp, this\nlittle bower was strewed with rushes for the very special comfort of\nMiss Annie Yellowlees, the only and much-petted child of the good\ncouncillor.\n\nAll which you must take as introductory to the important fact that the\nsaid Miss Annie, who, as a matter of course, was \u201cvery bonnie,\u201d as well\nas passing rich to be, had been, somewhat previous to the prince\u2019s\nentry to the town, pledged to be married to no less considerable a\npersonage than Maister John Menelaws, a son of him of the very same\nname who dealt in pelts in a shop of the Canongate, and a student of\nmedicine in the Edinburgh University; but as the councillor had in\nhis secret soul hankerings after the prince, and the said student,\nJohn, was a red-hot royalist, the marriage was suspended, all to the\ninexpressible grief of our \u201cbonnie Annie,\u201d who would not have given\nher John for all the Charlies and Geordies to be found from Berwick to\nLerwick. On the other hand--while Annie was depressed, and forced to\nseek relief in solitary musings in her bower by the loch--it is just as\ntrue that \u201cit is an ill wind that blaws naebody gude;\u201d nay, the truth\nof the saying was verified in Richard Templeton, a fellow-student of\nMenelaws, and a rival, too, in the affections of Annie; who, being a\nCharlieite as well as an Annieite, rejoiced that his companion was in\nthe meantime foiled and disappointed.\n\nMeanwhile, and, I may say, while the domestic affairs of the\ncouncillor\u2019s house were still in this unfortunate position, the\nprince\u2019s bubble burst in the way which history tells us of, and\nthereupon out came proscriptions of terrible import, and, as fate would\nhave it, young Templeton\u2019s name was in the bloody register; the more by\nreason that he had been as noisy as Edinburgh students generally are in\nthe proclamation of his partisanship. He must fly or secrete himself,\nor perhaps lose a head in which there was concealed a considerable\namount of Scotch cunning. He at once thought of the councillor\u2019s house,\nwith that secluded back garden and summer-house, all so convenient for\nsecrecy, and the envied Annie there, too, whom he might by soft wooings\ndetach from the hated Menelaws, and make his own through the medium\nof the pity that is akin to love. And so, to be sure, he straightway,\nunder the shade of night, repaired to the house of the councillor,\nwho, being a tender-hearted man, could not see a sympathiser with the\nglorious cause in danger of losing his head. Templeton was received, a\nreport set abroad that he had gone to France, and all proper measures\nwere taken within the house to prevent any domestic from letting out\nthe secret.\n\nIn this scheme Annie, we need hardly say, was a favouring party; not\nthat she had any love for the young man, for her heart was still\ntrue to Menelaws, (who, however, for safety\u2019s sake, was now excluded\nfrom the house,) but that, with a filial obedience to a beloved\nfather, she felt, with a woman\u2019s heart, sympathy for one who was in\ndistress, and a martyr to the cause which her father loved. Need we\nwonder at an issue which may already be looming on the vision of those\nwho know anything of human nature? The two young folks were thrown\ntogether. They were seldom out of each other\u2019s company. Suffering is\nlove\u2019s opportunity, and Templeton had to plead for him not only his\nmisfortune, but a tongue rendered subtle and winning by love\u2019s action\nin the heart. As the days passed, Annie saw some new qualities in the\nmartyr-prisoner which she had not seen before; nay, the pretty little\ndomestic attentions had the usual reflex effect upon the heart which\nadministered them, and all that the recurring image of Menelaws could\ndo to fight against these rising predilections was so far unavailing,\nthat that very image waxed dimmer and dimmer, while the present\nobject was always working through the magic of sensation. Yes, Annie\nYellowlees grew day by day fonder of her _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_, until at length\nshe got, as the saying goes, \u201cover head and ears.\u201d Nay, was she not,\nin the long nights, busy working a pair of red slippers for the object\nof her new affections, and were not these so very suitable to one who,\nlike Hercules, was reduced almost to the distaff, and who, unlike that\nwoman-tamed hero, did not need them to be applied anywhere but to the\nfeet?\n\nIn the midst of all this secluded domesticity, there was all that\ncomfort which is said to come from stolen waters. Then, was there not\nthe prospect of the proscription being taken off, and the two would\nbe made happy? Even in the meantime they made small escapades into\nfree space. When the moon was just so far up as not to be a tell-tale,\nTempleton would, either with or without Annie, step out into the garden\nwith these very red slippers on his feet. That bower by the loch,\ntoo, was favourable to the fondlings of a secret love; nor was it\nsometimes less to the prisoner a refuge from the eerieness which comes\nof _ennui_--if it is not the same thing--under the pressure of which\nstrange feeling he would creep out at times when Annie could not be\nwith him; nay, sometimes when the family had gone to bed.\n\nAnd now we come to a very wonderful turn in our strange story. One\nmorning Templeton did not make his appearance in the breakfast-parlour,\nbut of course he would when he got up and got his red slippers on.\nYet he was so punctual, and Annie, who knew that her father had to\ngo to the council-chamber, would see what was the cause of the young\nman\u2019s delay. She went to his bed-room door. It was open, but where was\nTempleton? He was not there. He could not be out in the city; he could\nnot be even in the garden with the full light of a bright morning sun\nshining on it. He was not in the house; he was not in the garden, as\nthey could see from the windows. He was nowhere to be found, and what\nadded to the wonder, he had taken with him his red slippers, wherever\nhe had gone. The inmates were in wonderment and consternation, and,\nconduplicated evil! they could make no inquiry for one who lay under\nthe ban of a bloody proscription.\n\nBut wonders, as we all know, generally ensconce themselves in some snug\ntheory, and die by a kind of pleasant euthanasia; and so it was with\nthis wonder of ours. The councillor came, as the days passed, to the\nconclusion that Templeton, wearied out by his long confinement, had\nbecome desperate, and had gone abroad. As good a theory as could be\ngot, seeing that he had not trusted himself in going near his friends;\nand Annie, whose grief was sharp and poignant, came also to settle\ndown with a belief which still promised her her lover, though perhaps\nat a long date. But, somehow or another, Annie could not explain, why,\neven with all the fondness he had to the work of her hands, he should\nhave elected to expose himself to damp feet by making the love-token\nslippers do the duty of the pair of good shoes he had left in the\nbed-room.\n\nEven this latter wonder wore away, and months and months passed on\nthe revolving wheel which casts months, not less than moments, into\nthat gulf we call eternity. The rigour of the Government prosecutions\nwas relaxed, and timid sympathisers began to show their heads out of\ndoors, but Richard Templeton never returned to claim either immunity\nor the woman of his affections. Nor within all this time did John\nMenelaws enter the house of the councillor; so that Annie\u2019s days were\nrenounced to sadness and her nights to reveries. But at last comes the\neventful \u201cone day\u201d of the greatest of all storytellers, Time, whereon\nhappen his startling discoveries. Verily one day Annie had wandered\ndisconsolately into the garden, and seated herself on the wooden form\nin the summer-house, where in the moonlight she had often nestled\nin the arms of her proscribed lover, who was now gone, it might be,\nfor ever. Objective thought cast her into a reverie, and the reverie\nbrought up again the images of these objects, till her heart beat\nwith an affection renewed through a dream. At length she started up,\nand wishing to hurry from a place which seemed filled with images at\nonce lovable and terrible, she felt her foot caught by an impediment\nwhereby she stumbled. On looking down she observed some object of a\nreddish-brown colour, and becoming alarmed lest it might be one of the\ntoads with which the place was sometimes invaded, she started back. Yet\ncuriosity forced her to a closer inspection. She applied her hand to\nthe object, and brought away one of those very slippers which she had\nmade for Templeton. All very strange; but what may be conceived to have\nbeen her feelings when she saw, sticking up from beneath the rushes,\nthe white skeleton of a foot which had filled that very slipper! A\nterrible suspicion shot through her mind. She flew to her father, and,\nhurrying him to the spot, pointed out to him the grim object, and\nshowed him the slipper which had covered it. Mr Yellowlees was a shrewd\nman, and soon saw that, the foot being there, the rest of the body was\nnot far away. He saw, too, that his safety might be compromised either\nas having been concerned in a murder or the harbourage of a rebel; and\nso, making caution the better part of his policy, he repaired to a\nsympathiser, and, having told him the story, claimed his assistance.\nNor was this refused. That same night, by the light of a lamp, they\nexhumed the body of Templeton, much reduced, but enveloped with his\nclothes; only they observed that the other red slipper was wanting.\nOn examining the body, they could trace the evidence of a sword-stab\nthrough the heart. All this they kept to themselves, and that same\nnight they contrived to get the sexton of the Canongate to inter the\nbody as that of a rebel who had been killed and left where it was found.\n\nThis wonder also passed away, and, as time sped, old things began to\nget again into their natural order. Menelaws began to come again about\nthe house, and, as an old love, when the impediments are removed, is\nsoon rekindled again, he and Annie became even all that which they\nhad once been to each other. The old vows were repeated without the\nslightest reference being made by either party to the cause which had\ninterfered to prevent them from having been fulfilled. It was not\nfor Annie to proffer a reason, and it did not seem to be the wish of\nMenelaws to ask one. In a short time afterwards they were married.\n\nThe new-married couple, apparently happy in the enjoyment of an\naffection which had continued so long, and had survived the crossing of\na new love, at least on one side, removed to a separate house farther\nup in the Lawnmarket. Menelaws had previously graduated as a doctor,\nand he commenced to practise as such, not without an amount of success.\nMeanwhile, the councillor died, leaving Annie a considerable fortune.\nIn the course of somewhere about ten years they had five children. They\nat length resolved on occupying the old house with the garden, for\nAnnie\u2019s reluctance became weakened by time. It was on the occasion of\nthe flitting that Annie had to rummage an old trunk which Menelaws,\nlong after the marriage, had brought from the house of his father, the\ndealer in pelts. There, at the bottom, covered over by a piece of brown\npaper, she found--what? The very slipper which matched the one she\nstill secretly retained in her possession. _Verbum sapienti._ You may\nnow see where the strange land lies; nor was Annie blind. She concluded\nin an instant, and with a horror that thrilled through her whole body,\nthat Menelaws had murdered his rival. She had lain for ten years in\nthe arms of a murderer. She had borne to him five children. Nay, she\nloved him with all the force of an ardent temperament. The thought was\nterrible, and she recoiled from the very possibility of living with him\na moment longer. She took the fatal memorial and secreted it along with\nits neighbour, and having a friend at a little distance from Edinburgh,\nshe hurried thither, taking with her her children. Her father had left\nin her own power a sufficiency for her support, and she afterwards\nreturned to town. All the requests of her husband for an explanation\nshe resisted, and indeed they were not long persisted in, for Menelaws\nno doubt gauged the reason of her obduracy--a conclusion the more\nlikely that he subsequently left Scotland. I have reason to believe\nthat some of the existing Menelaws are descended from this strange\nunion.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Dead Seal.\n\n\nAmong Lord Kames\u2019s session papers there are two informations or written\npleadings upon the competency of an action of damages. The law point\nwas strange enough, but the facts set forth in explanation were much\nmore so, amounting indeed to a story so unprecedented, that I cannot\nhelp being surprised how they have escaped the curiosity of those who\nlove \u201cto chronicle the strong beer\u201d of human life and action. Mr John\nDalrymple, merchant, had passed his honeymoon with his wife (whose\nmaiden name was Jean Bisset) in his house in Warrender\u2019s Close, and was\nabout to proceed next morning to Glasgow, to execute some commission\nbusiness. They had a cheerful supper; they were both young, both\nhealthy, and both hopeful, and surely if under these conditions they\ncould not extract some sweets out of the orange of life, they might\nhave little chance afterwards, when the pulp would diminish to the\nbitter skin which is inevitable. But the truth is, they had both very\ngood powers of suction, and will enough to use them; and if it were not\nthat death and life play upon the same string, one might have said that\nthe new-married couple stood no apparent risk of any fatal interruption\nto their happiness.\n\nIt was accordingly in very good spirits that Mr Dalrymple set forth in\nthe morning on his journey. We might perhaps say, that the inspiration\nof her love lent force to his mercantile enterprise, for somehow it\nwould seem that all the actions of man beyond the purely selfish play\nround the great passion, just as the gaudy petals of the flowers are\na kind of acted marriage-song round what is going on in the core of\nthe plants; and so having arrived in Glasgow, he would be thinking\nabout his Jean, to whom, when he got home again, he would recount the\nwonderful triumphs he had achieved over his competing worshippers in\nthe Temple of Mammon. He was to be eight days away, and no doubt,\naccording to a moderate calculation, they would appear as so many\nmonths, were it not that his business engagements would keep these\ndays to their normal length. He was to write her every day, but as\nhe did not know at what inn he might put up, she was not to write\nto him until she knew where to address him. On the day after his\narrival he accordingly sent her a very loving letter, containing, we\npresume, as many of those kisses _\u00e0 la distance_ as is usual in such\ncases, and which in our day would make some noise in the post-office\nreceiving-box, if they were endowed with sound. Having performed this\nloving duty, he continued his exertions re-inspired with the hope of\nreceiving an answer on the morning of the day following. Then--as happy\npeople, like the other animals, are playful--he amused himself at\nintervals, by conjecturing as to what kind of a letter he would get,\nhow endearingly expressed it would be, how many \u201cdears\u201d there would\nbe in it, what warmth of feeling the words would convey, and how many\nsighs had already been wasted for his return. We might smile at such\nfrivolities if we were not called to remember that the most of our\npleasures, if looked at through the spectacle-glass of Reason, would\nappear to be ridiculous.\n\nThe morning came; and, according to the statement of the waiter, the\nletter would arrive about breakfast time. He would thus have two\nor three pleasures rolled up in the same hour; he would sip coffee\nand nectar at the same time; his ham and egg would be sweetened by\nambrosia; the pleasures of sense would be heightened by those of the\nfancy. All which were promises made by himself, and to himself, while\nhe was dressing, and we cannot be sure that he did not make himself\nmore sprightly, that he had to appear before the letter of his dear\nJean. Did not Rousseau blush in presence of the great lady\u2019s dog?\nDo what we may, we cannot get quit of the moral influence exercised\nover us by even inanimate things having the power of suggesting\nassociations. But the breakfast was set, all the eatables and\ndrinkables were on the table, and the last thing served by the waiter\nwas the communication that the postman had passed and had left no\nletter.\n\nThe circumstance was rendered more than awkward by his prior hopes and\nanticipations, and it had the effect, moreover, which it surely ought\nnot to have had upon a sensible man, of taking away his appetite. That\nit was strange there could be no doubt, for where is the loving wife\nwho at the end of the honeymoon would allow a post to pass without\nreplying to a loving husband\u2019s letter?--but then he contrived to\nmake it more strange by his efforts to satisfy himself that it was\nnot strange at all. His reasons did not satisfy him; the humming of\na Scotch air carried no conviction and produced no appetite; and\nthe result was increased anxiety, evidenced by the hanging head and\nheavy eye. Again the main argument was that his or her letter had\nmiscarried,--how _could_ there be any other mode of accounting for\nit?--and then he hummed the air again--the breakfast standing all the\ntime. All to be again counter-argued by the fact that during all the\nperiod he had corresponded with Glasgow, there had been no miscarriage\nof a letter, either to or from him. This was the doctrine of chances\nin the form of a stern logic, and the effect was apparent in another\nrelapse into fear and anxiety. But Mr Dalrymple, though made a moral\ncoward by the intensity of his affection, was withal a sensible man--a\nfact which he gave a good proof of, by placing more faith in brandy\nthan logic, for having called for a little of that cordial, he put\na glassful into his coffee, and thereupon felt, almost as soon as\nthe liquor had got into his stomach, that there was really a great\ndeal less to fear than he had thought, if the whole affair was not\na mere bugbear; and what was not less remarkable, if not fortunate,\nthe brandy, by dismissing his fears, brought back his appetite, and\nalthough he required a little longer time, he contrived to make nearly\nas good a breakfast as if he had been favoured with the ambrosial\naccompaniment which he had so hopefully promised himself.\n\nNor was this a small matter, for the meal served as ballast to enable\nhim to encounter something very different from the slight adverse wind\nhe had experienced for the last hour. He was still sitting at the\ntable, rather pleased that he had triumphed over morbid fears, and\nlaying out his scheme for the day, when the words, coming from behind,\n\u201cA letter, sir,\u201d struck his ear as if by a slap. His hand nervously\nseized the proffered gift, his eyes \u201cflew\u201d as it were to meet the\nsuperscription. He did not know the handwriting. It was directed to the\ncare of Messrs Robert Fleming & Co., one of the houses with which he\nhad been doing business. So far he was relieved, even when disappointed\nby the absence of his wife\u2019s hand on the address. He turned it with\nthe view to break it open, and then stopped and trembled as his eye\nfixed itself on a large black seal, exhibiting the death\u2019s head and\ncross-bones of a funeral letter. Even this he soon got over, under the\nsupposition that it was an invitation to some acquaintance\u2019s funeral\nsent through to him, likely, by the recommendation of his wife before\nshe had received his true address. At length he broke it open, and read\nthe following words:--\n\n \u201cDEAR SIR,--I am sorry to be under the necessity of informing you\n that your wife died this afternoon, between three and four, from\n the bursting of a blood-vessel in the lungs. You will see the\n propriety of starting for home as soon as you receive this melancholy\n intelligence.--Yours,\n\n \u201cA. MORGAN, F.R.C.S.\u201d\n\nNo sooner had he read this terrible communication than he was rendered\nas rigid as a statue. The only movement that could have been observed\nin him was in the fingers of the right hand, as it crumpled up the\npaper by the spasm of the muscles acting involuntarily. His eye was\nfixed without an object to claim it, and his teeth were clenched as if\nhe had been seized by lockjaw. Conditions which we use strong words to\ndescribe, as we toil in vain after an expression which must always be\ninadequate, even though the words are furnished by the unhappy victim\nhimself. We try a climax by using such expressions as \u201cpalsied brain\u201d\nand so forth, all the while forgetting that we are essaying to convey\na condition of inward feeling by external signs, the thing and the\nsign being in different categories. As he still sat under the stunning\neffect of the letter, the waiter entered to clear the table, but when\nhe saw the letter in the clenched hand he retreated from the scene of\na private grief, which a foreign interference would only have tended\nto irritate; but probably the noise of the closing door helped the\nreaction which comes sooner or later to all victims of moral assaults,\nand by and by he began to think--to see the whole details of the\ntragedy--to be conscious of the full extent of his misery. It was not\nyet time for the beginning of relief, for these conditions are subject\nto the law of recurrence. Like the attacks of an ague they exhaust\nthemselves by repetition, and Nature\u2019s way is at best but a cruel\nprocess of wearing out the sensibility of the palpitating nerve.\n\nHow long these oscillations lasted before the unhappy victim was able\nto leave his seat, we cannot tell. But as all thought is motion, so is\nall motion action. He could not retreat from the inevitable destiny.\nHe must move on in the maze of the puppets. He must face the dead body\nof his wife. He must bury her, if he should never be able to lay the\nhaunting spirit of memory. All business must be suspended, to leave the\nsoul to the energies necessary for encountering the ordeal. A certain\nhardness, which belongs to the last feelings of despair, enabled him,\neven with something like deliberation, to go through the preparations\nof departure; but in this he exhibited merely the regularity of a\nmachine, which obeys the imposed power behind. At eleven o\u2019clock he was\nseated in the coach, as one placed there to be moved on and on, mile\nby mile, to see the dead body of a wife, whose smiling face, as he had\nseen it last, was still busy with his fancy, and whose voice, as he had\nheard her sing at the parting supper, still rang in his ears.\n\nNor were his feelings ameliorated by the journey, to remove the\ntediousness of which, at that slow time, the passengers were obliged\nto talk even against sheer Scotch taciturnity. He sat and heard,\nwhether he would or not, the account of one who was going to bring home\na wife; of another who had been away for ten years, and who was to be\nmet at the coach-door by one who was dying to clasp him in her arms.\nAll which were to him as sounds in another world wide apart from that\none occupied by him, where he was, as he could not but think, the one\nsolitary inhabitant, with one dead companion by his side. By and by, as\nthe conversation flagged, he fell into that species of monomania where\nthe brooding spirit, doomed to bear a shock, conjures up and holds\nbefore its view the principal feature of a tragedy. That feature was\nthe image of his Jean\u2019s face. It was paler than the palest of corpses,\nto suit the condition of the disease of which she had died. The lips\nwere tinged with the blood of the fatal hemorrhage. The eyes were\nblank and staring, as if filled with the surprise and terror of the\nsudden attack. Over all, the fixedness of the muscles,--the contrast of\ndeath to the versatile movements, which were obedient to the laugh of\npleasure when he last drew indescribable joy from the changes of her\nhumour. No effort could relieve him from that one haunting image. The\nconversation of the party seemed to render it more steadfast--more\nbright--more harrowing. Nor when he tried to realise his feelings, in\nthe personal encounter of facing the reality, could he find in himself\nany promise of a power to enable him to bear up against the terrible\nsight. It seemed to him, as the coach moved slowly on, as if he were\nbeing dragged towards a scaffold draped in black, where he was to\nsuffer death.\n\nWhen the coach at length stopped in the High Street, he was roused as\nfrom a dream, but the consciousness was even worse than the monomaniac\ncondition in which he had been for hours. It was twelve at night; the\nbell of St Giles\u2019s sounded solemnly in the stillness of the sleeping\ncity. Every one of the passengers hurried off each to his home or inn,\nall glad of the release. To him it was no release; he would have ridden\non and on, for days and weeks, if for nothing else than to prolong the\ninterval, at the end of which the ordeal he feared so much awaited\nhim. Whither now? He stood in the middle of the dark and silent street\nwith his portmanteau in his hand, for he was really uncertain whether\nto proceed to his sister\u2019s house in Galloway\u2019s Close, and get her to\ngo with him to his own house, as a kind of medium, to break the effect\nof the vision--or to proceed homewards alone. He turned his steps\ntowards Galloway\u2019s Close, and soon found that the family had gone to\nbed; at least, all was dark yet. Might not his sister be at his house\n\u201csitting up\u201d with the corpse? It was not unlikely, and so he turned and\nproceeded towards home, his steps being forced, as if his will had no\npart in his ambulation. Arriving at Warrender\u2019s Close, he stood at the\nfoot of his own stair, and, looking up to the windows, he found here,\ntoo, all dark; nor were there any neighbours astir who might address\nto him some human speech, if not sympathy. The silence was as complete\nas the darkness, and both seemed to derive the dull charm of their\npower from the chamber of death. At length he forced himself, step by\nstep, up the stairs, every moment pausing, as well from the exhaustion\nproduced by his moral cowardice, as to listen for a stray sound of the\nhuman voice. He had now got to the landing, and, entering the dark\npassage leading to the door of his own flat, he groped his way along\nby applying his unoccupied hand to the wall. He now felt his nerves\nfast giving way, his heart beat audibly, his limbs shook, and though he\ntried to correct this fear, he felt he had no power, though naturally a\nman of great physical courage.\n\nHe must persevere, and a step or two more brought him to the door,\nwhich he found partially open,--a circumstance he thought strange,\nbut could account for by supposing that there were neighbours\ninside--gossips who meet round death-beds to utter wise saws with dry\neyes. Yet, though he listened, he heard no sounds. He now pushed open\nthe door, and so quietly, as if he feared that a grating hinge would\nbreak the silence. The lobby was still darker than outside, and his\nfirst step was towards the kitchen, the door of which he pushed back.\nThere was no one there,--a cruse which hung upon the wall was giving\nforth the smallest glimmer of a dying light. There was a red peat in\nthe grate, smouldering into white ashes. Turning to the servant\u2019s bed,\nhe found it unoccupied, with the clothes neatly folded down, no doubt\nby Peggy\u2019s careful hands, and no doubt, too, Peggy had solemn work to\ndo \u201cben the house.\u201d He next crossed the lobby, partly by groping, and\nreached a parlour, the door of which he opened gently. Dark too, and no\none within. The same process was gone through with the dining-room, and\nwith the same negative result. The last door was that of the bed-room,\nwhere he was to encounter what he feared. It was partially open. He\nplaced his ear to the chink and listened, but he heard nothing. There\nwas no living voice there, and death speaks none. He pushed the door\nopen, and looked fearfully in. A small rushlight on the side-table\nopposite the bed threw some flickering beams around the room, bringing\nout indistinctly the white curtains of the bed. He approached a little,\nand could discover vaguely the form of his wife lying there. Would he\ntake up the rushlight, and, with the necessary courage, go forward and\nexamine the features? He had arrived at the spot, and at the moment,\nportrayed prospectively in his waking dream during his journey, and\na few steps, with the rushlight in his hand, would realise the image\nhe had brooded over so long. He struggled with himself, but without\navail. Any little courage he had been for the last few minutes trying\nto summon up utterly gave way. There rushed into his mind vague fancies\nand fears,--creatures of the darkness and the death-like stillness\naround him, which he could neither analyse nor stay. He even thought he\nheard some sound from the bed where the corpse lay,--the consequence of\nall which was total loss of self-possession, approaching to something\nlike a panic, and the effect of this, again, was a retreat. He sought\nthe door, groped his way again through the inside lobby, got to the\nouter door, along the outer passage, down the stair to the street.\n\nNor when he got there did he pull up and begin to think of the extreme\npusillanimity, if not folly, of his conduct. Even if he had tried,\nhe could only have wound up his self-crimination by the ordinary\nexcuse--that he could not help it. The house, with its stretched\ncorpse, deserted rooms, its darkness and silence, was frightful to\nhim. He could not return until he found some one to accompany him; and\nhe satisfied himself of the reasonableness of this condition by the\nfact that the servant herself had fled in fear from the dismal scene.\nHe began to move, though almost involuntarily, down the Canongate,\nhis step quick and hurried, after the manner of those who are pursued\nby some danger, the precise nature of which they do not stop to\nexamine. He even found a slight relief in the muscular exertion, and\nthus hurrying on, he reached the Duke\u2019s Walk, and came to the heap of\nstones called Muschet\u2019s Cairn, from Nichol Muschet of Boghall, who\nthere murdered his wife. With no object but movement to dispel his\nmisery, it was indifferent to him whither he should go; and hurrying to\nArthur\u2019s Seat, he began to climb the hill, regardless of the dangerous\ncharacters often encountered there at night, any one of whom he had\ncourage enough to have throttled at the moment he was flying from what\nwas little more than a mere phantom.\n\nMeanwhile the moon had risen, and was illuminating at intervals the\nnorth-east side of the hill, leaving all in comparative darkness again\nas she got behind the thick clouds which hung heavily in the sky; but\nthe light was of no value to one who was moved only by the impulse of\na distraction. Yet, as he stood for a moment, and looked back upon the\ncity, with that Warrender\u2019s Close in the heart of it, and that house\nin the close, and that room with the rushlight within the house, and\nthat bed in the room, and that figure so still and silent in the bed,\nhe became conscious of a circumstance which had escaped him. He found\nthat in his wild wandering, apparently without any other aim than\nto allay unbearable feelings by exertion, he had been unconsciously\nfollowing, step by step, the very track which he and his now lost\nJean had taken in a walk of the afternoon of the Sunday preceding his\ndeparture for Glasgow. The thought thus coming as a discovery was in\nitself a mystery, and he felt it to be a kind of duty--though with what\nsanction of a higher power he knew not--to continue that same track of\nthe Sunday walk which had been consecrated by the sweet intercourse of\ntwo loving hearts. In execution of which purpose he kept moving towards\nthe east shoulder of the hill, and such hold had this religious fancy\ntaken of him, that he looked about for places in the track where some\npart of their conversation had occurred, which, from some peculiarity\nin it, had remained upon his memory. Nay, so weak did he become in his\ndevotion, that he threw himself down on the cold grass at spots where\nJean had required a rest, and had leant her head upon his shoulder,\nand had been repaid by some note of endearment. But in these reclining\npostures, which assumed the form of a species of worship, he remained\nonly till the terrible thought of his privation again rose uppermost in\nhis mind, forcing him to start to his feet by a sudden spring, and to\ngo on again, and brush through the whins that grew on the hill-side, as\nif he courted their obstruction as a relief.\n\nIt is said that our ideas produce time, and our feelings devour it;\nand this is true at least where the feelings are of apprehension and\nfear of some inevitable event to occur in the future. He had still the\nordeal to pass through. The sun would rise, in the light of which he\nwould be forced to look on the dead face, and in place of considering\nthe time occupied by these wanderings to and fro long and weary, the\nmoments, minutes, hours, passed with such rapidity that the moon had\ngone far on in her journey, and the gray streaks of dawn were opening\nup a view to the east, before he could realise the passage of the time\nwhich had been, as it were, swallowed up by his desire to postpone\nwhat, by the laws of nature and society, he was bound to endure. How\nmany times he had gone round the hill and up to the top, and down to\nDuddingstone, and along by the village road, and in through the bog,\nto begin his rounds again, he could not have told. But at length the\nsun glared threateningly in his face. Time defied him, and at length\nhe saw the smoke of the chimneys begin to rise from the city. The red\npeat he had seen in the grate of his own kitchen would at least yield\nnone. The household gods had deserted his hearth. Death and silence now\nreigned there. He heard eight o\u2019clock sound from St Giles\u2019s. The people\nwere beginning to move in all directions--all in search of pleasure,\nthe ultimate end of all man\u2019s exertions--and he could no longer find a\nrefuge in darkness or distance; so he began to move in the direction\nof the town with the weariness and lassitude of exhaustion rendering\nhis legs rigid and his feet heavy, in addition to the hopelessness of\na stricken heart. When he got to the Watergate, he began to see faces\nof people whom he knew, and who knew him; but he felt no desire to\nspeak, and they doubtless from delicacy passed, without showing any\ndesire to stop him. At length he arrived at the head of Warrender\u2019s\nClose, and now he felt as if he were more submissive to the necessity\nof what seemed to be fate, moving his limbs with more will--even with\nsomething like a wish on his mind to put an end to a long agony. Down\nand down step by step, the drooping head responsive in its nods to\nthe movement of his body; up the stair step after step deliberately,\nresolutely; along the outer passage; now opposite his own door. That\ndoor was now closed, giving indication that the servant, or some friend\nor neighbour, had been in the house since he left. He tapped gently.\nThe door was opened almost upon the instant, and Mr John Dalrymple\nwas immediately encompassed by the arms of a woman screaming in the\nexultation of immoderate joy.\n\n\u201cJohn, dear John, how delighted I am to see you,--for oh, we have been\nin such dreadful fear about you since Peggy found your portmanteau in\nthe lobby; but, thank God, you are come at last, and just in time for a\nfine warm breakfast.\u201d\n\nThe ejaculation, or rather screaming of which words was very easy,\nbecause very natural, to Mrs Jean Dalrymple, in the happy circumstances\nin which she found herself after so much apprehension produced by the\nmystery connected with the portmanteau, but as for Mr John Dalrymple\nspeaking even to the extent of a single syllable was out of the\nquestion, unless some angel other than she of the house had touched his\nlips with the fire of inspiration, in place of his receiving the kisses\nof his wife. And this was so far well, for he certainly would have\nmade a bungle of any attempt at the moment to express his feelings,\nbesides laying himself open to a heavier charge of folly than that\nwhich already stood at the wrong side of his account of wisdom, or\neven common sense. So quietly taking off his hat he led the way into\nthe breakfast-parlour, where he saw the breakfast things all neatly\nlaid, beside a glowing fire, before which lay his brindled cat, not the\nleast happy of the three; whilst Peggy, who had some forgotten thing to\nput on the table, had a pleasant smile on her face, just modified in\na slight degree with a little apprehension which probably neither the\nmaster nor mistress could comprehend.\n\n\u201cI will tell you, Jeannie, all about the portmanteau, and perhaps\nsomething more, when we sit down to breakfast,\u201d words which in the\nmeantime were satisfactory to Mrs Jean; and the event they conditioned\nfor soon arrived, for the wife was all curiosity and despatch, and\nPeggy all duty and attention.\n\nThe story was very soon told, nor did Mrs Jean interrupt the narrative\nby a single word as she sat with staring eyes and open mouth listening\nto the strange tale.\n\n\u201cThere is the letter with the dead seal,\u201d said he, as he handed it over\nto her.\n\nMrs Jean read it, and then began to examine it as if she was\nscrutinising the form of the written words.\n\n\u201cThat is the handwriting of Bob Balfour, my old admirer,\u201d said she, at\nlength, with animation. \u201cI know his hand as well as I know yours, and\nhe has done this in revenge for your having taken me from him. I will\nshow you proof.\u201d\n\nAnd going to a cabinet she took therefrom some letters, which she\nhanded to her husband. These proved two things: first, that the letter\nwith the black seal, purporting to be signed by Surgeon Morgan, was\nin the handwriting of Balfour, though considerably disguised; and\nsecondly, that he had been an ardent lover of Jean, and, perhaps, on\nthat account an enemy to the man who had been fortunate enough to\nsecure her affections and her hand.\n\n\u201cAll clear enough; but I shall have my revenge, too!\u201d cried the\nhusband. \u201cIn the meantime there are some things to be explained. Why\ndid you not write?\u201d\n\n\u201cI wrote to you last night,\u201d said Jean. \u201cYou had posted your letter too\nlate.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why was not Peggy in the house last night at twelve, when I came\nhome?\u201d\n\n\u201cPeggy must answer that herself,\u201d answered Mrs Jean, smiling, and\nlooking from her husband to Peggy, and from Peggy to her husband, as\nshe spoke; \u201cbut I think I know what her answer will be.\u201d\n\nAnd that answer was indeed very simple, amounting to no more than the\nvery natural fact that Peggy, after her mistress had retired to rest,\nhad gone up the common stair to Widow Henderson\u2019s, whose son Jock\nwas courting Peggy at the time with all commendable assiduity, and\nconsiderable chance of success.\n\nBut our story, though thus so satisfactorily explained, is not yet\ndone. Nay, as we have said, its termination was in the court, where\nMr Dalrymple sued Balfour for damages and _solatium_ for his cowardly\nand cruel act. Nor was this action itself an ordinary matter, for it\ninterested the lawyers of the day, not by the romantic facts which\nled to it, but the legal principles which flowed out of it. Balfour\u2019s\ncounsel objected to the relevancy, that is, denied there was in a\nlie or practical joke any cause of action. This defence gave rise to\nthe informations we have mentioned, for the point raised was new and\ndifficult. It was argued by Balfour that lies in the form of hoaxes\nare told every day, some good and some bad. Men know this, and ought\nto be upon their guard, which can be their only security,--for if\nsuch lies were actionable, one-half of society would be at law with\nthe other. And as for any injury inflicted on Mr Dalrymple, it was\ndoubtful whether the pleasure he experienced that morning when enclosed\nin the arms of his wife, did not more than compensate for his prior\nsufferings. On the other hand the pursuer argued, that by the law of\nScotland there is no wrong without a legal remedy, and that having\nsuffered by the cruel deceit both in his feelings and in his purse,\n(for he left his business unfinished,) he was entitled to recover. We\nhave been unable to find the judgment.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Mrs Halliday.\n\n\nThere are little bits of romance spread here and there in the routine\nof ordinary life, but for which we should be like the fairy Aline,\nsomewhat weary of always the same flowers blooming, and the same\nbirds singing, and the same play of human motives and passions. They\nare something of the nature of episodes which, as in the case of\nepic poems, are often the most touching and beautiful in the whole\nwork. Yet the beauty is seldom felt by the actors themselves, who are\nfrequently unfortunate; and so it is that they suffer that we may enjoy\nthe pathos of their suffering, after it has gone through the hands\nof art. We are led to say this as a kind of prelude to one of those\nepisodical dramas which occurred some eighty years ago, and for twenty\nof them formed a household story, as well from the singularity of the\nprincipal circumstances as from the devotion of the personages. But\nwe must go back a little from the main incidents to introduce to the\nreader a certain Patrick Halliday, a general agent for the sale of\nEnglish broadcloth, whose place of business was in the Lawnmarket, and\ndwelling-house in a tenement long called Peddie\u2019s Land, situated near\nthe Old Assembly Close. It belongs not much to our story to say that\nMr Halliday was pretty well-to-do in the world, though probably even\nwith youth and fair looks, if he had been a poor man, he would not have\nsecured as he did the hand of a certain young lady, at that time more\nremarkable than he. Her name was Julia Vallance. We know no more of her\nexcept one particular, which many people would rather be known by than\nby wealth, or even family honours, and that was personal beauty--not\nof that kind which catches the eye of the common people, and which is\nof ordinary occurrence, but of that superior order which, addressing\nitself to a cultivated taste, secures an admiration which can be\njustified by principles. And so it came to pass that Julia had before\nher marriage attained to the reputation--probably not a matter of great\nambition to herself, certainly not at all times very enviable--of being\nthe belle of the old city. Nor is this saying little, when we claim it\nin the face of the world as a truth that Edinburgh, in spite of its\nsmoke, has at all times been remarkable for many varieties, dark and\nfair, of fine women. A result this which, perhaps, we owe to a more\nequal mixture of the two fine races, the Celt and Saxon, than ever\ntook place in England. But Julia had brought her price, and her market\nhaving been made, she could afford to renounce the admiration of a\ngaping public in consideration of the love of a husband who was as kind\nto her as he was true. As regards their happiness as man and wife, we\nwill take that in the meantime as admitted, the more by reason that in\ndue time after the marriage they had a child; and, no doubt, they would\nhave had many in succession had it not been for the strange occurrence\nwhich forms the fulcrum of our tale.\n\nApart from the family in Peddie\u2019s Land, and in no manner connected with\nit, either by blood or favour, was that of Mr Archibald Blair, a young\nman living in Writers\u2019 Court, of whom we can say little more than that\nhe was connected with the Borgue family in the Stewartry, an advocate,\nand also married. We are not informed of either the name or lineage of\nhis young wife, and far less can we say aught of the perfections or\nimperfections she derived from nature. We are only left to presume that\nif there had been no love, there would probably have been no marriage,\nand in this case, also, we have the fact of a child having been born\nto help the presumption of that which, naturally enough, may be taken\nas granted.\n\nThe two families, far asunder in point of grade, and equally far from\nany chance of acquaintanceship, went on in their several walks; nor are\nwe entitled to say, from anything previously known of them, that they\neven knew of each other\u2019s existence--unless, to be sure, the reputation\nof Julia for her personal perfections might have come to Blair\u2019s ears\nas it did to many who had perhaps never seen her; but, then, the\nmarriage of a beauty is generally the end of her fame, as it is of her\nmaiden career; and those who, before that event, are entitled to look\nand admire, and, perhaps, wish to whisper their aspirations, not less\nthan to gaze on her beauty, leave the fair one to the happy man to whom\nthe gods have assigned her.\n\nWe must now allow four years to have passed, during all which time\nPatrick Halliday and his wife--still, we presume, retaining her beauty,\nat least in the matronly form--were happy as the day is long, or,\nrather we should say, as the day is short, for night is more propitious\nto love than day. Nothing was known to have occurred to break the\nharmony which had begun in love, and surely when we have, as there\nappeared to be here, the three requisites of happiness mentioned by\nthe ancients--health, beauty, and wealth, there was no room for any\nsuspicion that the good deities repented of their gifts. But all this\nonly tended to deepen the shadows of a mystery which we are about to\nrevive at this late period.\n\nOne day, when Patrick Halliday returned from a journey to Carlisle,\nhe was thunderstruck by the intelligence communicated to him by his\nservant, that his wife had disappeared two days before, and no one\ncould tell whither she had gone. The servant, by her own report,\nhad been sent to Leith on a message, and had taken the daughter,\nlittle Julia, with her; and when she came back, she found the door\nunlocked, and her mistress gone. She had made inquiries among the\nneighbours, she had gone to the acquaintances of the family, she had\nhad recourse to every one and every place where it was likely she would\nget intelligence of her--all to no effect. Not a single individual\ncould even say so much as that he or she had seen her that day, and\nat length, wearied out by her inquiries, she had had recourse to the\nsupposition that she had followed her husband to Carlisle.\n\nThe effect of this strange intelligence was simply stupifying. Halliday\ndropt into a chair, and, compressing his temples with his trembling\nhands, seemed to try to retain his consciousness against the echoes of\nwords which threatened to take it away. For a time he had no power of\nthought, and even when the ideas began again to resume their train,\ntheir efforts were broken and wild, tending to nothing but confusion.\n\nHe put question after question to the servant, every answer throwing\nhim back upon new suppositions, all equally fruitless. The only\nnotion that seemed to give him any relief was, that she had gone to a\ndistance, to some of her friends--wild enough, yet better than blank\ndespair; and as for infidelity, the thought never once occurred to him,\nwhere there was no ground on which to rear even a doubt.\n\nAt length, on regaining something like composure, he rose from his\nseat, and began to walk drearily through the house. He opened his\ndesk and found that a considerable sum of money he had left there was\nuntouched. He next opened the press in the wall, where she kept her\nclothes. He could not see anything wanting--the gown was there which\nlatterly she had been in the habit of putting on when she went out to\nwalk with little Julia; her two bonnets, the good and the better--the\none for everyday and the one for Sunday--hung upon their pegs. Her\njewels, too, which were in a drawer of her cabinet, were all there,\nwith the exception of the marriage-ring she was in the habit of wearing\nevery day. There was nothing wanting, save her ordinary body clothes,\nincluding the fringed yellow wrapper in which, during the forenoon,\nshe used to perform her domestic duties, and which he had often thought\nbecame her better than even her silks. Wherever she had gone, she must\nhave departed in her undress and bareheaded--nay, her slippers must\nhave been on her feet, for not only were they away, but the high-heeled\nshoes by which she replaced them when she went to walk were in the\nplace where they usually lay.\n\nIn the midst of all this mystery, the relations and others, who had\nbeen quickened into a high-wrought curiosity by the inquiries made by\nthe servant, dropt in one after another in the expectation that the\nmissing wife would have returned with her husband, but they went away\nmore astonished than before, and leaving the almost frantic husband to\nan increase of his apprehension and fears.\n\nThe dark night came on, and he retired to bed, there to have the\nhorrors of a roused fancy added to the deductions of a hapless and\ndemented reason.\n\nIn the morning he rose after a sleepless and miserable night, tried to\neat a little breakfast with the playful little Julia, the image of her\nmother, by his side, asking him every now and then, in the midst of\nher prattle, what had become of mammy, rose and went forth, scarcely\nknowing whither to go. Directing his steps almost mechanically towards\nhis place of business, he ascertained that his clerk knew no more of\nthe missing wife than the others. On emerging again from his office,\nhe was doomed to run the ordinary gauntlet of inquiries, and not less\nof strange looks where the inquirers seemed afraid to put the question.\nOthers tried to read him by a furtive glance, and went away with their\nconstruction. No one could give him a word of comfort, if, indeed, he\nhad not sometimes reason to suspect that there were of his anxious\nfriends some who were not ill pleased that he had lost, no doubt by\nelopement, a wife who outshone theirs.\n\nAt length he found his way to the bailie\u2019s office, where he got some of\nthe town constables to institute a secret search among the closes, and\nthus the day passed resultless and weary, leaving him to another night\nof misery.\n\nNext day brought scarcely any change, except in the wider spread\nthroughout the city of the news, which, in the circumstances,\ndegenerated into the ordinary scandal. Nor did the husband make any\nendeavour to check this, by stating to any one the part of the mystery\nconnected with the clothes--a secret which he kept to himself, and\nbrooded over with a morbid feeling he perhaps could not have explained\nto himself. And that day passed also, leaving at its close an increased\ncuriosity on the part of the public, but with no change in the\nconviction that the lady had merely played her husband false.\n\nThe next day was not so barren--nay, it was pregnant with a fact\ncalculated to increase the excitement without ameliorating the scandal.\nOn going up the High Street, Halliday met one of the officers who had\nbeen engaged in the search, and who told him that another citizen had\ndisappeared in a not less mysterious way. The question, \u201cWho is it?\u201d\nwas put, but not answered, except by another question.\n\n\u201cWas Mrs Halliday acquainted with Mr Archibald Blair, advocate, in\nWriters\u2019 Court?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d was the answer of the husband; \u201cand why do you put the question?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause Mrs Blair requested me,\u201d replied the officer. \u201cShe is in great\ndistress about her husband, and I think you had better see her.\u201d\n\nAnd so thought Patrick Halliday, as he hurried away to Writers\u2019 Court,\nmuch in the condition of one who would rush into the flames to avoid\nthe waves; for, dreadful as the death of his beloved wife would be\nto him, more dreadful still was the thought that she had eloped with\nanother man, and that man might be Archibald Blair. On reaching the\nhouse, where he was admitted upon the instant, he found a counterpart\nof his own domestic tragedy--everything telling the tale of weariness,\nanxiety, and fear; comers and goers with lugubrious countenances; and\nMrs Blair herself in a chair the picture of that very misery he had\nhimself endured, and was at that very moment enduring.\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d she cried, as he approached her. \u201cAre you come with good\nnews or bad?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name is Halliday, madam,\u201d replied he. \u201cI understand you wish to see\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs much as you may perhaps wish to see me,\u201d answered the lady.\n\u201cThe town has been ringing for days with the news of the sudden\ndisappearance of your wife, who is said to be----,\u201d and she faltered\nat the word, \u201cvery beautiful. Is it true, and on what day did she\ndisappear?\u201d\n\n\u201cToo true, madam,\u201d groaned the unhappy man. \u201cTuesday was the day on\nwhich she was found amissing.\u201d\n\n\u201cTuesday! Oh, unfortunate day!\u201d rejoined she. \u201cThe very one, sir,\nwhen my Archibald left me, perhaps never to return. Can you tell me,\u201d\nshe continued, as she sobbed hysterically, \u201cwhether your wife and my\nhusband were ever at any time acquainted? Oh, I fear your answer, but I\nmust hear it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think,\u201d replied he, \u201cthat my wife ever knew of the existence\nof your husband. Even _I_ never heard of his name, though I now\nunderstand he was a promising advocate. I can, therefore, give you\nsmall satisfaction; and, I presume, I can get as little from you when I\nask you, what I presume is unnecessary, whether you ever heard that my\nwife was in any way acquainted with Mr Blair?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied she; \u201cneither he nor I ever mentioned her name, nor did\nit once come to my ears that Archibald was ever seen in the company of\nany woman answering to the description of your wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost wonderful circumstance, madam,\u201d replied Halliday, into whose mind\na thought at the moment came, suggested by the mystery of the left\nclothes. \u201cPray, madam,\u201d he continued, \u201ccan you draw no conclusion from\nMr Blair\u2019s desk or wardrobe whether or not he had provided himself for\nthe necessities of a journey?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is the very wonder of all the wonders about this strange case,\nsir,\u201d she answered. \u201cI have made a careful search, knowing the money\nthat was in the house, and having sent and inquired whether he had\ndrawn any from the bank, I am satisfied that he had not a penny of\nmoney upon him. As for his wardrobe, every article is there, with the\nexception of what he used when he went to take a walk in the morning--a\nlight dress, with a round felt hat in place of the square one. Even his\ncane stands there in the lobby. Where could he have gone in such an\nundress, and without money?\u201d\n\nA pertinent question, which was just the counterpart of that which\nPatrick Halliday had put to himself. The resemblance between the two\ncases struck him as wonderful, and no doubt if he had stated to Mrs\nBlair the analogous facts connected with his wife\u2019s wardrobe, the\nuntouched money, and the missing slippers, that lady would have shared\nin his wonder; but he felt disinclined to add to her apprehensions\nby acquainting her with facts which could lead to no practical use.\nThere was sufficient community of feeling between them without going\ninto further minuti\u00e6, and the conversation ended with looks of fearful\nforeboding.\n\nPatrick Halliday left the house of the advocate only to saunter like\none broke loose from Bedlam, going hither and thither without aim;\nlearning, as he went, that the absence of Mr Blair had got abroad\nabreast of his own evil, and that the public had adopted the theory\nthat his wife and the advocate had gone off together. The conclusion\nwas only too natural, nor would it in all likelihood have been much\nmodified even though all the facts inferring some other solution had\ncome to be known. Even he himself was coming gradually to see that the\ndisappearance of the two occurring at the same time, almost at the\nsame hour, could not be countervailed by the other facts. But behind\nall this there was the apparent difficulty to be overcome that two\nindividuals so well known in a news-loving city should have been in the\nhabit of meeting, wherever the place might be, without any one having\never seen them--nay, the almost impossible thing that a woman without\na bonnet, arrayed in a yellow wrapper, and with coloured slippers on\nher feet, could have passed through any of the streets without being\nrecognised, and that the same immunity from all observation should have\nbeen enjoyed by a public man so well known--dressed, too, in a manner\ncalculated to attract notice. There was certainly another theory, and\nsome people entertained the possibility, if not the reasonableness of\nit, that the two clandestine lovers might have concealed themselves\nfor an obvious purpose in some of those houses whose keepers have an\ninterest in the concealment of their guilty lodgers. But this theory\nmust have appeared a very dubious one, for it involved a degree of\nimprudence, if not recklessness, amounting to voluntary ruin, where\na little foresight might have secured their object without further\nsacrifice than the care required in the preservation of their guilty\nsecret. But, unlikely as this theory was, it was not left untested, for\nspecial visits and inquiries were made in all places known as likely to\noffer refuge to persons in their circumstances and condition.\n\nAll was still in vain; another day passed, and another, till the\nentire week proved the inutility of both search and inquiry. The\nordinary age of a wonder was attained, with the usual consequence of\nthe beginning of that decay which is inherent in all things. Yet it is\nwith these moral organisms as with the physical--they cast their seeds\nto come up again as memories. A month elapsed, and then another, and\nanother, till these periods carried the mere diluted interest of the\nearly days. So it is that the big animal, the world, on which man is\none of the small parasites, supplies the sap as the desires require,\nand changes it as the appetite changes, with that variety which is\nthe law of nature. Even as regarded Patrick Halliday and Mrs Blair,\nthe moral granulation began gradually and silently to fill up the\nexcavated sores in their hearts, and by and by it ought by rule to have\ncome about that the cicatrices would follow, and then the smoothing\nof the covering, even to the pellucid skin. And as for the public,\nnew wonders, from the ever-discharging womb of events, were rising up\nevery day, so that the story of the once famed Julia Halliday and the\nadvocate Blair was at length assuming the sombre colours of one of the\nacted romances of life. But it takes long to make a complete romance.\nThere is a vitality in moral events as in some physical ones which\nrevives in overt symptoms, and so it was in the case we are concerned\nwith. A whole year had at length passed, and brooding silence had waxed\nthick over the now comparatively-old event; but the silence was to be\nbroken by the speaking of an inanimate thing as strange in itself as\nthe old mystery.\n\nOne day, when Patrick Halliday had returned from his office in the\nupper part of the city to Peddie\u2019s Land for the purpose of getting a\nletter which he had by mistake left on the table in the morning, he\nfound that the servant had gone out as usual for the purpose of taking\nlittle Julia for an airing; but, getting entrance by his own key, he\nproceeded along the lobby to the parlour, on opening the door of which,\nand entering, his eye was attracted to something on the floor. The\nroom was at the time shaded by the hangings drawn together to keep out\nthe rays of the sun, and, not distinguishing the object very well, he\nthought it was some plaything of Julia\u2019s. On taking it up he found, to\nhis amazement, that it was one of the slippers of his wife. It had a\ndamp musty smell, which he found so unpleasant that he threw it down on\nthe floor again, and then began to think where in the world it had come\nfrom, or how it came to be there. The servant might explain it when she\ncame in; but why she should have gone out with that remaining to be\nexplained he could not understand. Meanwhile his only conclusion was,\nthat sufficient search had not been made for the slippers, and that the\ndog, which was out with the maid, had dragged the article from some\nnook or corner which had escaped observation. Under this impression\nhe felt inclined to seek for the neighbour of that which had been so\nstrangely found, altogether oblivious of the fact that, if the slipper\nhad been left by the runaway, she must have departed either bare-footed\nor in her stocking-soles; for her shoes, so far as he could know, had\nbeen accounted for.\n\nBut he was not to be called upon to make this search; something else\nawaited him; for, as he sat enveloped in the darkness of this new\nmystery, his eye, wandering about in the shaded room, was attracted by\nanother object. Rising, as if by a start, he proceeded to the spot, and\ntook up, to his further amazement, a man\u2019s shoe. He at first supposed\nthat it was one of his own; but on looking at the silver buckle, on\nwhich were engraved--not an uncommon thing at the time--two initial\nletters, (these were \u201cA. B.,\u201d) he was at no loss for the name. It\nwas that of the missing advocate. This shoe, like the slipper, was\ncovered with white mould, and smelt of an odour different from and\nmore disagreeable than mere must. He was now in more perplexity than\never, nor could he bring his mind to a supposition of how these things\ncame to be there. It was the time of popular superstitions, when\nintelligences in the shape of ghosts and hobgoblins, and all forms\nof good and devilish beings, seemed to have nothing else to do than\nto entertain themselves with the fancies, feelings, and passions of\nmen, and we might not be surprised to find that Patrick Halliday was\nbrought under the feeling of an indescribable awe--nay, it is doubtful\nif even the veritable spirits of his wife and her paramour, if they\nhad then and there appeared in that shaded room before him, would have\nproduced a stronger impression upon him than did those speechless yet\neloquent things. A moral vertigo was on him; he threw himself again\ninto a chair, and felt his knees knocking against each other, as if the\nnerves, paralysed by the deep impression upon the brain, were no longer\nunder the influence of the will.\n\nAfter sitting for a time in this state of perplexity and awe, from\nwhich he could not extricate himself, the servant, with his daughter,\nreturned. He called her to his presence, and asked her, pointing to the\nshoe and the slipper, \u201chow those things came to be there?\u201d\n\nThe girl was seized with as great wonder as he himself had been, and\nthere was even a greater cause for astonishment on her part, insomuch\nas, according to her declaration, she had cleaned out and dusted the\nparlour within half an hour of going forth, and these articles were\ncertainly not in the room then. As for the outer door, she had left it\nfastened in the usual way, and the windows were carefully drawn down\nbefore her departure. Where _could_ they have come from, she questioned\nboth her master and herself, with an equal chance of a satisfactory\nanswer from either. Then she would not have been a woman if she could\nhave resisted the claims of superstition in a case so inexplicable, so\nextraordinary, so unparalleled even in winter fireside stories. And\nso she looked at her master, and he looked at her, in blank wonder,\nwithout either of them having the power of venturing even a surmise as\nto how or by what earthly or unearthly means those ominous things, so\nterrible in the associations by which they were linked to their owners,\ncame to be where they were.\n\nAfter some longer time uselessly occupied, Patrick Halliday bethought\nhimself of going to Writers\u2019 Court, so taking up the silver-buckled\nshoe, and putting it into his large coat pocket, he proceeded to Mrs\nBlair\u2019s. He found her in that state of reconciled despondency to which\nshe had been reduced for more than two months; but the moment she saw\nPatrick Halliday enter, she sprang up as if she had been quickened\nby the impulse of a new-born hope rising amidst the clouds of a\nlong-settled despair. The movement was soon stayed when her keenness\nscanned the face of the man; but a new feeling took possession of her\nwhen she saw him draw out of his pocket the silver-buckled shoe with\nwhich she had been as familiar as with her own.\n\n\u201cWhere, in the Lord\u2019s name!--\u201d she cried, without being able to say\nmore, while she seized spasmodically the strange object, still covered\nas it was with the mould, and with the silver obscured by the passage\nof time. And, gazing at it, she heard Halliday\u2019s account of how he came\nto be in possession of it, along with the slipper.\n\n\u201cHave you the neighbour in the house?\u201d he inquired.\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said she; \u201cbut I am certain that that is one of the shoes\nArchibald had on the day he disappeared. Oh, sir, I can scarcely look\nat these initials; and there is such a death-like odour about it that\nit sickens me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the same with the slipper,\u201d said he. \u201cIt would seem that both of\nthem had been taken off the feet of corpses.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange mystery altogether,\u201d added she, with a deep sigh. \u201cOh, I could\nhave wished I had not seen these--it only serves to renew my care,\nwithout satisfying my natural desire to know the fate of one I loved so\ndearly.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is so with me as well, madam,\u201d rejoined Mr Patrick; \u201cbut the\nfinding of this shoe and slipper may satisfy us of the connexion\nbetween your husband and my wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d ejaculated she; \u201cbut oh, merciful God! what a wretched\nsatisfaction to the bereaved wife and the deserted child. You are a\nman, and can bear up. A poor woman must sit in solitude and mourn,\nwhile the flesh wastes day by day under the weary spirit.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you can suggest nothing to help me to an explanation of this new\nmystery?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNothing; all is darker than ever,\u201d replied she. \u201cBut, sir, you have\ngot the only trace that for a long year has been found of this most\nunfortunate--I fear, unhappy pair, and it will be for you to improve it\nin some way. Something more will follow. I will go over with you myself\nto your house. A woman\u2019s eyes are sharper than a man\u2019s. I would like to\nexamine the house, and judge for myself.\u201d\n\nAnd the lady, rising, went and dressed herself. In a few minutes more\nthey were on the way to Peddie\u2019s Land; probably, as they went along,\nobjects of speculation to those who knew the strange link by which\ntheir fortunes were joined. Nor was it unlikely that evil tongues might\nsuggest that as their partners had played them false, they intended to\nmake amends by a kind of poetical retribution. Alas! how different from\ntheir thoughts, how unlike their feelings, how far distant from their\nobject!\n\nOn arriving at the house, a new wonder was to meet them, almost upon\nthe threshold. The servant ran forward to Halliday, holding in her hand\nthe partner of the silver-buckled shoe which her master had in his\npocket. She was utterly unable to say a word, her eyes were strained\nnot less in width than in intensity, her mouth was open like that\nof an idiot, and motioning and muttering, \u201cCome, come,\u201d she led her\nmaster and Mrs Blair on through two or three rooms till she came to a\nsmall closet, at the back of which there was a door, now for the first\ntime in Patrick Halliday\u2019s experience found open. In explanation of\nwhich peculiarity we require to suspend our narrative for a minute or\ntwo, to enable us to inform the reader, that the house then occupied\nby Halliday had, five years before, and immediately preceding his\nmarriage, been in possession of George Morgan, a wool-dealer.\n\nMorgan\u2019s warehouse, where he stored his wool, entered from a close to\nthe west, through a pend, between Peddie\u2019s Land and the large tenement\nadjoining. The run of the warehouse was thus at right angles to that\nof the dwelling-house, and Morgan was thereby enabled to knock out a\nsmall door at the back of a press, through which he could conveniently\npass to his place of business without being at the trouble of going\ndown the close to the main entry. After Morgan\u2019s death, the house and\nwarehouse went to his heirs, from whom Halliday rented the former,\nthe other having been let to some other person for three years, after\nwhich it had been without a tenant. We may state also that Halliday\nwas at first quite aware of the existence of the door at the back of\nthe press, and had even taken the precaution of getting it locked; but\nas no requisition had been made by the tenant of the warehouse to have\nthe communication more securely barred, the door had been left in the\ncondition we have described.\n\nResuming our story: the servant, when she came to the point where we\nleft her, stopped and trembled; but by this time Halliday had begun to\nsee whither these pointings tended, and pushing the girl aside with\na view to examine the door, he was astonished to find that it opened\nto his touch--a fact better known by Nettle, his dog, who had, as the\nshoes testified, been there before.\n\nOn entering the warehouse, all the windows of which were shut except\none, through which a ray of light struggled to illuminate merely a\npart of the room, the party beheld a sight which in all likelihood\nwould retain a vividness in their memories after all other images of\nearthly things had passed away. Right in the middle of the partial\nlight admitted by the solitary window lay the bodies of two persons--a\nman and a woman. The latter had on her a yellow morning gown trimmed\nwith green. One slipper was on, the other off; her head, which was\nuncovered, was surmounted by the high toupee of the times, which\nconsisted of the collected hair brushed up and supported by a concealed\ncushion. The man had on a morning dress, with a round felt hat, which\nstill retained its place on his head. There was no corruption in the\nbodies of that kind called moist. They were nearly shrivelled, but that\nto an extent which reduced them to little other than skeletons covered\nwith a brown skin--a state of the bodies which probably resulted\nfrom the dry air of the wareroom, heated as it was by a smithy being\nimmediately below it, the smoke of which was conveyed by a flue up the\nside of the tenement. The two bodies lay clasped in each other\u2019s arms,\nthe faces were so close that the noses almost met; the eyes were open,\nand though the balls were shrunk so much that they could not be seen,\nthe lids, which had shrunk also, were considerably apart. These were\nthe bodies of Julia Halliday and Archibald Blair.\n\nThere was not a word spoken by the searchers. Their eyes told them all\nthat was necessary to convince them of the identity of those who lay\nbefore them. Nor, when Halliday took up a paper which lay at the head\nof Blair, did he think it necessary to make any observation of surprise\nat what was in keeping with what they saw.\n\n\u201cOh, read,\u201d said Mrs Blair, as she gasped in the midst of her agony.\n\nHalliday, holding up the paper so as to receive the light, read as\nfollows:--\n\n \u201cWhoever you may be, man or woman, who first discovers the bodies of\n me and her who lies by my side will please, as he or she hopes for\n mercy, deliver this paper either to Mr Patrick Halliday of Peddie\u2019s\n Land, or Mrs Archibald Blair in Writers\u2019 Court, that they may take\n the means of getting us decently interred. Julia Halliday and I,\n Archibald Blair, met and looked and loved. These few words contain\n the secret of our misfortune, and must be the excuse of our crime\n in taking away our lives. Our love was too strong to be quelled by\n resolution, too sacred to be corrupted by coarse enjoyment of the\n senses, too hopeless to be borne amidst the impediments of our mutual\n obligations to our spouses. We felt and believed that it was only\n our mortal bodies that belonged to our partners, our spirits were\n ours and ours alone by that decree which made the soul, with its\n sympathies and its elections, before ever the world was, or marriage,\n which is only a convention of man\u2019s making. We loved, we sinned not,\n yet we were unhappy, because we could not fulfil the obligations of\n affection to those we had sworn at the altar to love and honour.\n Often have we torn ourselves from each other with vows on our lips\n of mutual avoidance, but these efforts were vain. We could not live\n estranged, and we flew again to each other\u2019s arms, again to vow,\n again to meet, again to be blessed, again to be tortured. This life\n was unendurable; and, left to the alternative of parting or dying,\n we selected the latter. The poison was bought by me in two separate\n vials. As I write, Julia holds hers in her hands, and smiles as she\n is about to swallow the drug. We have resolved to lie down face to\n face, so as to be able to look into each other\u2019s eyes and watch\n jealously Death as he drags us slowly from each other. I have now\n swallowed my draft, smiling the while in Julia\u2019s face. She does the\n same. The pen trembles in my hand. Farewell, my wife: Julia mutters,\n \u2018Farewell, my husband.\u2019 Against neither have we ever sinned.\n\n \u201cARCHIBALD BLAIR.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Mary Brown.\n\n\nIf the reader of what I am going to relate for his or her edification,\nor for perhaps a greater luxury, viz., wonder, should be so\nunreasonable as to ask for my authority, I shall be tempted, because\na little piqued, to say that no one should be too particular about\nthe source of pleasure, inasmuch as, if you will enjoy nothing but\nwhat you can prove to be a reality, you will, under good philosophical\nleadership, have no great faith in the sun--a thing which you never\nsaw, the existence of which you are only assured of by a round\nfigure of light on the back of your eye, and which may be likened to\ntradition; so all you have to do is to believe like a good Catholic,\nand be contented, even though I begin so poorly as to try to interest\nyou in two very humble beings who have been dead for many years, and\nwhose lives were like a steeple without a bell in it, the intention\nof which you cannot understand till your eye reaches the weathercock\nupon the top, and then you wonder at so great an erection for so small\nan object. The one bore the name of William Halket, a young man, who,\neight or nine years before he became of much interest either to himself\nor any other body, was what in our day is called an Arab of the City--a\npoor street boy, who didn\u2019t know who his father was, though, as for his\nmother, he knew her by a pretty sharp experience, insomuch as she took\nfrom him every penny he made by holding horses, and gave him more cuffs\nthan cakes in return. But Bill got out of this bondage by the mere\nchance of having been taken a fancy to by Mr Peter Ramsay, innkeeper\nand stabler, in St Mary\u2019s Wynd, (an ancestor, we suspect, of the\nRamsays of Barnton,) who thought he saw in the City Arab that love of\nhorse-flesh which belongs to the Bedouin, and who accordingly elevated\nhim to the position of a stable-boy, with board and as many shillings a\nweek as there are days in that subdivision of time.\n\nNor did William Halket--to whom for his merits we accord the full\nChristian name--do any discredit to the perspicacity of his master,\nif it was not that he rather exceeded the hopes of his benefactor,\nfor he was attentive to the horses, civil to the farmers, and handy\nat anything that came in his way. Then, to render the connexion\nreciprocal, William was gratefully alive to the conviction that if he\nhad not been, as it were, taken from the street, the street might have\nbeen taken from him, by his being locked up some day in the Heart of\nMidlothian. So things went on in St Mary\u2019s Wynd for five or six years,\nand might have gone on for twice that period, had it not been that at\na certain hour of a certain day William fell in love with a certain\nMary Brown, who had come on that very day to be an under-housemaid in\nthe inn; and strange enough, it was a case of \u201clove at first sight,\u201d\nthe more by token that it took effect the moment that Mary entered the\nstable with a glass of whisky in her hand sent to him by Mrs Ramsay. No\ndoubt it is seldom that a fine blooming young girl, with very pretty\nbrown hair and very blue eyes, appears to a young man with such a\nrecommendation in her hand, but we are free to say that the whisky had\nnothing to do with an effect which is well known to be the pure result\nof the physical attributes of the individual. Nay, our statement might\nhave been proved by the counterpart effect produced upon Mary herself,\nfor she was struck by William at the same moment when she handed him\nthe glass; and we are not to assume that the giving of a pleasant boon\nis always attended with the same effect as the receiving of it.\n\nBut, as our story requires, it is the love itself between these two\nyoung persons whose fates were so remarkable we have to do with--not\nthe causes, which are a mystery in all cases. Sure it is, humble in\nposition as they were, they could love as strongly, as fervently,\nperhaps as ecstatically, as great people--nay, probably more so,\nfor education has a greater chance of moderating the passion than\nincreasing it; and so, notwithstanding of what Plutarch says of\nthe awfully consuming love between Phrygius and Picrea, and also\nwhat Shakespeare has sung or said about a certain Romeo and a lady\ncalled Juliet, we are certain that the affection between these grand\npersonages was not _more_ genuine, tender, and true than that which\nbound the simple and unsophisticated hearts of Will Halket and Mary\nBrown. But at best we merely play on the surface of a deep subject when\nwe try with a pen to describe feelings, and especially the feelings\nof love. We doubt, if even the said pen were plucked from Cupid\u2019s\nwing, it would help us much. We are at best only left to a choice of\nexpressions, and perhaps the strongest we could use are those which\nhave already been used a thousand times--the two were all the world\nto each other, the world outside nothing at all to them; so that\nthey could have been as happy on the top of Mount Ararat, or on the\nisland of Juan Fernandez, provided they should be always in each\nother\u2019s company, as they were in St Mary\u2019s Wynd. And as for whispered\nprotestations and chaste kisses--for really their love had a touch of\nromance about it you could hardly have expected, but which yet kept\nit pure, if not in some degree elevated above the loves of common\npeople--these were repeated so often about the quiet parts of Arthur\u2019s\nSeat and the Queen\u2019s Park, and the fields about the Dumbiedykes and\nDuddingstone Loch, that they were the very moral aliments on which\nthey lived. In short, to Mary Brown the great Duke of Buccleuch was as\nnothing compared to Willie Halket, and to Willie Halket the beautiful\nDuchess of Grammont would have been as nothing compared to simple Mary\nBrown. All which is very amiable and very necessary, for if it had been\nso ordained that people should feel the exquisite sensations of love\nin proportion as they were beautiful, or rich, or endowed with talent,\n(according to a standard,) our world would have been even more queer\nthan that kingdom described by Gulliver, where the ugliest individual\nis made king or queen.\n\nThings continued in this very comfortable state at the old inn in\nSt Mary\u2019s Wynd for about a year, and it had come to enter into the\ncontemplation of Will that upon getting an increase of his wages\nhe would marry Mary and send her to live with her mother, a poor\nhard-working washerwoman, in Big Lochend Close; whereunto Mary was\nso much inclined, that she looked forward to the day as the one that\npromised to be the happiest that she had yet seen, or would ever see.\nBut, as an ancient saying runs, the good hour is in no man\u2019s choice;\nand about this time it so happened that Mr Peter Ramsay, having had a\ncommission from an old city man, a Mr Dreghorn, located as a planter\nin Virginia, to send him out a number of Scottish horses, suggested\nto William that he would do well to act as supercargo and groom. Mr\nDreghorn had offered to pay a good sum to the man who should bring them\nout safe, besides paying his passage over and home. And Mr Ramsay would\nbe ready to receive Will into his old place again on his return. As for\nMary, with regard to whom the master knew his man\u2019s intentions, she\nwould remain where she was, safe from all temptation, and true to the\nchoice of her heart. This offer pleased William, because he saw that\nhe could make some money out of the adventure, whereby he would be the\nbetter able to marry, and make a home for the object of his affections;\nbut he was by no means sure that Mary would consent; for women, by some\nnatural divining of the heart, look upon delays in affairs of love as\nominous and dangerous. And so it turned out that one Sabbath evening,\nwhen they were seated beneath a tree in the King\u2019s Park, and William\nhad cautiously introduced the subject to her, she was like other women.\n\n\u201cThe bird that gets into the bush,\u201d she said, as the tears fell upon\nher cheeks, \u201csometimes forgets to come back to the cage again. I would\nrather hae the lean lintie in the hand than the fat finch on the wand.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you forget, Mary, love,\u201d was the answer of Will, \u201cthat you can\nfeed the lean bird, but you can\u2019t feed me. It is I who must support\nyou. It is to enable me to do that which induces me to go. I will come\nwith guineas in my pocket where there are now only pennies and placks,\nand you know, Mary, the Scotch saying, \u2018A heavy purse makes a light\nheart.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd an unsteady one,\u201d rejoined Mary. \u201cAnd you may bring something else\nwi\u2019 you besides the guineas; may be, a wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne of Mr Dreghorn\u2019s black beauties,\u201d said Will, laughing. \u201cNo, no,\nMary, I am too fond of the flaxen ringlets, the rosy cheeks, and the\nblue eyes, and you know, Mary, you have all these, so you have me in\nyour power. But to calm your fears and stop your tears I\u2019ll tell you\nwhat I\u2019ll do.\u201d\n\n\u201cStay at hame, Will, and we\u2019ll live and dee thegither.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Will, \u201cbut, like the genteel lover I have read of, I will\nswear on your Bible that I will return to you within the year, and\nmarry you at the Tron Kirk, and throw my guineas into the lap of your\nmarriage-gown, and live with you until I die.\u201d\n\nFor all which and some more we may draw upon our fancy, but certain\nit is, as the strange story goes, that Will did actually then and\nthere--for Mary had been at the Tron Kirk and had her Bible in her\npocket, (an article the want of which is not well supplied by the\nscent-bottle of our modern Marys,)--swear to do all he had said,\nwhereupon Mary was so far satisfied that she gave up murmuring--perhaps\nno more than that. Certain also it is that before the month was done,\nWill, with his living kicking charges, and after more of these said\ntears from Mary than either of them had arithmetic enough to enable\nthem to count, embarked at Leith for Richmond, at which place the\nsugar-planter had undertaken to meet him.\n\nWe need say nothing of the voyage across the Atlantic--somewhat arduous\nat that period--nor need we pick up Will again till we find him in\nRichmond with his horses all safe, and as fat and sleek as if they\nhad been fed by Neptune\u2019s wife, and had drawn her across in place of\nher own steeds. There he found directions waiting from Mr Dreghorn\nto the effect that he was to proceed with the horses to Peach Grove,\nhis plantation, a place far into the heart of the country; but Will\nwas content, for had he not time and to spare within the year, and he\nwould see some more of the new world, which, so far as his experience\nyet went, seemed to him to be a good place for a freeman to live in. So\noff he went, putting up at inns by the way as well supplied with food\nand fodder as Mr Peter Ramsay\u2019s, in St Mary\u2019s Wynd, and showing off his\nnags to the planters, who wondered at their bone and muscle, the more\nby reason they had never seen Scotch horses before. As he progressed,\nthe country seemed to Will more and more beautiful, and by the time\nhe reached Peach Grove he had come to the unpatriotic conclusion that\nall it needed was Mary Brown, with her roses, and ringlets, and eyes,\npassing like an angel--lovers will be poets--among these ebon beauties,\nto make it the finest country in the world.\n\nNor when the Scotsman reached Peach Grove did the rosy side of matters\nrecede into the shady, for he was received in a great house by Mr\nDreghorn with so much kindness, that, if the horses rejoiced in maize\nand oats, Will found himself, as the saying goes, in five-bladed\nclover. But more awaited him, even thus much more, that the planter,\nand his fine lady of a wife as well, urged him to remain on the\nplantation, where he would be well paid and well fed; and when Will\npleaded his engagement to return to Scotland within the year, the\nanswer was ready that he might spend eight months in Virginia at least,\nwhich would enable him to take home more money--an answer that seemed\nso very reasonable, if not prudent, that \u201cSawny\u201d saw the advantage\nthereof and agreed. But we need hardly say that this was conceded upon\nthe condition made with himself, that he would write to Mary all the\nparticulars, and also upon the condition acceded to by Mr Dreghorn,\nthat he would take the charge of getting the letter sent to Scotland.\n\nAll which having been arranged, Mr Halket--for we cannot now continue\nto take the liberty of calling him Will--was forthwith elevated to the\nposition of driving negroes in place of horses, an occupation which he\ndid not much relish, insomuch that he was expected to use the lash,\nan instrument of which he had been very chary in his treatment of\nfour-legged chattels, and which he could not bring himself to apply\nwith anything but a sham force in reference to the two-legged species.\nBut this objection he thought to get over by using the sharp crack of\nhis Jehu-voice, as a substitute for that of the whip; and in this he\npersevered, in spite of the jeers of the other drivers, who told him\nthe thing had been tried often, but that the self-conceit of the negro\nmet the stimulant and choked it at the very entrance to the ear; and\nthis he soon found to be true. So he began to do as others did, and he\nwas the sooner reconciled to the strange life into which he had been\nprecipitated by the happy condition of the slaves themselves, who,\nwhen their work was over, and at all holiday hours, dressed themselves\nin the brightest colours of red and blue and white, danced, sang, ate\ncorn-cakes and bacon, and drank coffee with a zest which would have\ndone a Scotch mechanic, with his liberty to produce a lock-out, much\ngood to see. True, indeed, the white element of the population was\nat a discount at Peach Grove. But in addition to the above source\nof reconciliation, Halket became day by day more captivated by the\nbeauty of the country, with its undulating surface, its wooded clumps,\nits magnolias, tulip-trees, camellias, laurels, passion-flowers, and\npalms, its bright-coloured birds, and all the rest of the beauties for\nwhich it is famous all over the world. But nature might charm as it\nmight--Mary Brown was three thousand miles away.\n\nMeanwhile the time passed pleasantly, for he was accumulating money,\nMary\u2019s letter would be on the way, and the hope of seeing her within\nthe appointed time was dominant over all the fascinations which\ncharmed the senses. But when the month came in which he ought to have\nreceived a letter, no letter came--not much this to be thought of,\nthough Mr Dreghorn tried to impress him with the idea that there must\nbe some change of sentiment in the person from whom he expected the\nmuch-desired answer. So Halket wrote again, giving the letter, as\nbefore, to his master, who assured him it was sent carefully away,\nand while it was crossing the Atlantic he was busy in improving his\npenmanship and arithmetic, under the hope held out to him by his master\nthat he would, if he remained, be raised to a book-keeper\u2019s desk; for\nthe planter had seen early that he had got hold of a long-headed,\nhonest, sagacious \u201cSawny,\u201d who would be of use to him. On with still\nlighter wing the intermediate time sped again, but with no better\nresult in the shape of an answer from her who was still the object\nof his day fancies and his midnight dreams. Nor did all this kill\nhis hope. A third letter was despatched, but the returning period\nwas equally a blank. We have been counting by months, which, as they\nsped, soon brought round the termination of his year, and with growing\nchanges too in himself, for as the notion began to worm itself into\nhis mind that his beloved Mary was either dead or faithless, another\npower was quietly assailing him from within, no other than ambition\nin the most captivating of all shapes, Mammon. We all know the manner\nin which the golden deity acquires his authority, nor do we need to\nhave recourse to the conceit of the old writer who tells us that the\nreason why gold has such an influence upon man lies in the fact that\nit is of the colour of the sun, which is the fountain of light, and\nlife, and joy. Certain it is, at least, that Halket having been taken\ninto the counting-house on a raised salary, began \u201cto lay by,\u201d as the\nScotch call it, and by and by, with the help of a little money lent to\nhim by his master, he began by purchasing produce from the neighbouring\nplantations, and selling it where he might, all which he did with\nadvantage, yet with the ordinary result to a Scotsman, that while he\nturned to so good account the king\u2019s head, the king\u2019s head began to\nturn his own.\n\nAnd now in place of months we must begin to count by lustrums, and\nthe first five years, even with all the thoughts of his dead, or, at\nleast, lost Mary, proved in Halket\u2019s case the truth of the book written\nby a Frenchman, to prove that a man is a plant, for he had already\nthrown out from his head or heart so many roots in the Virginian soil\nthat he was bidding fair to be as firmly fixed in his new sphere as a\nmagnolia, and if that bore golden blossoms, so did he; yet, true to\nhis first love, there was not among all these flowers one so fair as\nthe fair-haired Mary. Nay, with all hope not yet extinguished, he had\neven at the end of the period resolved upon a visit to Scotland, when\nstrangely enough, and sadly too, he was told by Mr Dreghorn that having\nhad occasion to hear from Mr Peter Ramsay on the subject of some more\nhorse dealings, that person had reported to him that Mary Brown, the\nlover of his old stable-boy, was dead. A communication this which, if\nit had been made at an earlier period, would have prostrated Halket\naltogether, but it was softened by his long foreign anticipations, and\nhe was thereby the more easily inclined to resign his saddened soul\nto the further dominion of the said god, Mammon, for as to the notion\nof putting any of those beautiful half-castes he sometimes saw about\nthe planter\u2019s house at Peach Grove, in the place of her of the golden\nringlets, it was nothing better than the desecration of a holy temple.\nThen the power of the god increased with the offerings, one of which\nwas his large salary as manager, a station to which he was elevated\nshortly after he had received the doleful tidings of Mary\u2019s death.\nAnother lustrum is added, and we arrive at ten years, and yet another,\nand we come to fifteen; at the end of which time Mr Dreghorn died,\nleaving Halket as one of his trustees, for behoof of his wife, in whom\nthe great plantation vested. If we add yet another lustrum, we find\nthe Scot--fortunate, save for one misfortune that made him a joyless\nworshipper of gold--purchasing from the widow, who wished to return to\nEngland, the entire plantation under the condition of an annuity.\n\nAnd Halket was now rich, even beyond what he had ever wished, but the\nchariot-wheels of Time would not go any slower--nay, they moved faster,\nand every year more silently, as if the old Father had intended to\ncheat the votary of Mammon into a belief that he would live for ever.\nThe lustrums still passed: another five, another, and another, till\nthere was scope for all the world being changed, and a new generation\ntaking the place of that with which William Halket and Mary Brown\nbegan; and he was changed too, for he began to take on those signs of\nage which make the old man a painted character; but in one thing he\nwas not changed, and that was the worshipful steadfastness, the sacred\nfidelity, with which he still treasured in his mind the form and face,\nthe words and the smiles, the nice and refined peculiarities that feed\nlove as with nectared sweets, which once belonged to Mary Brown, the\nfirst creature that had moved his affections, and the last to hold\nthem, as the object of a cherished memory for ever. Nor with time so\ndeceptive, need we be so sparing in dealing out those periods of five\nyears, but say at once that at last William Halket could count twelve\nof them since first he set his foot on Virginian soil: yea, he had been\nthere for sixty summers, and he had now been a denizen of the world for\nseventy-eight years. In all which our narrative has been strange, but\nwe have still the stranger fact to set forth, that at this late period\nhe was seized with that moral disease (becoming physical in time)\nwhich the French call _mal du pays_, the love of the country where one\nwas born and first enjoyed the fresh springs that gush from the young\nheart. Nor was it the mere love of country, as such, for he was seized\nwith a particular wish to be where Mary lay in the churchyard of the\nCanongate, to erect a tombstone over her, to seek out her relations and\nenrich them, to make a worship out of a disappointed love, to dedicate\nthe last of his thoughts to the small souvenirs of her humble life.\nWithin a month this old man was on his way to Scotland, having sold the\nplantation, and taken bills with him to an amount of little less than a\nhundred thousand pounds.\n\nIn the course of five weeks William Halket put his foot on the old\npier of Leith, on which some very old men were standing, who had been\nurchins when he went away. The look of the old harbour revived the\nimage which had been imprinted on his mind when he sailed, and the\nrunning of the one image into the other produced the ordinary illusion\nof all that long interval appearing as a day; but there was no illusion\nin the change, that Mary Brown was there when he departed, and there\nwas no Mary Brown there now. Having called a coach he told the driver\nto proceed up Leith Walk, and take him to Peter Ramsay\u2019s Inn, in St\nMary\u2019s Wynd; but the man told him there was no inn there, nor had been\nin his memory. The man added that he would take him to the White Horse\nin the Canongate, and thither accordingly he drove him. On arriving at\nthe inn he required the assistance of the waiter to enable him to get\nout of the coach, nor probably did the latter think this any marvel,\nafter looking into a face so furrowed with years, so pale with the\nweakness of a languid circulation, so saddened with care. The rich man\nhad only an inn for a home, nor in all his native country was there one\nfriend whom he hoped to find alive. Neither would a search help him,\nas he found on the succeeding day, when, by the help of his staff, he\nessayed an infirm walk in the great thoroughfare of the old city. The\nhouses were not much altered, but the signboards had got new names and\nfigures, and as for the faces, they were to him even as those in Crete\nto the Cretan, after he awoke from a sleep of forty-seven years--a\nsimilitude only true in this change, for Epimenidas was still as young\nwhen he awoke as when he went to sleep, but William Halket was old\namong the young and the grown, who were unknown to him as he was indeed\nstrange to them. True, too, as the coachman said, Peter Ramsay\u2019s Inn,\nwhere he had heard Mary singing at her work, and the stable where he\nhad whistled blithely among his favourite horses, were no longer to\nbe seen--_etiam cineres perierunt_--their very sites were occupied by\nmodern dwellings. What of that small half-sunk lodging in Big Lochend\nClose, where Mary\u2019s mother lived, and where Mary had been brought up,\nwhere perhaps Mary had died. Would it not be a kind of pilgrimage to\nhobble down the Canongate to that little lodging, and might there\nnot be for him a sad pleasure even to enter and sit down by the same\nfireplace where he had seen the dearly-beloved face, and listened to\nher voice, to him more musical than the melody of angels?\n\nAnd so after he had walked about till he was wearied, and his steps\nbecame more unsteady and slow, and as yet without having seen a face\nwhich he knew, he proceeded in the direction of the Big Close. There\nwas, as regards stone and lime, little change here; he soon recognised\nthe half-sunk window where, on the Sunday evenings, he had sometimes\ntapped as a humorous sign that he was about to enter, which had often\nbeen responded to by Mary\u2019s finger on the glass, as a token that he\nwould be welcome. It was sixty years since then. A small corb would now\nhold all that remained of both mother and daughter. He turned away his\nhead as if sick, and was about to retrace his steps. Yet the wish to\nenter that house rose again like a yearning, and what more in the world\nthan some souvenir of the only being on earth he ever loved was there\nfor him to yearn for? All his hundred thousand pounds were now, dear as\nmoney had been to him, nothing in comparison of the gratification of\nseeing the room where she was born--yea, where probably she had died.\nIn as short a time as his trembling limbs would carry him down the\nstair, which, in the ardour of his young blood he had often taken at a\nbound, he was at the foot of it; there was there the old familiar dark\npassage, with doors on either side, but it was the farthest door that\nwas of any interest to him. Arrived at it he stood in doubt. He would\nknock, and he would not; the mystery of an undefined fear was over him,\nand yet, what had he to fear, for half a century the inmates had been\nchanged, no doubt, over and over again, and he would be as unknowing\nas unknown? At length the trembling finger achieves the furtive tap,\nand the door was opened by a woman, whose figure could only be seen by\nhim in coming between him and the obscure light that came in by the\nhalf-sunk window in front; nor could she, even if she had had the power\nof vision, see more of him, for the lobby was still darker.\n\n\u201cWho may live here?\u201d said he, in the expectation of hearing some name\nunknown to him.\n\nThe answer, in a broken cracked voice, was not slow--\n\n\u201cMary Brown; and what may you want of her?\u201d\n\n\u201cMary Brown!\u201d but not a word more could he say, and he stood as still\nas a post, not a movement of any kind did he show for so long a time\nthat the woman might have been justified in her fear of a very spirit.\n\n\u201cAnd can ye say nae mair, sir?\u201d rejoined she. \u201cIs my name a bogle to\nterrify human beings?\u201d\n\nBut still he was silent, for the reason that he could not think--far\nless speak, nor even for some minutes could he achieve more than the\nrepetition of the words, \u201cMary Brown.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut hadna ye better come in, good sir?\u201d said she. \u201cYe may ken our auld\nsaying: \u2018They that speak in the dark may miss their mark;\u2019 for words\ncarry nae light in their een ony mair than me, for, to say the truth, I\nam old and blind.\u201d\n\nAnd, moving more as an automaton than as one under a will, Halket was\nseated on a chair with this said old and blind woman by his side, who\nsat silent and with blank eyes waiting for the stranger to explain\nwhat he wanted. Nor was the opportunity lost by Halket, who, unable to\nunderstand how she should have called herself Mary Brown, began, in\nthe obscure light of the room, to scrutinise her form and features,\nand in doing this he went upon the presumption that this second Mary\nBrown only carried the name of the first; but as he looked he began\nto detect features which riveted his eyes; where the re-agent was so\nsharp and penetrating, the analysis was rapid--it was also hopeful--it\nwas also fearful. Yes, it was true that that woman was _his_ Mary\nBrown. The light-brown ringlets were reduced to a white stratum of thin\nhair; the blue eyes were gray, without light and without speculation;\nthe roses on the cheeks were replaced by a pallor, the forerunner of\nthe colour of death; the lithe and sprightly form was a thin spectral\nbody, where the sinews appeared as strong cords, and the skin seemed\nonly to cover a skeleton. Yet withal he saw in her that identical Mary\nBrown. That wreck was dear to him; it was a relic of the idol he had\nworshipped through life; it was the only remnant in the world which had\nany interest for him; and he could on the instant have clasped her to\nhis breast, and covered her pale face with his tears. But how was he to\nact? A sudden announcement might startle and distress her.\n\n\u201cThere was a Mary Brown,\u201d said he, \u201cwho was once a housemaid in Mr\nPeter Ramsay\u2019s Inn in St Mary\u2019s Wynd.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who can it be that can recollect that?\u201d was the answer, as she\nturned the sightless orbs on the speaker. \u201cYe maun be full o\u2019 years.\nYes, that was my happy time, even the only happy time I ever had in\nthis world.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there was one William Halket there at that time also,\u201d he\ncontinued.\n\nWords which, as they fell upon the ear, seemed to be a stimulant so\npowerful as to produce a jerk in the organ; the dulness of the eyes\nseemed penetrated with something like light, and a tremor passed over\nher entire frame.\n\n\u201cThat name is no to be mentioned, sir,\u201d she said, nervously, \u201cexcept\naince, and nae mair; he was my ruin; for he pledged his troth to me,\nand promised to come back and marry me, but he never came.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor wrote you?\u201d said Halket.\n\n\u201cNo, never,\u201d replied she; \u201cI would hae gien the world for a scrape o\u2019\nthe pen o\u2019 Will Halket; but it\u2019s a\u2019 past now, and I fancy he is dead\nand gone to whaur there is neither plighted troth, nor marriage, nor\ngiving in marriage; and my time, too, will be short.\u201d\n\nA light broke in upon the mind of Halket, carrying the suspicion that\nMr Dreghorn had, for the sake of keeping him at Peach Grove, never\nforwarded the letters, whereto many circumstances tended.\n\n\u201cAnd what did you do when you found Will had proved false?\u201d inquired\nHalket. \u201cWhy should that have been your ruin?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause my puir heart was bound up in him,\u201d said she, \u201cand I never\ncould look upon another man. Then what could a puir woman do? My mother\ndied, and I came here to work as she wrought: ay, fifty years ago, and\nmy reward has been the puir boon o\u2019 the parish bread; ay, and, waur\nthan a\u2019 the rest, blindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cMary,\u201d said Halket, as he took her emaciated hand into his, scarcely\nless emaciated, and divested of the genial warmth of life.\n\nThe words carried the old sound, and she started and shook.\n\n\u201cMary!\u201d he continued, \u201cWill Halket still lives. He was betrayed, as you\nhave been betrayed. He wrote three letters to you, all of which were\nkept back by his master, for fear of losing one who he saw would be\nuseful to him; and, to complete the conspiracy, he reported you dead\nupon the authority of Peter Ramsay. Whereupon Will betook himself to\nthe making of money, but he never forgot his Mary, whose name has been\nheard as often as the song of the birds in the groves of Virginia.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are Will himself!\u201d cried she. \u201cI ken now the sound o\u2019 your\nvoice in the word \u2018Mary,\u2019 even as you used to whisper it in my ear in\nthe fields at St Leonard\u2019s. Let me put my hand upon your head, and move\nmy fingers ower your face. Yes, yes; oh, mercy, merciful God, how can\nmy poor worn heart bear a\u2019 this!\u201d\n\n\u201cMary, my dear Mary!\u201d ejaculated the moved man, \u201ccome to my bosom and\nlet me press you to my heart; for this is the only blissful moment I\nhave enjoyed for sixty years.\u201d\n\nNor was Mary deaf to his entreaties, for she resigned herself as in\na swoon to an embrace, which an excess of emotion, working on the\nshrivelled heart and the wasted form, probably prevented her from\nfeeling.\n\n\u201cBut, O Willie!\u201d she cried, \u201ca life\u2019s love lost; a lost life on both\nour sides.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot altogether,\u201d rejoined he, in the midst of their mutual sobs. \u201cIt\nmay be--nay, it is--that our sands are nearly run. Yea, a rude shake\nwould empty the glass, so weak and wasted are both of us; but still\nthere are a few grains to pass, and they shall be made golden. You\nare the only living creature in all this world I have any care for.\nMore thousands of pounds than you ever dreamt of are mine, and will\nbe yours. We will be married even yet, not as the young marry, but as\nthose marry who may look to their knowing each other as husband and\nwife in heaven, where there are no cruel interested men to keep them\nasunder; and for the short time we are here you shall ride in your\ncarriage as a lady, and be attended by servants; nor shall a rude\nbreath of wind blow upon you which it is in the power of man to save\nyou from.\u201d\n\n\u201cOwer late, Willie; ower late,\u201d sighed the exhausted woman, as she\nstill lay in his arms. \u201cBut if all this should please my Will--I canna\nuse another name, though you are now a gentleman--I will do even as you\nlist, and that which has been by a cruel fate denied us here we may\nshare in heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who shall witness this strange marriage?\u201d said he. \u201cThere is no\none in Edinburgh now that I know or knows me. Has any one ever been\nkind to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cFew, few indeed,\u201d answered she. \u201cI can count only three.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must know these wonderful exceptions,\u201d said he, as he made an\nattempt at a grim smile; \u201cfor those who have done a service to Mary\nBrown have done a double service to me. I will make every shilling they\nhave given you a hundred pounds. Tell me their names.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is John Gilmour, my landlord,\u201d continued she, \u201cwho, though he\nneeded a\u2019 his rents for a big family, passed me many a term, and forbye\nbrought me often, when I was ill and couldna work, many a bottle o\u2019\nwine; there is Mrs Paterson o\u2019 the Watergate, too, who aince when I\ngaed to her in sair need gave me a shilling out o\u2019 three that she\nneeded for her bairns; and Mrs Galloway o\u2019 Little Lochend, slipt in to\nme a peck o\u2019 meal ae morning when I had naething for breakfast.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd these shall be at our marriage, Mary,\u201d said he. \u201cThey shall be\ndressed to make their eyes doubtful if they are themselves. John\nGilmour will wonder how these pounds of his rent he passed you from\nhave grown to hundreds. Mrs Paterson\u2019s shilling will have grown as\nthe widow\u2019s mite never grew, even in heaven; and Mrs Galloway\u2019s peck\nof meal will be made like the widow\u2019s cruse of oil--it will never be\nfinished while she is on earth.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Mary raised her head. The blank eyes were turned upon him,\nand something like a smile played over the thin and wasted face. At the\nsame moment a fair-haired girl of twelve years came jumping into the\nroom, and only stopped when she saw a stranger.\n\n\u201cThat is Helen Kemp,\u201d said Mary, who knew her movements. \u201cI forgot\nHelen; she lights my fire, and when I was able to gae out used to lead\nme to the park.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she shall be one of the favoured ones of the earth,\u201d said he, as\nhe took by the hand the girl, whom the few words from Mary had made\nsacred to him, adding, \u201cHelen, dear, you are to be kinder to Mary than\nyou have ever been;\u201d and, slipping into the girl\u2019s hand a guinea, he\nwhispered, \u201cYou shall have as many of these as will be a bigger tocher\nto you than you ever dreamed of, for what you have done for Mary Brown.\u201d\n\nAnd thus progressed to a termination a scene perhaps more extraordinary\nthan ever entered into the head of a writer of natural things\nand events not beyond the sphere of the probable. Nor did what\nafterwards took place fall short of the intentions of a man whose\nintense yearnings to make up for what had been lost led him into the\nextravagance of a vain fancy. He next day took a great house and\nforthwith furnished it in proportion to his wealth. He hired servants\nin accordance, and made all the necessary arrangements for the\nmarriage. Time which had been so cruel to him and his sacred Mary was\nput under the obligation of retribution. John Gilmour, Mrs Paterson,\nMrs Galloway, and Helen Kemp were those, and those alone, privileged\nto witness the ceremony. We would not like to describe how they were\ndecked out, nor shall we try to describe the ceremony itself. But vain\nare the aspirations of man when he tries to cope with the Fates! The\nchanged fortune was too much for the frail and wasted bride to bear.\nShe swooned at the conclusion of the ceremony, and was put into a\nsilk-curtained bed. Even the first glimpse of grandeur was too much for\nthe spirit whose sigh was vanity, all is vanity, and, with the words on\nher lips, \u201cA life\u2019s love lost,\u201d she died.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Merrillygoes.\n\n\nThe world has been compared to many things,--a playhouse, a madhouse,\na penitentiary, a caravanserai, and so forth; but I think a show-box\nwherein all, including man, is turned by machinery, is better than any\nof them. And every one looks through his own little round hole at all\nthe rest, he being both object and subject. How the scenes shift too!\nthe belief of one age being the laughing-stock of the next. Witches and\nbrownies and fairies and ghosts and bogles have lost their quiddity,\nand given birth to quips and laughs; but I have here, as a simple\nstoryteller, to do with one example of these vanished beliefs, what was\nin folk-lore called the \u201cMerrillygoes,\u201d sometimes in the old Scotch\ndictionaries spelled \u201cMirrligoes.\u201d It was a supposed affection of the\neyes, in which the victim or patient, as you suppose the visitation\nbrought on by natural or supernatural powers, fancied he saw men and\nwomen and inanimate things which were not at the time before him.\nI think the affection was different from the \u201cglamour\u201d which was\ngenerally attributed to the wrath of fairies; and both indeed might,\nafter all, be resolved into the pseudoblepsy of the old, and the\nmonomania of the new nosologies. But dismissing all learning--which,\nhowever potent to puff up man\u2019s pride, and then prick the bladder of\nhis conceit, has no concern with a story--I at once introduce to you Mr\nDavid Tweedie. He was one of those Davids who, for some Scotch reason,\nare called Dauvit; and, like other simple men, he had a wife, whose\nname, I think, was Semple, Robina Semple, certainly not Simple. These\nworthies figured in Berenger\u2019s Close of Edinburgh some time about the\nprovostship of the unfortunate Alexander Wilson; and were not only man\nand wife by holy Kirk, but a copartnership, insomuch as, Dauvit being\na tailor, she after marriage, and having no children to \u201cfash her,\u201d\nbecame a tailor also, sitting on the same board with him, using the\nsame goose, yea, pricking the same flea with emulous needle.\n\nYet our couple were in some respects the most unlike each other in the\nworld; Robina being a sharp, clear-witted, nay, ingenious woman--Dauvit\na mere big boy. I do not know if I could give the reader a better\nexplanation of the expression I have used than by referring him to the\nnotion he might form of Holbein\u2019s picture of his son, whom he quaintly\nand humorously painted as a man, but retaining all the features, except\nsize, of a boy: the chubby cheeks, small snub nose, pinking eyes, and\ndelicate colours. Nor was Dauvit a big chubby man merely as respected\nthe body, for he was also little better than chubby in mind; at least\nin so far as regards credulity, passiveness, and softness. He had\na marvellous appetite for worldly wonders, the belief being in the\ndirect ratio of the wonderfulness, and he gave credit to the last thing\nhe heard, for no other reason than that it was the last thing; one\nimpression thus effacing another, so that the soft round lump remained\nalways much the same. All which peculiarities were, it may easily be\nsupposed, not only known to, but very well appreciated by, his loving,\nbut perhaps not over-faithful, Binny.\n\nIf you keep these things in your mind, you will be able the better\nto estimate the value of the facts as I proceed to tell you that one\nmorning Dauvit was a little later in getting out of bed than was usual\nwith him, by reason that he had on the previous night been occupied\nwith a suit of those sacredly-imperative things called in Scotland\n\u201cblacks,\u201d that is, mourning. But then the time was not lost; for Robina\nwas up and active, very busily engaged in preparing breakfast. Not\nthat Dauvit condescended to take much notice of these domestic duties\nof Binny, because he had ample faith not only in her housewifery, but\nthe wonderful extent of her understanding; only it just happened,\nas indeed anything _may_ happen in a world where we do not know why\nanything _does_ happen, that as he lay very comfortably under the\nwelcome pressure of the soft blankets, with his eyes looking as it\nwere out of a hole, he heard a tap at the door, which tap was just as\nlike that of the letter-carrier as any two blunts of exactly the same\nlength could possibly be. Nor did his observation stop here; for he saw\nwith these same eyes, as if confirming his ears, Binny go to the door\nand open it; then came the words of doubtless the said letter-carrier,\n\u201cThat\u2019s for Dauvit;\u201d and at the same instant a letter was put into his\nwife\u2019s hands, and thereafter disappeared at the hole of her pocket,\nwhere there were many things that David knew nothing about.\n\nStrange as this seemed to Mr Tweedie, even the last act of pocketing\nwould not have appeared to him so very curious if at the moment of\nsecreting the letter she had not very boldly, and even with a kind of\nsmile upon her face, looked fully into the open eyes of her husband.\nBut more still, this sagacious and honest woman immediately thereafter\nretired into the inner room, where, no doubt, she made herself\nacquainted with the contents of the communication, whatever it might\nbe, and from which she came again to resume, as she did resume, her\npreparations for breakfast just as if nothing had happened beyond what\nwas common. Of course I need not say that Dauvit was astonished; but\nhis astonishment was an increasing quantity in proportion to the time\nthat now passed without her going forward to the bedside and reading\nthe letter to him, as she had often done before; and if we might be\nentitled to wonder why he didn\u2019t at once put the question, \u201cWhat letter\nwas that, Binny?\u201d perhaps the answer which would have been given by\nDavid himself might have been that his very wonder prevented him from\nasking for an explanation of the wonder--just as miracles shut people\u2019s\nmouths at the same moment that they make them open their eyes.\n\nHowever this might be--and who knows but that David might have a pawky\ncuriosity to try Binny?--the never a word did he say; but, rising\nslowly and quietly, he dressed himself, in that loose way in which\nof all tradesmen the tailors most excel, for a reason of which I am\nentirely ignorant. He then sat down by the fire; and Binny having\nseated herself on the other side, the operation of breakfast began\nwithout a word being said on either part, but with mutual looks, which\non the one side, viz., Robina\u2019s, were very well understood, but on the\nother not at all. A piece of pantomime all this which could not last\nvery long, for the good reason that impatience is the handmaiden of\ncuriosity; and David at length, in spite of a bit of bread which almost\nclosed up his mouth, got out the words--\n\n\u201cWhat letter was that, Binny, which the letter-carrier handed in this\nmornin\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cLetter! there was nae letter, man,\u201d was the answer of Binny,\naccompanied with a look of surprise, which might in vain compete with\nthe wonder immediately called up in the eyes of her simple husband.\n\n\u201cDid I no see it with my ain een?\u201d was the very natural ejaculation.\n\n\u201cNo, you didn\u2019t; you only thought ye saw it,\u201d said the wife; \u201cand thae\ntwa things have a gey difference between them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat _do_ ye mean, Robina, woman?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe merrillygoes!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe merrillygoes,\u201d rejoined the wondering David; \u201cmy een niver were in\nthat condition.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ may think sae, Dauvit,\u201d rejoined Binny; \u201cbut I happen to ken\nbetter. On Wednesday night, when we were in bed, and the moon shining\nin at the window, did I no hear you say, \u2018Binny, woman, what are ye\ndoing up at this eery hour?\u2019 It was just about twelve; and upon\nlifting my head and looking ower at ye, I saw your een staring out as\ngleg as a hawk\u2019s after a sparrow. It had begun then.\u201d\n\n\u201cOu, I had been dreaming,\u201d said David.\n\n\u201cDreaming with your een open!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is indeed strange enough,\u201d rejoined David. \u201cDid ye really see my\neen open?\u201d\n\n\u201cDid ye ever hear me tell ye a lee, man? Am I no as true as the Bible?\nand think ye I dinna ken the strange light o\u2019 the merrillygoes, when I\nhave seen it in the een o\u2019 my ain father?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that really true, Binny? I\u2019m beginnin\u2019 to get fear\u2019d. But what o\u2019\nyour father, lass?\u201d\n\n\u201cYe may weel ask,\u201d said the wife. \u201cHe had been awa\u2019 at Falkirk Tryst\nwith his ewes, and it was about seven o\u2019clock when he cam\u2019 hame. We\nwere then in the farm o\u2019 Kimmergame. Weel, he was coming up the lang\nloan, and it was gloaming; and just when he was about twenty yards from\nhis ain door, he saw twa men hurrying along with a coffin a\u2019 studded\nwith white nails. They were only a yard or twa before him, and the\nmoment he saw them he stopped till he saw where they were going; and\nyet where could they be going but to his ain house; and nae doubt his\nwife would be dead, for the lang coffin couldna have fitted any other\nperson in the house; but he was soon made sure enough, for he saw the\nmen with the coffin enter into his ain door, and there he stood in a\nswither o\u2019 fear; but he was a brave man, and in he went, never stopping\ntill he got into his ain parlour, where my mother was sitting at her\ntea, and nae sooner did she see him than she broke out in a laugh o\u2019\nperfect joy at his hamecome. But the never a word he ever said about\nthe coffin, because he didn\u2019t wish to terrify his wife with evil omens;\nand besides, he understood the vision perfectly. And, Dauvit, if ye\u2019re\na wise man ye will submit to the hand o\u2019 God, wha sees fit to bring\nthae visitations upon us for some wise end.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery true,\u201d said David, to whom the affair of the letter was rather\nmuch even for _his_ credulity; \u201cbut still, Binny, lass, I canna just\ncome to it that I was deceived.\u201d\n\n\u201cWeel, weel, stick to it, my man, and mak me, your ain wife, a leear.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat canna be either,\u201d rejoined David; \u201cand by my faith, I\u2019m at a loss\nwhat to think or what to do; for if it really be that the infliction\u2019s\nupon me, how, in the Lord\u2019s name, am I to ken the real thing from the\nfause? My head rins right round at the very thought o\u2019t. And then I\nfancy there\u2019s nae remedy in the power o\u2019 man.\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear no,\u201d replied Binny. \u201cYe maun just pray; but I have heard\nmy father say that it came on him after he had been confined with\nan ill-working stomach to the house, and exercise drove it away.\nYe\u2019ve been sitting ower close. Take scouth for a day. Awa\u2019 ower to\nBurntisland, and get payment from John Sprunt o\u2019 the three pounds he\nowes for his last suit. Stay ower the night. I say nothing about the\njolly boose ye\u2019ll have thegither, but it may drive thae fumes and\nfancies out o\u2019 your head. Come ower with the first boat in the morning,\nand I will have your breakfast ready for you.\u201d\n\nThe prudence of this advice David was not slow to see, though he had,\nmaugre his simplicity, considerable misgivings about the affair of the\nletter; nor did he altogether feel the absolute conviction that he was\nunder the influence of the foresaid mysterious power. But independently\nof the prudence of her counsel, he felt it as a command, and therefore\nbehoved to obey. For we may as well admit that David might doubt of\nthe eternal obligation of a certain decalogue by reason of its being\nabrogated; but as for the commands of Mrs Robina, they were subject\nto no abrogation, and certainly no denial whatever. So David went and\ndressed himself in his \u201csecond-best\u201d--a particular mentioned here with\nan after-view--and having got from the hands of her, who was thus both\nwife and medical adviser, a drop of spirits to help him _on_, and the\nmerrillygoes _off_, he set forth on his journey.\n\nProceeding down Leith Wynd, he found himself in Leith Walk; but however\nactive his limbs, thus relieved on so short a warning from \u201cthe\nboard,\u201d and however keen and far-sighted his eyes, as they scanned\nall the people he met, he could not shake off certain doubts whether\nthe individuals he met were in reality creatures of flesh and blood,\nor mere visions. The sacred words of Mrs Robina were a kind of winged\nbeliefs, which, by merely striking on the ear, performed for him what\nmany a man has much trouble in doing for himself--that is, thinking;\nso that upon the whole the tendency of his thoughts was in a great\ndegree favourable to sadness and terror. The sigh was heaved again and\nagain; being sometimes for a longer period delayed, as the hope of a\njolly boose with his friend Sprunt held a partial sway in his troubled\nmind. But by and by the activity required by his search for a boat, the\ngetting on board, the novelty of the sail, the undulating movements,\nand all the interests which belong to a \u201ctraveller by sea and land,\u201d\ndrove away the cobwebs that hung about the brain; and by the time he\ngot to Burntisland he was much as he used to be. But, alas, he little\nknew that this journey, propitious as it appeared, was not calculated\nto produce the wonderful effects expected from it.\n\nNo sooner had he landed on the pier than he made straight for the house\nof his friend, which stood by the roadside, a little removed from the\nvillage. He saw it in the distance; and quickening his steps, came to\nan angle which enabled him to see into Mr Sprunt\u2019s garden; and we may,\nconsidering how much the three pounds, the boose, the fun, the cure was\nassociated with the figure of that individual, imagine the satisfaction\nfelt by Mr Tweedie when he saw the true body of John Sprunt in that\nvery garden, busily engaged, too, in the delightful occupation of\ngarden-work, and animated, we may add of our own supposition, with a\nmind totally oblivious of the three pounds he owed to the Edinburgh\ntailor. But well and truly may we speak of the uncertainty of mundane\nthings. David had only turned away his eyes for an instant, and yet\nin that short period, as he found when he again turned his head, the\nwell-known figure of his old friend, pot-companion, and debtor in\nthree pounds, had totally disappeared. The thing looked like what\nlearned people call a phenomenon. How could Sprunt have disappeared\nso soon? Where could he have gone to be invisible, where there was no\nsummer-house to receive him, and where the time did not permit of a\nretreat into his own dwelling? David stood, and began to think of the\nwords of Robina. There could be no doubt that his eyes had been at\nfault again; it was not John Sprunt he had seen--merely a lying image.\nAnd so even on the instant the old sadness came over him again, with\nmore than one long sigh; nor in his depression and simplicity was he\nable to bring up any such recondite thing as a thought suggesting the\nconnexion between John\u2019s disappearance and the fact that he owed Mr\nDavid Tweedie--whom he could have seen in the road--the sum of three\npounds.\n\nIn which depressed and surely uncomfortable condition our traveller\nproceeded towards the house, more anxious, indeed, to disprove his\nterrors than to get his money. He knocked at the door, which, by the\nby, was at the end of the house; and his knock was answered by Mrs\nSprunt herself, a woman who could have acted Bellona in an old Greek\npiece.\n\n\u201cI am glad John is at hame,\u201d were David\u2019s first words.\n\n\u201cAnd I would be glad if that were true, Mr Dauvit,\u201d replied she; \u201cbut\nit just happens no to be true. John went off to Kirkaldy at six o\u2019clock\nthis morning to try and get some siller that\u2019s due him there.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me in to sit down,\u201d muttered David, with a kind of choking in his\nvoice.\n\nAnd following the good dame into the parlour, Mr Tweedie threw himself\ninto the arm-chair in a condition of great fear and perturbation.\nHaving sat mute for a minute or two, probably to the wonderment of the\ndame, he began to rub his brow with his handkerchief, as if taking off\na little perspiration could help him in his distress.\n\n\u201cMrs Sprunt,\u201d said he, \u201cI could have sworn that I saw John working in\nthe yard.\u201d\n\nWhereat Mrs Sprunt broke out into a loud laugh, which somehow or\nanother seemed to David as ghostly as his visions; and when she had\nfinished she added, \u201cSomething wrong, Dauvit, with your een.\u201d\n\n\u201cGudeness gracious and ungracious!\u201d said David. \u201cIs this possible? Can\nit really be? Whaur, in the name o\u2019 Heeven, am I to look for a real\nflesh-and-blood certainty?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet ye seem to be sober, Dauvit.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs a judge,\u201d replied he. But, after a pause, \u201cCan I be sure even o\u2019\n_you_?\u201d he cried, as he started up; the while his eyes rolled in a\nmanner altogether very unlike the douce quiet character he bore. \u201cLet\nme satisfy mysel that you are really Mrs Janet Sprunt in the real body.\u201d\n\nAnd making a sudden movement, with his arms extended towards the\nwoman, he tried to grip her; but it was a mere futile effort. Mrs\nSprunt was gone through the open door in an instant, and David was left\nalone with another confirmation of his dreaded suspicion, muttering\nto himself, \u201cThere too, there too,--a\u2019 alike; may the Lord have mercy\nupon His afflicted servant! Robina Tweedie, ye were right after a\u2019, and\nthat letter was a delusion like the rest--a mere eemage--a\u2019 eemages\nthegither.\u201d\n\nAfter which soliloquy he again sat down in the easy-chair, held his\nhands to his face, and groaned in the pain of a wounded spirit. But\neven in the midst of this solemn conviction that the Lord had laid His\nhand upon him, he could see that sitting there could do him no good;\nand, rising up, he made for the kitchen. There was no one there; he\ntried another room, which he also found empty; and issuing forth from\nthe unlucky house, he encountered an old witch-looking woman who was\nturning the corner, as if going in the direction of another dwelling.\n\n\u201cDid you see Mrs Sprunt even now?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNo likely,\u201d answered the woman; \u201cwhen she tauld me this mornin\u2019 she\nwas going to Petticur. She has a daughter there, ye ken.\u201d\n\nMelancholy intelligence which seemed to have a logical consistency\nwith the other parts of that day\u2019s remarkable experiences; nor did\nDavid seem to think that anything more was necessary for the entire\nsatisfaction of even a man considerably sceptical, and then who in\nthose days doubted the merrillygoes?\n\n\u201cWhat poor creatures we are!\u201d said he. \u201cI came here for a perfect cure,\nand I gae hame with a heavy care.\u201d\n\nAnd with these words, which were in reality an articulated groan, Mr\nDavid Tweedie made his way back towards the pier, under an apprehension\nthat as he went along he would meet with some verification of a\nsuspicion which, having already become a conviction, not only required\nno more proof, but was strong enough to battle all opposing facts and\narguments; so he went along with his chin upon his breast, and his\neyes fixed upon the ground, as if he were afraid to trust them with a\nsurvey of living beings, lest they might cheat him as they had already\ndone. It was about half-past twelve when he got to the boat; and he was\nfurther disconcerted by finding that the wind, which had brought him\nso cleverly over, would repay itself, like over-generous givers, who\ntake back by one hand what they give by the other. And so it turned\nout; for he was fully two hours on the passage, all of which time\nwas occupied by a reverie as to the extraordinary calamity that had\nbefallen him. And how much more dreary his cogitations as he thought\nof the increased unhappiness of Robina, when she ascertained not only\nthe failure of getting payment of his debt, but the total wreck of her\nmeans of cure!\n\nAt length he got to Leith pier; but his landing gave him no pleasure:\nhe was still haunted with the notion that he would encounter more\nmischances; and he hurried up Leith Walk, passing old friends whom he\nwas afraid to speak to. Arrived at the foot of Leith Wynd, he made a\ndetour which brought him to the foot of Halkerston\u2019s Wynd, up which he\nascended, debouching into the High Street. And here our story becomes\nso incredible, that we are almost afraid to trust our faithful pen to\nwrite what David Tweedie saw on his emerging from the entry. There,\ncoming up the High Street, was Mrs Robina Tweedie herself, marching\nalong steadily, dressed in David\u2019s best suit. He stood and stared with\ngoggle eyes, as if he felt some strange pleasure in the fascination.\nThe vision was so concrete, that he could identify his own green coat\nmade by his own artistic fingers. There were the white metal buttons,\nthe broadest he could get in the whole city--nay, one of them on the\nback had been scarcely a match, and he recognised the defect; his\nknee-breeches too, so easily detected by their having been made out of\na large remnant of a colour (purple) whereof there was not another bit\neither to be bought or \u201ccabbaged,\u201d--nay, the very brass knee-buckles of\nwhich he was so proud; the \u201crig-and-fur\u201d stockings of dark brown; the\nshoe-buckles furbished up the last Sunday; the square hat he had bought\nfrom Pringle; and, to crown all, his walking-stick with the ivory top.\nSo perfect indeed was the \u201cget-up\u201d of his lying eyes, that, if he\nhad not been under the saddening impression of his great visitation,\nhe would have been well amused by the wonderful delusion. Even as it\nwas, he could not help following the phantom, as it went so proudly\nand jantily along the street. And what was still more extraordinary,\nhe saw Mucklewham, the city guardsman, meet her and speak to her in\na private kind of way, and then go away with her. But David had a\ntrace of sense in his soft nature. He saw that it was vain as well\nas hurtful to gratify what was so clearly a delusion; it would only\ndeepen the false images in eyes already sufficiently \u201cglamoured;\u201d and\nso he stopped suddenly short and let them go--that is, he would cease\n_to look_,--and they, the visions, would cease _to be_. In all which\nhow little did he know that he was prefiguring a philosophy which was\nsome time afterwards to become so famous! Nay, are we not all under the\nmerrillygoes in this world of phantoms?\n\n \u201cYou say you see the things that be:\n I say you only think you see.\n Not even that. It seems to me\n You only think you think you see.\n Then thinking weaves so many a lie,\n Methinks this world is \u2018all my eye.\u2019\u201d\n\nBut even in his grief and sacred fear he could not help saying to\nhimself, \u201cGude Lord! if that eemage werena frightfu\u2019, would it no be\nfunny? And what will Robina say? Nae doubt she is at this very moment\nsitting at her tea in Berenger\u2019s Close, thinking upon my calamity.\nWhat _will_ she say when I tell her that I saw her in the High Street\ndressed in my Sunday suit, walking just as if she were Provost Wilson\nhimsel? I wouldna wonder if she should get into ane o\u2019 her laughing\nfits, even in very spite o\u2019 her grief for the awful condition of her\nloving husband. At any rate, it\u2019s time I were hame, when I canna tell\nwhat I am to see next, nor can even say which end o\u2019 me is uppermost.\u201d\n\nNor scarcely had he finished his characteristic soliloquy, when a\nhand was laid on his shoulder. It was that of the corporal; but how\nwas David to know that? Why, he felt Bill\u2019s hand; and to make things\nmore certain, he even laid his own hand upon the solid shoulder of the\nsturdy city guardsman; adding, for still greater proof--\n\n\u201cDid you meet and speak to any one up the street there?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe niver a living soul,\u201d said the corporal, \u201cas I\u2019m a sinner; but\ncome along, man, to the Prophet Amos\u2019s,\u201d (a well-known tavern in\nthe Canongate,) \u201cand let us have a jolly jug, for I\u2019m to be on duty\nto-night, and need something to cheer me up; and the colour of ale will\nsit better on your cheeks when you go home to Robina than that saffron.\nAre you well enough, David? I think I might as well ask the question of\na half-hanged dog.\u201d\n\n\u201cHalf or hale hanged,\u201d replied David, as he eyed his friend\nsuspiciously, \u201cI canna be the waur o\u2019 a jug o\u2019 ale.\u201d\n\nAn answer which was perhaps the result of sheer despair, for the\nconviction of the \u201creal unreality\u201d of what he had seen was now so\nmuch beyond doubt that he began to submit to it as a doom; and what\nis irremediable becomes, like death, to be bearable, nay, even\naccommodating to the routine of life; and so the two jogged along till\nthey came to the Prophet\u2019s, where they sat down to their liquor and,\nwe may add, loquacity, of which latter Mucklewham was so profuse, that\nany other less simple person than David might have thought that the\nguardsman wanted to speak against time. But David suspected nothing,\nand he was the more inclined to be patient that his friend had promised\nto pay the score.\n\n\u201cAnd when saw ye Robina?\u201d said David.\n\n\u201cNot for a good round year, my bairn,\u201d said the big corporal.\n\n\u201cGude Lord, did ye no see her and speak to her even this day?\u201d\n\nWhereupon the big guardsman laughed a horse (guardsman\u2019s) laugh;\nand pointing his finger to his eye he twirled the same, that is the\nfinger, merrily round. A movement which David too well understood; and\nafter heaving a deep sigh, he took a deep pull at the ale, as if in a\nparoxysm of despair.\n\nAnd so they drank on, till David having risen and left the room for a\nbreath of fresh air, found on his return that his generous friend had\nvanished. Very wonderful, no doubt. But, then, had he not taken his jug\nwith him?--no doubt to get it replenished--and he would return with a\nfilled tankard. Vain expectation! Mucklewham was only another Sprunt,\nanother lie of the visual sense. Did David Tweedie really need this\nnew proof? David knew he didn\u2019t; neither did he require the additional\ncertainty of his calamity by having to pay only for his own \u201cshot.\u201d The\nProphet did not ask for more, nor did he think it necessary to say why;\nperhaps he would make the corporal pay his own share afterwards. The\nwhole thing was as clear as noon: David had been drinking with one who\nhad no stomach wherein to put his liquor, and for the good reason that\nhe had no body to hold that stomach.\n\n\u201cWaur than the case o\u2019 the letter, or Sprunt, (hiccup,) or Robina\ndressed in my claes,\u201d said he lugubriously, \u201cfor I only _saw_ them, but\nI handled the corporal, sat with him, drank with him, heard him speak;\nyet baith he and the pewter jug were off in a moment, and I hae paid\n(hic) only for ae man\u2019s drink. But is it no a\u2019 a dream thegither? I\nwouldna wonder I am at this very moment in my bed wi\u2019 Robina lying at\nmy back.\u201d\n\nAnd rising up, he discovered that he was not very well able to keep\nhis legs, the more by reason that he had poured the ale into an empty\nstomach; there was, besides, a new confusion in his brain, as if that\norgan had not already enough to do with any small powers of maintaining\nitself in equilibrium which it possessed. But he behoved to get\nhome; and to Berenger\u2019s Close he accordingly went, making sure as he\nprogressed of at least one truth in nature, amidst all the dubieties\nand delusions of that most eventful day: that the shortest way between\ntwo points is the deflecting one. And what was Binny about when he\nentered his own house? Working the button-holes of a vest which had\nbeen left by David unfinished. No sooner did she see David staggering\nin than she threw the work aside.\n\n\u201cHame already? and in that state too!\u201d she cried. \u201cYou must have been\nseeing strange ferlies in the High Street, while I was sitting here\nbusy at my wark.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange enough, lass; but if you can tell me whether or no I am Dauvit\nTweedie, your lawfu\u2019 husband or the Prophet Moses, or the Apostle\nAaron, or (hic) the disciple Deuteronomy, or the deevil, it\u2019s mair than\nI can.\u201d\n\nWhereupon David dropt his uncertain body in a chair, doubting perhaps\nif even the chair was really a chair.\n\n\u201cAnd it wasna just enough,\u201d rejoined she, \u201cthat you had an attack of\nthe merrillygoes, but you must add pints o\u2019 ale to make your poor wits\nmair confounded.\u201d\n\nA remark which Robina thought herself entitled to make, irrespective of\nthe question which for a hundred years has been disputed, viz., whether\nshe had sent the corporal to take David to Prophet Amos\u2019s and fill him\ndrunk with ale, and then shirk the score?\n\n\u201cBut haste ye to bed, my man,\u201d she added, \u201cthat\u2019s the place for you,\nwhere you may snore awa\u2019 the fumes o\u2019 Prophet Amos\u2019s ale, and the\nwhimwhams o\u2019 your addled brain.\u201d\n\nAn advice which David took kindly, though he did not need it; for,\neducated as he may be said to have been by the clever Robina, he was\nfortunately one of those favoured beings pointed at in the wise saying\nthat the power of education is seldom effectual except in those happy\ncases where it is superfluous. So it was the ale that sent him to bed\nand to sleep as well--a condition into which he sunk very soon. And it\nwas kindly granted to him, insomuch as it was a kind of recompense for\nwhat he had suffered during that day of wonders: it saved him from the\npossibility of hearing a conversation in the other room between Robina\nand the corporal, in the course of which it was asked and answered\nwhether David had recognised Robina in her male decorations; and\nwhether he had any suspicions as to the true character of the deep plot\nthey were engaged in working out.\n\nWhat further took place in the house of Mr Tweedie that night we have\nnot been able, notwithstanding adequate inquiry, to ascertain; but of\nthis important fact we are well assured, that next morning David awoke\nin a much improved condition. To account for this we must remember his\npeculiar nature, for to him \u201cthe yesterday,\u201d whatever yesterday it\nmight be, was always a _dies non_; it had done its duty and was gone,\nand it had no business here any more than an impudent fellow who tries\nto live too long after the world is sick of him. Indeed, we know that\nhe ate such a breakfast, and with such satisfaction, that no ideas of\na yesterday had any chance of resisting the feelings of the moment; and\nonce gone, they had too much difficulty to get into the dark chamber\nagain to think of trying it. He was \u201con the board\u201d by ten o\u2019clock. For\nhe had work to do, and as Robina\u2019s purpose was in the meantime served,\nshe said no more of the merrillygoes. She had perhaps something else\nto do; for shortly after eleven she went out, perhaps to report to\nthe corporal the sequel to that which he already knew. But whatever\nher object, her absence was not destined to be so fruitful of good to\nher as her presence wherever she might go; for it so happened that as\nDavid was sitting working, and sometimes with his face overcast with\na passing terror of a return of his calamity, he found he required a\npiece of cloth of a size and colour whereof there were some specimens\nin an old trunk. To that repository of cabbage, as it is vulgarly\ncalled, he went; and in rummaging through the piebald contents he\ncame upon a parcel in a corner. On opening it, he found to his great\nwonderment no fewer than a hundred guineas of pure gold. The rays from\nthe shiny pieces seemed to enter his eyes like spikes, and fix the\nballs in the sockets; if he felt a kind of fascination yesterday as he\nlooked at his wife in male attire, though a mere vision, he experienced\nthe influence now even more, however doubtful he was of the reality of\nthe glittering objects. He seized, he clutched them, he shut his eyes,\nand opened them again as he opened his hands; they did _not_ disappear;\nbut then Robina herself might appear, and under this apprehension,\nwhich put to flight his doubts, he carried them off, and secreted\nthem in a private drawer of which he had the key; whereupon he betook\nhimself again to the board. By and by Robina returned; but the never\na word David said of the guineas, because he had still doubts of the\nveracity of his eyes.\n\nAnd so the day passed without anything occurring to suggest either\ninquiry or answer. During the night David slept so soundly that he was\neven oblivious of his prize; and it was not till eleven next forenoon,\nwhen his wife went out, that he ventured to look into the drawer; but\nnow the terrible truth was revealed to him: the guineas were gone, and\nhe had been again under delusion. The merrillygoes once more! and how\nwas he to admit the fact to Robina, after his attempted appropriation!\n\nBut, happily, there was no necessity for admitting his own shame, for\nabout four o\u2019clock John Jardine the letter-carrier called and told\nhim that his wife had eloped with the corporal. The intelligence was\nno doubt very dreadful to David, who loved his wife so dearly that\nhe could have subscribed to the saying \u201cthat the husband will always\nbe deceived when the wife condescends to dissemble;\u201d but Mrs Robina\nTweedie did not so condescend; and David now began to see certain\nthings and to recollect certain circumstances which, when put together,\nappeared even to his mind more strange than the merrillygoes. And his\neyes were opened still further by a letter from Kirkcudbright from a Mr\nGordon, wishing to be informed why he had not acknowledged the receipt\nof the hundred guineas left him by his uncle, and which had been sent\nin a prior letter in the form of a draft on the Bank of Scotland. Mr\nDavid Tweedie now went to the bank, and was told that the money had\nbeen paid to a man in a green coat and white metal buttons, square hat,\nand walking-stick, who represented himself as David Tweedie.\n\nOur story, it will be seen, has pretty nearly explained itself; yet\nsomething remains to be told. A whole year elapsed, when one morning\nMrs Robina Tweedie appeared before honest David, with a lugubrious face\nand a lugubrious tale, to the effect that although she had been tempted\nto run away with the corporal, she had almost immediately left him--a\npure, bright, unsullied wife; but during all this intermediate time\nshe had felt so ashamed and conscience-stricken, that she could not\nreturn and ask forgiveness. All which David heard, and to all which he\nanswered--\n\n\u201cRobina--nae mair Tweedie, lass--ye ken I was afflicted with a strange\ncalamity when ye left me. I thought I saw what wasna to be seen. It\ncomes aye back upon me now and then; and I ken it\u2019s on me this mornin\u2019.\nI may think I see you there standin\u2019 before me, even as I saw you in\nmy broad-tailed coat that day in the High Street; but I ken it\u2019s a\u2019\na delusion. In fact, my dear Robina, _I dinna see you, I dinna even\nfeel your body_,\u201d (pushing her out by the cuff of the neck;) \u201cthe\nmerrillygoes, lass! the merrillygoes!\u201d\n\nAnd David shut the door on the ejected Robina--thereafter living a very\nquiet and comparatively happy life, free from all glamour or any other\naffection of the eyes, and seeing just as other people see. Yea, with\nhis old friend Sprunt and his wife he had many a joke on the subject,\nforgiving John for running away that morning to shirk his creditor,\nas well as Mrs Janet for being terrified out of the house by the wild\nrolling eyes of the unhappy David.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Six Toes.\n\n\nA man who makes a will generally knows pretty well the person to whom\nhe leaves a legacy, but it does not follow that other people are to\nhave the same enlightenment as to the identity of the legatee. I make\nthe remark in reference to a common story connected with the will of\nhonest Andrew Gebbie, who officiated once as a ruling elder in the\nChurch of Trinity College, Edinburgh, and was supposed to have done so\nmuch good to the people by his prayers, exhortations and psalm-singing,\nthat it was utterly unnecessary for his getting to heaven, where he had\nsent so many others, that he should bequeath a single plack or bawbee\nto the poor when he died. Yet whether it was that the good man Andrew\ndetermined to make sure work of his salvation, or that he had any less\nambitious object in view, certain it is that some time before he died\nhe made a will by his own hand, and without the help of a man of the\nlaw, in spite of the Scotch adage--\n\n \u201cWho saves a fee and writes his will\n Is friendly to the lawyers still;\n For these take all the will contains,\n And give the heir all that remains.\u201d\n\nAnd by this said will honest Andrew bequeathed the sum of three hundred\npounds sterling money to \u201cMistress Helen Grey, residing in that street\nof the old town called Leith Wynd,\u201d without any further identification\nor particularisation whatsoever, nor did he say a single word about the\ncause of making this somewhat generous bequest, or anything about the\nmerits or services of the legatee. A strange circumstance, seeing that\nthe individual being a \u201cNelly Grey\u201d had long been a favourite of the\npoets, (and, therefore, rather indefinite,) as she indeed still figures\nin more than one very popular song, wherein she is even called bonny\nNelly Grey.\n\nThen, to keep all matters in harmony, he appointed three clergymen--the\nminister of his own church, the minister of the Tolbooth, and the\nminister of the Tron--as his executors for carrying his said will into\nexecution, probably thinking that Nelly Grey\u2019s three hundred, and her\nsoul to boot, could not be in better hands than those of such godly\nmen. So, after living three weeks longer in a very bad world, the\nworthy testator was gathered to his fathers, and it might perhaps have\nbeen as well that his said will had been gathered along with him,--as\nindeed happened in a recent case, where a sensible man, probably in\nfear of the lawyers, got his will placed in the same coffin with\nhim,--though no doubt he forgot that worms, if not moths, do corrupt\nthere also, and sometimes thieves, in the shape of body-snatchers, do\nbreak through and steal. Passing all which we proceed to say that the\nexecutors entered upon their duties. As regards the other legatees\nthey found no difficulty whatever, most probably because legatees are\na kind of persons who are seldom out of the way when they are wanted.\nThey accordingly made their appearance, and without a smile, which\nwould have been unbecoming, got payment of their legacies. But as\nfor this Helen Grey, with so large a sum standing at her credit, she\nmade no token of any kind, nor did any of the relations know aught\nconcerning her, though they wondered exceedingly who she could be, and\nhow she came to be in so strange a place as their kinsman\u2019s testament.\nNot that the three executors, the ministers, shared very deeply in\nthis wondering, because they knew that their elder, honest Andrew,\nwas a good and godly man, and had had good and godly, and therefore\nsufficient reasons, (probably in the poverty and piety of Helen,) for\ndoing what he had done.\n\nIf indeed these gentlemen wondered at all, it was simply that any poor\nperson living in such a place as Leith Wynd should be so regardless\nof money, as to fail to make her appearance among the grave and happy\nlegatees. The question, who can she be, passed from the one to the\nother like a bad shilling. Not one of them could answer. Father Tron,\nand Father Tolbooth, and Father Trinity, were all at fault; the noses\nof their ingenuity could not smell out the object of their wish. But\nthen they had been trusting so far as yet to the relatives, and had not\nmade personal inquiry in Leith Wynd, which, if they had been men of\nbusiness, they would have done at once.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Father Trinity at length, \u201cI think I have it now when I\nrecollect there was an honest woman of that name who was a member of\nmy congregation some years ago, and, if I am not mistaken, she was in\nhonest Andrew Gebbie\u2019s visiting district, and he took an interest in\nher soul.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe thing is patent,\u201d rejoined Father Tron. \u201cOur lamented elder hath\ndone this good thing out of the holy charity that cometh of piety.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd a most beautiful example of the fruits of godliness,\u201d added Father\nTolbooth.\n\n\u201cBeautiful indeed!\u201d said Trinity. \u201cFor we have here to keep in view\nthat Elder Andrew had many poor friends, but he hath chosen to prefer\nthe relationship of the spirit to that of mere earthly connexion. And\nhis reward will verily be reaped in heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must give the good man a paragraph in the _Mercury_,\u201d resumed\nFather Tolbooth. \u201cAnd now, brother of Trinity, it will be for you to\nfind Helen Grey out, and carry to her the glad tidings.\u201d\n\n\u201cA pleasant commission,\u201d rejoined Father Trinity, as he rose to depart.\n\nAnd taking his way to Leith Wynd, he soon reached that celebrated\nstreet, nor was it long till he passed \u201cThe Happy Land,\u201d that dreaded\nden of burglars, thieves, and profligate women, which the Scotch,\naccording to their peculiar humour, had so named. That large building\nhe behoved to pass with a sigh as the great forlorn hope of the city,\nand coming to some of the brokers whose shops were farther down, he\nprocured some information which sent him up a dark close, to the end\nof which having got, he ascended to a garret in a back tenement, and,\nknocking at the door, was answered by an aged woman.\n\n\u201cDoes Helen Grey live here?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, sir!\u201d replied she. \u201cIf ye ca\u2019 living the breathing awa o\u2019 the\nbreath o\u2019 life. It\u2019s a sad thing when auld age and poverty come\nthegither.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn old saying, Helen,\u201d replied the father. \u201cYet there is a third one\nwhich sanctifieth the other two, and bringeth all into harmony, peace,\nand love, and that is religion. But do you not know your old minister?\u201d\n\n\u201cBrawly, brawly, sir,\u201d replied she; \u201cbut the truth is, I didna like to\nspeak first; and now, sir, I\u2019m as proud as if I had got a fortune.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so perhaps you have,\u201d added the father. \u201cBut come, sit down. I\u2019ve\ngot something to say;\u201d and having seated himself he continued. \u201cWas\nMaister Andrew Gebbie, our worthy elder, in the habit of visiting you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, and he did aince or twice come and see me; but never mair,\u201d\nreplied she. \u201cYet he was sae kind as to bring me the last time this\nbook o\u2019 psalms and paraphrases, and there\u2019s some writing in\u2019t which I\ncouldna read.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me see it,\u201d he said.\n\nAnd the woman having handed him the book--\n\n\u201cTo Mrs Janet Grey,\u201d said the minister, as he read the inscription.\n\n\u201cA mistake, for my name is Helen,\u201d said she. \u201cBut it was weel meant in\nMr Gebbie, and it\u2019s a\u2019 the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cA staff to help her on to the happy land,\u201d continued the reverend\ndoctor, reading.\n\n\u201cNo \u2018The Happy Land\u2019 near bye?\u201d interjected Helen.\n\n\u201cNot likely,\u201d continued the doctor with a smile. \u201cBut I have good news\nfor you, Helen.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood news for me!\u201d said the woman. \u201cThat must come frae an airth no\nwithin the four quarters o\u2019 the earthly compass. I thought a\u2019 gude news\nfor _me_ had ta\u2019en wings, and floun awa to the young and the happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems not,\u201d said he; \u201cfor Elder Andrew has left you a legacy of\nthree hundred pounds.\u201d\n\n\u201cStop, stop, sir!\u201d ejaculated the frightened legatee. \u201cIt canna be, and\nthough it was sae, I couldna bear the grandeur. It would put out the\nsma\u2019 spark o\u2019 life that\u2019s left in my auld heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d said he. \u201cIt is only an earthly inheritance, Helen, to keep\nyou in ease and comfort in your declining years, till you succeed to\nthat inheritance which knoweth no decay, and fadeth not away.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is it really possible, good sir?\u201d she continued, a little\nreconciled to that whereunto there is a pretty natural predisposition\nin human nature. \u201cBut I havena blessed Elder Andrew yet. May the Lord\nreceive Andrew Gebbie\u2019s soul into endless glory!\u201d\n\n\u201cAmen!\u201d said the reverend doctor. \u201cI will speak of this again to you,\nHelen.\u201d\n\nAnd with these words he left the still confused woman, who would very\nlikely still feel a difficulty in comprehending the length and breadth\nof the goodness of a man who had seen her only a few times, and given\nher a psalm-book, and called her Janet in place of Helen--a mistake he\nmust have rectified before he made his will.\n\nNext day the reverend doctor of Trinity had another meeting in the\noffice of the law-agent to the trust, Mr George Crawford, whereat he\nrecounted how he had found out the legatee; how strange it was that\nthe poor woman was entirely ignorant of her good fortune; how grateful\nshe was; and, above all, how strange that the saintly elder had only\nseen her a few times, and knew so little of her that he had made\nthe foresaid mistake in her name. All which did seem strange to the\nbrethren, not any one of whom would even have thought of giving more\nthan perhaps a pound to such a person. But as the motives of men are\nhidden from the eyes of their fellows, and are indeed like the skins of\nonions, placed one above another, so they considered that all they had\nto do was to walk by the will.\n\n\u201cWe have no alternative,\u201d said Father Tron; \u201cnor should we wish any,\nseeing that the money could not be better applied; for has not the son\nof Sirach said, \u2018Give unto a godly man, and not unto a sinner.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d added Tolbooth, \u201cwe are also commanded to give of our substance\nto the poor, and \u2018do well unto those that are lowly.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Father Trinity. \u201cMr Gebbie\u2019s object was clear enough; it\nwas sufficient for him that the woman was poor; therein lay his reward;\nand I presume we have nothing to do but to authorise Mr Crawford to pay\nthe money.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich I will do, gentlemen,\u201d said the writer, \u201cif you authorise me;\nbut I frankly confess to you that I am not altogether satisfied,\nbecause I knew Mr Andrew Gebbie intimately, and, godly as he was, I can\nhardly think he was the man to make a comparative stranger the medium\nof the accumulation of compound interest to be got back in heaven.\nBesides, Helen Grey is so common a name, that I believe I could get\nseveral in Edinburgh; and if we were to pay to the wrong woman, you\nmight be bound to refund out of your own stipends, which would not be a\nvery pleasant thing.\u201d\n\nA speech which, touching the word stipend, brought a very grave look\ninto the faces of the brethren.\n\n\u201cA most serious, yea, a momentous consideration,\u201d said Tron, followed\nby the two others.\n\nNor had the groan got time to die away when the door opened, and there\nstood before them a woman of somewhere about forty, a little shabby\nin her apparel, though with a decayed flush of gaudy colour in it here\nand there; somewhat blowsy too--the tendency to the tint of the peony\nbeing more evident about the region of the nose, where there was a spot\nor two very clearly predisposed to the sending forth, under favourable\ncircumstances, of a pimple; rather bold-looking in addition, even in\npresence of holy men who wielded the Calvinistic thunders of the day,\nand followed them up with the refreshing showers of grace and love.\n\n\u201cI understand,\u201d said she, \u201cthat Elder Andrew Gebbie has left me a\nlegacy o\u2019 three hundred pounds, and I will thank you for the siller.\u201d\n\nOn hearing which the three fathers looked at each other in amazement,\nand it was clear they did not like the appearance of the new claimant.\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d said Trinity.\n\n\u201cHelen Grey!\u201d replied she. \u201cI live in Leith Wynd. Mr Andrew Gebbie and\nme were man and wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere are your marriage lines?\u201d asked Tron.\n\n\u201cI hae nane,\u201d replied she. \u201cIt was a marriage by giving and taking\nbetween ourselves--a gude marriage by the law.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd no witnesses?\u201d said Tron.\n\n\u201cThe deil ane but the Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cWh-e-w!\u201d whistled Father Tron, not audibly, only as it were within the\nmouth.\n\n\u201cIt is very true,\u201d said Father Trinity, as he looked askance at the\nclaimant, and contrasted her in his mind with the other Nelly, who he\nwas satisfied was the real Nelly Pure, \u201cthat Mr Andrew Gebbie left that\nsum of money to a certain Helen Grey, but we have no evidence to show\nthat you are the right woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe right woman!\u201d ejaculated she, with a bold laugh; \u201cand how could I\nbe the wrong ane, when I cut Andrew Gebbie\u2019s corns for ten years?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, a chiropodist!\u201d said Father Tron.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m nae corn-doctor, sir,\u201d replied she, with something like offended\npride: \u201cI never cut another man\u2019s corns in my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are nearly getting into that lightness of speech which betokeneth\nvanity,\u201d said another of the brethren. \u201cIt is a serious matter; and we\nmust require of you, Mrs Grey--seeing that the marriage cannot, even\nby your own statement, be taken into account, for want of evidence--to\nprove that you were upon such terms of friendship with Mr Gebbie as to\nmake it probable that he would leave you this large sum of money.\u201d\n\n\u201cFriendship!\u201d cried the woman again. \u201cAy, for ten years, and wha can\ntell where the flee may stang? It was nae mair than he should have\ndune. I am Helen Grey, and I insist upon my rights.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said Father Trinity, \u201cthere is another Helen Grey in Leith Wynd,\nwith whom Mr Gebbie was acquainted, and to whom he made a present of a\npsalm-book.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did he no gie me a psalm-book too!\u201d quoth the woman. \u201cI have it at\nhame, and you are welcome to see my name on\u2019t written by the elder\u2019s\nain hand. But did this second Helen Grey cut the good elder\u2019s corns for\nten lang years, I wonder? Tell me that, gentlemen, and I\u2019ll tell you\nsomething mair that will make your ears ring as they never did at a\npsalm.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill this irreverend nonsense about corns: woman, are you mad?\u201d\nsaid Tron. \u201cGive us the names of respectable people who knew of this\nasserted friendship between you and the deceased elder.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe deil ane kent o\u2019t, sir, but ourselves!\u201d was the sharp answer of\nthe woman. \u201cAnd if it comes to that, I can prove naething; but I tell\nyou there\u2019s mair in the corns than ye wot.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! she wants to prove the _footing_ she was on with Mr Gebbie,\u201d\npunned Mr Crawford with a laugh, and the grave brethren could not\nhelp joining in what Tron called a fine example of the figure called\n_paronomasia_.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it,\u201d said the woman. \u201cI will prove that I knew the length\no\u2019 his big tae, and may be mair.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what more?\u201d asked Father Tron.\n\n\u201cThat Mr Gebbie had six toes on his left foot!\u201d answered she.\n\n\u201cAnd what of that?\u201d inquired the agent, as he pricked up his ears at\nwhat might turn out a more special means of knowledge than they were\ndreaming of.\n\n\u201cA great deal,\u201d continued the woman. \u201cSae muckle that I need nae mair,\nfor be it kenned to ye that Mr Gebbie was aye ashamed o\u2019 what he\nthought a deformity, and concealed it from a\u2019 living mortals except\nme. If ye\u2019ll prove that there\u2019s anither person in a\u2019 Edinburgh, in\nScotland, or in the hail world, wha kens that Elder Andrew had six toes\non his left foot, I\u2019ll give up a\u2019 right to the three hundred pounds!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo there is something in the corns after all,\u201d whispered Mr Crawford\nto Trinity, and the others hearing the remark began to think, and\nthink, and look at each other, as if they felt that the woman had\nfairly shut them up to a test of her truthfulness easily applied. So\ntelling her to call back next day at the same hour, they requested\nher to leave them. And after she was gone, the four gentlemen began\ngradually to relax from their gravity as they saw the ingenuity of the\nwoman, for it was quite apparent that if it should turn out that no\none--servant, relative, or doctor--could tell this wonderful fact about\nthe six toes of their own knowledge, however derived, and that this\nHelen Grey was the sole confidential custodier thereof--the conclusion\nwas all but certain that she knew it by being intrusted with the\ncutting of the holy man\u2019s corns, as she had asserted. And a confidence\nof this kind, (setting aside the irregular marriage,) implied a\nfriendship so close as to justify the legacy. What in the meantime\nremained to be done was for the agent to see any persons connected with\nthe elder\u2019s household who were likely to know the fact, and being an\nhonourable man he behoved to do this without what is called a leading\nquestion.\n\nAccordingly, that same afternoon Mr Crawford busied himself to the\neffect of having seen the good elder\u2019s housekeeper, as well as the\ndoctor who had attended him upon his last illness, with perhaps a dozen\nof other likely people, such as the other legatees and relations, all\nof whom were entirely ignorant of the fact set forth by the woman,\nviz., that Mr Gebbie had six toes on his left foot. And next day the\ntrustees met again, when Mr Crawford told them, before touching on the\ncorns, that an agent had called upon him from the other Helen first\nseen, demanding payment to her. He then told the trustees the result\nof his inquiries--that not a single person of all he had seen knew\nanything of the abnormal foot. At this the clergymen wondered more and\nmore, and how long they might have sat there and wondered it might have\nbeen difficult to say, had it not been for an ingenious idea started by\nTron, and suggested by the old story about King Charles and the fish in\nthe bucket of water.\n\n\u201cThe woman is laughing at us,\u201d said he, \u201cand we are inquiring whether\ncertain people knew a fact without making ourselves acquainted with\nthe prior fact, whether that prior fact had ever any existence except\nin the brain of this bad woman, whose evidence goes to traduce the\ncharacter of a holy elder of the Church of Scotland.\u201d\n\nThe brethren again laughed at this ingenious discovery of Father\nTron\u2019s, and thereupon began to veer round in favour of good Nelly\n_prima_. In a few minutes more entered Blowsabel again, holding in\nher hand a psalm-book with some words of an inscription on it in the\nhandwriting of the elder, but subscribed \u201ca friend,\u201d whereas, as\nthe reader may recollect, the inscription in the book given to the\nfirst Helen, (with the misnomer of Janet,) was in the name of Andrew\nGebbie--a fact rather in favour of Nelly _secunda_, insomuch as it\nharmonised with her statement that the friendship between the elder\nand her had been kept a secret known only to themselves.\n\n\u201cThat goes for what it\u2019s worth,\u201d said she, as she received back the\nbook. \u201cAnd now,\u201d she continued, addressing Mr Crawford, \u201cyou can tell\nme whether you were able to find, within the hail o\u2019 Edinburgh, a\nsingle person who knew that Elder Andrew had six taes on his left foot.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have found no one,\u201d was the answer, \u201cfor the good reason that Andrew\nGebbie had no more toes on his left foot than you yourself have on\nyours.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Helen _secunda_ burst out into a laugh. After which, said\nshe, \u201cI will prove it, as sure as I am a living woman!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe man is dead and buried!\u201d replied Mr Crawford, with a voice of\ntriumph.\n\n\u201cThat makes nae difference,\u201d said she; \u201cunless it be that the worms\nhave eaten awa the sixth tae; and, by my faith, I\u2019ll see to it!\u201d\n\nAnd with these words she went away, leaving the trustees in as great a\ndifficulty as ever. Nor had she been long gone when a man of the name\nof Marshall, the procurator who had taken up the case of the first\nHelen, entered and said, \u201che had got evidence to show that a neighbour,\nwho had been present at the last interview between the elder and his\nclient, had heard the worthy man declare, that he had been moved to\npity by her age and poverty, and had promised to do something for her,\nto enable her to pass her remaining years in comfort.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said the agent, \u201cthere is, I am sorry to say, another Helen in\nthe field; and you must drive her off before we can pay your client the\nmoney.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I know who she is,\u201d was the answer. \u201cThat woman\u2019s word is not\nto be relied upon; for she is what she is.\u201d And then he added, \u201cI am\ndetermined to see justice done to my client--who, at least, is an\nhonest woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow you see, gentlemen,\u201d said Mr Crawford, after the first Helen\u2019s\nagent had departed--\u201cyou see how this extraordinary affair stands. The\ntwo claimants are determined to fight it out: so that, if you pay the\nmoney to the good woman, you will, as I said before, run a risk of\nbeing obliged to pay the other one afterwards out of your stipends.\u201d\n\n\u201cOur stipends are the holy tenths, set apart to the work of the Lord\nfrom the beginning of the world,\u201d answered the brethren, \u201cand cannot be\ntouched, except by sacrilegious hands!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d continued the agent, \u201cthere is only one thing we can do;\nand that is, to throw the case into court by what we call a\nmultiplepoinding, and let the claimants fight against each other.\u201d\n\nA proposition this to which the trustees felt themselves bound to\nagree, though with very much reluctance; for they saw that the case\nwould become public, and there would be ill-disposed people that would\nbe inclined to put a false construction upon the motives of the worthy\nelder of Trinity. But then, to comfort them, they felt assured that the\nstory of the toes was a pure invention; and the elder being buried,\nthere was no possibility of proving the same.\n\nWhereupon the meeting separated. Next day Mr Crawford commenced his\nlaw proceedings; and in due time, a record having been prepared, the\nadvocates behoved to plead the causes of their respective clients.\n\nThen stood up Mr Anderson, the advocate of the first Helen, and said:--\n\n\u201cYour lordships must see that--if you lay out of view as a mere\ninvention, which it is, the story of the six toes--the preponderance\nof the evidence lies with my client. There is a psalm-book in each\ncase; but mine has the name of the testator to the inscription: and you\nhave, in addition, the testimony of one respectable person who heard Mr\nGebbie declare his intention to enable this poor old woman to live. On\nthe other side you have no evidence whatever that the elder ever set\nhis foot--corns or no corns--on the floor of the Helen _secunda_. There\nwas no such _footing_ of intimacy as that contended for on the other\nside; and that I am justified in calling the story of the six toes\nan invention will appear when I say that, according to the authority\nof learned men, a _lusus natur\u00e6_ of this kind does not occur once in\nten thousand births: so that it is ten thousand to one against the\nassumption. In addition, there is the character of the deceased, whose\nwhole life and conversation are against the presumption that he would\ngo to Leith Wynd, and get a woman of doubtful character to operate upon\na foot of which he is said to have been ashamed. For all which reasons\nI claim the three hundred pounds for my client.\u201d\n\nThen stood up Mr Sharp, the advocate of the second Helen, and said:--\n\n\u201cIt is no wonder at all why my learned friend has a difficulty about\nhis _locus standi_, seeing he is so delicate about the feet. I feel\nno delicacy on that fundamental point. And it is because my corns of\nlegal right and justice are pared that I stand here with so much ease,\nand assert that Mr Gebbie having imparted to my client a secret which\nhe never communicated to living mortal besides, that secret could\nonly have been the result of an intimacy and confidence sufficient to\njustify this legacy in her favour of three hundred pounds. My friend\nsays, that there are many chances against such a freak of nature as\nsix toes. That is true. But he confounds the thing with the assertion\nof the thing. And were there not a presumption in favour of a person\nspeaking the truth rather than falsehood, what would become of that\ntestimony which is the foundation of our holy religion, not less than\nof the decisions of our courts of justice? But it is in the power of\nthis court to ascertain the truth of my assertion. The body of the\nworthy elder can be exhumed; and if it shall appear that it has six\ntoes on the left foot, the presumption of the intimacy of friendship\nwhich will justify the legacy is complete. On the other side there is\nno such presumption. The elder only visited the first Helen once or\ntwice, and what was to induce him to leave her so large a sum to the\ndeprivation of his poor relations?\u201d\n\nThen the President spoke as follows:--\n\n\u201cIt appears to the Court that, in this very extraordinary case, we\nnever can get at the truth without testing, by proof, the statement\nmade by the second Helen in regard to the six toes, because if it is\nreally a fact that the testator carried this number on his left foot,\nand by parity that that number carried him, it is impossible to get\nquit of the presumption that the fact was communicated confidentially\nwhen the operation of paring was resorted to; and as confidence\nimplies friendship, and friendship intimacy, we must assume that there\nmust have been such an amount of mutual liking on the part of these\nindividuals as would justify the legacy which is the subject-matter\nof this multiplepoinding. The Court will therefore issue an order\nfor the exhumation of the body of Andrew Gebbie, for the purpose of\nascertaining whether the testator\u2019s foot was formed in the manner\nasserted by the claimant.\u201d\n\nThe commission was accordingly issued. The body of the elder was\nexamined as it lay in the coffin, and the result of the examination, as\nstated in the report, was: \u201cThat the left foot was furnished with six\ntoes, the sixth or supernumerary one being much smaller than the one\nnext to it. It also appeared that the toes of this foot were supplied\nwith a number of very hard corns, which bore the marks of having been\noften pared by some very careful hand.\u201d\n\nWhereupon the case was again taken up, when judgment was given for the\nsecond Helen, who was thus remarkably well paid for her attention to\nthe corns of the worthy elder. When the decision was reported to the\nreverend executors, Father Tron shook his head with great gravity,\nTolbooth did the same, and so did Trinity: nay, they all shook their\nheads at the same time: but what they intended to signify thereby was\nnever known, for the reason that it was never declared.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Mysie Craig.\n\n\nIn detailing the curious circumstances of the following story, I am\nagain only reporting a real law case to be found in the Court of\nSession Records, the turning-point of which was as invisible to the\njudges as to the parties themselves--that is, until the end came; a\ncircumstance again which made the case a kind of developed romance. But\nas an end implies a beginning, and the one is certainly as necessary as\nthe other, we request you to accompany us--taking care of your feet--up\nthe narrow spiral staircase of a tenement called Corbet\u2019s Land, in\nthe same old town where so many wonderful things in the complicated\ndrama--or dream, if you are a Marphurius--of human life have occurred.\nUp which spiral stair having got by the help of our hands, almost\nas indispensable as that of the feet--we find ourselves in a little\nhuman dovecot of two small rooms, occupied by two persons not unlike,\nin many respects, two doves--Widow Craig and her daughter, called\nMay, euphuised by the Scotch into Mysie. The chief respects in which\nthey might be likened, without much stress, to the harmless creatures\nwe have mentioned, were their love for each other, together with\ntheir total inoffensiveness as regarded the outside world; and we are\ndelighted to say this, for we see so many of the multitudinous sides of\nhuman nature dark and depraved, that we are apt to think there is no\nbright side at all. Nor shall we let slip the opportunity of saying,\nat the risk of being considered very simple, that of all the gifts of\nfelicity bestowed, as the Pagan Homer tells, upon mankind by the gods,\nno one is so perfect and beautiful as the love that exists between a\ngood mother and a good daughter.\n\nFor so much we may be safe by having recourse to instinct, which is\ndeeper than any secondary causes we poor mortals can see. But beyond\nthis, there were special reasons tending to this same result of mutual\naffection, which come more within the scope of our observation. In\nexplanation of which we may say that the mother, having something in\nher power during her husband\u2019s life, had foreseen the advantages of\nusing it in the instruction of her quick and intelligent daughter\nin an art of far more importance then than now--that of artistic\nneedlework. Nay, of so much importance was this beautiful art, and\nto such perfection was it brought at a time when a lady\u2019s petticoat,\nembroidered by the hand, with its profuse imitations of natural\nobjects, flowers, and birds, and strange devices, would often cost\ntwenty pounds Scots, that a sight of one of those operose achievements\nof genius would make us blush for our time and the labours of our\nwomen. Nor was the perfection in this ornamental industry a new thing,\nfor the daughters of the Pictish kings confined in the castle were\nadepts in it; neither was it left altogether to paid sempstresses, for\ngreat ladies spent their time in it, and emulation quickened both the\ngenius and the diligence. So we need hardly say it became to the mother\na thing to be proud of, that her daughter Mysie proved herself so apt\na scholar that she became an adept, and was soon known as one of the\nfinest embroideresses in the great city. So, too, as a consequence,\nit came to pass that great ladies employed her, and often the narrow\nspiral staircase of Corbet\u2019s Land was brushed on either side by the\nhuge masses of quilted and emblazoned silk that, enveloping the belles\nof the day, were with difficulty forced up to, and down from, the small\nroom of the industrious Mysie.\n\nBut we are now speaking of art, while we should have more to say (for\nit concerns us more) of the character of the young woman who was\ndestined to figure in a stranger way than in making beautiful figures\non silk. Mysie was one of a class; few in number they are indeed, but\non that account more to be prized. Her taste and fine manipulations\nwere but counterparts of qualities of the heart--an organ to which the\npale face, with its delicate lines, and the clear liquid eyes, was a\nsuitable index. The refinement which enabled her to make her imitation\nof beautiful objects on the delicate material of her work was only\nanother form of a sensibility which pervaded her whole nature--that\ngift which is only conceded to peculiar organisations, and is such a\ndoubtful one, too, if we go, as we cannot help doing, with the poet,\nwhen he sings that \u201cchords that vibrate sweetest pleasures,\u201d often also\n\u201cthrill the deepest notes of woe.\u201d Nay, we might say that the creatures\nthemselves seem to fear the gift, for they shrink from the touch of\nthe rough world, and retire within themselves as if to avoid it, while\nthey are only courting its effects in the play of an imagination much\ntoo ardent for the duties of life. And, as a consequence, how they\nseek secretly the support of stronger natures, clinging to them as do\nthose strange plants called parasites, which, with their tender arms\nand something so like fingers, cling to the nearest stem of a stouter\nneighbour, and embracing it, even though hollow and rotten, cover it,\nand choke it with a flood of flowers. So true is it that woman, like\nthe generous vine, lives by being supported and held up; yet equally\ntrue that the strength she gains is from the embrace she gives, and so\nit is also that goodness, as our Scottish poet Home says, often wounds\nitself, and affection proves the spring of sorrow.\n\nAll which might truly be applied to Mysie Craig; but as yet the\nstronger stem to which she clung was her mother, and it was not\nlikely, nor was it in reality, that that affection would prove to her\nanything but the spring of happiness, for it was ripened by love,\nand the earnings of the nimble fingers, moving often into the still\nhours of the night, not only kept the wolf from the door, but let in\nthe lambs of domestic harmony and peace. Would that these things had\nso continued; but there are other wolves than those of poverty, and\nthe \u201cae lamb o\u2019 the fauld\u201d cannot be always under the protection of\nthe ewe; and so it happened on a certain night, not particularised\nin the calendar, that our Mysie, having finished one of these floral\npetticoats on which she had been engaged for many weeks, went forth\nwith her precious burden to deliver the same to its impatient\nowner--no other than the then famous Anabella Gilroy, who resided in\nAdvocate\u2019s Close. Of which fine lady, by the way, we may say that\nof all the gay creatures who paraded between \u201cthe twa Bows,\u201d no one\ndisplayed such ample folds of brocaded silk, nodded her pon-pons more\njantily, or napped with a sharper crack her high-heeled shoes, all to\napprove herself to \u201cthe bucks\u201d of the time, with their square coats\nbrocaded with lace, their three-cornered hats on the top of their\nbob-wigs, their knee-buckles and shoe-buckles. And certainly not the\nleast important of those, both in his own estimation and that of the\nsprightly Anabella, was George Balgarnie, a young man who had only a\nyear before succeeded to the property of Balgruddery, somewhere in\nthe north, and of whom we might say that in forming him Nature had\ntaken so much pains with the building up of the body, that she had\nforgotten the mind, so that he had no more spiritual matter in him than\nsufficed to keep his blood hot, and enable his sensual organs to work\nout their own selfish gratifications; or, to perpetrate a metaphor,\nhe was all the polished mahogany of a piano, without any more musical\nsprings than might respond to one keynote of selfishness. And surely\nAnabella had approved herself to the fop to some purpose, for when our\nsempstress with her bundle had got into the parlour of the fine lady,\nshe encountered no other than Balgarnie--a circumstance apparently of\nvery small importance, but we know that a moment of time is sometimes\nlike a small seed, which contains the nucleus of a great tree, perhaps\na poisonous one. And so it turned out that while Anabella was gloating\nover the beautiful work of the timid embroideress, Balgarnie was\nbusy admiring the artist, but not merely, perhaps not at all, as an\nartist--only as an object over whom he wished to exercise power.\n\nThis circumstance was not unobserved by the little embroideress, but it\nwas only observed to be shrunk from in her own timid way, and probably\nit would soon have passed from her mind, if it had not been followed\nup by something more direct and dangerous. And it was; for no sooner\nhad Mysie got to the foot of the stairs than she encountered Balgarnie,\nwho had gone out before her; and now began one of those romances in\ndaily life of which the world is full, and of which the world is sick.\nBalgarnie, in short, commenced that kind of suit which is nearly as\nold as the serpent, and, therefore, not to be wondered at; neither are\nwe to wonder that Mysie listened to it, because we have heard so much\nabout \u201clovely woman stooping to folly,\u201d that we are content to put\nit to the large account of natural miracles. And not very miraculous\neither, when we remember, that if the low-breathed accents of\ntenderness awaken the germ of love, they awaken at the same time faith\nand trust; and such was the beginning of the romance which was to go\nthrough the normal stages--the appointment to meet again--the meeting\nitself--the others that followed--the extension of the moonlight walks,\nsometimes to the Hunter\u2019s Bog between Arthur\u2019s Seat and Salisbury\nCrags, and sometimes to the song-famed \u201cWells o\u2019 Weary.\u201d All which were\njust as sun and shower to the germ of the plant: the love grew and\ngrew, and the faith grew and grew also which saw in him that which it\nfelt in itself. Nay, if any of those moonlight-loving elves that have\nleft their foot-marks in the fairy rings to be seen near St Anthony\u2019s\nWell had whispered in Mysie\u2019s ear, \u201cBalgarnie will never make you his\nwife,\u201d she would have believed the words as readily as if they had\nimpugned the sincerity of her own heart. In short, we have again the\nanalogue of the parasitic plant: the very fragility and timidity of\nMysie were at once the cause and consequence of her confidence. She\nwould cling to him and cover him with the blossoms of her affection;\nnay, if there were unsoundness in the stem, these very blossoms would\ncover the rottenness.\n\nThis change in the life of the little sempstress could not fail to\nproduce some corresponding change at home. We read smoothly the play we\nhave acted ourselves--and so the mother read love in the daughter\u2019s\neyes, and heard it, too, in her long sighs; nor did she fail to read\nthe sign that the song which used to lighten her beautiful work was no\nlonger heard; for love to creatures so formed as Mysie Craig is too\nserious an affair for poetical warbling. But she said nothing--for\nwhile she had faith in the good sense and virtue of her daughter, she\nknew also that there was forbearance due to one who was her support.\nNor, as yet, had she reason to fear, for Mysie still plied her needle,\nand the roses and the lilies sprang up in all their varied colours\nout of the ground of the silk or satin as quickly and as beautifully\nas they were wont, though the lilies of her cheeks waxed paler as the\ndays flitted. And why the latter should have been we must leave to the\nreader; for ourselves only hazarding the supposition that, perhaps, she\nalready thought that Balgarnie should be setting about to make her his\nwife--an issue which behoved to be the result of their intimacy sooner\nor later, for that in her simple mind there should be any other issue\nwas just about as impossible as that, in the event of the world lasting\nas long, the next moon would not, at her proper time, again shine in\nthat green hollow, between the Lion\u2019s Head and Samson\u2019s Ribs, which\nhad so often been the scene of their happiness. Nay, we might say that\nthough a doubt on the subject had by any means got into her mind, it\nwould not have remained there longer than it took a shudder to scare\nthe wild thing away.\n\nOf course, all this was only a question of time; but certain it is\nthat by and by the mother could see some connexion between Mysie\u2019s\nbeing more seldom out on those moonlight nights than formerly, and a\ngreater paleness in her thin face, as if the one had been the cause\nof the other; but still she said nothing, for she daily expected that\nMysie would herself break the subject to her, and so she was left only\nto increasing fears that her daughter\u2019s heart and affections had been\ntampered with, and perhaps she had fears that went farther. Still, so\nfar as yet had gone, there was no remission in the labours of Mysie\u2019s\nfingers, as if in the midst of all--whatever that all might be--she\nrecognised the paramount necessity of bringing in by those fingers\nthe required and usual amount of the means of their livelihood. Nay,\nsomehow or other, there was at that very time when her cheek was at the\npalest, and her sighs were at their longest, and her disinclination\nto speak was at the strongest, that the work increased upon her; for\nwas not there a grand tunic to embroider for Miss Anabella, which\nwas wanted on a given day--and were there not other things for Miss\nAnabella\u2019s friend, Miss Allardice, which were not to be delayed beyond\nthat same day. And so she stitched and stitched on and on, till\nsometimes the little lamp seemed to go out for want of oil, while the\ntrue cause of her diminished light was really the intrusion of the\nmorning sun, against which it had no chance. It might be, too, that her\nvery anxiety to get these grand dresses finished helped to keep out of\nher mind ideas which could have done her small good, even if they had\ngot in.\n\nBut at length the eventful hour came when the gentle sempstress\nwithdrew the shining needle, made clear by long use, from the last\ntouch of the last rose; and, doubtless, if Mysie had not been under\nthe cloud of sorrow we have mentioned, she would have been happier at\nthe termination of so long a labour than she had ever been, for the\nfinishing evening had always been a great occasion to both the inmates;\nnay, it had been always celebrated by a glass of strong Edinburgh\nale--a drink which, as both a liquor and a liqueur, was as famous then\nas it is at this day. But of what avail was this work-termination to\nher now? Was it not certain that she had not seen Balgarnie for two\nmoons, and though the impossibility of his not marrying her was just\nas impossible as ever, why were these two moons left to shine in the\ngreen hollow and on the rising hill without the privilege of throwing\nthe shadows of Mysie Craig and George Balgarnie on the grass, where the\nfairies had left the traces of their dances? Questions these which\nshe was unable to answer, if it were not even that she was afraid to\nput them to herself. Then, when was it that she felt herself unable\nto tie up her work in order to take it home, and that her mother,\nseeing the reacting effect of the prior sleepless nights in her languid\nframe, did this little duty for her, even as while she was doing it\nshe looked through her tears at her changed daughter? But Mysie would\ndo so much. While the mother should go to Miss Allardice, Mysie would\nproceed to Miss Anabella--and so it was arranged. They went forth\ntogether, parting at the Netherbow; and Mysie, in spite of a weakness\nwhich threatened to bring her with her burden to the ground, struggled\non to her destination. At the top of Advocate\u2019s Close she saw a man\nhurry out and increase his step even as her eye rested on him; and if\nit had not appeared to her to be among the ultimate impossibilities of\nthings, natural as well as unnatural, she would have sworn that that\nman was George Balgarnie; but then, it just so happened that Mysie came\nto the conclusion that such a circumstance was among these ultimate\nimpossibilities.\n\nThis resolution was an effort which cost her more than the conviction\nwould have done, though doubtless she did not feel this at the time,\nand so with a kind of forced step she mounted the stair, but when she\ngot into the presence of Miss Gilroy she could scarcely pronounce the\nwords--\n\n\u201cI have brought you the dress, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I am so delighted, Miss Craig, that I could almost take you into\nmy arms,\u201d said the lady; \u201cbut what ails ye, dear? You are as white as\nany snow I ever saw, whereas you ought to have been as blithe as a\nbridesmaid, for don\u2019t you know that you have brought me home one of my\nmarriage dresses? Come now, smile when I tell you that to-morrow is my\nwedding-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWedding-day,\u201d muttered Mysie, as she thought of the aforesaid utter\nimpossibility of herself not being soon married to George Balgarnie, an\nimpossibility not rendered less impossible by the resolution she had\nformed not to believe that within five minutes he had flown away from\nher.\n\n\u201cYes, Miss Craig, and surely you must have heard who the gentleman is,\nfor does not the town ring of it from the castle to the palace, from\nKirk-o\u2019-Field to the Calton?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not been out,\u201d said Mysie.\n\n\u201cThat accounts for it,\u201d continued the lady; \u201cand I am delighted at the\nreason, for wouldn\u2019t it have been terrible to think that my marriage\nwith George Balgarnie of Balgruddery was a thing of so small a note as\nnot to be known everywhere?\u201d\n\nIf Mysie Craig had appeared shortly before to Miss Gilroy paler than\nany snow her ladyship had ever seen, she must now have been as pale\nas some other kind of snow that nobody ever saw. The dreadful words\nhad, indeed, produced the adequate effect--but not in the most common\nway, for we are to keep in view that it is not the most shrinking and\nsensitive natures that are always the readiest to faint; and there was,\nbesides, the aforesaid conviction of impossibility which, grasping\nthe mind by a certain force, deadened the ear to words implying the\ncontrary. Mysie stood fixed to the spot, as if she were trying to\nrealise some certainty she dared not think was possible, her lips\napart, her eyes riveted on the face of the lady--mute as that kind of\npicture which a certain ancient calls a silent poem, and motionless as\na figure of marble.\n\nAn attitude and appearance still more inexplicable to Anabella, perhaps\nirritating as an unlucky omen, and, therefore, not possessing any claim\nfor sympathy--at least, it got none.\n\n\u201cAre you the Mysie Craig,\u201d she cried, as she looked at the girl, \u201cwho\nused to chat to me about the dresses you brought, and the flowers on\nthem? Ah, jealous and envious, is that it? But, you forget, George\nBalgarnie never could have made _you_ his wife--a working needlewoman;\nhe only fancied you as the plaything of an hour. He told me so himself\nwhen I charged him with having been seen in your company. So, Mysie,\nyou may as well look cheerful. Your turn will come next, with some one\nin your own station.\u201d\n\nThere are words which stimulate and confirm--there are others that\nseem to kill the nerve and take away the sense, nor can we ever\ntell the effect till we see it produced; and so we could not have\ntold beforehand--nay, we would have looked for something quite\nopposite--that Mysie, shrinking and irritable as she was by nature, was\nsaved from a faint, (which had for some moments been threatening her,)\nby the cruel insult which thus had been added to her misfortune. She\nhad even power to have recourse to that strange device of some natures,\nthat of \u201caffecting to be not affected;\u201d and, casting a glance at the\nfine lady, she turned and went away without uttering a single word.\nBut who knows the pain of the conventional concealment of pain, except\nthose who have experienced the agony of the trial? Even at the moment\nwhen she heard that George Balgarnie was to be married, and that she\ncame to know that she had been for weeks sewing the marriage dress of\nhis bride, she was carrying under her heart the living burden which was\nthe fruit of her love for that man. Yet not the burden of shame and\ndishonour, as our story will show, for she was justified by the law\nof her country--yea, by certain words once written by an apostle to\nthe Corinthians, all which may as yet appear a great mystery; but, as\nregards Mysie Craig\u2019s agony, as she staggered down Miss Gilroy\u2019s stairs\non her way home, there could be no doubt or mystery whatever.\n\nNor, when she got home, was there any comfort there for the daughter\nwho had been so undutiful as to depart from her mother\u2019s precepts, and\nconceal from her not only her unfortunate connexion with a villain,\nbut the condition into which that connexion had brought her. But she\nwas, at least, saved from the pain of a part of the confession, for\nher mother had learned enough from Miss Allardice to satisfy her as to\nthe cause of her daughter\u2019s change from the happy creature she once\nwas, singing in the long nights as she wrought unremittingly at her\nbeautiful work, and the poor, sighing, pale, heart-broken thing she\nhad been for months. Nor did she fail to see, with the quick eye of a\nmother, that as Mysie immediately on entering the house laid herself\nquietly on the bed, and sobbed in her great agony, that she had learned\nthe terrible truth from Miss Gilroy that the robe she had embroidered\nwas to deck the bride of her destroyer. Moreover, her discretion\nenabled her to perceive that this was not the time for explanation,\nfor the hours of grief are sacred, and the heart must be left to do its\nwork by opening the issues of Nature\u2019s assuagement, or ceasing to beat.\nSo the night passed, without question or answer; and the following\nday, that of the marriage, was one of silence, even as if death had\ntouched the tongue that used to be the medium of cheerful words and\ntender sympathies--a strange contrast to the joy, if not revelry, in\nAdvocate\u2019s Close.\n\nIt was not till after several days had passed that Mysie was able, as\nshe still lay in bed, to whisper, amidst the recurring sobs, in the\near of her mother, as the latter bent over her, the real circumstances\nof her condition; and still, amidst the trembling words, came the\nvindication that she considered herself to be as much the wife of\nGeorge Balgarnie as if they had been joined by \u201cHoly Kirk;\u201d a statement\nwhich the mother could not understand, if it was not to her a mystery,\nrendered even more mysterious by a reference which Mysie made to the\nlaw of the country, as she had heard the same from her cousin George\nDavidson, a writer\u2019s clerk in the Lawnmarket. Much of which, as it came\nin broken syllables from the lips of the disconsolate daughter, the\nmother put to the account of the fond dreams of a mind put out of joint\nby the worst form of misery incident to young women. But what availed\nexplanations, mysteries or no mysteries, where the fact was patent\nthat Mysie Craig lay there, the poor heart-broken victim of man\u2019s\nperfidy--her powers of industry broken and useless--the fine weaving\ngenius of her fancy, whereby she wrought her embroidered devices to\ndeck and adorn beauty, only engaged now on portraying all the evils of\nher future life; and, above all, was she not soon to become a mother?\n\nMeanwhile, and in the midst of all this misery, the laid-up earnings\nof Mysie\u2019s industry wore away, where there was no work by those\ncunning fingers--now thin and emaciated; and before the days passed,\nand the critical day came whereon another burden would be imposed on\nthe household, there was need for the sympathy of neighbours in that\nform which soon wears out--pecuniary help. That critical day at length\ncame. Mysie Craig gave birth to a boy, and their necessities from that\nhour grew in quicker and greater proportion than the generosity of\nfriends. There behoved something to be done, and that without delay.\nSo when Mysie lay asleep, with the innocent evidence of her misfortune\nby her side, Mrs Craig put on her red plaid and went forth on a\nmother\u2019s duty, and was soon in the presence of George Balgarnie and\nhis young wife. She was under an impulse which made light of delicate\nconventionalities, and did not think it necessary to give the lady\nan opportunity of being absent; nay, she rather would have her to be\npresent--for was she, who had been so far privy to the intercourse\nbetween her husband and Mysie, to be exempt from the consequences which\nshe, in a sense, might have been said to have brought about?\n\n\u201cYe have ruined Mysie Craig, sir!\u201d cried at once the roused mother. \u201cYe\nhave ta\u2019en awa her honour. Ye have ta\u2019en awa her health. Ye have ta\u2019en\nawa her bread. Ay, and ye have reduced three human creatures to want,\nit may be starvation; and I have come here in sair sorrow and necessity\nto ask when and whaur is to be the remeid?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen and where you may find it, woman!\u201d said the lady, as she cast a\nside-glance to her husband, probably by way of appeal for the truth\nof what she thought it right to say. \u201cMr Balgarnie never injured your\ndaughter. Let him who did the deed yield the remeid!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you stand by this?\u201d said Mrs Craig.\n\nBut the husband had been already claimed as free from blame by\nhis wife, who kept her eye fixed upon him; and the obligation to\nconscience, said by sceptics to be an offspring of society, is\nsometimes weaker than what is due to a wife, in the estimation of whom\na man may wish to stand in a certain degree of elevation.\n\n\u201cYou must seek another father to the child of your daughter,\u201d said he,\nlightly. And, not content with the denial, he supplemented it by a\nlaugh, as he added, \u201cWhen birds go to the greenwood, they must take the\nchance of meeting the goshawk.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that is your answer?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cIt is; and you need never trouble either my wife or me more on this\nsubject,\u201d was the reply.\n\n\u201cThen may the vengeance o\u2019 the God of justice light on the heads o\u2019\nbaith o\u2019 ye!\u201d added Mrs Craig, as she went hurriedly away.\n\nNor was her threat intended as an empty one, for she held on her way\ndirect to the Lawnmarket, where she found George Davidson, to whom she\nrelated as much as she had been able to get out of Mysie, and also what\nhad passed at the interview with Balgarnie and his lady. After hearing\nwhich, the young writer shook his head.\n\n\u201cYou will get a trifle of aliment,\u201d said he; \u201cperhaps half-a-crown\na week, but no more; and Mysie could have made that in a day by her\nbeautiful work.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she will never work mair,\u201d said the mother, with a sigh.\n\n\u201cFor a hundred years,\u201d rejoined he, more to himself than to her, and\nprobably in congratulation of himself for his perspicacity, \u201cand since\never there was a college of justice, there never was a case where a man\npulled up on oath for a promise of marriage admitted the fact. It is a\ngood Scotch law--only we want a people to obey it. But what,\u201d he added\nagain, \u201cif we were to try it, though it were only as a grim joke and a\nrevenge in so sad and terrible a case as that of poor Mysie Craig!\u201d\n\nWords which the mother understood no more than she did law Latin; and\nso she was sent away as sorrowful as she had come, for Davidson did\nnot want to raise hopes which there was no chance of being fulfilled;\nbut he knew as a Scotchman that a man who trusts himself to \u201ca strae\nrape\u201d in the hope of its breaking, may possibly hang himself, and so\nit happened that the very next day a summons was served upon George\nBalgarnie, to have it found and declared by the Lords of Session that\nhe had promised to marry Mysie Craig, whereupon a child had been born\nby her; or, in fault of that, he was bound to sustain the said child.\nThereupon, without the ordinary law\u2019s delay, certain proceedings went\non, in the course of which Mysie herself was examined as the mother to\nafford what the lawyers call a _semiplena probatio_, or half proof, to\nbe supplemented otherwise, and thereafter George Balgarnie stood before\nthe august fifteen. He denied stoutly all intercourse with Mysie,\nexcept an occasional walk in the Hunter\u2019s Bog; and this he would have\ndenied also, but he knew that he had been seen, and that it would be\nsworn to by others; and then came the last question, which Mr Greerson,\nMysie\u2019s advocate, put in utter hopelessness. Nay, so futile did it seem\nto try to catch a Scotchman by advising him to put his head in a noose\non the pretence of seeing how it fitted his neck, that he smiled even\nas the words came out of his mouth--\n\n\u201cDid you ever promise to marry Mysie Craig?\u201d\n\nWas prudence, the chief of the four cardinal virtues, ever yet\nconsistent with vice? Balgarnie waxed clever--a dangerous trick in a\nwitness. He stroked his beard with a smile on his face, and answered--\n\n\u201c_Yes, once--when I was drunk!_\u201d\n\nWords which were immediately followed by the crack of a single word in\nthe dry mouth of one of the advocates--the word \u201cNICKED.\u201d\n\nAnd nicked he was; for the presiding judge, addressing the witness,\nsaid--\n\n\u201cThe drunkenness may be good enough in its own way, sir; but it\ndoes not take away the effect of your promise--nay, it is even an\naggravation, insomuch as having enjoyed the drink, you wanted to enjoy\nwith impunity what you could make of the promise also.\u201d\n\nIf Balgarnie had been a reader he might have remembered Waller\u2019s verse--\n\n \u201cThat eagle\u2019s fate and mine are one,\n Which on the shaft that made him die\n Espied a feather of his own,\n Wherewith he wont to soar so high.\u201d\n\nSo Mysie gained her plea, and the marriage with Anabella, for whom\nshe had embroidered the marriage-gown, was dissolved. How matters\nprogressed afterwards for a time we know not; but the Scotch know that\nthere is wisdom in making the best of a bad bargain, and in this case\nit was a good one; for, as the Lady of Balgruddery, Mysie Craig did\nno dishonour to George Balgarnie, who, moreover, found her a faithful\nwife, and a good mother to the children that came of this strange\nmarriage.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Pinched Tom.\n\n\nIn searching again Lord Kilkerran\u2019s Session Papers in the Advocates\u2019\nLibrary, I observed a strange remark written on the margin of one of\nthem--\u201cBeware of pinched Tom\u201d--the meaning of which I was at a loss\nto find. His lordship was known to be a very grave man, as well as an\nexcellent lawyer, and all so unlike the Newtons and Harmands, who made\nthe blind Lady Justice laugh by the antics of that other lady sung by\nBeranger--Dame Folly--that I was put to my wit\u2019s end, although I admit\nthat, by a reference to a part of the printed Session Papers opposite\nto which the remark was made, I thought I could catch a glimmering\nof his lordship\u2019s intention. The law case occupying the papers\ncomprehended a question of disputed succession, and that question\ninvolved the application of a curious law in Scotland, which still\nremains.\n\nI believe we borrowed it from that great repertory from which our\nforefathers took so much wisdom--the Roman code; but be that as it\nmay, (and it\u2019s no great matter in so far as regards my story,) certain\nit is that it is a part of our jurisprudence, that where a marriage\nis dissolved by the death of the wife within a year and a day of the\ncelebration thereof, without leaving a living child, the tocher goes\nback to the wife\u2019s friends. Of course nothing is more untrue than that\nbit of connubial wit: that while we hold, according to the Bible, that\na man and his wife are _one_, we also very sensibly hold that the\nhusband is _that one_. Then the child behoves to be a living child; but\nwhat constituted a living child often turned out to be as difficult\na question as what constitutes a new birth of a living Christian,\naccording to our good old sturdy Calvinism; for as all doctors know\nthat a child will, on coming into the world, give a breath or two\nwith a shiver, and then go off like a candle not properly lighted, it\nbecame a question whether, in such a case, the child could be said to\nhave lived. Sometimes, too, the living symptom is less doubtful, as\nin the case, also very common, where the little stranger gives a tiny\nscream, the consequence of the filling of the lungs by the rushing in\nof the air, and having experienced a touch of the evils of life, makes\nup its mind to be off as quickly as possible from a wicked world. Now\nthis last symptom our Scotch law accepts as the only evidence which\ncan be received that the child had within it a living-spirit, or, as\nwe call it, an immortal soul. It would be of no importance that it\nopened and shut its eyes, moved its hands, or kicked or sprawled in any\nway you please; all this is nothing but infantine pantomime, and the\nworst pantomime, too, that it has no possible meaning that any rational\nperson could understand, and so, therefore, it goes for nothing. In\nshort, our law holds that, unless \u201cbaby squeak,\u201d there is no evidence\nthat baby ever lived. Nor is any distinction made between the male\nand the female, although we know so well that the latter is much more\ninclined to make a noise than the other, were it for nothing else than\nto exhibit a first attempt to do that at which the sex are so good when\nthey grow up and get husbands.\n\nTo bring back the reader to Lord Kilkerran\u2019s remark--\u201cBeware of Pinched\nTom\u201d--the case to which the note applied comprehended the question\nwhether the child had been heard to cry, and though the connexion might\nbe merely imaginary on my part, I recollected in the instant having\nheard the story I now relate of Mr Thomas Whitelaw, a merchant burgess\nof Edinburgh, who figured somewhere between the middle and the end of\nlast century, and took for wife a certain Janet Monypenny. In which\nunion \u201cthe sufficient reason\u201d which always exists, though we do not\nalways know it, was on the part of the said Thomas the certainty that\nJanet\u2019s name (defying Shakespeare\u2019s question) was a real designative\nof a quality, that being that she possessed, in her own right, not\nmerely many a penny, but so many thousand pennies, that they amounted\nto somewhere about two thousand merks, a large sum in those olden\ndays. And this money was perhaps the more valuable, that the heiress\nhad an unfortunate right by inheritance to consumption, whereby she\nran a risk of being taken away, leaving her money unconsumed in the\nhands of her husband; an event, this latter, which our merchant burgess\ncould certainly have turned to more certain account if he had provided\nagainst the law we have mentioned by entering into an antenuptial\ncontract of marriage, wherein it might have been set forth that, though\nthe marriage should be dissolved by the death of the wife before \u201cyear\nand day,\u201d without a living child being born thereof, yet the husband\u2019s\nright to the tocher would remain. But then Burgess Thomas did not know\nof any such law, while Mr George Monypenny, the brother of Mrs Janet,\nknew it perfectly, the more by token that he was a writer, that is, a\nlegal practitioner, at the Luckenbooths. And though Mr George might\nhave made a few pennies by writing out the contract, he never hinted\nto his intended brother-in-law of the propriety of any such act,\nbecause he knew that he had a chance of coming to more pennies, by the\ndeath of his sister, within the year and the day.\n\nSo the marriage was entered into without more use of written paper than\nwhat we call the marriage lines, and Writer George was satisfied until\nhe began to see that Mrs Whitelaw was likely to be a mother before the\nexpiry of the year and the day; but then he had the consolation--for,\nalas! human nature was the same in those olden times that it is now--of\nseeing that, while poor Janet was increasing in one way, she was\ndecreasing in another, so that it was not unlikely that there would be\nnot only a dead child, but a dead mother; and then he would come in\nas nearest of kin for the tocher of two thousand merks, of all which\nspeculations on the part of the unnatural brother, Burgess Thomas knew\nnothing. But it so happened that Mrs Euphan Lythgow, the most skilly\nhowdie or midwife in Edinburgh at that time, was the woman who was to\nbring the child into the world, and she had seen indications enough to\nsatisfy her that there was a probability that things would go on in the\nvery way so cruelly hoped for by the man of the law; nay, she had her\neyes--open enough at all times--more opened still by some questions put\nto her by the wily expectant, and so she held it to be her duty to go\nstraight to Burgess Thomas.\n\n\u201cI fear,\u201d said she, \u201cbaith for the mother and the bairn, for she is\nworn awa to skin and bane, and if she bear the heir she will only get\nlighter, as we ca\u2019 it, to tak on a heavier burden, even that o\u2019 death.\nThe bairn may live, but it\u2019s only a chance.\u201d\n\nWhereat Burgess Thomas looked sad, for he really loved his wife, but it\nmight just happen that a thought came into his head that death had no\npower over the two thousand merks.\n\n\u201cIf baith the mother and the bairn dee,\u201d continued Euphan, \u201cthe money\nyou got by her will tak wing and flee awa to Mr George, her brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat mean you, woman?\u201d asked Mr Whitelaw, as he looked wistfully and\nfearfully into the face of the howdie.\n\n\u201cHad ye no\u2019 a contract o\u2019 marriage?\u201d continued she.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d was the answer.\n\n\u201cAweel, ye\u2019re in danger, for ken ye na it is our auld Scotch law that\nwhen there\u2019s nae contract, and the year and the day hasna passed, and\nwhen the mither dees and the bairn dees without a cry, the tocher flees\nback again? Heard ye never the auld rhyme--\n\n \u2018Mither dead and bairn gane,\n Pay the tocher to her kin;\n But an ye hear the bairn squeal,\n Gudeman, grip the tocher weel.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cGod bless me, Mrs Lythgow! is that the law?\u201d cried the husband, in a\nfright.\n\n\u201cIndeed, and it is,\u201d was the rejoinder. \u201cYou are muckle obliged to\nWriter George. If the bairn lives to be baptized, George is no the name\nit will bear.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied he; \u201cif a boy, it will be baptized Thomas.\u201d\n\n\u201cTam!\u201d ejaculated the howdie in a screechy voice, the reason of which\nmight be that her son carrying that name had died during the year, and\nshe was affected.\n\nBut no sooner had the word Tam passed from her lips, than a large red\ncat came from the rug, and looking up in her face, mewed in so very\nexpressive a way that the sadness which the recollection of her boy had\ninspired passed suddenly away, and was succeeded by a comical look;\nand rubbing Bawdrons \u201calong of the hair,\u201d as Mr Dickens would express\nit, the true way of treating either cats or cat-witted people, she\ncontinued addressing the favourite--\n\n\u201cAnd you, Tam, and I will be better acquainted before the twa thousand\nmerks are paid to Writer George.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does the woman mean?\u201d said the burgess. \u201cWhat connexion is there\nbetween that animal and my wife\u2019s fortune?\u201d\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll ken that when the time comes,\u201d was the answer; \u201cbut coming\nnearer to the subject in hand, ye\u2019ll take care to hae twa witnesses in\nthe blue-painted parlour, next to your bed-room, when I\u2019m untwining the\nmistress o\u2019 her burden, whether it be a dead bairn or a living ane.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what good will that do me if both the mother and child should\ndie?\u201d inquired he.\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll ken that when Writer George comes and asks ye for the tocher,\u201d\nwas the answer.\n\nNor did Mrs Euphan Lythgow wait to throw any further light upon a\nsubject which appeared to the burgess to require more than the candle\nof his own mind could supply if he should snuff it again and again,\nand arn\u2019t we, every one of us, always snuffing the candle so often\nthat we can see nothing? But Mrs Lythgow was what the Scotch people\ncall \u201ca skilly woman.\u201d She could see--to use an old and very common\nexpression--as far into a millstone as any one, and it was especially\nclear to her that she would deliver Mrs Whitelaw of a dead child, that\ndeath would deliver the mother of her life, and Writer George would\ndeliver Maister Whitelaw of two thousand good merks of Scotch money,\nunless, as a poor salvage out of all this loss, she could deliver the\nburgess out of the hands of the writer. And so the time passed till the\neventful evening came, when the wasted invalid was seized with those\npremonitory pains which have come right down from old mother Eve to the\nfair daughters of men, as a consequence of her eating the too sweet\nparadise pippin. The indispensable Mrs Euphan Lythgow was sent for\nexpress and came on the instant, for she knew she had unusual duties\nto perform, nor did she forget as one of the chief of those to get\nMrs Jean Gilchrist, a neighbouring gossip, and Robina Proudfoot, the\nservant, ensconsed in the said blue-painted parlour, for the sole end\nthat they should hear what they could hear, but as for seeing anything\nthat passed within the veil of the secret temple of Lucina, they were\nnot to be permitted to get a glimpse until such time as might please\nthe priestess of the mysteries herself.\n\nAll which secrecy has been followed by the unfortunate consequence\nthat history nowhere records what took place in that secret room for\nan hour or two after the two women took up their station in the said\nblue-painted chamber. But this much we know, that the house was so\nsilent that our favourite Tom could not have chosen a more auspicious\nevening for mousing for prey in place of mewing for play, even if he\nhad had all the sagacity of the famous cats of Tartesia. As for Mrs\nGilchrist and Robina, they could not have listened more zealously, we\nmight even say effectually, if they had been gifted with ears as long\nas those of certain animals in Trophonia; and surely we cannot be wrong\nin saying they were successful listeners, when we are able to report\nthat Mrs Gilchrist nipped the bare fleshy arm of Robina, as a sign that\nshe heard what she wanted to hear.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the scream o\u2019 the wean!\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cAy, and may the Lord be praised!\u201d was the answer of Robina, in spite\nof the nip.\n\nBut neither the one nor the other knew that that cry was verily\nworth two thousand merks to Maister Burgess Whitelaw, the father,\nwho in a back-room sat in the deep pit of anxiety and heard nothing,\nand perhaps it was better that he didn\u2019t, for that cry might have\nraised hopes--never to be realised--of the birth of a living son\nor daughter, who would by and by lisp in his ear the charmed word\n\u201cFather\u201d--of a dead wife\u2019s recovery, after so terrible a trial to one\nso much wasted--of the saving of his fortune from the ruthless hands\nof his brother-in-law. But there is always some consolation for the\nmiserable, and didn\u2019t Mrs Janet\u2019s favourite, even Tom himself, with\nhis bright scarlet collar, come to him and sit upon his knee and look\nup in his face and purr so audibly, that one might have thought he\nwas expressing sympathy and hope? So it is: nature is always laughing\nat her own work. Even as this pantomime was acting, Mrs Lythgow opened\nthe door of the blue-painted chamber, and presenting a bundle to Mrs\nGilchrist--\n\n\u201cThe bairn is dead,\u201d she whispered; \u201clay it on the table there out o\u2019\nthe sight o\u2019 its mother, who will not live lang enough even to see its\ndead face.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet we heard it cry,\u201d said Robina. \u201cPoor dear innocent,\u201d she\nadded, as she peered among the folds of the flannel, \u201cye have had a\nshort life.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd no\u2019 a merry ane,\u201d added the gossip.\n\n\u201cDid ye expect the bairn to laugh, ye fule woman that ye are?\u201d was the\nreply of the howdie. \u201cCome and help me wi\u2019 the deeing mither.\u201d\n\nAnd straightway the three women were by the bedside of the patient,\nin whose throat Death was already sounding his rattle, after the last\neffort of exhausted nature to give to the world a life in exchange for\nher own; and Mr Whitelaw was there too to witness the dying throes\nof his wife, with perhaps the thought in his mind that the gods are\npitiless as well as foolish, for what was the use of giving him a dead\nchild in recompense for a dead mother, and taking away from him, at the\nvery same moment, the said two thousand merks of good Scotch money.\nWherein, so far, Mr Whitelaw was himself unjust to these much abused\ngods; but he did not know as yet that the child had cried, and who\nknows what consoling effect that circumstance might have had upon one\nwho was what Pindar calls \u201ca man of money.\u201d At least, we will give to\nany man more than one of these merks who will show us out of the great\n\u201cTreasury of Evils,\u201d mentioned by the Greek poets, any one which cannot\nbe ameliorated by money. And so Mr Whitelaw heard, in the last expiring\nbreath of Mrs Janet Monypenny the departing sign of the loss of the\nthree greatest good things of this world--a wife, a child, and a tocher.\n\nBut the moral oscillation comes round as sure as that of the pendulum,\nand in accordance with that law Mr Whitelaw was, within a short time\nafter the death of his wife, told by Mrs Gilchrist that the child had\nmade the much-wished-for sign of life. A communication, this, very\neasily accounted for, but we do not undertake to explain why, when Mr\nWhitelaw heard it, he was scarcely equal to the task of preventing\nan expression upon his sorrowful countenance which an ill-natured\nperson would call a smile. Nor, indeed, is there any way of explaining\nso inexplicable a phenomenon, except by having recourse to the fact\nmentioned by Burns, that \u201cman is a riddle.\u201d A solution which will also\nserve us when we further narrate that this small wail of the child\nlightened wonderfully Mr Whitelaw\u2019s duty in getting all things arranged\nfor the funeral, including the melancholy peculiarity of getting the\ncoffin made that was to contain a mother and her first-born. Nay, it\nenabled him even at the funeral to meet the triumphant look of his\nbrother-in-law, Writer George, as it clearly said, even in the midst of\nhis tears, \u201cYou owe me two thousand merks;\u201d for we are to remember that\nMr Whitelaw, in exchange for the writer\u2019s perfidy in not mentioning to\nhim the necessity of a contract of marriage, had with a spice of malice\nconcealed from him the fact of the child having been heard to cry, and\nthen it was natural for the writer to suppose that the child had been\nborn dead.\n\nAs money ameliorates grief, business prevents grief from taking\npossession of the mind; and so we need not be surprised that within a\nweek Mr Monypenny served Mr Whitelaw with a summons to appear before\nthe fifteen Scotch lords who sat round a table in the form of a\nhorse-shoe in the Parliament House of Edinburgh, or Court of Session,\nand there be ordered to pay to the pursuer or plaintiff the said two\nthousand merks, which devolved upon him, as the heir of his sister,\nin consequence of the dissolution of the marriage within a year and a\nday, without a living child being born thereof. Nor was Mr Whitelaw,\nangry as he was and withal confident of success, slow to give in his\ndefence to the effect that the child had been born alive, and had been\nheard to scream--a defence which startled Writer George mightily;\nfor it was the first intimation he had got of the important fact,\nand his experience told him how supple Scotch witnesses are--even to\nthe extent that it took no fewer than fifteen learned judges to get\nthe subtle thing called truth out of the subtle minds of \u201cthe canny\npeople;\u201d but he had no alternative than to consent to the commission to\nMaister Wylie, advocate, to take a proof of the defender\u2019s averment and\nreport. And so accordingly the proceedings went on. Mr Advocate Wylie\nsat in one of the rooms adjoining the court to take the depositions\nof the witnesses, and Mr Williamson was there for Mr Whitelaw, and\nMr Hamilton for Mr Monypenny. The first witness called was Mrs Jean\nGilchrist, who swore very honestly that she heard the child scream; and\nRobina Proudfoot swore as honestly to the same thing; nor could all\nthe efforts of Mr Advocate Hamilton shake those sturdy witnesses, if\nit was not that, as so often happens with Scotch witnesses, the more\nthe advocate wrestled with them, the more firm they waxed. Nor need\nwe say that the philosophical axiom, that the intensity of belief is\nalways inversely as the reason for it, never had weight with our Scotch\njudges. But then came the difficulty about the _causa scienti\u00e6_; for\nneither of the two witnesses could swear that she _saw_ the child alive\nand after the scream, inasmuch as the child was certainly dead before\nthey saw the body; so it was only at best a strong presumption that the\ncry actually did come from that child. The witnesses dispersed these\nquibbles, and insisted that, as there was no other child in that room,\nthe cry could come from no other source than Mrs Whitelaw\u2019s baby. But\nthe crowning witness was to come--Mrs Euphan Lythgow herself, who would\nput an end to all doubts; and come she did. Asked whether she delivered\nMrs Whitelaw of a child on the night in question, her answer was in the\naffirmative.\n\n\u201cWas it a boy or a girl?\u201d\n\n\u201cA _callant_, sir,\u201d was the answer; for Scotch witnesses _will_ use\ntheir own terms, let counsel do what they please. \u201cAnd,\u201d added Mrs\nLythgow, \u201che was to be baptized after his father when the time came. He\nwas to be called Tammas.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust so,\u201d continued Mr Hamilton; \u201cand was he dead or alive when he was\nborn?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir, little Tam wras as life-like as you are when I handled\nhim wi\u2019 thae hands.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know that?\u201d was the next question.\n\n\u201cKen whether a bairn is dead or living?\u201d responded the midwife, with an\nironical laugh. \u201cDo dead bairns scream, think ye, Maister Hamilton? Ay,\nsir, I heard little Tam cry just as plainly as I hear you speak. It\u2019s\nGod\u2019s way wi\u2019 mony a wean. They seem to ken it\u2019s an ill warld they\u2019re\nborn into, wi\u2019 so mony lawyers in\u2019t, and they just gie a cry and gae\nawa back again.\u201d\n\nAnd thus the evidence was concluded; nor did it ever occur to these\nhair-wigged and ear-wigged gentlemen to ask the astute howdie whether\nthere was any other creature in the house (except Mr Thomas Whitelaw\nhimself, who was out of the question) that bore the name of Tam;\nand Mrs Lythgow\u2019s conscience, like many others, sat as easy on the\nequivocation as a hen does on an addled egg with a shell like the rest,\nwhich contain little chickens all alive. And the case was virtually\nsaved, as subsequently appeared, when the fifteen, all ear-wigged too,\npronounced sentence in favour of the defender, Mr Whitelaw. But it was\nnot till some time afterwards the real truth came out. \u201cThe labourer is\nworthy of his hire,\u201d and when Mrs Euphan called for fee, on Mr Whitelaw\nasking how much, the cunning howdie replied--\n\n\u201cJust a hundred merks, Maister Whitelaw.\u201d\n\n\u201cA hundred merks for bringing a child into the world, which lived no\nlonger than to give a scream?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, but you forget _pinched Tam_,\u201d replied she.\n\nWhereupon Mr Whitelaw began to meditate, and thereupon ejaculated--\u201cOh!\nI see. Yes, yes; I did forget pinched Tam; and now I remember, he came\ninto me that evening after you had ejected him from the bed-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely, sir,\u201d rejoined the woman; \u201cthink ye I was fule enough to keep\nhim in the room to be seen by the women, after I had got out o\u2019 him a\u2019\nthat I wanted?\u201d\n\nAnd Mrs Lythgow got her hundred merks. How the incident came to the\nears of Lord Kilkerran, history saith not; but if you are curious, you\nmay see upon the margin of the said Session Paper the words--\u201cBeware of\npinched Tom!\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Iron Press.\n\n\nThe story of the Iron Press hung about my memory for years before I\ngot it localised; nor do I know very well how it came to me, whether\nfrom the page of an old broad-sheet, or the tougher tongue of an old\ndame--the real vellum for the inscription of wonderful legends. However\nthis may be, it is of small importance, inasmuch as I was subsequently\nso fortunate--and the word will be properly estimated by the real\nstory-hunter--as to find myself in the very room where the recess of\nthe press was still to be seen. How I did look at it, to be sure! nay,\nif it had been of gold--all my own, too--I question if I could have\ngazed into the dark recess with more interest; for gold, to people\nof my bias, is nothing in comparison with the enchantment that hangs\nabout the real concrete _souvenir_ of an old wonder. But before going\nfurther, I must apprise the English reader that the word \u201cpress\u201d--a\nScotch word of somewhat doubtful derivation (_maugre_ Jamieson)--is\nconvertible into the more modern designation \u201ccupboard,\u201d or rather\n\u201cpantry;\u201d with the qualification that our Scotch term more generally\nimplies the adjunct of a door with lock and key.\n\nWith which help you may be induced to represent to yourself, as\nvividly as the fervour of your imagination may enable you, the house\nin Hyndford\u2019s Close, which, at the time wherein we are concerned, was\noccupied by a retired advocate called Mr George Plenderleith. You may\nsee in it yet the signs of its old gentility. There are the panellings\non the walls, the hooks whereon were suspended the flowered and figured\ndraperies, the painted roofs, the peculiar enamelled sides of the\nchimneys having the appearance of china--all so very unlike our modern\nhouse fashions. It may not be that the iron press which was in the\nback bed-room, and the recess of which still remains, had anything to\ndo with the fashion of the time; nor would it be easy to divine its\nuse in a private gentleman\u2019s house, who had no ledgers, journals, or\ncash-books to preserve from fire, lest certain creditors might say they\nwere burnt to help concealment. Perhaps it was for the conservation of\nsome great property rights, or title-deeds as we call them; perhaps\nstate papers--anything you like, but not the least unlikely, it may\nhave been for the purpose of concealing some unfortunate Covenanter,\nwho could still boast, in his pathetic way, that he had verily\nnowhere to lay his head; for the cell was too small for a reclining\nposture--nay, he could scarcely have got upon his knees to offer his\nEbenezer for the preservation of the solemn league and covenant, and\ngive thanks that he had got out of \u201cthe bishop\u2019s drag-net\u201d and into an\niron cage.\n\nMost certainly, at least, this iron cage was not intended to immure the\ndelicate person of the beautiful Ailsie Plenderleith, the only daughter\nof the advocate--nay, the greatest belle you could have met, displaying\nher gown of mazerine and her petticoat of cramosie, from \u201cthe castle\non the knowe to the palace in the howe;\u201d or, as the saying went, from\n\u201cthe castle gate to the palace yett.\u201d We don\u2019t doubt that our Miss\nAilsie deserved all this high-flown praise; only we are to keep in mind\nthat no young lady that ever figured in a legend, from the time of\nthe Fair Maid of Troy to her of Perth, was ever anything less than an\nangel without wings. And in the case of our Ailsie, she might well have\npassed for possessing these appendages too, when we consider that she\nwould not be behind her sister-belles in the size of those heavy folds\nof braided silk they drew through their pocket-holes, and seemed to fly\nwith. We need not say that such a creature, if amiable in her mind and\naffections, would be doated on by such a father as Mr Plenderleith, who\nhad now no wife to console him, and who would expect from his child at\nleast as much love as he was willing to bestow on her. And so, to be\nsure, it was; he loved his dear Ailsie to what may be called paternal\ndistraction, but as for how much dutiful affection Ailsie bestowed on\nhim, we cannot say.\n\nOn another point we can be more sure, and that is, that although her\nfather had many nice beaux in his eye who had a power to _dot_, and\ndoubtless on so fine a subject no disinclination at all to _doat_, the\nnever a one of them would the saucy Ailsie look upon except with that\nhaughty disdain which, when it appears in a beautiful woman, is so\napt to pique young admirers into greater adoration, mixed, it may be,\nsometimes with a little choler--a thing that is not so alien to love as\nyou would imagine. Nor was the reason of all this cold _hauteur_ any\nwonder at all when we are given to know that Miss Plenderleith had one\nday, by the merest chance, taken into her eye, and even to the back\nor innermost recesses thereof, the figure of a young student of \u201cold\nEmbro\u2019 College,\u201d called Frederick Lind, a poor bursar of no family,\nbut blessed with what was ten thousand times of more importance in\nthe estimation of the tasteful Ailsie--a handsome person, and a fine\nruddy, intelligent face, which was lighted up with an eye as likely to\ndrink up the form of Ailsie as hers had been to receive his. And no\ndoubt it may appear very wonderful that Cupid, who is, as they say,\nas blind as a bat, and so hits by chance, should have the power of\nimparting to the eyes of his victims the faculty not only of seeing\neach other more clearly than before, but also of reading each other\u2019s\neyes so plainly, that by a glance they know that they are mutually\nthinking of each other. But such, we all know very well, is the fact,\nand so Frederick Lind and Ailsie Plenderleith came to this state of\nknowledge, and not only so, they came to means of ascertaining, by\nactual conversation, whether such was really the case or not--the\nconsequence of which was just the natural one, that the sympathy of\nthis knowledge became the sympathy of love; and we suspect that if any\none was to blame for this, it was Old Mother Nature herself, who is\nconsiderably stronger and more dogmatic in her opinions than either\nmother or father of earthly mould.\n\nThe connexion thus formed--we are compelled, though sorry, to say,\nclandestinely--might not have entailed upon the young devotees any\nvery formidable consequences, had they been prudent, and confined\ntheir meetings to St Leonard\u2019s Double-dykes, St Anthony\u2019s Well, the\nGiant\u2019s Ribs, the Hunter\u2019s Bog, or the Friar\u2019s Walk. Nay, they might\nhave adventured even less recondite walks; but they had some notions\nof comfort which would be gratified with nothing short of a roof over\ntheir very irrational heads, and probably a fire burning by their\nsides, as if love could not have kept itself in fuel without the\nassistance of so coarse and earthy a thing as Midlothian coal.\n\nWhile all this was going forward, and generating confidence in the\nordinary ratio of successful immunity, our good and loving old Mr\nAdvocate Plenderleith was just as busy with _his_ eyes in endeavouring\nto find out among the said beaux of Edinburgh, with their braided\nbroad-tailed coats and ruffled wristbands, of which Mr Frederick Lind\nhad nothing to boast, such a one as would be likely to form a suitable\nhusband to his pretty but scornful, (to all save one,) daughter, and a\npromising son-in-law to himself; that is, one who would bring a sum to\nthe mutual exchequer, and take care not only of Ailsie, but that fine\nproperty of his in Lanarkshire, called Threemarks, from its valuation\nin the land-roll being of that very considerable extent. And so he\ndid his best to invite one or two of them to his house in Hyndford\u2019s\nClose to drink a bottle of claret, and see Miss Ailsie through the\ncharmed medium of the same, being satisfied that a young woman is\nseen to more advantage through that medium than through the roses of\nthe Paphian groves where Venus dallies with her son. But all this\npaternal black-footing would not do, because the step went only in\none direction, without a return. Our Ailsie scorned them all--a very\nunwise policy in the little rebel, for she might have seen that her\nfather, who was a shrewd man, would be likely to suspect that the ship\nwhich rides at an anchor, however little seen, is just that very one\nwhich seems to defy most the blustering winds and the rolling waves.\nAnd accordingly Mr Plenderleith began to think that his daughter\u2019s\nheart must be anchored somewhere--not so likely on golden sands as\non some tough clay--and _that_ \u201cwhere\u201d he would have given his old\nParliament-House wig, with all the meal in it to boot, to find out.\nNay, he began to be angry before he could assure himself of the fact;\nand being as determined under a restrainer as he ever had been under a\nretainer, he was a dangerous man for even a loving daughter to tamper\nwith.\n\nBut old fathers, probably with spectacles, are not good watchers of\ntheir love-stricken daughters; and Mr Plenderleith, knowing this,\nplaced confidence in his old servant or servitor, (as these domestic\nBalderstones were then called,) Andrew Crabbin, and got him to keep an\neye upon the outgoings and incomings, and companionship and letters of\nthe unsuspecting Ailsie. On the other hand, she was inclined to place\nfaith in Andrew--not that she let him know the name or degree of her\nbeloved Frederick, but that she bespoke his secrecy in the event of his\nseeing her with a highly respectable young man, of genteel connexions,\nwhom her father would be delighted to receive as a son-in-law, but who\nwas not just yet in a position to present himself in the drawing-room.\nWhich two confidences Andrew received together, and found means in\nhis canny Scotch head to entertain both kindly, but with a foregone\nconclusion that he would make more money out of the rents and fees of\nhis master than the pin-money of poor Ailsie.\n\nYet Miss Plenderleith was so dexterous in managing her intrigue, that\nAndrew had for a time nothing to reveal; but opportunity comes at\nthe end to patience, and this was the case one night when Andrew was\nbusy cleaning his master\u2019s long boots in an outhouse at the back of\nthe dwelling-house; for as he was straining to get the article in his\nhand as bright as the \u201cDay and Martin\u201d of the time would make it, his\nattention was directed to a sound from the red-tiled roof. Whereupon,\npricking up his ears, Andrew put his head out at the door, and what in\nall this wide earth does he see but two boots disappearing at Ailsie\u2019s\nbed-room window! He had never seen any of the two or three pairs his\nmaster possessed going into the house in that way, and probably he did\nnot need that fact to explain to him the wonderful apparition. Nor was\nit any question with him what to do. The hour was late, but his master\nwas not gone to bed, if he was not yet engaged over his mulled claret,\nwith a bit of toast done pretty brown in it.\n\nHaving accordingly got, unobserved from above, into the back-door--the\nmore by reason that he waited till the window-sash came down with all\nprudential softness of sound--Andrew made his way up-stairs to the room\nwhere Mr Plenderleith was regaling himself, and probably thinking of\nthe scornful Ailsie, who would not accord to his matrimonial wishes.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a young man gone in this minute at Miss Ailsie\u2019s bed-room\nwindow,\u201d said he, in a mysterious way, to his master; whereupon Mr\nPlenderleith started up in a great rage, and rushing to a closet\nbrought forth a long rapier of formidable sharpness. \u201cI will slay him\non the spot,\u201d said he, \u201cfor it is hamesucken and a deuced deal more,\nand I have law on my side. Come with me, Andrew Crabbin.\u201d But Andrew\u2019s\nintermediate views did not accord with the slaughter of Ailsie\u2019s lover.\n\u201cWait,\u201d says he, \u201ctill I listen;\u201d and hastening to Miss Plenderleith\u2019s\nroom, he tirled at the door, so that it might be heard inside, but not\nby his enraged master, whose spirit was more in his fiery eye than\nhis ear; and coming back more slowly than comported with his master\u2019s\nfury--\u201cNow\u2019s your time,\u201d said he, \u201cfor I heard him inside.\u201d Nor was\nthere now any time lost, for the infuriated father rushed along the\nlobby to his daughter\u2019s chamber door, which, to his surprise, he found\nunfastened; and, having entered, he found Ailsie all very much at her\nease, nor was there anything to rouse his suspicions at all except the\ncondition of the blind, which was drawn up. No more was needed--that\nwas enough; the angry father accused his daughter with having had a\nman in her bed-room. Ailsie denied the charge, but it was of no avail.\nOrders were upon the instant issued to get the carriage ready, and in\nthe course of an hour afterwards Mr Plenderleith and his daughter, with\nAndrew and the two female servants in a hired carriage, were on their\nway to his house at Threemarks. The house in Hyndford\u2019s Close was shut\nup. Mr Plenderleith had in so short a period made up his mind, and\nexecuted a purpose which he considered necessary to his own honour and\nhis daughter\u2019s preservation.\n\nTime passed on, and in the meantime Andrew kept his secret, delighted\nin his own mind that he had saved the life of the young man. About a\nmonth afterwards Mr Plenderleith came to town alone, and having entered\nthe house found everything precisely as he left it. But he had an\nobject--no other than to discover whether Ailsie had left any letters\nwhereby he might discover the name of the clandestine lover. So far he\nsucceeded, and having returned to Threemarks, he some time afterwards\ndespatched Andrew to Edinburgh to make inquiries as to a student of the\nname of Frederick Lind. This commission Andrew executed with fidelity,\nbut all his efforts were vain; no tidings could be heard of the youth.\nThe landlady with whom he had lodged said that he had gone out one\nnight and had never returned; and the opinion of his relations, to whom\nshe had communicated the fact of his absence, was, that he had gone to\nEngland, where he also had relations. With this account Mr Plenderleith\nwas so far pleased, but he continued from time to time to repeat his\ninquiries with no better, or rather to him worse, success. Yet such was\nhis apprehension lest his daughter should again have it in her power to\ndeceive him, that he remained at Threemarks for the full space of three\nyears and more.\n\nMeanwhile Ailsie, having come to the conclusion that she would not see\nher lover again, renounced all thoughts of him except what perhaps at\nnight would rise up to her fancy, when the internal lights play false\nwith the reason. The young heart requires only time to renounce the\nstrongest passion, though a cherished memory will still hang suspended\nover the sacred tomb of its affections. And so it was. More time\npassed, till at length Ailsie Plenderleith agreed to give her hand to\na young advocate of the name of George Graham, who had good prospects\nat the bar. The couple were to be married in Hyndford\u2019s Close, and\nthe house was put in order to receive them. Ailsie came in a bride.\nThe ceremony was performed with great _\u00e9clat_ and rejoicings. And now\ncomes that part of the legend which always fits so well to some great\noccasion, such as a marriage; but we must take these things as we find\nthem. The new-married couple were to sleep in the room which had been\nthe scene of so strange a play three or four years ago. On returning to\ntake off her bride\u2019s dress, her eye became fixed upon the door of the\niron press. A wild thought seized her brain: she applied her finger to\nthe well-known spring. The door opened, and the skeleton of Frederick\nLind fell out against her, rattling in the clothes that hung about it,\nand striking her as it fell with a loud crash on the floor.\n\nThe explanation of our legend is not difficult. Lind had been pushed\ninto the press on previous occasions, without the door being closed\nentirely upon him. Ailsie, on the fatal evening, had no doubt thought\nthat she had left the door as she used to do; but in the hurry\nconsequent on the coming of her father, she had committed the terrible\nmistake of imparting to it too much impulse, whereby the lock had\ncaught; and as the spring was not available inside, the prisoner was\nimmured beyond the chance of escape. So narrow, too, was the recess,\nthat the skeleton form had stood upright in the clothes, and it thus\nfell out when relieved of the support of the door.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Girl Forger.\n\n\nIt is a common thing for writers of a certain class, when they want\nto produce the feeling of wonder in their readers, to introduce some\nfrantic action, and then to account for it by letting out the secret\nthat the actor was mad. The trick is not so necessary as it seems,\nfor the strength of human passions is a potentiality only limited\nby experience; and so it is that a sane person may under certain\nstimulants do the maddest thing in the world. The passion itself is\nalways true, it is only the motive that may be false; and therefore it\nis that in narrating for your amusement, perhaps I may add instruction,\nthe following singular story--traces of the main parts of which I got\nin the old books of a former procurator-fiscal--I assume that there\nwas no more insanity in the principal actor, Euphemia, or, as she was\ncalled, Effie, Carr, when she brought herself within the arms of the\nlaw, than there is in you, when now you are reading the story of her\nstrange life. She was the only daughter of John Carr, a grain merchant,\nwho lived in Bristo Street. It would be easy to ascribe to her all\nthe ordinary and extraordinary charms that are thought so necessary\nto embellish heroines; but as we are not told what these were in her\ncase, we must be contented with the assurance that nature had been\nkind enough to her to give her power over the hearts of men. We shall\nbe nearer our purpose when we state, what is necessary to explain a\npeculiar part of our story, that her father, in consequence of his own\ninsufficient education, had got her trained to help him in keeping\nhis accounts with the farmers, and in writing up his books; nay, she\nenjoyed the privilege of writing his drafts upon the Bank of Scotland,\nwhich the father contrived to sign, though in his own illiterate way,\nand with a peculiarity which it would not have been easy to imitate.\n\nBut our gentle clerk did not consider these duties imposed upon her by\nher father as excluding her either from gratifying her love of domestic\nhabits by assisting her mother in what at that time was denominated\nhussyskep or housekeeping, or from a certain other gratification,\nwhich might without a hint from us be anticipated--no other than the\nluxury of falling head and ears, and heart too we fancy, in love with\na certain dashing young student of the name of Robert Stormonth, then\nattending the University more for the sake of polish than of mere\nstudy; for he was the son of the proprietor of Kelton, and required to\nfollow no profession. How Effie got entangled with this youth we have\nno means of knowing, so we must be contented with the Scotch proverb--\n\n \u201cTell me where the flea may bite,\n And I will tell where love may light.\u201d\n\nThe probability is that, from the difference of their stations and\nthe retiring nature of our gentle clerk, we shall be safe in assuming\nthat he had, as the saying goes, been smitten by her charms in some of\nthose street encounters, where there is more of Love\u2019s work done than\nin \u201cblack-footed\u201d tea coteries expressly held for the accommodation of\nCupid. And that the smitting was a genuine feeling we are not left to\ndoubt, for, in addition to the reasons we shall afterwards have too\ngood occasion to know, he treated Effie, not as those wild students\nwho are great men\u2019s sons do \u201cthe light o\u2019 loves\u201d they meet in their\nescapades; for he intrusted his secrets to her, he took such small\ncounsel from her poor head as a \u201clearned clerk\u201d might be supposed able\nto give; nay, he told her of his mother, and how one day he hoped to be\nable to introduce her at Kelton as his wife. All which Effie repaid\nwith the devotedness of that most wonderful affection called the first\nor virgin love--the purest, the deepest, the most thoroughgoing of\nall the emotions of the human heart. But as yet he had not conceded\nto her wish that he should consent to their love being made known to\nEffie\u2019s father and mother: love is only a leveller to itself and its\nobject; the high-born youth, inured to refined manners, shrunk from\na family intercourse, which put him too much in mind of the revolt\nhe had made against the presumed wishes and intentions of his proud\nparents. Wherein, after all, he was only true to the instincts of that\ninstitution, apparently so inhumane as well as unchristian in its\nexclusiveness, called aristocracy; and yet with the excuse that its\nroots are pretty deeply set in human nature.\n\nBut, proud as he was, Bob Stormonth the younger, of Kelton, was\namenable to the obligations of a necessity, forged by his own imprudent\nhands. He had, by a fast mode of living, got into debt--a condition\nfrom which his father, a stern man, had relieved him twice before,\nbut with a threat on the last occasion that if he persevered in his\nprodigality he would withdraw from him his yearly allowance, and throw\nhim upon his own resources. The threat proved ineffectual, and this\nyoung heir of entail, with all his pride, was once in the grasp of\nlow-born creditors: nay, things in this evil direction had gone so\nfar that writs were out against him, and one in the form of a caption\nwas already in the hands of a messenger-at-arms. That the debts were\ncomparatively small in amount was no amelioration where the purse was\nall but empty; and he had exhausted the limited exchequers of his\nchums, which with college youths was, and is, not difficult to do. So\nthe gay Bob was driven to his last shift, and that, as is generally the\ncase, was a mean one; for necessity, as the mother of inventions, does\nnot think it proper to limit her births to genteel or noble devices\nto please her proud consort. He even had recourse to poor Effie to\nhelp him; and, however ridiculous this may seem, there were reasons\nthat made the application appear not so desperate as some of his other\nschemes. It was only the caption that as yet quickened his fears; and\nas the sum for which the writ was issued was only twenty pounds, it was\nnot, after all, so much beyond the power of a clerk.\n\nIt was during one of their ordinary walks in the Meadows that the\npressing necessity was opened by Stormonth to the vexed and terrified\ngirl. He told her that, but for the small help he required in the\nmeantime, all would be ruined. The wrath of his father would be excited\nonce more, and probably to the exclusion of all reconciliation; and\nhe himself compelled to flee, but whither he knew not. He had his plan\nprepared, and proposed to Effie, who had no means of her own, _to take\na loan_ of the sum out of her father\u2019s cash-box--words very properly\nchosen according to the euphemistic policy of the devil, but Effie\u2019s\ngenuine spirit was roused and alarmed.\n\n\u201cDreadful!\u201d she whispered, as if afraid that the night-wind would carry\nher words to honest ears. \u201cBesides,\u201d she continued, \u201cmy father, who is\na hard man, keeps his desk lockit.\u201d\n\nWords which took Stormonth aback, for even he saw there was here a\nnecessity as strong as his own; yet the power of invention went to work\nagain.\n\n\u201cListen, Effie,\u201d said he. \u201cIf you cannot help me, it is not likely we\nshall meet again. I am desperate, and will go into the army.\u201d\n\nThe ear of Effie was chained to a force which was direct upon the\nheart. She trembled and looked wistfully into his face, even as if by\nthat look she could extract from him some other device less fearful by\nwhich she might have the power of retaining him for so short a period\nas a day.\n\n\u201cYou draw out your father\u2019s drafts on the bank, Effie,\u201d he continued.\n\u201cWrite one out for me, and I will put your father\u2019s name to it. You\ncan draw the money. I will be saved from ruin; and your father will\nnever know.\u201d\n\nA proposal which again brought a shudder over the girl.\n\n\u201cIs it Robert Stormonth who asks me to do this thing?\u201d she whispered\nagain.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said he; \u201cfor I am not myself. Yesterday, and before the\nmessenger was after me, I would have shrunk from the suggestion. I am\nnot myself, I say, Effie. Ay or no; keep me or lose me,--that is the\nalternative.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I cannot,\u201d was the language of her innocence, and for which he was\nprepared; for the stimulant was again applied in the most powerful of\nall forms--the word farewell was sounded in her ear.\n\n\u201cStop, Robert; let me think.\u201d But there was no thought, only the heart\nbeating wildly. \u201cI will do it; and may the penalty be mine, and mine\nonly.\u201d\n\nSo it was: \u201ceven virtue\u2019s self turns vice when misapplied.\u201d What her\nmind shrank from was embraced by the heart as a kind of sacred duty of\na love making a sacrifice for the object of its first worship. It was\narranged; and as the firmness of a purpose is often in proportion to\nthe prior disinclination, so Effie\u2019s determination to save her lover\nfrom ruin was forthwith put in execution; nay, there was even a touch\nof the heroine in her, so wonderfully does the heart, acting under its\nprimary instincts, sanctify the device which favours its affection.\nThat same evening Effie Carr wrote out the draft for twenty pounds on\nthe Bank of Scotland, gave it to Stormonth, who from a signature of\nthe father\u2019s, also furnished by her, perpetrated the forgery--a crime\nat that time punishable by death. The draft so signed was returned to\nEffie. Next forenoon she went to the bank, as she had often done for\nher father before; and the document being in her handwriting, as prior\nones of the same kind had also been, no scrutinising eye was turned\nto the signature. The money was handed over, but _not counted_ by the\nrecipient, as before had been her careful habit--a circumstance with\nits effect to follow in due time. Meanwhile Stormonth was at a place of\nappointment out of the reach of the executor of the law, and was soon\nfound out by Effie, who gave him the money with trembling hands. For\nthis surely a kiss was due. We do not know; but she returned with the\nsatisfaction, overcoming all the impulses of fear and remorse, that she\nhad saved the object of her first and only love from ruin and flight.\n\nBut even then the reaction was on the spring; the rebound was to be\nfearful and fatal. The teller at the bank had been struck with Effie\u2019s\nmanner; and the non-counting of the notes had roused a suspicion,\nwhich fought its way even against the improbability of a mere girl\nperpetrating a crime from which females are generally free. He examined\nthe draft, and soon saw that the signature was a bad imitation.\nThereupon a messenger was despatched to Bristo Street for inquiry. John\nCarr, taken by surprise, declared that the draft, though written by\nthe daughter, was forged--the forgery being in his own mind attributed\nto George Lindsay, his young salesman. Enough this for the bank, who\nhad in the first place only to do with the utterer, against whom their\nevidence as yet only lay. Within a few hours afterwards Effie Carr was\nin the Tolbooth, charged with the crime of forging a cheque on her\nfather\u2019s account-current.\n\nThe news soon spread over Edinburgh--at that time only an overgrown\nvillage, in so far as regarded local facilities for the spread of\nwonders. It had begun there, where the mother was in recurring faints,\nthe father in distraction and not less mystery, George Lindsay in\nterror and pity. And here comes in the next strange turn of our story.\nLindsay all of a sudden declared he was the person who imitated the\nname--a device of the yearning heart to save the girl of his affection\nfrom the gallows, and clutched at by the mother and father as a means\nof their daughter\u2019s redemption. One of those thinly-sown beings who\nare cold-blooded by nature, who take on love slowly but surely, and\nseem fitted to be martyrs, Lindsay defied all consequences, so that it\nmight be that Effie Carr should escape an ignominious death. Nor did he\ntake time for further deliberation; in less than half an hour he was in\nthe procurator-fiscal\u2019s office; the willing self-criminator; the man\nwho did the deed; the man who was ready to die for his young mistress\nand his love. His story, too, was as ready as it was truth-seeming.\nHe declared that he had got Effie to write out the draft as if\ncommissioned by John Carr; that he took it away, and with his own hands\nadded the name; that he had returned the cheque to Effie to go with it\nto the bank, and had received the money from her on her return. The\nconsequence was his wish, and it was inevitable. That same day George\nLindsay was lodged also in the Tolbooth, satisfied that he had made\na sacrifice of his life for one whom he had loved for years, and who\nyet had never shown him even a symptom of hope that his love would be\nreturned.\n\nAll which proceedings soon came on the wings of rumour to the ears of\nRobert Stormonth, who was not formed to be a martyr even for a love\nwhich was to him as true as his nature would permit. He saw his danger,\nbecause he did not see the character of a faithful girl who would die\nrather than compromise her lover. He fled--aided probably by that very\nmoney he had wrung out of the hands of the devoted girl; nor was his\ndisappearance connected with the tragic transaction; for, as we have\nsaid, the connexion between him and Effie had been kept a secret, and\nhis flight could be sufficiently accounted for by his debt.\n\nMeanwhile the precognitions or examination of the parties went on,\nand with a result as strange as it was puzzling to the officials.\nEffie was firm to her declaration that she not only wrote the body\nof the cheque, but attached to it the name of her father, and had\nappropriated the money in a way which she declined to state. On the\nother hand, Lindsay was equally stanch to his statement made to the\nprocurator-fiscal, that he had got Effie to write the draft, had forged\nthe name to it, and got the money from her. The authorities very soon\nsaw that they had got more than the law bargained for or wanted; nor\nwas the difficulty likely soon to be solved. The two parties could not\nboth be guilty, according to the evidence, nor could one of them be\nguilty to the exclusion of the other; neither, when the balance was\ncast, was there much difference in the weight of the scales, because\nwhile it was in one view more likely that Lindsay signed the false\nname, it was beyond doubt that Effie wrote the body of the document,\nand she had moreover presented it. But was it for the honour of the\nlaw that people should be hanged on a likelihood? It was a new case\nwithout new heads to decide it, and it made no difference that the\nbody of the people, who soon became inflamed on the subject, took the\npart of the girl and declared against the man. It was easy to be seen\nthat the tracing of the money would go far to solve the mystery; and\naccordingly there was a strict search made in Lindsay\u2019s lodgings, as\nwell as in Effie\u2019s private repositories at home. We need not say with\nwhat effect, where the money was over the Border and away. It was thus\nin all views more a case for Astr\u00e6a than common heads; but then she had\ngone to heaven. The Lord Advocate soon saw that the law was likely to\nbe caught in its own meshes. The first glimpse was got of the danger\nof hanging so versatile, so inconsistent, so unsearchable a creature\nas a human being on a mere confession of guilt. That that had been the\nlaw of Scotland in all time, nay, that it had been the law of the world\nfrom the beginning, there was no doubt. Who could know the murderer\nor the forger better than the murderer or the forger themselves? and\nwould any one throw away his life on a false plea? The reasoning does\nnot exhaust the deep subject; there remains the presumption that the\ncriminal will, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, deny, and deny\nboldly. But our case threw a new light on the old law, and the Lord\nAdvocate was slow to indict where he saw not only reasons for failure,\nbut also rising difficulties which might strike at the respect upon\nwhich the law was founded.\n\nThe affair hung loose for a time; and Lindsay\u2019s friends, anxious to\nsave him, got him induced to run his letters,--the effect of which is\nto give the prosecutor a period wherein to try the culprit, on failure\nof which the person charged is free. The same was done by Effie\u2019s\nfather; but quickened as the Lord Advocate was, the difficulty still\nmet him like a ghost that would not be laid,--that if he put Effie\nat the bar, Lindsay would appear in the witness-box; and if he put\nLindsay on his trial, Effie would swear he was innocent; and as for\ntwo people forging _the same name_, the thing had never been heard of.\nAnd so it came to pass that the authorities at last, feeling they were\nin a cleft stick, where if they relieved one hand the other would be\ncaught, were inclined to liberate both panels. But the bank was at that\ntime preyed upon by forgeries, and were determined to make an example\nnow when they had a culprit, or perhaps two. The consequence was,\nthat the authorities were forced to give way, vindicating their right\nof choice as to the party they should arraign. That party was Effie\nCarr; and the choice justified itself by two considerations: that she,\nby writing and uttering the cheque, was so far committed by evidence\nexterior to her self-inculpation; and secondly, that Lindsay might\nbreak down in the witness-box under a searching examination. Effie was\ntherefore indicted and placed at the bar. She pleaded guilty, but the\nprosecutor notwithstanding led evidence; and at length Lindsay appeared\nas a witness for the defence. The people who crowded the court had been\naware from report of the condition in which Lindsay stood; but the deep\nsilence which reigned throughout the hall when he was called to answer\nevinced the doubt whether he would stand true to his self-impeachment.\nThe doubt was soon solved. With a face on which no trace of fear could\nbe perceived, with a voice in which there was no quaver, he swore\nthat it was he who signed the draft and sent Effie for the money. The\noscillation of sympathy, which had for a time been suspended, came\nround again to the thin pale girl, who sat there looking wistfully and\nwonderingly into the face of the witness; and the murmuring approbation\nthat broke out, in spite of the shrill \u201cSilence\u201d of the crier,\nexpressed at once admiration of the man--criminal as he swore himself\nto be--and pity for the accused. What could the issue be? Effie was\nacquitted, and Lindsay sent back to gaol. Was he not to be tried? The\nofficials felt that the game was dangerous. If Lindsay had stood firm\nin the box, had not Effie sat firm at the bar, with the very gallows\nin her eye; and would not she, in her turn, be as firm in the box? All\nwhich was too evident; and the consequence in the end came to be, that\nLindsay was in the course of a few days set at liberty.\n\nAnd now there occurred proceedings not less strange in the house of\nJohn Carr. Lindsay was turned off, because, though he had made a\nsacrifice of himself to save the life of Effie, the sacrifice was only\nthat due to the justice he had offended. The dismissal was against the\nprotestations of Effie, who alone knew he was innocent; and she had to\nbear the further grief of learning that Stormonth had left the city on\nthe very day whereon she was apprehended--a discovery this too much\nfor a frame always weak, and latterly so wasted by her confinement in\nprison, and the anguish of mind consequent upon her strange position.\nAnd so it came to pass, in a few more days, that she took to her bed,\na wan, wasted, heart-broken creature; but stung as she had been by the\nconduct of the man she had offered to die to save, she felt even more\nthe sting of ingratitude in herself for not divulging to her mother as\nmuch of her secret as would have saved Lindsay from dismissal; for she\nwas now more and more satisfied that it was the strength of his love\nfor her that had driven him to his great and perilous sacrifice. Nor\ncould her mother, as she bent over her daughter, understand why her\nliberation should have been followed by so much of sorrow; nay, loving\nher as she did, she even reproached her as being ungrateful to God.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d said the girl, \u201cI have a secret that lies like a stane upon\nmy heart. George Lindsay had nae mair to do with that forgery than you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who had to do with it then, Effie, dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cMyself,\u201d continued the daughter; \u201cI filled up the cheque at the\nbidding o\u2019 Robert Stormonth, whom I had lang loved. It was he wha put\nmy faither\u2019s name to it. It was to him I gave the money, to relieve him\nfrom debt, and he has fled.\u201d\n\n\u201cEffie, Effie!\u201d cried the mother; \u201cand we have done this thing to\nGeorge Lindsay--ta\u2019en from him his basket and his store, yea, the bread\no\u2019 his mouth, in recompense for trying to save your life by offering\nhis ain.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, mother,\u201d added Effie; \u201cbut we must make that wrang richt.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd mair, lass,\u201d rejoined the mother, as she rose abruptly and\nnervously, and hurried to her husband, to whom she told the strange\nintelligence. Then John Carr was a just man as well as a loving parent;\nand while he forgave his unfortunate daughter, he went and brought\nback George Lindsay to his old place that very night; nor did he or\nMrs Carr know the joy they had poured into the heart of the young\nman, for the reason that they did not know the love he bore to their\ndaughter. But if this was a satisfaction to Effie, in so far as it\nrelieved her heart of a burden, it brought to her a burden of another\nkind. The mother soon saw how matters stood with the heart of Lindsay,\nand she moreover saw that her or her daughter\u2019s gratitude could not be\ncomplete so long as he was denied the boon of being allowed to marry\nthe girl he had saved from the gallows; and she waited her opportunity\nof breaking the delicate subject to Effie. It was not time yet, when\nEffie was an invalid; and even so far wasted and worn as to cause\napprehensions of her ultimate fate, even death; nor perhaps would that\ntime ever come when she could bear to hear the appeal without pain; for\nthough Stormonth had ruined her character and her peace of mind--nay,\nhad left her in circumstances almost unprecedented for treachery,\nbaseness, and cruelty--he retained still the niche where the offerings\nof a first love had been made: his image had been indeed burned into\nthe virgin heart, and no other form of man\u2019s face, though representing\nthe possessor of beauty, wealth, and worldly honours, would ever take\naway that treasured symbol. It haunted her even as a shadow of herself,\nwhich, disappearing at sundown, comes again at the rise of the moon;\nnay, she would have been contented to make other sacrifices equally\ngreat as that which she had made; nor wild moors, nor streams, nor\nrugged hills, would have stopped her in an effort to look upon him once\nmore, and replace that inevitable image by the real vision, which had\nfirst taken captive her young heart.\n\nBut time passed, bringing the usual ameliorations to the miserable.\nEffie got so far better in health that she became able to resume, in\na languid way, her former duties, with the exception of those of \u201cthe\ngentle clerk\u201d--for of these she had had enough; even the very look of\na bank-draft brought a shudder over her; nor would she have entered\nthe Bank of Scotland again, even with a good cheque for a thousand\npounds to have been all her own. Meanwhile the patient George had plied\na suit which he could only express by his eyes, or the attentions of\none who worships; but he never alluded, even in their conversations,\nto the old sacrifice. The mother too, and not less the father, saw the\nadvantages that might result as well to the health of her mind as that\nof her body. They had waited--a vain waiting--for the wearing out of\nthe traces of the obdurate image: and when they thought they might take\nplacidity as the sign of what they waited for, they first hinted, and\nthen expressed in plain terms, the wishes of their hearts. For a time\nall their efforts were fruitless; but John Carr, getting old and weak,\nwished to be succeeded in his business by George; and the wife, when\nshe became a widow, would require to be maintained,--reasons which had\nmore weight with Effie than any others, excepting always the act of\nGeorge\u2019s self-immolation at the shrine in which his fancy had placed\nher. The importunities at length wore out her resistings, without\neffacing the lines of the old and still endeared image; and she gave\na cold, we may say reluctant, consent. The bride\u2019s \u201cay\u201d was a sigh,\nthe rapture a tear of sadness. But George was pleased even with this:\nEffie, the long-cherished Effie, was at length his.\n\nIn her new situation Effie Carr--now Mrs Lindsay--performed all the\nduties of a good and faithful wife; by an effort of the will no doubt,\nthough in another sense only a sad obedience to necessity, of which\nwe are all, as the creatures of motives, the very slaves. But the old\nimage resisted the appeals of her reason, as well as the blandishments\nof a husband\u2019s love. She was only true, faithful, and kind, till\nthe birth of a child lent its reconciling power to the efforts of\nduty. Some time afterwards John Carr died--an event which carried in\nits train the subsequent death of his wife. There was left to the\nson-in-law a dwindling business, and a very small sum of money; for the\nfather had met with misfortunes in his declining years, which impaired\nhealth prevented him from resisting. Time wore on, and showed that\nthe power of the martyr-spirit is not always that of the champion of\nworldly success; for it was now but a struggle between George Lindsay,\nwith a stained name, and the stern demon of misfortune. He was at\nlength overtaken by poverty, which, as affecting Effie, preyed so\nrelentlessly upon his spirits, that within two years he followed John\nCarr to the grave. Effie was now left with two children to the work\nof her fingers, a poor weapon wherewith to beat off the wolf of want;\nand even this was curtailed by the effects of the old crime, which the\npublic still kept in green remembrance.\n\nThroughout, our story has been the sensationalism of angry Fate,\nand even less likely to be believed than the work of fiction. Nor\nwas the vulture face of the Nemesis yet smoothed down. The grief of\nher bereavement had only partially diverted Effie\u2019s mind from the\nrecollections of him who had ruined her, and yet could not be hated by\nher, nay, could not be but loved by her. The sensitised nerve, which\nhad received the old image, gave it out fresh again to the reviving\npower of memory, and this was only a continuation of what had been a\ncorroding custom of years and years. But as the saying goes, it is a\nlong road that does not offer by its side the spreading bough of shade\nto the way-worn traveller. One day, when Effie was engaged with her\nwork, of which she was as weary as of the dreaming which accompanied\nit, there appeared before her, without premonition or foreshadowing\nsign, Robert Stormonth, of Kelton, dressed as a country gentleman,\nbooted, and with a whip in his hand.\n\n\u201cAre you Effie Carr?\u201d\n\nThe question was useless to one who was already lying back in her chair\nin a state of unconsciousness, from which she recovered only to open\nher eyes and avert them, and shut them and open them again, like the\nvictim of epilepsy.\n\n\u201cAnd do you fear me?\u201d said the excited man, as he took her in his\nstrong arms and stared wildly into her face; \u201cI have more reason to\nfear you, whom I ruined,\u201d he continued. \u201cAy, brought within the verge\nof the gallows. I know it all, Effie. Open your eyes, dear soul, and\nsmile once more upon me. Nay, I have known it for years, during which\nremorse has scourged me through the world. Look up, dear Effie, while\nI tell you I could bear the agony no longer; and now opportunity\nfavours the wretched penitent, for my father is dead, and I am not only\nmy own master, but master of Kelton, of which you once heard me speak.\nWill you not look up yet, dear Effie? I come to make amends to you,\nnot by wealth merely, but to offer you again that love I once bore to\nyou, and still bear. Another such look, dear; it is oil to my parched\nspirit. You are to consent to be my wife--the very smallest boon I dare\noffer.\u201d\n\nDuring which strange rambling speech Effie was partly insensible; yet\nshe heard enough to afford her clouded mind a glimpse of her condition,\nand of the meaning of what was said to her. For a time she kept staring\ninto his face as if she had doubts of his real personality; nor could\nshe find words to express even those more collected thoughts that began\nto gather into form.\n\n\u201cRobert Stormonth,\u201d at length she said, calmly, \u201cand have you suffered\ntoo? Oh, this is more wonderful to me than a\u2019 the rest o\u2019 these\nwonderful things.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs no man ever suffered, dear Effie,\u201d he answered. \u201cI was on the eve\nof coming to you, when a friend I retained here wrote me to London of\nyour marriage with the man who saved you from the fate into which I\nprecipitated you. How I envied that man who offered to die for you! He\nseemed to take from me my only means of reparation; nay, my only chance\nof happiness. But he is dead. Heaven give peace to so noble a spirit!\nAnd now you are mine. It is mercy I come to seek in the first instance;\nthe love--if that, after all that is past, is indeed possible--I will\ntake my chance of that.\u201d\n\n\u201cRobert,\u201d cried the now weeping woman, \u201cif that love had been aince\nless, what misery I would have been spared! Ay, and my father, and\nmother, and poor George Lindsay; a\u2019 helped awa to the grave by my\ncrime, for it stuck to us to the end.\u201d And she buried her head in his\nbosom, sobbing piteously.\n\n\u201c_My_ crime, dear Effie, not yours,\u201d said he. \u201cIt was you who saved\nmy life; and if Heaven has a kindlier part than another for those who\nerr by the fault of others, it will be reserved for one who made a\nsacrifice to love. But we have, I hope, something to enjoy before you\ngo there, and as yet I have not got your forgiveness.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is yours--it is yours, Robert,\u201d was the sobbing answer. \u201cAy, and\nwith it a\u2019 the love I ever had for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cEnough for this time, dear Effie,\u201d said he. \u201cMy horse waits for me.\nExpect me to-morrow at this hour with a better-arranged purpose.\u201d\nAnd folding her in his arms, and kissing her fervently, even as\nhis remorse were thereby assuaged as well as his love gratified,\nhe departed, leaving Effie to thoughts we should be sorry to think\nourselves capable of putting into words. Nor need we say more than that\nStormonth kept his word. Effie Carr was in a few days Mrs Stormonth,\nand in not many more the presiding female power in the fine residence\nof Kelton.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Mary Mochrie and the Miracle of the Cod.\n\n\nIt was said that David Hume\u2019s barber, who had the honour of shaving\nthe philosopher every morning, was so scandalised by David\u2019s Essay\non Miracles, that he told him to his face--which he was smoothing at\nthe time--that Mary Mochrie\u2019s miracle shut his mouth. And no doubt\nthis was so far true, for the shaver took care while he was telling\nthe story to hold David\u2019s lips close with his left hand, while he\nwas plying his razor with the other. David, we are informed, used to\ntell this anecdote himself along with the story of the modern miracle\nappended to it; and as the latter is a good example of the easy way by\nwhich the blind sentiment of wonder groping for light comes to refer\nstrange things to Divine interposition, and consequently the facility\nof belief in those darker times, we may include among our stories for\nthe amusement of our readers that of the miracle, which, goes in this\nwise:--\n\nOn a fine day in the month of June a certain Miss Isabella Warrender,\nthe daughter of a respectable burgess, bethought herself of the luxury\nof a plunge in the Forth, on the sands to the west of Newhaven, and\nwith a view to safety, as well as companionship, she behoved to\ntake with her her father\u2019s trusty servant, Mary Mochrie. The blue\nbathing-gowns were accordingly put into the basket, and away they went\non their journey of two miles with heads \u201cas light as lavrocks,\u201d and\nthinking of no other miracle in the world than that of enjoyment--a\nveritable miracle to many, insomuch as it is to them in this world of\ndoubtful happiness and real misery miraculously scarce. Nor was it\nlong, with their light feet, ere they reached their destination; all\nthings, too, being otherwise propitious, for the sun was shining in a\nclear sky, the surface of the sea was as smooth as glass, and like a\nmirror reflected the rays of the sun; so that, to speak figuratively,\nApollo and Neptune were on the best of terms, as if they had resolved\nto favour specially on that day so fair a specimen of an earthly maid,\nwho, for a time, was to become a water nymph. So, after looking out\nfrom beneath her curls for Peeping Toms,--of whom, by the way, to\nthe honour of Scotland, our Godivas in these parts have little to\ncomplain,--Isabella got herself made as like Musidora as possible, in\nwhich condition she remained only for that single moment occupied by\nMary in investing her with the said blue gown. Whereupon, Mary having\nalso divested herself of her clothes, was as quickly reclaimed from the\nsearching eyes of the upper of the two propitious gods by her young\nmistress helping her on with her sea dress.\n\nAll which sacrifices to _Bona Dea_ are pretty uniform, if we may not\nsay that, although young women have as good a right to outrage modesty\nby splashing about perfectly nude in the sea as the men have, they\nknow better than do any such naughty thing. Nor, perhaps, was it any\nexception, that as they went into the sea they took each other by the\nhand, just as Adam and Eve did when they walked hand in hand into a\nflood of sin, as enticing to them, too, as the shining water was to our\nvirgins--a comparison more true than you may be at present thinking.\nThen having got up to the middle--that is, in a sense, half seas over,\nthey got into that sportive mood which belongs to bathers, as if an\ninfection from the playful element; and, of course, they could not\navoid the usual ducking, which is performed by the two taking hold of\nboth hands, and alternately or simultaneously dipping themselves over\nhead, and as they emerge shaking their locks as the ducks do their\nwings when they come out of the water. All which was very pleasant,\nas might have been apparent from the laughing and screighing which\nterrified the Tom Norries there and then flying over their heads; but\nit so happened that in one of these see-saws Isabella\u2019s foot slipped,\nand the consequence was that her hands slipped also out of those of\nMary, so that she fell back into the water, more afraid, of course,\nthan hurt; nor was this all, for no sooner had Isabella got on her feet\nagain than holding out her left hand she cried in rather a wild way\nthat she had lost her ruby ring--nay, that very ring which a certain\nGeorge Ballennie had given her as a pledge of his love, and the loss\nof which was so like an augury of evil. And then as it was Mary\u2019s hand\nwhich pulled it off, or rather Isabella\u2019s that left it in Mary\u2019s, it\nwas natural she should ask at the same time whether Mary had it or had\nfelt it, but Mary asserted that she had it not, neither had she felt it\nwhen coming off. So if Mary was honest it behoved to be in the sea, and\nin all likelihood would never be found again.\n\nAnd thus the pleasant act of bathing was interrupted in the very\nmiddle, for how could there be any more splashing and tumbling and\nmermaiding with this terrible loss weighing upon Isabella\u2019s heart? She\nwould not know how to face her mother; and as for Ballennie, might\nhe not think that she who would not take better care of a love-token\nhad no great love on her part to be betokened by a ring or anything\nelse. The very sea which a moment before was as beautiful as a blushing\nbride holding out her arms for the embrace of the bridegroom, became as\nhateful to her as a Fury, and, hastening to the bank with tears in her\neyes, which, of course, could not be seen, she began to dress. Mary,\nwho seemed to participate in her young mistress\u2019s sorrow, commenced\nthe same operation; but when the clothes were on what was to be done?\nThe tide was ebbing, and an hour, or at most two, would discover the\nchannel at the spot where the unlucky slip was made, but to remain all\nthat time would produce uneasiness at home, and there appeared to be\nnothing for it but for the young lady to go to Edinburgh, and leave\nMary to wait for the ebbing of the tide, and make a search among the\nshingle for the valuable article.\n\nA plan accordingly carried out. Mary certainly awaited the ebb, and did\nmake a search among the gravel, but whether that search was conducted\nin that assiduous way followed by those who are lighted in their travel\nby the Lamp of Hope, it is not for us at present to say. Certain at\nleast it is that Mary did not seem very greatly disappointed at her\nfailure in not finding Isabella\u2019s precious love-token, for which want\nof feeling we do not require to go very deep into Mary\u2019s breast, or any\nother body\u2019s breast, seeing she was a woman, and had a lover of her\nown, even George Gallie, as good as Ballennie any day. True, he had\nnever given her a ruby ring; though, as for that, he would if he could,\nand if he couldn\u2019t how could he? So Mary was on a par with Isabella in\nthat matter; still, we confess, she might have searched more carefully,\nunless, indeed, we are to be so ungallant as to believe that she had in\nher mind some foregone secret conclusion that the ring was not there to\nbe found.\n\nNor, what is almost as strange, did Mary take up her basket and\ncommence her journey homeward in that saddened way which belongs to\ndeep disappointment. Nay, we are not sure but that the words of the old\nsong of her whose ring had been stolen by a mermaid, were conned by\nMary to herself as she trudged homewards,--\n\n \u201cAnd sair she moiled, and sair she toiled,\n To find the ring lost in the sea,\n And still the thought within her wrought\n That she would never married be.\u201d\n\nBut there was something else in her head when she reached the house,\nwhere she met some very suspicious looks not only from Isabella, but\nalso from Mrs Warrender, for we may as well confess that the daughter\nhad told her mother that when the slip of the hand took place she\nfelt as if the ring had been taken off by the hand of Mary. And then\nwhen Mary appeared with a lugubrious face, and reported that she had\nnot found the ring in the shingle, the foresaid suspicion was so\nmuch confirmed, that very little more would be required to induce\nMr Warrender to make some judicial investigation into the strange\ncircumstance. An inauspicious afternoon and night for Mary, and not\nless the next day, when she was called into the dining-room, and so\nsharply interrogated by Mr Warrender, that she cried very bitterly, all\nthe time asserting that she never felt her hand touch the ring, and\nthat it had most certainly fallen into the water and been lost. But Mr\nWarrender was not a man who believed in tears, at least women\u2019s; for he\nwas ungallant enough to think, that as we cannot distinguish _ex parte\nrei_ between those of anger and those of sorrow, and as there is a kind\ncalled crocodile, as limpid as the others, and just as like a pretty\ndewdrop, so they never can or ought to be received as evidence either\nof guilt or innocence. And so it came about, that as the hours passed\nthe conviction grew stronger and stronger in the minds of the family\nthat the meek, and church-going, and psalm-singing Mary Mochrie was a\nthief.\n\nOf this latter fact, in the peculiar circumstances of the case, there\ncould be no evidence beyond the finding of the missing article, either\non Mary\u2019s person or in some place under her power, for Isabella\u2019s word\ncould not go for much; and so it was resolved that Mary\u2019s person and\ntrunk should be searched. A very strong step in the case of a girl\nwho had hitherto held a very good character, and probably altogether\nunjustifiable, where so powerful an abstractor of earthly things as\nNeptune was apparently as much in the scrape as Mary. Yet this strong\nthing was done _illotis manibus_, and, as might have been expected,\nwith no effect beyond scandalising Mary, who went so far as to say that\nHeaven took care of its own, and that God would in His own time and way\nshow her persecutors that she was as innocent as that babe unborn, who\ntakes away and places, nobody knows where, so many of the wickednesses\nof the world. But then an assertion of innocence in the grand style\nof an appeal to the Deity sometimes piques a prosecutor, because it\nconveys an imputation that the accused one is better taken care of by\nHeaven than he is; and so it turned out here, for Mr Warrender felt\nas if he had been challenged to the ultimate trial by ordeal, and he\nstraightway proceeded to take measures for having Mary apprehended upon\nthe charge of having robbed his daughter of the much-prized ring.\n\nThese measures were taken as they had been resolved upon, and here\nit behoves us, for a reason which may appear by and by, to be so\nparticular as to say, that the officer was to come in the morning after\nbreakfast to convey the alleged culprit to the office of the public\nprosecutor, for the purpose, in the first place, of examination. Nor\nwas Mary unprepared, nay, she was not even to all appearance very\nmuch put about, for she had gone about her work as usual, and having\nfinished what she had to do as maid-of-all-work--cook, scullery-maid,\nand scrub--she began to make preparations for cutting-up and gutting,\nand scraping, and washing the large cod, which lay upon the dresser\nready for these operations, and which, by the way, Mrs Warrender had\nthat morning, an hour before, bought for the sum of one and sixpence,\nfrom a Jenny Mucklebacket, of the village of Newhaven--another\nparticular fact which we are bound to apologise for on the foresaid\nplea of necessity, lest we might incur the charge of wishing to\nproduce an effect by Dutch painting. But Mary\u2019s services as to the\ncod were dispensed with by Mrs Warrender, if they were not actually\nresented as either a bribe to forego the prosecution, or a cold-blooded\nindifference assumed for the purpose of showing her innocence. And so\nwhen the officer came Mary was hurried away to undergo this terrible\nordeal, which, whatever other effect it might have, could not fail to\nleave her marked with the very burning irons that might not inflict the\npunishment due to robbery.\n\nLeaving Mrs Warrender with the cod, which is as indispensable to our\nlegend as a frying-pan to a Dutch interior, or the bone of a pig to\na saint\u2019s legend, we follow the prisoner to the office of the man\nwho is a terror to evil-doers. Mr Warrender was there as the private\nprosecutor, and Isabella as a witness, or rather _the_ witness. On\nbeing seated, the fiscal asked Mary, whether, on the day of the\nbathing, she had not seen the said ring on the finger of her young\nmistress; whereto Mary answered in the affirmative. Then came the\napplication of the Lydian stone, in the form of the question, whether\nshe did not, at the foresaid time and place, abstract the said ring\nfrom the finger of Isabella when she held her hand in the process of\ndipping; but Mary was here negative and firm, asserting that she did\nnot, and giving emphasis to her denial by adding, that God knew she\nwas as innocent as the foresaid babe. In spite of all which, Isabella\ninsisted that she had been robbed in the manner set forth. The fiscal\nsaw at once that the whole case lay between the two young women, and\nrecommended Mr Warrender to let go the prosecution as one which must\nfail for defect of evidence; but that gentleman, for the reason that\nhe had so far committed himself, and also for that he was annoyed at\nwhat he called the impudence of a servant disputing the word of his\ndaughter, and calling her, in effect, a liar, insisted upon his right,\nas the protector and curator of his daughter, of having the culprit\ncommitted to jail, in the expectation that, through some medium of the\nthree magic balls, or otherwise, he would get more evidence of the\ncrime. The fiscal had no alternative; and so Mary Mochrie was taken to\nthe Tolbooth, with the ordinary result, in the first place, of the news\ngoing up and down the long street which then formed the city, that Mrs\nWarrender\u2019s servant was imprisoned for the strange crime of abstracting\nfrom Miss Warrender\u2019s finger, while bathing, the love-token given to\nher by her intended. There was, doubtless, about the tale just so much\nof romance that would serve it as wings to carry it wherever gossip was\nacceptable--and we would like to know where in that city it was not\nacceptable then, and where it is not acceptable now.\n\nMeanwhile Mrs Warrender had been very busy with the mute person of our\ndrama--the cod--in which, like the devil in the story who had bargained\nfor a sinner and having got a saint instead, had half resolved to\nfollow the advice of Burns and \u201ctake a thought and mend,\u201d she had got\nso much more than she bargained for with the fishwife that she was,\nwhen Mr Warrender and Isabella entered, ready to faint. They found\nher sitting in a chair scarcely able to move, under no less an agency\nthan the fear of God. Her breath came and went with difficulty through\nlips with that degree of paleness which lips have a special tendency\nto take on, an expression of awe was over her face, and in her hand\nshe held that identical ruby ring for the supposed theft of which the\nunfortunate Mary had been hurried to jail, and as for being able to\nspeak she was as mute as the flounder in the proverb that never spoke\nbut once; all she could do was to hold up the ring and point to the\ncod upon the dresser. But all in vain, for Mr Warrender could not see\nthrough the terrible mystery, nay, surely the most wonderful thing\nthat had ever happened in this lower world since the time when the\nwhale cast up Jonah just where and when he was wanted, till at length\nMrs Warrender was enabled to utter a few broken words to the effect\nthat the ring had been found in the stomach of the fish. Then, to be\nsure, all was plain enough--the cod was a chosen instrument in the\nhands of the great Author of Justice sent by a special message to save\nMary Mochrie from the ruin which awaited her under a false charge. The\nconviction was easy in proportion to the charm which supernaturalism\nalways holds over man--\n\n \u201cTrue miracles are more believed\n The more they cannot be conceived;\u201d\n\nand we are to remember that the last witch had not been burnt at the\ntime of our story. But what made this Divine interposition the more\nserious to the house of the Warrenders, the message from above was sent\nas direct as a letter by post, only not prepaid, for Mrs Warrender had\npaid for the fish; and so it was equally plain that a duty was thus put\nupon Mr Warrender of no ordinary kind.\n\nNor was he long in obeying the command. Taking the wonderful ring\nalong with him he hurried away to the office he had so lately left,\nand told the miraculous tale to the man of prosecutions. And what\nalthough that astute personage smiled at the story, just as if he\nwould have said, if he had thought it worth his while, \u201cWas there any\nopportunity for Mary Mochrie handling the cod?\u201d--it was only the small\nwhipcord of scepticism applied to the posteriors of the rhinoceros of\nsuperstition, even that instinct in poor man to be eternally looking\nup into the blank sky for special providences. So Mr Warrender, now\nhimself a holy instrument, got what he wanted--an order to the jailer\nfor Mary\u2019s liberation. So away he went; and as he went to the Tolbooth\nhe told every acquaintance he met the exciting story--among others\nhis own clergyman of the Greyfriars, who held up his hands and said,\n\u201cWonderful are the ways of God! Yea, this very thing hath a purpose in\nit, even that of utterly demolishing that arch sceptic David Hume\u2019s\nsoul-destroying Essay on Miracles. I will verily take up the subject\nthe next Sabbath.\u201d And thus, dropping the germs as he went, which\nformed a revolving radius line from the centre of the mystery--his\nown house--the consequence was that the miracle of the cod went like\nwildfire wherever there was the fuel of a predisposing superstition;\nand where, we repeat, was that not then? where is not now, despite of\nDavid with all his genius--the first and best of the anti-Positivists,\nbecause he was a true Pyrrhonean. Having got to the jail, Mr Warrender\ninformed Mary of this wonderful turn of providence in her favour,\nwhereat Mary, as a matter of course, held up her hands in great wonder\nand admiration.\n\nBut Mr Warrender was not, by this act of justice, yet done with Mary.\nIt behoved him to take her home and restore her to her place, with\na character not only cleared of all imputation, but illustrated by\nthe shining light of the favour of Heaven; and so he accompanied her\ndown the thronged High Street,--an act which partook somewhat of the\nprocession of a saint, whereat people stared; nay, many who had heard\nof the miracle went up and shook hands with one who was the favourite\nof the Great Disposer of events. Nor did her honours end with this\ndisplay; for when they reached the house they found it filled with\nacquaintances, and even strangers, all anxious to see the wonderful\nfish, and the ring, and the maid. In the midst of all which honours\nMary looked as simple as a Madonna; and if she winked it was only\nwith one eye, and the winking was to herself. Even here her honours\nthat day did not terminate, for she behoved for once to dine with the\nfamily--not on the cod, which was reserved as something sacred, like\nthe small fishes offered by the Phaselites to their gods--but on a\njolly leg of lamb, as a recompense for the breakfast of which she had\nthat morning been deprived. Nay, as for the cod, in place of being\neaten, it stood a risk of being pickled, and carried off to help the\nexchequer of some poor Catholic community in the land of miracles.\n\nBut probably the most wonderful part of our history consists in this\nfact, that no one ever hinted at the propriety of having recourse to\nthe easiest and most natural way of solving a knot so easily tied; but\nwe have only to remember another mystery--that of the gullibility of\nman when under the hunger of superstition. Nor need we say that the\nmaw of a cod, big and omnivorous as it is, never equalled that of the\nmiracle-devourer\u2019s, possessing, as it does, too, the peculiarity of\nkeeping so long that which is accepted. Wherein it resembles the purse\nof the miser, the click of the spring of which is the sign of perpetual\nimprisonment. We only hear the subsequent jingle of the coin, and the\njingle in our present instance might have lasted for twenty years,\nduring all which time Mary Mochrie\u2019s miracle might have served as the\nbest answer to the Essay of the renowned sceptic.\n\nAnd thus we are brought back to the anecdote with which we set out. The\nstory we have told is, in all its essentials, that which Donald Gorm,\nDavid Hume\u2019s barber, treated him to on that morning when he wanted to\nclose up for ever the mouth of the arch sceptic. It is not easy to\nsmile while under the hands of a story-telling barber, for the reason\nthat the contracted muscle runs a risk of being still more contracted\nby a slice being taken off it by a resolute razor moving in straight\nlines, so that probably it was not till Donald had finished both the\nstory and the shaving, that David dared to indulge in that good-natured\nsmile with which he used to meet his opponents, even in the teeth of\nthe Gael\u2019s oath, \u201c\u2019Tis a miracle, py Cot,\u201d--a word this latter which,\nin Donald\u2019s humour, might stand for the word cod, as well as for\nanother too sacred to be here mentioned.\n\nYet the philosopher had further occasion for his good-humoured\nreticence, with which, as is well known, he declared he would alone\nmeet the censors of his Essay, for it was really on the occasion of\nthis great religious sensation in the city that the washer-women at\nthe \u201cNor\u2019 Loch\u201d threatened to \u201cdook him,\u201d for the reason that, as they\nhad heard, he had not only written that detestable Essay to prove\nthat no miracles (for they were ungenerous enough to pay no attention\nto his _very_ grave exception of the real Bible ones) could ever\nbe, but he had actually gone the extreme length of disbelieving the\nintervention of God to save the innocent Mary Mochrie from the Moloch\nof the criminal law. We need not be unassured that this additional\nbit of gossip, as it spread though the city, would only tend to the\ninflammation that already prevailed. Nor need we wonder at all this,\nwhen we remember the play of metaphysical wit, which was received as\nvery serious by the vulgar,--that David believed in nothing, except\nthat there was no God.\n\nBut the mind of the Edinburgh public was not destined to cool down\nbefore it underwent further combustion. It happened that a certain\nperson of the name of Gallie, a common working jeweller in World\u2019s End\nClose, was possessed of knowledge which he had picked up on the road\nto Newhaven, whither he had been going to bathe, on that very morning\nwhen the miraculous ring was lost, and which knowledge, he thought,\nbeing a knowing fellow, he could turn to account in the midst of the\nheat of collision between the miracle-mongers and the sceptics, even\nas he might have transmuted by the fire of the furnace a piece of base\nmetal into gold; and he took a strange way to effect his purpose.\nHaving first called on Mr Warrender and got a sight of the magic ring,\nhe next wrote an advertisement, which he got printed in the form of\nthe small posters of that day of Lilliputian bills. It ran in these\nterms:--\u201cMary Mochrie\u2019s Miracle.--If any one is anxious to learne the\ntrew secret of this reputyd miracle, let him or her, mann or woman, hye\nto the closs of ye Warld\u2019s End, where Michael Gallie resideth, and on\nye payement of one shilling they will hear somethyng that will astonie\nthem; but not one to tell ye other upon his aith.\u201d\n\nCopies of this bill Gallie posted on several walls in the most crowded\nparts of the city, and the consequence was such a crowd at World\u2019s\nEnd Close as might have been looked for if the close had really been\nthe last refuge from a conflagration of another kind. The applicants\ngot their turn of entry; every one came out with a face expressive of\nwonder, yet so true were they to their oath, that no one would tell a\nword he had heard behind the veil of Gallie\u2019s mystery, so that the\ncuriosity of the outsiders, who wanted to save their shillings, became\ninflamed by pique in addition to curiosity. The secret took on the\nsacred and cabalistic character of a mystery, and the mystery feeding,\nas it always does, upon whispers and ominous looks, increased as the\nhours passed. Nor can we wonder at an excitement which had religion at\nthe bottom of it, and the vanquishment of the soul-destroying David\nfor the fruitful and ultimate issue. It was only the high price of\nadmission which limited the number of Gallie\u2019s shillings, for during\nthe entire day the stern obligation of an oath proved the stern honesty\nof a religious people. It was said--and I see no reason to doubt the\ntruth of the report--that Dr Robertson and many others of the educated\nclasses caught the infection and paid their shilling; but we may doubt\nif the imperturbable David would risk his body or trouble his spirit by\nlooking into the mysterious close of the World\u2019s End.\n\nAs to what took place within Gallie\u2019s room, it would seem that the\ningenious fellow, when he saw the heather on fire, set his gins for the\nhares and conies in such a way as to catch them by dozens. He allowed\nthe room to fill, and having administered the oath to two or three\ndozen at a time, he contrived during the course of the day to bag more\nshillings than there might have been supposed to be fools or religious\nenthusiasts even in superstitious Edinburgh. Afterwards, when rumour\nbecame busy with his gains, it was said that he was thereby enabled\nto set up the famous silversmith\u2019s shop that so long, under the name\nof \u201cGallie and Son,\u201d occupied a prominent front in the High Street,\nbetween Halkerston\u2019s Wynd and Milne\u2019s Entry.\n\nBut as all things that depend upon mere human testimony must ultimately\nbe left insoluble, except as belief makes an election and decision,\nso even the revelation of the prophet Gallie did not settle the\ngreat question of Mochrie _versus_ Hume, for Gallie could offer no\ncorroboration of the testimony of which he contrived to make a little\nfortune. That revelation came to be known very well the next day,\nprobably from the softening and tongue-loosening influence of Edinburgh\nale exercised upon even gnarled and cross-grained Presbyterians; and we\nneed be under no doubt that Donald Gorm, when he shaved the philosopher\nnext morning, was in full possession of the secret, though we might be\nentitled to hold pretty fast by the suspicion that he would not court\nanother smile from David by recounting to him the destruction of his,\nDonald\u2019s, theory of the miracle.\n\nWith an apology for having kept the reader too long from a knowledge\nof Gallie\u2019s revelation, we now proceed to give it as it was currently\nreported. It seemed that on that morning when the two girls went\nto bathe, Gallie had left Edinburgh for the same purpose about an\nhour later--a statement probable enough, although not attempted to\nbe supported by any evidence. When about halfway on his journey, he\nmet Mary Mochrie, who, strangely enough, though perfectly true, was\nhis sweetheart. After some talk about the kind of bathe she had had,\nMary showed him a ring, which she said she had bought from an old Jew\nbroker on the previous day, and which she regretted was too wide for\nher finger. She then asked him to take it home with him and reduce it.\nGallie having taken the ring into his hand started the moment he fixed\nhis eye upon it.\n\n\u201cThat ring,\u201d said he, for, notwithstanding his scheme to make capital\nout of superstition, of which he was an enemy, he was an honest\nfellow,--\u201cthat ring belongs to your young mistress; and the reason I\nknow this is that I fixed the ruby in it for her not yet a fortnight\nsince.\u201d\n\nTaken thus aback, Mary began to prevaricate, saying that Miss Isabella\nWarrender had given it to her.\n\n\u201cThat cannot be,\u201d said Gallie, \u201cbecause she told me it was a present\nfrom her lover, George Ballennie, to whom she is to be married.\u201d\n\nWords which Gallie uttered in a solemn if not sorrowful tone, and a\nlook indicating displeasure and disappointment at thus detecting in the\nwoman whom he had intended to marry, both theft and falsehood. Nor were\nthese words left unrequited, for the fiery girl, snatching the ring out\nof his hand, called him a liar, besides taunting him with a certain\npendulous attitude which his father, old Gallie, had assumed somewhere\nabout the precincts of the Tolbooth immediately before dying. The\ncruel remark was one of those combinations of sharp words which have a\ntendency to stick, especially where the brain to which they adhere has\nbeen previously occupied by love, and so Gallie, muttering to himself a\ndetermination to be revenged, parted from her for ever, and proceeded\non his way to Newhaven.\n\nThings in this world being so arranged that one person\u2019s misfortune\nor wretchedness becomes another person\u2019s opportunity, we may see how\nGallie came to his purpose. Perhaps he might not have thought it worth\nhis pains to expose his own sweetheart from a mere feeling of revenge,\nbut when he came to find that the woman who had cast up to him his\nfather\u2019s misfortune, had taken or been put into the position of an\ninstrument of God\u2019s grace, that the public had been by her precipitated\ninto a superstitious enthusiasm--a species of feeling which he hated,\n(for who knows but that he might have been descended from that older\nGallio who deserved to have been hanged?) and that he saw by the clear\nvision of ingenuity that he could revenge himself as to Mary, and make\nhimself rich at the expense of the fools whom he despised, he fell upon\nthe adroit scheme which we have so faithfully recorded.\n\nWe have already also said that the oath of secrecy which Gallie had\nimposed on his dupes was dispensed with by some of the \u201cloose-fish\u201d\nwho could not be so easily caught as the devout cod. But this did not\nend the controversy, for it immediately took the form of a contest\nbetween the Gallieites and the Mochrieites, and the fury of the contest\nhaving drawn the attention of the officials of the law, Mary was\nagain apprehended, with the view to be indicted for the theft of the\nring, provided any corroborative testimony could be got in support\nof the statement of Gallie, who was forced to make his revelation to\nthe fiscal, this one time without a shilling. The Scotch people are\nblessed or cursed with a metaphysical tendency, and this may be the\nreason of their peculiar faith, as well as of their old suspicion of\nhuman testimony in the courts of law. One witness has never been\nreceived in Scotland as good for anything, if standing alone; and when\nwe look to the samples of humanity that meet us every day, so nicely\npoised between truth and falsehood, that the weight of a Queen Anne\u2019s\nfarthing would decide the inclination to the one side or the other, we\nare apt to think our judges rather sagacious. Perhaps they thought of\nthemselves in these palmy days when they took bribes, and considered\nthem very good and gracious things, too, in their own way. But be all\nthat as it may, the evidence of Gallie was not corroborated in any way;\nthe ring might have been put into the cod\u2019s mouth by Isabella Warrender\nherself to ruin Mary. Woman can do such things; and Gallie\u2019s accusation\nmight have been the consequence of Mary\u2019s allusion to the fate of his\nfather. The result, accordingly, was, that Mary Mochrie was dismissed.\nYet even here the affair did not end, for some people received her with\nopen arms, as being a vessel of mercy.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Pelican.\n\n\nThough not so much a tradition as a memory still fresh probably in the\nminds of some of the good old Edinburgh folks, we here offer, chiefly\nfor the benefit of our young female readers who are fond of a story\nwherein little heroines figure, as in B\u00e9ranger\u2019s \u201cSylphide,\u201d an account\nof a very famous adventure of a certain little Jeannie Deans in our\ncity--the more like the elder Jeannie, inasmuch as they both were\nconcerned in a loving effort to save the life of a sister. Whereunto,\nas a very necessary introduction, it behoves us to set forth that\nthere was, some sixty years ago, more or less, a certain Mr William\nMaconie, who was a merchant on the South Bridge of Edinburgh, but who,\nfor the sake of exercise and fresh air,--a commodity this last he need\nnot have gone so far from the Calton Hill to seek--resided at Juniper\nGreen, a little village three or four miles from St Giles\u2019s. Nor did\nthis distance incommode him much, seeing that he had the attraction to\nquicken his steps homewards of a pretty young wife and two little twin\ndaughters, Mary and Annie, as like each other as two rosebuds partially\nopened, and as like their mother, too, as the objects of our simile are\nto themselves when full blown.\n\nPeculiar in this respect of having twins at the outset, and sisters\ntoo--a good beginning of a contract to perpetuate the species--Mr\nMaconie was destined to be even more so, inasmuch as there came no\nmore of these pleasant _delici\u00e6 domi_, at least up to the time of\nour curious story--a circumstance the more to be regretted by the\nfather in consequence of a strange fancy (never told to his wife)\nthat possessed him of wishing to insure the lives of his children as\nthey came into the world, or at least after they had got through the\nrather uninsurable period of mere infant life. And in execution of this\nfancy--a very fair and reasonable one, and not uncommon at that time,\nwhatever it may be now, when people are not so provident--he had got an\ninsurance to the extent of five hundred pounds effected in the Pelican\nOffice--perhaps the most famous at that time--on the lives of the said\ntwins, Mary and Annie, who were, no doubt, altogether unconscious of\nthe importance they were thus made to hold in the world.\n\nYet, unfortunately for the far-seeing and provident father, this scheme\nthreatened to fructify sooner than he wished, if indeed it could ever\nhave fructified to his satisfaction; for the grisly spectre of Typhus\nlaid his relentless hand upon Mary when she--and of a consequence\nAnnie--was somewhere about eight years old. And surely, being as we are\nvery hopeful optimists in the cause of human nature, we need not say\nthat the father, as he and his wife watched the suffering invalid on\nthrough the weary days and nights of the progress towards the crisis\nof that dangerous ailment, never once thought of the Pelican, except\nas a bird that feeds its young with the warm blood of its breast.\nBut, sorrowful as they were, their grief was nothing in comparison\nwith the distress of little Annie, who slipped about listening and\nmaking all manner of anxious inquiries about her sick sister, whom she\nwas prohibited from seeing for fear of her being touched by the said\nspectre; nor was her heart the less troubled with fears for her life,\nthat all things seemed so quiet and mysterious about the house--the\ndoctor coming and going, and the father and mother whispering to each\nother, but never to her, and their faces so sad-like and mournful, in\nplace of being, as was their wont, so cheerful and happy.\n\nAnd surely all this solicitude on the part of Annie Maconie need not\nexcite our wonder, when we consider that, from the time of their\nbirth, the twin sisters had never been separated; but that, from the\nmoment they had made their entrance on this world\u2019s stage, they had\nbeen always each where the other was, and had run each where the other\nran, wished each what the other wished, and wept and laughed each when\nthe other wept or laughed. Nature, indeed, before it came into her\nfickle head to make two of them, had, in all probability, intended\nthese little sisters--\u201clittle cherries on one stalk\u201d--to be but one;\nand they could only be said not to be _one_, because of their bodies\nbeing two--a circumstance of no great importance, for, in spite of the\nduality of body, the spirit that animated them was a unity, and as we\nknow from an old philosopher called Plato, the spirit is really the\nhuman creature, the flesh and bones constituting the body being nothing\nmore than a mere husk intended at the end to feed worms. And then the\nmother helped this sameness by dressing them so like each other, as if\nshe wanted to make a \u201cComedy of Errors\u201d out of the two little female\nDromios.\n\nBut in the middle of this mystery and solicitude, it happened that\nAnnie was to get some light; for at breakfast one morning--not yet\nthat of the expected crisis--when her father and mother were talking\nearnestly in an undertone to each other, all unaware that the child,\nas she was moving about, was watching their words and looks, much as\nan older victim of credulity may be supposed to hang on the cabalistic\nmovements and incantations of a sibyl, the attentive little listener\neagerly drank in every word of the following conversation:--\n\n\u201cThe doctor is so doubtful,\u201d said the anxious mother, with a tear in\nher eye, \u201cthat I have scarcely any hope; and if she is taken away, the\nvery look of Annie, left alone \u2018bleating for her sister lamb,\u2019 will\nbreak my heart altogether.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d rejoined Mr Maconie, \u201cit would be hard to bear; but,\u201d--and\nit was the first time since Mary\u2019s illness he had ever remembered\nthe insurance,--\u201cit was wise that I insured poor Mary\u2019s life in the\nPelican.\u201d\n\n\u201cInsured her life in the Pelican!\u201d echoed the wife, in a higher tone.\n\u201cThat was at least lucky; but, oh! I hope we will not need to have our\ngrief solaced by that comfort in affliction for many a day.\u201d\n\nAnd this colloquy had scarcely been finished when the doctor entered,\nhaving gone previously into the invalid\u2019s room, with a very mournful\nexpression upon his face; nor did his words make that expression any\nmore bearable, as he said--\n\n\u201cI am sorry to say I do not like Mary\u2019s appearance so well to-day. I\nfear it is to be one of those cases where we cannot discover anything\nlike a crisis at all; indeed, I have doubts about this old theory being\napplicable to this kind of fever, where the virus goes on gradually\nworking to the end.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe end!\u201d echoed Mrs Maconie; \u201cthen, doctor, I fear you see what that\nwill be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not like to say,\u201d added he; \u201cbut I fear you must make up your\nmind for the worst.\u201d\n\nNow, all this was overheard by Annie, who, we may here seize the\nopportunity of saying, was, in addition to being a sensitive creature,\none of those precocious little philosophers thinly spread in the\nfemale world, and made what they are often by delicate health, which\nreduces them to a habit of thinking much before their time. Not that\nshe wanted the vivacity of her age, but that it was tempered by periods\nof serious musing, when all kinds of what the Scotch call \u201cauld\nfarrent\u201d (far yont) thoughts come to be where they should not be, the\nconsequence being a weird-like kind of wisdom, very like that of the\naged; so the effect on a creature so constituted was just equal to\nthe cause. Annie ran out of the room with her face concealed in her\nhands, and got into a small bed-room darkened by the window-blind, and\nthere, in an obscurity and solitude suited to her mind and feelings,\nshe resigned herself to the grief of the young heart. It was now\nclear to her that her dear Mary was to be taken from her; had not the\ndoctor said as much? And then she had never seen death, of which she\nhad read and heard and thought so much, that she looked upon it as a\nthing altogether mysterious and terrible. But had she not overheard\nher father say that he had insured poor dear Mary\u2019s life with the\nPelican? and had she not heard of the pelican--yea, the pelican of the\nwilderness--as a creature of a most mythical kind, though she knew\nnot aught of its nature, whether bird or beast, or man or woman, or\nangel. But whatever it might be, certain it was that her father would\nnever have got this wonderful creature to insure Mary\u2019s life if it\nwas not possessed of the power to bring about so great a result; so\nshe cogitated, and mused, and philosophised in her small way, till\nshe came to the conclusion that the pelican not only had the destiny\nof Mary in its hands, but was under an obligation to save her from\nthat death which was so terrible to her. Nor had she done yet with\nthe all-important subject; for all at once it came into her head as\na faint memory, that one day, when her father was taking her along\nwith her mother through the city, he pointed to a gilded sign, with a\nlarge bird represented thereon tearing its breast with its long beak\nand letting out the blood to its young, who were holding their mouths\nopen to drink it in. \u201cThere,\u201d said he, \u201cis the Pelican;\u201d words she\nremembered even to that hour, for they were imprinted upon her mind by\nthe formidable appearance of the wonderful-looking creature feeding its\nyoung with the very blood of its bosom. But withal she had sense enough\nto know--being, as we have said, a small philosopher--that a mere\nbird, however endowed with the power of sustaining the lives of its\noffspring, could not save that of her sister, and therefore it behoved\nto be only the symbol of some power within the office over the door of\nwhich the said sign was suspended. Nor in all this was Annie Maconie\nmore extravagant than are nineteen-twentieths of the thousand millions\nin the world who still cling to occult causes.\n\nAnd with those there came other equally strange thoughts; but beyond\nall she could not for the very life of her comprehend that most\ninexcusable apathy of her father, who, though he had heard with his own\nears, from good authority, that her beloved Mary was lying in the next\nbed-room dying, never seemed to think of hurrying away to town--even\nto that very pelican who had so generously undertaken to insure Mary\u2019s\nlife. It was an apathy unbecoming a father; and the blood of her little\nheart warmed with indignation at the very time that the said heart was\ndown in sorrow as far as its loose strings would enable it to go. But\nwas there no remedy? To be sure there was, and Annie knew, moreover,\nwhat it was; but then it was to be got only by a sacrifice, and that\nsacrifice she also knew, though it must of necessity be kept in the\nmeantime as secret as the wonderful doings in the death-chamber of the\npalace of a certain Bluebeard.\n\nGreat thoughts these for so little a woman as Annie Maconie; and no\ndoubt the greatness and the weight of them were the cause why, for all\nthat day--every hour of which her father was allowing to pass--she was\nmore melancholy and thoughtful than she had ever been since Mary began\nto be ill. But, somehow, there was a peculiar change which even her\nmother could observe in her; for while she had been in the habit of\nweeping for her sister, yea, and sobbing very piteously, she was all\nthis day apparently in a reverie. Nor even up to the time of her going\nto bed was she less thoughtful and abstracted, even as if she had been\nengaged in solving some problem great to her, however small it might\nseem to grown-up infants. As for sleeping under the weight of so much\nresponsibility, it might seem to be out of the question, and so verily\nit was; for her little body, acted on by the big thoughts, was moved\nfrom one side to another all night, so that she never slept a wink\nstill thinking and thinking, in her unutterable grief, of poor Mary,\nher father\u2019s criminal passiveness, and that most occult remedy which so\ncompletely engrossed her mind.\n\nBut certainly it was the light of morning for which sister Annie\nsighed; and when it came glinting in at the small window, she was up\nand beginning to dress, all the while listening lest the servant or\nany other one in the house should know she was up at that hour. Having\ncompleted her toilet, she slipped downstairs, and having got to the\nlobby, she was provident enough to lay hold of an umbrella, for she\nsuspected the elements as being in league against her. Thus equipped,\nshe crept out by the back-door, and having got thus free, she hurried\nalong, never looking behind her till she came to the main road to\nEdinburgh, when she mounted the umbrella--one used by her father, and\nso large that it was more like a main-sheet than a covering suitable\nto so small a personage; so it behoved, that if she met any other\n\u201ctravellers on purpose bent,\u201d the moving body must have appeared to\nbe some small tent on its way to a fair, carried by the proprietor\nthereof, of whom no more could be seen but the two short toddling legs,\nand the hem of the black riding-hood. But what cared Annie? She toiled\nalong; the miles were long in comparison of the short legs, but then\nthere was a large purpose in that little body, in the view of which\nmiles were of small account, however long a time it might take those\nsteps to go over them. Nor was it any drawback to all this energy,\nconcentrated in so small a bulk, that she had had no breakfast. Was\nthe dying sister Mary able to take any breakfast? and why should Annie\neat when Mary, who did all she did--and she always did everything that\nsister Mary did--could not? The argument was enough for our little\nlogician.\n\nBy the time she reached, by those short steps of hers, the great city,\nit was half-past eleven, and she had before her still a great deal to\naccomplish. She made out, after considerable wanderings, the street\nsignalised above all streets by that wonderful bird; but after she got\ninto it, the greater difficulty remained of finding the figure itself,\nwhereto there was this untoward obstacle, that it was still drizzling\nin the thick Scotch way of concrete drops of mist, and the umbrella\nwhich she held over her head was so large that no turning it aside\nwould enable her to see under the rim at such an angle as would permit\nher scanning so elevated a position, and so there was nothing for it\nbut to draw it down. But even this was a task--heavy as the main-sheet\nwas with rain, and rattling in a considerable wind--almost beyond her\nstrength; and if it hadn\u2019t been that a kindly personage who saw the\nlittle maid\u2019s difficulty gave her assistance, she might not have been\nable to accomplish it. And now, with the heavy article in her hand, she\npeered about for another half-hour, till at length her gladdened eye\nfell upon the mystic symbol.\n\nAnd no sooner had she made sure of the object, than she found her way\ninto the office, asking the porter as well as a clerk where the pelican\nwas to be found--questions that produced a smile; but smile here or\nsmile there, Annie was not to be beat, nor did she stop in her progress\nuntil at last she was shown into a room where she saw perched on a high\nstool with three (of course) long legs, a strange-looking personage\nwith a curled wig and a pair of green spectacles, who no doubt must be\nthe pelican himself. As she appeared in the room, with the umbrella,\nnot much shorter or less in circumference than herself, the gentleman\nlooked curiously at her, wondering no doubt what the errand of so\nstrange a little customer could be.\n\n\u201cWell, my little lady,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat may be your pleasure?\u201d\n\n\u201cI want the pelican,\u201d said Annie.\n\nThe gentleman was still more astonished, even to the extent that he\nlaid down his pen and looked at her again.\n\n\u201cThe pelican, dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy; just the pelican,\u201d answered she, deliberately, and even a little\nindignantly. \u201cAre you the pelican?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes, dear; all that is for it below the figure,\u201d said he,\nsmiling, and wondering what the next question would be.\n\n\u201cI am so glad I have found you,\u201d said she; \u201cbecause sister Mary is\ndying.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is sister Mary?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy sister, Mary Maconie, at Juniper Green.\u201d\n\nWhereupon the gentleman began to remember that the name of William\nMaconie was in his books as holder of a policy.\n\n\u201cAnd what more?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father says the pelican insured Mary\u2019s life, and I want you to come\ndirect and do it, because I couldn\u2019t live if Mary were to die. And\nthere\u2019s no time to be lost.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I see, dear; and who sent you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNobody,\u201d answered Annie. \u201cMy father wouldn\u2019t come to you, and I have\ncome from Juniper Green myself, without telling my father or mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, dear; I understand you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you must do it quick,\u201d continued she, \u201cbecause the doctor\nsays she\u2019s in great danger; so you must come with me, and save her\nimmediately.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sorry, my dear little lady,\u201d rejoined he, \u201cthat I cannot go with\nyou; but I will set about it immediately, and I have no doubt, being\nable to go faster than you, that I will get there before you, so that\nall will be right before you arrive.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee that you do it, then,\u201d said she, \u201cbecause I can\u2019t live if Mary\ndies. Are you quite sure you will do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerfectly sure, my little dear,\u201d added he; \u201cgo away home, and all will\nbe right. The pelican will do his duty.\u201d\n\nAnd Annie being thus satisfied, went away, dragging the main-sheet\nafter her, and having upon her face a look of contentment, if not\nabsolute happiness, in place of the sorrow which had occupied it during\nall the time of her toilsome journey. The same road is to be retraced;\nand if she had an object before which nerved her little limbs, she had\nnow the delightful consciousness of that object having been effected--a\nfeeling of inspiration which enabled her, hungry as she was, to\novercome all the toil of the return. Another two hours, with that heavy\numbrella overhead as well as body, brought her at length home, where\nshe found that people had been sent out in various directions to find\nthe missing Annie. The mother was in tears, and the father in great\nanxiety; and no sooner had she entered and laid down her burden, than\nshe was clasped to the bosom, first of one parent, and then of the\nother.\n\n\u201cBut where is the pelican?\u201d said the anxious little maid.\n\n\u201cThe pelican! my darling,\u201d cried the mother; \u201cwhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I have been to him at his own office at Edinburgh, to get him to\ncome and save Mary\u2019s life, and he said he would be here before me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what in the world put it in your head to go there?\u201d again asked\nthe mother.\n\n\u201cBecause I heard my father say yesterday that the pelican had insured\ndear sister Mary\u2019s life, and I went to tell him to come and do it\nimmediately; because, if Mary were to die, I couldn\u2019t live, you\nknow--that\u2019s the reason, dear mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said the father, scarcely able to repress a smile which\nrose in spite of his grief. \u201cI see it all; you did a very right thing,\nmy love. The pelican has been here, and Mary is better.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I am so glad,\u201d rejoined Annie, \u201cfor I wasn\u2019t sure whether he had\ncome or not; because, though I looked for him on the road, I couldn\u2019t\nsee him.\u201d\n\nAt the same moment the doctor came in, with a blithe face.\n\n\u201cMary is safe now,\u201d said he. \u201cThere has been a crisis, after all. The\nsweat has broken out upon her dry skin, and she will be well in a very\nshort time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there\u2019s no thanks to you,\u201d said Annie, \u201cbecause it was I who went\nfor the pelican.\u201d\n\nWhereupon the doctor looked to the father, who, taking him aside,\nnarrated to him the story, at which the doctor was so pleased that he\nlaughed right out.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re the noblest little heroine I ever heard of,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cBut have you had anything to eat, dear, in this long journey?\u201d said\nthe mother.\n\n\u201cNo, I didn\u2019t want,\u201d was the answer; \u201call I wanted was to save Mary\u2019s\nlife, and I am glad I have done it.\u201d\n\nAnd glad would we be if, by the laws of historical truth, our stranger\nstory could have ended here; but, alas! we are obliged to pain the\ngood reader\u2019s heart by saying that the demon who had left the troubled\nlittle breast of Mary Maconie took possession of Annie\u2019s. The very next\nday she lay extended on the bed, panting under the fell embrace of the\nrelentless foe. As Mary got better, Annie grew worse; and her case was\nso far unlike Mary\u2019s, that there was more a tendency to a fevered state\nof the brain. The little sufferer watched with curious eyes the anxious\nfaces of her parents, and seemed conscious that she was in a dangerous\ncondition. Nor did it fail to occur to her as a great mystery as well\nas wonder, why they did not send for the wonderful being who had so\npromptly saved the life of her sister. The thought haunted her, yet\nshe was afraid to mention it to her mother, because it implied a sense\nof danger--a fear which one evening she overcame. Fixing her eyes, now\nevery moment waxing less clear, on the face of her mother--\n\n\u201cOh! mother, dear,\u201d she whispered, \u201cwhy do you not send for the\npelican?\u201d\n\nIn other circumstances the mother would have smiled; but, alas, no\nsmile could be seen on that pale face. Whether the pelican was sent\nfor we know not, but certain it is, that he had no power to save poor\nAnnie, and she died within the week. But she did not die in vain, for\nthe large sum insured upon her life eventually came to Mary, whom she\nloved so dearly.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Davie Dempster\u2019s Ghaist.\n\n\nThere was once an old saying very common in the mouths of the Edinburgh\npeople--\u201cAs dead as Davie Dempster.\u201d It has long since passed away;\nbut whether it was preferable to the one to which it has given place,\nviz.,--\u201cAs dead as a door-nail,\u201d we must leave to those wise people who\ncan measure degrees of nonvitality in objects which are without life.\nBe all which as it may, the imputed deadness of David Dempster may\nappear to have some interest to us when we know the story from which\nthe old popular saying took its rise; and the more, that the story\ncannot be said to want a moral vitality, if it has not even a spice of\nhumour in it. Certain, to begin with, David Dempster was at least once\nalive, for we can vouch for his having been a very respectable denizen\nof the old city. We can even impart the nature of his calling, that of\na trafficker in the stuff of man\u2019s wearing apparel, which he sold to\nthose who were willing to buy, and even to some who were unwilling to\nbuy; for David\u2019s tongue, if not so long as his ell-wand, was a deuced\ndeal more supple. Nor does our information end here, for we can, we\nare happy to say, tell the name of his wife, which was Dorothy; nay,\nwe know even the interesting particular, that when David had more\nEdinburgh ale in his stomach than humility in his head, he got so far\ninto the heroics as to call her Dorothea; but as for the maiden name\nof this woman, who was the wife of a man so famous as to have been the\nsource and origin of a proverb, we regret to say that it has gone into\nthe limbo of things that are lost. To make amends, we can, however,\nadd that Mrs Dempster was, at the time of our story, as plump and well\ncoloured as Florabel; but as for David, who was ten years older than\nhis wife, he was just as plain as any man needs be without pretension\nto being disagreeable.\n\nWe have said that David Dempster and his wife were respectable, and\nwe do not intend to offer a jot more evidence on the point, than the\nfact that they went to \u201cthe kirk\u201d on Sundays, and that, too, with\nfaces of the normal Calvinistic elongation, and in good clothes;\nDorothy being covered, head and all, with her red silk plaid, and\nDavid immersed in the long square coat of the times, with cuffs as\nbig as four-pound tea-bags, buttons as broad as crown-pieces, and\npockets able to have held Dr Webster\u2019s--their minister\u2019s--pulpit\nBible in the one, and as many bottles of wine as the worthy gentleman\ncould carry away at a sitting, in the other; an allusion this last by\nno means ill-natured, as we may show by making the admission that,\nif David and Dorothy had had heads big enough to carry away all that\ntheir excellent preacher told them, they required no more for unction\nand function for a whole week. But, however fair things looked in the\nsanctuary, it was otherwise at home in Lady Stair\u2019s Close, where they\nresided, for it so happened that our worthy clothes-merchant had got\ninto debt; nay, there were hornings and captions out against him, and\nhe stood a chance any day in all the year round of being shut up in\n\u201cThe Heart of Mid-Lothian,\u201d not nearly so soft a one as Dorothy\u2019s. Not\nthat all David\u2019s creditors were equally hard upon him, for the laird\nof Rubbledykes--a small property on the left-hand side of the road to\nCramond--Mr Thomas Snoddy, who had lent him two hundred pounds Scots,\nnever asked him for a farthing; the reason of which requires a little\nexplanation.\n\nIn real secret truth the laird had been a lover of Dorothy\u2019s before she\nwas married to David, and there is no doubt that if he had declared\nhimself, with Rubbledykes to back him, he would have carried off the\nadorable Dorothy in triumph; but then it was the laird\u2019s misfortune\nto be what the Scotch call \u201ca blate lover;\u201d which is just to say, a\nbelated one; and Dorothy was married to the spruce and ardent David\nbefore she knew that a real laird of an estate was dying in secret\nfor her. Nor could she have had any doubt of the fact, for Mr Snoddy\nsummoned up courage to tell her so himself--a circumstance which cost\nhim something, insomuch as no sooner did David know the fact than he\nasked him for the loan of the said two hundred pounds Scots money. Of\ncourse, David being, as we have said, a man with a supple tongue, and\nbrains at the end of it, knew what he was about, and so sure enough he\nsucceeded; for Rubbledykes, who would not have lent two hundred pound\nScots to the treasurer of the Virgin Mary on a note-of-hand, payable in\nHeaven, was even delighted to advance that sum to the husband of his\nonce loved, and for ever lost, Dorothy. And in this act the laird was\nwonderfully liberal; for in his secret heart he conditioned for no more\nthan the liberty of being allowed to visit the house in Lady Stair\u2019s\nClose on market days, and sit beside Dorothy, and look at her, and\nwonder at her still red cheeks--albeit, more of the pickling cabbage\nthan the rose--and sigh at the loss of such a treasure. Neither in\nsuffering all this adoration did Mrs Dempster commit any very heinous\nsin; nay, being, as a good Calvinist, a believer in the excellent\ndoctrine (if acted up to) of \u201ctotal depravity,\u201d she was necessarily in\nthe highway of salvation.\n\nNeither did Mrs Dempster think it necessary to conceal any of these\ndoings from David. Nay, on one particular Wednesday, after the laird\nhad had his fill of this will-worship, she brought the subject up in\nso particular a way to her husband, that we are thereby led to believe\nthat they understood each other, and could act in concert. The occasion\nwas the complaint of David that some of his other creditors were likely\nto be down upon him.\n\n\u201cAh, Dorothy, if they were a\u2019 like Snoddy.\u201d\n\nNot a very respectful way of alluding to no less a personage than the\nlaird of Rubbledykes, let alone his kindness; but then David, being\na debtor, did not respect himself, and nothing was ever more true\nthan the saying, \u201cThat our own self-respect is the foundation of that\nrespect which we pay to others.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut they\u2019re _no\u2019_ a\u2019 like the laird,\u201d replied Dorothy; \u201cand what\u2019s\nmair, David, my man, the laird winna be ane o\u2019 your creditors lang\neither.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat mean you, lass?\u201d inquired David.\n\n\u201cI just mean neither mair nor less than that Thomas Snoddy o\u2019\nRubbledykes, wha should hae been my gudeman, is deein\u2019 as fast as he\ncan bicker; and that by and by I might have been my Leddy Rubbledykes\nwi\u2019 three hundred a year, and nae husband to trouble me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s ill news,\u201d continued David; \u201cfor if he dees, the debt will gae\nto his brother, a man who would raze the skin frae the mother\u2019s face\nthat bore him, if he could mak a leather purse out o\u2019t. But what maks\nye think he is deein\u2019, lass?\u201d\n\n\u201cDeein\u2019!\u201d rejoined Dorothy, with an ill-timed, if not cruel laugh.\n\u201cThat cough o\u2019 his would kill baith you and me in a year, even if we\nshould only cough time about.\u201d\n\n\u201cOwer true, I fear,\u201d groaned David; \u201cand then there\u2019s a\u2019 thae ither\ndebts upon me. Hark, Dorothy, ye\u2019re a clever dame; could ye no\u2019 get the\nlaird to discharge the debt?\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe I might, were I to kiss him, David,\u201d was the answer, with\nanother smile.\n\n\u201cAnd what for no\u2019?\u201d asked this honest man, who raised his voice in the\nTron every Sunday.\n\n\u201cBecause I am neither a Judith nor a Judas,\u201d replied she.\n\n\u201cBut ye\u2019re a Christian,\u201d was the ready rejoinder; \u201cand what\u2019s mair, a\nCalvinist.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs if a body could be a Christian without being a Calvinist,\u201d said\nshe. \u201cBut what do ye mean, David--are ye crazy? Why should I kiss\nanother man because I\u2019m a Calvinist?\u201d\n\n\u201cNae sin, nae salvation,\u201d said he.\n\nWhereupon the worthy couple laughed at a tenet which, being liable to\na double construction, has always been dangerous to the common people\nof Scotland. And what was worse, this laugh was only the prelude to a\nfurther conversation so deep and mysterious, and withal conducted in\nso low a train of whispers and re-whispers, that even our familiar,\nendowed as he is with the power of going through stone walls, could\ncarry off no more than smiles and nods and winks, and more and more\nof the same kind of laughs. But as the son of Sirach says, \u201cThere\nis an exquisite subtlety, and the same is unjust;\u201d and \u201cWrath will\nsurely search it.\u201d Nor was there in this case much time required for\nthe retribution, for the very next day a man rushed into the house of\nMrs Dempster with the intelligence on his tongue that David Dempster\nwas drowned at Granton. The dreadful story was indeed corroborated\ninto a certainty by a bundle of clothes which the messenger of evil\ntidings laid on the table, no other than the suit which David had\nput on that morning, including the linen shirt which Dorothy\u2019s own\nfingers had adorned with the breast-ruffle, and identified with the\nbeloved initials, D. D., more precious to her than the symbols of\necclesiastical honours. All were there as he had left them on the beach\nbefore the plunge which was to be unto death--yea, something after\ndeath, and more terrible, for had not David been a scoffer? If Mrs\nDempster had at first been able to collect her scattered senses, she\nwould have been satisfied even with the look of the clothes, for she\nhad heard her husband say, with a blithe look, that he was to go to\nGranton to bathe, and she would, moreover, have had some minutes sooner\nthe melancholy satisfaction that one so dear to her had not committed\nsuicide.\n\nBut the sudden impression left no room for consolations of any kind.\nStruggling nature could do no more than work itself out of one swoon\nto fall into another, and how long it was before she could listen to\nthe inrushing neighbours with their news that he had been boated for,\nand dived for, and hooked for, and searched for, no record remains to\ntell. But that all these efforts had been made there was no doubt, and\nas the hours passed bringing as yet no assuagement of a grief which\nis only amenable to time, it came to be known that the coast had been\nexamined all about the fatal spot with no return but the inevitable\n_non inventus_; nor did it require many days to satisfy the unfortunate\nwidow that the catastrophe was of that complete kind where the\nremaining victim is not only deprived of a husband, but denied the poor\nconsolation of seeing his dead body.\n\nYet how true it is that the kingdom of Death is in the land of\nforgetfulness, not only to the ghostly denizens who there dwell, but\nalso to those who are left in this region of quick memories. Wherein\nsurely there is a kindness in the cruelty; for assuredly there is no\none who could suffer for a protracted period the intensity of the first\nonset of a grief of a privation which is to be for ever in this world\nand be able to live. And this kindliness of the fates was experienced\nby Mrs Dorothy Dempster, who, after a decent period, and amidst the\nconsolations of friends, felt herself in a condition to be able to wait\nupon the creditors of her husband and get them to be contented with\nthe small stock left by him, and give her acquittances of their debts;\nnay, so heartrending were her appeals, and so miserable she appeared in\nher weeds, that these good men even voted her a small sum out of the\nwreck as a beautiful tribute to pity and humanity. All which went for\nits value, so creditable as it is to human nature, and we need hardly\nadd that the frequent reading of the encomium in the _Mercury_ on the\nmerits of the deceased--which, of course, proceeded on the inevitable\nrule that a man is only good provided he is dead--heaped up the\nconsolation even to a species of melancholy pleasure.\n\nAnd, surely, if on this occasion there was any one _ipsis charitibus\nhumanior_, it was Mr Thomas Snoddy, the good laird of Rubbledykes.\nNor were his attentions merely empty-handed visits to the house of\nthe widow, for he brought her money, often, after all, the chief of\nconsolations. Of the manner in which that might be accepted he probably\nsuspected there was nothing to be feared; but there was another gift\nhe had in store, in regard to the acceptability of which he was\nnot quite so sure--and that was his old love kindled up into a new\nflame--probably enough he had never heard or read the lines to the\neffect that--\n\n \u201cCupid can his wings apply,\n To other uses than to fly;\n Serving as a handkerchief\n To dry the tears of widows\u2019 grief.\u201d\n\nBut, whether so or not, he resolved upon trying what he himself could\ndo in that remedial way; and, accordingly, he began with a small dose,\nthe success of which urged him to a repetition; and on he went from\nsmall quantities to greater, till he was overjoyed to find that the\npatient could bear any amount he was able to administer. Nor could it\nbe said that the aforesaid cough made any abatement from the success\nof these efforts, if we might not rather surmise that it entered as an\nelement in their recommendation--at least it indicated no hollowness in\nRubbledykes.\n\nWe all know that \u201cthe question\u201d once meant _torture_. At the period of\nour story, and we hope not less in our day, it meant _rapture_; and it\nis not unlikely that Mrs Dempster on that market-day, when the laird\nsat by the side of the parlour fire in Lady Stair\u2019s Close, enjoyed\nsomething of that kind when the words fell on her ear.\n\n\u201cNow, my dear Dorothy--to come to the point in the lang-run--will ye\nhae me for your second husband, wha should hae been your first?\u201d\n\n\u201cI hae no objection,\u201d replied Dorothy, as she held away her head and\ncovered her eyes with her handkerchief; \u201c_but_----\u201d\n\nAnd Mrs Dempster stopped short, with an effect almost as great on the\nastonished suitor as that of the memorable answer given by a certain\nMrs Jean of Clavershalee to another laird, whose property lay not far\ndistant from Rubbledykes.\n\n\u201cBut!\u201d ejaculated the laird, with an effort that brought an attack of\nhis cough upon him. \u201cYou maun \u2018but\u2019 me nae \u2018buts,\u2019 Dorothy, unless ye\nwant to kill me. I aye thought I had a better claim to you than David.\nHeaven rest his body in the deep waters o\u2019 the Forth, and his soul in\nheaven!\u201d\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d continued she, as she applied the handkerchief again, as if this\ntime to receive some tears which ought to have come and didn\u2019t; \u201cbut\nthat just puts me in mind o\u2019 what I was going to say. You have seen\nhow David was ta\u2019en awa. What if onything should happen to you? What\nwould become o\u2019 me? Rubbledykes would gae to your brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe de\u2019il a stane o\u2019t, Dorothy,\u201d cried the laird. \u201cIt will be a\u2019\nyours. I will mak it ower to you; tofts and crofts, outhouses and\ninhouses, muirs and mosses, pairts and pertinents. Will that please\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, will\u2019t,\u201d answered Dorothy from behind the handkerchief.\n\nWhereupon the laird took her in his arms with a view to kiss her; but\nthere is many a slip not only between the cup and the lip, but between\none lip and another; for no sooner had Thomas so prepared himself for,\nperhaps, the greatest occasion of his life--even that of kissing a\nwoman, and that woman the very idol of his heart--than that dreadful\ncough came again upon him, and Dorothy could not help thinking that it\nwas now more hollow, or, as the Scotch call it, _toom_, than ever she\nhad heard it.\n\n\u201cI will awa to Mr Ainslie and get the contract written out at length,\u201d\nhe said, to cover his disgrace.\n\nNor was it sooner said than done. Away he went, leaving Dorothy\nvirtually a bride, and the lady _in esse_ of an estate, albeit a small\none, yet great to her. At all which she laughed a most enigmatical\nlaugh, as if some secret thoughts had risen in her mind with the effect\nof a ridiculous incongruity; but what these thoughts were no one ever\nknew. Nor shall we try to imagine them, considering ourselves to be\nbetter employed in setting forth that shortly afterwards Mrs Dorothy\nDempster was joined in the silken bands of holy wedlock with Thomas\nSnoddy, Esquire, of Rubbledykes, and that by the hands of Dr Webster\nof the Tron, who accompanied the happy couple in the evening to the\ngray-slated mansion-house, where he made another celebration of the\nevent by draining a couple of bottles of good old claret. Strange\nenough all these things; but the real wonders of our story would seem\nonly to begin with the settlement of Mr David Dempster\u2019s widow in\nthe mansion-house of the veritable laird; even though, consistently\nwith the manners of the time, there was a duck-pond at the door, a\npeat-stack on the gable, and a midden gracing the byre not five yards\nfrom the parlour window; spite of all which Mrs Dorothy was a lady,\nwhile David lay with glazed eyes in the Forth among the fishes scarcely\na mile distant from his enchanted widow.\n\nWe think it a strange thing that mortals should laugh and weep by\nturns, yet we think sunshine and showers a very natural alternation;\nand surely it is far more wonderful that we often weep when we\nshould laugh, and laugh when we should weep--of which hypocrisy,\nnotwithstanding, there is a hundred times more in the world than man or\nwoman wots of. And we are sorry to be obliged to doubt the extent of\nthe new-made lady\u2019s grief when she saw the laird\u2019s cough increasing as\nhis love waxed stronger and his lungs grew less. Nay, we are not sure\nthat when she saw that he was dying, and hailed the signs with grief\nin her eyes and joy in her heart, she was under the impression that\nshe was acting up to the amiable tenet of her religious creed--total\ndepravity. Be all which as it may, it is certain that though Dorothy\u2019s\ntears had been of that real kind of which Tully says they are--\u201cthe\neasiest dried of all things,\u201d they would not have retarded the progress\nof the laird\u2019s disease. It was not yet three months, and he was\nconfined to bed, with Dorothy hanging over him, watching him with all\nthe care of a seeker for favourable symptoms. But one evening there was\na symptom which she was unprepared for--nay, she was this time serious\nin her alarm.\n\n\u201cI have done that which is evil in the sight o\u2019 God.\u201d\n\nThe words came as from a far-away place, they were so hollow.\n\n\u201cWhat is it, Tammas?\u201d asked she.\n\n\u201cI have seen David Dempster\u2019s ghaist,\u201d said he. \u201cIt looked in at that\nwindow, and disappeared in an instant; but no\u2019 before I kent what the\neen said. Yea, Dorothy, they said as plainly as een can speak--\u2018Tammas\nSnoddy, ye made love to Dorothy Dempster when I was alive in the body,\nand her lawful husband.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd the laird shook all over so violently that Dorothy could see the\nclothes move.\n\n\u201cJust your conscience, Tammas,\u201d said she. \u201cYe maun fley thae visions\nawa in the auld way. It is the deevil tempting ye. We maun flap the\nleaves o\u2019 the Bible at him, and ye\u2019ll see nae mair o\u2019 him in this warld\nat any rate.\u201d\n\nAnd Dorothy, taking up the holy book and opening it at the middle,\nflapt it with such energy that more dust came out of it than should\nhave been found in a Calvinist\u2019s Bible.\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll see nor hilt, nor hair, nor hoop, nor horn mair o\u2019 him,\u201d she\nadded, with, we almost fear to surmise, a laugh.\n\nAnd Mrs Snoddy\u2019s prophecy was of that kind--the safest of all--which\ncomes after knowledge.\n\n\u201cThen I will dee in peace,\u201d said the relieved laird; \u201cfor I hae nae\nither sin on my conscience.\u201d\n\n\u201cNae sin, nae salvation,\u201d added Dorothy.\n\n\u201cA maist comfortable doctrine,\u201d sighed the laird.\n\nAnd comfortable, surely, it must have been to him, for two days\nafterwards the good laird slipt away out of this bad world as lightly\nand easily as if he had felt the burden of his sins as imponderous as\nthe flying dove does the white feathers on its back. Nor did many more\ndays elapse before the mortal remains of the good man were deposited\nin the churchyard of Cramond, leaving the double widow with her\ncontract of marriage and her tears for a second husband lying in the\nearth so near the first, deep in the bosom of the Forth. But, sooner\nor later, there comes comfort of some kind to these amiable creatures\nin distress, especially if they are possessed of those cabalistic\nthings called marriage contracts. We do not say that that comfort comes\nalways from the grave in the shape of a veritable ghost, but sure it\nis that if we could in any case fancy a spirit visiting the earth for\nany rational purpose, it would be where a comely widow was ready to\nreceive it, and warm its cold hands, and wrap the winding-sheet well\nround it, and treat it kindly. All which we may leave for suggestion\nand meditation, but we demand conviction, and assent, as we proceed,\nto set forth that the very next evening after the funeral of Laird\nTammas, the ghaist of David Dempster, despising all secret openings,\nand even giving up the privilege of keyholes, went straight into the\nhouse of Rubbledykes, and entered the room where Dorothy was sitting.\nExtraordinary enough, no doubt; but not even so much so as the fact we\nare about to relate--viz., that Mrs Dorothy was no more astonished at\nits appearance before her than she had been when she heard the laird\nsay that he saw the face of that same spirit at the window; nor did she\non this occasion have recourse to the Bible as an exorcist, by flapping\nthe leaves of the same, to terrify it away, in the supposition that it\nwas the devil in disguise. It is very true that she held up her hands,\nbut then that was only a prelude to the arms being employed in clasping\nthe appearance to her breast; an embrace which was responded to with\na fervour little to be expected from one of these flimsy creatures.\nNay, things waxed even more enigmatical and ridiculous, for the two\nactually kissed each other--a fact which ought to be treasured up as a\npsychological curiosity of some use, insomuch as it may diminish the\nfear we so irrationally feel at the expected visit of supernatural\nbeings. But worse and more ridiculous still--\n\n\u201cWhen had you anything to eat Davie? Ye\u2019ll be hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo\u2019 unlikely, Dorothy lass,\u201d answered the wraith; \u201cfor I didna like\nthe cauld fish, and there\u2019s nae cooking apparatus in the Forth.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe would maybe tak a whang o\u2019 the round o\u2019 beef we had at the laird\u2019s\nfuneral yesterday?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe very thing, woman,\u201d answered the ghaist; \u201cand if ye have a bottle\no\u2019 brandy to wash it down, it will tak awa the cauld o\u2019 the saut water.\u201d\n\n\u201cTwa, an ye like, lad,\u201d responded the apparently delighted widow,\nas she ran away to set before the visitor the edible and drinkable\ncomforts which had been declared so acceptable.\n\nAnd you may believe or reject the whisperings of our familiar just as\nyou please, but we have all the justification of absolute veritability\nfor the fact that this extraordinary guest, or ghaist, if you so\nplease, sat down before the said round of beef, brandishing a knife in\nthe one hand and a fork in the other, and looking so heartily purposed\nto attack the same, that you might have augured it had not had a chop\nsince that forenoon when in the embodied state it went down to cool and\nwash itself in the sea at Granton. Nor need we be more squeamish than\nwe have been in declaring at once that it did so much justice to the\nmeat and the drink, that you might have thought it had been fed for\nmonths on Hecate\u2019s short-commons in Hades. And then a text so ample and\nsubstantial could surely bear a running commentary.\n\n\u201cIt would have been o\u2019 nae use, Dorothy. If ye hadna been as gude a\nprophetess as Deborah, I might hae been obliged to conceal myself in\nEngland lang enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt didna need a Deborah, David,\u201d answered she, \u201cto see that nae human\nbody could stand that cough mair than a month or two. Ye hadna lang to\nwait, man; and though ye had had langer, _there_, see, was your comfort\nat the end.\u201d\n\nAnd Dorothy put into the ghaist\u2019s hand the marriage contract--a worldly\nthing which seemed to vie with the junket of beef in its influence over\nmere spirit, insomuch as he perused the same by snatches between the\nbites and draughts, both processes going on almost simultaneously--the\neye fixed on the paper, while a protruding lump in the cheek was in the\nact of being diminished.\n\n\u201cA\u2019 right, lass,\u201d was at length the exclamation.\n\n\u201cAy; but ye maun be gude to me now, Davie,\u201d said she; \u201cfor ye see it\u2019s\na\u2019 in my ain power: Rubbledykes is mine, and I hae wrought for\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so hae I,\u201d ejaculated the other. \u201cYou forget my banishment and\ndifficulty of living, for I took scarcely any siller wi\u2019 me; and,\nmairower, how am I to face the people o\u2019 E\u2019nbro\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the gude Calvinists o\u2019 the Tron?\u201d added the wife.\n\nNotwithstanding which difficulties the visitor contrived to make a\nhearty meal; nor was he contented with the brandy taken during the\ntime of eating, for with all their spiritual tenderness, there was a\ncrave for toddy--a request which was complied with by the introduction\nof warm water and sugar. How often the tumbler was tumbled up to pour\nthe last drops, which defied the silver toddy-ladle in the glass, we\nare not authorised to say; but we have authority for the assertion that\nany man of flesh and blood could not have perpetrated that number of\ntumblings without changing almost his nature--that is, being so far\nspiritualised as to be entitled to say, in the words of the old song by\nPinkerton--\n\n \u201cDeath, begone--here\u2019s none but souls.\u201d\n\nAnd therefore the spiritual nature of David Dempster, in his new part,\nwas not so wonderful after all. But the doubt recurs again, as we\nproceed to say that Mrs Dorothy Snoddy helped her visitor to bed, nay,\nshe actually went very blithely into that same bed herself, where they\nboth slumbered very comfortably till next morning.\n\nWe may add that these same doubts were liable to be dispelled by\nanother fact we have to relate. The visitor, it will be remembered, put\nthe question to Dorothy, \u201cHow was he to meet the people of Edinburgh?\u201d\na question which implied a mortal presence, besides no prescience. We\nsay this last deliberately, because in place of the fear of meeting\nbeing on his side, it was altogether on theirs. It happened that, two\ndays after the occurrences we have described, an object bearing the\nfigure of David Dempster was seen on the Cramond road by a carrier\ncalled Samuel Finlayson, who had had transactions with the dealer in\ncorduroys--an occasion which had the inevitable effect of raising\nSamuel\u2019s bonnet along with the standing hair, besides that of inducing\nhim to whip his horse to force the animal on, just in the way of\nanother animal of cognate species under similar circumstances. He, of\ncourse, took the story of a ghaist, all cut and dry, into the city.\nOn the same day, Andrew Gilfillan saw the same figure on Corstorphine\nHill, and flew past the seat marked \u201cRest and be thankful,\u201d without\neven looking at it. He, too, carried the same tidings. George\nPlenderleith encountered the identical object in the village of\nCorstorphine busy eating Corstorphine cream--that is, cream mixed with\noatmeal, (a finer kind of crowdy,) and he hastened to Edinburgh with a\nspeed only to be accounted for by terror. He, too, told his tale; the\neffect of all which, added to and inflamed by other reports, was, that\nEdinburgh was stirred from the Castle gate to the Palace yett, by the\nconviction that David Dempster had returned from the kingdom of death\nto this world of life for some purpose which would most certainly come\nout; but, in due time, whether with or without a purpose, here it was\nproved that ghosts were no dream, and David Hume no philosopher. Many\npeople sought the Cramond road, and hung about Rubbledykes to get their\nscepticism or dogmatism confirmed. The end of these things is pretty\nuniform--_res locuta est_; the people began to see where the truth lay,\nand the laughter came in due course, to revive the hearts that had been\nchilled by fear.\n\nWe would be sorry if we were necessitated to end our story at the\nvery nick of the triumph of vice. Happily, we have something more to\nsay--nothing less, indeed, than that James Snoddy, the brother of\nthe laird, raised a process--that is, instituted a suit before the\nCourt of Session, to have his brother\u2019s contract of marriage with\nMrs Dorothy Dempster annulled and set aside, upon the grounds of\ndeception, circumvention, and _prava causa_; nor had he any trouble in\ngetting a decree, for David and his wife made no appearance, neither\ncould they make any appearance in Edinburgh. Their only resource was\nto take advantage of that kind of bail called \u201cleg;\u201d an easy affair,\ninsomuch as there is no bond required for appearance anywhere. It was\nat the time supposed that they had gone to America, that asylum of\nunfortunates, where one-half of the people cut the throats of the other\nin the name of liberty.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Gorthley Twins.\n\n\nIt was the custom at one time in Edinburgh for the proprietors of large\nself-contained houses to give them the names of the properties they\nhad in the country--hence our Panmure House, Tweeddale Court, and so\nforth--and among them there was Gorthley House, of which no vestige now\nremains; nay, we are by no means sure where it was situated, beyond\nthe fact that it was somewhere in the Canongate, but gone as it is\naccording to the law of change, its name will always be associated\nwith the law-plea Bruce _versus_ Bruce, which contained the germ of\nthe little romance we are now to relate in our way. And to begin in\norder, we take the state of matters at the time when the plea began.\nJohn Bruce of Gorthley had died, and left a widow and three daughters,\ntwo of whom were twins, and the third was the youngest. The names of\nthe twins were Sarah and Martha, who at this time were two fine girls\nverging upon majority, and as like each other as two white peas; and\nsurely if we might expect, in this world of strife and contention,\nthat there should be found real love and friendship anywhere, it might\nbe in the case of two sisters who had lain so close together for nine\nmonths, and who had drunk their milk at the same kindly fountain of a\ndoating mother\u2019s breast. But so full is the moral atmosphere of our\nfallen world of the spores of hatred, that you may as well try to keep\na cheese from the seeds of green mould as the human heart from the\ngerms of ill-will. And so it was that these two young ladies hated each\nother very heartily, for a reason which we will by and by reveal, to\nthe astonishment of the reader; and this hatred was the counterpart of\na contention that had embittered the lives of the father and mother,\neven up to the time of the former\u2019s death.\n\nAll which will be better explained by following the course of events\nafter the death of Mr Bruce, beginning with a visit on the part of Lady\nGorthley--as she was called according to the custom of the time, when\ntitles were held in such regard that the common people even forged\nthem for the great--along with her favourite daughter, Martha, to the\noffice of Mr James Pollock, the agent for the family. That her ladyship\nwas bent upon some enterprise of considerable moment might have been\nguessed from the look of her face, which had that mysterious air about\nit belonging to secrecy, nor less from that of the daughter; and no\none could have doubted that, whatever they were bent upon, the other\ntwin, Sarah, was not to be let up to the secret. Perhaps the time of\nthe visit to the writer was opportune, insomuch as Sarah had gone, as\nshe had said, with her cousin, George Walkinshaw, advocate, to take a\nstroll by the back of St Leonard\u2019s as far as \u201cthe Cat Nick,\u201d and come\nhome by the Hunter\u2019s Bog; which couple, we may also say, had their\nsecret too, in addition to their love affair, if that secret was not\nconnected with the very same subject we have referred to as that which\ndivided the family. Be all that as it might, we are going right along\nwith the facts of the plea when we set forth that in a very short time\nLady Gorthley and Martha were seated each on a chair in the writing\noffice of the said agent, Mr Pollock, and the very first words that\ncame out of her ladyship\u2019s mouth were these--\n\n\u201cHas Sarah or her cousin called upon you since the death of Gorthley?\u201d\nby which she meant, according to the custom of the time, her own\nhusband.\n\n\u201cThey are even at this moment in the other room, madam,\u201d said he, with\na lawyer\u2019s smile on his face.\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d said her ladyship, with an expression of both surprise and\nanger. \u201cWhy, she told me an hour ago that she was going to take a walk\nby the \u2018Cat Nick.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so she has,\u201d added the writer, still smiling, \u201cfor my door may not\nbe inappropriately so called in the circumstances?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly, I presume,\u201d said the lady, \u201cI am not, I hope, to be included\namong the cats. I will wait until you have learned what the impertinent\ngirl has got to say, and then you will have time to hear me and Martha.\u201d\n\n\u201cI already know that,\u201d said he; \u201cbut, as I believe our conversation is\nabout finished, I will despatch them in a few seconds, and then return\nto hear your ladyship\u2019s commands.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you will say nothing of our being here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe never a word, madam,\u201d said he, adding to himself as he went away,\n\u201cI don\u2019t want a battle of the cats in my office at least; they do best\nwhen they put the cheese into the hands of the ----,\u201d and he did not\nadd the word monkey, insomuch as it looked personal.\n\n\u201cThere, you see, Martha, the gipsy is determined to stand by her\nrights,\u201d was the remark of her ladyship after Mr Pollock had left the\nroom.\n\n\u201cBut we\u2019ll beat her off, mother,\u201d rejoined Martha, with a spirit which\nMr Pollock or any other lawyer might have admired; \u201cand,\u201d continued\nMartha, with a smile, \u201cwe will say nothing about the _strawberry_.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, dear,\u201d rejoined the mother; \u201cthat strawberry is worth all the\nlands of Gorthley.\u201d\n\nOf which enigmatical strawberry they said no more; but that is no\nreason why we should not say something of it when the proper time\ncomes, of which, by the rules of our art, we are the best judges.\nMeanwhile Mr Pollock, having despatched the other feline, returned.\n\n\u201cAnd now, madam,\u201d said he, as he took his seat, \u201cI am ready to hear\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know, Mr Pollock,\u201d resumed her ladyship, \u201cthat the entail of\nGorthley provides that the property shall go to the eldest heir female\nin the event of there being no heir male.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe all know that, madam,\u201d said the writer; \u201cand if we had any doubt of\nit a certain paper in that green box there would very soon clear up our\nvision. But the question is, which of the two young ladies, Sarah or\nMartha, first saw the light of day?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo question at all,\u201d rejoined the lady. \u201cMartha was the first-born.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, madam, I know, and knew before, that that is your opinion; but\nyou are perhaps not aware that Gorthley himself told me, some time\nbefore he died, that Sarah was the first-born; and so we have here, so\nfar as the testimony goes, one witness against another.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what knew he about it?\u201d retorted she, sharply. \u201cHe was not present\nat the birth to see; while I fancy you won\u2019t deny I was.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Mr Pollock, getting into the mistake that her ladyship was\ndrolling, and being a droll himself, said, laughing, \u201cWhy, madam, no\nman could deny the necessity of your being present any more than in the\ncase of Girzel Jamphrey, who said to the people who were pressing on to\nsee her burnt as a witch on the sands at Dundee, \u2018You needna be in sic\na hurry; there will be nae sport till I come.\u2019\u201d\n\nWhereat Lady Gorthley tightened the strings she had allowed to get\nloose.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s not a matter to joke about, sir,\u201d she said. \u201cThough I am not a\nwitch, I say, and will maintain, that I am a better witness to the fact\nof which of the twins was born first than Gorthley could possibly be.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, madam,\u201d continued the writer, \u201cI fear it is only a comparison\nbetween the value of two ciphers; the one may look bigger than the\nother, but each is equal to nothing. It is true that we men don\u2019t\nknow much of these things, yet--I beg pardon, the subject is a little\ndelicate--we know that when a lady bears twins she doesn\u2019t take the\nfirst and mark it before she bears the second; and then if she doesn\u2019t\nmark it in the very nick of time, it\u2019s of no use, because the two\nbabies get mixed in the bath, as an Irishman would say, and their being\nso like as one strawberry to another, no one can say that the one is\nnot the other, or the other not the one.\u201d\n\nAt which mention of the word strawberry, Lady Gorthley looked to\nMartha, and Martha looked to her, and they seemed puzzled.\n\n\u201cBut however all that may be,\u201d continued the lady, \u201cwhat can you say to\nthe evidence of Peggy Macintosh, the nurse, who will swear that Martha\ncame first into the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot answer that question,\u201d said he, with the caution of his\nprofession, \u201cuntil I see Mrs Macintosh and examine her. There is also\nJean Gilchrist, one of the servants, who was present, I have her to\nexamine also, and then we will see where the truth lies. Oh! but I\nforgot there is Mrs Glennie, the midwife, the woman whose word will go\nfarthest, because she had a better _causa scienti\u00e6_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know nothing about Latin,\u201d rejoined her ladyship angrily; \u201cbut as\nfor Mrs Glennie, she\u2019s dead years ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, indeed,\u201d said Mr Pollock, \u201cif that is true we will have only the\nnurse and the servant for witnesses, and if they oppose each other,\nthe one for Sarah and the other for Martha, and as it is true that\nyou always treated Martha as the eldest, and Gorthley always insisted\non Sarah as being the first-born, we will have an undecidable case, a\nthing that never occurred in Scotland before, perhaps not in the world,\nfor you know Solomon would not allow any impossibility in deciding the\ncase of the baby with the two mothers. But, madam, allow me to say,\nthat as your husband, Mr Bruce, left directions that I, as agent for\nthe family, should get Sarah served heir, and as you insist upon that\nbeing done for Martha, it will be necessary that you employ a man of\nbusiness of your own, so that we may fight the battle fair out.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the lady with an expression of bitterness in her face\nnot much in harmony with her words, \u201csince Gorthley has left the\ncontinuance of the strife as a legacy to his widow and children, I\nshall go to Mr Bayne as my agent, and authorise him to protect the\nrights of Martha, and fight it to the bitter end--bitter, I mean, for\nSarah Bruce, who will never be Lady Gorthley.\u201d\n\nAnd with these words she left, accompanied by Martha, directing their\nsteps to the office of Mr Bayne, who, as her ladyship\u2019s private agent,\nknew very well of this most strange contention which had so long been\nmaintained in Gorthley House. Nor, probably, was he displeased at it,\nany more than Mr Pollock had been. Gorthley estate was a large cheese,\nthe cats were fierce, and there was plenty for even two monkeys, so he\nlistened attentively to her ladyship\u2019s statement that the nurse, Mrs\nMacintosh, would swear in favour of Martha, but she said never a word\nabout Jean Gilchrist.\n\n\u201cThe nurse\u2019s evidence will go a great way, madam,\u201d said he, \u201cseeing the\nmidwife is dead; but it will be satisfactory if Mrs Macintosh could\ncondescend upon some mark which she noticed immediately at the time of\nthe birth, for the two young ladies are really so like each other now\nI often confound them, nay, they confound me so that we cannot very\nwell imagine how they could be distinguished when brought together soon\nafter birth.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, Mr Bayne,\u201d said the lady in a whispering way, as if she\nwere to reveal something wonderously mysterious, \u201clook here, sir,\u201d--\n\nAnd taking off Martha\u2019s cloak and turning up the kerchief that covered\nher neck and the top of her shoulders, she said, \u201cDo you see that?\u201d\n\nThe writer complied by a pretty narrow inspection of a very pretty neck\nof (a strawberry being in question) the appropriate colour of cream.\n\n\u201cA very decided mark of a strawberry,\u201d said he; \u201cand, really if it were\na proof that Martha has the right to succeed to Gorthley, it might be\nsaid to be the most beautiful beauty spot that a young lady could\nbear. How comes that mark to be there?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d replied the lady, \u201cGorthley threw a strawberry at me when I was\nin the way, you know, and thus made a mother\u2019s mark, as they call it,\njust as if he had intended to point out the true heir; and you know the\nScotch say that these marks are lucky.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you forget, madam,\u201d replied the man of the law, who did not\nbelieve in special providences, except in special cases, when he\nreceived payment of his accounts. \u201cYou forget that Gorthley was against\nMartha, so that if he had had any intention in the matter, it must\nrather have been to make a blot; besides, our judges might probably say\nthat the mark, for aught they knew, was intended to show that Martha\nwas not the heir; in short, unless we can identify the mark as having\nbeen seen on the first-born, I fear, though it is very pretty, it will\ndo us no good.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Mrs Macintosh can do that,\u201d replied the lady.\n\n\u201cAh! you have hit the mark now,\u201d said he; \u201cand I will see Mrs\nMacintosh, and any other witnesses who can speak to the point.\u201d\n\nAnd so having, after some more conversation, despatched his two\nclients, Mr Bayne proceeded that same evening to the residence of Mrs\nPeggy Macintosh, whom he found very busy spinning, little prepared for\na visit from a man of the law, with a powdered wig on his head, and a\ngold-headed cane in his hand,--an apparition which even the wheel could\nnot resist, for it stopt its birr instantly, as if through fear.\n\n\u201cMrs Macintosh,\u201d said Mr Bayne, as he took a seat alongside of Peggy,\n\u201cdo you remember having been present at the birth of Mrs Bruce\u2019s twins?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir, and I was,\u201d answered she, \u201cand a gey birth it was.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd could you tell which was which when the infants were born?\u201d\n\n\u201cWeel, sir,\u201d answered Peggy, \u201cif you will tell me which is the which\nyou mean, I\u2019ll try to satisfy ye if I can?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, I mean, which was Sarah and which Martha?\u201d continued the writer.\n\n\u201cHow could I tell ye that, sir,\u201d answered Peggy, with a look of true\nScotch complacency, \u201cwhen the bairns werena christened?\u201d\n\nThe writer, acute as he was, was a little put out, but he rallied.\n\n\u201cWhy, Peggy, you surely understand what I mean; did you not know the\nchild which was afterwards called Sarah from that which was afterwards\ncalled Martha?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would have liked to have seen you try that, sir,\u201d was again the\nanswer. \u201cHow the deil--I beg pardon, sir--was I to ken what they were\nto be ca\u2019ed when their names werena even fixed by the father and mother\nthemselves?\u201d\n\n\u201cI see you don\u2019t understand me, Mrs Macintosh,\u201d continued Mr Bayne, who\nhad got a Scotch witness on his line.\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s you that doesna understand me,\u201d retorted Peggy.\n\n\u201cLook here,\u201d continued Mr Bayne, smiling, \u201cyou know Sarah Bruce and\nMartha Bruce?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, when they\u2019re thegither,\u201d replied Peggy, \u201cand they tell me their\nnames; but just put them an ell or twa asinder, and I\u2019ll defy the\nhorned Clootie himsel to say which is which.\u201d\n\n\u201cWorse and worse,\u201d muttered the writer. \u201cLook you, Peggy, was there no\nmark on either of the children by which you could know it?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy was there,\u201d replied the woman; \u201cbut we\u2019re just where we were; for,\nwhether the strawberry was upon the ane or the ither, or the ither or\nthe ane, is just what I want you, since you\u2019re a man o\u2019 the law, and\nweel skilled in kittle points, to tell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWorse even yet,\u201d muttered the discomfited precognoscer.\n\n\u201cBut I can mak the thing as plain as the Shorter Catechism,\u201d continued\nshe, with a sharp look, which revived the sinking hopes of Mr Bayne.\n\u201cMrs Glennie that night was in a terrible fluster, for she began\nto see that there was likely to be mair bairns than she bargained\nfor--twins, if no may be trins; so Jean Gilchrist was brought up to\nhelp in addition to mysel. Then the first are cam\u2019 in a hurry, the\nmair by token it kenned naething o\u2019 the warld it was coming into, and\nMrs Glennie pushed it into my hands. \u2018There will be anither, Peggy,\u2019\nsaid she, \u2018and look gleg;\u2019 but there was only flannel for ane; and I\ngave the wean to Jean to wash, while I ran to get happins. I was back\nin less than five minutes; and, just as I was entering, \u2018Here\u2019s the\nother ane,\u2019 said Mrs Glennie. I took it frae her, and gave it to Jean,\nand took frae her the ane she had washed, in order to wrap it, and so\nI did; but before I was dune I saw Jean wasna doing the thing as she\nought; so I gave her the ane I had, and I took hers to wash it better;\nbut before it was dune Mrs Glennie cried to me to come to help her with\nthe lady; so I put my bairn into Jean\u2019s arms alang side o\u2019 the ither;\nand when I had finished with the lady I took the last ane frae Jean\nagain; but before I had completed the dressing o\u2019t Jean cried out,\n\u2018This bairn is deein\u2019.\u2019 \u2018You\u2019re a fule,\u2019 said I, \u2018give it to me;\u2019 and\nso she did. Then I ran and got some cordial, and poured it down the\nthroat o\u2019 the creature. By this time Jean had hers upon the settee, and\nI laid mine alang side o\u2019t; but in a little time the mither was crying\nto see the weans; and Mrs Glennie took the ane, and I took the ither,\nand showed her them. Then Mrs Glennie took mine away to lay it down on\nthe settee again; and I took hers and laid it down by the side o\u2019 its\nsister. That\u2019s how it was, sir, and sure I am naething can be plainer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what about the strawberry?\u201d said Mr Bayne.\n\n\u201cNane o\u2019 us saw that till the bairns began to be mixed,\u201d was the\nanswer; \u201cand then they were changed, and changed again sae aften that\nmy head ran round, and I lost a\u2019 count.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut haven\u2019t you said to Lady Gorthley that the mark was on the\nfirst-born?\u201d asked Mr Bayne.\n\n\u201cIndeed, and I did that same,\u201d was the ready answer. \u201cMy lady gave me\nfive gowden guineas to tell her; and, as I couldna be sure, I thought I\ncouldna do better than to make safe and sure wark o\u2019t; so I took five\nshillings out o\u2019 the five guineas and gave it to the Carlin o\u2019 the\nCowgate, a wise woman, frae the very native place o\u2019 thae far-seeing\ncreatures, Auldearn, Auld Eppie, as they ca\u2019 her, (they were all\nEppies,) and she settled the thing in the trice o\u2019 a cantrup; so you\nsee the fact is sure that the strawberry belanged to the first-born.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did you tell Lady Gorthley you went to Eppie?\u201d inquired the\ndiscomfited writer.\n\n\u201cGude faith na, she might hae asked back the five guineas,\u201d answered\nPeggy; \u201cand besides, if she got the truth, it was a\u2019 ane to her, ye\nken, where it cam\u2019 frae; and you\u2019ll be discreet and say naething.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ask from the old woman the name of her who bore the mark?\u201d\nrejoined Mr Bayne.\n\n\u201cAy, but she said she didna like to spier that at the auld ane--Nick,\nye ken--because he might have got angry and told her a lee, and that\nmight hae brought me into a scrape wi\u2019 her ladyship, who knew hersel\nwhich o\u2019 her daughters bore the mark.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery prudent,\u201d muttered again the writer, as he rose, \u201cthis is a most\nsatisfactory witness.\u201d\n\nAnd carrying this satisfaction along with him, he proceeded to the\nsmall garret occupied by Jean Gilchrist, the direction to which he had\ngot from Mrs Macintosh. Believing as he did the statement made to him\nby the latter, he had very little hope of getting anything satisfactory\nout of his present witness, and wishing to keep her more to the point\nthan he had been able to effect in the prior case, he assumed her\npresence at the birth, and came straight out with the question,\nwhether she knew if there had been noticed on one of the children the\nmark of the strawberry.\n\n\u201cThe strawberry?\u201d said she, \u201cay, wi\u2019 a\u2019 wondered at that, but then it\u2019s\nno uncommon things in weans to be marked in that way, so we sune got\nower\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd was this mark on the child which was first born?\u201d inquired he.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you that, sir,\u201d replied she, \u201cif ye\u2019ll tell me first which\no\u2019 the twa cam\u2019 first into the world.\u201d\n\nWhereby Mr Bayne found himself where he was, in the hands of a Scotch\nmetaphysician, for, was there not here an example of the _\u00e0 priori_\nargument, to use the old jargon, wherein the cause is assumed to\nprove the effect, and the effect is then brought forward to prove the\ncause--a trick of wisdom we are yet in the nineteenth century playing\nevery day?\n\n\u201cThat is just what I want to know, Jean,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cAnd it\u2019s just what I want to ken, too,\u201d rejoined Jean, \u201cfor to tell\nyou God\u2019s truth, sir,\u201d she continued in a lower tone, \u201cI hae something\non my conscience, and yet it\u2019s no muckle either.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is that?\u201d said he, expecting to get at something on which he\ncould rely, whatever it might be.\n\n\u201cJust this,\u201d answered Jean. \u201cYears agane, Gorthley came to me, and\nsaid, \u2018Jean Gilchrist, here is something for you,\u2019 and I took it--it\nwas a purse o\u2019 gowd,--and then he said, \u2018I would die happy, Jean, if I\ncould think that Martha Bruce, who bears the mark, was the second born\nof my daughters;\u2019 and, looking at the purse, said I, \u2018Weel, sir, if\nthat will mak ye happy, ye may be happy, for it was even so.\u2019 Then said\nhe, \u2018Will you stand to that, Jean?\u2019 And I said, \u2018Ay, will I, through\nthick and thin;\u2019 and when he went away, I began to consider if I had\ndune wrang, but I couldna see it, for doesna the Bible say, that man\nand wife are ane flesh? and if that be true, how could their children\nbe separate flesh? Weel then, whichever o\u2019 the twa, the first or the\nsecond born, carried the mark, they baith being ane flesh, behoved to\nbear it, and so, if the ane bore it the other bore it, and if the other\nbore it the ane bore it. Besides, wha doesna ken that twins are just ae\nbairn cut in twa? They\u2019re aye less than the single bairns, and isna a\ndouble-yokit egg just twa eggs joined thegither into ane.\u201d\n\nA kind of logic common at the time, and which, indeed, touched upon\nthe most obscure question of metaphysics, and not very satisfactory to\nMr Bayne, who, however, knew the subtle character of the Scotch mind\ntoo well to try a fall with so acute a dialectician. So, altogether\ndisappointed with his precognition he left and came away, meeting in\nthe passage Mr Pollock, who had been with Mrs Macintosh, and was now\non his way to Jean Gilchrist. They were very intimate, and did not\nhesitate to compare notes, the result of which was that the case was to\nrealise once more the truth of the toast generally drunk by Edinburgh\npractitioners at the end of the session, \u201cThe glorious uncertainty;\u201d\nand if Mr Pollock thought so before he examined Jean Gilchrist, his\nopinion must have been pretty well confirmed by what she said. The\ncase, in short, was not one in which there is conflicting evidence,\nand where the judges can make out the weight by a hair of prejudice;\nit was a case in which there was no evidence at all as to which of the\ngirls was the heir; but, then, it was just on account of this equipoise\nthat the two claimants, Martha, helped by her mother on the one side,\nand Sarah, supported by her lover, Walkinshaw, on the other, waxed the\nmore bitter; and the contention which had so long raged in Gorthley\nHouse became hotter and hotter. Nor need we fancy that the writers\nwould try to get the right compromised in some way, where they had so\ngood a chance of making a money certainty out of a moral uncertainty;\nand so the case went into court under two competing briefs, that is\njust two claims by the daughters, each insisting to be served heir.\nThe witnesses, whose precognitions we have given, were examined; and\na great number of servants who had been in the family, who swore that\nGorthley himself always called Sarah Miss Bruce, and Mrs Bruce always\ncalled Martha by that dignified title, so that the servants tried to\nplease both master and mistress by calling the one daughter or the\nother miss, just according to the chance of being overheard by the\nheads of the house. When before the sheriff, and when the claims were\nequally suspended, a strange plea was set up by Sarah\u2019s counsel, Mr\nFotheringham, to the effect that, taking the question of priority of\nbirth to be doubtful, the doubt could be resolved by a kind of _nobile\nofficium_ on the part of the father as the head of the house, and that\nas Gorthley had declared for Sarah this should be held as sufficient;\nbut Mr Maitland answered this by saying that the question being one of\nfact, and that fact coming more within the presumed knowledge of the\nmother, ought to be settled by the voice of the mother, who declared\nfor Martha; and here again the argument being nearly equal, the judge\non the inquest was nonplussed. And thus it came to pass that the old\nirony of the ancients, directed against a sow coming in place of\nMinerva as a judge of some very fine matter of truth, turned out to be\nin this case no irony at all, for the sow was here as good a judge\nas Minerva. The scales were so nearly balanced that the mere breath\nwhich conveyed the doubt might disperse the doubt by moving one of\nthe scales--a very fine irony in itself, in so much as all truth may\nbe resolved, in the far end, into the mere breath of man\u2019s opinion.\nAt length the sheriff gave the cast of the scale to the side of the\nmother, as the \u201c_domestic witness_.\u201d\n\nBut Sarah was, of course, dissatisfied; or, rather, Fotheringham, who\nadvised her to take the case before the Fifteen, by what is called an\nAdvocation, and so to be sure these lords got a burden thrown upon\nthem which cost them no little trouble. They got the case argued and\nargued, and were in the end so mystified, that if they could have\ndecided that the question was undecidable, they would have been very\nglad to have hung it up among the eternal dubieties as an everlasting\nproof of \u201cthe glorious uncertainty;\u201d but they could not agree even to\ndo that, for the entail could not be compromised or set aside, and so\nthey behoved to decide one way or another. Meanwhile, the case having\nmade a noise, a great number of people were collected in court on the\nday when the judgment was to be finally given. And given it was so far,\nfor seven judges were for Sarah, and seven for Martha, so it came to\nthe president, who said, \u201cI have read of a case somewhere in which\nthe judges drew cuts, and decided by the Goddess Chance in place of\njustice; and, indeed, if the latter is blind, as they say she is, we\nmay take the one as well as the other as the umpire of the right or\nthe wrong. But there is one consideration which moves me in this case,\nand that is, that as it is the wife\u2019s duty to bear the children of the\nfamily, so it is her privilege to know more about that interesting\naffair than the husband, who is, as I understand, never present at the\nmysteries of Lucina, and, therefore, I would be inclined to declare\nthat Martha was the first-born.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a lee, my lord,\u201d cried a shrill screaming voice from the court.\nWhereat the judges directed their eyes with much amazement to the place\nwhence the scream came.\n\n\u201cAnd who are you,\u201d said the president, \u201cwho dare to speak in a court of\njustice?\u201d\n\n\u201cI deny it\u2019s a court o\u2019 justice,\u201d cried the voice again. \u201cMy name is\nJanet Glennie, and it was me that had the first handlin\u2019 o\u2019 the bairns,\nand I tell your lordship to your face, that you\u2019re clean wrang, and ken\nnae mair about the case than Jenkins did about the colour o\u2019 the great\ngrandmother o\u2019 his hen. I tell ye it was Sarah wha came first, and\nMartha wi\u2019 her strawberry came second, for I saw the mark wi\u2019 my ain\neen.\u201d\n\nA speech followed by the inevitable laugh of a curious audience, and\nthe better received that the people had always a satirical feeling\nagainst the fifteen wise wigs. Nor was this late testimony too late:\nMrs Glennie was subsequently sworn, and the judgment went for Sarah. It\nturned out that Mrs Glennie had been absent for a time from Scotland,\nand, having, upon visiting Edinburgh, heard of the famous trial, made\nit a point to be present. Nay, there was a little retribution in the\naffair, for Lady Gorthley knew she was alive, and had reported her\ndeath to serve her own ends.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Chalk Line.\n\n\nFor the truth of the story I am now to relate I have the word of a\ngodly minister of the Church of Scotland, whose father had been in the\nhouse in Burnet\u2019s Close, and had seen the two females and examined \u201cthe\nchalk line\u201d in the middle of the floor. I do not say this to conciliate\nyour belief; for perhaps if this were my object, I should be nearer\nthe attainment of it by asserting, as Mr Thackeray used to do when he\nwanted his readers to believe him, that there is not a word of truth\nin the whole affair. There is a certain species of fish in the Ganges\nwhich is never happy but when it is pushing up against the stream; and\npeople, as civilisation goes on, find themselves so often cheated, that\nthey go by contraries, just as the old sorcerers divined by reading\nbackwards. But surely in this age of subtleties it is a pleasant thing\nto think that you are so much the object of an author\u2019s care as that\nhe would not only save you from thinking, but think for you; and so I\nproceed to tell you of the personages in Burnet\u2019s Close, leading from\nthe High Street to the Cowgate.\n\nIn a room of the second flat of the third tall tenement on your left\nhand as you descend lived Martha and Mary Jopp. They were, so far as I\nhave been able to discover, the daughters of a writer of the name of\nPeter Jopp. You cannot be wrong in supposing that they had been once\nyoung, though, in regard to the aged, this is not always conceded by\nthose who are buoyant with the spirit of youth. Yes, these aged maidens\nhad not only been once young, they had been very fair and very comely.\nThey had passed through the spring and summer flowers without treading\nupon the speckled serpent of the same colour. They had heard the song\nof love where there was no risk of the deceptions of the siren. They\nhad been tempted; but they had resisted the temptation of some who\ncould well have returned their affection. Nor was this the result of\nany want of natural sensibility; if it was not that they had too much\nof that quality, which, if it is the source of pleasure, is also that\nof pain--perhaps more of the latter than the former, though we dare not\nsay so in this our time of angelic perfection.\n\nTo be a little more particular upon a peculiarity of our two ladies,\nwhich enters as rather a \u201cloud colour\u201d in the web of our story, there\nwas a sufficient reason for their celibacy. They had a mother who, as\nthe saying goes, was \u201ca woman of price\u201d--such a one as Solomon excepts\nfrom so many, that I am afraid to mention the number. She was a good\nCalvinist, without insisting too much for election and predestination.\nShe was affectionate, without the weakness which so often belongs to\ndoating mothers; and she possessed, along with the charm of universal\nkindness, a strength of mind which demanded respect without diminishing\nlove. No wonder that her daughters loved her even to that extent that\nneither of the two could think of leaving her so long as she lived.\nAn inclination this, or rather a resolution, which had been confirmed\nin them by certain experiences they had had of what their mother had\nsuffered from having been deprived by death of an elder daughter, and\nby marriage of a younger; the latter of whom had gone with her husband,\na Mr Darling, to Calcutta, under the patronage of Major Scott, the\nfriend of Warren Hastings.\n\nBut there was another reason which kept the sisters from marrying--one\nwhich will, I suspect, be very slow to be believed; and that was,\ntheir love for each other. But I am resolute in urging it, because,\nin the first place, it is not absolutely against the experience of\nmankind; and, secondly, because, while it forms a part of the story as\nnarrated to me, it is necessary as one of the two sides of a contrast,\nwithout which I could not answer for a certain effect in my picture.\nCertain, at least, it was that more than one external revolving body\nin the shape of lovers came within the sphere of their attraction for\neach other, and could produce no deflection in the lines of their\nmutual attachment. It was said that one of them had been jilted. I do\nnot know; but the circumstance would explain a fact more certain that\nthe sisters, in their then lively humour of young blood, used to sing\na love-defiance song, which might have been both sport and earnest.\nMy informant gave me the words. It is a kind of rough mosaic, with\nborrowed verses, yet worth recording:--\n\n A farmer\u2019s daughter fair am I,\n As blithe as May-day morning,\n And when my lover passes by,\n I laugh at him wi\u2019 scorning.\n Ha! ha! ha! fal lal la!\n Ha! ha! fal lal laldy!\n\n There came a cock to our father\u2019s flock,\n And he wore a double kaim, O;\n He flapt his wings, and fain would craw,\n But craw he could craw nane, O.\n\n A braw young man came courting me,\n And swore his wife he\u2019d make me;\n But when he knew my pounds were few,\n The rogue he did forsake me.\n\n Gae whistle on your thumb, young man,\n You left me wae and weary;\n But, now I\u2019ve got my heart again,\n Gude faith, I\u2019ll keep it cheery.\n\n There\u2019s world\u2019s room for you to pass,\n And room enough for Nan, O;\n The deil may tak her on his back\n Who dies for faithless man, O.\n\n There\u2019s still as good fish in the sea\n As ever yet were taken;\n I\u2019ll spread my net and catch again,\n Though I have been forsaken.\n Ha! ha! ha! &c.\n\nA better medicine, I suspect, than an action of damages. But to\ncontinue. The sisters read the same books, took the same walks, wrought\nat the same work as steadfastly and lovingly as they worshipped the\nsame mother, and revered the memory of the same father--a remark this\nlast which helps us on to a point of our story; for the father had been\ndead for some years, leaving the mother a competent annuity, besides a\nresidue, which would afford at least so much to the daughters as would\ntocher them to a kind of independence, though not to a husband with\nmuch hope of being benefited in a money point of view by marriage. But\nthe time came--as what time does not come, even to those who think in\nthe heyday of their happiness it will never come--when there would be\na change, when the charm of this threefold relation should cease.\nThe mother died, and with her the annuity; and the attraction she had\nexercised over the daughters had just drawn them so far past the point\nof the shaking of the blossoms of youth and beauty and hope, that their\naffection for each other stood now no chance of being broken by even\none of those moral comets that burn up more incombustible bodies than\nold spinsters with very small competences.\n\nAnd so, with bleared eyes of uncontrollable grief, and no hope, and\na trifle of twenty pounds a-year each to be paid them by Mr David\nRoss, writer, their father\u2019s agent, our two spinsters took up their\nsolitary residence in the foresaid room in the second flat of the big\ntenement in Burnet\u2019s Close to which I have alluded. Even at the first\nmoment of their retreat they seem to have shaken off with the blossoms,\nwhich, in the human plant no less than in the vegetable one, alone\ncontain the beauties and sweets of life--the stem being, alas, only\nat best the custodier of an acid--much of their interest in the busy,\ngossipping, scandalising, hating, and loving Edinburgh; but so far this\nresistance to the charms of the outer world only served to make them\nlive even more and more to each other. And then, had they not the sweet\nthough melancholy solace of that Calvinistic tenet which imparted such\nmildness and equanimity to the face of their beloved mother--even that\nmysterious scroll which contains the ordination and predestination of\nall things which shall ever come to pass? Yes; but even this solace was\nmodified by the regret that the portrait of that mother, painted by\nno unskilful hand--a pupil of George Jameson\u2019s--was not, as it ought\nto have been, in that room hanging over the mantelpiece; the more by\nreason that that picture had been surreptitiously taken away by their\nsister Margaret when she sailed with her husband, Mr Darling, to India.\nAnd would they not have it back? Mr Ross might tell them when he was\nthere on a certain evening.\n\n\u201cYou have as good a right to it,\u201d said the man of the law, \u201cas your\nsister; for I believe it was never given to her by your mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo more it ever was,\u201d said Martha; \u201cfor did not our mother write\nherself for it, but it never came; and she was to have got herself\npainted again, but death came at the predestinated hour, and took away\nher life, and with it all our happiness in this world.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot all your happiness, Miss Martha,\u201d rejoined the agent; \u201cfor have\nyou not your mutual affection left?--ay, and even your love for her who\nis only removed to a distance--even among blessed spirits?--from whence\nshe is at this moment looking down upon you to bless that love which\nyou bear to each other, and which, I trust, will never decay.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope not,\u201d said Mary, calmly; \u201cbut I remember how, when the evil\nspirit took hold of us, and made us fretful and discontented with each\nother, she calmed our rebellious spirits by a look so justly reproving,\nand yet so mild and heavenly-like, that for very love of her we would\ndote on each other the more. And now I think if we had that picture,\nwith the same eye as if still fixed on us, we would be secured against\nall fretfulness; for O sir, we are all weak and wilful. Will you write\nfor it, Mr Ross? It would hang so well up there over the fire, where,\nyou see, there is an old nail, which seems to have been left by the\nformer tenant for the very purpose.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will,\u201d replied Mr Ross; \u201cbut I may as well tell you I have little\nchance of success, for Margaret, I suspect, would nearly as soon\npart with her life. Nor do I wonder at it; for the countenance of\nyour mother as there represented seems so far above that of ordinary\nmortals, both in beauty and benignity, that methinks,\u201d--and here Mr\nRoss smiled in his own grave way,--\u201cif I ever felt inclined to put down\nsix-and-eightpence against a client in place of three-and-fourpence,\nthat look of hers would bring back my sense of honesty. You know I have\nMrs Ross over the mantelpiece of my business room; and though she\nnever approached your mother in that peculiar expression, which your\nfather used to say to me, in a half-jocular way, humanised him into\nthat wonderful being, a conscientious writer, yet I have been benefited\nin the same way by the mild light of my Agnes\u2019s eyes.\u201d\n\nAnd Mr Ross stopped, in consequence of feeling a small tendency to a\nthickening in the throat, which he seldom felt except when he had a\ncold.\n\n\u201cAnd you will write Margaret, then?\u201d resumed Martha.\n\n\u201cThat I will,\u201d said he; \u201cbut I do not say may Heaven bless my effort,\nbecause you know Heaven has made up its mind on that and all other\nsubjects long ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cEven from the foundations of the earth,\u201d sighed Mary.\n\n\u201cEven so,\u201d rejoined Mr Ross as he departed, leaving the sisters to\ntheir small supper of a Newhaven haddock, each half of which was\nsweetened to the receiver by the consciousness that the other was being\npartaken of by her sister. And thereafter, having said their prayers,\nthey retired to the same bed, to fall asleep in each other\u2019s arms,\nwithout a regret that said arms were not a little more sinewy, or that\ntheir faces did not wear beards, and to dream of their mother.\n\nAnd it would have been well if affairs in Burnet\u2019s Close had continued\nto go on as smoothly as we have here indicated. Nor did there seem any\nreason why they should not. The sisters had a sufficiency to live on;\nthey had no evil passions to disturb the equanimity of their thoughts;\nthey were religious, and resigned to the predestinated; they were among\n\u201cthe elect,\u201d that is, orthodoxically, they elected to think so, which\nis the same thing. They had their house in order, and could afford to\nhave Peggy Fergusson to clean out the room occasionally, and to go the\nfew messages that their few wants required. But Time is a sower as well\nas a reaper; and he casts about with an equally ready hand the seeds\nof opinions and imaginations, the germs of feelings and the spores of\nmildewed hopes: some for the young, some for the old, but all inferring\nchange from what was yesterday to what is to-day; from what is to-day\nto what will be to-morrow. As the days passed into years, they appeared\nto get shorter and shorter--a process with all of us, which no theory\ncan explain, if it is not against all theory; for if time is generated\nby ideas, it should appear to go more slowly the more slowly those\nideas arise and pass, and yet the practical effect of the working is\nthe very reverse. But whatever were the changes that were taking place\nin the habits and feelings of the two sisters, they were altogether\nunconscious of them. The indisposition to go out and mix with their\nfriends was gradually increasing, as they felt, without being aware of\nthe feeling, that they had less and less in common with the ways of the\nworld; and the seldomer they went out, the seldomer their friends came\nto see them, nor when they did come, did they receive any encouragement\nto repeat the visit.\n\nIn all this I do not consider that I am describing human nature in the\naspect in which we generally see it; for we more often find in those\nwho are advancing into age a felt necessity for enlivenment, were it\nfor nothing else than to relieve them from solitary musings and the\nperilous stuff of old memories; but here, as it will by and by be seen,\nI have not to do with ordinary human nature. These sisters were fated\nto be strange, and to do strange things. The indisposition to go out\ndegenerated in the course of some years into a love of total seclusion.\nThey never passed the threshold of their room; and as time went on,\ntheir friends gradually renounced their efforts to get either of them\nto change a purpose to which they seemed to have attained by the\nsympathy of two natures exactly similar. They probably knew nothing of\nthe words of the poet, nor would they have cared for them:--\n\n \u201cThe world careth not a whit\n For him who careth not for it:\n One only duty and one right,\n That he be buried out of sight.\u201d\n\nBut amidst this strange asceticism the one still remained to the other\nas a dear, loving, and beloved sister; and if all the world should be\nnothing to them, they would still be all the world to each other. The\nseclusion had lasted five years since the death of the mother, and\nstill no decay of their mutual attachment could be observed.\n\nIt is here that commences the wonderful part of my story,--so\nwonderful, indeed, that if I had not had at second-hand the testimony\nof an eye-witness, confirmed by the traditions of the Close, I could\nscarcely have ventured the recital I here offer; not that I consider\nthe facts as unnatural, but that the causes which change love into\nhatred, and superinduce the latter often in a direct ratio to the\nformer, lie so deep, and are altogether so mysterious, that we cannot\nunderstand the meaning of their being there, and far less how they\ncame to be there. Some strange and unaccountable change came over\nthese hitherto loving sisters, not only at the same time, but without\nits having ever been ascertained that there was any physical or moral\nreason for it. It began to show itself in small catches and sharper\nrejoinders; minim points not discernible by their former love became\nsubjects of difference. Then the number of these increased where\nthe points of contact were, as one might say, infinite. They assert\nthat nature resents too close an affinity of affection; nor is this\naltogether theory, for we see every day friendships which are so close\nas to merge identities flare up into terrible hatreds; and we have\nscriptural authority for the wrath of brothers. A plain man would\nget out of the difficulty in a plain way. Those sisters had become\ndiscontented because they had rejected that natural food of the mind\nwhich is derived from an intercourse with the world; and who does not\nknow that discontent always finds a peg somewhere whereon to hang a\ngrievance. Where you have many people about you, you have a greater\nchoice of these pegs; if you are cooped up in a room with only one\nhuman being within your vision, you are limited; but the pegs must\nbe got, and _are_ got, till the whole of the one object, a miserable\nscapegoat, is covered with them.\n\nProbably the plain man is right. I leave him to the philosopher, and\nkeep to my safe duty as a narrator.\n\nThe spirit of fault-finding once begun, waxed stronger and stronger\nupon the food it generated by its own powers of production. Almost\neverything either of them did appeared to be wrong in the eyes of\nthe other; and though for a time they tried to repress the sharp\nfeelings, which were wonders even to themselves, yet the check would\ncome, the taunt would follow, and the flash of the eye--an organ once\nso expressive of love--succeeded within the passing minute. People who\nmerely meet may be supposed to seek for objects of disagreement. In the\nroom in Burnet\u2019s Close the occasions were the very actions of natural\nlife; the movements of the body, the words of the mouth, the glances\nof the eye, the thoughts of the mind, the misconstrued feelings of the\nheart. Nor could they, as in most cases people who disagree may, get\naway from each other. The repulsion which they felt towards a world\nwhich offered them only reminiscences of past joys, was as a wall\nenclosing the arena where these gladiatorial displays of feeling went\non from day to day, scarcely even interrupted by the holy Sabbath any\nmore than if they had come within the excepted category of necessity\nand mercy.\n\nAccording to my information, which descended to the minutest\nparticulars, this domestic disease went on for years, without any other\nalteration than changes consistent with the laws of bodily ailment.\nThere were exasperations which, expending themselves in gratuitous\nvituperations, receded into silent sullennesses, which lasted for\ndays. If it happened that no grievance could be discovered by the\nmicroscopic vision, there was recourse to the grievance of yesterday,\nwhich was called up to occupy the greedy vacuum; and then the changes\nof aspect, of which, to the jaundiced eye, it was capable, were rung\nupon it till they were physically wearied of the strife: while the\nweariness only lasted till a renewed energy became ripe for another\nonset. But however high the exasperation ever reached, they never came\nto any violence. All the energy expended lay in the tongue, and the\neye, and the contorted muscles of irascible expression. It might have\nbeen doubted whether, if any third party interfered, the one would not\nhave defended the other; but only to retain her as valuable property\nfor the onset of her peculiar privilege. And what is not less strange,\ntheir religion, which was still maintained with the old Calvinistic\ndogmatism, in place of overcoming the domestic demon, became subjected\nto it, and changed its aspect according to the wish. Though incapable\nof inflicting any bodily pain upon each other, they felt no compunction\nin fostering the opinion that, while each was among the elect and\npredestinated to everlasting glory, the other was in the scroll of the\nreprobate, and ordained to eternal punishment in the brimstone fires,\nand the howling horrors of the pit which is so peculiarly constituted\nas to have no bottom. Each would read her Bible in her own chair, and\nshoot against the other glances of triumph as she figured herself in\nheaven looking down upon the torments of her sister in hell. And all\nthis while neither could have with her own hands inflicted the scratch\nof a pin upon the body of the other. It was enough that each could\nlacerate the feelings of the other as a vent to the exasperation which\nembittered her own heart.\n\nStill more remarkable, there were none of these reconciliations\nthat among relations often make amends for strife, and maintain\nthe equipoise so insisted upon by nature. We all know how these\nameliorations work in the married life and among lovers. In these cases\nthe anger seems to become the fuel of love. Not so with our sisters.\nThe worm was a never-dying one. But even in this desperate case there\nwas not wanting evidence of nature\u2019s efforts towards an amelioration.\nIt was true they could not separate; they were objects necessary\nto each other; nay, even if Mr Ross, who witnessed the working of\nthe domestic evil, had contrived to get them into separate rooms--a\nproposal which was indeed made, and morbidly resisted--they would have\npursued each other in imagination with perhaps even more misery than\nthat which they inflicted on each other.\n\nAt length they came to a scheme of their own, so peculiar that it has\nformed the incident of that story which has made it live in Edinburgh\nthrough many years, and even to this day. The plan was, that they\nshould draw in the middle of the floor a distinct line of chalk, which\nshould be a boundary between them, over which neither the one nor the\nother would ever set her foot. To make this plan workable, it was\nnecessary that the two ends of the room should be each self-contained\nas regarded the necessary articles of household plenishing; and this,\nby the aid of Mr Ross and Peggy Fergusson, was duly accomplished. One\nof these articles was a big ha\u2019 Bible for Martha, to stand against that\nretained by Mary--in explanation of which I may inform the English\nreader that the old Calvinists had nearly as much faith in the size\nof their Bibles as in their contents. Nor was the strength of their\nfaith altogether irrespective of the kind of cover, and the manner\nin which it was clasped. There was a great virtue in good strong\ncalfskin--sometimes with the rough hair upon it; and if the clasps were\nof silver or gold, the volume had a peculiar merit. It was necessary,\ntherefore, that Martha\u2019s Bible should be as big as Mary\u2019s; and the\nlatter having been adorned by old Peter Jopp with silver clasps, so the\nformer was equally orthodox in this respect.\n\nAnd so the chalk line was drawn. The only difficulty regarded the\nfire; but this was got over by some ingenuity on the part of Peggy and\na workman, whereby the grate was altered so as to hold two cranes;\nand so minute were the engineers, that the end of the chalk line came\nup to the hearth, dividing it exactly into two halves; so that each\ncrane could be got at without overstepping the mark. This arrangement\nlasted through eleven years; and if to that period we add the five\nyears of prior strife, this domestic war endured for sixteen years;\nnor, according to the report of Mr Ross and Peggy, with that of the\ngood many curious visitors who contrived through various excuses to\nget a view of the domestic arrangement, was that magic line which thus\nseparated two hearts once so loving ever transgressed; nay, it seemed\nto become a point of honour in the two maidens. They might read their\nBibles on either side of it, and send their mute anathemas across it,\nso as to reach the unhappy non-elect; but not a foot of either ever\ntrod upon the mark. The foot of time might dull it, but the ready\nhand of either revived the line of demarcation, even as the feelings\nwere kept alive in undying vividness; all which may easily enough be\nconceived; it contravenes no law of nature; but I fairly admit that I\nmust draw a strong bill on the credulity of poor modern haters of the\nArmenian kind, when I state what was on all hands acknowledged, that\nafter the chalk truce--that is, for eleven years--the residents of\nthis room, divided so against itself, never interchanged a word with\neach other. I freely admit that all traditions become incrusted by\nthe marvellous. We do not reject port wine because it has undergone a\ncertain process. Yes; but we do not swallow the crust, which is only\ndeposited sugar. So be it; and you are welcome to your advantage,\nprovided you admit that the raciness you admire is the consequence\nof the deposit; and so, in my case, you may reject the eleven years\u2019\nsilence of Martha and Mary Jopp, yet you cannot get quit of the tang of\nthe reported marvel. For my own part, I am a little sceptical myself;\nbut then I cannot prove the negative of a popular statement; and I\nrather doubt if there are many religions in the world which are founded\non anything better than this defiance.\n\nTowards the end of the eleventh year a new incident arose to change\nperhaps the tenor of this strange drama. Martha Darling, a daughter\nof the sister Margaret who went to India, was sent home to Mr Ross to\nbe educated in Scotland, where she was to remain till the homecoming\nof her parents, who had become rich on the spoils of Cheyte Sing, or\nthe Begums of Oude, or some other unfortunate Indian victim. The\ngirl was generous, and full of young life; and Mr Ross became hopeful\nthat by introducing her to her aunts some instinctive feelings might\nbe called up in the breasts of the sisters which would break up the\nold congelation. He told her the story of the chalk line, and got a\nscream of a laugh for an answer, with the threat that she would force\nher aunts to embrace, and weep, and be friends. Next day the visit\nwas made, and, designedly, without any intimation that the niece had\narrived in Scotland. On opening the door, Mr Ross found the two ladies\nin that position in which he had so often before found them, each\nsitting stiffly on her own side of the chalk line, and looking out of\nher window into the close--for, as I should have stated before, the\nroom was supplied by two windows.\n\n\u201cYour niece from India--only arrived yesterday.\u201d\n\nNo more time for prologue, for the girl flew forward, and taking\nher elder aunt round the neck, hugged her very lovingly after the\nAnglo-Indian fashion, and thereafter, making a spring over the line of\nchalk, she ran to Aunt Mary, and performed the same operation upon her,\nbut with no emolliating result; the old petrefactions, which had become\nharder by the passage of every wave of time, were not to be dissolved\nor softened by the sparkling rill from the green sunny mountains. They\nlooked strangely only because they looked unnaturally; but that was\nno reason why Martha the younger should change her nature, and so she\nrattled away, every now and then casting her eye, with a laugh, at the\nline of chalk.\n\n\u201cIf I had you only in India,\u201d she went on, \u201cwhere the natives, when\nthey drink bang, dance such strange dances, you would laugh so. Shall I\nshow you?\u201d\n\nAnd without waiting for an answer, she began to make very pretty but\nsomewhat irregular revolving movements on the floor, whereby in a short\ntime, by the rapid motion of her small feet, she contrived to efface\nthe line of chalk.\n\n\u201cNow you can hardly see it,\u201d she proceeded with shortened breath; \u201cand\nnow, the nasty thing being gone, you are to cross and shake hands, and\nkiss each other.\u201d\n\nBut the good-natured girl\u2019s efforts were useless. The sisters sat as\nstiff in their chairs as if they had been the figures in a pagoda\nirresponsive to the dance of the worshippers. Even the confident\nwill-power of youth, which under-estimates all difficulties, was\nstaggered by the resistance offered to its efforts, and the young\nMartha was obliged to leave without attaining an object over which she\nhad been dreaming the preceding night. Next morning the chalk line was\nrenewed, the still air of the room in Burnet\u2019s Close had recovered\nits quietude from the oscillation produced by the young girl\u2019s laugh,\nand the demon of obstinacy sat enshrined in its niche which it had\noccupied for so many years; nor had the after visits of the younger\nMartha had any better effect towards the object that lay nearest to\nher generous heart. And now a month had passed; a particular morning\nrose--not marked by an asterisk in the calendar, and yet remarkable for\nopening with the thickest gray dawn that had been observed for a time.\nAnd here you may already see I am getting among the mists, where old\nDame Mystery, with her undefined lines, is ready to assume the forms\nforecast by brooding fancy. The gloom in the old room still hung thick,\nas the two maiden ladies moved slowly about, so like automatons, each\npreparing her cup of tea. So sternly had custom occupied the place of\nprimary nature, that it would now have appeared more strange and out\nof joint for them to speak than to be silent. And so, as the minutes\npassed, the gray mist of the morning gave way to the struggling rays of\nthe sun, and now there was something to be seen--nay, something that\ncould not be unseen. Nor this the less by token that the eyes of both\nour Martha and Mary were fixed as if by a spell upon that part of the\nwall over the mantelpiece. There was hanging bodily, in the old frame,\nand radiant with the old light, the real picture of their mother, for\nthe possession of which they had sighed for sixteen years. We may\neasily conceive that it could not fail of an effect, even as free from\nthe connexion of any mystery as to how it came to be there. But the\nquestion, if put by either to herself or her neighbour, could not be\nanswered in any way consistently with natural causes, for neither of\nthem had been out of the room--nay, neither had been in a condition\nwhich could have been taken advantage of by any one who wished by a\ntrick to take them by surprise. Then how catching the superstitious\nwhen it plays into the hand of our fears! As they looked with\nspell-bound eyes on that apparition, and read once more the expression\nin that blessed countenance that spoke peace and love,--reproof enough\nto those who for so many long years had disobeyed her injunctions to\ntreat each other as sisters, and love each other even as she loved them\nand they her,--they never doubted but that some unseen hand placed that\npicture there for the end of chastening their rebellious hearts, and\nbringing them back to that love which was enjoined even by Him whom\nthey worshipped as the very God of Love. It seemed as if they shook as\nthey gazed, and each one at intervals sought with a furtive glance the\nface of the other. A charm was working among the old half-dead nerves\nthat for years had quivered with the passions of the devil. The revived\nfeelings of that olden time, when that mild loving mother was the\ncentre of their affections and bond of love between themselves, were in\na tumult below the hard crust of mutual hatred, that was breaking under\nthe touch of the finger of God; they were both of the elect, since God\ntook the trouble to chide them and recall them to their duty and their\nobedience. The relentings in the hard faces, the rising tears in the\neyes of both, the tremors in the hands, all spoke eloquently to each\nother; nor did they speak in vain; they rose as if by sympathy. \u201cO\nMartha!\u201d \u201cO Mary!\u201d No more; the words were enough, and the two sisters\nwere locked in the arms of each other, drawing long sighs, and sobbing\nconvulsively.\n\nA scene all this which, being apt to precipitate one of my disposition\ninto the gushing vein, I must leave. I shall be on somewhat safer\nground as I proceed to say what truth and probability equally require,\nthat the paroxysm being over, and the two having begun, even as they\nhad done of old, to make and sugar each other\u2019s tea, to butter each\nother\u2019s bread, and even to break each other\u2019s egg, or bone each other\u2019s\nsmall haddock--most delightful tricks of love, which selfishness knows\nnothing of, and cannot compensate by any means within its power,--they\ngradually began to doubt whether some kindly hand of flesh was not\nconcerned in producing the phenomenon of the picture. They had both\nbeen sound asleep till nine o\u2019clock, and Peggy Fergusson had in the\ngray dawn been in the room doing her duty to the fire. But what\nalthough the Indian elf, who had likely brought the picture home with\nher from India, had been put up by Mr Ross to a little deception, and\nhad slipt in in the wake of Peggy, and hung it on the nail which had\nbeen so generously left by the old tenant? nay, these spinsters, apart\nfrom the delusion produced by the demon of obstinacy, were sensible\nwomen; and in the pleasant talk that now flowed like limpid water down\na very pretty valley with flowers on either side they came to the\nconclusion, with--Oh, wonder!--a laugh fighting for utterance among the\ndry muscles, that the fact was just so as we have stated it. What then.\nWas not the effect admirable--yea, delectable?\n\nA conclusion this which derived no little confirmation from the fact\nthat the young Anglo-Indian came bouncing into the room about eleven\no\u2019clock, crying, in her spirited way, \u201cAh, I see it is all right,\u201d and\nyet never saying a word of the said picture; but, indeed, the fairy had\nsome work to do other than of revealing the secrets of Titania to her\nvictims, for she straightway set to work with a wet cloth to eradicate\nevery trace of that devil-invented line of chalk which had so long kept\nasunder good amiable spirits. Nor was she contented with even this, for\nto satisfy her impish whims, she got her now changed aunts, nothing\nloth, to cross and recross the place of the now defaced line, till all\nnotion of the division was taken out of their minds.\n\nIt is a pleasant thing for me to have authority to say that this\nmiraculous change was not destined to be merely temporary. The flow\nfrom the once secluded fountains of feeling continued its stream--nay,\nit seemed as if the two old maidens could not love each other enough,\nand they had been often heard to confess that one hour of pure nature\nwas worth all the sixteen years of factitious opposition to her\ndictates. So true it is that, let us deplore as we may the many ills\nof life, we shall never diminish them by damming up the fountains of\nfeeling and driving the emotions back upon the heart. Then fortune\nfavours those who are true to nature, who is the mother of fortune, and\nall other occult agencies. The nabob and his wife came home the next\nyear, and set up a great establishment in our old city. The spinsters\nwere gradually drawn out again into that world which they had so\nfoolishly left--we use the word deliberately, for hermits carry with\nthem into their cells a worse world than they leave behind, however\nunsteady, however cruel, and however vain, that may at times seem to\nbe;--nay, we can say with a good conscience that our two sisters became\nthe very darlings of a flock of young nephews and nieces; sometimes\ndanced in a reel of ancient maidens; gadded gaily about; sipt their\nscandal, and helped like good citizens to spread the sweet poison; and\npassed many years as happily as can be the fortune of those who are\ncontented to live according to the laws of nature.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n_Ballantyne & Company, Printers, Edinburgh._\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES:\n\n\n Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.\n\n Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.\n\n Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.\n\n Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.\n\n The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is\n entered into the public domain.","title":"Romances of the old town of Edinburgh","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":75566}