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 THE 
 
 DOMINIE'S LEGACY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE SECTARIAN.' 
 
 The old man travelled far, both north and south, 
 And mickle did he see, and mickle hear; 
 And left the fruits to them wha like to read. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 WILLIAM KIDD, 6, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXX.
 
 Charles Whittingliani, T<K>k8 Court, 
 Chancery Lane.
 
 
 \ 
 
 K 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 JULIA, COUNTESS OF GLASGOW, 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 In deliberating upon offering the following 
 
 papers to the public, it has been no small 
 
 encouragement to me to proceed thus far, that 
 
 ^ your Ladyship has been pleased to give them 
 
 ! your countenance. 
 
 "^4^ For various reasons, as w^ell'as that the 
 
 ^ scenes of the Tales are principally laid in the 
 
 X neighborhood of that part of Scotland vrhere 
 
 ^^our Ladyship and family chiefly reside, their 
 
 "^ Dedication to you is natural and fitting, and 
 
 |is hereby most respectfully offered. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 i
 
 VI DEDICATIOX. 
 
 That your Ladyship may long continue to 
 adorn, by your virtues, the high station to 
 which Providence has called you, is the sin- 
 cere wish of, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 With every respect. 
 
 Your Ladyship's most obedient 
 
 and humble Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 London , 
 Feb. 17, 1830.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 J'AGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION V 
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE 1 
 
 MINISTER TAM 91 
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE 125 
 
 GEORGE WISHART 145
 
 '^'^-'^-^M^ ^Oij^^Jiy^, 'Jr:ir(,tr^ ' aV"
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is now several years since my late worthy 
 and somewhat eccentric acquaintance, Mr. 
 Gavin Balgownie umqwhile portioner of Bal- 
 gownie Brae, in the west of Scotland, disponed 
 to me, by his last will, certain papers in his 
 own autograph, with no other injunction but 
 that I should give them a careful perusal ; 
 and leaving the ultimate disposal of them 
 entirely, as he expressed it, to my own con- 
 siderate discretion. 
 
 Now having, in the course of my brief ex- 
 perience, found that thei'e are many worthy 
 persons in the world who, when you become 
 intimate, will divulge to you that they have 
 been solacing themselves with a little private 
 authorship ; and, knowing how sacred any 
 trust which has to do with these secret beget- 
 tings of the fancy, or labours of the judgment, 
 is justly held, I received this legacy of my 
 defunct friend with something like alarm, at 
 the heavy responsibility it implied, especially 
 after I had read the papers themselves, agree-
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ably to positive injunction. Being, also, as 
 little accustomed to executorial duties, as I 
 have ever been to the experience of a fortu- 
 nate legatee ; and having, in various ways, 
 come to some knowledge of the afflictions of 
 publishing, I confess that this legacy of my 
 late worthy friend, however well meant to 
 my honour, has been no small burthen upon 
 my conscience for several years ; and now, 
 having advisedly decided on the hazardous 
 step of submitting a portion of his papers to 
 the world, it becomes me to introduce them 
 by stating, briefly, a few things regarding 
 them and their author, necessary to be known 
 by the reader. 
 
 As the world will have little sympathy 
 with details, which the feelings of private 
 friendship might tempt me to give, all I need 
 say is, that the following papers were written 
 at different and distant periods, by a tall, 
 benevolent-looking, elderly man, who, in early 
 life, had been educated for a clergyman, but 
 the best of whose years had been spent in 
 the humble and laborious occupation of a 
 country schoolmaster ; and who was hence 
 known till his death by the familiar cognomen
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 of Dominie Balgownie. Having, however, 
 been left a small income by one of his ovs^n 
 pupils, he lived independent for many years 
 before his death, on a pleasant spot vs^hich he 
 purchased w^ith his ov\^n money, and adorned 
 w^ith much care ; and which was situated on 
 the outskirts of one of those secluded and 
 truly rural villages that straggle at the foot 
 of the low hills which rise gradually over 
 each other from the vale of Clyde, in Ren- 
 frewshire, until they terminate in the circular 
 amphitheatre which forms the m.ajestic border, 
 or rim, which encircles the celebrated and 
 romantic Lochlomond. 
 
 In this well selected spot lived the simple 
 Dominie for many years, lonely enough as to 
 society, his only usual companion being a 
 maiden sister, who kept his house, and hoarded 
 his money, of which the good man himself 
 took little heed. But the homely manse, or 
 mansion, of Balgownie Brae was actually to 
 be considered only as his head quarters ; for, 
 although it was probably here that he indited 
 the matter of the following sheets, great part 
 of liis time, in his latter years, was spent in 
 travelling about the country ; a peculiarity
 
 XU IiVTllODUCTlON. 
 
 of habit which sometimes procured him the 
 name of the wandering Dominie ; and which 
 having greatly increased in inveteracy as he 
 advanced in years, it is a little remarkable, 
 he first acquired while he exercised his calling 
 as a schoolmaster. 
 
 Whether it was, if I may endeavour to 
 account for this habit, that the confinement of 
 his teaching employment was naturally more 
 irksome to his spirit than it is to most men, 
 or that it was the mere effect of that sympathy 
 with others, which was so much a character- 
 istic of his kindly nature, that made him 
 partake so evidently of the happiness of the 
 boys under his charge, when the appointed 
 hour came which gave deliverance alike to 
 master and pupil ; certain it is, that, as he 
 used himself to confess, the very shout of 
 emancipation of the buzzing crowd, as they 
 raced forth into the open green before his 
 door, to freedom and to sport, always bounded 
 home to his own heart, so that he was ready 
 himself to have shouted with the most eager 
 of them ; and was always as glad to rush out 
 under the open heavens, as the wildest urchin 
 of them all.
 
 IXTRODUCTIOX. Xlll 
 
 From this involuntary feeling of sympa- 
 thetic delight with his own pupils, in enjoying 
 the gladsome hours of outdoor liberty, and a 
 natural disposition to musing and wandering 
 among the quiet dells near his school, until 
 the last minute of prescribed time ; the tran- 
 sition was easy, to his partaking of those long- 
 ings which every birch-dreading youngster 
 feels for the precious holidays of Christmas 
 and Midsummer, and which are participated 
 in by master as well as pupil and usher in 
 every part of the grammarian and a-b-c-d- 
 rian world. The moment, therefore, when 
 the wished-for day came, that the clock struck 
 the welcome hour which terminated the long 
 season of teaching and confinement, off went 
 the Dominie as fast as his legs could carry 
 him, his heart as light as a bird, and kicking 
 up his heels like a young colt, in the very 
 wantonness of fresh liberty, and the prospect 
 of unknown adventure ; and thus onward he 
 would wander, if it were to Johnny Groat's 
 house itself, if the time allowed, for home 
 never saw him again until the very morning 
 when the reluctant little rabble came again 
 together, to occupy the dingy desks and forms
 
 XIV INTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 of the old school-room, and to plague and 
 worry the patient teacher for another half 
 year. 
 
 When, therefore, the fortunate Dominie 
 became, at length, a laird and an independent 
 man, and occupied the pleasant upland dwel- 
 ling, to which, with conscious vanity, he gave 
 the name of Balgownie Brae, the delight he 
 had ever taken in his periodical wanderings 
 was recurred to with all the force of early 
 recollections, of persons and circumstances 
 which had interested his heart in the course 
 of his ramblings ; and between the winter 
 and summer solstices he set forth still, with 
 as much regularity as he had done when 
 encumbered with his noisy charge ; but now 
 without care or dread concerning time's lapse 
 or cash's diminution. In these journeyings, 
 however, the principle of liberty, which had 
 at first made them so precious, began more 
 and more to predominate of late years ; and 
 his manner of setting forth was usually this : 
 
 He had no set time for his jaunts, nor did 
 he ever take a thought about where, or in 
 what direction they were to be, until probably 
 the very morning when the fancy struck him
 
 JXTRODUCTIOX. XV 
 
 to take a peregrination somewhere about the 
 world. It was a matter of perfect wilfulness 
 of the time where it was that he took it into 
 his head to go to ; whether it might be to the 
 residence of some favourite acquaintance 
 within fifty or a hundred miles, where he 
 knew he was always welcome to sojourn so 
 long as he chose, or to some far off place, 
 where he should literally be a stranger and 
 a pilgrim. Whether it were to the north 
 Highlands or the border, to London city, or to 
 the land's end, if he had happened to have 
 taken a thought about any particular person 
 or place during the musings of the previous 
 night, if the look of the morning pleased him, 
 and his old weather glass seemed to point any 
 where near to " set fair," he would thrust a 
 couple of shirts and two or . three pair of 
 stockings into a little leathern wallet that 
 was convenient for his arm, and taking his 
 faithful travelling staff in his hand, and slip- 
 ping a certain true friend into his pocket, 
 away he would wander forth on foot ; and per- 
 haps, after several weeks or months, would 
 wend back to Balgownie Brae upon no more 
 certain motives ; and entcriniihis house, woukl
 
 XVI INTRODLCTIOX. 
 
 sit down in his own chair, and mildly beg his 
 sister to bring him something to eat, as if he 
 had only returned from a walk to get an ap- 
 petite for his dinner. 
 
 It was in the course of these eccentric and 
 meditative excursions, or during his sojourn 
 in certain great houses, in the quality of tutor 
 or confidential friend, that the simple Domi- 
 nie picked up the family histories, or fell in 
 with the adventures which it was his amuse- 
 ment and solace to commit to writing, during 
 the long nights and weary hours of bachelor 
 vacuity in his declining years. Much as he 
 interested his heart in every thing which was 
 the subject of his records, and precious as 
 these writings were to his own recollections, 
 he never had the courage to say to me in so 
 many words, that he had a desire or a distant 
 hope that they should ever be thrown upon 
 the shoreless waters, or committed to the 
 stormy sea of publicity in actual print: but 
 I knew the good man's secret thoughts and 
 incipient wishes, while recalling these old 
 stories to memory, and setting them in pen 
 and ink order, too well, from experience, not 
 to second them, as far as discretion would at
 
 ixTRODUcrrox. xvii 
 
 all warrant ; yet it has not been until after a 
 lapse of years, and after one or two of them 
 had got locally into the public in an unedited 
 state, and been greatly commended where 
 they were known (as no doubt they deserved), 
 that I have ventured to offer a portion of them 
 to the world. 
 
 Although all this commendation of my 
 friend's stories gratified me, I confess, almost 
 as much as if they had been my own, yet 
 having been long perplexed what I should do 
 with them, I did not determine, by means of 
 my troublesome legacy, to encounter the fas- 
 tidiousness of the glutted world, without some 
 sort of sanction to my own judgment, and 
 therefore called in certain respectable men, who 
 were much conversant with literary matters, to 
 aid me in this important intromission with the 
 papers of the defunct. To these gentlemen, 
 I am, therefore, bound to make my public 
 acknowledgments on my own part and that of 
 Mr. Balgownie deceased ; and in particular to 
 my valued friend, Mr. Gait, who with the 
 ready liberality of the higher kind of talent, 
 and the good nature of those sort of minds 
 which take a pleasure in making use of the
 
 XVUl iXTRODUCTION. 
 
 advantages they have honourably acquired, 
 for the benefit of those who are, as yet, striv- 
 ing against preliminary difficulties, entered 
 fully vrith me into the subject of the papers 
 in my hands ; seemed almost to have taken 
 a regard for the simple Dominie, from what 
 he had left behind him : and to the sugges- 
 tions of a man of his taste and experience, it 
 became me to pay no small degree of atten- 
 tion and respect. 
 
 One thing more I must mention in quality 
 of legatee, and for my own exoneration in 
 offering these papers to the public ; for much 
 as I, without doubt, esteemed the Dominie 
 and am disposed to commend his quaint sin- 
 cerity, it is not to be expected that I should 
 stand up in defence of any man's wilful and 
 obstinate faults — one grievous one at least, as 
 I am sensible, adheres to the following histo- 
 ries, which all my arguments could not drive 
 out of the head of my friend, now dead, and 
 it is this — that these narratives, instead of 
 being about princes, and dukes, and lords, 
 and other great people, and high affairs, as 
 they should, no doubt, be, for the pleasing of 
 the world — are nothing else but the stories of
 
 INTRODUCTIOX. XIX 
 
 obscure persons whom nobody ever heard of, 
 and a simple picture of joys and griefs in 
 ordinary and lower life, such as come natu- 
 rally within the knowledge of a man like the 
 wandering Dominie ; and worse than that, 
 that they instead of being beautiful or gorge- 
 ous paintings of the trained imagination, they 
 are every one, more or less, indebted to mere 
 truth and actual occurrences, for all that their 
 author intended them to embody. 
 
 It was in vain for me to preach to the stub- 
 born Dominie, about the admitted inferiority 
 of the man's productions who pretends to 
 labour with little else but truth and nature, 
 to his who works romantic figures and inci- 
 dents on the coloured tapestry of his own 
 imagination ; or to argue how tasteless, to the 
 appetite of a pampered public, must be the 
 relation of incidents and concerns which really 
 took place, or the description of thoughts 
 and feelings, the merit of which can consist 
 of little else but faithful observation. Tlie 
 obstinacy of the Dominie, in adhering to his 
 own heresy, was most egregious ! But such 
 confirmed absurdity must surely have arisen 
 more from attention to, or tlio peculiarity of
 
 XX IXTRODLCTIOX. 
 
 his own feelings, than from extensive ac- 
 quaintance with tli€ external world ; and that 
 having found himself interested in what most 
 people in artificial life, like the Levite in the 
 gospel, are disposed to pass by on the other 
 side ; and being one of those who, in their 
 progress through the world, are inclined to 
 find tongues in stones, and good in every 
 thing, he judged very much of mankind by 
 what he felt himself ; and the realities of life, 
 sad though they often be, had more interest 
 for him than any mere creation of the fancy, 
 which, exaggerated and coloured to suit the 
 common taste, could have little foundation in 
 actual truth. 
 
 But without persisting in accounting for 
 any man's peculiarities, the meaning of what 
 we are offering, at all events, is, that at least 
 these papers do not go forth to the world with 
 much pretence. The Dominie was an humble 
 man, and he had little reason to be otherwise ; 
 but this very quality enabled him to see and 
 collect things throughout the world, which 
 at least interested himself, and which were to 
 him, what thousands are going from Dan to 
 Beersheba, seeking for in vain.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Wrap close your cloak, outface the blustering storm. 
 Mount up the prisoner's stair, and ope his cell. — 
 What do you see within 1 Scrap Stanzas. 
 
 It was on a dark dirty night in the month of 
 October, that I found myself impelled by motives 
 of humanity, as well as a regard for my word, to 
 gather myself up from my comfortable arm chair, 
 and to buckle on my leather leggings, in order to 
 proceed through the dubs and the wet into the 
 old town, and to climb the Castle-hill of Stirling. 
 I could not help grumbling a little at my own 
 readiness in making promises to bestow myself 
 abroad, that were sure always to come due on 
 the most disagreeable rheumatic days or nights in 
 the whole year, as I thrust my anus into my
 
 4 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 ample Bavaria, and wrapping some half-dozen 
 handkerchiefs round my neck, or rather my shoul- 
 ders and face, prepared to go out into the rain and 
 damp, and to take the high road to the town. 
 * There is a great pleasure in doing good, no doubt,' 
 said I to myself, as I warmed my gloves at the 
 fire ; ' but a man at least should have fine weather 
 to do it in : and it would certainly make any 
 sensible bachelor begrudge his good works, to be 
 obliged to leave his fireside on such a night, in 
 order to get himself into other people's troubles.' 
 But I had promised, and that was sufficient; and, 
 although the night and the occasion were enough 
 to raise all the blue and green devils that ever 
 visit a forlorn single man in his melancholies, I 
 armed myself with my confidential crummy, and 
 set forth from the Laird of Muirdyke's house, 
 where I and my sister Margery were then staying, 
 to splash my way a good mile of road into Stir- 
 ling. 
 
 It was, as I said, as unpraiseworthy a night as 
 ever a man set out in ; none of your sublime 
 stormy nights, blasting and blowing, thundering
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 and lightning, the which I could have well en- 
 dured, and even wished for, compared w^ith this. 
 It was not even poetically stormy ; for the trees 
 in the long parallelogram avenue of my host's 
 mansion did not sugh and whiz in the wind in 
 the way I should have gloried in, even when lying 
 in my bed in the night time. There was nothing 
 but a vile, harsh, gusty blast, that came every 
 now and then with raging thuds, frightening the 
 very crows in the old rookery, and carrying with 
 it a thick drizzling rain — a heavy Scotch mist, 
 soaking any mortal to the skin, and the night as 
 dark ! ay, " black as Erebus !" 
 
 As I trudged on along the lonesome avenue, 
 and forthwith splashed my way through the un- 
 seen dubs of the common toll road, I mused eerily 
 and painfully upon the occasion which had called 
 me forth to the town on such a dismal night. I 
 was going in fact to a jail, a place of which I 
 always had a sickish horror ; and I was about to 
 pay a visit to a poor confined debtor, of whose 
 incarceration I had heard only the day before; 
 but he having been an acquaintance of my early
 
 6 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 days, and even a pupil of my own, my conscience 
 would not suffer me to defer seeing him another 
 hour. 
 
 But the occasion brought upon me all sorts of 
 reflections upon human vicissitude, as I plodded 
 on towards the dull town, and the still more dis- 
 mal prison ; and thought of the unexpected deve- 
 lopements of manhood, after the promises of youth ; 
 and the strange difference often between the be- 
 ginnings and the endings of human things. To be 
 sure, the man I was about to visit might be now 
 a person of no great character ; and in fact, I had 
 known nothing of him for more than twenty years. 
 Nevertheless, said I, whatever he is, with all his 
 other wants, in his misfortunes, he wants liberty, 
 and cannot have the pleasure, even " on such a 
 night as this," of turning up his face to '' the 
 sweet heavens," to receive the fresh rain upon it 
 from above,* by way of choosing his evil from the 
 
 * Imprisonment for debt, is much closer in Scotland than it is in 
 England. By the Scotch law, the debtor who is incarcerated is not 
 permitted to enjoy any exercise in the open air. There are, conse- 
 quently, no court-yards for prisoners ; for the spirit of the law is, 
 that they must not, at any moment, get /row umler cover.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 7 
 
 hand of God, instead of the hand of man, by 
 which he is now suffering, while I can have the 
 satisfaction of going forth in the storm, and get- 
 ting wet and uncomfortable, of my own free choice 
 and election. 
 
 Musing, in this melancholy way, I soon found 
 myself mounting by the main street up the Castle- 
 hill of Stirling. The sight of towers and turrets, 
 battlements and bastions, may bring pleasing asso- 
 ciations of war and of romance, of grandeur and 
 antiquity, when the day is fine, and the sun is 
 shining on threatening gun-port and waving stan- 
 dard : but truly, in a dark rainy night, the mass 
 of buildings and rocks that form the ancient Castle 
 of Stirling have a peculiarly gloomy and confused 
 effect ; and as for the actual confinement part 
 of it, the dim lights appearing -from the small 
 barred windows, which studded the old buildings, 
 gave most expressive indications of what a prison 
 promises to "those that are without," and the 
 bolts and locks and riveted doors, with the poor 
 disconsolate unshaven debtor, wearying his soli- 
 tary hours within the narrow apartments — these
 
 8 THE RASH MARRIAGE. / 
 
 are associations that are the very reverse of agree- 
 able ; and, in fact, give one sensations that are 
 truly grievous and melancholic. 
 
 I knocked at the strong outer gate of the debtors' 
 prison, and the very sound of the heavy falling iron 
 conveyed to my heart a sad and solemn moral re- 
 flection : but this was no time for moralizing ; and 
 I saw that the ugly-looking Arguses, who watched 
 over their unwilling lodgers, were a step beyond 
 that. I had often heard of the riot and jollity of 
 prisoners, but assuredly there appeared no indica- 
 tions of such things as yet. As I entered, scarce 
 a sound was heard ; a light from the little grated 
 windows glimmered through the darkness, and 
 shone upon the wet pavement of the interior yard 
 (where the prisoners dare not enjoy the luxury of 
 walking) ; the patient sentinel seemed to cower, 
 solitary and cold, in his box as I passed, as if he 
 felt uncomfortable on the very threshold of con- 
 finement; and the turnkeys stared suspiciously 
 at me, as they leisurely admitted me, and directed 
 me up the long stone stairs of the castle. 
 
 When I had clambered to the top of the stairs,
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 9 
 
 and while I stood waiting in the passage for the 
 person I had come to visit, not wishing to be in- 
 trusive, I endeavoured to comfort myself on his 
 part, by dwelling on the usual relieved mind and 
 thoughtlessness of prisoners, in that " poor but 
 merry place," that turning-post, from which the 
 victim of imprudence or of vicissitude may com- 
 mence a new career — that asylum from every sort 
 of hunting and vindictive persecution, where, in 
 placing a man within its monotonous walls, the 
 hardened creditor, and the more hardened lawyer, 
 have both done their worst — and where at least, 
 as the vulgar song has it, 
 
 " No bailiff, dun, nor setter. 
 
 Dares to show his frightful face," 
 
 when my friend made his appearance from one of 
 the low rooms in the passage. 
 
 He received me in the dimly lighted corridor 
 with the look of gratitude with which a visit in 
 adversity is generally acknowledged; and with 
 the prisoner's forced smile and somewhat bravoing 
 manner, which endeavours to drive off the con-
 
 10 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 sciousness of degradation and the apprehension of 
 disrespect, at being recognized by an old friend 
 and equal, as an imprisoned debtor and an insol- 
 vent; and which covers for a moment the usual 
 depression and humiliation of mind: but he de- 
 tained me at the door of his room, with a perplexed 
 expression in his look, and a seeming hesitation, 
 that appeared to me odd and unaccountable. 
 
 When he opened the door, however, and I en- 
 tered his small apartment, I was absolutely startled 
 with the appearance of the figure that I found 
 within, whose presence had been the cause of my 
 friend's indecision. It was a female, a lady dressed 
 in black silk, and for a place of this kind a perfect 
 apparition of elegance, so completely unlike to 
 the man who introduced me, and to the bare 
 walls of the prison room, the mean bedstead on 
 which they had been sitting, and the miserable tea 
 equipage that stood on the deal table before them, 
 that I was transfixed in sudden astonishment. 
 
 The effect that my entrance had upon the female 
 seemed no less embarrassing and uneasy. When 
 her eye met my gaze, as I came forward, and she
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 11 
 
 saw the expression on my face, she rose and made 
 towards the opposite corner, as if she wished that 
 the stone walls of the jail would give way, that 
 she might hide herself from me. I apologized, 
 and offered to retire, but Farquhar, whom I had 
 come to visit, would not suffer me, but made me 
 be seated on a form, while the poor female rose 
 from her scanty meal, blushed, averted her face, 
 and looked towards the fire — and I, perhaps, with 
 as absent an expression, began to condole with 
 him upon the unfortunate occurrences which had 
 placed him where he was. Whether from the 
 effect of ill manners, or design, I know not, but 
 he did not introduce me to the lady, nor take any 
 notice of her to me, but beoan a lono; account of 
 his private affairs, and the circumstances which 
 had led to his imprisonment. 
 
 While my old pupil was discoursing to me of 
 bonds and securities, and captions and hornings, 
 and arrests, and so forth, I occasionally stam- 
 mered out something in the way of assent or 
 inquiry, while really occupied with nothing but 
 musing conjectures regarding his fair companion;
 
 12 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 and I looked at her more than I felt to be strictly 
 decorous, for I found myself treating my own eyes 
 as if doubtful of credit, so much was I confounded 
 at the sight of such beauty and elegance of mien, 
 in a place where they were so little to be ex- 
 pected. Farquhar continued to prose away about 
 the fine prospects he had once thought he had in 
 London, where he had lately been; and of his 
 cunning Partner, who chose to turn scoundrel to 
 him (according to his own account), and so forth. 
 But, in truth, I did not make out any sense or 
 connection in his weary story, so much was I 
 absorbed with the apparition of the lady, and the 
 mean, broken-edged teacups before them, and the 
 tea from which she had risen on my entrance, 
 and to which they did not appear to possess even 
 the luxury of prison cream; and the morsel of 
 brown sugar, giving an idea of such meagre 
 poverty — and the female, with the look of a 
 heroine ! dressed I might say with elegance, and 
 absolutely a beautiful creature ! I was more than 
 confounded, and somewhat ashamed, I knew not 
 why, except it was, that I saw she was evidently
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 13 
 
 embarrassed by my presence, and yet I could not 
 properly leave the room on her account, and then 
 I incessantly caught myself watching for a proper 
 sight of her face, while the man was talking to me. 
 
 In short, after the first mutual inquiries between 
 my friend and myself, I found my curiosity so 
 much excited concerning the lady, that I could 
 with difficulty demean myself as I ought to the 
 man I had come hither to visit. The little that 
 I had heard her speak was in the best English 
 accent; she must have come down from thence 
 with him. It could not be possible that she was 
 his ivife! I felt an inward grudging to come to 
 this conclusion ; but yet no female but a wife or 
 sister could be thus circumstanced with a man in 
 prison; and his sister could no more be like the 
 female before me, than I could be like " the King 
 of the Sandwich Islands." 
 
 While conversing at intervals, I was all the 
 while reasoning in my own mind on the probability 
 of the most natural supposition, but I could not 
 at all admit it. I looked at them alternately, and 
 saw such a contrast ! He had been a tolerably
 
 14 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 handsome stripling, as I once knew him ; now he 
 was a mean and an unhealthy looking creature, 
 — appearing above forty years of age, without the 
 dignity and wisdom that ought to belong to that 
 time of life, although his real age could not, as 
 I could recollect, be much above thirty — his coun- 
 tenance bespeaking abjectness rather than melan- 
 choly, and all the humbled depression of the 
 prisoner without a trace of sentiment. The brown 
 wig that he wore gave him the appearance of a 
 constitution on the decline, or of early emaciation ; 
 and his yellow-grey, feline eyes conveyed an ex- 
 pression which to me was actually unpleasant, at 
 least they were of a character very different from 
 those that usually succeed in interesting a woman. 
 The lady might be called tall ; and was dressed 
 by no means expensively, but yet in perfect taste ; 
 her age appeared to be eighteen, or nineteen at 
 farthest ; her complexion like the very ivory, and 
 while I looked at her shining black hair, dressed 
 over her head in a style which seemed, I confess, 
 more suitable for a drawing room than a prison — 
 as she thrust back occasionally the curls from her
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 15 
 
 clear forehead — while I noted one by one her 
 features — her charming mouth, her pure, healthy- 
 cheek, her eyebrows ! and then her eyes ! I thought 
 of poems, old and new, sonnets on beauty, and la- 
 boured descriptions of all sorts, and antique ballads, 
 most delightful to think of. 
 
 And I did think of them at that very moment, 
 I positively could not help it; and in the same 
 breath was conning over to myself the verse which 
 says — 
 
 The blink o' her bonny black ei wha can thol. 
 On the strings of my heart she bewitchingly plays. 
 And each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul ! 
 
 And I did sigh too as I looked at the lady, it is 
 Heaven's truth, although I burned with shame at 
 the time, and am still ashamed to own it. 
 
 " Can she be his wife ?" I still inquired of 
 myself; and I looked at his old-looking, sallow 
 countenance, and read his sordid, trading, grovel- 
 ing spirit in every change of it — and then I turned 
 to the elegant figure sitting opposite to me, just 
 from London, with features bespeaking delicacy, 
 modesty, and female spirit; to be united to such a
 
 16 THE RASH xMARRIAGE. 
 
 fellow, to spend the honeymoon of marriage in a 
 prison ! Could she be other than virtuous ? This 
 could not be, for had she degraded herself, as many 
 females do, she would even in this way have been 
 placed far above giving her person to a mean 
 trader, without either money or talents to support 
 her in the manner she had evidently been accus- 
 tomed to. She wrung her white hands into each 
 other, as if striving not to think, and upon her 
 long, plump fingers I observed a mourning, and 
 also, as I presumed, a marriage ring. What could 
 have been her fate ? The profile of her bust was 
 admirable ; and a little of her arm, which was 
 revealed, set my imagination to work regarding 
 the perfection of her figure as vv^ell as her face. 
 
 After some further conversation with him, in 
 which I framed several inquiries bordering on the 
 information I aimed at, he told me he was married. 
 My interest on his account now increased inex- 
 pressibly on hers, who by some one of those in- 
 cidents which often do strangely affect a woman's 
 lot, was actually his wife; and, on further speaking 
 of his circumstances and remaining friends, he
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 17 
 
 gave me a most deplorable account of his situation 
 and prospects. So much did he dilate upon this 
 subject, and so abject and indelicate an expose. 
 did he make of his whole situation, of his being 
 now, as he described himself, a burthen on his 
 relations, who were unable to bear it — upon the 
 hopelessness of his obtaining his liberty from the 
 vindictiveness of a particular creditor, and his ut- 
 terly helpless situation even when that might be 
 brought about, that I blushed to listen to it, and 
 could ill conceal the contempt and disgust I felt 
 for the dastardly wretch, who, under any circum- 
 stance, could so degrade himself to his fellow, 
 particularly in the presence of a newly married 
 and beauteous wife. 
 
 The feeling of shame which had evidently op- 
 pressed her on my entrance, from being found in 
 such a state, seemed now to be succeeded by a 
 returning pride ; by those sentiments of dignity 
 and self-respect so natural to a well-educated 
 woman ; which, with an occasional look towards 
 her husband of contemptuous bitterness, she was 
 evidently cabling in, to overcome the previous feel- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE RASH iMARRIAGE. 
 
 ing of embarrassment and humiliation ; and which, 
 by a natural reaction, seemed, as I watched her 
 countenance, to rise above their usual level, as 
 she reflected, no doubt, on the present strange 
 appearance she made before one who saw her for 
 the first time, and as her husband continued to de- 
 grade her by his ignoble complaint. 
 
 He went on to speak of their at present living, 
 poor as that living was, upon the sale of his young 
 wife's trinkets, assisted by the scanty donations of 
 his relatives. To my suggestions of plans for him 
 when he obtained his liberty, they all seemed to 
 him hopeless, or above his expectations — and when 
 he came to express his satisfaction that he could 
 still become a menial servant, and added, that 
 that appeared to be his only alternative, the lady 
 seemed to arouse as from a trance, and turning 
 half aside, her eyes flashing with some strange 
 emotion, she appeared ready to burst out into a fit 
 of contemptuous laughter. I was really afraid, as I 
 looked in her face, tried to draw the conversation 
 by degrees into another channel, and began to 
 talk, without knowing well what I said, to give 
 myself time to make my mental observations.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 19 
 
 The lady, as I said, appeared to be in the bloom 
 of eighteen, or little more ; and her look, whatever 
 it expressed, did not indicate melancholy ; on the 
 contrary, the natural light spirits of her age 
 seemed as if they refused to be repressed, by even 
 the description forced upon her of her circum- 
 stances and prospects. She looked almost as if 
 unconscious where she was, excepting at sudden 
 intervals ; even a jail and poverty had not yet 
 affected her spirit, and the care she evinced of 
 her person, and the joyousness of youth, mixed 
 with an occasional expression of disdain, that still 
 beamed in her eye, being the powerful attributes 
 of nature — that circumstance^ whatever it was, 
 which had placed her in this inimical state, had 
 not yet been able to overcome or to dissipate. 
 
 I pitied her much ; for, without as yet knowing 
 the particulars of her past life, I thought if she 
 could judge as I did of what was likely to be in 
 reserve for her, as the wife of such a man, she 
 would have been affected in a very different man- 
 ner. I offered my services to himy while half ad- 
 dressing her; but could not then understand the 
 look she gave me, nor why she seemed to have been
 
 20 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 watching my countenance, as she sat with her arm 
 leaning upon the edge of the table, and her long 
 fingers stretched over her eyes ; nor why she kept 
 playing with my snuffbox, and busy with some- 
 thing she had taken from her pocket, with her back 
 half turned to me. I repeated my offer as I rose to 
 depart. She respectfully declined it, with acknow- 
 ledgments gracefully delivered ; he, with a hesita- 
 ting reference to her, as if a momentary jealousy 
 or dread had come across his mind : and I then 
 left them. 
 
 I found myself deeply impressed with the scene 
 I had just witnessed; and, as I stepped down the 
 street towards home, began to lament and meditate, 
 in my moralizing way, upon the fearful perils of 
 youth, particularly of the fair sex, who, in the non- 
 age of inexperience, are so liable to plunge into cir- 
 cumstances, of the issues of which they are utterly 
 ignorant, and for the evils inseparable from which 
 they are very unprepared, and may be quite unable 
 to mitigate or control. When the thoughtlessness 
 occasioned by ignorance of evil, and the impatience 
 caused by the fancied prospect of good, may in a 
 few weeks or days induce steps to be taken, or
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 21 
 
 engagements to be formed, which risks, if not 
 destroys, the happiness, perhaps the virtue, of the 
 whole succeeding and most valuable portion of life : 
 when young persons (I went on), charming as the 
 woman I have just left, may lose the proper plea- 
 sures of youth, — of that season when joy dances in 
 the spirits and levity laughs in the eye, before care 
 has fastened her talons in the vitals, and anxiety 
 has begun to suck up the marrow of life ; and 
 instead of enjoying the sweet period which is never 
 to return — begin early to treasure up evil against 
 the day of suffering, and then grow old in unavail- 
 ing complaints of the miseries of existence ; in en- 
 vying in others the rewards of prudence, and the 
 comforts flowing from sensible conduct, which by 
 early folly may never be their lot. 
 
 Youth and beauty, I continued', pursuing my 
 train of trite reflections, are passing away like a 
 shadow. (I am five and forty good !) Life itself 
 is but a series of shadows, or clouds, which glow 
 brightly in the sunbeams of youth, and are deep- 
 ened and mixed in the seriousness of age. It is 
 rational to catch the good, and enjoy it as it passes ; 
 though it be but a sliadow, if hallowed by virtue.
 
 22 THE RASH MAKHIAGE. 
 
 and gilded by the imagination j for the dark sha- 
 dows will not fail at some time to pass over each 
 of us, and involve us in their gloom ; and, whether 
 we feel it much or not, a share we must expect out 
 of the abundant storehouses of evil. 
 
 " Very fine Johnsonizing, all this," I said, taking 
 out my snuffbox, as I proceeded down the street, 
 " but I must quicken my notions with a little ol- 
 factory refreshment." I gave my oblong receptacle 
 of black rappee three distinct taps, as was my 
 wont, and was proceeding to open the lid, and to 
 bury my finger and thumb among the soft mass 
 of fragrant stimulant, when my digits were pre- 
 vented by some rustling thing which overlaid the 
 snuff. I felt a sort of alarm at this, and could not 
 help at the instant adverting in thought to the 
 beauteous lady in the prison, who had handled 
 my humble snuffbox so caressingly in her white 
 fingers ; and strange ideas crossed my brain about 
 night intrigues, and the dangerous seductions of 
 the sex, so that I almost regretted having seen her 
 at all, and seriously hoped that I might never meet 
 her more, it being as much as my peace of mind 
 was worth : when bringing the Ijox to the light,
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 23 
 
 I found inside a small piece of paper neatly folded 
 up, the very look of which put me into a trepi- 
 dation. 
 
 After some musing and fancying before I could 
 make out the meaning of this discovery, I was at 
 length enabled, by the peeping light from a shop 
 window, to read a pencil writing on the paper, as 
 follows : 
 
 " Excuse, Sir, the freedom of a stranger, an un- 
 fortunate female, in taking this mode of addressing 
 you ; but if your offers to serve my husband and 
 myself be sincere, meet me in fifteen minutes after 
 you receive this, or at least, exactly at nine o'clock, 
 at the end of the street next to this wretched jail. 
 Yours, Jemima Farquhar." 
 
 I stood aghast at the bare idea of this assigna- 
 tion, although I would have given any thing to 
 know something of the strange lady's history ; 
 but, in truth, she had impressed my thoughts too 
 strongly already, for any other man's wife to im- 
 press them; I was not at all anxious to fall in 
 love in such a ([uartcr, and had no higher opinion
 
 24 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 of my own virtue than that of other people. But, 
 thought I, " I must be so ready forsooth in offering 
 my services to ladies in prison ; and here I am chal- 
 lenged to meet a pretty woman alone, at the ninth 
 hour of the night !" 
 
 I had not stood five minutes at the darkling 
 corner of the street before a lady wrapped in a 
 cloak came suspiciously up to where I stood, and 
 looked curiously in my face. 
 
 "God bless you. Sir!" she said, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, " for meeting me so readily, and 
 excuse my boldness ; but I have the power of 
 getting my husband liberated from that miserable 
 prison, and must not neglect it, if at all consistent 
 with"— 
 
 "What can I do for you. Madam?" I said, with 
 a haste that indicated considerable suspicion of 
 myself. 
 
 " It is only your protection I want. Sir, in a 
 matter that" — and the lady again hesitated. 
 
 " I hope you will find that you may confide in 
 me," I replied, mustering courage ; " but this is 
 no place to talk. Madam, and it is so wet and un- 
 comfortable. Had riot we better" —
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 25 
 
 " Ha ! do you think a shower of rain, or a blast 
 of wind scares me !" said the lady, with an ener- 
 getic, or rather indignant nobleness of manner. 
 " Does not suspicion dog the steps, and detrac- 
 tion watch every movement of a poor female, in 
 the company of one of that sex from whom she 
 naturally expects counsel and protection? Where 
 should you and I go. Sir, where the very walls 
 would not be on the watch to witness against 
 us : 
 
 " You say true, Madam,'^ I replied, quietly ; 
 but I was not accustomed to such energy of lan- 
 guage and manner as she showed ; and marvelled 
 what she had to say. 
 
 " I had better explain, Sir," she said, after a 
 moment, " the nature of the business on which I 
 would beg your assistance." 
 
 " If you please. Madam," I added ; " but may I 
 be permitted first to make an inquiry regarding 
 the circumstance which led to your marriage with 
 my old acquaintance ? I confess I have some cu- 
 riosity, and" — 
 
 " I see I must explain my inmost feelings, nuist
 
 26 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 expose my bitter error, even to strangers, before I 
 am trusted," she said, half to herself. " Know 
 you. Sir, what a woman's reason may be, for mar- 
 rying the creature she despises?" 
 
 " Alas, Madam !" I said, " a woman usually 
 marries from the power of some present feeling; 
 but reason she seldom has, even for her noblest 
 actions. I have known a woman marry the man 
 she cared not for, merely to vex and torture the 
 man whom yet she loved to distraction." 
 
 " But not without a cause, good Sir," exclaimed 
 the young lady ; " not without a strong reason ; 
 not unless he had vexed her heart, and used her 
 ill, as Ellis did me. Oh my God !" and the female 
 was hardly able to stand, from sudden emotion at 
 my having touched the string of her feelings. 
 
 " Then, Madam," I said compassionately, " with 
 all your claims on admiration, you married the man 
 you never can love, mider the influence of pique, — 
 a pet — ^to avenge a supposed injury, and" — 
 
 " Exactly so. Sir," she said, drawing a heavy 
 sigh ; " but why should I reflect unavailingly upon 
 what cannot be recalled. Farquhar is my husband
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 27 
 
 now; and in short, Sir, the man who threw hini 
 into jail is he who w^as my own early lover, who 
 has had my destiny in his hands ever since I knew 
 him; whom I loved, and yet whom I sometimes 
 almost hated. But I cannot tell you all. Sir ; and 
 it was in consequence of his usage, and in obedi- 
 ence to my father's temporary wish, that I married 
 the low-spirited, sickly — but he is my husband 
 now ; and I have submitted to the degradation of 
 asking that very man, of whom I took revenge, 
 by this ill advised marriage, for poor Farquhar's 
 liberation." 
 
 " Unfortunate girl !" I could not help exclaim- 
 ing, " and you so young, and to be thus situated." 
 
 " This gentleman," she continued, ^* who has 
 my husband thus in his power, is named Ellis. — 
 We had long been designed for each other, and he 
 knew but too well that he had my entire heart: 
 and he became, as I thought, capricious with me, 
 and wilfully tried to vex me, by attentions to others 
 whom I scorned. In short, his conduct was most 
 harassing to my warm feelings, and to my high 
 spirit, for lie played the male coquette to me, dis-
 
 28 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 pleased my father; and then, when I resented this, 
 he was furious, and seemed as if he would have 
 destroyed himself on my account ; yet he was too 
 proud to sue to me and woo me as a woman ex- 
 pects ; and I was too proud to show that I cared 
 for him, and he carried the quarrel with a high 
 hand. Sir, and I could not bear it." 
 
 " But your father, Madam?" I said, deeply af- 
 fected with the pretty young woman's passionate 
 manner. 
 
 " My father," she went on, " is a man who loves 
 money above all things, and he took a fancy to 
 Farquhar, because he thought him like himself, 
 and because he was supple and cringing in his 
 manners. He applied to my father, and made him 
 believe he was wealthy ; and in the height of my 
 quarrel with Mr. Ellis, I took a hasty resolution, 
 and married him, and plunged myself into wretch- 
 edness for life only three days afterwards !" 
 
 " A sad account of yourself, poor girl," I an- 
 swered, shaking my head and sighing, as I con- 
 templated the beauteous face of the young woman, 
 by the dull light of the corner lamp ; " but pray 
 go on."
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 29 
 
 " I am explaining all this very candidly to you, 
 Sir," she continued, " believing you to be a man 
 who knows the world, and who has sense to under- 
 stand my tale. The horror I felt at my own act 
 was almost compensated by the fury and grief of 
 Ellis, whose regret at his own conduct was now un- 
 disguised, and drove him almost to madness. But 
 he has a strange temper, as I said, and when he 
 heard of my husband's partner absconding, and 
 found he had him in his power, he could not resist 
 the temptation of throwing him into jail, merely 
 to degrade, and be revenged on me, while he con- 
 trived to sow discord between my husband and 
 father, that we might both be humbled, — humbled 
 indeed, by poverty and sorrow !" 
 
 "Alas!" said I, "a strange and unfortunate 
 tale." 
 
 " Not so very strange. Sir, I believe, though 
 unfortunate enough," she went on, as if striving 
 against her feelings ; " but I endeavoured to do 
 my duty to my poor dejected husband, and left 
 London to keep him company in that dismal jail ; 
 but confinement and depression began to wear down
 
 30 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 my high spirit, and I solicited EUis to let him out ; 
 but he wrote to me that he must see me : and what 
 do you think were his tyrannical conditions?" 
 
 " Pray tell me/' I said, " I am interested in your 
 tale." 
 
 " You must know, Sir, that the place where I 
 first met him, and where we first became acquainted, 
 was in this very neighbourhood, in a spot, — I 
 dare hardly trust myself to name it, but which 
 now lies shrouded in darkness beneath us ! It 
 was when I was here in Scotland on a visit 
 several years ago, and there we used to walk 
 in the summer nights, and there is a particular 
 tree which stands on the very edge of the winding 
 Forth, where we used to meet ; but I scarce dare 
 venture now even to think of those days !" 
 
 " Let us walk forward. Madam," I said, " for 
 the night is cold ;" and we went on together. 
 
 " Well, Sir, he insists upon seeing me, and at 
 that very tree, and alone, at ten at night, before 
 he will liberate my husband." 
 
 " An extraordinary instance of tyranny and 
 caprice. And will you give him the meeting?"
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 31 
 
 " I must either do it, or he will remain as un- 
 moved as the dead walls of the prison. He first 
 appointed a night last week; and as I took no 
 notice of his capricious wish, he wrote me a note 
 full of bitterness, stating that I had caused him 
 to wait at the spot a full hour alone, and that he 
 was to set off for London in a few days ; and that 
 if I did not consent to meet him to-morrow night, 
 at the same hour, or even later, he would continue 
 mine and my husband's determined enemy, from 
 the way he said I had wronged him." 
 
 "And how. Madam, do you mean to act?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 " I would have met him, perhaps, at first. Sir, 
 for I know his peremptory temper, had I had 
 any respectable person that would have gone with 
 me, and stood aside while I talked to Ellis, as 
 well for my protection, as that I could not, with 
 due respect for my character, meet another, or 
 watch alone for any man at that hour in the 
 night in so strange a place. Now, Sir, as I know 
 it will be useless to refuse him, if you are disposed 
 to bear me company to-morrow niglit, and be an
 
 32 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 unobserved witness of this most trying interview, 
 you will prove yourself a friend to me in my 
 trouble, and be the means of relieving my husband 
 and myself from this miserable jail." 
 
 " And do you wish me to interfere for you with 
 this vengeful man?" I added, doubtingly, for I 
 had little confidence in my own nerves in en- 
 gaging in scenes of passion ; and began to feel 
 much disturbed by the prospect of being inveigled 
 in a night affair with a pretty woman. 
 
 " Certainly not. Sir," she said with animation ; 
 " I only want a protector, and your staid appear- 
 ance and character will but if you have any 
 
 hesitation," she added proudly, " I will meet this 
 man by myself, and even at midnight, if he should 
 take me and drown me in the black waters of 
 the Forth !" 
 
 " You shall not want a protector, young lady !" 
 I said at once; my gallantry, as well as my hu- 
 manity, overcoming every momentary scruple. — 
 " Only say where we shall meet, and I will attend 
 you." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, Sir," she answered ; " I
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 33 
 
 will expect you then to-morrow night, at the 
 proper hour, to be with me at the near end of the 
 walk on the brow of the castle, called the Castle 
 Walk, — Now, Sir, just leave me here," she said, 
 going ; " I will find my own way to my solitary 
 apartment. God bless you again!" — and before 
 I had recovered my surprise, the lady, wrapping 
 her mantle round her, had tripped off down the 
 wet street, and was out of view, while I stood 
 stockstill under a dim lamp, gazing vacantly 
 along the route by which she had disappeared. 
 
 I went home, and up to my chamber in the old- 
 fashioned house of the Laird of Muirdyke, where 
 I was then domiciled ; but I could not sleep a 
 wink the whole of that nig-ht — not a single wink, 
 for thinking of that lady. God help me ! I was 
 always a silly man about female charms, and love, 
 and so forth, and the thoughts of the poor young 
 woman's fate, and of her uncommon beauty, and 
 her high spirit, and of my own fate, in being thus 
 frequently made a go-between in other people's 
 love matters !— I, that had never been successful 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 in any love concern of my own, — were positively 
 exceedingly trying. 
 
 Indeed, as I lay in my bed betwixt sleeping 
 and waking, thinking of the dark eyes and ap- 
 pealing looks of the lady, and of the sad circum- 
 stances of life that so often cause such beauty as 
 hers to be lost, and worse than lost, in this ill- 
 divided world, I began to suspect myself of in- 
 dulging evil thoughts ; and the very wind that 
 whistled among the elm trees round the old house, 
 and rattled on my creaking casement all night, 
 and the rooks, that cawed hoarsely in the rookery 
 near, seemed to accuse me of weakness, and of a 
 secret disposition to break the tenth command- 
 ment.
 
 THE RASH MA RBI AGE. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 The night was dark, the time was lang, 
 
 And lonesome was the spat ; 
 
 And the bonnie lass that sat by me 
 
 She sobbed aye and grat. Scrap Stanzan. 
 
 Well, the next niglit did arrive at length, and 
 away I trudged to my dangerous assignation. The 
 evening, happily, was a perfect contrast to the 
 former; it was quite dry, and solemnly calm : but 
 there was neither moon nor star to be seen ; and 
 the red light of the distant forges of Carron was 
 the only thing that diversified the heavy blackness 
 of the sky above. I got into Stirling, and mounted 
 with a sort of guilty step, to the Castle Walk, 
 where there was not a soul to be seen or heard 
 near. I stood for a time behind the parapet, that 
 surrounded the rock on which I was, and looked 
 down upon the dark waste extending far bencatli 
 me, and in whicli T could not distinguisli an
 
 36 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 object but the deep black lines of the winding 
 Forth, which moved on so deadly silent that I 
 could not hear a single murmur of its waters at 
 the height whereon I was ; and the occasional 
 tread of the pacing sentinel above me was the 
 only sound to break the stillness of the night. 
 
 I had not tarried long until a light step came 
 pattering on in the distance, and a female figure, 
 wrapped in a cloak, was quite near to me before 
 I had discerned her in the darkness. " Heaven 
 bless you. Sir, for this," she said, as she came 
 close; and she took my hand in both hers, and 
 pressed it. I declare the feeling went through 
 me down to my very toes, for the poor young 
 woman seemed ready to throw herself into my 
 very arms from gratitude. I could not say much. 
 I never was free of speech when I found myself 
 affected. I only gave the lady my arm, which 
 she took, I thought, as if she had found a new 
 lover in my grave person ; and away she led me I 
 knew not well whither. 
 
 We descended from the castle without speaking, 
 and she took me by several paths, which she
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 37 
 
 seemed to know in the dark as perfectly as if it 
 had been broad day, to the spot mentioned, by the 
 side of the Forth : and she looked round her with 
 a sort of suspicious dread as we drew near the 
 large knarled tree that she had spoken of, which 
 overhung the bank of the river. " What a strange 
 sensation comes over me, Sir," she said, " on ap- 
 proaching this well known spot. There is a dread 
 I feel here, which is like the dread of guilt; and 
 yet I have been sorely sinned against. Alas, Sir, 
 I am unworthy of your protection," she added, 
 clinging to me. " My high and wilful spirit has 
 been my own ruin ! " 
 
 " Be calm," I said, " and collected, for I hear 
 some one approaching, and I will be at hand as 
 your protector." 
 
 " Oh, Sir," she exclaimed trembling, " I owe 
 you every thing; — let me conjure you, whatever 
 you hear, to say nothing, nor even to show your- 
 self, unless Mr. Ellis actually intend some guilty 
 design, and offer me some violence. Pray conceal 
 yourself behind the tree on the side next the river, 
 and do not move if possible, for Ellis is a fury, 
 and blood will be the consecjuence."
 
 38 THE KASII MA Ft Kl AGE. 
 
 The sound of footsteps soon indicated that some 
 one was quite near. I crept behind the tree, and 
 immediately saw the tall figure of a man approach 
 the trembling Jemima. 
 
 " So — you are there at last," said a low voice, 
 in hollow accents, but, as I thought, in a tone of 
 triumph. " Times are changed with you now, 
 Jemima," he added ; " you were not always wil- 
 ling to be thus complaisant to me. But I knew — I 
 was certain, it would come to this." 
 
 " If you are only come to reproach me, Richard," 
 she said composedly, " I shall return as I came. 
 I have complied with your unreasonable request ; 
 and met you in this solitary spot under the cloud 
 of night, not from the slightest sentiment of hu- 
 mility to you, but for the sake of my unfortunate 
 husband." 
 
 " Well, Jemima ! " 
 
 " What mean you by questions ? Will you still 
 continue to oppress my husband ? or will you 
 show yourself a man, by discharging him from his 
 confinement? " 
 
 " That is not the way that it becomes the wives 
 of imprisoned debtors to address a losing creditor,"
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 39 
 
 was his haughty answer. " I will not be spoke to 
 in this manner, Mrs. Farquhar, even by you !" 
 
 " Have you not already mortified me enough, 
 Mr. Ellis?" she said, almost in tears, at hearing 
 herself called by this name. *' Will you for my 
 sake discharge my husband from that horrid 
 prison, and let me go home ? " 
 
 " It was for your sake I sent him to jail, 
 Jemima." 
 
 " And will you for my sake release him, Ri- 
 chard?" she said, clasping her hands together. 
 
 " Perhaps I may — but not now." 
 
 " Not to-night, after all ! " 
 
 " If I do it not to-night I shall never do it, for 
 I depart by daybreak for London ; and your fine 
 husband may then rot for years within the stone 
 walls of the Castle of Stirling." 
 
 " Heavens ! what do you mean ? But you will 
 do it to-night still. You have not surely brought 
 me here in vain ? A few lines from your pen will 
 release my wretched husband." 
 
 " There is no light from Heaven at present to 
 write by, Jemima; nor are there tables at hand on
 
 40 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 the cold bank of the Forth for penning letters to 
 the jailor of Stirling," he replied, with a scornful 
 and almost ruffianly disregard of the young lady's 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Then why did you not bring it with you?'* 
 she replied, patiently. " Have I not yet been suf- 
 ficiently tortured by you ? " 
 
 " No!" he exclaimed, with an expression that 
 was almost ferocious. " No ! you will never suf- 
 fer, wild, untamable girl, half the torture that you 
 have made me feel ! Is not my rising up and 
 lying down, my very morning and evening out- 
 going and incoming a torture to me on your 
 account ? to think that you — ah, but you are 
 yourself suffering for it now, Jemima ; now you 
 are made to feel ! " 
 
 " But did you bring me here at this dark hour," 
 she replied, " only to mock me, without bringing 
 my husband's discharge ? Is your vengeance of so 
 low a species, Richard Ellis ?" 
 
 " How did I know>" said he, " that you would 
 not have mocked me yourself, as you did at the 
 former appointment, by failing to meet me ? And
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 41 
 
 why should I then be so forward with a ready- 
 made discharge for the wretch you call your hus- 
 band, when you might not have even condescended 
 to accept it?" 
 
 " Oh, Richard !'* she said weeping, " you have 
 made sad use of the power you have had over me : 
 but write me my husband's release, and I will 
 follow you where you can." — 
 
 *^ You shall not ! " he interrupted, " here only 
 I will meet you, and here alone will I enter into 
 any compromise. Wait here until I bring it to 
 you, or let the caitiff remain a year longer in Stir- 
 ling Castle." 
 
 " You would not have me linger here till mid- 
 night, Richard ! Surely you may be satisfied 
 without that." 
 
 " I shall never be satisfied on earth ! Jemima, 
 while you are satisfied to remain as you are — to 
 sleep in the arms of that yellow, sickly — Oh God !" 
 and he stamped with the bitterness of the thought. 
 " Will you wait until I return again, and I pro- 
 mise to bring you a written paper in my pocket in 
 reference to Farquhar?"
 
 42 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 " I will wait, Richard !" she exclaimed, " I will 
 wait on this cold bank until morning, if that will 
 satisfy you." 
 
 " You shall not have to wait long. Ah ! had 
 you always been thus yielding, Jemima," he said, 
 with a stifled tenderness — '^ but let me not think 
 of the past. Farewell now, I will return anon ;" 
 and having said this, he turned off along the bank 
 towards the town, and was soon lost in the utter 
 darkness of the night. 
 
 I crept out from my hiding place, and received 
 many thanks for my protecting kindness from the 
 still agitated girl. " And now. Sir," she said, " I 
 may have a whole hour to linger here, you had 
 better not tarry, as I think, after all, Mr. Ellis's 
 intentions are at least not to injure me." 
 
 I protested at once against any such desertion, 
 and making a place for her on the dry sod of the 
 bank, I persuaded her to be seated, and sat myself 
 down close by her side. 
 
 A whole hour wore away while she sat by me 
 with good heart; but she spoke little, nor did I 
 encourage her to talk, for in truth 1 was jealous
 
 THE RASH MAUKIAGE. 43 
 
 over myself with a prudent jealousy, and felt the 
 exceeding precariousness of the command I had 
 over my heart and feeling in my present most 
 interesting situation. Eleven o'clock was told by 
 the castle and church bells of Stirling, their chimes 
 had rung out, and as it drew near to the midnight 
 hour, my anxious companion strained her eyes 
 looking down the river and towards the town, and 
 up to the dim lights on the Castle wall, and then 
 she turned to look up in my face, with a prognos- 
 ticating yet silent apprehension. 
 
 Twelve o'clock was told and echoed from the 
 rocks of the old Castle of Stirling. The guard 
 was changed on the battlements as we watched, 
 and still no step was heard nor sound, but the 
 occasional challenge of the sentinel on the outer 
 battlements, to the last stragglers who passed or 
 sought entrance; or at times we could hear the 
 distant roar of the forge blasts of the great foundery 
 of Carron, the light from whose furnaces glared, 
 even at this distance, upon the black sky over us. 
 
 The anxiety of the poor female by my side became 
 now of a more nervous character, and partaking
 
 44 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 more of the excitement of apprehensive impatience 
 than I could have anticipated. Her wonted spirit 
 seemed to desert her, as she looked round where we 
 sat, in the solemnity of midnight, and began to re- 
 flect that she could not now with decency seek her 
 lodgings in Stirling after this late hour, and was 
 likely to be left in the fields all night. She en- 
 treated me to go home, and leave her to her fate — 
 she thanked me with tears in her eyes, because I 
 would on no account desert her — in her gratitude 
 she pressed my hand between her soft fingers until 
 the effect thrilled through me; and, after an ex- 
 clamation or two of agony, as she looked round her 
 again and then towards me, and contrasted, with a 
 sort of astonishment, her past hopes and her pre- 
 sent situation, she was unable longer to command 
 her feminine feelings, and laid down her head upon 
 her knees and burst into bitter sorrow. 
 
 She begged me to excuse her weakness, as she 
 sat wringing her hands and weeping, while she 
 looked abstractedly down into the dark waters 
 rolling at our feet, and thought, no doubt, of her 
 early days, and father's house in England, and the
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 45 
 
 sad and ruined condition in which she was left on 
 this trying occasion, sitting with a stranger at the 
 dead hour of the night in the open fields, the wife 
 of a poor debtor in Stirling jail, and waiting on 
 the will of a man, whose capricious abuse of her 
 undisguised love had driven her into this state of 
 wedded despair. 
 
 But nature and youthful need at length pre- 
 vailed over rankling sorrow ; for as she sat musing 
 over her griefs, and listening to the chime of the 
 distant bells of the town, and sometimes watching 
 the gleam of the Carron furnaces on the sky, she 
 rocked herself into a state of drowsy inanition: 
 the chill air and the exhaustion of her sorrow 
 completely overcame her ; her apologetic lamenta- 
 tion for me, who thus voluntarily protected her, 
 and the voice of her murmuring griefs died gra- 
 dually away ; until, with the passiveness of a female 
 leaning upon woman's natural protector, and the 
 docility of a child, she suffered me to assist her 
 sinking head, as she willingly allowed it to drop 
 on the soft bank, and giving a sigh of nature^s 
 weariness, and tlie regardlessness of grief, she
 
 46 THE RASM MARRIAGE. 
 
 stretched herself along on the sod, and sunk into 
 a profound and murmuring sleep. 
 
 There was something in my situation at this 
 cold hour of midnight, as I sat beside the sleeping 
 young female on the bank of the Forth, that 
 startled myself to think of, and that was perfectly 
 new to my experience ; for in all the incidents that 
 my wanderings had afforded me, I had always 
 been a man of staid gravity, and of habits of such 
 perfect regularity, that no one thought of imputing 
 to me the smallest deviation from the straight path, 
 or taxing me with any thing that had the most 
 distant appearance of evil ; and yet here was 
 I, not only staying out of my home all night, but 
 passing it in the fields along with a young woman, 
 that was a perfect temptation to think of. What 
 would my kind host at Muirdyke, and all my 
 sober friends, far and near, think of a man of my 
 character being so found ? and my sister Margery, 
 my friend's prim visitor, who was probably at this 
 moment sitting up for me, mustering all my former 
 faults and eccentricities to exasperate herself in 
 her impatience, and carefully staving off sleep, and
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 47 
 
 nursing her wrath to keep it up to scolding heat ? 
 and how should I face her again in broad day- 
 light after such an affair as this ? 
 
 ' A goodly woman is my sister Margery,' I said 
 to myself, as I sat ruminating with a guilty feeling 
 upon my present suspicious predicament, ' and 
 hates all manner of carnal iniquity ; and a maiden 
 she is, God knows ! and my very look will betray 
 me to her :' and as I thus mused, my eyes also 
 began to close, and my senses to conglomerate in 
 midnip^ht drowsiness : the shadows of darkness 
 compassed me about, and the grey eyes of my 
 sister Margery seemed to glare reproachingly upon 
 me ; and I thought, or dreamed of midnight ruf- 
 fians treading stealthily around ; and they seemed 
 about to seize me by the throat, and I started 
 from my stupor in chill and guilty uneasiness. 
 
 But when I thought of my poor unprotected 
 sleeper by my side, and of the serious griefs which 
 made this moment's repose perhaps a precious 
 respite for her, I felt ashamed that I should enter- 
 tain any selfish misgivings about the opinion of 
 others, while I watched her in this hour of trial
 
 48 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 and desertion. I laid my ear near to her mouth, 
 and Hstened to her deep and heavy breathing, and 
 recollected that she had a father who owned her, 
 and a mother who had reared her on her knees ; 
 and who little thought that their regarded daugh- 
 ter was now sleeping on the cold earth, by the 
 banks of the Forth. I adjusted, carefully, her 
 cloak over her limbs as she drew them up in her 
 sleep from the cold ; and if an evil thought came 
 into my head, the distant flame of the great 
 foundery of Carron seemed to shoot fearfully 
 upwards and along the sky ; and then I looked up 
 above and saw the heavens red and threatenino^ 
 over me ! but anon, the red glare passed away, 
 and so did my foolish thoughts: and then the 
 music bells of Stirling Church would strike their 
 hourly peal, and came chiming over my ear from 
 the town, breaking the stillness of midnight with 
 their solemn tinkle ; and the notes of the evening 
 hymn which they rang seemed to speak forgive- 
 ness and good-will to poor me, as I sat watching 
 in the field in the night; and was like the sym- 
 phony from on high, which was heard of old by 
 the shepherds of Bethlehem !
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 49 
 
 Then I forgave myself, and my grief-sunk com- 
 panion; and considered that Providence, which 
 watches over the evil and the unthankful, was 
 surely w^atching over us both on this night of dis- 
 appointment : and thus the dull hours passed away, 
 and still no foot was heard, nor was there any ap- 
 pearance of the strange man who had caused all 
 this weary watching. I was able to resist sleep 
 henceforward, until I observed the doubtful shade 
 of a new day beginning to change a little the dark 
 sky, and to streak the black horizon eastward ; 
 and slowly the light spread upwards and around, 
 until nature came out by degrees over the exten- 
 sive plain in my front. The turrets of Stirling 
 Castle began to appear by the grey light; and 
 now the surface of the Forth at my feet reeked 
 fantastic clouds of hovering mist, taken up by the 
 cold air of the morning. 
 
 An uneasy shuddering seemed now to disturb 
 the rest of my fair sleeper; she gave a start on 
 looking up, but was evidently bewildered for an 
 instant, and knew not where she was. As her 
 recollection returned, and the circumstances of the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 previous night were gradually recalled, she seemed 
 astonished at herself and me ; and, staring on me 
 for a moment, exclaimed, " Good heaven ! are you 
 still here, my friend ? and have I really been 
 asleep ? and is this the daylight breaking upon us ? 
 — is there still no appearance of Richard Ellis ?" 
 
 I begged of her to be calm, and to thank Heaven 
 for her refreshing slumber; but I could scarcely 
 either get her pacified, when she thought of her 
 strange situation, thus out all night, or to cease 
 her acknowledgments to me, and her entreaties 
 that I would leave her and go to my own home. 
 While we were thus talking I thought I heard the 
 noise of a vehicle moving on the distant road, and 
 turning round, perceived, through the dim day- 
 break, a carriage proceeding towards the country, 
 and in a direction to where we stood. Jemima 
 had risen up, and now stood watching the desti- 
 nation of the carriage with breathless anxiety. It 
 soon stopped, and presently a man stepped out, 
 and entered the path which led to the side of the 
 Forth where we were. I again went behind the 
 tree to watch what would be the result of this
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 51 
 
 second interview, and shortly saw the man draw 
 near. 
 
 " Heavens, Jemima ! are you still here ?" he 
 exclaimed. " Forgive me for this ! forgive me, I 
 entreat you ! for, indeed, I did not mean you this 
 dreadful humiliation. My God ! you shiver with 
 the cold, and your teeth chatter. Oh ! were you 
 not another's !" and he offered to throw his ann 
 around her. 
 
 " Stand from me. Sir 1" she said, starting from 
 his grasp ; ^' you are no longer my lover, nor were 
 you surely ever my friend ; although I am now in 
 your power, as the lamb may be in the power of 
 the vulture, I can suffer your barbarity to the ut- 
 most, but shall never suffer again your insidious 
 kindness. Bring you my husband's release at 
 last?" 
 
 " Yes, Jemima, I do, and I deserve perhaps your 
 cruel language; here it is;" and he took from his 
 pocket a paper. 
 
 "Then give it me, Richard!" she exclaimed; 
 " give it me quickly, and let me go ! How could 
 you inflict upon me this last cruelty ?" 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 " That is what I meant to explain to you," he 
 said. "I could not in the whole neighbourhood get 
 a carriage out until this hour. I go off this morn- 
 ing to London : — I cannot go without speaking to 
 you once more. Jemima, answer me one question ; 
 are you not sorry for what you have done ?" 
 
 " What mean you, Mr. Ellis ? How can you 
 look at me, after having brought me to this, with- 
 out feeling sorrow for what you have done ? and 
 yet"— 
 
 " I did not mean to have driven you to any 
 thing," he replied, his tone changing into one of 
 penitent entreaty. " I never meant more than 
 mere thoughtless folly : but as it is, how can I 
 but be sorry for being the innocent cause of your 
 having thrown yourself away as you have done ? 
 I would not now speak of your unreasonable anger 
 against me, and your infatuated rashness ; — but in 
 so far as / was the cause of your unhappy mar- 
 riage, I am sorry — sorry for the offence I gave 
 you ; and now, Jemima, implore — yes, I implore 
 that you will yet think of me with something like 
 forgiveness."
 
 THE RASH MARRIACJ1-. 53 
 
 She said nothing, but stood firmly looking in 
 his face. 
 
 " Jemima," he went on, " you may be one of 
 those perfect beings who have no folly to confess, 
 nor frailty to deplore, but I am none such. My 
 feelings, I know, are often the enemies of my own 
 happiness, but I never intended they should inflict 
 sorrow on you. Are you insensible to what I say, 
 as well as to my forgiving and discharging your 
 husband after all I have lost by him?" 
 
 " No, I am not insensible, Richard," she said ; 
 " it is not in my nature to be insensible, particu- 
 larly to kindness." 
 
 " And much as you blame me," he went on, 
 are you not sensible, Jemima, of having sometimes 
 yourself tried my temper, and the strength of my 
 early regard for you ?" 
 
 " Yes ! I am quite sensible," "she replied, with 
 the energy of unsuppressable emotion ; ** and I too 
 am sorry, sorry for what has happened ; and I 
 will confess my faults too ; — and I forgive you, 
 Richard, since you speak thus at last. Alas I am 
 I not a lost unhappy girl ^"
 
 54 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Had I known that you would have taken 
 what I said, and my thoughtless trial of your 
 feelings, in the serious manner you did, Jemima, — 
 there is my hand, I would have cut it off rather 
 than have vexed you." 
 
 " Go away, Richard ! " she exclaimed ; " give 
 me the paper and go away." 
 
 " There is the paper, take it : now, I wish you 
 happy, Jemima." 
 
 " Why do you speak thus ? " she said, in great 
 agitation. " Why do you not reproach me ?" 
 
 " I cannot reproach you, Jemima ! " he said, 
 with choking voice, " I must reproach myself. I 
 have trifled with your high spirit ; I know it, and 
 am sorry for it. I ask your forgiveness before I go, 
 for this may be the last time I may ever meet you." 
 
 " Oh! Richard Ellis!" she screamed in an 
 agony of thought, and burst into weeping. 
 
 She leaned upon his arm for a while, and all a 
 woman's feelings seemed to overcome her, as, 
 without the slightest freedom, they both seemed 
 to be supporting each other, as they wept for a 
 brief space together.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 55 
 
 ** Bid me farewell then kindly, Jemima," he 
 said, pressing her as she hung passively upon 
 him. 
 
 " Farewell, Richard," she said, offering her 
 hand ; " I am a ruined girl ; I have wedded myself 
 to imbecility and poverty ; but you were my first 
 love, and your kind expressions at the last will be 
 my consolation as I wander, a poor woman, about 
 the world." 
 
 " Poverty ! ha ! I had forgotten that — that least 
 pitied of all miseries ; and what I meant to leave 
 you now, as a last favour — use that for my sake, 
 Jemima;" and he thrust a roll of bank notes into 
 her hand. 
 
 She took the roll of cash, and seemed to ex- 
 amine it energetically for a moment, and then she 
 looked at him with a countenance whose very 
 glare of calmness shocked me, from the expression 
 which swelled in her beautiful face, as she merely 
 said, *' Nay then, Richard, money in need is a 
 real test of friendship : " and looking wildly up to 
 Heaven, as if in thankfulness, she dropped and fell 
 like one dead on the dewy sod.
 
 56 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 I was standing all this time behind the tree, 
 but I was not two yards from them ; and I never 
 had seen any thing so fearful as this — for the 
 distracted female sank down, and lay like a stone 
 statue on the grass, while the young man, now also 
 completely overcome, stood confusedly weeping 
 over her like an infant. I saw him run for water 
 to the river below, and lave it upon her face. I 
 saw him raise her up and kiss her lips, as sensi- 
 bility began to return ; and I felt, as I looked at 
 this sacrilege, as if I had witnessed a rebel angel 
 plucking the flowers of Paradise. 
 
 From this time forward, however, I cannot 
 describe the words they used, and the many sad 
 farewells they said, and their bitter allusions to 
 her unhappy marriage, and their reiterated inter- 
 change of forgiveness, and his hesitation about 
 saying something which seemed to be on his lips, 
 until at last they parted. 
 
 I saw him also run from her, at length, as one 
 does from his weakness and his temptation. I 
 watched him as he made his way across the field, 
 with his handkerchief to his eyes. I heard her
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 57 
 
 sobbing, as she sat beside the tree, on the bank, 
 at my feet ; and I wondered at the power of deep 
 grounded affection, and almost rejoiced over the 
 strength of human virtue ; — for I feared they were 
 about to have agreed to run off together ; and ac- 
 tually surmised that he had brought the carriage for 
 that purpose, but had not the resolution to destroy 
 the revived favourable impression he had made on 
 her he loved so deeply, by making at the moment 
 such a proposal.
 
 58 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Come pack up your wallets and gae, gudeman, 
 Come pack up your walleis and gae ; 
 For ye've lost your fair name, an' ye've anger'd your joe, 
 And ilka ane's turn'd to your fae, gudeman, 
 Oh ! ilka ane's turn'd to your fae. 
 
 Scrap Stanzas. 
 
 The morning was now brightening up, and the 
 early sun, peeping above the horizon at the edge 
 of the far off plain, gleamed pleasantly across the 
 rich carse of Stirling, and gilded with beauty the 
 irregular battlements of the Castre, as I braced up 
 my own awakened feelings, and at length came out 
 from behind the tree, to assist my weeping friend, 
 who still sat sorrowing on the grass near. 
 
 She did not speak a single word as I came 
 forth, and, with a sort of parental freedom, assisted 
 her to her feet: but having dried her tears, and 
 looking at me as if she could have embraced me,
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 59 
 
 in her gratitude, she put her arm within mine, 
 and we proceeded slowly up the path together. 
 
 " I did not think, Madam," said I, first breaking 
 silence, " that after the ill you were pleased to say 
 of this young man, who has played you so impu- 
 dent a trick as to keep you out in the cold all 
 night, you would have cried so much about him. 
 But, truly, the women are strange little people, as 
 I have experienced," I added; solving my own 
 difficulty, and looking in the bewiped face of my 
 companion. 
 
 "Ah, Sir, it was all my own fault !" she replied; 
 " I was too tyrannical over Ellis, in my confidence, 
 and too proud and resentful of a supposed injury. 
 But had he said one word of kindness to me, as 
 he has done this morning, I would have suffered 
 any thing for him. But now I have sold myself 
 for life, and I shall die brokenhearted. That will 
 be the issue of this misery." 
 
 " Do not speak of such a thing, young lady," 
 I said, looking down in her sad countenance ; for 
 I felt a thousand painful thoughts shooting through 
 me about her; but hearing a foot near at the
 
 60 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 moment, I looked round, and saw a face that I 
 knew, staring straight at me and my companion. 
 
 " Here's a fine morning, Mr. Balgownie ; " said 
 a man, whom I perceived at my very side, pacing 
 across the wet grass of the field. 
 
 " Fine morning, John," I answered aloud ; " I 
 wish the devil had sent you any other way, how- 
 ever," I thought within myself, as I perceived the 
 cunning look on the man's countenance, and saw 
 in an instant the use that he might make of this 
 fine discovery. 
 
 The lady and myself soon got out upon the 
 turnpike road to Stirling, however ; and as I 
 hastened forward with her on my arm, I found 
 that this little incident of the man had somewhat 
 discomposed me. We had got forward on the road, 
 almost under the walls of the castle, when a cart 
 came forward, and I next heard a voice, almost at 
 my side, say, with Scotch freedom of manner, 
 
 " A pleasant morning this, Mr. Balgownie; ye're 
 €arly astir, Sir." 
 
 " The morning is a sweet morning enough," I 
 said, looking as sour as vinegar at the man, who 
 was walking briskly beside his cart.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 61 
 
 " It 'ill be rather cauld for ladies though, I think," 
 answered the impudent fellow, leering knowingly 
 at my modest companion. 
 
 I made no answer to this impertinence, but by 
 a look of as much wickedness as I could muster. 
 
 " Maybe she would like a bit ride on my cart," 
 said the persevering man, with anxious curiosity 
 to get a look of the young lady's face : " I'm just 
 driving up by Muirdyke, an' there's a bit place at 
 the front, where she can sit perfectly comfortable." 
 
 ^' I thank you, Robin," said I, trying the effect 
 of fair talk, '^ we are not going to Muirdyke just 
 at present." 
 
 " Ye're no gaun to Muirdyke? then ye'U be 
 for staying in the town wi' the lady, Mr. Balgow- 
 nie. A gude morning to you, Sir ;" and touching 
 his broad bonnet, the man set off after his cart 
 with particular gaiety, as conscious of having got 
 possession of a most interesting piece of scandal, 
 wherewithal to entertain his neighbours at my ex- 
 pense. 
 
 " These Scotch people make very free with one," 
 said my companion, seeming to feel relieved us the 
 man left us.
 
 6^ THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Rather deficient in breeding as yet, I confess," 
 I answered ; beginning to feel actually alarmed for 
 my character, which I foresaw would be utterly 
 blown in the whole neighbourhood, from this 
 morning forward. 
 
 I may not be particular upon the subsidiary dif- 
 ficulties of this strange business of mine with the 
 prisoner's wife, nor in regard to the trouble I had 
 in disposing of her at this early hour, consistent 
 with her delicacy and my character, which was 
 now in the most imminent j eopardy . She could not 
 get into the house wherein she had taken lodgings 
 for three hours to come ; and as for the respectable 
 inns and places of public accommodation, their 
 people were all still buried in sleep, so that there 
 was no house to be found where we could, with 
 decency, put in our heads. 
 
 Add to this, my poor companion was, by the 
 time we got into Stirling, more faint and exhausted 
 than ever ; sorrow and watching, and the cold air, 
 and the reflections that oppressed her, made some 
 refreshment and proper rest absolutely necessary 
 to preserve her from fainting in the street : and as
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 63 
 
 for my own situation, to say the truth, I felt myself 
 in a poor state of body. The morning air had got 
 completely into my stomach : I never in all my 
 life felt more in need of a small modicum of Scot- 
 land's peculiar stimulant ; and besides, I was, as I 
 said, considerably troubled in mind, in regard to 
 considerations of my character, which had never 
 before got such a blow as this. 
 
 But necessity, I thought, has no law ; and being- 
 acquainted with a decent woman in Stirling, whose 
 late husband (for she was a widow) had been a. 
 dominie, like myself, though in a less topping way, 
 and who kept a small public house for the soberer 
 sort of elderly men of the town, I was fain to knock 
 her up, in order to obtain from her some refreshment 
 for myself and my interesting charge. Although 
 Mrs. Bogue was a known early riser, I found some 
 difficulty in rousing her up from her bed so early ; 
 but, knowing my voice, we heard her at length 
 shout to a sleepy-headed servant girl, and next 
 the wooden bolts of several doors began to be 
 drawn, and we were forthwith admitted into an 
 inner apartment.
 
 64 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 The morning fire was soon stirred up; and I 
 sat, with my drooping female at my side, resisting 
 manfully the side-looks and sly inquiries of Widow 
 Bogue and her drowsy servant, while she brought 
 us sundry little matters that I ordered : and I soon 
 had the satisfaction to perceive the colour return 
 to the youthful cheek of my beauteous companion; 
 and, as our hearts began to feel returning comfort, 
 I cannot say but that the expressive gratitude to 
 me, that beamed in her dark eye, and her heartfelt 
 and childlike acknowledgments gave me sincere 
 pleasure. Having, after a time, given the best 
 explanation I was able to the widow, of my morn- 
 ing's adventure, I left Mrs. Farquhar in her present 
 charge, and in the course of a little space proceeded 
 home to my own quarters, at the old mansion of 
 Muirdyke. But a sore business this affair turned 
 out to me, as I have yet to relate. 
 
 When I arrived at Muirdyke House I slipped 
 myself in by a side door, which was used by all on 
 occasions of no ceremony, and was pleased to find 
 no one stirring but one maid servant, who was just 
 opening the window-shutters, and yawning her-
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 65 
 
 self into a properly wakerife state. I accosted the 
 lass with a compromising civility, and desiring her 
 to assist me to disburthen myself of my Bavaurie, 
 and my leggings and shoes, I got quietly off, and 
 slipping up stairs, had two good hours' rest before 
 the time for breakfast. 
 
 It is in vain to talk of the steady look, and un- 
 daunted face of innocence, after what I experienced 
 this morning ; for when I came down to breakfast 
 (being determined not to look guilty, by hanging 
 back), and found already assembled my stiff sister 
 Margery, and the sleek Laird of Muirdyke, and 
 the prim, pious Lady Muirdyke, and gaunt Muir- 
 dyke the younger, and the two long, lean, ever- 
 lasting misses, Muirdyke's immovable daughters; 
 and perceived the meaning looks of the whole at 
 me and at each other as I entered the room; I 
 declare I not only looked, but felt,' as consciously 
 guilty as ever did the bad woman in the Scripture 
 picture, which instructively graced the walls of 
 Muirdyke's parlour. 
 
 I had made my civilest salute, and taken a 
 chair, and helped myself to an egg, and an empty 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 plate, before a single word was spoken. At length 
 the Laird himself addressing me with a sarcastic 
 gravity, said — 
 
 " Ahem ! Good morning, Mr. Balgownie ; we 
 were na' expecting the pleasure o' your company 
 to breakfast." 
 
 " Why not. Laird ?" I said demurely, " although 
 I am a little late, you'll find I'll eat as hearty a 
 breakfast as any present." 
 
 " No doubt, Sir," he replied primly ; " if — but 
 what sort o' weather had ye beyont the town before 
 daylight this morning, Dominie?" 
 
 " Beyond the town, Laird ?" I repeated, looking 
 confusedly across. 
 
 " Yes," said he, "just tell the ladies, Mr. Bal- 
 gownie, what sort o' a morning ye had beyond the 
 castle about three or four, for we hear that ye 
 were seen wandering about towards the links when 
 ither folk were in their beds. Dinna be offended 
 wi' me. Dominie, for a ceevil question, for ye see 
 folk that can stay out o' house and hame all night 
 are liable to a little back-speering in the morning." 
 
 " Oh Gavin, Gavin ! I'm burning wi' shame
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 67 
 
 about you," screamed my sister Margery, in a 
 wailing tone, and sorrowfully shaking her head. 
 
 " But the lady. Dominie V said the eldest of 
 the maiden daughters, " we're informed that ye 
 were seen wi' a lady. Now at that hour in the 
 morning ; really, Mr. Balgownie, it looks so. — " 
 
 " Gavin, hae ye no a word to say for yoursel?" 
 exclaimed my sister Margery, almost bursting with 
 vexation. " If ye're so lost to all decency, as to 
 stay out the whole night blackguarding about a 
 town, can ye no confess, an gie some account o* 
 yourself to the Laird, for my character's sake, at 
 least?" 
 
 " Whisht, whisht. Miss Balgownie !" said Lady 
 Muirdyke, " dinna put yoursel into a state, until 
 ye hear. I canna think that a douce man, like 
 the Dominie, would be guilty of sic wickedness: 
 an' after all, we read in the word that the best o' 
 men hae had their slips an' their swervings.*' 
 
 " Slips, Lady!" interrupted Margery, " will ye 
 really take the part o' a man that can be seen 
 openly wi' a woman on the Links o' Forth, at 
 gray daylight in the morning, an' staying out all
 
 68 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 night in a blackguard hole like Stirling ? Didna 
 Johnny MThun see him wi' his een, and the 
 woman hanging on the left wing o' him? An' 
 didna Jean Jaap, the lass that helped him off wi* 
 his Bavaurie an' his leggings, tell me that his very- 
 apparel, when he came in frae his night warks, 
 was in a state no to be spoken about ? Oh Gavin 
 Balgownie ! Gavin Balgownie !" she went on, 
 howling herself into dry tears, as she shook her 
 head in my face, " Til never be able to look over 
 my own door after such a trial as this." 
 
 " Have you nothing to say at all. Dominie, at 
 least for the character of my house?" said the 
 Laird himself, while all the women were occupied 
 in administering to the vapours of my distressed 
 sister. " I assure you. Sir, the fact of your being 
 out all night, and the reports that have been 
 brought up to my very door about you, are of a 
 nature to make me imagine you were a most 
 rampajeous man," but he gave a chuckling leer, 
 which showed he only kept up the scene for his 
 own diversion. 
 
 " My own conscience. Laird," said I solemnly,
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 69 
 
 emboldened by his jocular manner, " acquits me 
 of any actual transgression in this matter." 
 
 This last asseveration of mine seemed to have 
 made some additional impression on the placable 
 and considerate Laird; and I was beginning to 
 hope that this storm would blow over. At least I 
 was comforted to find that the distressing congre- 
 gation of accusations of the morning had not been 
 made before Miss Barbara, (Muirdyke's second 
 daughter), who was luckily absent from this un- 
 fortunate breakfast, for there had long been a 
 matter of marriage pending between Miss Barbara 
 and me; not that I was at all anxious to marry 
 her, but she made no secret of being particularly 
 anxious to be married to me. Now having a 
 spirit in me that was rather cowardly to women's 
 tongues, and Miss Babby being a woman of great 
 readiness of speech, to say the truth, I dreaded 
 her worst of all. 
 
 This flattering congratulation had scarcely passed 
 through my head, and scarcely had my sister been 
 set up again, and a show of calm restored, when 
 the door opened and in walked Miss Babby, to my
 
 70 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 great consternation, for I saw by a glance at her 
 face, that she was to be the worst of all upon me. 
 
 "What is the matter now, Babby," inquired 
 the Laird, observing her swollen face, and her 
 look of determined passion, that would have made 
 a very hyena tremble. 
 
 " The matter, father ! the matter?" she shouted, 
 " are ye asking the matter at me ; and that brazen 
 man sitting at your own table ? Oh ! Miss Bal- 
 gownie ! Miss Balgownie !" she exclaimed, going 
 up to my sister, " I am sorry for you ! sorry for 
 you, more than for myself! And what do ye 
 think I have heard in addition to all that has 
 been told us by Johnny M^Phun. I went down 
 to the town on my ain twa legs to get at the 
 bottom o' this disgraceful business : and what do 
 ye think I heard V 
 
 " PU believe ony thing, — ony thing whatever 
 against him," whimpered my sister ; "he^s brought 
 me to scandal and disgrace, that I canna look up. 
 Oh ! Miss Babby, Miss Babby !" she added, with 
 tears of commiseration, " ye ha^e had a narrow 
 escape."
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 71 
 
 " But ril not tell, you ladies," added Barbara, 
 clenching her fist, " Pll bring it out of the vile 
 man's own mouth !" and she stood over me like a 
 fury. 
 
 " Now, Gavin Balgownie V* she croaked, after 
 an awful pause, "just look in my face and tell me 
 if ye werna drinking this morning before five 
 o'clock, in Luckie Bogue's Change House, wi' a 
 woman ; ay ! wi' a ivoman, Mr. Balgownie ! an- 
 swer me I say, before my father and mother !" 
 
 " I was !" said I quietly, and nodding my head, 
 " I was, j ust as you say." 
 
 "Oh ! ooh ! hoo !" they all screamed round. 
 
 " With a young woman," continued my en- 
 raged examiner, " that has been seen sneaking out 
 and in about the prisoners and sodgers in the 
 castle!" 
 
 "Yes!" said I, "just so." 
 
 " Hoo ! hoo !" they all screamed : " wha would 
 think that a man o' your character would ever 
 hae been guilty of such gross debauchery !" 
 
 "The whole town is ringing wi't!" exclaimed 
 Miss Barbara, in continuation ; " and he knocked
 
 72 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 up Luckie Bogue out o' her bed, wi' the limmer 
 cleeked in his arm. Oh ! what an escape I hae 
 had. — Whoo! hee! whee!" and she screamed her- 
 self into a faint or a fit, and kicked and sprawled 
 in a manner that would have moved any feeling 
 but pity; while all the other women crowded 
 round, and deepened the pathos of the scene. 
 
 "Is this really true. Dominie?" said the Laird 
 pretending seriousness, when the confusion had a 
 little subsided, " I see plainly that this stramash 
 and sculduddery business will end in nothing less 
 than your standing on the cutty stool with a 
 white sheet round you. I only want to know, 
 Dominie, if you confess to these facts ?" 
 
 " I do confess them !" said I boldly. 
 
 " He's lost to all shame !" said my sister Mar- 
 gery ; " Fm sorry for you, Babby ; sorry for you 
 
 all r 
 
 " That's just enough ! he has said quite plen- 
 ty ;" said the prim lady Muirdyke, taking up her 
 voluminous gown and preparing to go. 
 
 " I would not have believed it, if I had not 
 heard it from your own mouth," said the Laird,
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 73 
 
 ready to burst out into laughter, in spite of his 
 assumed seriousness ; but thinking it best for the 
 present to give way to the storm, he, with a wink 
 of his eye to me, sHpped out of the room. 
 
 During this latter period I was arranging in my 
 own mind a minute explanation and defence, and 
 waiting with my right hand uplifted to begin at 
 the first instant of pause, expecting the Laird to 
 take my part, when just as I was about to com- 
 mence, the clamour having ceased, I lifted up my 
 eyes, and perceived that every one of the family, 
 my sister Margery and all, had disappeared, hav- 
 ing successively walked out, and left me standing 
 alone in the middle of the apartment. 
 
 A few moments' consideration served to show 
 me that it is vain for innocence itself to contend 
 against the clamour of popular opinion and wo- 
 men's tongues ; and finding that my character was 
 broken and blasted in this whole neighbourhood, I 
 stepped upstairs to my chamber, packed up the 
 little et ceteras of my travelling wallet, and with 
 certain heavy thoughts about the pretty woman, 
 with whom I had literally passed the previous
 
 74 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 night, and about the injustice of the contempora- 
 neous world, I turned my back on Stirling, and 
 took my departure for my own home in the West 
 country.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGK. 75 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ah ! just let me die, on the bed where I lie. 
 For the green buds of Spring I'll ne'er see : 
 And bury me deep on some bonnie grassy spot. 
 Where the sun lingers long on the lee. 
 
 Scrap Stanza$. 
 
 It has been my fortune on several occasions to be 
 falsely accused by the world, and to receive for a 
 time an unjust judgment upon my conduct; in 
 particular regarding my transactions with that 
 sex, with which, notwithstanding it has never 
 been my lot to form any binding connexion. — 
 These scandalous rumours and detrimental judg- 
 ments have often given me sore vexation; espe- 
 cially when they were adopted by men whose 
 good opinion I somewhat coveted; but knowing 
 from experience that the world's opinion is often 
 as hastily taken up as it is liable to mutation and
 
 76 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 contrariety, I learned to act upon the principle, 
 so beautifully expressed in the exhortations of 
 holy writ, that is, " by patient continuance in well 
 doing," to put slowly to silence those ignorant 
 misunderstandings which it was neither conve- 
 nient nor dignified for me verbally to contradict. 
 
 Thus it was with the first unfortunate conse- 
 quences of my affair with the pretty debtor's wife; 
 and indeed my sister Margery herself seemed al- 
 most disappointed, that I followed on in my usual 
 quiet and regular habits, and did not fall away at 
 once into a course of debauchery and abomina- 
 tion. Long before a year had passed away, there- 
 fore, the whole affair seemed to have fallen into 
 total discredit, and I was regarded as the same 
 moral, discreet man as ever : and still I had heard 
 no tidings upon which I could depend, concerning 
 the fate of the interesting, but ruined wife of my 
 unrespected quondam pupil. 
 
 Yet many a thought, I confess, she had given 
 me, but not in the least such as I needed be 
 ashamed of: for some said, that Farquhar and 
 she were now living quite happy; others said.
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGK. 77 
 
 that she had run off with some man from Eng- 
 land, and had left her husband. And again it 
 was reported that she was in ill health, and 
 thought to be dying of some inward distress. In 
 short, some said one thing and some another, 
 which only increased my indwelling interest and 
 concern about her. At length at the usual season 
 of the year, when I was wont to take my wander- 
 ings, I set forth towards Edinburgh, hoping that 
 Providence would lead me into the way of hear- 
 ing something concerning her. 
 
 I took up my lodgings with my old acquaint- 
 ance Mrs. Gleig, in the old town, near Holyrood 
 House, but no trace could I learn of Farquhar or 
 his wife, although I found for certain, that they 
 were somewhere in the city or its outskirts. 
 I inquired everywhere. I mounted stairs almost 
 like the tower of Babel, that was intended to 
 reach to heaven, and I knocked at doors until my 
 perseverance was almost exhausted; but I found 
 that obscurity in a neighbourhood is a great sign 
 of the shame of misfortune, and that the sun 
 itself hardly dares to shine upon the shrinking 
 sons of the world's misery.
 
 78 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 I made no speed in my inquiries, excepting on 
 one day that a young woman with a child in her 
 arms, who answered my knock at a door to which 
 I had been directed, seemed to know more than 
 she chose to tell me, and examined me closely as 
 to my name, and my reasons for inquiring ufter 
 such a person. I gave a faithful account of my- 
 self and my motives, giving also my address ; and 
 the woman promised to send me word if the per- 
 son whom I inquired for was to be found ? 
 
 One evening about this time, as I was walking 
 solitarily at the foot of the Salisbury Craigs, I 
 perceived a man walking musingly on, like myself, 
 but seeming to me to be inwardly troubled in his 
 mind. The moonlight was but very obscure, yet, 
 on passing by him, I was sure I knew the face, — 
 but it was pale and haggard, so that I might have 
 been mistaken in my recollection. The young 
 man, for he was young, and of quite a gentlemanly 
 appearance, suddenly turned off, and mounted the 
 craigs, by a path with which I was unacquainted. 
 I could not help following him as fast as my wind 
 would hold out, but he was strong and athletic, 
 and beat me by mucli. By the time I got to the
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 79 
 
 top of the hill I saw him standing alone, with his 
 arms folded as if in deep deliberation. He then 
 walked forward to the edge of the craig next to 
 Edinburgh, and seemed to look for a place where 
 the precipice was deepest and most abrupt. He 
 then stepped a few paces back, and after gazing 
 for about a minute over the city, lying spread 
 out below us in the obscure moonlight, he drew 
 a heavy sigh, and taking off his hat, seemed to 
 mutter a prayer to Heaven. 
 
 By this time I was almost at his back, but I 
 turned a little down the brow of the hill to watch 
 his movements. He stretched out both his arms, 
 as if bracing up his resolution for some des- 
 perate deed, and then walked steadily forward 
 again towards the precipice. I saw that not a 
 moment was to be lost, and by three or four 
 strides got between him and the precipice, just as 
 we had both got almost to the edge. He gave a 
 start on seeing me at this critical instant, and tried 
 to pass me, but I was enabled to give a sudden 
 spring in time, and caught him in my amis. 
 
 "Who are you?" he exclaimed, his haggard 
 eye flashing wild upon me.
 
 80 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 " I am thy guardian angel, on this occasion, 
 rash young man,'' I said, holding him in my 
 grasp. " Think if you are in a fit state to jump 
 out of earthly existence, by that frightful preci- 
 pice, and into the presence of your Maker." 
 
 " Reason with the stormy sea, if you will ;" said 
 the stranger, in hoarse accents, " but do not think 
 to speak calm truth to a distracted man. Unhand 
 me, friend !" 
 
 " The Lord be near you in the hour of temp- 
 tation, young man !" I said solemnly. 
 
 The stranger gave a groan on hearing my words 
 as he gazed at me ; and I knew the voice and face 
 to be that of Richard Ellis. 
 
 " Surely Providence is in this !" he said sadly; 
 at length, as he gazed and seemed to deliberate 
 within himself, " Accept of my thanks, friend, for 
 being its agent," he added, wringing me by the 
 hand ; " but forget you ever saw me. I am an 
 unhappy man; but I am not so lost as to disre- 
 gard the evident will of heaven ; and remember, I 
 am not to be made the subject of the world's 
 unfeeling gossip. Now farewell !" and on saying 
 this, he turned round and made off down the
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 81 
 
 craigs, at a pace which was too quick for me to 
 follow, and I soon lost sight of him. 
 
 I went home to my lodgings, full of imaginings 
 and anxiety, for I had no doubt but that the 
 dreadful attempt of Ellis was in some way con- 
 nected with the fate of Mrs. Farquhar. Next 
 morning while I was at breakfast by myself, and 
 meditating on my recollections concerning her, 
 a knock was given at my door, and a boy deli- 
 vered a note to my landlady, which was addressed 
 to me, and which ran as follows : 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 "I have learned that you have been inquiring 
 for me, and confess that I should wish to see you 
 once more, for my health and spirits are gone, 
 and my time will not now be long on the earth. 
 
 " But the particular reason of my writing to you 
 now is this : I must inform you that Mr. Ellis 
 hearing of my ill health, and of my husbar.d's be- 
 ing again reduced to distress, insists on seeing me. 
 This liberty I have not dared to grant him, both 
 for my own sake, in the present state of my 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 8*2 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 nerves, as well as his, as he seems in much distress 
 of mind on my account. 
 
 " But yet his feelings are evidently in such a 
 state, that if it would tend to calm them, I am far 
 from unwilling to meet him; particularly as it 
 may be for the last time ; and as, in truth, much 
 as I fear it, I should myself wish to see him once 
 more ; for he avers, that he has something of the 
 last importance to say to me. I will not, how- 
 ever, consent to speak to him but in the presence 
 of a third party ; and as that party cannot be my 
 husband, I know none so fit to be present as your- 
 self, after what you have already witnessed. 
 
 " If, therefore, you approve of my seeing him 
 after this explanation, I am ready to meet him 
 in your presence to-morrow evening, at eight 
 o'clock, if you can see him, and make the appoint- 
 ment with him in the interim. You will find him, 
 I believe, at N". 11, Parliament Close. 
 
 " I leave this matter to your own prudence; and 
 remain under many obligations to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate 
 
 Jemima F."
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 83 
 
 I may not describe the extravagant joy with 
 which Mr. Ellis, whom I found at his lodgings as 
 directed, received my communication ; but he was 
 too much absorbed in the thoughts of again seeing 
 Jemima, and confused in his mind to observe that 
 I was the person who had prevented him from 
 self-destruction on the Salisbury Craigs the night 
 previous. I confess I waited the intervening time 
 with considerable impatience ; and having met 
 with Mr. Ellis at the appointed hour, we went 
 together to the obscure spot where Jemima lived. 
 
 Having mounted the common stair of a house 
 leading off the Cannongate, and knocked at the 
 door as directed, we were admitted by a tall thin 
 woman, who acted as servant. After waiting for 
 a little in the dark lobby, we were next shown into 
 a small back room, in which sat the faded and 
 melancholy form of Jemima Farquhar. 
 
 The apartment was but partially lighted, but 
 there was some good furniture in it ; and withal 
 a neatness that is usually seen as the last grasp- 
 ing after gentility by the superior minded and the 
 reduced. But what a change was now on the
 
 84 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 countenance of Jemima ! Not that there was any 
 appearance of physical disease ; but there was 
 the wan look and resigned melancholy of one 
 whose feelings are consuming her within, of the 
 female who is deliberately aiding in the breaking 
 of her own heart. 
 
 She offered a thin white hand to each, as we came 
 forward, without rising from the old-fashioned sofa 
 on which she reclined ; but yet the look which she 
 gave us both was still charming beyond expression, 
 and her former lover was unable to speak for a few 
 moments, from extreme agitation. 
 
 After a few words of inquiry on both sides, 
 wherein the state of her health was ascertained 
 with painful anxiety by Ellis, he begged, first 
 looking at me, that he might be allowed to say a 
 few words to her in private. 
 
 "That is impossible, Mr. Ellis," she said. "Do 
 not be offended with me if I say, I should never 
 have suffered this meeting with you but in the 
 presence of another. Whatever you have to say, 
 if it is not fit for my friend to hear, neither will I 
 hear it."
 
 THE RASH MAllRIACiK. 85 
 
 " It is something that concerns you and I most 
 deeply, Jemima ! Will you allow your friend to 
 withdraw?" 
 
 " Certainly not !" she said, firmly, " unless he 
 chooses to leave me against my wish." 
 
 " Then," said he, " let me appeal to you and 
 him in the proposal I am about to make. — Jemi- 
 ma !" he went on, after a pause to collect himself, 
 " let me inform you, that I have seen your me- 
 dical attendant upon the subject of your health 
 and life; and he avers decidedly, that you are 
 dying voluntarily without bodily disease ! and that 
 a voluntary abandonment of your present unhappy 
 circumstances, — a flying from the horrors of an 
 unblest marriage engagement, to society, in which 
 you can be happy; to free air, to enjoyment, and 
 the love of your heart, would soon restore you to 
 health and long life. Do not be startled at the 
 proposal I have to make. — Can you refuse to leave 
 a husband to which only a human ceremony 
 binds you, for your first love and your everlasting 
 friend, who will devote his life to your happiness ? 
 I cannot think that you will choose an early
 
 86 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 grave and a broken heart, instead of love, happi- 
 ness, and long life, with one who adores you ! — 
 Speak, speak, Jemima ! not only your own doom, 
 but mine !" 
 
 After a dead silence of a few moments, which 
 followed this imperatively uttered speech, Mrs. 
 Farquhar faintly said, " I will only refer it to 
 this respectable person," looking towards myself, 
 " whether I ought to listen or condescend to reply 
 to such a proposal, Richard, even from you." 
 
 " I appeal even to you. Sir," said Mr. Ellis, 
 distractedly, turning to me, " as to this proposal, 
 which, if agreed to, will save both this lady's life 
 and mine. See you not that she is dying before 
 us ? It is a case of extremity !" 
 
 " I know not what extremity may sometimes 
 excuse;" I said, "but I cannot sanction, for a 
 moment, a breach of the most sacred of our 
 earthly obligations." 
 
 " My friend's answer is mine," said the sick 
 lady, with animation; " and now, Richard, what 
 have you seen in me that could even give you 
 assurance to make such an audacious proposal?"
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGF.. 87 
 
 " There is no connection, Mrs. Farquhar," he 
 replied, " between any conduct of yours and my 
 proposal ; for, in truth, I meant to have made it 
 on the sad nio;ht when we met on the banks of 
 the Forth, but had not then the courage; and I 
 only make it now for the saving of your life and 
 my peace of mind. Oh, give it a moment's con- 
 sideration !" 
 
 " Not an instant, Richard ! not an instant !" 
 
 " Jemima," he replied, despairing, " I am a dis- 
 tracted man. I cannot attend to my concerns of 
 life, on your account. I have been on the point of 
 committing suicide. Save me, as well as yourself, 
 by leaving these narrow confined apartments, this 
 wretched place, that contemptible man, who has 
 so long had the possession of — . My God, it will 
 drive me insane !" 
 
 "For Heaven's sake and mine, "Richard," she 
 cried, " do not persevere in this criminal proposal. 
 No, no ; now let me die in peace, for a few months 
 will close my unhappy life. Now do not speak, 
 Richard ! Forget me from this moment. And for- 
 give me ! forgive me, too, for all the sorrow that I
 
 88 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 have caused you ; — there, now," she added, letting 
 fall a few tears, as she gave him her pale fingers to 
 kiss. " Farewell, friends ! Farewell, Richard !" 
 
 " Then it is farewell after all !" he said, in a 
 tone of despair, as he looked in her swimming 
 eyes. 
 
 '^ Yes, yes," she gasped ; " and for ever : it is 
 the just punishment of my rash folly; let me die 
 peacefully. Farewell !" 
 
 I looked at her for the last time. I tore Mr. 
 Ellis away. I saw him to his lodgings. I went 
 home sadly to my own. I in a little time returned 
 to my dull home in the West Country, and shortly 
 after learned that Mr. Ellis, who had gone about 
 Edinburgh like a distracted man for some time, 
 had, by the persuasion of his friends, at length 
 gone to Italy. 
 
 It was far in the autumn part of that same year, 
 and near the borders of winter, that I sat one day 
 thoughtfully alone in my solitary home, at Bal- 
 govniie Brae, in the West of Scotland. It was 
 also near the evening of a dull, yet blowing day, 
 and it pleased my melancholy mood to watch the
 
 THE RASH MARRIAGK. 89 
 
 last leaves of the preceding summer, separated at 
 every fresh gust from the naked trees before my 
 door, and to hear them rustling on the ground 
 under my window. 
 
 While occupied with the sad reflections which 
 the impressive language of nature at the fall of 
 the leaf is apt to call forth, I saw the postman 
 coming with his usual short, quick step towards 
 my door. I had been long looking for news of 
 Mrs. Farquhar; and the thought smote upon me, 
 that the man of letters was the bearer of some 
 tidings regarding her, and that these tidings were 
 of a nature to deepen my present gloom. My 
 forboding anxiety caused me to rise and go out to 
 meet the man. The seal of the letter which he 
 brought told me enough — Mrs. Farquhar was now 
 a corpse in her lodging in Edinburgh, and I was 
 invited to her funeral. 
 
 Why need I tell more? It was a sad and 
 thoughtful journey to me at this dull season; and 
 the solemn countenances of the strangers assembled 
 to follow her corpse to the grave were, to my 
 fancy, unusually impressive.
 
 90 THE RASH MARRIAGE. 
 
 I saw her carried out of her house, and followed 
 her hearse to the churchyard. I saw her laid in 
 her last resting place. But never shall I forget 
 the sensation which struck upon my heart, as I 
 heard the shoveled clay rattling down upon the 
 coffin of the young and beauteous victim of a Rash 
 Marriage,
 
 MINISTER TAM.
 
 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 Our wishes make us fools ; our bastard aims 
 Turn ignorance into guilt : even blessed hope, 
 Coupled with false desire, is often ruin. 
 
 Scrap Stanzas. 
 
 If you pass along the main street of any of our 
 villages, or through the outskirts of a large town 
 or city, and if you should happen to be one of 
 those unfortunate persons, who are continually 
 musing and thinking wherever you go, your 
 thoughts will be sure to be disturbed, and your- 
 self plagued, and literally " put oiit of the way," 
 by the rabble of bawling children, who will not 
 fail to keep racing about " amongst your feet," 
 throwing you down, perhaps, by driving their 
 hoops between your legs, or making you jump, by 
 whipping you instead of their tops; so that, your
 
 94 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 cogitations being thwarted out of their track, you 
 may be very apt to ask yourself for what good, or 
 for what sort of life all these noisy urchins may 
 be rearing, and what may possibly be the history 
 of many of them twenty or thirty years hence ? 
 
 The question is, probably, not worth an answer, 
 any more than would be the inquiry as to the 
 history of the parents who begot them, who dwell, 
 or vegetate, in the long mean street through which 
 you are passing, and who continue to breed in a 
 manner that is quite annoying to any well regu- 
 lated bachelor to think of; a little rabblement of 
 the servitors of society, who are to spread them- 
 selves abroad, seeking their subsistence among the 
 men of the next generation. No doubt the poor 
 little bare headed top-spinners are, in general, as 
 little v/orth talking about as their busy and simple 
 parents: nevertheless, amongst them there are 
 individuals who, when fed up into manhood, and 
 sent forth into life, fall into circumstances, and 
 pass through scenes such as make their history 
 very different from what might be anticipated of 
 them when they are merely bluff curly haired
 
 MINISTER TAM. 95 
 
 children, as common and unremarkable as the low 
 dwellings, in the little dormitories from which 
 they first emerged into this troublesome world. 
 
 In the populous manufacturing town of Paisley, 
 in Scotland, you could hardly look down any of 
 the long straggling suburban streets, but you might 
 have pointed out to you one or more, at least, of 
 the good folks in each, who were more or less 
 observable persons; and out of the multitude of 
 children which each year produced, and with 
 which the place swarmed, you could not fail, if 
 your talent lay that way, in tracing out several 
 whose history or character came afterwards to 
 exhibit those strange or painful realities which 
 make up the thinly sprinkled romance of common 
 life. The industrious poor people of the long 
 Crosslets of Paisley were engaged from morning to 
 night in their ingenious employments; yet amongst 
 them was observable considerable variety of cha- 
 racter, from " the philosophical weaver," who had 
 studied Hume and Mirabeau, with his striped 
 Kilmarnock nightcap on one side of his head, and 
 his luok of supercilious wisdom, down to " haveral
 
 96 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 Davie/^ with his stocking sleeves and his green 
 apron, who luxuriously smoked brown paper by 
 the door cheeks, because smoking was a necessary 
 of life, and he could not afford to buy tobacco ; 
 and who, though man muckhj still played " Keep 
 the Corbie off the Crow" with the boys, or danced 
 Mary Mantanzy with the girls, before the doors in 
 the summer evenings. 
 
 In this long street, which had only one side 
 facing the pleasant road between Paisley and 
 Glasgow, lived a man called Thomas Trail; and 
 if you wf^re to ask why Thomas was a remarked 
 sort of man, and known to every one about, even 
 to the very dogs and cats of the place ; and why, 
 if he passed in the presence of a stranger, he was 
 likely to be pointed out, with " that is Thomas 
 Trail ; " and Thomas Trail and his wife do so and 
 so — nobody could tell you ! for though Thomas 
 owned the thatched house in which he lived, and 
 the little garden in its rear, that was nothing more 
 than was the case with most of the respectable 
 weavers and small manufacturers, his neighbours, 
 some thirty years ago ; and Thomas himself was
 
 MINISTER TAM. 97 
 
 nothing but an honest sort of short pudgy body, 
 with sore eyes, and a brown wig, and his wife only 
 a long, randy, Aberdeen-spoken woman, who, as 
 the neighbouring wives said, " had little of either 
 manners or sense, although she was a sma' land- 
 lady." But there might be a little envy in this ; 
 for Mrs. Trail, although she had an outlandish 
 twang in her talk, and could not aspire to the 
 beautiful language spoken about Paisley, had her 
 full share of Scotch sentimentality, as we shall 
 soon have occasion to show. 
 
 Now this worthy couple had an only son, who 
 had every right and title to be spoiled and undone ; 
 for, besides making his appearance after a long 
 interval of wishful barrenness, he was the only one 
 of the after family who lived over two months, and 
 was, of course, to be laird of the one story house 
 and the garden, and all the plenishing of the wea- 
 ver's shop, and whatever else the old man might 
 gather before he died ; and was, in fact, the very 
 centre and hope of his parents. Young Tam Trail, 
 was soon well known over the neighbourhood, not 
 that he was particularly clever and misclnevous, 
 
 VOL. 1. H
 
 98 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 but^ simply because that, being an only son, he 
 was not required to work, and hardly to go to 
 school ; so that he had nothing to do, and, there- 
 fore, although his mother's darling, he loved to 
 hang about any other place than his father's house, 
 and the honest woman was usually obliged to hunt 
 him out of the neighbouring weavers' shops in a 
 morning to get him home to his oaten meal por- 
 ridge ; saying, in her Aberdeen twang, as she thrust 
 her head in at the doors, " Tammy, my maun, come 
 hame to your parritch — theyve been standing this 
 hour on the kist head, an' the hens hae been 
 through them and through them, to the very knees 
 and bauck again!" 
 
 There never had appeared before, in the Cross- 
 lets of Paisley, such a world's wonder as young 
 Tam Trail. Every thing he did and said was a 
 perfect astonishment to his delighted parents. 
 His reading was, from the beginning, perfectly 
 wonderful ; his writing was a greater w onder than 
 that, because, being an idle boy, no one could tell 
 how he acquired it ; but his cleverness in making 
 up sums, or as his parents said, arithmatkj was
 
 MINISTER TAM. 99 
 
 more wonderful still ; and as for his talk, and his 
 " style of language/' it was perfectly beyond won- 
 dering at; besides, he grew up so fast for his 
 years, that nothing in the place had ever yet ap- 
 peared so wonderful ; even the " calves of the 
 stall," which we read of in the book of Habakkuk, 
 were nothing to him. What was then to be done 
 with such an extraordinary youth ? That was the 
 question ; for that he was " beyond the common," 
 was, to his parents, quite evident, and all the neigh- 
 bours confirmed the fact, for there are few so low 
 as not to find flatterers. ^* What do you mean to 
 do wi' Tam V was the constant inquiry — and, 
 ^' Ye maun make him a man of lair, o' some sort," 
 was as constantly the fulsome advice; and it was 
 soon resolved that, like every other pet boy in 
 Scotland, Tam Trail was to be sent" to the great 
 College of Glasgow, and there to bo made a mi- 
 nister. 
 
 It was a proud day for Mrs. Trail, that, when 
 " her Tam," dressed in a shining new scarlet gown, 
 " like ony gentleman," with a bulky ]:)undle of 
 second hand books, and his pockets crammed with
 
 100 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 bread and cheese, set forth to become a student 
 in the College of Glasgow. The neighbours were 
 all out to witness his departure, as he set forward 
 by the Glasgow coach — his father was quite stu- 
 pified with congratulations and the business of 
 the morning, as well as with his son's great pros- 
 pects; and his mother wept with joy at parting 
 with him — she thought he already looked so like 
 a minister. 
 
 What could the honest couple now be expected 
 to talk about but Tarn, and of what their Tam was 
 to be, whom they had now at the Glasgow College, 
 " bringing him up to be a minister ?" And when 
 at length his first season was over, and all his fees 
 paid, and his lodging money every farthing, and 
 his books, and his pocket money, and so forth, " a 
 wearifu sum," and he returned once more to the 
 Crosslets of Paisley for the summer, with all his 
 books and bundles, his stature lengthened out, 
 and several new words on his tongue's end, and his 
 very pronunciation and phraseology partaking of 
 the classical tone of the University — his own mo- 
 ther was almost afraid to speak to him, from her
 
 MINISTER TAM. 101 
 
 instinctive awe of every thing which made the 
 most distant approach to the shape of a minister. 
 
 After Mrs. Trail had shown her uncommon son 
 over all the neighbourhood, and exhausted her 
 whole store of jams and jellies, in tea drinkings 
 for this purpose, the house was next turned topsy 
 turvy to accommodate Tam and his books. A 
 little room under the roof, with a small w^indow 
 cut out of the thatch, and overlooking the garden 
 and the behind of the cottage, was cleared out of 
 all its heddles and treddles, and other loom gear, 
 that it might be converted into a study for him ; 
 and here he sat himself down to labour at his 
 Greek and humanity for the summer. But Tam 
 had no sooner begun to turn over his Lexicon, 
 than he found himself horribly annoyed and dis- 
 turbed by the shuttling of the weavers beneath 
 him; and, besides the abominable noise of their 
 looms, the insensible rascals sang songs, and 
 whistled, and talked, and argued politics, amidst 
 the din of their shuttling, without the smallest 
 regard to the fact, that over their heads sat a 
 minister, studying his Greek and humanity. This
 
 102 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 misery was not to be borne, and the studies of the 
 young minister was not to be discomposed by a 
 shopful of hardhearted weavers ; and, rather than 
 submit to this, Thomas and his wife aoreed to 
 sleep in the little hole under the thatch, that their 
 own bed-room, at the other end of the house, 
 might be converted into a comfortable study for 
 Tarn. Here then, by a new overturning of the 
 house, was Tam at length established ; and it was 
 beautiful to observe how conveniently his books 
 were arranged in the pleasant little attic, which, 
 when he was fairly placed in it, with his face to 
 the window, and his red gown hung up behind 
 him, looked as if it had actually been built for the 
 study of a minister. 
 
 But Tam's window looked now towards the plea- 
 sant Glasgow road ; and it was found by experi- 
 ence, that, whether it was that there were too many 
 children, who kept shouting and squabbling before 
 the door, or whether there were too many coaches 
 constantly passing, with every sort of odd-looking 
 body on the tops of them, all which, with the et 
 ccdteras of the blowing of horns, and the hurras of 
 the boys, as each vehicle passed the house, would
 
 MINISTER TAM. 103 
 
 really have diverted the attention of a saint, or 
 of Aristotle himself; or whether there was some- 
 thing in the very nature of Greek and Latin that 
 was irksome and perplexing to a genius like Tarn, 
 certain it is, that here he was worse than with the 
 singing and arguing of the weavers' shop; his 
 mind wandered most lamentably, until the very 
 sight of his books and his study became a weari- 
 ness; he became shamefully idle, and his whole 
 day came at length to be passed in lounging about 
 the neighbours' houses, or in daikering about the 
 fields with some one who could, like himself, 
 afford to be idle, and who suffered his company 
 because he was understood to be studying for a 
 minister. 
 
 At length the second winter came on, and he 
 departed again " for the classes" of. the venerable 
 College of Glasgow; and in this sort of way 
 he got over five or six years, to the great ex- 
 pense and delight of his mother, whose astonish- 
 ment every year increased at the rapid growth of 
 her son's person and learning. A proud woman 
 was she, when thinking of Tarn, notwithstanding 
 all his faults, as she sat on the Saturday afternoons
 
 104 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 at her upper window, with her spectacles on her 
 nose, looking out for the weekly visit which her 
 son at this time was pleased to make her, from 
 the grand College of Glasgow. A beautiful youth 
 was " Minister Tam" (as he then beg-an to be 
 called), in his mother's eyes, no doubt; but really, 
 to speak indulgently, he was, at that time, as raw 
 looking, overgrown, gawky a youth, as any mo- 
 ther's pet of a student, who lodged in a back attic 
 and fed on oatmeal porridge, while " studying for 
 a minister," in the old High Street of Glasgow. 
 Indeed, some said of the " young ministers" of 
 the time, as they then appeared, that the very 
 porridge shone out of their faces, and stuck like 
 batter about their mouths ; at least, it was certainly 
 seen very palpably clotting their long teeth, as 
 they would laugh in your face as they told you 
 they were " maist through the Hall," meaning the 
 Divinity Hall, which was, of course, to make them 
 all ministers. 
 
 But Tam Trail was a youth of spirit ; and, 
 although there were numbers of his fellows, the 
 sons of weavers, and hucksters, and small shoe-
 
 MINISTER TAM. 105 
 
 makers, and the like, at college, to be made great 
 men like himself, he did not at all affect their 
 company, but rather courted the acquaintance of 
 minister lads, whose fathers were somewhat genteel 
 in the world; so that Tam would actually deny 
 the place of his birth and domicile, being quite 
 ashamed of his own father ; and once sharply 
 reproved his uplifted mother, for recognizing " her 
 Tam" one Saturday, as he swaggered slyly past 
 his home, in company, with a knot of his brother 
 collegians. This, however, we must own, was the 
 highest zenith of Tarn's greatness ; and while his 
 sanguine parents only saw in all this prospects too 
 great and grand for them almost to think of, wise 
 people, above their own state in life, shook their 
 heads compassionately, and observed, that the 
 silly good people were, in all likelihood, only 
 laying up for themselves sorrows for the day of 
 unveiled delusion and bitter disappointment. 
 
 At last Tam Trail passed the Hall, and was 
 fairly, as far as the college could make him, " a 
 minister ; " and even passed his examinations, 
 preached his trial sermons before the Presbytery
 
 106 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 with eclat, in the presence of his admiring parents, 
 began to wear black, and was admitted by autho- 
 rity, and went forth to the world, a preacher of 
 the Gospel. How tedious is often the interval 
 between first hope and ^ vdtimate fruition ! Home 
 came the Rev. Thomas Trail, dismissed from the 
 College of Glasgow, and quite ready to be a 
 minister : but, even admitting that the Church of 
 Scotland might be waiting for his ministrations, 
 and although he might have the talents of an 
 Apostle, he was still too young, and some time 
 must be spent in tarrying probation. But how 
 was he to employ himself in the meantime ? for, 
 being a scholar, he could condescend to do nothing 
 but to make others scholars like himself; and 
 when he got leisure to think, he found that the 
 Church of Scotland was by no means waiting 
 until he was old enough to step into a kirk, and 
 that his talents did not obviously fit him for 
 distinguishing himself over the heads of the crowd 
 of probationers like himself, who were never des- 
 tined to obtain the honours of the ministry. After 
 wandering about his own neighbourhood until his
 
 MINISTER TAM. 107 
 
 presence became a plague, and his idleness a 
 proverb, he essayed to " take up a school," the 
 refuge and the condemnation of the learned poor. 
 But here various disappointments occurred, which 
 quite astonished him and his parents ; for, know- 
 ing nothing of the world, every thing differing 
 from their own sanguine notions, awakened them 
 to perfect amazement. At first he would offer to 
 teach nothing but Greek, Hebrew, Latin, and 
 Logic, and other high matters ; and actually might 
 have taught them, if he could only have got 
 pupils: but, after various disasters and disheart- 
 enments from within and without, he descended 
 to the humble occupation of teaching common 
 reading and writing, or any thing else you please, 
 to the mischievous children of the industrious 
 poor of his own neighbourhood. 
 
 But, in the awful character of the pedagogue, 
 we cannot in strictness say, that he gained much 
 of either credit or emolument: for, besides, that a 
 prophet has little honour among his neighbours' 
 children, he felt himself degraded by such a, b, c, 
 d-erian labour, and such profitless confinement;
 
 108 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 particularly, as many of his mischievous pupils 
 seemed to think him little better than a big boy 
 of the neighbourhood, upon whom they might 
 work all manner of disrespectful tricks, and laugh 
 in his face when he offered to punish them. In 
 short, as his observation extended, and his expe- 
 rience was increased, " a kirk," the great object 
 of the student's ambition, seemed to recede farther 
 from his hopes, and the poverty and patience of 
 the confirmed teacher to stare him closer in the 
 face. But even his humble occupation was un- 
 likely to do any good longer; at least, in the 
 place where he had been at the pains to establish 
 it ; for a grand schoolmaster from some distant 
 place, who ^^ khnoped English like a Londoner,'* 
 and whose very frown was awful, set up a grand 
 Academy near at hand, and away went all Tam's 
 scholars, except two or three, to the new man ; for 
 nobody attempted to dispute, that a regular school- 
 master, who wore a wig, and walked with a cane, 
 could teach, much better than Minister Tam, " the 
 lang, learned, ladie, of the Crosslets of Paisley." 
 Still Tam's mother bid him keep up his heart.
 
 MINISTER TA^f. 109 
 
 for the time would yet come when he should 
 " wag in a poopet (pulpit) like the best :" and the 
 school being now given up, a great effort was 
 forthwith to be made to effect that important 
 object. But the old man found, to his astonish- 
 ment, that although his son was perfectly finished 
 and ready for the ministry, there were hundreds 
 as ready, and many better fitted for it than he; 
 and that if considerable popular talents were not 
 as yet developed, it required interest and other 
 advantages, such as he could not at all com- 
 mand, to get the youth even a hearing for any 
 advantageous purpose, or get him, in the remotest 
 manner, in the way of being a minister. Now 
 came the period of reaping the fruits of his educa- 
 tion, and all the honours of the Divinity Hall of 
 Glasgow. The young man was anxious enough 
 to make use of his expensive and tediously ac- 
 quired knowledge, but found that, while he knew 
 what he found little use for, he was perfectly 
 ignorant of things known to the youngest in his 
 own sphere of life. Mercantile men, to whom he 
 offered himself, after asking him contemptuously
 
 110 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 what he was fit for, would have nothing to do 
 with him, and disUked the very thoughts of Greek 
 and logic; and artificers of all sorts rejected him 
 in toto, because, as they said, he seemed to have 
 learned nothing. 
 
 Employment, any sort of employment, but 
 teaching children, became now to poor Trail the 
 object of his most anxious desire; for his father 
 had so cramped his little trade, in supporting him 
 at college, &c, that the good old man was be- 
 coming pinched and reduced; and illness and 
 repeated disappointment had begun to make sore 
 havoc with our youth's hopes and his health ; and 
 he hung about the neighbourhood dispirited and 
 wretched. Instead of being a pride and a support 
 to his parents, now that he was a man, he was 
 their greatest source of vexation and anxiety. At 
 length his father, after many efforts, and after 
 much personal humiliation to both, in dancing 
 after their superiors, succeeded in getting him the 
 place of tutor in the family of the Laird of Cauld- 
 land's, who lived in a dull house over the Paisley 
 Braes, about six miles off; and here, the Laird
 
 MINISTER TAM. Ill 
 
 being a man who was determined to give his 
 children a good educatiouy gave Tarn an appoint- 
 ment to teach, not only English to his little son, 
 but also Latin and Greek to his two grown up 
 daughters; at least, as much of these dead lan- 
 guages as they could be got to " take in." 
 
 This was a great place for Tarn, and great ex- 
 pectations were raised from it ; in fact his fortune, 
 it was thought, was now made, for the Laird was 
 a man who loved learning for learning's sake, and 
 Tam was, through his patronage, to be a minister 
 after all. But it turned out that the Laird and 
 his daughters differed widely in opinion upon the 
 subject of a lady's education, and while they af- 
 fected to obey their father, they thought " Mr. 
 Trail" and his Latin and Greek equally a bore. 
 They plagued him with questions, because he was 
 a learned man, upon subjects of light literature, 
 for the amusement which his ignorance afforded 
 them; they had novels hid under the cushions of 
 their chairs, and read them in place of their 
 lessons ; and when Trail tried to look serious and 
 play the tutor, they threw oft^ all obedience and
 
 112 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 laughed in his face. The very anxiety of poor 
 Trail to acquit himself, and his consequent seri- 
 ousness were against him ; for the Laird's son 
 said he was a dull booby ; the lady herself took a 
 disgust at him, because his father was a weaver, 
 and constantly warned her children to take care of 
 learning from him vulgarity ; and the young ladies 
 at length treated him with such sauciness and 
 scorn, that he almost feared to open his mouth in 
 the family. 
 
 The unfortunate tutor soon perceived that he 
 could not long hold out in the face of all this ; 
 for although he was admitted to be harmless and 
 assiduous, he was perfectly despised by all but the 
 Laird himself; and the very awe with which he 
 looked upon his pupils and their parents ; the con- 
 scious humility of his deportment, and the anxious 
 dread which was constantly apparent, even in his 
 face, of being dismissed and returned upon his pa- 
 rents, only increased and aggravated their ill-sup- 
 pressed contempt. At length, an open conspiracy 
 was formed against him by the ladies, because he 
 had ventured to exert some of what he called con-
 
 MINISTER TAM. 113 
 
 scientious authority, and to remonstrate against 
 the idleness of the daughters ; and this conspiracy 
 was headed by mamma herself, who could never 
 be persuaded into a love for Greek and Latin, 
 and had no favour whatever for "learned wea- 
 vers:" so that, in short, the Laird was obliged to 
 give poor Trail an unconditional dismissal, with- 
 out promise or patronage, for fear of that domestic 
 disturbance, which has ever been the terror of 
 wilful husbands. 
 
 Behold Tam Trail ao-ain returned to the Cross- 
 
 o 
 
 lets of Paisley, hopeless and helpless, stamped 
 with the confirmed and valueless character of " a 
 sticked minister." Employment was again his aim, 
 if it were only to obtain a scanty supply of pocket- 
 money, now more than ever necessary, and to 
 relieve the humbled anxiety of his mind. For 
 two or three years he was driven about from post 
 to pillar, in all the misery of uncertainty, and in- 
 curring all the vexations of tantalizing hope and 
 repeated disappointment. Sometimes he taught a 
 small school of his own ; sometimes was assistant 
 in some other ; and he even had the honour of 
 
 VOL. 1. J
 
 114 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 preaching three different times within the credi- 
 table kirks of Campsie, Camlachie, and Cross-my- 
 loof respectively ; but all these honourable minis- 
 trations led to no permanent results ; for the 
 circumstances of the case, or some other competi- 
 tor, who had more patronage or more knowledge 
 of the world, continually upset his plans, or pushed 
 him out ; sending him back to spiritless idleness, 
 and the poor fireside of his reduced and disheart- 
 ened parents. Sorrow now took fast hold upon 
 him, as the hopes of youth gave place to serious 
 gloom ; and even want began to come upon him, as 
 the prophet expresses it, " like an armed man." 
 His very features became changed by the progres- 
 sive elevation of sorrow. No traces were left of 
 the gaunt and gawky expression which his face 
 bore while a growing youth ; for manhood had 
 now filled up his whole person ; painful reflection 
 had given almost a dignity to his look ; and mis- 
 fortune had palled his cheek, and softened the 
 tones of his voice into a sad and manly humility. 
 
 His usefulness was now reduced into becoming 
 the occasional arbiter of the petty disputes of the
 
 MliNISTER TAM. 115 
 
 neighbourhood, especially when they happened to 
 be upon subjects that required learning; and 
 though, by a few, he was still jeeringly called 
 ^' Minister Tarn," his tall figure and rusty black 
 coat, together with his plaintive look and sad 
 manner, with the majority commanded every where 
 a compassionate respect. But the little services 
 he was able to render his neighbours being, in 
 general, rewarded only by a treat at the public 
 house, to which his fits of despondency began now 
 too frequently to lead him, he saw with terror the 
 prospect of tippling excitement, perhaps, becoming 
 his wretched refuge, and the horrible appellation 
 of Drunken Minister being attached to his name. 
 When this view of his situation struck him, he 
 wandered abroad like a ghost, seeking relief from 
 his own thoughts, until his despair .increased, and 
 his despondency deepened; and, with all these 
 distresses on his mind, he fled at length to impart 
 his sufferings to woman, the best consoler, and 
 the bitterest aggravator, of the sorrows of life. 
 
 " What ails you the night, Mr. Trail," said 
 Jean Emerie, a serious black eyed maiden, the
 
 116 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 daughter of a small manufacturer, in whose house 
 he often lingered out his evenings. " What can 
 ail you the night ? you seem so melancholy of 
 late, Mr. Trail, I'm amaist afraid to look at you." 
 
 " Naething, Miss Jean, naething." 
 
 ^^ Naething, do you say — hech, Sirs ! that's a 
 strange speech." 
 
 " It's naething, Miss Jean, an' ye need na mind 
 me. When do you expect your father home ?" 
 
 ^^ I canna really say. But, Mr. Trail, ye need 
 not tell me that it's naething that makes ye look 
 sae wae ; for I've watched you many a time, when 
 you did not observe. Na, Thomas, ye need na be 
 ashamed to tell me what oppresses your heart. 
 I'm not come to this time of life without my ain 
 trials. Man, I could greet to look at you." 
 
 " Could you, Jean ? " said Trail, looking up at 
 her, the big tears rolling down his wan cheeks. 
 " I did na think ony body could greet for me, I'm 
 such a " 
 
 " Just let it out, Mr. Trail. I ken it's a sair 
 thing for a man to greet ;" said Jean, hardly able 
 herself to sob out so many words : " but I ken
 
 MINISTER TAM. 117 
 
 there^s something oppressing you at the heart. 
 Man, you're like to burst !" 
 
 " I did not think to have done this before you, 
 Jeanie," said Trail, giving way to a burst of 
 tears. 
 
 " There's mickle sorrow in this world when ane 
 comes to know it," said Jean, in the half whisper 
 of weeping ; " but just tell me what distresses 
 you, Mr. Trail? indeed, I've often thought about 
 you, and pitied you, when none was by; and I'll 
 at least gie you a kind word." 
 
 " God bless you, Jean Emerie ! for that kind 
 word !" he said, wringing her hand : " and for 
 thinking about the like of me; for, truly, I'm a 
 broken hearted man, any body may see that." 
 
 " But ye'U get a kirk yet, Mr. Trail ; and, at 
 ony rate, dinna repine at providence, — the Lord's 
 all sufficient." 
 
 It is not every day that a man in distress will 
 meet with one of the species of God's comforters 
 equal to Jean Emerie ; for she was a woman whose 
 nature wa* such, that she had almost a veneration 
 for affliction, when it seemed to her to come by
 
 118 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 the dispensations of Providence. No wonder, then, 
 that she should listen with interest to the tale of 
 Thomas Trail, or that he should feel a grateful 
 regard for her who loved him, almost for his very 
 misfortunes. If, by his frequent visits to Jean 
 Emerie, Thomas was saved from the degrading 
 resource of the bottle in his troubles, he fell into 
 an intoxication seldom less dangerous to a poor 
 man. And yet it is strange that none are so 
 ready to fall in love as the poor, or those whose 
 feelings have been sharpened by misfortune; and 
 who are least able to afford such a luxury, as the 
 song has it, 
 
 " O love will venture in 
 Where it dare na well be seen." 
 
 And thus it was with Thomas Trail, who had 
 the presumption to fall in love in the height of 
 his distress. Like many men similarly circum- 
 stanced, he, foolishly, imagined that a man could 
 never so well bear his afflictions as when he had 
 a woman to share them with him; instead of 
 concluding, with Lord Bacon, that " a wife and
 
 MINISTER TAM. 119 
 
 children make misfortunes more bitter:" besides 
 that, there was at least two made miserable in 
 place of one. But Thomas only dared to love, 
 and to wish for happiness, and determined to 
 make one effort more with the further hope 
 and inducement of making Jean Emerie his wife. 
 " This is the last trial," he said to himself, as he 
 finished an arrangement of business ; " if it is suc- 
 cessful, I shall be made happy ; if it fails, again I 
 shall do something that I dare not now think of." 
 For a time every thing promised fair, and many 
 many a happy night he spent with Jean in talking 
 of days to come; but, ultimately, whether from 
 his want of training, and business knowledge, or 
 from over anxiety, or from mere misfortune, within 
 a twelvemonth the hopes that Trail had clung to 
 with desperate eagerness entirely gave way, and 
 he lost every thing except his honesty, which was 
 doggedly upright to the last. The sternness of 
 despair now sat upon his brow, for the short time 
 after in which he was visible to his friends; for, 
 without saying a word, or taking leave of father 
 or mother, or Jean, or any one, he took to the
 
 120 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 last resource of disappointed youth, and inlisted 
 for a soldier. 
 
 It was in vain after Thomas Trail took the 
 king's bounty, which he sent home to his mother, 
 that he tried to be jolly, and dissipated, and noisy, 
 and not to think like his thoughtless companions. 
 It was no easy matter for him, who had preached 
 in a pulpit, to go about the country recruiting with 
 the scum of the earth, and a cockade in his hat, 
 the companion of low Irishmen and young black- 
 guards, and to submit to be drilled for a soldier, in 
 " the bonnie green of Glasgow," in sight of that 
 venerable college in whose silent cloisters he had 
 studied to be a minister of the church and preacher 
 of God's gospel, and while the drill sergeant shook 
 his cane over him as he absently thought of former 
 days, the well known knell of the college bell 
 struck to his heart a sound of deeper sadness 
 and sorrow. 
 
 " Minister Tam is gone to be a sodger after a', " 
 was the cry for a time throughout the Crosslets of 
 Paisley ; and that was the breaking of his parents' 
 hearts, and the crowning of all they had suffered.
 
 MINISTER TAM. 121 
 
 He had been, as expressed in the fine ballad of 
 the poet of Paisley, " Listed, tested, sworn an' a'," 
 before ever any thing of his resolution was known 
 at home; and the next thing heard of him was, 
 that he was gone *' far beyond the sea," having 
 embarked with his regiment to join Lord Welling- 
 ton in Spain; and now all went wrong at home, 
 and old Thomas Trail's house became desolate, 
 and the poor man went about stupid, and began 
 to take to a drop of drink ; and his wife would 
 lie in bed for days together, though in perfect 
 health, while every thing out and in went to 
 wreck. 
 
 Some said that Trail made a good soldier, and 
 was made a corporal in Spain ; but of this no au- 
 thentic accounts ever arrived. What his thoughts 
 were, while on the march, " in a foreign land," or 
 as he stood his watch as sentinel in the long cold 
 nights, and pondered of Scotland and the Paisley 
 Braes, and of his old mother and father at home, 
 and of former happy sabbath nights, and of Jean 
 Emerie who was never to see or weep with him 
 again, we can only guess; for the last that was
 
 122 MINISTER TAM. 
 
 heard of Minister Tarn in the Crosslets of Paisley, 
 was, that he had fallen gloriously at the battle of 
 Salamanca ! 
 
 But there was little glorying in the news with 
 some who heard it. I speak not of the grief of 
 Jean Emerie, who might be seen in widow's weeds 
 sometime after, sitting lonely on a Sunday morn- 
 ing, in the cold Abbey Church of Paisley; for 
 there is enough of that sort of grief in the world, 
 and of women who weep in secret disappointment, 
 after blasted hopes with the only man who was 
 ever the choice of their hearts for a companion for 
 life. It was old Thomas Trail and his wife, at 
 least, who were truly to be pitied ; and they used 
 to sit together by the fire at night for hours with- 
 out being able to speak. 
 
 But Sabbath night was the hardest to get over 
 in the house of the old people, with all its recollec- 
 tions and all its sanctity. You might see Mrs. 
 Trail sitting opposite her husband by the fire 
 and without candle, looking into the embers with 
 her hands wrung into each other, and weeping 
 for hours over a mother's thoughts, for ^' she should
 
 MINISTER TAM. 123 
 
 never see her son more ! who after all her hopes 
 had been killed in a foreign land, and because 
 that his very bones were huddled into the clay 
 without coffin, or a mother's tears, in some far 
 away place — which they call Salamanca."
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE.
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 A CLISHMACLAVER. 
 
 O, my teeth's growing black and my hairs growing gray, 
 And the friends of my youth are all vved and away ; 
 I'll never see again the dear days that I've seen. 
 But I'll die for the love of a soldier in green. 
 
 Scrap Stanzas. 
 
 ^' If I were a man, instead of being a woman, as 
 unfortunately I happen to be," said Miss Peggy 
 Brodie to me, " I would call a meeting in public, 
 on the part of the ladies, to petition the king for 
 another war ; for really, since the peace, there is 
 no such thing as any decent woman getting a 
 husband, nor is there so much as the least stir or 
 stramash nowadays, even to put one in mind of 
 such a thing. And the king, God bless him, is a 
 man of sense, and understands what's what per- 
 fectly," continued Miss Peggy ; " and I have not 
 the least doubt, that if he were only put in posses-
 
 128 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 sion of the real state of the sex since the peace, he 
 would give us a war at once, for it is cruel to keep 
 so many women in this hopeless state." 
 
 " Indeed, Mem," said I, looking as wise as I 
 was able, " you may depend upon it, you are under 
 a mistake." 
 
 " Don't tell me. Sir," replied Miss Brodie, " you 
 men think you know every thing. As if I did 
 not understand politics sufficient to know that the 
 king grants all reasonable petitions. I tell you, 
 Mr. What's-your-name, that the whole sex in 
 Glasgow, from Cross-my-loof to the Rotten Row, 
 and from Anderston to Camlachie, are in a state 
 of the utmost distress since ever the peace — and 
 marriages may be made in heaven, or somewhere 
 else that I do not know of, but there is none made 
 hereaway, to my certain knowledge, since ever the 
 sharp-shooters laid down their arms, the strap- 
 ping fallows." 
 
 " I 'm sure, Mem," said I, " for a peaceable 
 man, I have been sadly deav'd about these sharp- 
 shooters." 
 
 " It's no for you to speak against the sharp-
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 129 
 
 shooters, Mr. Thingumy !" said Miss Brodie, get- 
 ting into a pet ; ^^ you that never bit a cartridge 
 in your Hfe, I know by your look ! an' kens nae 
 mair about platoon exercise, and poother wallets, 
 an' ramrods, than my mother does ! But fair 
 fa' the time when we had a thriving war, an' 
 drums rattling at every corner — and fifer lads 
 whistling up and doun the streets on a market 
 day ; and spruce Serjeants parading the Salt 
 Market, pipe-clayed most beautiful ! then there 
 was our ain sharpshooters, braw fallows, looking 
 so noble in their green dresses, and lang feathers 
 bobbing in tlieir heads. Besides, there was the 
 cavalry, and the merchants' kore, and the trades' 
 kore, and the grocers' kore. Why, every young- 
 man of the least pluck was a soldier in these heart- 
 some days, and had such speerit and such pith, 
 and thought no more of taking a wife then, than 
 he would of killing a Frenchman before his break- 
 fast, if he could ha' seen one." 
 
 " But, Miss Brodie," said I, " they were all so 
 busy taking wives that they seem to liave quite 
 forgot to take you, in these liappy times." 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 " Ye need not be so very particular in your 
 remarks, Mr. Thingum ; for it was entirely my 
 own fault, an' I might hae gotten a husband any 
 morning, just for going to the Green of Glasgow, 
 where the lads were taking their morning's drill ; 
 for it was there all my acquaintances got men, to 
 my certain knowledge : — an' now its naething but 
 Mistress this an' Mistress that, wi' a' the clippy 
 lassocks that were j ust bairns the other day ; — an' 
 there they go, oxtering wi' their men, to be sure, 
 an' laughing at me. Weel, it's vera provoking, 
 Mr. Clishmaclash, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Deed, Mem," said I, " it's rather a lamentable 
 case. But why did you not catch a green sharp- 
 shooter yourself, in those blessed days?" 
 
 " Hoot, Mr. Balgownie, it was quite my ain 
 faut, as I said. I was perfectly ignorant of the 
 most common principles of the art, and knew no 
 more of the way an' manner o' catching a husband, 
 no more than if I had never been born in Glasgow. 
 In fack, I was a perfect simpleton, an' thought it 
 the easiest matter in the worl ; an' ye see, Sir, I 
 had a wee trifle o' siller, besides my looks (which
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 131 
 
 ye ken, Mr. Thingumbob, were far frae being dis- 
 parageable) ; and so I was perfect simple, an' just 
 thought I was like the lass in the sang ; 
 
 ' Set her up on Tintock tap, 
 The wind '11 blaw a man till her.' 
 
 But ne'er a man was blawn to me; — ^an' there's 
 all my gigghng acquaintances married, ane after 
 the ither. There's Bell Mushat, and Jeanie Doo, 
 an' Mary Drab, an' Beanie Sma, an' Sally Daicle, 
 naething but marriet, marriet; — an' here's puir 
 me an' the cat, leading; a sing-le life until this 
 blessed day. Hoghay ! isn't it very angersome, 
 Mr. What's-your-name." 
 
 " It is really a case o' great distress, when one 
 thinks o' your worth, Miss Brodie," said I, pathe- 
 tically ; — " and if I did not happen to be engaged 
 myself, it's impossible to say but" — 
 
 " Ay, tliere it is !" exclaimed Miss Peggy, " there 
 it is ! Every decent sensible man like you, Mr. 
 Clishmaclavers (I really forget your name), that 
 sees what I am, are just marriet, marriet them- 
 selves, and tied up. And so I may just sit here
 
 132 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 an' blaw my fingers ower the fire wi* the cat. 
 Hoghay!" 
 
 " But surely, Miss Brodie," said I, " you did 
 not use due diligence in time and season, or you 
 would not now be left at this sorrowful pass.'' 
 
 " I let the sharpshooter times slip out o' my 
 fingers, like a stupid simpleton, as I say ; but no 
 woman could have been more diligent than I have 
 been of late years, and all to no purpose. Haven't I 
 walked the Trongate ? haven't I walked the Green ? 
 Haven't I gone to a' the tea drinkings within five 
 miles, where I could get a corner for myself? 
 Haven't I gone to the kirk three times every Sun- 
 day, forbye fast days, thanksgiving days, an' even- 
 ing preachings ? Haven't I attended a' the Bible 
 meetings, and missionary meetings, forbye auxili- 
 ary societies, an' branch associations ? Wasn't I a 
 member of a' the ladies' committees and penny-a- 
 week societies, frae Cranston Hill to the East Toll? 
 Didn't I gang about collecting pennies, in cauld 
 March weather, climbing stairs, and knocking at 
 doors like a beggar, until the folk were like to 
 put me out, an' the vera weans on the stairs used
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 133 
 
 to pin clouts to our tails, an' ca' us penny-a-wcek 
 auld maids ? Ea, that was a sair business, Mr. 
 Clashmaclish, an' little thanks we got ; an' I got 
 the chilblains in my feet, wi' the cauld, that keeped 
 me frae sleep for three weeks." 
 
 " It's really lamentable," said I ; " but I should 
 have thought that the saintly plan was a good 
 one." 
 
 " So it would have been, Sir, if I had had more 
 money ; but ye see fifty pounds a year is thought 
 nothing of nowadays ; and these kind o' people 
 are terrible greedy o' siller. Na, na. Sir, gie me 
 the sharpshooters yet." 
 
 " Well now. Miss Brodie," said I, " as we're 
 on the subject, let me hear how it was you lost 
 your precious opportunities in the volunteering 
 time." 
 
 " Oh, Sir, that was the time, volunteering ! 
 There never was such days as the volunteering 
 days. Drums here, and bands o' music there, 
 sodgering up, and sodgering down, an' then the 
 young men looked so tall in their regimentals, 
 and it was such a pleasure just to get ane o' them
 
 134 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 by the arm, an' to parade wi' them before the 
 Tontine, an' then a' your acquaintances to meet 
 you walking wi' a braw sharpshooter, and talking 
 about you after, in every house ; an' such shaking 
 o' hands in the Trongate, an' such treating us wi' 
 cakes in Baxter's ; for the volunteering lads were 
 sae free o' their siller in thae days, puir chields ! 
 Oh, thae were the times !" 
 
 " There are no such times now, I fear, Miss 
 Peggy." 
 
 " Oh, no, Sir ! an' then the lads thought no- 
 thing to take you to the play at night, in thae 
 days; an' what a beautiful thing it was to sit in 
 the front o' the boxes o' the big theatre in Queen 
 Street, wi' a red coated, or a green coated volun- 
 teer, it was so showy, and such an attraction, and 
 a talk. To be sure, Mr. M^Clishclash, it's no 
 a'thegether right to go openly to common play- 
 hooses: but a man must be got some place, an' 
 ye ken the sharpshooters couldna gang to the 
 kirk in their green dress, puir fallows." 
 
 " But you never told me. Miss Brodie, what art 
 or mystery there is in man-catching, and yet you
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 135 
 
 speak as if some of your female friends had prac- 
 tised something past the common to that intent." 
 
 " Its not for me to speak to you about women's 
 affairs, Mr. M'Clavers, but I can tell you one thing. 
 Do ye mind lang Miss MWhinnie, daughter o' 
 auld Willie M'Whinnie, that was an elder in Mr. 
 Dumdrone's kirk ?" 
 
 " I think I recollect her face," said I. 
 " Weel, Sir, this was the way she used to do. 
 Ye see she was a great walker, for she was a lang 
 legged lass, although her father is a wee gutty 
 body — an' if ye took a walk in the green or the 
 Trongate, ye were sure at ony hour to meet lang 
 Nelly M'Whinnie, lamping wi' a parasol like a 
 fishing-rod, simmer an' winter, looking o'er her 
 shoother now an' then to see when she should J'a^ 
 aff her feet." 
 
 " Fall ! Miss Brodie ! — What do you mean by 
 falling?" 
 
 " Hoot, Sir, ye ken naething. Wasn't it by 
 fa'en that Nelly M^Whinnie got a man. I'll 
 tell you how. She used to walk by hersel, an* 
 whenever she came near a handsome sharpshooter.
 
 136 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 or gentlemanlike chield that she wished to pick 
 acquaintance wi' — she just pretended to gie a 
 stumble, or to fall on one knee or so ; an' then ye 
 ken the gentleman couldna do less than rin up to 
 lift her, an' ask if she was hurt, and so forth ; an' 
 then she would answer so sweet, and thank him so 
 kindly, that the man must say something civil; 
 an' then she would say, ^ Oh, Sir, you are so 
 obliging and so polite,' an' just in this way she 
 made the pleasantest acquaintances, an' got a man 
 by it, or a' was done." 
 
 '^ Ha, ha, ha — That is perfectly ridiculous and 
 hardly credible," said I. 
 
 *' Na, ye need not laugh in the least," continued 
 Miss Brodie, " for I'm telling you the truth, an' 
 didna the same lass break her arm wi' her faing?" 
 '^ Break her arm. Miss Brodie ! are you serious ?" 
 " It's perfectly true, Mr. Balgrudery. Ye see, 
 Sir, she was walking on speculation, in her usual 
 manner, in the green of Glasgow it was, as I 
 believe, and somewhere near the Humanity House, 
 by the side of Clyde, when she observed three 
 strappen fallows coming blattering up behind her ;
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 137 
 
 this was an opportunity not to be let pass, an' the 
 day being frosty, an' the road slightly slippery, 
 afforded an excellent pretence for a stumble at 
 least. Well, Sir, just when the gentlemen had 
 got within three yards of her, Nelly geid a bit 
 awckward sprauchle, an' shot out a leg, but whe- 
 ther Nelly had mistaken her distance, or whether 
 the men were up to her fa'en system an' wadna 
 bite, never clearly appeared; but they werna for- 
 ward in time to catch the lassie in their arms as 
 she expected, an' after a sprauchle an' a stumble, 
 down she came in good earnest, an' broke her arm." 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! I would rather hear that story 
 than any one of Mr. Dumdrone's best discourses," 
 said I. ^* But are you sure it's true?" 
 
 " Did not I see Miss MWhinnie the time she 
 was laid up wi' the broken ami in a sling. But ye 
 see, Sir, the gentlemen did gather round her when 
 they saw she was fairly whomlet, an' gather'd her 
 up nae doubt ; an' as soon as she got better o' the 
 broken arm, she just took to the fa'en again. But 
 I believe she never geid farther than a stoitre or a 
 stumble after that, till ancc she got a man."
 
 138 MISS PEGGY BKODIE. 
 
 " And so, Miss Brodie, she did fall into a mar- 
 riage?" 
 
 " Ou deed did she. Sir; a fallow claught her at 
 last, as she fell ; an' there was nae mair walking 
 the Trongate wi' the lang parasol like a bellman's 
 staff. But in the time o' the sharpshooters an' 
 the cavalry, an' the merchants' kore, an' a' the 
 kores, I mind as weel as yesterday, how a great 
 illness took place among the young women, an' 
 neither pills nor boluses were found to be of the 
 least service, an' the doctors were perfectly puz- 
 zled and perplexed, and knew not what to recom- 
 mend in this general distress; but the young 
 women, ane an' all prescribed for themselves, 
 from an inward understanding of their complaints, 
 and nothing, they said, would cure the prevailing 
 sickness, but a walk in the morning in the Green 
 of Glasgow. Now, Sir, it happened so providen- 
 tial, the whole time that this influenza lasted, that 
 the sharpshooter kore, an' the cavalry kore, an' 
 the trades' kore, an' the merchants' kore, an' the 
 grocers' kore, an' a' the kores were exercising in 
 the Green o' Glasgow, where a' the young ladies
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 139 
 
 were walking for their health : it was so beautiful 
 an' good for the ladies, when they were sick, to 
 see thae sharpshooters how they marched an' 
 wheel'd, an' hooph'd, an' whooph'd, an' ran this 
 way, an' that way, — an' whiles they fired on their 
 knees, an' then they would clap down on their 
 backs, an' fire at us, puir chields ; an' then ye see, 
 just when we had gotten an appetite for our break- 
 fast by our walk, the kores would be dismissed, an' 
 then the volunteer lads couldna but spread them- 
 selves among the ladies that were outside, j ust to 
 speer after their complaints; an' then naething 
 but link arm wi' the sharpshooters an' the other 
 kores, dizzens in a row, an' be escorted hame to 
 breakfast. Many a lass that was quite poorly an' 
 badly, was relieved by these morning walks, an' 
 are now married women. Ah, thae were the plea- 
 sant days, Mr. Balcrowdie." 
 
 " But dear me. Miss Brodie," I said, " how 
 did it happen that you were allowed to remain 
 single all this time: had you no wooers at all ?" 
 
 " Mr. M'Clavers, what do you mean by asking 
 me such a question? No wooers! I tell you 1
 
 140 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 had dozens o' lads running after me night an' 
 day, in thae pleasant times." 
 
 " Well, but I don't mean in the common way. 
 I mean, had you any real sweetheart, any absolute 
 offer." 
 
 <^ Offer, Sir ! Indeed I had more than ane. 
 Wasna' there Peter Shanks, the hosier, that per- 
 fectly plagued me, the dirty body ! but you see. 
 Sir, I couldna bear the creature, though he had 
 twa houses in Camlachie : for to tell you my weak- 
 ness. Sir, my heart was set upon ." 
 
 " Upon whom. Miss Brodie ? — Ah ! tell me." 
 
 " Upon a sharpshooter !" 
 
 " Bless my heart ! But if you would just let 
 me hear the tale." 
 
 " Ah ! Sir, it's a pitiful story," said Miss Brodie, 
 becoming lachrymose. 
 
 " I delight in pitiful stories," said I, taking out 
 my handkerchief. 
 
 " Well, Sir, — ' love an' grief are sair to bide,' 
 as the sang says; an' my heart wasna made o' 
 the adamant rock, Mr. Clavermaclash : so ye see, 
 Sir, there was a lad they ca'd Pate Peters, an' he
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 141 
 
 was in the sharpshooters; an' he sat just quite 
 near me in Mr. Dumd rone's kirk ; for ye see, Sir, 
 it was there we fell in. Oh ! Sir, Pate was a beau- 
 tiful youth : teeth like the ivory, an' eyes as black 
 as the sloe, and cheeks as red as the rose !" 
 " Ah ! Miss Brodie— Miss Brodie !" 
 " An' when he was dress'd in his sharpshooter's 
 dress ! — Ah! Sir, but my heart was always too, 
 too susceptible ! I will not trouble you, Sir, with 
 the history of our love, which would have come 
 to the most happy termination, but for a forward 
 cutty of a companion of mine, of the name of Jess 
 Barbour. But there can be nae doubt but Pate 
 Peters was a true lover o' me: for he used to 
 come hame wi' me frae Mr. Dumdrone's preaching 
 whenever Jess was not there ; an' I'm sure his 
 heart burn'd with a reciprocal flame ! — But one 
 night. Sir, — I '11 ne'er forget that night ! — I was 
 coming hame frae a tea drinking at Mr. Warp's, 
 the manufacturer, on the other side o' Clyde, when 
 just as I got to the end o' the wooden brig next 
 the green, wha does I meet but Pate Peters !" 
 a Ah !— Oh !— "
 
 142 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 " Well, Sir, it was a moonlight night ; just such 
 as lovers walk about in, an' Pate an' me linked arm 
 in arm, walked, an' walked, round the Green o' 
 Glasgow. We stopped by the side o' Clyde, an* 
 looked up at the moon ! — ^ Miss Peggy,' says he, 
 ' do ye see that moon?' — ' Yes,' says I. * That 
 changeable moon,' says he, * is the emblem of 
 falseness in love !'• — ' Yes !' said I, 'Mr. Peters,' — 
 an' my heart was ready to melt. — * But I will 
 never be false in love !' says he. — ' I hope you 
 will be true until death,' says I. — ' To be sure I 
 will, Miss Brodie,' says he. — These were his very 
 words." 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Peggy," I said, as I saw she was 
 unable to get on, " that is quite affecting." 
 
 " But he talked so sensibly. Sir," continued 
 Miss Brodie ; " he spoke even of marriage as 
 plain as a man could speak. ' Miss Peggy,' said 
 he, ' do you remember what Mr. Dumdrone, the 
 minister, said last sabbath ? He said, ' Marriage 
 was made in heaven :' .an' he said, that ' Solomon, 
 the wisest of men, expressly said, in the Proverbs,
 
 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 143 
 
 he that getteth a wife getteth a good thing/ Was 
 not that plain speaking, Mr. Clishmaclash, — Mr. 
 Balgownie, I mean ?" 
 
 " Nothing could be plainer, Miss Peggy ; but 
 I'm interested in your story." 
 
 " Well, Sir, — he came home to the door with 
 me, and — it's not for me to explain the endear- 
 ments that passed between us ! — So, Sir, I went 
 to sleep with a light heart, an' was for several 
 days considering and contriving about our mar- 
 riage, when — what do you think? — In three 
 weeks time word was brought to me, that the false 
 and cruel man was married to Jess Barbour !" 
 
 " Bless me ! Miss Brodie, what a woful story ! 
 It's just like a romance." 
 
 " So it is, Mr. M'Clishmaclavers," said Miss 
 Brodie, all blubbered with weeping. " It's per- 
 fect romantic. — Ye see, Sir, what trials I had in 
 love ! But you're not going away in that manner, 
 Sir." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Miss Brodie," said I, taking my hat, 
 " I'm not able to stand it any longer."
 
 144 MISS PEGGY BRODIE. 
 
 " You are a feeling man, " said she, shaking 
 me by the hand, "you're a man o' sweet feel- 
 ing, Mr. Malgownie." 
 
 " You are an ill-used woman. Miss Brodie ! — 
 Adieu, Miss Brodie."
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time. 
 Ere human statute purged the gentle weal ; 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear. Macbeth. 
 
 In a certain quiet town in the western side of 
 Scotland, situated in the midst of a country, over 
 the face of which are scattered the woody policies 
 and shapely pleasure grounds of a resident gentry, 
 of various degrees of family antiquity, there lived, 
 many years ago, a young artist of much local 
 celebrity, whose name was George Wishart. 
 
 The reputation for talents, which it takes with 
 many almost a lifetime to acquire, was awarded 
 to young Wishart in a few short years, by the 
 unanimous verdict of every person of taste, for
 
 148 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 many miles round; and these talents, not being 
 limited to excellence in his own profession, but 
 shining out in the shape of numerous brilliancies 
 and accomplishments, were so decided and remark- 
 able as to outstrip all local comparison, and to 
 silence, wherever he was known, the risings of all 
 incipient detraction, by the involuntary homage 
 of irrepressible admiration. As if superior and 
 startling talent were not enough for the advance- 
 ment of one individual, nature had, in addition, 
 conferred upon George Wishart a person and 
 countenance so interesting to the eye, and manners 
 so perfectly elegant and seducing, that fortune 
 seemed, in all her channels, to have provided for 
 him universal success; and, no longer blind and 
 capricious, to have formed one individual, at least, 
 even from an inferior class in society, whom she 
 had safely and surely marked for her own. 
 
 In these universal encomiums bestowed upon 
 Wishart, it was little to be wondered at, that his 
 pleased and gratified parents should have heartily 
 and gratefully joined, and that a bright career 
 should have been generally predicted for the
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 149 
 
 accomplished young artist of Barhill. But into 
 all matters, lying among the contingencies of futu- 
 rity, poor mortals see dimly and darkly, as through 
 a glass; and on no subjects are the sagacity of 
 the wisest more completely baffled, than in their 
 calculations upon the beginnings and endings of 
 human fate. 
 
 There were many objects in the country round 
 Barhill, which, to the eye of an enthusiastic artist, 
 at least, conveyed deep impressions of the glory of 
 nature ; and among the hills and haughs within 
 many miles round the young artist wandered 
 unrestrained, and sketched without ceasing, until 
 not only all the glens and braes, and picturesque 
 spots were transferred to his collection of local 
 scenery, but every mouldering ruin and modern 
 mansion, in which he saw any beauty, were, by 
 his patient studies in the open air, made familiar 
 to his eye and his pencil. 
 
 The spectacle of an artist, and a handsome 
 young man, wandering through the woods, and 
 exploring the glens, with his portfolio under his 
 arm, or sitting perched on a crag or a ruin,
 
 150 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 drinking in the delicious peeps of nature, and 
 labouring, with his pencil, until he caught the 
 last glimpse of the sun, as it set behind Kilburnie 
 Braes, was a new thing to the great proprietors 
 of the west of Scotland. Yet they were not so 
 insensible to the seduction of the arts, or so preju- 
 diced in favour of what was ornate and foreign, as 
 altogether to neglect the young genius of Barhill ; 
 and often the country gentleman, as he rode 
 abroad with his lady or daughter, or as he wan- 
 dered the heights and moors, with his pointer and 
 his gun, would stop to admire and commend the 
 solitary, but delighted labourer, in the shapes and 
 shadows of ever-varying nature. 
 
 It happened one day, after that in process of 
 time he had painted many pictures, and formed 
 many studies from the beauties round the town of 
 Barhill, our artist had taken a fancy to a peep of 
 foreground among the rich glades in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Darnwood, the seat of one of the 
 heads of the most wealthy and widely branched 
 families in all the district. He had seated himself 
 on the jutting point of an old ragged wall, which
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 151 
 
 thrust itself forward into a sort of dell, where a 
 view was spread out from a narrow opening among 
 the trees, which led off in such interesting groups 
 and mazes, in the fantastic dance of wild nature, 
 from the rich foreground to the far off projections 
 of rock and ruin, interrupting the green levels to 
 the blue hills and sunny clouds beyond, that the 
 poetic eye of the limner was long before he had 
 satisfied himself, in working on his flat surface so 
 multifarious a detail of the furnishings of nature. 
 
 He had not yet finished the whole range of 
 his objects, when one of those chiUing blasts 
 rushed suddenly up the glade before him, which, 
 in this climate, often precede a change of weather ; 
 and, shortly, the usual symptoms of a storm began 
 to change his shadows, to dim his lights, to blow 
 up and disturb the paper before him, and, by the 
 falling at first of a slight spitting rain, to con- 
 vince him of the necessity of seeking a shelter. 
 So eager was he, however, to finish his work, that 
 he stirred not until the heavy rain began fairly to 
 obliterate the marks of his pencil, and then he 
 was fain to retreat from the insufficient shelter of
 
 152 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 the trees in the glade, to seek to get under cover, 
 among the outhouses of the mansion of Darnwood, 
 in the grounds of which he had been labouring. 
 
 Having, however, been observed while at his 
 studies from the windows of the mansion, when 
 the rain came on, a servant was despatched to 
 endeavour to trace him, and to invite him into the 
 house, until the state of the weather should enable 
 him to get comfortably back into Barhill. Wishart 
 accepted the invitation with pleasure; but could 
 not help, as he followed the servant to the house, 
 pondering in his surprise, upon the cause of an 
 invitation so little to have been expected from the 
 haughty owner of Darnwood, or any of the widely 
 spread family of the Mores, who kept at a jealous 
 distance from every one in the country, whom 
 they could deem inferior to the aristocratic rank 
 which they had from time immemorial supported. 
 
 The mystery was explained, however, upon Mr. 
 Wishart's entering the house ; for he was received, 
 not by Robert More, the owner, but by a strange 
 gentleman, who turned out to be the Squire's 
 brother, and who, having travelled far, and lived
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 153 
 
 much on the Continent, was possessed with an 
 admiration for the arts, and a respect for talents, 
 which overcame, in many cases, the natural pre- 
 judices of rank, and which, together with the 
 sympathetic representations of his niece, Fanny 
 More, who had been watching young Wishart 
 from the windows, made him think it nothing re- 
 markable or derogatory, that he should invite the 
 artist into the mansion, and even to introduce him- 
 self and his niece to one who was generally known 
 and admitted all round to be a man of genius. 
 
 The pleasure that Wishart received from this 
 chance introduction, was greatly enhanced, not 
 only by the intelligent remarks and genuine admi- 
 ration of all that the poetical painter loved, which 
 burst from the amiable stranger, but by the oppor- 
 tunity it afforded him of seeing' and conversing 
 with Miss Fanny More, a lady of whom he had 
 long heard much, and who was in fact, at that 
 time, the theme and the pride of all in this part 
 of the West of Scotland. Fanny, on her part, was 
 no less delighted in the chance which brought into 
 the dull mansion of Darnwood, the handsome
 
 154 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 young painter of Barhill ; her admiration of him 
 and his talents broke forth from her unsuspicious 
 and frank nature, in expressions which filled the 
 heart of Wishart with rapture ; her travelled uncle 
 did not particularly discourage the delighted inti- 
 macy of the young people ; and foreseeing proba- 
 bly, or predicting within himself, that Wishart 
 would yet be an honour to any connection of his 
 own, gave him a warm invitation to his brother's 
 house, and in his brother's name, on the following 
 evening. 
 
 The honour of an invitation to the society of the 
 Mores of Darnwood and Bargowan was most flat- 
 tering to the young artist, not only from its pro- 
 mising effects to his prospects, but from its afford- 
 ing him the pleasure of occasionally conversing 
 with the orphan Fanny, who had already deeply 
 interested him, not by her beauty only, which was 
 every where admired, but by a union of those 
 graceful and elevated qualities, which are so apt 
 to impress and win the hearts of such men as 
 Wishart. He went accordingly; and though he 
 enjoyed less in the society of the gentlemen than
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 155 
 
 he had anticipated, — the presence of the proud 
 and stern resident of Darn wood tending to damp 
 the admiration of his more hberal brother, who 
 had given Wishart the invitation, and to tlirow a 
 restraint over all present ; yet in regard to Fanny, 
 his delight and admiration was increased to perfect 
 intoxication, w^hich completely swallowed up every 
 other disheartening or discouraging feeling. 
 
 The poor youth, however, received no more invi- 
 tations to this pleasant society; and soon after 
 he learned with regret, that the younger of the 
 Mores, who had first introduced him to the fa- 
 mily, was gone towards London, on his way to 
 some part of the Continent ; and inferred sadly, 
 that he w'as now to be for ever debarred from 
 further opportunity of meeting the interesting 
 orphan of Damwood. As Fanny More was the 
 frequent subject of conversation in every com- 
 pany, the next news he heard, was the startling 
 intelligence that she was about to become the 
 bride of John Ross, of Rosshaugh, a gentleman 
 who lived quite near to the further suburbs of 
 Barhill.
 
 156 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 Wishart had at this period no more than those 
 vague wishes and yearning aspirations towards 
 the love of Fanny More, which cannot be called 
 hope, and which are so often felt painfully in 
 youth, as we successively see those consigned to 
 the arms of more fortunate men, whose very smile 
 seems a paradise to reflect on, and whom we 
 grudge to give finally up to another, from the eyes 
 of partiality with which we imagine they have at 
 sometime by-gone looked towards ourselves. But 
 when he came to hear fully the character of John 
 Ross, to whose arms she was, if common report 
 might be credited, to be consigned for life, and 
 found that he was a person of gross appetites and 
 selfish feelings; a deep votary of the bottle, and 
 withal (presuming upon his large possessions), 
 self-willed and tyrannical beyond endurance; the 
 youthful artist was almost distracted at the thought 
 of this modest and blooming flower being cropped 
 by such a brute in the form of man, and taking up 
 his portfolio, he rushed forth towards the policy of 
 Darnwood, to try to obtain one other interview 
 with his Fanny.
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 157 
 
 Entering the principal gate of this beautiful 
 demesne, he walked up the carriage road, then 
 turning off by an avenue that led into the wood, 
 he sat himself down on the stump of a tree, within 
 view of the windows of the house, and near the 
 spot, where he first had been ; and opening his 
 book, began to sketch as formerly, in the hopes 
 that something would occur favourable to his 
 wishes. He had not sat very long, until he per- 
 ceived the head of Fanny's own maid peeping 
 stealthily out from a small door at the bottom of 
 the garden. Taking no apparent notice, but la- 
 bouring on, the girl soon came forward, and first 
 making a rustling to attract his attention, she 
 came near confusedly, and courtesying said, with 
 a familiar smile — 
 
 " Ea ! Mr. Wishart, but that's' a weary seat for 
 a gentleman ; and if auld John Crabtree, the gar- 
 dener, was na' a cross body, he would ask you in, 
 if ye pleased ; for there's nae peaches grows in the 
 wood to sloken your thirst ; nor flowers sae sweet 
 blooms here in the shaw, as in bonny garden 
 ])Owers, where ladies like to walk i' tlie sun ! —
 
 168 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 There's no a prettier picture ever was painted 
 wi' paint, than ye may see in Darnwood Garden, 
 an' the door is wide open, Mr. Wishart, — " and 
 saying this, away ran the maid, and instantly 
 made her exit through the door she had al- 
 luded to. 
 
 The dehghted artist was at no loss to compre- 
 hend the meaning of this arch compound of sim- 
 plicity and coquetry; and rising from his seat, 
 he walked straight into the garden, taking readily 
 a covered walk to his left, after he had closed the 
 door behind him. He had not gone far until he 
 observed the white dress of a female in one of 
 the walks, and shortly after Fanny More, timidly, 
 yet with an air of modest frankness, came forward 
 and addressed him. 
 
 The time was too valuable to be passed in 
 empty compliments : explanations and avowals 
 came burning from the lips of Wishart, and were 
 answered in broken sentences by the agitated girl ; 
 until a scene of impassioned admiration of each 
 other, and horror at the intended marriage with 
 he coarse squire of Rosshaugh, ended in mutual
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 159 
 
 VOWS and half expressed resolutions, and an ap- 
 pointment to meet again on the following evening, 
 in the house of a mutual confidant in Barhill. 
 They met accordingly, again and again, at the 
 place of rendezvous; the detested marriage was 
 pressed and insisted upon both by Mr. Ross and 
 her guardian uncle, which caused the meetings 
 between her and her beloved Wishart to be both 
 more frequent, and the measures concerted to de- 
 feat it, or to put it oiF, if possible, until the return 
 of her other uncle from the Continent, to be more 
 hasty and decisive; until the ardent lovers de- 
 cided upon an instant private marriage, as the 
 only means of saving her from being sacrificed to 
 the man she loathed ; and the exposure of which 
 was reserved until the friendly interference of her 
 only friend, now shortly expected at Darnwood, 
 might reconcile it and her to her haughty family. 
 
 In the meantime it came to be known, even in 
 the family of the Mores themselves, that private 
 meetings had taken place between Fanny and the 
 clever young artist ; and her uncle was wroth and 
 full of reproaches to her; and John Ross, pressing
 
 160 GEORGE WISllART. 
 
 his suit from mere pique, at the idea of being sup- 
 planted by one who had little but his talents and 
 his manners to recommend him, was stung with 
 the bitterest jealousy and rage against Wishart, 
 on finding himself and his addresses, on his ac- 
 count, treated with coldness and disdain, little 
 short of contempt. By this time, Fanny More's 
 beauty and accomplishments came to be so much 
 remarked, that she, in connection with the talented 
 painter, was the theme of conversation, and the 
 admiration of every one, far and near, round the 
 town of Barhill ; and, as was then the fashion, 
 was the constant toast, wherever the ladies of the 
 neighbourhood were named or spoken of. Ambi- 
 tion to be the possessor of her who commanded 
 general admiration, now added fuel to the gross 
 desires of Mr. Ross; and Fanny's steadiness in 
 resisting both his importunities and her uncle's 
 indecisive authority, in favour of an obscure artist, 
 who also had contrived to obtain universal praise, 
 provoked almost to madness, the haughty and 
 wilful spirit of the wealthy squire of Rosshaugh.
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 161 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At the period of time when this our story took 
 place, the custom, so happily got rid of in our days , 
 of deep and shameless drinking in the evening, was 
 at its very height, even among the higher orders 
 of society. At these sottish carousings none sat 
 longer, and few held out as well as the man whoni 
 her avaricious uncle had destined for the husband 
 of the delicate and sensitive Fanny More. 
 
 At one of those parties, which were nightly with 
 the dissipated squire of Rosshaugh, and when was 
 also present Mr. William More of Bargowan, a 
 constant companion of the forn)er, the name of 
 Fanny More was, as usual introduced, and certain 
 sneering insinuations, over their cups, at the ill 
 success of Mr. Ross, was, with bachelor freedom, 
 played off at the expense of their haughty com- 
 panion. The name of Wishart was next spoken of 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 with no less freedom, and as much sneering, at the 
 expense of William More, who was banteringly 
 congratulated upon the probable addition of the 
 pallet and easel, for lack of any thing else that 
 the Herald's College could furnish in connection 
 with the name of Wishart, to grace the scutcheon 
 of the arms of More of Bargowan. 
 
 But this senseless and provoking talk did not 
 end here. The discussion was carried on to a con- 
 siderable extent, in the course of which it was 
 stated and maintained, in reply to William More's 
 scornful repulsion of the idea of Wishart's ever 
 becoming connected with his family, that the 
 artist had actually boasted, among a circle of his 
 own companions, that Miss Fanny More was al- 
 ready legally and indissolubly his wedded wife ! 
 
 Nothing could exceed the feelings of rage and 
 indignation with which the very idea that such a 
 thing was publicly talked of about Barhill, was 
 received by both gentlemen. They were too much 
 men of the world, however, to show it before their 
 friends ; but first, bringing round a change in the
 
 GEORGE WISHAHT. 1()3 
 
 conversation, they swallowed glass after glass, to 
 qualify the gall which rose to their throats, then 
 sat moody and silent until about midnight, when, 
 leaving their party, they sallied forth into the 
 street, to vent to each other their mutual feelings 
 of indignation and scorn at him they, in the nar- 
 row spirit of vulgar pride, called the beggarly and 
 presumptuous painter. 
 
 It was on one of those delightful moonlight 
 nights, which takes the dizzy bacchanalian by 
 surprise on merging forth from the candlelight 
 and steaming heat of a close room, when the two 
 gentlemen mentioned, warmed with wine, and 
 boiling with indignation and purposes of ven- 
 geance, went forth into the streets of Barhill. 
 They were in no humour to separate or seek their 
 homes, for the grievous subject of the upsetting 
 artist, as they called him, completely occupied 
 their minds, and served them for conversation for 
 a considerable time, during which they continued 
 to stroll up and down, near the house where 
 Wishart lived, vaguely hoping that some chance of
 
 164 GEORGE WISH ART. 
 
 the time, or some malignant demon, who helps the 
 work of that mischief which is brewed at mid- 
 night, would throw him in their way. Perhaps 
 he might this night be out like themselves, and 
 might not yet have gone home, in which case they 
 might still meet him ; and, should this fortunately 
 occur, with what stern scorn, thought they, we 
 shall put him to the question ! 
 
 This idea having taken full possession of them, 
 they continued, for nearly an hour, to walk up and 
 down the street, near to Wishart's door, sometimes 
 muttering to themselves coarse curses upon the 
 head of the talented and fortunate lover, and 
 oftener swearing outright, in the bitterness of 
 wounded pride, and in language of ruffian pro- 
 fanity, being, in fact, eager for any vengeance 
 which, in the spirit which wine and the chaffing 
 of their companions had raised, might be offered 
 to glut their unbridled passion. In those days 
 there was no regular watch in Barhill, and a 
 couple of tipsy-looking gentlemen, parading about 
 on a moonlight night, excited no remark from the
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 165 
 
 casual passenger, who, at this hour, might be but 
 little more sober than themselves ; and as for the 
 few quiet men who occasionally patroled the street 
 through the night, under the appellation of the 
 town guard, they had too great a respect for the 
 provincial aristocracy who dwelt among them, to 
 take any notice of such men as Mr. Ross and his 
 friend, who, they knew, were no strangers on the 
 streets of their sober town at midnight. 
 
 It happened, on the same night, that Mr. Wish- 
 art, being at all times much in request in the 
 evening parties round, had also been out : but his 
 Fanny, not having been, of course, present where 
 he was, his mind had dwelt upon her image the 
 whole of the night; and, though detained by the 
 hilarity of his party, he had been restless and 
 absent, until the hour when he .was suffered to 
 depart. He was stepping homewards alone, through 
 the empty streets, his mind impressed peculiarly 
 this night with the difficulties of his situation, 
 with regard to Fanny More, and musing deeply 
 upon the future, as he paced towards the Cross of
 
 166 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 Barhill in the moonlight, when his thoughts were 
 disturbed by the heavy step of booted feet on the 
 dark side of the street quite near him, and pre- 
 sently there started out, from the shadow of the 
 old jail of the town, two persons, who came swag- 
 gering up to accost him. 
 
 " Ho I Wishart ! " shouted a voice familiarly, 
 " is it you that breaks the blank in our quiet 
 street at midnight ?" 
 
 " It is : — men will, at times, defraud their pil- 
 lows for the society of those they love ; and even 
 this moon would almost tempt one to linger abroad. 
 But I am nearer to my home than either of you, 
 gentlemen ; " said Wishart, somewhat pleased, in 
 the mood he was, by the apparently friendly 
 address of these honourable relatives of his Fanny. 
 
 " You are, and yet we are not in haste to lose 
 this hallowed moonshine;" said More, craftily 
 addressing to the artist the language which he 
 knew would most readily interest him : " see you 
 how its soft, yet brilliant beams, linger upon the 
 black walls and about tlie grotesque architecture
 
 GEORGE WISHAHT. 167 
 
 of these antique buildings, and throw out the 
 forked shadows of those tall gables opposite, along 
 the level and empty market-place. Come, Wish- 
 art, this is a night for a painter. Will you steal 
 five minutes more from sleep, to stroll a pace with 
 
 us 
 
 ?» 
 
 " Most willingly," replied Wishart, charmed 
 with the goodnatured familiarity of the haughty 
 pair, who had, by this time, taken an arm on each 
 side of him, and away, up the street, they all set 
 off together. 
 
 They soon turned off up by a broad open path, 
 which led up the hill, on which several churches, 
 with their steeples, stand almost together, their 
 walled churchyards sweeping down on the face of 
 each side of the hill, and the headstones and 
 monuments throwing picturesque shadows, or 
 standing out white and spectral in the moonlight. 
 
 " Look you to the dark side of this church and 
 churchyard," said Mr. More, still in the same 
 strain, as they looked through the gate among 
 the monuments ; *' How strange the effect of these 
 mingling shadows of death and of religion. But
 
 168 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 come away, there is something dreadful to me in a 
 rotting Golgotha at midnight." 
 
 " Is there, Sir?" said Wishart. " To me there 
 is too much beauty as well as solemnity, in that 
 quiet burying place, for any feeling of terror ; even 
 now, if I had no where else to go, I could lie down 
 and sleep beneath the moonlight, among the dead 
 men, without any other thoughts but those serious 
 broodings over time and eternity which occur at 
 times to the most thoughtless." 
 
 " You could !" said Ross, glaring, with a pale 
 look and a strange expression of countenance, on 
 the poetic youth, as if a foul thought had that in- 
 stant crossed his mind ; " then you may have to 
 lie in dead man's lair sooner than you think of: 
 your face turned towards the moon without your 
 seeing her, and your toes towards the heavens 
 without their feeling the summer's heat. — Life is 
 a brittle thing as I've heard say." 
 
 "What mean you. Sir?" inquired Wishart, 
 somewhat struck. " We have all at once got into 
 a strange manner of talking, gentlemen." 
 
 " Only what is natural for the place and hour,"
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 169 
 
 said Mr. More ; " and wine sometimes aids the 
 bringing out of the poetics of superstition or so- 
 lemnity ; besides, there is a pleasure in men on oc- 
 casion becoming children to enjoy over again their 
 freshest fancies or most impressive superstitions. 
 Remember you the boyish saying, that if you run 
 round a church three times at midnight, and 
 knock loud at the chancel door each time, calling 
 upon the spirit of the tombs to come out — Hark I" 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " Now if we should go in and knock hard at the 
 great door of that empty church, we should make 
 its gloomy ailes echo, until the eyeless ghosts 
 should perhaps rise from behind the monuments, 
 and grin at us between the gothic arches, for dis- 
 turbing them thus at midnight, — see you, as Ot- 
 way says, 
 
 * The tombs and monumental caves of death look cold. 
 And shoot a chillness tlnough my aching heart.' " 
 
 " Curse your poetry !" said John Ross, doggedly, 
 and with his usual coarseness. " What do we 
 stand here mouthing for ? Come !"
 
 170 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 "Where next?" said Wishart; " 'tis now time 
 for bed, and my door stands not open all night; 
 so, gentlemen, I shall leave you." 
 
 " Nay, not yet," said More. " See you the beau- 
 tiful clump that surrounds the bowling green on the 
 farther ridge of the hill ? It was a Roman praeto- 
 rium, you know, in days of yore ; let us merely walk 
 round it while I speak something serious to you. 
 The place is classical, and the view in the moon- 
 light, over the hazy plain below, is more than 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Come along then — the way is but short now, 
 and the hour is fitting for serious conversation." 
 
 " I am attentive. Sir." 
 
 " You are reported to be a lucky fellow with 
 the ladies, Mr. Wishart," said Ross. 
 
 " That is the second time you have made the 
 observation since we met. Sir," said Wishart, look- 
 ing round sternly at the last speaker. 
 
 " Is it !" was all the answer; for in fact, at the 
 first sight of Wishart, at the Cross of Barhill, 
 and after his first open and manly reply, all the 
 vengeful rhodomontade in which they had pre-
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 171 
 
 viously indulged, was dissipated by the very pre- 
 sence and look of the youth ; and both had felt all 
 along so much of the influence of his known talent, 
 that they had not courage to meet him upon the 
 very subject which yet smouldered with deep feel- 
 ings of hate and jealousy in their breasts. 
 
 They went forward, therefore, in silence. At 
 length they all stood still simultaneously, Wishart 
 appearing struck with the sight before them. 
 
 " How like you the effect of that?" said Mr. 
 More, as the artist halted in the open space in 
 front of a small cottage, w^hich stood, as we said, 
 on the western ridge of the hill, on the spot which 
 might once have been the entrance to the Roman 
 fort before mentioned. The cottage, which served 
 for the keeper of the place, stood lowly under the 
 broken shadows of a double circle of tall trees 
 that surrounded the area, which was once the in- 
 side of the fort, in its rear, but which, being a 
 beautiful level, was now used as a bowling green ; 
 and the whole circular clump standing on the 
 angle of the hill and in front of them, with the 
 moonlight streaming through among the lofty
 
 172 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 boughs of the trees, had an effect that was singu- 
 larly beautiful. 
 
 Wishart stood for a moment admiring this ro- 
 mantic effect, when as he turned suddenly, he 
 observed his two companions whispering together, 
 in a peculiar and earnest manner. He took no 
 notice to them of this, for in fact they were only 
 reproaching each other for cowardice, in not being 
 able to speak to Mr. Wishart upon the subject 
 which lay so deeply in both their minds. They pro- 
 ceeded along, however, into the walk outside, and, 
 as it once had been, under the walls of the fort 
 which sweeps round the angle of the hill, shaded 
 by the lofty trees of the bowling green above. 
 The walk was protected, or backed on this side 
 and behind, by a rough, sandstone, loosely built 
 wall, and certainly the view, from where the gen- 
 tlemen now stood, was, from its extent, almost 
 magnificent, for the very indistinctness of the ob- 
 jects in the plain beneath, by the reflected light of 
 the broad moon, gave boundless scope to the fancy 
 in its involuntary contemplations. 
 
 Wishart seemed to gaze with all the enthusiasm
 
 GEOHGE WISHART. 173 
 
 of an imaginative artist upon the scene; but his 
 companions observed that he seemed entirely to fix 
 his eyes upon one spot, and that was the white 
 shining walls, and the dark belted woods of the 
 demesne of Bargowan in the distance. 
 
 " See you ought there to entrance you thus, 
 Sir V said Ross, his jealousy again rising into his 
 throat on observing this. 
 
 " I do, Sir," said Wishart, readily ; " I do see 
 a spot there, where lives one for whom I am 
 deeply interested, and I will not affect to misun- 
 derstand the questions which you have just been 
 putting to me, by denying the interest I take in 
 that lady." 
 
 " I tell you what, Mr. Wishart, I have some- 
 what to say to you," said Mr. Ross, fired at this, 
 and now stepping up in front of- the artist, with 
 more than his usual haughty and swaggering air, 
 " about a matter which must instantly be ex- 
 plained to my satisfaction." 
 
 " And to mine. Sir!" said WiUiam More, now 
 taking courage, and stepping also up threateningly. 
 
 " Are these airs meant for intimidation, gentle-
 
 174 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 men?" demanded Wishart, boldly, yet evidently 
 surprised at their sudden change of manner ; " if 
 so, you have mistaken your man." 
 
 " Fellow !" said Ross, his spirit laying aside all 
 restraint, " do you presume to brave us ?" 
 
 " I w^ill brave any man who thinks to intimidate 
 me," said Wishart ; " I am ready at any moment 
 to give satisfaction or explanation, if sought from 
 me as a gentleman would seek it ; but I will not 
 be bearded even by two persons, who can, for 
 whatever purpose, thus treacherously decoy me to 
 a solitary spot at midnight." 
 
 A look was here exchanged between More and 
 Ross ; and the momentary silence was first broken, 
 by the former saying, with mock humility — 
 
 '' Your pardon, Mr. Artist, we did not at the 
 moment take note whom we were addressing^. The 
 world, in faith, is turned upside undermost in these 
 days ; when the gentlemen of the land must speak 
 smooth and respectful to every obscure boy who 
 can write rhymes, or plaster paint upon canvass. 
 But prescribe to us, good Mr. Limner, how we 
 must word our inquiries of your worship."
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 175 
 
 " Gentlemen/' said Wishart, slightly galled at 
 this scornful speech, and struck on the instant 
 with the sense of his own inferiority of birth, " I 
 am not insensible of the different ranks in life 
 that we respectively occupy, nor would I willingly 
 be thought to presume upon any of your families ; 
 but surely I am intitled to be spoken to by you in 
 terms such as at least imply a respect for your- 
 selves. If you have any thing to say to me, let us 
 talk as we go on." 
 
 " The inquiry we have to make is of such im- 
 portance. Sir," said Mr. Ross, " both to our own 
 feelings, and in respect to the interests of our 
 families, that we have determined that you shall 
 not leave this spot without satisfying us." 
 
 " You are both heated with wine," said Wish- 
 art, after a moment ; " and this sp6t is somewhat 
 inauspicious at the dead hour of night — should my 
 replies not be to your liking. Nevertheless, I 
 scorn to flinch any reasonable inquiry, if proposed 
 to me in language which it becomes me to answer. 
 So proceed." 
 
 " It is reported, Sir," said More, who was the
 
 176 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 coolest of the two, "that you have boasted among 
 your friends of an intimacy with one of our family, 
 whom I need not name/' 
 
 " I understand what you mean," said Wishart ; 
 " but that is false. Whatever intimacy the lady 
 in question may have honoured me with, I have 
 never in any way made it the subject of boast. '^ 
 
 " Have you not admitted having met Fanny 
 More in private ? Have you not even attempted 
 to justify your own conduct and hers ?" 
 
 " I have met her in private, and will not deny 
 it: and I s^«// justify myself, and especially her, 
 for this, before all the world !" 
 
 " Have you not even said, that she was your 
 lawful wife?" again demanded Ross, boiling with 
 rage. 
 
 " Perhaps I may, when that avowal seemed 
 necessary to preserve her character's respect- 
 ability." 
 
 " Scoundrel ! dare you say this in my pre- 
 sence !" and Ross attempted, after this exclama- 
 tion, to lay hold of the artist. 
 
 "Dare to lay a hand on me!" said Wishart
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 177 
 
 Calmly, but springing back towards the rugged 
 wall under the bowling green. — " There are two of 
 you to one, but you shall not offer an insult with 
 impunity." 
 
 " Wishart!" said More, pressing close to him, 
 " have you dared to say that my cousin is your 
 wife?" 
 
 " I have not only dared to say it, but I wdll 
 prove it ! Stand from me, gentlemen !" 
 
 " By Heaven!" exclaimed Ross, looking at his 
 neighbour, and then springing forward, he at- 
 tempted to catch the youth in his arms, that he 
 might disable him from resistance; but Wishart, 
 by a push in the breast, sent him staggering 
 several paces backward. 
 
 A blow^ under the ear from More, now insidiously 
 given on the instant, almost stunned him ; but he 
 returned it quickly, and with interest: and the 
 two exchanged several hasty and severe blows 
 with their fists. For Wishart, perceiving that 
 some serious injury was premeditated, struggled 
 fiercely, and would soon have disposed of his pre- 
 
 ^oI,. I. M
 
 178 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 sent adversary, had not Mr. Ross, at the instant, 
 sprung in between them. 
 
 " More," said Ross, as the two whom he had 
 separated stood breathing hard, and gazing on 
 each other, " how can you disgrace yourself, box- 
 ing like a ruffian, with a common painter?" 
 
 " No ! I will not," said Wishart to himself, 
 gnashing his teeth together, as he dropped the 
 arm tliat was rising to aim a blow also at Ross, 
 for this fresh insult; for he observed that the 
 arms of the latter, although his first adversary, 
 were dropped pacifically as he thought, by his 
 side, and his right hand was even somewhat be- 
 hind his back. 
 
 " George Wishart !" demanded Ross, in a voice 
 choking with rage, but with a ruffianly calmness 
 of manner, " will you ever again say that Fanny 
 More is your wife?" 
 
 " I will say it, and maintain it," said Wishart, 
 solemnly, " till the last moment of my life !" 
 
 " Then, by G— ! this shall be the last time," 
 exclaimed the squire ; and he raised his right 
 hand, and with it a rough sandstone, which he had
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 179 
 
 plucked out of the loose wall beside them while 
 Wishart was engaged with More, and struck the 
 unsuspicious youth, on the back of the head, a 
 blow ! which, together with a hustle, which was 
 at the same instant given by his watchful accom- 
 plice, succeeded in laying the young man flat on 
 the gravel road. 
 
 Wishart came to his senses from the effects of 
 the blow, just as he felt the knee of More being 
 placed on his breast ; and his eyes encountered the 
 glare of those of Ross by the moonlight, as the 
 latter stooped down, and as his hand was again 
 raised to strike a fatal stroke on his head with the 
 heavy sandstone. 
 
 " Is this indeed murder?" said Wishart, calmly 
 looking up at both, 
 
 '^ It is the punishment of presumption, rep- 
 tile !" said Ross, hoarse with rage. 
 
 " Give me a moment's chance, gentlemen I'* 
 said Wishart, struggling to get up, " life is sweet : 
 and consider the murderer's portion !" 
 
 " Do you parley, John?" said he that kneeled 
 on the young man's breast, looking up at his 
 companion.
 
 180 GEORGE WISH ART. 
 
 " Not for my sake, but for the sake of Fanny 
 More ; of my darling Fanny, forbear V' gasped 
 the artist, in the immediate fear of death. 
 
 " Villain ! will you still name that name ?" 
 exclaimed Ross, with a horrible expression of 
 countenance, then striking a blow on the forehead 
 of the prostrate Wishart, he deprived him of all 
 sense ; and, as his unresisting victim in his con- 
 vulsive agony turned away his face, Ross, standing 
 up, in his fury raised the coarse sandstone aloft, 
 and dashed it down on the head of the unhappy 
 youth, who gave one groan, as it fell upon the 
 naked scalp : then stooping mechanically, and again 
 lifting the stone, Ross and More stood for a mo- 
 ment and gazed upon each other, and then at the 
 body, which lay bleeding and disfigured along the 
 road in the moonlight. 
 
 " Can't you throw it away?'* said More to the 
 other, as he next looked wildly on the stone in his 
 hand, which was almost made smooth on one 
 side with the clotted blood and hair of the brained 
 young man. 
 
 The murderer threw the stone from him, with
 
 GEORGE NVISHAHT. 181 
 
 a guilty shudder ! and, without speaking a word, 
 each fled sullenly off his different way from the 
 scene of slaughter; for the silent horror of blood 
 seemed already to have raised the cry of ven- 
 geance behind them.
 
 182 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The moon had gone down, and all was now dark 
 at the cross of the town of Barhill, the place where 
 the two gentlemen and Wishart had met in the 
 earlier part of the night, when the dull silence 
 was disturbed by a sudden knocking at a door, so 
 loud and long continued, that it aroused from 
 their slumbers, in alarm and consternation, very 
 many of the sober people who dwelt in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Windows began to rise up here and 
 there above, and heads of people in their night 
 dresses to be shot out, while the drowsy civilians, 
 who at that time patroled the streets, under the 
 name of the town guard, also came forth from their 
 den under the steeple, to see what this fearful 
 knocking might mean. 
 
 The Wishart family lived then at the Cross of 
 Barhill, and the old man and his wife slept in a 
 room on the third story, and that faced the street.
 
 GEORGE UISHART. 183 
 
 " What dreadful knocking is that ? " said Mrs. 
 Wishart to her husband, as she was roused from 
 her sleep, " Do you hear it, guderaan ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ;" replied Wishart's father. " But 
 what need we mind it ? It is no fire, or we would 
 see the light." 
 
 " I wish you would get up, and look out," 
 rejoined the woman, " maybe you can see where 
 it is, at least: it is so loud and earnest, as if 
 something dreadful had taken place. Every knock 
 like that, in the nighttime, goes to my very 
 heart." 
 
 The old man tardily stepped out of bed, and, 
 raising the sash of the window, put out his head, 
 to see if he could ascertain what was the matter. 
 
 " The knocking is at the doctor's door, round 
 the corner opposite ; " said he. " Gracious ! the 
 town guard are out, and they have a light among 
 them, and they seem to be taking in a dead man. 
 I see his bloody face. God preserve us ! now 
 they've gotten him in, poor creature ! " 
 
 " That is, indeed, fearful ; but come to your 
 bed, gudeman, ye'll get cold," said his wife; and
 
 184 
 
 GEORGK WISHART. 
 
 Mr. Wishart, shutting down the window, for the 
 street was now quiet, stepped again into bed. 
 
 ^^ I wonder who the man can be that has been 
 ill used, or murdered," continued Mrs. Wishart. 
 '* Some poor stranger, or ill doing wretch, no 
 doubt. What a happy thing it is, that our sons 
 are so well behaved ; for never any thing happens 
 to them ! Our son George is in his bed long ago, 
 I dinna doubt." 
 
 " There's little doubt of that," said Mr. Wishart 
 complacently. ^* George is a clever lad, and can 
 take care of himself perfectly, out of such dreadful 
 affairs as this unfortunate man seems to have been 
 in this disturbed night." 
 
 " God bless him — he is the pride of the family !" 
 said Mrs. Wishart: and, both comforting them- 
 selves in this manner, the unconscious parents of 
 Wishart resigned themselves to sleep. 
 
 Meantime the surgeon, in the street below, 
 who was dull of hearing, having been at length 
 aroused, and the body borne into his premises, 
 he gave a look over it, and then said coolly, to 
 the three or four anxious bystanders,
 
 tiEOKGE WISH ART. J 85 
 
 " What needed ye have made all this knocking 
 and noise at my door, about a dead man? The 
 man seems to be gone." 
 
 " How can you tell, doctor," said one, " without 
 ever trying if he'll bleed, or feeling if there's a 
 beat at his heart ? I know he was living when I 
 found him, if he has not departed w^hile we've 
 been standing here, knocking at your door." 
 
 " Faith, this is a bloody job, I see," said the 
 doctor, quietly ; " Lord's sake ! " he exclaimed, 
 holding the candle to the disfigured face of the 
 insensible youth, " that's like George Wishart, the 
 painter." 
 
 " It is, indeed ! it is the very man !" exclaimed 
 the person who had brought him, with much 
 consternation at the discovery ; " and I found him 
 crawling on his hands and knees, on the kirk 
 brae, when the town guard gave me help to bring 
 him here. God pity us, Sirs," continued the man, 
 addressing the few bystanders, " it would hae 
 melted your heart to have heard his groans. Make 
 haste, and do something, doctor; for the poor
 
 186 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 young man is in a dead faint, if e'er he comes 
 to life again." 
 
 It appears that the energy of youth had pre- 
 vailed so far over the effects of the murderous 
 treatment he had received, that consciousness 
 again returned to the breast of Wishart ; and re- 
 viving, in some measure, by the cool morning air, 
 he had been able to crawl some length towards 
 home, when he was found by the man, who was 
 attracted by his groans, and who carried him to 
 the shop of the surgeon. There his wounds re- 
 ceived a slight dressing, and he was laid on a 
 couch for the remainder of the night. In the 
 morning he was in a state of total insensibility ; 
 and the surgeon, who had dressed his wounds, 
 fixedly contemplated the unfortunate youth, as he 
 was carried, amid many lamentations and despair- 
 ing words, into the house of his heart-stricken 
 parents. 
 
 Sore was the agony in which the young painter 
 lay, if, indeed, he retained sense of his sufferings, 
 for several days ; and strange were the apprehen-
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 187 
 
 sioiis that began to haunt the mind of Fanny 
 More, as she sat lonely in her uncle's house in the 
 country, a whole week having passed, without her 
 hearing from her beloved Wishart. Her light 
 young heart, however, was unwilling to admit the 
 fear of any evil, happy as she was in the possession 
 of Wishart's love, and eagerly as she looked for- 
 ward to the day, when, by the return of her other 
 uncle and guardian, who was the friend of him 
 whom all the rest of the family were set against, 
 she should be enabled to avow that which present 
 circumstances made it prudent to conceal. Her 
 maid, also, whom she had entrusted with her 
 secret, entered, one morning, with a message, 
 purporting to be from Wishart, stating, that he 
 was obliged to go from home for a short time, but 
 that she should hear from him in a few days : and 
 this message, though delivered verbally, was so 
 acceptable, that it was instantly credited by the 
 unsuspicious girl ; and it entirely calmed her 
 present apprehensions. Meantime all sorts of 
 reports, and strange surmises went round among 
 higli and low in the whole place, concerning this
 
 188 GEORGE WISIIART. 
 
 dreadful and mysterious affair ; the issue of which 
 was still so doubtful, and John Ross and William 
 More were seldom seen ; but, when they did 
 appear, they seemed to go about with the very 
 print of guilt and inward dread impressed on their 
 countenances. 
 
 There was one Sabbath night, shall I ever forget 
 it ! that I passed down through the centre of the 
 town, meaning to take a meditative walk a little 
 way into the country, after the day's religious 
 duties. When I got as far as the Cross, I was 
 astonished to observe a crowd assembled in the 
 street, and opposite Mr. Wishart's door. I could 
 not think what this could mean, for in those days 
 the sabbath was well kept, and scarce a person 
 was ever to be seen on the street, excepting in 
 passing to and from his place of worship. But 
 the crowd was not a tumultuous or a mean crowd, 
 but made up of sober well dressed persons, who 
 stood in groups, and talked to each other in whis- 
 pers, and looked up with melancholy interest to 
 the windows, where I understood George Wishart 
 was lying.
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 189 
 
 I had not the heart to address any one, for I 
 was then but a very young man, and I feared 
 Wishart was dead, or that he might be dying; 
 but casual whispers among the crowd where I 
 stood, wherein I heard the words " doctors, and 
 an operation, and trepanning the skull, and boring 
 a hole in the head of^ the living man, with an in- 
 strument, to get into the brain, and to raise the 
 broken bones which pressed upon the source of 
 sensation ; — and dreadful agony," shocked me, and 
 gave me some clue to the cause of this gathering 
 on the street this quiet Sabbath night. 
 
 In a Httle time the silence was broken by a 
 scream from out of the chamber of the unhappy 
 youth, which was truly terrible, and was answered 
 by a groan which ran through the people below, 
 for it was such as to pierce every heart. Another, 
 and another shriek from the agonized youth, each 
 more terrible than the former, succeeded quickly ; 
 and the crowd hustled together in the desperation 
 of intolerable feeling, while some fled from the 
 spot unable to listen to these appalling expressions 
 of suffering. " Now they turn tlie steel in the
 
 190 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 living bone, as if it were insensible ivory V''^ said 
 one. " Now they operate upon the inflamed source 
 of the nerves!" said another; while scream suc- 
 ceeded scream, mixed with the low sympathetic 
 howl of the females of his house, who were unable 
 to bear the horror of the operation, until the shouts 
 of the unhappy young man, under the hands of 
 his torturers, subsided into an insane roar, as suf- 
 fering merged into the relief of delirium. 
 
 No words can convey the effect of these dreadful 
 sounds. I also grew sick from their effects upon 
 myself, and was forced to fly from the spot, by the 
 appalling horrors of human agony. 
 
 * The operation of the trephine.
 
 GEORGE NMSHART. 191 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Sunday was at all times a dull day at More- 
 hill, where lived Fanny More with her uncle and 
 aunt; but this seemed to her particularly and 
 somewhat ominously silent and sad. She could 
 not account for the fact, that for a number of 
 days past her uncle had prevented her, by dif- 
 ferent excuses, from going out, or into Barhill, 
 except in the company of her infirm and nervous 
 relative ; who, instead of paying any visit as 
 usual, drove a short way further into the country ; 
 and all company seemed to have deserted the 
 house, excepting one or two of the members of 
 the family, who were more silent and haughtily 
 dull than usual, and often spoke in whispers 
 before her, and even appeared anxious to get rid 
 of lier presence.
 
 192 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 All this began to trouble Fanny More deeply 
 in her present painful situation ; but she never 
 thought of associating it with any thing regarding 
 George Wish art, until this present Sunday, when 
 something struck her as being peculiar in the 
 manner and behaviour to her of every one in the 
 family; and even, as she thought, of the servants 
 around her. At church, whither she had gone 
 with her aunt, she was unusually affected with 
 the tenor and tone of the solemn discourse of the 
 minister ; but could not conceive why the eyes of 
 the people seemed every where turned towards 
 her ; as she was stepping into the carriage at the 
 gate, she observed a group striving anxiously for 
 a sight of her face ; and as she wondered at their 
 exchanging of looks and signs, she thought she 
 heard Mr. Wishart's name pronounced, in a tone 
 and manner that caused her involuntary alarm. 
 
 But this was nothing to what she observed at 
 home at the dinner-table ; where, though no one 
 would speak to her any thing but common place, 
 she seemed to be an object of interest and observa- 
 tion, such as had never before been the case.
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 193 
 
 Her aunt seemed to her to look haggard and 
 anxious; her cousin, William More, who dined 
 with them this day, treated her with a painful 
 politeness ; but his manner was uneasy and alto- 
 gether inexplicable; he exchanged looks with, 
 and replied to certain observations of her uncle, 
 in a manner that filled her with alarm ; and she 
 saw him turn pale on two different occasions, 
 when sbe fixed her eyes steadily on his face. 
 When her aunt and herself retired to the drawing 
 room, she was so much excited by her own appre- 
 hensions from all she had witnessed, that she at 
 once asked the meaning of what she observed ? 
 but the answer she received, if the stammering 
 and alarmed reply of the old lady could be called 
 such, only tended to confirm her undefined fears, 
 when her aunt, evidently wishing to avoid her, 
 retired hastily to her own room. 
 
 She sat for nearly an hour alone in the draw- 
 ing-room, and pondered apprehensively, as the 
 evening closed in, upon all the circumstances 
 which had struck her during the last few days. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 Every thing around wore a Sabbath evening still- 
 ness, which was neither broken by a sough of 
 wind among the trees without, nor an audible 
 sound from that part of the house where the gen- 
 tlemen sat over their wine, within ; for they seem- 
 ed to speak in distant whispers this evening, and 
 the very servants stole up and down with a cat- 
 like dread of letting a sound escape them. A 
 book of Sermons lay open before her, but she 
 could not read ; and a thousand times she thought 
 of throwing her mantle round her, and walking 
 forth into Barhill, to endeavour to learn news of 
 Wishart, for every moment added to the fears 
 which began to harass her thoughts. 
 
 She rung the bell hastily for her maid, from a 
 thought that struck her on the instant. When 
 the girl entered the room, she came forward reluc- 
 tantly to the light, and even appeared to tremble, 
 and to turn away from the eager and anxious gaze 
 of the young lady. 
 
 " What means this strange manner to me, 
 Peggy ?" said the young lady.
 
 UEOeOE WISHART. 195 
 
 The girl only stared with a guilty look, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " I want to know from your own mouth, this 
 blessed sabbath night," said Miss More, with a 
 solemnity which seemed to harrow the feelings of 
 the young woman, " whether what you told me, a 
 week ago, of Mr. Wishart, was the truth, or if the 
 whole was a lie to deceive and distress me ?" 
 
 " Madam, I — I — " stammered the girl, still 
 trembling. 
 
 " Well ! speak up, Peggy, if you have a clear 
 conscience !" 
 
 " Conscience, Madam !" 
 
 " Yes, Peggy, this is the Lord's night, lay your 
 hand on that open Bible, and say you have not 
 told me a falsehood concerning Mn Wishart." 
 
 The girl burst into tears. 
 
 A feeling of horror and apprehension came more 
 than ever over the mind of Fanny, as she witnessed 
 the emotion of the girl ; and rising up in the agony 
 of the moment, she exclaimed ; " Tell me now the 
 truth, — know you ought of Mr. Wishart? is he
 
 196 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 come home ? did he ever leave Barhill ? is he well ? 
 is he alive ? Speak, you cruel deceitful woman !'* 
 
 " Oh, Madam ! forgive me, and I will tell you 
 all I know," exclaimed the girl, falling on her 
 knees, " although I lose my place this instant. 
 Something," she went on, " has, indeed, hap- 
 pened to Mr. Wishart ; he is ill, very ill, and there 
 was a great crowd, this evening, at Barhill Cross, 
 where he lies; but I cannot tell you particularly, 
 there are so many reports. I wished to tell you 
 before, but Mr. More gave me money to say I had 
 a message from Mr. Wishart to you, and threat- 
 ened me — alas ! that I ever should have deceived 
 so good a mistress ! — If he dies, I shall never 
 forgive myself!" and the girl's voice was choked 
 with her weeping. 
 
 The further account that the maid was able to 
 give, was so garbled and disturbed by her re- 
 pentant grief, that it only served to increase the 
 horrible imaginings of her distracted mistress; 
 and a few minutes after, found Fanny without, 
 wrapped in her cloak and followed by the maid,
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 197 
 
 where, hurrying on foot through her uncle's 
 grounds, she was proceeding, at a pace which 
 increased in speed with every succeeding reflec- 
 tion that shot through her heart, towards the dis- 
 tant town of Barhill. 
 
 The night was very dark, and though familiar 
 with the road, Fanny stumbled to each side, and 
 was scarcely able to keep her way. As they drew 
 near the dull country town, the tall steeples of 
 which, from the hill on which it was partly built, 
 shot up between her and the dim starlight sky, 
 the whole place seemed to repose in such silence, 
 this Sunday night, that in spite of her disturbed 
 anxiety, a feeling of dread, if not of guilt, caused 
 her to hesitate, as her maid and herself looked 
 timorously in each other's faces, as they came 
 within the dim light of the street lamps in the 
 outskirts, as if suddenly arrested in their hasty 
 flight. 
 
 At this moment they observed two gentlemen 
 quite near them, but on the dark side of the road, 
 who seemed to stop suddenly on observing them, 
 and to eye Fanny with an attention that naturally
 
 198 GEORGE WlSllART. 
 
 alarmed both. They hastened forward, however, 
 without speaking; but on coming to a crossing, 
 at the mouth of a narrow street at the entrance of 
 the town, the same two gentlemen, who had, doubt- 
 less, gone round by another way to intercept them, 
 crossed near, and gazing curiously at them, passed 
 on. 
 
 Fanny could not set this down to common rude- 
 ness, for the like proceeding, on a Sabbath evening, 
 was unknown in this orderly town; and as, from 
 the glance she had of the gentlemen, the person of 
 one of them was, as she thought, familiar to her 
 eyes, although, from the confusion of her thoughts, 
 she could not name him ; the circumstance, in her 
 present state of mind, increased the uneasy excite- 
 ment of her feelings. They still proceeded on 
 through several ill-lighted suburban streets. Not 
 a sound was heard this sober Sabbath night, but 
 their own light steps, as they went hastily forward, 
 and the occasional shrill croon of the psalm of 
 family worship, which the simple people were 
 offering up at their firesides, before retiring to 
 rest; but when these soothing sounds died away,
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 199 
 
 as they passed the lowly dwellings, a distant noise, 
 which they found to be the measured tread of 
 booted feet behind, showed that they were dogged 
 by some persons who seemed interested in watch- 
 ing them. 
 
 " Margaret, where are we? this is not our 
 way !" exclaimed Fanny, looking round her, after 
 having proceeded so quick for a time, in her con- 
 fusion, to avoid those who dogged them, that she 
 knew not where she was going. " Which way 
 shall we turn? We are on the borders of the 
 country again, and the town is all behind us." 
 
 "See you that? Look there. Madam!" ex- 
 claimed the girl, with a suppressed scream, and 
 grasping her mistresses arm. 
 
 "What! What men are these?" she cried 
 hastily ; for she saw, with a feeling that she could 
 not express, two large eyes from a pale face, which 
 she, at the moment, thought was that of her uncle, 
 gazing at her from under the last corner lamp 
 near which they stood. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Fanny !" said the maid, quite 
 thrown off her guard with terror, " that is Mr.
 
 200 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 Ross himself, that murdered Mr. Wishart at the 
 back of the bowling-green/' 
 
 " Murdered ! Peggy ! — do you say murdered !" 
 exclaimed Fanny, scarcely able to articulate. 
 
 " Ah, Madam, maybe it's not true," said the 
 maid ; " although this is the report far and near, 
 and here is the very man watching us in the dark, 
 this Sabbath night. Dear lady, what is the mat- 
 ter? where will I take you?" 
 
 " Take me where you will, Peggy," said the 
 unhappy young lady, faintly, " for I am unable to 
 go farther." 
 
 A few moments of agitated silence, wherein she 
 stood and sobbed within herself, as she leaned 
 upon the maid, served to give vent to the over- 
 powering feelings which the impressions of these 
 circumstances made upon her, and recovering a 
 little, she requested to be led back into the town 
 which they had left behind. 
 
 As they stood considering for a moment of their 
 route, a female figure came slowly forward, dis- 
 covering, in spite of a large and erect form, the 
 characteristics of age, and taking a curious peep
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 201 
 
 at the face of Fanny More, as she passed, gave 
 a startled mutter to herself, and crossing the 
 road, was instantly out of sight under the dark 
 firs in the country side of the way. 
 
 It was in vain that Fanny tried to rally her 
 spirits, or to encourage her timorous companion; 
 and, as both females stood transfixed to the spot, 
 one of the gentlemen who had been dogging them, 
 and whom they knew to be Mr. Ross, again 
 passed close to them, and crossing also the road, 
 after visiting them with a look that paralysed both, 
 he took the same path as the old woman. 
 
 " I wish we were safe back at Morehill, Madam," 
 said the maid, scarcely able to speak, and trembling 
 from fear as well as with cold. 
 
 " Is not that dark planting before us part of the 
 grounds of Rosshaugh ?" said Fanny. 
 
 " Yes, lady, for we are now on the east side of 
 the town, and Morehill must be above three miles 
 off^." 
 
 " I think I know that old woman," said the 
 young lady, a sudden thought having crossed her. 
 " Peggy," she went on, " if you have either af-
 
 202 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 fection for me or courage for yourself, fellow me ;" 
 and so saying, she hurried the terrified girl for- 
 ward into the dark road under the planting. 
 
 They travelled on a considerable way, until en- 
 tering by a narrow stile, and proceeding up a path 
 in the dark, which led through a field by the side 
 of a tall hedge, they stopped at the door of a low 
 cottage. 
 
 Fanny More could not help standing still for a 
 moment, before venturing to seek entrance into 
 this lonely cabin ; and she looked for an instant 
 through the wicker window, to detect, if possible, 
 whether she had been mistaken in her momen- 
 tary supposition. The old woman within was the 
 same she had seen at the end of the town, and 
 had just entered the cottage, for she was occupied 
 blowing with her mouth the red embers of the fire, 
 which yet refused to light up in her small naked 
 dwelling. 
 
 " You don't mean to speak to that fearful 
 woman," said the maid in terror, and laying hold 
 of her mistress; " that's Lucky Hodgert, that was 
 taxed wi' murdering a bairn. She's a witch at
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 203 
 
 least, if she's no' nae waur!" said the maid in 
 terror. — " Oh ! madam, come back to Barhill itself, 
 or any place but here." 
 
 "If you're afraid to follow me, you can stay 
 where you are," said Fanny, with the calmness of 
 despairing feeling. — " I have known poor Janet 
 Hodgert since I was a child, and have no fear 
 of her ;" and so saying, she tapped with her 
 knuckles at the cottage door. 
 
 " Just draw the string and lift the sneck, 
 Fanny More," cried the old woman from with- 
 in, without turning her head from still blowing at 
 her fire. "There's neither porter nor bethral to 
 open my door, and naebody uses ceremony wi' 
 the poor widow woman ; — so just come ben." 
 
 " How can you name one who- knocks at your 
 cottage door without seeing them, good woman?" 
 said Fanny, with a feeling that was almost super- 
 stitious, as she came forward behind the woman." 
 
 " I ken a sleepless ei by a glint o' lamplight ; 
 an' I ken a beating heart at my ain door back, 
 Miss Fanny," said the old woman, in a half mur- 
 mur : " but sit you down on the stool 'till I liglit
 
 204 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 my cruisy, an' PU tell you what you want to 
 ken." 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs. Hodgert/' said Fanny, after a little, 
 and clasping her hands in anxious impatience,. 
 " you know well the dreadful doings that have 
 taken place at Barhill ; and I can get no satisfac- 
 tion: will you just tell me at once if you think 
 George Wishart is to live or die ?" 
 
 " Fanny More," said the old woman, regarding 
 the young lady with a look that made her almost 
 tremble, " if ye want me to speak to you about 
 solemn concerns o' life an' death, speak to me 
 as becomes you, and dinna trifle wi' the lone 
 widow woman: for age and poverty have nae 
 honour frae the worl'j an' I ken o'er muckle 
 o't to be flattered wi' fine words." 
 
 " I did not mean to offend you : I understand 
 you not." 
 
 " My name is Janet Hodgert, Miss Fanny," 
 said the woman, with a look of honest reproof, 
 that was almost noble ; " and my gudeman's name, 
 that has long been beneath the mools, was William 
 Hodgert ; and a puir auld woman like me, that's
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 205 
 
 living from day to day by the hand of Providence, 
 out o' the grave that will soon cover my bones, 
 may, at least, be content wi* the same name that 
 is soon to be put on my coffin lid. But Pm no 
 angry at you, my bonnie young thing. Wae's me, 
 but ye look pale and sorrowfu, an' I can gie you 
 little consolation this sweet sabbath night !" 
 
 " Ah, then, Janet, tell me, if you can," exclaimed 
 Fanny, in an agony of anxiety, " if George Wishart 
 is alive, and if I may see him on his sick bed? 
 Neither stone walls nor iron bolts shall keep me 
 from him, if my hand may be suffisred to smooth 
 his pillow, or wipe his brow. You know his 
 father's house, Janet. Oh, get me to see and 
 speak to my dear George Wishart, and perhaps, 
 perhaps I may be able to restore him yet, Janet, 
 for he is, he is my wedded husband !" 
 
 The old woman sat opposite to her, gazing for a 
 little on the anxious fair countenance of the young- 
 wife, while the muddy glare of the oil cruisy threw 
 her wrinkled, but strongly marked features, into 
 striking relief, as with unusual emotion, she re- 
 plied :
 
 206 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 " Ye may get to see him, and sit in the lang hours 
 o' the night by his sad bedside, Miss Fanny ; ye 
 may wipe the cauld sweat frae his brow ; ye may 
 bathe his bloody wounds wi' your ain hands, when 
 he turns up his een wi' the agony ; ye may watch 
 the weary struggle of cauld insensibility, wi' the 
 warm blood of twa-and-twenty, for fell death tuggs 
 lang and sore at the youthful heart; ye may 
 see the last breath issue frae his convulsed lips, 
 and even streak his bonnie limbs when he's dead ; 
 but he'll ne'er lie in your arms again, Fanny More, 
 as a young husband should lie ; he'll ne'er again 
 fasten the warm kiss of love on your willing lips. 
 Alake, alake, my bonnie young thing ! I'm an 
 auld woman, and canna greet; but I ken in my 
 heart, I ken weel what ye maun suffer, for sore, 
 sore is the pang of youthful widowhood !" 
 
 " And am I, then, to lose him ? And is there 
 really no, no hope?" 
 
 " Alas ! " rejoined the old woman " doctors 
 may promise, and a fond woman may wish, and 
 hard-hearted men may cut and mangle the bruised 
 and shrinking scalp, and pick, wi' sharp steel,
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 207 
 
 amang the broken bones next the brain ; but men 
 dinna live and go about wi' holes bored in their 
 heads ; and the grave will get its ain ; and the 
 winding sheet and the coffin is, aye, the last lair 
 o' a murdered man !" 
 
 Fanny More sat for a little in absorbed stupor, 
 continuing to gaze in the woman's face ; then, 
 starting and seizing hold of her withered arm, she 
 exclaimed, with insane wildness of look, " Janet ! 
 Janet Hodgert ! surely things are known to you, 
 that are hid fr6m many. You have always been 
 a remarkable woman. Deeds of wickedness, done 
 in darkness, seem never to escape your secret 
 ken. Can you say, was it Mr. Ross that did this 
 horrid deed ? " 
 
 " Dinna ask me such a question, Fanny More," 
 said the woman solemnly. " Look at this poor 
 shingle, whare I have leave to wear out my auld 
 day till a narrower house receive me. This cabin 
 is given me by John Ross, and the crumbs o' his 
 table, and the dropping of his luxurious feastings, 
 often serve to nourish the withering weakness of 
 poverty and eild ; but the bar of criminal accusa-
 
 208 GEORGE WISHAKT. 
 
 tion, and the sentence from the high seat of the 
 judges of the land, will give judgment upon John 
 Ross and William More, for the time is at hand ; 
 so go home to your bed, Fanny More, and rest as 
 you can. Ye maun dree your weird as I have 
 done mine, till every good and every evil deed be 
 brought to light, either in this world or the world 
 that is to come." 
 
 " Come away, mistress ! Do come away," said 
 the terrified maid, who stood aside during this 
 scene ; and Fanny was passively about to depart. 
 
 " Dinna come to me for comfort in your sor- 
 row," said the old woman, with an awful expres- 
 sion of bitterness and melancholy, as she followed 
 Fanny to the door with the cruisy in her hand; 
 '* for comfort I hae nane to spare, and my ain 
 heart's withered wi' penury and sorrow. But when 
 your indignation rises at the guilt of the crafty 
 and the cruel, and your nerves fail under the suf- 
 ferings caused by them who have less sympathy 
 for woman's feelings than the fiends of the pit of 
 perdition, come to me, though it were silent mid- 
 night ; when the howlet skreighs frae the dreeriest
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 209 
 
 wa's an' wastes, an' I'll reason wi' you about the 
 world's guilt, and the impunity of the wicked ; an' 
 I'll add my curse, my bitterest curse to yours, on 
 the heads of those who have worked you this 
 dreadful dool." 
 
 " rU come to you again; I see what is reserved 
 for me !" was all that Fanny could say, and the 
 unhappy girl suffered herself to be assisted out 
 into the dark path that led from the cottage. They 
 had not proceeded above a street's length into the 
 town of Barhill, and towards Mr. Wishart's house, 
 when they again heard feet walking hastily behind 
 them ; and, soon after, two men, one of whom 
 turned out to be her uncle, and the other Mr. 
 Ross, who had been watching her, seized her, 
 and hurrying her towards where, a carriage stood 
 waiting, she was placed in it more dead than 
 alive, and it set off at full speed, she knew not 
 whither. 
 
 VOL. I,
 
 210 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The unfortunate Wishart still lingers in his 
 pain ; death is long in coming to his relief. Some 
 say that there are even slight hopes;" were the 
 exclamations and reports which went through the 
 town of Barhill, some days after this ; and many 
 prayers and wishes were added, by all who knew 
 him, that at least he might be speedily relieved 
 from his sufferings. 
 
 " But what has become of Miss Fanny More?" 
 was the constant question for a time in the town 
 and neighbourhood. 
 
 " She has been carried beyond the border," was 
 affirmed by some. " No ; it is said that she has 
 sailed in a ship bound for Holland." "That can- 
 not be the fact, for / have heard she has been sent
 
 GEORGE ^MSHART. 211 
 
 to a lone house in the Isle of Jura, and that she 
 is placed in a turret of Belvoigh Castle that o'er- 
 hangs the sea; and it is said she gets her food 
 through a hole in the wall, and she's watched by- 
 wild Highlandmen that can speak no English." 
 Such were the various reports respecting the un- 
 fortunate girl, about whom, and in connection with 
 Wishart, there was all round a strong and sympa- 
 thetic interest, which was deepened by the present 
 uncertainty regarding both. 
 
 Meantime that death which nothing but the 
 freshness of his youth, and the energy of his 
 natural spirit had warded off so long, was, not- 
 withstanding all that had been done by the sur- 
 geons, gradually, but surely, drawing closer every 
 hour, to the relief of the unfortunate Wishart ; and 
 dull and lonesome were to him the long hours of 
 racking pain, or tedious weakness, for something 
 seemed still to be wanting to comfort his inmost 
 thoughts in his sickness, and many a longing 
 gaze he had turned towards the door, before his 
 tongue was able to express the yearning wish of 
 his heart.
 
 212 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 " Will no one get me one other look of Fanny 
 More?" he at length audibly exclaimed, in his 
 trouble; but this might not be granted, for the 
 physicians had strictly forbidden all communica- 
 tion that might disturb his nerves, and particularly 
 had interdicted him from any interview v^ith the 
 lady in question. But the weary hours of sick- 
 ness and suffering passed slowly and sad as he 
 still murmured her name ; and any faint hopes of 
 recovery he received with a suspicious look and an 
 incredulous closing of the eyes ; but the first use 
 he made of it was again to beg to be allowed to 
 say one word to his dear Fanny. 
 
 But his parents now found, with apprehensive 
 consternation, that Miss More was removed, or in 
 some way disposed of, no one knew with certainty 
 whither; and while they heard the many reports 
 concerning her, with appalled feelings, they dared 
 not communicate them to their weak and suffering 
 son, who still, in his returning paroxysms of weak- 
 ness and of raving, implored for the opportunity to 
 speak a single word to her. 
 
 " George Wishart is not expected to live another
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 213 
 
 day — the young artist is given up by the physi- 
 cians and dying fast," was soon after reported 
 again, with disappointed looks ; and ^* Mr. Ross 
 has not been seen for several days ; some say he 
 has fled, and others say that William More is 
 under hidings, and was heard to express, that if 
 Wishart dies, he will drink the contents of a phial 
 of laudanum, that is placed for the purpose at his 
 bed's head." Various other reports were mixed 
 with these. The most intense anxiety every where 
 prevailed, and Wishart's family were again drow^n- 
 ed in grief and despair. 
 
 " It cannot last much longer," said the sick 
 youth himself, faintly, one night, to his sister, 
 who watched over him; then turning his eyes 
 with that impressive effect, and in that tone of 
 harrowing pathos, which so peculiarly marks the 
 words of the dying ; he said, " Oh, Jess, must 
 I die without getting one other look of Fanny 
 More?" 
 
 " If there is a person in the world that can hear 
 of her," said his sister, scarcely able to speak, 
 " it is old Janet Hodgert of the Burnfoot, by
 
 214 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 Rosshaugh, and to her I have twice sent, and if 
 Miss More is in the country side — but, still I 
 hope, George — " 
 
 " Hope nothing, Jessy ; " said the young man, 
 energetically, " I tell you, I am dying." 
 
 The time lingered on in the deep silence of the 
 sick chamber ; and, on the same night, the breathing 
 of the youth began to become troublesome and 
 ominous. The clock ticked audibly by the wall, 
 as he watched the lapse of the moments, and, 
 with an intense look at the dial, was heard to 
 whisper to himself, frequently repeating the 
 words, 
 
 " Time is at an end, the sand in the glass is 
 almost out, eternity is long, long." ^ 
 
 " What is it you say, George?" said his sister. 
 
 " Do not interrupt me; I am thinking of the 
 dead, among whom I must soon be laid. The 
 moon shall shine quietly on my grave, as I sleep 
 among those that have run a longer race before 
 me. The contemplation of the lonesome place of 
 silence is almost the last thing I remember on that 
 fearful night; but it is all one now. I shall lie
 
 GEORGE WISHAUT. 215 
 
 with the others, unmoved by earthly sorrow or 
 passion :" and then he muttered the solemn para- 
 phrase concerning the dead : 
 
 " ' Their hatred and their love is lost, 
 Their envy buiied in the dust ; 
 They have no share in all that's done 
 Beneath the circuit of the sun." 
 
 " And soon this will be my state. Hark ! some 
 one opens the door ; I know it is joyful tidings ; 
 help me up, Jess ; " said the youth, wildly. 
 *^ Hear you not that voice ? Oh God ! give me 
 strength !" 
 
 In an instant the door was opened, and in 
 rushed, or rather staggered, the pale and excited 
 Fanny More. 
 
 It may not be described with what feelings she 
 threw herself over the pillow of the sick youth, 
 and kissed his dying lips. 
 
 *^ Once more, once more on earth," he was able 
 to say, returning her sobbing embrace. And after 
 a little she drew back, and sat, for a moment, 
 gazing upon the wan features of her dying luis- 
 band.
 
 216 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 His sister, however, ran out on seeing the change 
 that seemed fast coming over him ; and the vi^hole 
 family were soon in the chamber, gathered round, 
 to witness the last moments of the unfortunate 
 young man, and the awful and bitter parting of 
 the newly wedded and strongly attached pair. And 
 yet the heart of the dying youth seemed to be 
 bursting rather with joy, in this embrace of his 
 Fanny, than with sorrow, that they were soon to 
 be parted for ever : and the big tears that rolled 
 down his pale cheeks were accompanied with a 
 smile, almost of rapture, as he gazed on her once 
 more, and blessed her as long as articulation was 
 granted to him. 
 
 But the excitement of this interview evidently 
 hastened the crisis that was sure to come. " Help 
 me up, Fanny," he said, with the anxious haste of 
 one who seemed afraid to lose a moment, " for 
 death gallops, and is at hand ! Bear witness, all, 
 that Fanny More is my lawful wife ; and, I again 
 declare, declare before God, that John Ross, as- 
 sisted and aided by William More, is my murderer ! 
 look to my beloved, beloved Fanny !"
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 217 
 
 He sunk back, as they all gazed around in 
 silence, which was only disturbed by stifled sobs 
 and the distracted exclamations of the unhappy 
 Fanny. His look was fixed upon his wife, but it 
 soon became stony and glazed. He was no more. 
 
 Next day John Ross, Esq., of Rosshaugh, and 
 William More, Esq., of Bargowan, were arrested, 
 and carried to Edinburgh, on a charge of murder.
 
 218 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What a difference it makes to most people, their 
 dealing death or distress to others, or the same 
 things being brought home to themselves ! The 
 day of the trial of John Ross and William More, 
 before the Lords of Justiciary in Edinburgh, was, 
 notwithstanding that no pains or expense had been 
 spared to bring them off, a dreadful day at the 
 homes of the several parties, and to all their 
 numerous relatives throughout the country. 
 
 At Morehill almost the whole relatives of the 
 family, who did not choose to go to witness the 
 trial, were assembled, and passed the day in solemn 
 deliberation ; mutually supporting each other's 
 hopes, as they waited together, in horrid anxiety, 
 for the expresses, hourly expected from Edinburgh, 
 with the result: and at Rosshaugh, Mr. Ross's 
 maiden aunt was too much agitated to so out, but
 
 GEORGE WlSHAllT. 219 
 
 went from room to room, wringing her hands, and 
 exposing, even to the whispering servants, the 
 feverishness and intensity of her dread of what 
 this dreadful day might bring forth. 
 
 Doubtful visions, of the fearfulest sort, family 
 disgrace, and the gallows itself, filled the alarmed 
 fancies of all concerned, the whole of the day. 
 All the gentry round seemed to wait, in intense 
 anxiety, concerning an event, the bare idea of 
 which was so dreadful; and, among the reports 
 with which the town of Barhill was agitated, it 
 was said that the head of the unfortunate Wishart 
 had been dug up after it was buried, and that 
 the prepared scull was to be laid on the table 
 before the accused, on their trial, as a witness 
 against them. 
 
 The day passed over, at length ; and crowds of 
 people were assembled at the town-end, on the 
 road by which the messenger was to come from 
 Edinburgh with the news of the verdict. It was 
 twelve at night, and still there were crowds out, 
 and the town was going " from bank to brae," in 
 eager anxiety. At length the rattle of a carriage
 
 220 GEORGE WIS HART. 
 
 was heard. It was a postchaise and four, which 
 came forward Hke the wind. The crowd ran to 
 meet it. " Not proven !" shouted a gentleman 
 from within. " Not proven !" ran through the 
 crowd ; and all went home shaking their heads at 
 this intelligence, excepting those whose hearts it 
 relieved from a load of horrid apprehension. Next 
 day John Ross and William More came stealthily 
 back to their own houses in the neighbourhood of 
 Barhill. 
 
 But the sound of this sad affair by no means 
 died away in the district where it happened ; al- 
 though the subject was sedulously avoided by all 
 concerned, excepting the sad and broken hearted 
 family of the Wisharts : and as for Fanny More, 
 as she was still called, no one could tell what had 
 become of her. That verdict, admitted in the 
 Scotch law, which seems a sort of medium between 
 guilty and not guilty, — or rather, appears to some 
 to imply guilt which yet is defective in legal 
 proof, gave great discontent to most people ac- 
 quainted with the affair, and caused much dis- 
 cussion all round the country. The evidence of
 
 GEORGE WISIIART. 221 
 
 the surgeon witnesses, who laying stress upon the 
 notion which they themselves had helped to give 
 out, that Wishart had partly recovered from the 
 original injury, had given it as their opinion, that 
 he died of a secondary disease in the head, was 
 commented upon in no measured or guarded terms 
 every where; and few scrupled to assert, that 
 money, " the great disposer of events," had the 
 real merit of procuring this startling acquittal of 
 the murderers of Wishart. 
 
 Although a paragraph appeared in the news- 
 papers of the date, noticing the reports in ques- 
 tion, and declaring, that " the worthy gentlemen 
 to whom these scandalous rumours applied, having 
 been honourably freed from the charge, were to be 
 received every where with every previous honour 
 and respect !" yet this, so far from having the in- 
 tended effect, deepened the detestation and hor- 
 ror in which they were held by all, save their own 
 immediate connections ; and a prophecy that some- 
 thing would be seen to happen to them before they 
 left the world, as a judgment upon their guilt, was 
 universally admitted and echoed from mouth to
 
 222 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 mouth, with the confidence of a conviction that 
 such would be seen to be a heaven-directed and 
 unavertable earthly retribution. 
 
 But little was known concerning either of the 
 gentlemen for several months, and far less of 
 Fanny More. The reports, however, became after 
 a time, mixed with horrible suggestions and sur- 
 mises of the deepening of Ross's guilt, and con- 
 cerning the destination of Fanny, and secret con- 
 finement of the unhappy girl, and even murder, 
 deliberate and planned murder, became openly to 
 be spoken of. But nothing certain was known 
 regarding any of the parties ; and as to Mr. Ross, 
 or his friend, whether they were still in the neigh- 
 bourhood or not, they were seldom seen in the 
 streets of Barhill. At length it came to be known, 
 through the medium of servants, and by the late 
 hours and evidences of midnight revelry about 
 Rosshaugh and the houses of the Mores, that the 
 two gentlemen kept much at home, and had 
 plunged into habits of deep and sottish dissipa- 
 tion. They were never seen but in the early part 
 of the evening, after having spent the day in bed ;
 
 GEORGE WISHATIT. 223 
 
 and then stealing guiltily about, with red eyes and 
 inflamed countenances, and in a state of feverish 
 nervousness, as if afraid to look any one in the 
 face ; they seemed anxious for the concealment of 
 night, again to lose their senses, and drown their 
 remorse in the excitement of gambling, and the 
 gross dizziness of staring intoxication. 
 
 The life that they now led was notorious to all. 
 Even the great influence of their numerous and 
 haughty relatives could neither palliate nor conceal 
 their reckless and abandoned conduct. Drunken- 
 ness, — gross and shameless drunkenness, seemed 
 now to be the state in which they gloried; and 
 scenes of riot were acted in the old mansion, 
 among the woods of Rosshaugh, which startled 
 the quiet ear of midnight — seemed to frighten the 
 very birds that slept in the planting around, and 
 gave rise to reports of what was seen and heard at 
 these hours, that filled the sober people near with 
 horror. Lights were seen after midnight among 
 the trees, and forms were observed to issue from 
 the mansion, in the indistinctness of darkness, 
 which were not to be spoken of; for it was known
 
 224 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 that the most abandoned men and women were 
 invited to Rosshaugh : and whether it was the 
 visible interposition of the spirit of evil himself, 
 that sanctioned their orgies, was not distinctly 
 understood; but certainly sights were seen along 
 with the sounds of profanity, which were never 
 properly described, but which almost seemed to 
 indicate that supernatural power was present, — 
 that embodied spiritual wickednesses that dwell in 
 high places, and that walk in darkness, seemed 
 to be called in by the incantations of the evil one, 
 to aid the black spirit of earthly vice ! It became 
 so vile, that even the vicious themselves seemed at 
 last to flee from Rosshaugh, and William More 
 only was left to spend the night with the bloated 
 and abandoned Ross, until the very house became 
 a terror to the neighbourhood, and the wretched 
 gentlemen became the reproach and the pity of 
 their own servants.
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 225 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was on a Saturday night late, it was even mid- 
 night and over; for it was into the holy calm of 
 the dead hour, and of Sabbath morning, when a 
 light still burned in the lonely cottage of Janet 
 Hodgert, which stood on the edge of the grounds 
 of Rosshaugh, in a neglected and desolate spot, 
 near a few outstraggling firs which skirted the 
 remote part of the pleasure grounds. 
 
 The dim light of the peeping oil cruisy within, 
 indicated that the old woman was not yet in bed, 
 a circumstance not veiy uncommon of late; and 
 this inexplicable fact having been more than once 
 observed by casual passers by, together with the 
 circumstance of her lonely situation and peremp- 
 tory mode of talking, had caused reports concern- 
 ing her, associated with the wicked doings at 
 Rosshaugh, where she lived, which partook much 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 more of superstitious dread, than of sense and 
 truth. This night she sat by herself, as usual, 
 with her Bible spread out before her, which, how- 
 ever, she was not looking upon ; but, sitting gazing 
 into the embers of her decaying fire, and rocking 
 herself backwards and forwards, she seemed to 
 be absorbed in an abstraction which had, in its 
 dreamy subject, more of an eternal than of a pre- 
 sent world. It was her constant habit to spread 
 the old Bible before her, while in these moods, 
 although her sight was now so gone that she 
 could not distinguish a single letter of the book 
 she loved so well to ponder over in her solitude. 
 
 " It is past midnight, and still I cannot bear to 
 go to bed. What is to happen, hereabout, before 
 the morning ? What is to happen me ?" muttered 
 the old woman, looking steadily into the embers of 
 the fire ; for that mixture of superstition and pre- 
 sentiment, with the musings of age and solitude, 
 which seemed to partake of the spirit of prophecy, 
 now occasionally came over her, about the dead of 
 night, almost persuading her into a belief in her 
 personal communion with a spiritual world.
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 227 
 
 " Something will happen this night, I know by 
 the crooning sound in my ears ; and something will 
 be here in the darkling, I see by the shadows that 
 pass between me and the red fire ; and I manna gae 
 to bed, for the sleep has gone clean frae my een. 
 Glide save us ! but I'm eeny ! sitting my lee-fu 
 lane in this cottage; for the wickedness that's 
 working between the four walls of Rosshaugh 
 House, is like a Sodom and Gomorrha, that brings 
 a curse on the very trees that whiz in the night- 
 wind at the gable o' my lonely dwelling. Hoogh ! 
 What's that ? I hear a soft foot on the yird with- 
 out. Auld as I am, I'm wanted this night, I trow." 
 
 A slight tap at the cottage door startled the old 
 woman, and the words, " Janet ! Janet Hodgert !" 
 were repeatedly called, by a voice from without, 
 which the old woman could not, in her sudden tre- 
 pidation, recognise. 
 
 " Am I a bairn to be frightened because it's the 
 witching hour o' the night?" muttered the old 
 woman, rising to open the door, and taking the 
 cruisy in her hand. 
 
 *' The blessed saints ])e about us!" she ex-
 
 228 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 claimed aghast, and almost letting fall the lamp 
 in her terror, as she cast her eyes on the pale 
 figure that stood without; for a bare-headed fe- 
 male in white, with her hair flowing down over her 
 neck and shoulders, stood gazing wildly upon her. 
 " In the name of the Lord, speak ! and say your 
 errand to me, fair speerit," said the old woman, 
 with difficulty. 
 
 " Fm no spirit, Janet Hodgert," said the figure ; 
 although Fm sore altered with grief and pining ; 
 but stand out of the doorway and let me in. Ye'll 
 not deny a seat by your fire, and a word of your 
 mouth to the broken-hearted Fanny More !" 
 
 " Surely the world is going back, riding on the 
 axle-tree of sin, and Satan himself has been let 
 loose to reign on the earth in these latter days," 
 exclaimed the old woman, " if this be at last the 
 condition of the bonnie youthful Fanny More ! " 
 and she held the cruisy close to her face, as she 
 set the wretched young lady down on a stool. 
 
 " Fm cauld — Fm cauld — body and soul ! Janet 
 Hodgert, — steer the red low 'till I warm my 
 knees/' said Fanny, w^ith a childish gaze into the 
 fire.
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 229 
 
 " God be merciful to me ! surely it hasna come 
 to that," said the old woman, looking at the poor 
 female, in deep pity. " Where hae ye come from, 
 at this hour, Fanny More ?" 
 
 " I came frae the Ashet Isle, in the middle o' 
 Clyde stream, Janet Hodgert, and I waded up to 
 my waist in the bubbling water, although it was 
 dark, dark — an' spunkie followed me all the way 
 through the moors — gleam gleaming to decoy me ; 
 but the smell o' the dead led me to Inchinnan 
 kirk-yard — an' the smell o' brimstone led me to 
 wicked Ross's house, in the dark, and here I 
 am first." 
 
 " Waes me ! — Waes me !" said the old woman, 
 pathetically, as she contemplated the wild look of 
 the crazed girl ; " have I lived to see this, and 
 ye're blae beneath the een, Fanny, and your look 
 is wild and willyart ! Mercy be o'er us !" 
 
 " But I'm whyles happy, when I think I hear 
 his voice," said Fanny, smiling childishly ; " but 
 he's lang, lang of coming hame." 
 
 " Who is lang of coming hame, Fanny?" said 
 the old woman.
 
 230 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 " Bonnie George Wishart, to be sure. Blessings 
 on him !" And the poor insane creature wiped a 
 tear from her face when she thought of him whose 
 death she seemed insensible of, and whose image 
 was still imprinted on her memory, 
 
 " But what want you with me, at this dead 
 hour, Fanny More?" enquired Janet Hodgert; 
 for experience had taught her, that a special pur- 
 pose often lurked in the vagaries of insanity such 
 as hers. 
 
 The young lady, gazing in Janet's face for a 
 moment, her recollection seemed to clear up, and 
 she replied with remarkable distinctness : " Re- 
 member you not, my old friend, the last words 
 you said to me in this cottage, that sorrow had 
 withered your own heart, and you had no comfort 
 to spare for me ; but if I could not thol the bitter- 
 ness of a weary life, and if my heart rose against 
 those who had worked me dool and grief, you 
 would, at least, help me, even at the dark hour of 
 midnight, to denounce a curse upon those who 
 have murdered the husband of my youth, and 
 broken my heart. Come, Janet Hodgert," she
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 231 
 
 added, with a caressing look, that was truly pi- 
 teous, " the hour of riot is not over in Rosshaugh 
 House ; I saw the light through the trees on my 
 way. Come, and let me speak the anathema of 
 heaven, upon the guilty head of him who can 
 never know what he has made me feel." 
 
 " God forbid that I should refuse you, what- 
 ever come of it, my poor broken-heart !" said the 
 woman. I knew I had something to do before 
 I slept, and the hour and time is fitting!" and 
 huddling her cloak round her, she accompanied 
 the insane girl forth from the cottage, 
 
 A small streak of a late moon just appearing, 
 was all the light they had, as they wound through 
 the silent plantings of Rosshaugh ; and a feeling 
 little short of terror came over the woman herself 
 as she drew near the large dark mansion, hearing 
 no sound but the tread of herself and companion, 
 whose light fonii, and wildly pale look, were truly 
 ghostlike in the dim glimmering of the moon. 
 
 As they walked silently on, down a narrow 
 avenue that terminated in the great carriage way, 
 they saw distinctly the figure of a man issue from
 
 232 GEORGE WISH ART. 
 
 the mansion, and take two or three hasty turns 
 on the gravel walk ; — then seeming absorbed, and 
 muttering to himself, as if under the influence of 
 some agitating feeling, he darted into the planting 
 next the house, and seemed to be coming directly 
 to where the females were walking down the 
 path. 
 
 The old woman was struck with the unshrink- 
 ing steadiness with which the crazed girl pursued 
 her path, — her eye fixed upon the man as if she 
 expected him to meet her. A feeling of pure 
 terror made old Janet fall a short way behind, 
 until she should see what was to happen : when at 
 the instant the man had leaped on to the footway, 
 at a spot where there being a clear crossing, the 
 rising moon had relieved it from the surrounding 
 darkness, Fanny More stood in the light imme- 
 diately before him : and, in the agitated scream 
 which this apparition called forth, was recognised 
 the voice of William More. 
 
 If ever ghost and its witness at midnight, by 
 the glimmer of the moon, were fitly represented 
 by any group, they were at this moment by these
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 233 
 
 two figures ; and truly, the horror-struck look of 
 the wearer of a guilty conscience, under the eye 
 of those whom it has wronged, is a dreadful sight 
 at all times, but particularly in the solitude of 
 a wood, at the witching time of night. Fanny 
 More stood stockstill: the hollow eyes, caused 
 by the night's fatigue, and her long misery, glar- 
 ing upon the unhappy man ! She spoke not, — 
 but lifting up her arms, and parting the long 
 dishevelled hair, which hung about her temples, 
 and partly obstructed her gaze, she continued to 
 fix her look, in which the excitement of execration 
 and partial insanity were fearfully blended, upon 
 the wretch that stood gasping with terror before 
 her. 
 
 " Merciful God ! where shall I go ? earth and 
 hell seem alike to haunt me!" croaked the un- 
 happy man; and retreating slowly, as he gazed 
 on the form before him, he dived farther into the 
 recesses of the wood. 
 
 Janet Hodgert was astonished to witness with 
 what a strange steady step and gliostlike manner, 
 the vengeful Fanny continued to follow, as the
 
 234 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 horror-struck man retreated from walk to walk, 
 across and through the tangling of the planting ; 
 and at every moment, when hidden in the shade 
 of the trees he thought her gone, she merged forth 
 on the next open spot of moonlight, just at his 
 side, until in a dark spot, studded with large 
 scattering elms and beeches, she came close up, 
 as if it had been her intention to grapple with 
 him. A black circular pond was so hid among 
 the luxuriant trees, in a nook of the wood in this 
 quarter, that the oblique light of the moon reached 
 not the dreary hole, which one would have almost 
 shuddered to look upon in the clearness of noon ; 
 and into this gloomy and secluded den had Fanny 
 by this time pursued him; when turning round, 
 terror and intoxication having completely carried 
 away his senses, he croaked out these words: 
 "Whence came you, horrid shape? are you not 
 amply revenged by my feverish heart and burning 
 brain — still on ? will nothing satisfy you ? mean 
 you to follow me to hell?" 
 
 " Give me back George Wishart ! " was Fanny's 
 shrill and sharp exclamation; and she insanely
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 236 
 
 held oat her arms as both drew near to the very 
 edge of the pool. 
 
 " Keep off ! Come not near ! Name not that 
 name. — Fiend ! leave me ! — Oh !" And, as he 
 uttered the last exclamation, while retreating in 
 terror, he staggered down the slope towards the 
 water, and with a shriek and a plunge, sank to 
 the bottom of the deep pool ! while the crazed 
 Fanny screamed out an insane laugh, that echoed 
 from every corner of the silent woods of Ross- 
 haugh. 
 
 " For God's sake, Fanny, save him !" cried the 
 old woman, coming up hastily in horror, as the 
 wretched man struggled on rising to the surface 
 of the pond. 
 
 " Hush, ush, Janet," said Fanny, leaning on 
 her with an idiotic caress ; " Listen ! hear you the 
 splashing struggle of the remorseful wretch ? 
 Hush ! there ! what think you of the last gurgle 
 of the murderer, drowning at midnight in the 
 reedy pool ? Now, all is quiet. His hands clench 
 in death. Oh, I'm a sorrowful woman ;" she 
 added, changing her tone with the rapidity of
 
 236 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 mental aberration, " for that will not bring back 
 my bonnie George Wishart." 
 
 They both wandered on, in shuddering dread, out 
 of the darkness, and from the pool. The nearest 
 retreat they could get from this dreadful spot 
 brought them again near to the mansion ; and by 
 this time the moonlight was pretty clear ; and the 
 old woman determined to follow Fanny wherever 
 she meant to go. They heard a low door hastily 
 close in the side of the mansion as they drew 
 near; and, going up to it, it gave way to their 
 hand ; for the person who had been looking out 
 from it seemed to have been too much in terror to 
 close it after him, so Fanny and the old woman 
 easily entered the house. 
 
 They proceeded along the passages, which were 
 all familiar to them; until, perceiving a light in 
 the large dining room, they both opened the door, 
 and walked forward to the table, near which they 
 perceived some one still sitting alone on a chair. 
 The man moved not, nor seemed to notice them as 
 they came forward. It was Mr. Ross himself ! his
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 237 
 
 head was laid back uneasily over his chair, and he 
 was fast asleep. 
 
 Fanny More stood still, gazing on him for a mo- 
 ment; and, whether it was from the influence of 
 her feelings, or the sudden transition from the cold 
 air without, into the warm apartment, she shud- 
 dered all over as she contemplated the bloated 
 young man, in his uneasy and intoxicated sleep. 
 A pair of candles, burning into their sockets, stood 
 before him, and the table was spread over with 
 glasses and decanters, half filled with wine and 
 brandy, among which packs of cards, counters, 
 money, and torn papers, lay in midnight and 
 drunken confusion. 
 
 The old woman had been so struck with the 
 half insane energy of the bewildered girl, that she 
 stood passively behind, to see what she would do ; 
 when, after a brief pause, stepping close to Mr. 
 Ross, she gave a knock on the table, so hard, that 
 it sounded through the whole silent house, making 
 the bottles and glasses dance where they stood, 
 and, at the same moment, putting her mouth to
 
 238 GEORGE WISH ART. 
 
 the ear of the sleeping man, she shouted, with a 
 scream that seemed almost unearthly, the single 
 word, " Murderer ! '' 
 
 The awakening look, the confused stare of hor- 
 ror, of the conscience-struck man, as he gazed 
 upon the steady and pale face of Fanny More, is 
 not to be communicated by any possible descrip- 
 tion; but the relief of speech was totally denied 
 him for a considerable interval. At last he was 
 able to gasp out, " In the name of God, what is 
 this?" 
 
 " It is the murderer's curse ! John Ross ; " said 
 Fanny, in a voice that made the old woman herself 
 tremble. " Waken, sinner ! and hear it every 
 word, before you go to your everlasting place !" 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 "I am Fanny More, of the Ashet Isle;" said 
 Fanny, her bewilderment returning, " and I came 
 from Saint Mirren's kirk yard to waken you. Hark 
 ye — a dead man wants you, John Ross. Did ye 
 see George Wishart, seeking you with his bloody 
 head ?" 
 
 "My God!"
 
 GEORGE WISH ART. 239 
 
 " Whisht ! this is the sabbath morning ; ye 
 daurna speak that name again wi' the devil's books 
 before you, John Ross. John Ross, ye murdered 
 my sweet George Wishart, and brake his head 
 wi' a rough stone ; and ye brake my heart, till my 
 wits are gone wi' grief. Oh, wicked John Ross ! 
 I canna curse you wi' my ain tongue. But fearfu' 
 is the doom o' the murderer !" 
 
 But /can curse him with a widow's curse!" 
 exclaimed the old woman, now coming forward, 
 and excited by horrible recollections. " Did you 
 not murder Jean Gray's bairn, John Ross, an' 
 tried to get the guilt put on me, to increase the 
 sorrows o' the puir widow woman ? Have you not 
 broken the heart, and deprived of her wits this 
 sweet young creature, after having murdered the 
 prettiest youth that ever stepped the streets of 
 bonnie Barhill ? May the curse of the wicked and 
 the destroyer follow you night and day, John Ross ! 
 But your days will be few on the earth ; and 
 William More has already gone to his account. 
 Ay, already ! for he lies now at the bottom of the 
 dark pool in the wood !"
 
 240 GEORGE WISHAUT. 
 
 " Take me to hell after him, you hag ! " cried 
 the wretched man, " or any where, from this hor- 
 ror." 
 
 " The fever is already bleezing in your bloated 
 face, John Ross," said Fanny, mournfully, " and 
 the murderer's wretchedness is eating at your 
 heart, till the doom of the wicked is ready to 
 swallow you. Oh, miserable man, give me back 
 my sweet husband. You took his life ! you took 
 George Wishart's sweet life !" — And, saying these 
 words, she threw herself forward in her agony, 
 and staring wildly in his face, she again screamed 
 "murderer !" until her shrill tones echoed through 
 every passage of the silent mansion. 
 
 The effect of this seemed too much for the guilty 
 man. His eyes rolled fearfully in his horror, as 
 he shrunk back from this midnight proclaimer of 
 his misery and his doom ; and, in the unconscious 
 desperation of dread, he overturned the table, with 
 a howl of terror; and, in an instant, was pros- 
 trate on the floor, and they were all left in total 
 darkness. 
 
 After a few moment's silence, in which he still
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 241 
 
 lay seemingly in a fit on the floor. Janet Hodgert, 
 taking hold of the passive young lady, they walked 
 out by the open doors, and made the best of their 
 way in the moonlight towards her lonely cottage. 
 
 Little more remains to be added to this painful 
 tale. Next day and the following, the avenues 
 of Rosshaugh were overrun with the carriages of 
 physicians from far and near, for John Ross was 
 known to be in a raging fever. 
 
 A short period served to indicate that all human 
 assistance was vain ; and that the doom that had 
 been expected for the guilty squire of Rosshaugh 
 was already near at hand. The horrible language 
 that he made use of in his ravings filled his do- 
 mestics with increased dread ; and even his proud 
 aunt, who had adhered to him through all his 
 errors, was almost driven by pure "fear from the 
 bedside of her guilty nephew. Meantime, the 
 town and neighbourhood of Barhill rang with 
 reports of what had been heard and seen at Ross- 
 haugh ; and the sudden disappearance of William 
 More, whose body was not yet found, increased 
 the consternation of both families. 
 
 VOL. 1. R
 
 242 GEORGE WISHART. 
 
 The large lone mansion, where John Ross lay 
 dying, was now completely deserted, even by the 
 physicians : and the terrors of an invisible world 
 seemed to haunt the minds of the few nurses 
 and servants who did the last attendance to the 
 raving gentleman. As his madness subsided from 
 mere weakness into silence, a distinct and con- 
 tinuous sound was heard, as if over his head; 
 which resembled the booming of a wheel, accom- 
 panied by strange indistinct clamours, as if of 
 a multitude of low tongues ; and these sounds — 
 of which there is as much evidence as there is 
 of many other things received without question 
 among us — were understood by the numbers who 
 heard them, to be the hasty spinning and drawing- 
 out of the last thread of the life of the dying, 
 and the clamours of invisible beings, who waited 
 impatiently for his departing spirit. On the night 
 that he died, sights were said to have been seen 
 in the sick chamber, and throughout the grounds ; 
 and sounds were heard, even more terrible and 
 distinct. 
 
 On the same day that John Ross was laid out
 
 GEORGE WISHART. 243 
 
 a corpse, the body of William More was found 
 swimming on the surface of the black pool in the 
 wood ! and the day on which they were both 
 interred in St. Mirran's Churchyard was one of 
 storm and rain, such as had scarcely ever been 
 remembered by the oldest inhabitant of the town 
 of Barhill. 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 Charles VVhittiiigham, Tooks Cuiirt, 
 Chancery L;ine, London.
 
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