3^ 
 
 L IBRAHY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 W33S 
 
 V.I
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WIUTLFRIARS.
 
 THE 
 
 WRITER'S CLERK; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE HUMOURS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SCOTTISH METROPOLIS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Be heedful, youth, and see you stop betimes ; 
 
 Lest that thy rash ungovernable passions, 
 
 O'erleaping duty, and each due regard, 
 
 Hurry thee on, thro' short -liv'd, dear-bought pleasures, 
 
 To cureless woes and lasting penitence." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR G. B. WHITTAKER, 
 
 AVE-MARIA-LANE. 
 
 1825.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/writersclerkorhu01lond
 
 5 ■; ) 
 
 v, ( 
 
 THE 
 
 WRITERS CLERK 
 
 j THE AUTHOR'S CONVERSATION WITH 
 MR. SQUELTExNHAM BONDENNY. 
 
 It was about six o'clock on a summer 
 evening, that I had the quay of Stranra- 
 
 . nan under my feet, after having performed 
 
 i a passage of upwards of a hundred miles 
 in the short space of ten hours, by that de- 
 lightful conveyance, the steam-boat. When 
 I had escaped from the customary wel- 
 
 „ comes and congratulations of my friends, 
 I soon found myself pacing slowly, with 
 my cane in my hand, on a well-frequented 
 path along the shore. I was indulging my 
 
 I thoughts on the various well-known ob- 
 jects which presented themselves to my 
 view, when I accidentally came in contact 
 
 : with my old friend Mr. Bondenny. 
 
 The history of this gentleman is as con- 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 cise as his conversation was brief. Squel- 
 tenham Bondenny was a Quaker and a 
 bachelor. He had followed the mercantile 
 profession for many years, and realized 
 money. I do not exactly know for what 
 reason he came to reside in Stranranan, 
 but the popular opinion was, that he had 
 come thither on account of the cheap- 
 ness of living. But let this be as it may, 
 he kept a neat house, and was remarkable 
 for order and regularity in domestic mat- 
 ters. He despised the great, and was, of 
 course, ridiculed by them as an oddity. 
 With some of the folks of the town he 
 went under the appellation of " the 
 man wi' the specks," from his habit of 
 allowing his silver spectacles to remain 
 affixed on his forehead while he sat in 
 church. His chief associates were, gene- 
 rally, an honest shopkeeper, an itinerant 
 preacher, or a humble schoolmaster ; and 
 from all with whom he became acquainted 
 he obtained a full and particular account 
 of their origin and family. His acquaint-
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 3 
 
 anceship was not merely extended to 
 those of his own age, but also to the 
 young, for whom he manifested a strong 
 attachment ; and I, among others, hap- 
 pened to be one of his chief favourites. 
 In the evenings, after school hours, I had 
 been regularly in the habit of paying him 
 a visit, and as he perceived that I listened 
 with profound attention to his philosophi- 
 cal, astronomical, and theological disser- 
 tations, (for he was not by any means in- 
 considerably informed in the learned 
 sciences) I imagined that he became ra- 
 ther fond of me. Mr. Bondenny was, in 
 fact, a good general scholar, and had 
 perused many antiquated and voluminous 
 treatises on various subjects. He possessed, 
 too, a considerable fund of local informa- 
 tion, from being of a very interrogative 
 disposition, for every young person he met 
 with was sure to undergo a long cateche- 
 tical exercise. 
 
 But to proceed ; Mr. Bondenny and I were 
 mutually glad to see each other ; but he 
 
 b 2
 
 4 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 was one of that sort of persons whose 
 kindness is more sincere in heart than 
 in empty compliments. " I hope/' said he, 
 after we had reached his house, " that 
 thou spendest thy leisure time in the me- 
 tropolis as thou formerly didst, and that 
 thou art still as economical in thy living." 
 
 To these questions I made suitable 
 answers. 
 
 After various others had been put, he 
 inquired what books I read. 
 
 I informed him that I had read very few 
 since I had last seen him. 
 
 " Most extraordinary!" said Mr. Bon- 
 denny, " And how dost thou find employ- 
 ment to consume thy leisure hours ?" 
 
 " In writing books," I answered care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " That is still more extraordinary ! Be 
 more explicit, friend." 
 
 " You are the only person to whom I 
 have yet communicated the intelligence. 
 I have, indeed, Mr. Bondenny, been in the 
 book-making way since I last saw you. I
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 5 
 
 intend to submit the manuscript for your 
 perusal ; but I must rely on your fidelity 
 not to denounce me as an author, until 
 the work, if it has any merits, shall have 
 spoken for itself." 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the 
 expression of Mr. Bondenny's countenance 
 at this information. He hove himself 
 back with considerable dignity on his arm- 
 chair, and screwed up his features with a 
 contemptuous smile. — " Publish books !" 
 he reiterated. " I pray thee, young man, 
 do not talk in such a foolish strain : apply 
 thy talents to some more rational and ap- 
 propriate business than book-making. — 
 That will not do !" shaking his head very 
 seriously. * By no means! — no ! no !" 
 
 A word or two will be sufficient to ac- 
 count for the freedom with which Mr. 
 Bondenny expressed his opinion of my 
 authorship. When young, I had been 
 rather a servile imitator of Dr. Johnson's 
 maxim, to u listen rather than speak," 
 which always enabled me to obtain some-
 
 O THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 thing in the way of information, or at all 
 events to prevent an exposure of my ig- 
 norance. I knew, that by sitting as a 
 silent listener to Mr. Bondenny's instruc- 
 tions, I should gain some knowledge, and 
 therefore never pretended to engage in any 
 controversial discussion with him, nor offer 
 any information, except returning a simple 
 answer to the interrogatories which he hap- 
 pened to put to me. My delight was in 
 teasing him with questions ; and I believe it 
 was with a feeling of pleasure, not unmixed 
 with a little vanity, that he communicated 
 to me every information that I wished. 
 His penetration, I believe, never discovered 
 my direct aim in this conduct, and he proba- 
 bly thought that my only motive in listen- 
 ing to his conversation, or asking him ques- 
 tions, was more with the view of passing 
 away the time, or gratifying an idle curi- 
 osity, than for the purpose of storing my 
 mind with useful knowledge ; and he had 
 perhaps justly concluded that I was but 
 a mere tyro in literature. I am led to
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 7 
 
 give credence to this inference, from an 
 opinion which he generally expressed of 
 me to my friends, that " I was a good- 
 natured youth ;" but nothing was ever said 
 regarding my literary qualifications. 
 
 Far from being nettled at Mr. Bon- 
 denny's opinion of my authorship, I ap- 
 peared perfectly cool, for I had indeed 
 partly anticipated his remark. 
 
 " Mr.Bondenny," said I, " there are few 
 people without vanity and presumption, 
 and if I exhibit any in this instance, I only 
 add one to the many proofs which are daily 
 given to the world; but you will judge 
 of the manuscript of my novel, after you 
 have read it/' 
 
 " A novel !" echoed he, and made me al- 
 most start from my seat by the violence of 
 his emotion ; — " a devil ! Oh, my friend, I 
 fear thou hast indeed deviated from the 
 paths of virtue — spent thy time in writing 
 idle tales ! — sinful allurements to con- 
 sume time — inflame the passions— 
 
 ' Quocunque volunt mentem auditoris agunto/
 
 8 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 as the ancient poet wisely observes — 
 great barriers to the progress of virtue 
 and religion. Let me never hear thee talk 
 of novels ; they are a disgrace to common 
 sense, an insult to the human understand- 
 ing, and altogether unfavourable to the 
 cultivation of science and philosophy. 
 Commit thy manuscript to the flames ; 
 implore forgiveness for the time thou hast 
 so foolishly mispent, and talk no more on 
 such a hateful subject, on pain of my ever- 
 lasting displeasure.'' 
 
 I confess that I had never seen Mr. 
 Bondenny's anger at such a height as it 
 appeared at this moment; but I was re- 
 solved to be silent till the first burst of 
 passion was over, and then very seriously 
 replied — 
 
 " Mr.Bondenny, let us reason the thing. 
 Did not our Great Teacher speak in para- 
 bles? and were not those intended to make 
 his meaning and precepts more clear and 
 forcible ?" 
 
 " But thou surely dost not presume
 
 THE WRITER S CLERK. 9 
 
 to speak in parables !" interrupted he, 
 angrily. 
 
 Without taking notice of the interrup- 
 tion, I proceeded — " You will admit, Mr. 
 Bondenny, that a learner of any operative 
 craft would not so readily acquire a know" 
 ledge of his business from verbal instruc- 
 tion, as he would do by seeing examples 
 of the manner in which the work was per- 
 formed. Is it not clear that he would 
 learn with more accuracy and facility by 
 observing the way in which the business 
 was done ; how the different utensils were 
 handled and applied in the construction 
 of the work, than what he could do by 
 mere instruction, unaccompanied by ex- 
 ample ? Both, no doubt, are requisite ; but 
 it must be admitted, that example is bet- 
 ter and more effective than instruction. 
 Now, this case is quite analogous to the 
 moral condition of man ; for by proper 
 representations or exemplifications of the 
 beauty of virtue, and deformity of vice, 
 his imitative powers are forcibly awakened, 
 
 B 5
 
 10 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 and he is more readily constrained to 
 embrace the one, and avoid the other : — 
 so— " 
 
 " There is," said Mr. Bondenny, inter- 
 rupting my argument, " some show of 
 rationality in these remarks ; but thou art 
 but a mere noviciate in the operations of 
 the mental arcana. That example has a 
 powerful control over human conduct, 
 none will deny; but as to those examples 
 which are exhibited in fictitious writings, 
 I much doubt their good tendency. The 
 tale must be embellished and extravagant, 
 to give it interest ; it must be immorally 
 ridiculous to make it amusing ; it must 
 describe horrific and unnatural charac- 
 ters; it must travel through dreary de- 
 serts, or amongst haunted towers, in the 
 terrors of a midnight storm or some 
 other commotion of the elements, to excite 
 emotion; and all this is portrayed in a 
 profusion of elegant and lofty diction. Or 
 if the author wishes to be sentimental, he 
 will entertain thee with affectionate love-
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 11 
 
 dialogues, depicting the cruelty of pa- 
 rents and the ardour of lovers; and all 
 this is described in the most feeling and 
 pleasing language. This mode of writing, 
 however much it may please a man of 
 letters, can never inculcate sound mo- 
 rality. It may rouse the passions, but 
 rouse them to what? To be a warrior, 
 a romantic adventurer, or a reciting sen- 
 timentalist. It may engage the affections, 
 but with what ? The tender passion ; — to 
 sympathize in the sorrowful fate of two 
 lovers — to melt the heart with the dis- 
 tresses of a fictitious heroine of romance. 
 Or the reading of those works may pro- 
 duce a different effect on those whose 
 sensibilities are not quite so ardent ; 
 that is, no effect at all : their curiosity 
 may be gratified for the moment, and 
 lulled the next, with the idea that such 
 things were impossible, or beyond the 
 ordinary course of natural events ; and 
 the reflection may not, sometimes, be un- 
 accompanied with a pang of regret for
 
 V2 the writer's clerk. 
 
 having mispent precious time. Is a study 
 such as this becoming the attention 
 either of a Christian, a philosopher, or a 
 man ?— Surely not. Talents, directed to 
 such purposes, are unavailing and misap- 
 plied, and never can be approved nor 
 esteemed by any one who pretends to be 
 a lover of morality and religion ; but as 
 thou seemest to be aware of all that I 
 have said, I shall," continued Mr. Bon- 
 denny, somewhat hesitatingly, " I shall 
 peruse thy manuscript." 
 
 " Be assured, Mr. Bondenny, that in 
 my humble narrative you will find none 
 of the scenes you have detailed, and which 
 I am sensible abound in many works of 
 the kind. The characters and most of 
 the incidents I have undertaken to de- 
 scribe, have passed under my notice, in 
 the course of my own short experience. 
 I have studied simplicity, brevity, and 
 perspicuity in my narration ; and although 
 it has been my aim to keep the moral of 
 the tale constantly in view, yet I think
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 13 
 
 you will not find it altogether devoid of 
 striking incidents, or interesting events." 
 
 " When I have read thy manuscript," 
 said Mr. Bondenny, " I shall be able to 
 tell thee how far thou art right in this 
 respect." 
 
 After some farther desultory conversa- 
 tion I returned home. Next day I packed 
 up my manuscript, and sent it to Mr. Bon- 
 denny. I allowed him two days for the 
 perusal, at the expiration of which I re- 
 newed my visit ; and though I was some- 
 what doubtful of his opinion, yet when I 
 perceived the smile on his lips, which 
 always denoted good-humour, I mustered 
 up sufficient confidence to inquire how 
 the manuscript had pleased him. 
 
 ft Though, my friend, I have mine own 
 opinion regarding this manuscript, yet it 
 would be improper to divulge it at present. 
 Tastes, thou must know, are various, 
 opinions are different; what may please 
 one man in this learned and fastidious 
 age may displease another ; so I shall
 
 14 THE WRITER S CLERK. 
 
 refrain from giving any opinion until thou 
 hast heard the public voice." 
 
 " But is the opinion you have formed 
 favourable ?" 
 
 " I shall neither say yea nor nay to that 
 question. By its effects only can it be 
 judged : if it have a good effect, I shall 
 say it is very well." 
 
 I confess I did not much relish the re- 
 served manner in which Mr. Bondenny 
 seemed to express his opinion of the merits 
 of my production. To be sure, he gave me 
 no reason to be elevated nor depressed; but 
 still I was not one whit wiser than I was. 
 I consoled myself a little with the reflec- 
 tion, that if there had been any thing pal- 
 pably wrong, he would have mentioned 
 it ; but still, as to the real merits or de- 
 merits of the work, I am as much in the 
 dark as ever. I cannot assure my reader 
 whether this tale is worthy or unworthy 
 of a perusal. As Mr. Bondenny abstained 
 from giving any opinion, it would be pre- 
 sumptuous in me to offer one ; and I
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 15 
 
 think I shall just conclude this prologue 
 by repeating the words of my sapient 
 friend : •* I shall say neither yea nor nay. 
 By its effects only can it be judged : if it 
 have a good effect, I shall say it is very 
 well :" — causa latet, vis est notissima.
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Homeston is situated at the head of one 
 of the most commodious harbours in North 
 Britain. The mariner whose bark is tossed 
 in the Frith of Clyde, on the Ayrshire or 
 Irish coasts, when overtaken by gales of 
 wind from the east or south, which excite 
 violent commotions in the channel, and 
 beat in with heavy surges from the At- 
 lantic, will bless Providence that there is 
 such a harbour as Homeston, where he 
 can take refuge in safety from the storm. 
 
 The town contains above three thou- 
 sand inhabitants. A considerable emigra- 
 tion of various ranks from the Lowlands, 
 particularly of the agricultural class, 
 tended considerably to improve and ci- 
 vilize a place which would otherwise have
 
 18 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 laboured under the baneful influence of 
 that Celtic superstition, ignorance, and 
 pride which are the peculiar character- 
 istics of our Highland brethren. With the 
 exception of those who cannot boast of 
 hereditary rank or property, the inha- 
 bitants are generally kind and hospitable. 
 The trade on which they depend for 
 their support is principally the herring- 
 fishery. Upwards of forty vessels are sent 
 once in the year to the North Highlands ; 
 and as these are successful or unfortunate, 
 so is trade in a state of prosperity or de- 
 pression. The reason is obvious : these 
 vessels are seldom appropriated to any 
 other purpose, with the exception, per- 
 haps, of conveying a cargo of potatoes to 
 Ireland or the Low Countries. When the 
 fishery is prosperous, the town flourishes : 
 the vessels arrive at Homeston loaded with 
 herrings, piled tn masse in their holds ; a 
 sight which is enough to cheer the men, 
 and gratify the merchant. Here they are 
 landed, packed, and pickled in casks, and,
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 19 
 
 after being examined and branded, are 
 again put on board the vessel, which is 
 despatched with the cargo to Ireland, 
 where they are sold to advantage. But 
 when the fishery proves unsuccessful, the 
 merchant is not only disappointed in his 
 lucrative anticipations, but suffers a ma- 
 terial loss from the expenses he has in- 
 curred in the outfit. The misery, how- 
 ever, does not end here ; the loss is uni- 
 versally felt. As a considerable number 
 of hands are required on this expedition, 
 they are supplied by workmen and farm- 
 servants, who come from all quarters of the 
 country, to the number, perhaps, of five 
 or six hundred, and these, of course, suffer 
 a loss both in wages and bounty. Nor is 
 their condition much bettered when the 
 fishery is even partial, or one that barely 
 defrays the expenses, which is not unfre- 
 quently the case, and the town is therefore 
 left in a state of no very tolerable poverty; 
 and this may be easily accounted for, 
 when it is known that every shopkeeper, or
 
 %U THE WRITER S CLERK. 
 
 rather merchant, — for all such are so deno- 
 minated, — publicans, mechanics, lawyers, 
 farmers, and every other class of the com- 
 munity, the clergy only excepted, have all 
 an interest, either less or more, in these 
 concerns ; and therefore, as the fishing is 
 prosperous, or partial, or altogether ruin- 
 ous, so all ranks of the community are 
 either more or less affected. Some are 
 reduced from affluence to bankruptcy, 
 some to beggary, and others, more daring 
 in their adventures, have recourse to the 
 smuggling trade. 
 
 But though the greater proportion of 
 the shipping in Homeston is appropriated 
 to the herring trade, they have still some 
 vessels of a larger description, which were 
 intended for other purposes : but these 
 vessels can scarcely be said to belong to 
 the port, for they perhaps do not make 
 their appearance in it once in three years, 
 as Homeston is not such a speculative 
 town that they can traffic to any great 
 extent with commodities either to or from
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 21 
 
 it, with the exception of sometimes bear- 
 ing a cargo of timber from Norway or 
 America, or some other foreign coasts, 
 to the carpenters at Homeston. They 
 require, therefore, to dance attendance at 
 some of the principal mercantile ports, 
 where they are generally employed, and 
 on the profits arising from the freights 
 the owners at Homeston expect their 
 dividends ; but these dividends are more 
 in the way of advance than receipt. They 
 have also two or three packets, which ply 
 regularly to Greenock and Glasgow, for 
 the conveyance of passengers, and the car- 
 riage of mercantile articles to the mer- 
 chants at Homeston. 
 
 The peasantry and the lower ranks pro- 
 cure their livelihood chiefly by fishing 
 about the sea coast and neighbouring 
 shores, where all sorts of white-fish are 
 caught. This is most beneficial to the 
 lower orders. Indeed, without this re- 
 source, they could scarcely have any 
 means of subsistence.
 
 22 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 Four market-days or fairs are held 
 here in the course of the year. On these 
 occasions the people from all quarters of 
 the country concentrate at Homeston. 
 The drovers and shopkeepers are the 
 principal gainers by these fairs. The pub- 
 licans, too, have no reason to complain of 
 their custom on these occasions. 
 
 Such is a brief account of the trade of 
 Homeston. The inhabitants are generally 
 contented with the little they have : but 
 in a town like Homeston, so obscurely 
 situated, and where the inhabitants are 
 debarred from a facility of intercourse with 
 other mercantile places, no extensive busi- 
 ness nor speculations can be carried on. 
 Two-thirds of the inhabitants, by their 
 utmost manual exertions, barely procure 
 a livelihood, and, perhaps, even this maybe 
 the height or their ambition; and the other 
 third, which may be termed the respect- 
 able part of the town, have procured any 
 little money or property they have by 
 care and economy, or by dint of ingenious
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 23 
 
 exertion at the time of an advantageous 
 market, or, what is more probable, by in- 
 heritance from their wiser and more eco- 
 nomical forefathers. In a place of this 
 description, little can be done in the way 
 of improvement, and as little acquired in 
 the way of wealth. The town is, how- 
 ever, not altogether unenlightened. Some 
 of them do not live as if they were igno- 
 rant of a world elsewhere. Those, indeed, 
 who have been denied the benefits of edu- 
 cation, or naturally destitute of intel- 
 lectual endowments, may live and die 
 unnoticed and unknown, and leave their 
 offspring to follow simply their own foot- 
 steps, a to groan and sweat under a weary 
 life :" but those of a reflecting and aspiring 
 nature, who can foresee, from their own 
 experience, the fate of their children, if 
 they remained at home, generally adopt 
 measures for securing their fortunes or 
 respectability elsewhere. The Highland 
 proprietor, with his notions of Celtic 
 honour, conceives the army the most ho-
 
 24* THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 nourable and advantageous profession for 
 his youths, and thither they are accordingly 
 sent. The farmer has his son sent to col- 
 lege, to qualify him for the ministerial 
 office, or a schoolmaster, which is not un- 
 frequently the result. The shopkeeper 
 has his son apprenticed to a merchant, or 
 manufacturer, in Glasgow, and may, either 
 by " fates and destinies," acquire riches, 
 or by his own misconduct be altogether 
 ruined. Others, whose boys have acquired 
 a notion of the seafaring line, send them 
 to Greenock, where they are bound ap- 
 prentices in the West India merchant 
 ships, and if they happen to be clever and 
 well-behaved, obtain promotion, and ac- 
 quire wealth. Others, again, bind their 
 children with the town lawyers, for the 
 purpose of cultivating an acquaintance 
 with the science of business. If they re- 
 main at home, their lawyer ship not un- 
 frequently terminates in their becoming 
 petty, drunken sherinV-officers ; but the 
 more fortunate, who happen, perhaps, to
 
 the writer's clerk. 25 
 
 have a little genius or interest, become, 
 in the course of a short time, writers them- 
 selves ; for a knowledge of the law, both 
 in principle and practice, is often found 
 unnecessary at Homeston. Those who 
 go to Edinburgh or elsewhere generally 
 succeed according to their behaviour and 
 activity. In these and similar ways do the 
 wise portion of the good folks of Homes- 
 ton dispose of their children. 
 
 Such is a general outline of the charac- 
 ter and customs of the inhabitants .of 
 Homeston. The sketch, though imper- 
 fect, may perhaps be useful to illustrate 
 some parts of the following narrative. 
 
 Homeston was the birth-place of John 
 Kiniven. At the age of nine he had 
 been bound apprentice to the tailor trade 
 for seven years, and afterwards worked 
 as a journeyman during a similar period. 
 His wages, while he acted in this latter 
 capacity, did not exceed three shillings 
 per week; but he contrived, by weekly 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 26 the writer's clerk. 
 
 savings and some extra emoluments, to 
 realize, by the time his journeymanship 
 had expired, a sum of twenty pounds. On 
 a certain occasion, when alone in his gar- 
 ret lodging (for such had long been his 
 abode, in consequence of the death of his 
 parents during his apprenticeship), he un- 
 locked his chest, and took from thence 
 the money which had been carefully de- 
 posited in one of its corners. While view- 
 ing his treasure with no small gratifica- 
 tion, he indulged himself in the following 
 reflections : 
 
 a This comes o* care and economy. 
 Had I been such a fool as gane wi* 
 Willie Lightfoot, and spent my savings 
 daffin wi' country huzzies at country 
 fairs and dances, or like that other mad- 
 brained chield, Robin Whig, spending 
 time and money in tap-rooms, reading 
 newspapers, claveran' and wranghV wi' 
 Ned Turnout, a chield that ta'ks about the 
 affairs o' the nation wi' as much impu- 
 dence as though he was himsel* at the
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 27 
 
 head o' the administration, I would not 
 ha' at this moment a farthing in my pos- 
 session. I think it would ha' been better 
 for these puir chields that they had ta'en 
 my way o't, as mony a time I ha' bidden 
 them ; that instead o' gaun th-ae daft gaits 
 when their wark was dune, they ought to 
 have gone home and read their Bible, 
 which I ha' read o'er and o'er a score o' 
 times, alang wi' Boston's Fourfold State, 
 which my puir faither aften bade me tak' 
 special care o'; butthae daft callants wad 
 laugh and sneer at me, an' say, f We can- 
 na a' be sae holy as you, sober John.' 
 Naething but sober John wi* them : I 
 trow, my cocks, ye'll find I ha' been sober 
 mair ways than ane. Well, for a' that, I 
 canna say that I wish the chields ill. In 
 the mean time, I'll mind my ain concerns, 
 and let them mind theirs. I wad like tae 
 turn this money out tae the best advan- 
 tage : — let me see now. To be sure it's 
 no a great deal, but it's a great deal mair, 
 I am sure, than either Robin Whig or 
 
 c 2
 
 28 
 
 Willie Lightfoot can brag o'. I think I 
 ha' been lang enough at the tailor busi- 
 ness to be overly fond of it, and I shall fol- 
 low that business nae langer. For some 
 time past I have had a sort o' hankering tae 
 be a shopkeeper ; it's a decent, easy busi- 
 ness, an' I am inclined tae think seriously 
 about it. But, what am I to do ?" After 
 a pause — " Poor Lucky Scales is gane at 
 last tae her langhame, and her shop maun 
 be tae let, whilk wad just answer me 
 nicely." — After a considerable pause — 
 "I'll immediately gang and see about it." 
 These resolutions having been formed, 
 and after replacing the money carefully in 
 the situation which it formerly occupied in 
 the corner of the chest, which he duly lock- 
 ed, and shoved below the bed, he proceeded 
 to the landlord of Lucky Scales' shop, and 
 procured the place at the moderate rent of 
 three pounds. To furnish the shop with 
 goods, he required to go to Glasgow, the 
 only mart from which the shopkeepers in 
 Homcston received their merchandise.
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 29 
 
 He soon made the necessary preparations 
 for this expedition, and having taken a 
 steerage passage in the Luggage packet, 
 he left for the first time the shores of his 
 native county, and in a few days arrived 
 at the Broomielaw. It is needless to men- 
 tion his astonishment when he landed, and 
 was proceeding up the Trongate. His 
 eyes were continually attracted by the 
 elegant and magnificent fabrics which 
 presented themselves to his view, and the 
 bustle of the inhabitants running and 
 traversing the streets. He was known to 
 say afterwards, that he considered himself 
 as " in another world." 
 
 He was successful in procuring credit 
 for the space of half a year from the 
 merchants he dealt with. He purchased 
 articles of merchandise to the value of 
 seventy pounds. With these he returned 
 to Homeston, stocked the shop, and 
 became an attentive and active shop- 
 keeper. He worked now but little at 
 the tailor business, except, as he said him-
 
 30 the writer's clerk. 
 
 self " makin' a suit of clothes tae fouk 
 whan they war in a hurry for them, or 
 the like o' that, and makin' and mendin' 
 his ain claes, or puttin' a steek in for a 
 neighbour, an' the like o' that." 
 
 When attention, economy, and integrity 
 appear in the prosecution of our avoca- 
 tions, we shall seldom or never find our 
 labours prove either irksome or unsuccess- 
 ful; for the mind has nothing to harass or 
 retard its operations when it is conscious 
 of being honestly employed. An over- 
 stretched caution, proceeding perhaps 
 from a delicacy of feeling, or a scrupulo- 
 sity of conscience, may intimidate some 
 from engaging in extensive speculations 
 or making hazardous adventures ; but the 
 limited dealer is often found to be as con- 
 tent, and sometimes as fortunate, as the 
 more extensive and speculative merchant. 
 
 Such was the case with John Kiniven. 
 He did not possess the courage, perhaps, 
 for the reasons we have already noticed, 
 to risk his all, or to engage in any deep
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 31 
 
 concern, which might create anxiety in 
 his mind, or bring his affairs into a pre- 
 carious condition. He used to say that 
 he commenced " wi' little, but wi' care 
 an' attention he thought he wad aye 
 mak' a livelihood o't ; and if an oppor- 
 tunity occurred that he could turn the 
 penny to advantage, he would certainly 
 not allow it to slip." 
 
 The year after he commenced shop- 
 keeping proved that he was no loser by 
 the trade. He was enabled to liquidate 
 his Glasgow debts, and to purchase a 
 more extensive assortment than he had 
 formerly done. He could not be con- 
 sidered as a great gainer ; but his con- 
 duct and his trade might to any observer 
 augur well for the future. 
 
 In this manner he continued for six years, 
 and during the course of this period had 
 become an owner of some of the herring 
 Busses, and had procured concerns in 
 some other small mercantile speculations. 
 So much of his time and thoughts did he
 
 m 
 
 devote to business, that he seldom or 
 never thought of matrimony ; and would 
 probably have remained a bachelor, were 
 it not from a circumstance extremely 
 simple in itself, though somewhat singular 
 in matrimonial proceedings. 
 
 Widow Armour, a respectable elderly 
 woman, lived in the house contiguous to 
 his shop. Her husband, Stuart Armour, 
 and two sons, who had been along with 
 their father in the North Highlands, in a 
 small sloop of which he was owner and 
 commander, had " perished in the deep." 
 Although some years had elapsed since 
 this fatal catastrophe, Mrs. Armour had 
 not yet ceased to lament their death, and 
 would perhaps have scarcely survived 
 their loss, had not Martha, now her only 
 remaining child,greatly contributed by her 
 attention and industry to the felicity and 
 support of her helpless mother. 
 
 Martha had, fortunately, in her earlier 
 years been taught by a sempstress or 
 mantuamaker, and was an adept in the
 
 the writer's clerk. 33 
 
 various branches of that profession; and 
 as the father had been much respected 
 by the people of the town as a sober, 
 diligent man, the situation of the mother 
 was, of course, sympathised with, and the 
 industry of the daughter duly appreci- 
 ated. Martha did not therefore want for 
 employment and support. Her work was 
 either conducted at home, or in the houses 
 of respectable families. She might now 
 be about twenty-four years of age, rather 
 timid and reserved in her manner, spoke 
 little, and that only when requisite and 
 necessary, but withal possessed of good 
 sense and extreme goodness of heart. 
 To use the words of the good folks of 
 Homeston, " she was a quiet, decent 
 lassie." 
 
 John Kiniven was not so demure as to 
 be altogether uninterested in a family of 
 this description. He was well acquainted 
 with the character of Mrs. Armour and 
 her daughter, from hearsay and from 
 actual experience. As we have observed, 
 
 C5
 
 34 the writer's clerk. 
 
 they were his next door neighbours, so 
 that he had always recourse in winter 
 mornings or in cold weather for a 
 kindling, or, to use plainer words, a piece 
 of red coal, or peat, or some such com- 
 bustible, to enable him to light a fire 
 in his shop ; and in a similar manner, 
 during the summer season, he was neces- 
 sarily obliged in the evenings to step 
 into Mrs. Armour's and procure the 
 light of his shop candle. When he first 
 resorted to this practice, he never extend- 
 ed his conversation on these occasions 
 farther than the common remarks — 
 a How's a' wi' ye the day, Mrs. Armour ? 
 This is a fine night ;" or " A cauld morn- 
 ing," &c. 
 
 But John Kiniven had now informed 
 himself of the sober and religious habits 
 of the family, and after abundant delibera- 
 tion came to the resolution that " Martha 
 wad mak' a guid canny wife/' and began 
 seriously to consider the best and proper 
 manner of conducting the courtship. He
 
 THE WRITERS clerk. 35 
 
 judged prudently that, before making a 
 precipitate declaration of his views to the 
 family, he would in the interim cultivate 
 and strengthen a more intimate acquaint- 
 ance with them. Impressed with this 
 opinion, he accordingly on these occasional 
 visits began to add to his former concise 
 remarks the current news of the day, and 
 thereby lengthened the conversation a little 
 longer than usual. By these means he 
 gradually became a favourite with Mrs. 
 Armour and her daughter, who had been 
 already much inclined to favour his ad- 
 dresses from a previous knowledge of his 
 sobriety and attention to business. Both 
 seemed conscious that the alliance would 
 not be unsuitable. These feelings soon 
 terminated in a mutual understanding. 
 The consent of Martha was procured, and 
 in a short time afterwards they were duly 
 married by the respectable minister of 
 Homeston. Mr. Kiniven, for so we shall 
 now term him, exchanged his humble 
 lodging with the landlady of the garret to
 
 36 the writer's clerk. 
 
 the more respectable habitation of Mrs. 
 Armour (who, poor woman, did not long- 
 survive the happiness of her daughter), and 
 enjoyed with moderation and prudence 
 the happiness arising from matrimony. 
 
 Though we are thus rapidly passing 
 over years, we ought not to pass over so 
 lightly the character of Mr. Kiniven. The 
 reader must not consider him to be at this 
 period so ignorant as he appeared at his 
 first introduction. He was then, though 
 possessed of considerable shrewdness, un- 
 acquainted with the reigning manners of 
 the town, and his close confinement to 
 business had tended to increase rather 
 than diminish this ignorance ; but he had 
 now, by his annual trips to Glasgow and 
 his frequent intercourse with society, un- 
 dergone considerable improvement, and 
 was considered to be a sensible and re- 
 spectable man. He had procured a Bur- 
 gess ticket, and in the civic matters of the 
 town he had been chosen to sit as one of 
 the brethren in council.
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 3J 
 
 In two years after the marriage Mr. 
 Kiniven became the father of a son, who 
 was named Stuart; and in eighteen months 
 afterwards his wife introduced to him 
 another, who was baptized James, after 
 his paternal grandfather. 
 
 As these boys advanced in years, their 
 dispositions were discovered to be essen- 
 tially different from each other. Stuart 
 was the favourite of the mother. He was 
 naturally of a delicate constitution, and 
 therefore experienced much of her ten- 
 derness and care. He, perhaps, naturally 
 possessed many of his mother's qualities, 
 for both their tempers and actions invari- 
 ably accorded. His habits of attention 
 and diligence made him in school the fa- 
 vourite of the teacher. The tasks which 
 were prescribed to him were invariably 
 performed with accuracy and ability. 
 When the scholars were engaged during 
 school intervals in their favourite amuse- 
 ments, Stuart would be at home executing 
 any little commands of his mother, or en-
 
 38 the writer's clerk. 
 
 gaged in committing to memory his scho- 
 lastic exercises. This dislike to partici- 
 pate in the sports of his schoolfellows 
 might with any other boy have tended to 
 make him the butt of their ridicule, or have 
 singled him out by nickname as the object 
 of peculiar aversion. But few possessed 
 such influence over them as Stuart ; and 
 this was owing to his good-natured kind- 
 ness in explaining and assisting them to 
 perform their exercises, of which their in- 
 attention and indifference had rendered 
 them ignorant, and thereby protecting 
 them from the lash of the master. 
 
 James, on the other hand, was naturally 
 of a robust, healthy constitution. His 
 countenance was tinctured with a fine 
 florid hue, and his eyes sparkled with ani- 
 mation. His vivacity and vigour might 
 probably have made him as playful and 
 mischievous as any of his school-compa- 
 nions, were it not that his sprightly dis- 
 positions were often considerably softened 
 and subdued by the serious instructions
 
 the writer's clerk. 39 
 
 and sober habits of his prudent parents. 
 James also possessed two other promi- 
 nent qualities, — a retentive memory and a 
 lively imagination. In these qualities he 
 excelled his brother, and yet, however 
 surprising it may appear, made less 
 proficiency in his education ; but this 
 was probably owing to his natural buoy- 
 ancy 'of spirits, being somewhat repug- 
 nant to the calm and sedentary duties 
 of the school, or perhaps, that he was 
 not naturally of such a studious and in- 
 dustrious disposition as his brother. Hence 
 his education was tardy and fatiguing in 
 its acquisition, and limited and imperfect 
 at its termination. 
 
 The highest examples of religion were 
 set before the family. Mr. Kiniven was 
 punctual in the performance of his daily 
 religious duties, and examined narrowly 
 the conduct of his family. On Sabbath 
 he would allow none of the family to leave 
 the house except when they went to 
 church, nor do any work except what was
 
 40 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 absolutely necessary; all must be engaged 
 in reading the Scriptures and religious 
 books, or attending to his admonitions. 
 This discipline was peculiarly suited to 
 Stuart, who paid implicit deference to his 
 father's instructions. His father had ever 
 considered him a " good boy ;" but being 
 mostly under the eye of his mother, who 
 quietly acquiesced and approved of the 
 conduct of her husband, he was not on 
 that account particularly anxious about 
 attending to his religious instruction. 
 James had been the early favourite of the 
 father, from a belief that he possessed a 
 considerable portion of his shrewdness, 
 and he had always thought that he 
 would be a more active boy and a better 
 scholar than Stuart ; but when he saw 
 in the progress of their education the 
 reverse, his opinion relaxed. He began to 
 think that he was a " through'er boy," 
 and required correction and admonition ; 
 and no opportunity was lost of remind- 
 ing him of his duty, and instilling into
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 41 
 
 his mind the wholesome precepts of re- 
 ligion. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the strictly 
 religious manner in which our hero was 
 brought up, it never induced him to be- 
 come so studious as his brother ; and not 
 unfrequently would the vivacity of his 
 disposition make him participate with all 
 his native ardour in the sports of his com- 
 panions, though he was never a partici- 
 pant in any of their mischief. 
 
 But James's feelings, though keen, were 
 too volatile and impetuous to dwell long 
 on one subject: not unfrequently would 
 he evince many symptoms of a rambling 
 disposition ; he would recite and sing, 
 and go through many boyish frolics, which 
 were quite at variance with his brother's 
 disposition. 
 
 Candour has induced us to make these 
 remarks, and how far they tend to de- 
 velop the character of our hero will be 
 seen from the sequel.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The reader must now be made acquainted 
 with seme of our hero's schoolfellows, 
 who were now and afterwards his intimate 
 acquaintances. The first we shall mention 
 is Colin Dowell, who was indeed more the 
 associate of Stuart; but still it is necessary 
 that he should be introduced, He was the 
 only surviving son of the former clergy- 
 man of Homeston, and might be about the 
 same age with Stuart. His mother re- 
 sided at a farm called Purly-knoll, which 
 lay a few miles distant from the town. 
 The farm was managed and cultivated 
 under her superintendence ; and with the 
 productions of the farm, and a little bank 
 stock, which the economy of her husband 
 had secured to her, together with an 
 annual allowance from the funds of that 
 excellent institution appropriated for the
 
 the writer's clerk. 43 
 
 benefit of the widows of clergymen of the 
 church of Scotland, enabled both her and 
 her son to live in their usual comfortable 
 condition. Mrs. Dowell was indeed an 
 excellent woman. While she could mani- 
 fest the dignity of her station to equals 
 and superiors with ease and grace, she 
 was at the same time, to her more humble 
 acquaintances and dependents, conciliat- 
 ing and kind. She had experienced much 
 family afniction. Three of her sons, who 
 were successively prosecuting their studies 
 for the church, had died, the one almost im- 
 mediately after the other. These mourn^ 
 ful events, notwithstanding all her other 
 amiable qualities, had tended to con- 
 tract on her countenance a settled grief, 
 which to a companion might be easily 
 discerned by occasional sighs, and which 
 the mellowing hand of time seemed unable 
 to remove. She had attributed the afflic- 
 tion arising from the death of her beautiful 
 boys as the premature cause of her hus- 
 band's death. Colin was now her only
 
 44 
 
 child, and of course the object of her ten- 
 derness and care. When he went to school 
 in the morning she longed for his return, 
 for she was never happy except when he 
 was in her presence. 
 
 From the situation of a family of this 
 description, it cannot be expected that 
 Colin Dowell was a playful or mischievous 
 boy. He was the reverse ; and though he 
 could not be called a perfect misanthrope, 
 yet to some of his actions that character 
 could not be erroneously attached. He 
 had imbibed a considerable portion of his 
 mother's grief, and consequently seldom 
 or never associated with his more frolic- 
 some schoolfellows. He often looked 
 upon their amusements as wanton insults 
 on melancholy and affliction ; and al- 
 though he could neither prohibit nor con- 
 demn their conduct, yet, when passing 
 their sports, he frequently smiled with 
 contempt on such a foolish abuse of time, 
 and sometimes muttered to himself — 
 {( thoughtless, unfeeling fellows !" Not-
 
 the writer's clerk. 45 
 
 withstanding this apparent sullen and 
 cold behaviour, Colin Dowell was far from 
 being either unfeeling or unkind. His 
 companions in school were few, and Stuart 
 Kiniven was the chief of those few. To 
 him he expressed more of his mind, and 
 reposed more confidence than any of the 
 others with whom he conversed. Stuart, as 
 we have already observed, never courted 
 the acquaintance of any of his school- 
 fellows: — his delight and pleasure were 
 his studies, and on this account many 
 courted his acquaintance ; but it was from 
 no such motive that Colin Dowell formed 
 an acquaintanceship with him. He pos- 
 sessed penetration enough to enable him 
 to discover that the character and conduct 
 of Stuart Kiniven were more congenial to 
 his temper than those of any other in 
 school, and he therefore cultivated his 
 friendship. With James he associated 
 but seldom, and of course knew little or 
 nothing about him. 
 
 It may appear somewhat unaccount-
 
 46 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 able, that Stuart, who was careless of cul- 
 tivating the friendship of his schoolfellows, 
 and seemed to possess little penetration or 
 wish to discover the real character of any 
 of his acquaintances, should have become 
 so instinctively attached to Colin Dowell. 
 Perhaps it might have proceeded from a pre- 
 vious knowledge of the character and suf- 
 ferings of the Dowell family, or possibly as 
 the real character of Colin Dowell became 
 gradually unfolded to him in the course 
 of their acquaintance. From what cause 
 however it proceeded, it was evident that 
 they became daily more fond of each other. 
 Stuart often accompanied Colin half-way 
 home to his country residence. Colin, 
 who always informed his mother of his 
 conduct and acquaintances at school, soon 
 made known to her his connexion with 
 Stuart; and Mrs. Dowell was glad to hear 
 that he had formed a connexion with any 
 member of the Kiniven family, of whose 
 character her husband had ever enter- 
 tained a high opinion. She therefore ex-
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 47 
 
 pressed her approbation of his acquaint- 
 ance; and Colin received his mother's per- 
 mission to invite Stuart to the house, 
 which was accordingly done, and Stuart 
 occasionally spent an evening or a night 
 at Purly-knoll. 
 
 There was an apparent difference in 
 the conduct of Colin when at home from 
 that which he manifested at school. Per- 
 haps the good-natured simplicity and mild- 
 ness of Stuart tended much to dispel the 
 cloud of sorrow which sometimes hung on 
 his brow. When in company with Stuart 
 in the evenings, he was not only good- 
 humoured but cheerful ; and they passed 
 the time assisting each other in their re- 
 spective studies, and talking over the in- 
 cidents which had occurred in school. 
 
 James did not entertain such a high 
 opinion of Colin Dowell as his brother. 
 He mistook his real character for pride, 
 and was on that account careless of his 
 friendship. 
 
 The next we have to introduce is Richard
 
 48 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 Valeburn. He was of the same age with 
 James. His father was factor and land- 
 surveyor on the estate of a neighbouring 
 freeholder. Mr. Valeburn was not pos- 
 sessed of great affluence, but was regarded 
 by the inhabitants of Homeston as a worthy 
 respectable gentleman. He discharged 
 the duties of factor with honour and fide- 
 lity. He never wished to ingratiate him- 
 self with his constituent by an over- 
 stretched exercise of power, — by imposing 
 on industrious tenants excessive rents, or 
 causing ruinous law expenses to be in- 
 curred for a trifling unintentional viola- 
 tion of their engagements — a character 
 which, by the by, is rarely conspicuous 
 in many factors nowadays. Mr. Vale- 
 burn was rather advanced in years when 
 he married : his only children were his 
 son Richard and a daughter named Eliza, 
 who was at this time only a few years 
 old. 
 
 Richard Valeburn was of a good-natured 
 disposition, and carried his mildness and
 
 the writer's clerk. 49 
 
 forbearance almost to simplicity. Though 
 he was fond of participating in the sports 
 of his schoolfellows, yet he never counte- 
 nanced them in any of their mischievous 
 scenes. His pleasant manners and cheer- 
 ful temper rendered him a particular fa- 
 vourite among them, as he tended to exhi- 
 larate their hours of recreation. He could 
 not be called a bad scholar; but it must be 
 confessed that he did not sometimes relish 
 the tasks of the school so much as he did 
 the sports of his companions. James and 
 he were very intimate, from the circum- 
 stance of studying the same books in 
 Latin, and also from Stuart assisting 
 both at the same time in preparing their 
 exercises. 
 
 Another member of the school of Homes- 
 ton we have to take notice of is Stays 
 Maclachlan. This young man was some 
 months older than the others. His father, 
 ntow deceased, was laird of Drumdibble, 
 a small estate in the neighbourhood of 
 Homeston. His mother resided on the 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 50 the writer's clerk. 
 
 estate, and foolishly allowing her son all 
 manner of indulgence, he became petu- 
 lant and mischievous. Being a noted 
 boxer, he was of course the champion of 
 the school, and many of the scholars on 
 this account conceived it an honour to be 
 admitted as his acquaintance. 
 
 It would certainly be an improper cri- 
 terion, to judge of the future conduct of 
 a boy from his behaviour at school. He 
 may be mischievous when young, and after- 
 wards become a worthy and exemplary 
 character ; and, vice versa, he may be the 
 best boy at school, and afterwards turn 
 out to be a very bad man. But we must 
 do Stays Maclachlan all manner of justice, 
 and state fairly what he was. He was 
 the leader of all the sports and games 
 which took place at school intervals. In 
 school he trifled his time in talking of 
 them, and hindered himself and others 
 from attending to their studies. He had 
 indeed no great desire for learning ; and 
 were it not that his attendance at school
 
 THE WRITER S CLERK. 51 
 
 required that he should do something, he 
 would gladly have relinquished his educa- 
 tion altogether. As it was, his exercises 
 were inaccurately and imperfectly per- 
 formed. He rejoiced as much at a holi- 
 day — when the teacher allowed the scho- 
 lars an occasional relaxation — as a captive 
 who had procured liherty after having 
 been for years confined in a dungeon. In 
 short, he was indifferent to learning, and 
 thoughtless of its importance. He formed 
 acquaintances at school without any re- 
 gard to their rank or character. Of these 
 our hero was one, and chiefly because he 
 could not do without him ; for though he 
 was not a much better scholar than Stays, 
 yet the assistance he derived from his bro- 
 ther enabled him to be useful to some of his 
 schoolfellows, and he often took pleasure 
 in extending his aid to Stays Maclachlan, 
 who was not ignorant of this kindness, from 
 the repeated necessities of his case; and 
 therefore he considered James as a parti- 
 
 d 2 
 
 UBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 the writer's clerk. 
 
 cular friend — at least from utility and 
 necessity. 
 
 The last we shall notice is Sandy Gir- 
 mour. His father was a shopkeeper in the 
 town, of the same description with Mr. 
 Kiniven, though of a less agreeable and 
 more worldly disposition. Sandy was a 
 boy of rather a peculiar disposition. One 
 might conclude, from the paleness and 
 simplicity of his countenance, and the ap- 
 parent weakness of his constitution, that 
 he would have no inclination to expose 
 himself in the mischievous scenes of his 
 schoolfellows. Although he was inca- 
 pable of doing any mischief himself, yet 
 when he happened to be present when 
 mischief was committed, he was sure to be 
 singled out by Stays Maclachlan as the 
 culprit, and punished accordingly. Any 
 declaration he could make of his innocence 
 was never considered a sufficient exculpa- 
 tion to his teacher, Mr. Anthony Black. 
 Sandy was a favourite of James,and though
 
 the writer's clerk. 53 
 
 he sometimes pitied the cruelty of his treat- 
 ment, yet he wanted the fortitude and in- 
 fluence to oppose it. 
 
 A more distinct idea of the charac- 
 ters of these boys may be gained from the 
 following conversation between Stuart 
 Kiniven and Colin Dowell. 
 
 " What is the reason," said Stuart to 
 Colin Dowell, on an evening he happened 
 to be in his company at Purly-knoll, 
 * that you do not associate with any of 
 our schoolfellows but myself? I do not 
 know how you take a pleasure in my com- 
 pany in preference to Stays Maclachlan 
 or Richard Valeburn, who are born and 
 bred gentlemen, and much fitter to be 
 your companions than me, who am but a 
 poor man's son." 
 
 " You are moralizing now, Stuart," said 
 Colin, laughing : " without flattery, the 
 more I know of you, the better I like you. 
 Were every one at school as candid and 
 good as you are, I certainly would have 
 more acquaintances ; but as it is, I have
 
 54 the writer's clerk. 
 
 only yourself, and I sincerely assure you 
 I would not wish to have a better. 
 Richard Valeburn is a fine fellow, but 
 rather too fond of play to make a good 
 scholar. Had you not been in school, I 
 would have formed a closer connexion 
 with Richard, rather than remain altoge- 
 ther singular ; but as to Stays Maclachlan, 
 I think you will agree with me, that he is 
 a foolish fellow — incessantly talking and 
 making noise in school, and quarrelling 
 with the boys when out of it. His ex- 
 ample, I have reason to be thankful, pro- 
 duced a very different impression on me 
 than what it has apparently made on 
 others. Of all boys, Stays Maclachlan 
 is the last person I would make an ac- 
 quaintance of." 
 
 " It is perhaps somewhat improper/ ' 
 said Stuart, " in you and I, who are yet 
 but mere boys, to be criticising and cen- 
 suring the conduct of our schoolfellows." 
 
 " Nay," interrupted Colin, " that is not 
 the case : I should be sorry were you to
 
 the writer's clerk. 55 
 
 suppose any thing that I say to be given 
 by way of judgment, which would cer- 
 tainly be improper ; but there is no harm 
 in you or I expressing simply our opinions 
 to each other of their conduct." 
 
 " I do not believe there is any great 
 harm in it," said Stuart ; " but I have al- 
 ways been accustomed to follow the dic- 
 tates of my father in these respects — that 
 if I had nothing good to say of my com- 
 rades, I should say nothing ill of them. 
 He that keeps his mind keeps his friend. 
 But what you say concerning our school- 
 fellows I must admit to be truth. And if 
 I am not misinformed, there will be some- 
 thing not much to their credit decided 
 to-morrow. I was told by James this 
 morning of an affair in which they were 
 engaged last night, and which exhibits 
 such cruelty and depravity, that had I 
 received the intelligence from any other 
 person, I should hardly have believed it. 
 Our reserved habits with our schoolfel- 
 lows render us ignorant of their man-
 
 56 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 oeuvres. You remember remarking the 
 other day how often little Girmour was 
 punished, and you said his countenance 
 deceived you much, as you considered 
 him, of all boys, the last who would be 
 given to mischief. You were right : the 
 poor boy has been punished for many faults 
 not of his own commission. The stupid fel- 
 low never keeps out of harm's way, and if 
 any blame is attached to the proceedings 
 of his companions, he is singled out by 
 Stays Maclachlan as the cause or actor, or 
 part actor, and punished accordingly. But 
 a systematic plan of deeper villanyhas been 
 laid to ruin the boy altogether. A small 
 stack of hay, belonging to Hoof, the cow- 
 feeder, which lay in the park behind the 
 school-house, was last night destroyed. 
 Stays and my brother James, who happen 
 somehow or other to be on terms of inti- 
 macy, had a walk this morning to the place 
 where it lay, and he privately informed him 
 that it was done by him and some others 
 who were in his company on the way to
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 5J 
 
 Drumdibble ; and, happening to be near 
 the place where people are at present burn- 
 ing heather, he surreptitiously conveyed a 
 burning bush over to the stack, which he 
 put below it, and in a few minutes the 
 whole was in a blaze, to the amusement 
 of him and his companions ; and had not 
 the place where the stack stood been 
 hollow ground, and thereby in some mea- 
 sure obscured, the conflagration, it is more 
 than probable, would have frightened the 
 inhabitants of the town : but it is under- 
 stood that Hoof has got an inkling that 
 some of our mischievous schoolfellows 
 have been concerned in this affair, and is 
 resolved to make inquiry of Mr. Black 
 about it to-morrow, which he would have 
 done to-day had it not been a holiday. 
 Maclachlan and his companions are ap- 
 prehensive of being discovered ; and as 
 little Girmour was in his company when the 
 depredation was committed, he is resolved, 
 if discovery cannot otherwise be eluded, to 
 denounce him as the aggressor." 
 
 d5
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 " Well, Stuart/' said Colin, " I have 
 seldom listened so attentively to any thing 
 as to what you have just now related. I 
 am quite shocked at the extent of their 
 wickedness. My mother often blames me 
 for not forming more acquaintances at 
 school; but if she knew their character, 
 she would be thankful that I have so long 
 abstained from their company. Our school- 
 fellows construe my motives for keeping 
 aloof from them, and my melancholy dis- 
 position, to sullen pride ; but, alas, they 
 little know the real cause." 
 
 " No," said Stuart, " they never expe- 
 rienced the afflictions of the world, or they 
 would not be so thoughtless." 
 
 " My afflictions," said Colin, after a 
 pause, and in a low voice, * have been of 
 no ordinary kind : the rapid deaths of 
 three brothers, and also that of my dear 
 father, and the consequent grief of my 
 mother, which appears so settled in her 
 countenance that I am afraid time will 
 be unable to remove. I can never forget
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 59 
 
 the anguish of my father for their loss, 
 although I was then but a mere child. 
 The last time I saw him shall never be 
 forgotten. I went to his library for a 
 book, according to my usual custom : he 
 was so much absorbed in contemplation 
 that he did not observe my entrance. I 
 heard him repeat to himself, after heaving 
 a deep sigh — ( My poor boys — I had at 
 least expected to see one of you fill 
 my place, and be a comfort to your 
 poor mother after I am gone ; but God's 
 will be done.' I was all this time trans- 
 fixed to the very spot on which I stood 
 when I entered. As these expressions 
 proceeded from the inmost recesses of 
 his heart, they pierced my very soul; 
 and it was not till I had burst into tears 
 that my father turned suddenly round 
 and observed me. f My dear boy/ said he, 
 f don't you break your heart : I do not 
 mourn for your brothers, for I know they 
 are in heaven ; but when I think on your 
 poor mother, the care with which she
 
 60 the writer's clerk. 
 
 brought them up, and the prospects 
 which she fondly cherished for them, now 
 that they are no more, I cannot refrain 
 from feeling deeply for her lonely situa- 
 tion. But you, my dear Colin, it grieves 
 me much to see you so sad : you who are 
 now my only child — who I trust will be a 
 blessing to your parents, and that you will 
 one day be able to fill your father's situa- 
 tion, although you will not immediately 
 succeed me — for ' the time of my depar- 
 ture is now at hand. I have fought a 
 good fight ; I have finished my course ; 
 I have kept the faith." 
 
 I thought I perceived him more than 
 usually exhausted; t remember I looked 
 on his countenance, and that it was very 
 pale ; and when he suddenly made a stop 
 in the holy passage, I saw that it pro- 
 ceeded from inability. I attempted to 
 cry, but my voice failed me, and I stood 
 gazing on his countenance. He perceived 
 my situation, for he took hold of my hand, 
 and pressed it tenderly. ? My dear Colin,'
 
 61 
 
 he said, f comfort your mother when I am 
 gone/ These were his last words : he 
 fell back on the sofa on which he had 
 been sitting, and instantly expired. I was 
 so much afflicted and horror-struck at this 
 scene, that I fell almost lifeless on the floor, 
 from whence I was carried to my bed, 
 where I lay in a state of insensibility for 
 upwards of a month. Such, Stuart, is 
 only a part of the afflictions that I have 
 experienced. It was long before my mo- 
 ther could support herself under this be- 
 reavement ; and instead of my being a 
 comfort to her, I only tended to renew her 
 grief, by my incessant lamentations ; and 
 I know that she even now attempts to be 
 cheerful merely to make me so. She tells 
 me, although she cannot herself set the 
 example, that sorrow can do the dead no 
 good, while it is injurious to the health of 
 the living. 
 
 "You see, Stuart," he continued, "what 
 I really am ; though scarce fifteen years 
 old, grief has reduced me almost to a
 
 62 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 perfect misanthrope. It is this that makes 
 me appear so sullen and demure in school, 
 so unsociable with my schoolfellows, and 
 so averse to engage in their frivolous sports. 
 But as you tell me, intentional mischief is 
 the result of their amusements, I shall have 
 reason to be thankful I have so long re- 
 mained neutral." 
 
 Stuart was as much affected by this dis- 
 closure as Colin himself: the sighs which 
 the latter attempted to smother evinced 
 how deeply rooted were the anguish and 
 affliction which had taken possession of his 
 mind. After a few minutes had elapsed, 
 Stuart broke silence : — " Although, Colin, 
 I am unable to express properly my sen- 
 timents on what you have just told me, 
 yet believe me, that I sincerely sympa- 
 thise with you in your sorrow." 
 
 " I do not know," said Colin, with a 
 constrained smile, " how I came to be so 
 sad to-night : I did wrong to introduce 
 the subject. That is a most cruel pur- 
 pose of Maclachlan's ; I am resolved, if I
 
 the writer's clerk. 63 
 
 can, to save the poor boy from being made 
 the victim of his malevolence." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Stuart, " you possess 
 too little influence with Mr. Black for your 
 interference to have any effect. Mr. Black 
 is a man of a very singular temper — so 
 dignified and sulky in his conduct, and so 
 tenacious of his opinion." 
 
 " Did you ever," said Colin, " hear of 
 some curious incidents in Mr. Black's 
 life?" 
 
 " I think," said Stuart, " I have heard 
 that he was of a very singular disposition 
 in his youth, but I do not at present re- 
 member the particulars." 
 
 u I'll tell you what I have heard of Mr. 
 Black," said Colin. " Much learning, they 
 say, puts a man mad. Mr. Black might 
 have been a great man if he chose. I 
 am told that he actually got a presenta- 
 tion to a church, but his conduct became 
 so highly indecorous that he lost it. He 
 had once been put in jail by some of those 
 who were now to be his parishioners, and
 
 64f the writer's clerk. 
 
 his distempered imagination, when he was 
 there, had figured a thousand phantoms 
 ready to assail him, so that he could never 
 sleep a night in jail without a person with 
 him. It appeared that his good-natured 
 creditors, w r hen they heard of his conduct, 
 fearing they should be the cause of his 
 entire derangement, agreed to his libera- 
 tion. But notwithstanding this kindness, 
 Mr. Black cherished the highest resent- 
 ment against his persecutors, as he called 
 them ; and accordingly, when he was 
 presented to the church, his purpose of 
 vengeance became quite immoderate. He 
 declared to the Presbytery, and to ail with 
 whom he was acquainted, that he would 
 i scourge them with a rod of scorpions.' 
 The consequence was, that his parishioners 
 became prejudiced against him: a com- 
 plaint was made to the Presbytery and 
 Synod, and I believe to the General As- 
 sembly ; and it was found that he was in- 
 capable of fulfilling the ministerial func- 
 tions, being non compos mentis. The Pres-
 
 the writer's clerk. 65 
 
 by tery, however, to make up in some mea- 
 sure for his disappointment, and rather 
 than see the poor man absolutely starve, 
 procured for him last year the parochial 
 school of Homeston, which happened to 
 be vacant, by the death of our old worthy 
 teacher, Mr. Patience. He appears to be 
 a far inferior teacher in every respect to 
 his predecessor ; and I confess I make less 
 improvement under him than I did with 
 the other." 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by 
 the entrance of Mrs. Dowell. " My dear," 
 she said, addressing herself to Colin, et do 
 not fatigue yourself too much with your 
 studies ; you will hurt not only yourself 
 but your friend Stuart by such constant 
 application. Although I do not like to 
 see boys altogether idle, yet I am not fond 
 of seeing them so intent on their studies." 
 
 Colin informed her that they had not 
 studied much that evening, as they had 
 been engaged in interesting conversation. 
 Mrs. Dowell took Stuart kindly by the
 
 66 the writer's clerk. 
 
 hand, and said, " I am glad that in you 
 my Colin has found such a companion. 
 If to-morrow evening be fair, I have some 
 little business that will bring me to town, 
 and I shall call to see your mother. It is 
 long since she and I have met : I believe 
 not since she was married. I wish to 
 renew my acquaintance with the mother 
 of so worthy a son." 
 
 Stuart very modestly expressed his 
 thanks, took his leave, and returned to his 
 father's house.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Next morning was wet and stormy, so 
 that Colin Dowell was later than usual 
 when he arrived at school. Mrs. Dowell 
 was much averse to his leaving the house 
 in wet weather, and on these occasions he 
 frequently remained at home ; but this 
 morning, being aware of her opposition, 
 he had slipped away without her know- 
 ledge. The rain however became very 
 heavy, and he required to take shelter by 
 the way, to escape a drenching which 
 might have injured his health. In conse- 
 quence of this detention, it was an hour 
 after the opening of the school before he 
 arrived. When he came within hearing 
 of the buzz of the scholars, he thought 
 he heard some unusual stir. The school- 
 house being erected in a solitary situa- 
 tion, at some little distance from the town,
 
 6S the writer's clerk. 
 
 made the vociferous sounds within, when 
 compared to the stillness that reigned 
 without, more impressive. He hesitated 
 whether he should go in, or wait until the 
 tumult should subside. " But what con- 
 cern," thought he, " have I with their 
 noise ? I must not surely neglect my edu- 
 cation on that account." So saying, he 
 opened the door. The affair of Maclachlan 
 had not at this time occurred to him. 
 
 The scene which presented itself to 
 Colin as he entered was interesting and 
 ludicrous. The teacher was standing on 
 the centre of the floor in sullen dignity. 
 Hoof was addressing him with the vehe- 
 mence of a man who has his property de- 
 stroyed by wanton children. He did not 
 fail to make Mr. Black aware that his bad 
 tuition was the cause of the destruction of 
 his property by his pupils. 
 
 To hear his abilities as a teacher di- 
 minished by a cow-feeder appeared to Mr. 
 Black to be a high indignity to himself and 
 the profession of which he considered him-
 
 69 
 
 self a distinguished ornament : and it was 
 impossible that he could bear this insult 
 with calmness. He stood, while Hoof's 
 aspersions were reiterated in his ears, 
 shivering with nervous agitation. The 
 strap with which he chastised the boys was 
 convulsively grasped in his fist, ready to be 
 applied on the object who was the cause. 
 
 Such was the situation of the parties as 
 Colin entered the school. — Mr. Black ap- 
 peared to regard him as a particular 
 object of his vengeance, for he had no 
 sooner caught his eye than he darted 
 towards him a look of rage, and, seem- 
 ingly glad to have this opportunity of 
 evincing to his opponent his authority and 
 discipline, he applied the strap pretty 
 smartly across Colin's shoulders. "What 
 time of day is this to come to school, sir V* 
 
 This chastisement was unusual and un- 
 expected. It was the first that Colin expe- 
 rienced in his life from parent or teacher, 
 and it could not therefore be supposed 
 that a boy of his character could bear
 
 70 THE WRITER'S CLERIC. 
 
 this insult with composure or indifference. 
 He turned round — his eyes kindled with 
 indignation, looked the teacher full in the 
 face, and was apparently ahout to do or 
 say something, when, it is probable, the 
 situation of his mother darting athwart 
 his mind prevented his purpose ; that 
 mother, to whom he was accustomed to 
 pay implicit respect, and who had taught 
 him to be humble and obedient to his su- 
 periors. 
 
 These thoughts, in a great measure, 
 served to check his resentment ; but he 
 said, firmly, to the teacher, " Sir, you 
 have no right to manifest your authority 
 in this manner. I have been to-day neces- 
 sarily detained, and the cause you have 
 no right to inquire." 
 
 Colin went over to his seat, sat down 
 very doggedly, not a little mortified that 
 he had been so unjustly insulted and 
 abused in presence of the school. He 
 kept his head declined on his hand, and 
 appeared to have his eyes fixed on his
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 71 
 
 book, but in reality saw or read nothing, 
 so deeply was his mind occupied with the 
 unmerited insult he had received. 
 
 In this state he remained for some time, 
 entirely unaware of what was passing, 
 until the cries of little Girmour pierced 
 his ears. It appeared, that when James 
 Hoof had ended his address to Mr. Black, 
 he cast a penetrating and scrutinizing 
 look around the school to discover, if pos- 
 sible, the actual aggressor. Poor Girmour, 
 who was sitting in breathless suspense, 
 trembling from head to foot, could not 
 deny having been present when the stack 
 in question was destroyed, and expected 
 that, as usual, the blame would be trans- 
 ferred to him, and that he should conse- 
 quently be singled out as the object of 
 punishment. Hoof, in the course of the 
 fracas, happened to cast his eyes towards 
 him, and thinking that he should now be 
 detected, all the blood in his body flew 
 instantly to his countenance, and he re-
 
 72 THE WRITER S CLERK. 
 
 mained motionless. This was observed by 
 Mr. Black, and he at once concluded that 
 Girmour must be the culprit. He went 
 over to him, and dragged him from the seat. 
 u Come forth, young sinner," he ex- 
 claimed, " and answer for your wicked 
 conduct." 
 
 The cries of little Girmour aroused 
 Colin Dowell. He now recollected what 
 Stuart had told him on the preceding 
 night, and without a moment's reflection 
 he sprang from his seat, and addressed 
 the master in a firm voice : " That boy, 
 sir, to my knowledge, is as innocent as 
 I am of the crime with which you charge 
 him. It is unjust, sir, for any teacher to 
 punish a scholar for an offence that has 
 not been proved against him." 
 
 " You fellow !" reiterated Mr. Black ; 
 '< you impudent puppy that you are ! how 
 dare you come forward and set up your 
 insolent chat to your master ? Do you pre- 
 sume to possess more knowledge of man-
 
 the writer's clerk. 73 
 
 kind, more discernment of their motives, 
 their actions, and their character than I 
 do ? Do you pretend to examine my con- 
 duct ? Do you presume to dictate a rule 
 of duty to me, who am capable of con- 
 trolling a thousand such puppies as you 
 are ? Depend on it, this conduct shall not 
 pass over without exemplary punishment. 
 As for you, sir," addressing himself to 
 Girmour, u I consider it beneath the dig- 
 nity of a teacher to chastise you. You 
 are too great a villain for my manage- 
 ment. Get instantly from my presence — 
 never enter the school ! If I see your 
 face again, I shall apply to the magistrates 
 for a warrant to imprison you for the whole 
 period of your life." Girmour was too 
 glad of his liberty to make any attempt 
 to vindicate his innocence, and therefore, 
 without saying any thing, made the best of 
 his way out of the school. 
 
 " Now, sir, attempt to point out to me 
 the person who committed the offence : — 
 do it immediately, or woe be to you !" 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 74< the writer's clerk. 
 
 Colin found that he had awkwardly 
 committed himself; he saw there was no 
 other way of manifesting the innocence of 
 poor Girmour, and showing the correctness 
 of his conduct, than by telling the whole 
 truth; and he was more inclined to do this 
 as he saw Maclachlan frequently smirking 
 to his companions, as if rejoicing that they 
 were allowed to escape with impunity, and 
 that such a person as Colin Dowell was 
 selected to bear the punishment of this 
 offence. He saw, also, that it would be 
 doing him an essential service ; that cor- 
 rection would prove very salutary, and 
 tend to curb, in some measure, his mis- 
 chievous disposition. He therefore re- 
 plied to Mr. Black — " I am sorry, sir, 
 that I have placed myself in this situation, 
 and yet, why should I be so ? since it is the 
 duty of every one possessed of the common 
 feelings of humanity to protect innocence. 
 In other circumstances than the present, 
 I should willingly have suffered punish- 
 ment myself rather than denounce the
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. J 5 
 
 actual aggressor ; but in the present case 
 I can have no such hesitation : — Stays 
 Maclachlan is the person who did the in- 
 jury in question." 
 
 All eyes were now fixed on Maclach- 
 lan, who blushed deeply ; but Mr. Black, 
 apprehensive that his previous conduct 
 might appear to be erroneous, was not 
 willing that any other than the one he 
 had already punished should be proved to 
 be the real offender. " Do you imagine, 
 sir, that I am to take your word for this? 
 Produce me instant proof, or I shall make 
 you repent it the longest day you live." 
 
 "Had you any proof," said Colin, "when 
 you convicted poor Girmour, other than 
 that of his countenance ? Now, sir, as 
 you pretend to be a physiognomist, look 
 at that fellow's face," pointing to Mac- 
 lachlan, " and say, if there is not suffi- 
 cient evidence of guilt ? But moreover, 
 sir, I can produce one to whom he ac- 
 knowledged the crime, and that is James 
 Kiniven." 
 
 e 2
 
 76 the writer's clerk. 
 
 The two brothers were present during 
 the whole of these proceedings. Stuart 
 beheld the conduct of Mr. Black towards 
 his friend with much pain, and had he 
 been of a less mild disposition he would 
 cheerfully have espoused his cause. The 
 scene made a sickening impression on 
 him; seeing his friend so wantonly in- 
 sulted and abused by an overbearing pe- 
 dagogue, the conversation of the preced- 
 ing evening full in his recollection, the 
 afflictions which that friend had sustained, 
 and the anguish they had occasioned : all 
 these things pressed hard on his weakly 
 constitution ; he felt his forehead bedewed 
 with a cold sweat ; his countenance be- 
 came quite pale. James looked on his 
 brother with terror; but Stuart, feeling 
 his weakly condition, and to avoid any 
 observation, left the school. 
 
 Colin observed Stuart leaving the 
 school, and was not insensible to the 
 cause of his departure. He thought it pru- 
 dent to end the matter by a reference to
 
 the writer's clerk. 77 
 
 James. With a flushed countenance the 
 latter answered to Colin's interrogatory, 
 that Maclachlan had informed him that 
 he had consumed Hoof's property. 
 
 Mr. Black seemed much disconcerted. 
 
 The accused was immediately sum- 
 moned to his presence, who, confused and 
 trembling with conscious guilt, at once 
 acknowledged himself the criminal, by 
 saying, in a whimpering tone, " that he 
 could not help it." This was proof suffi- 
 cient. 
 
 Mr. Black however made no apology 
 for his improper treatment of Colin. He 
 seemed JLo think that he was in the exer- 
 cise of his duty, and not bound, though 
 he acted erroneously, to make any apo- 
 logy to those who were under his go- 
 vernment. Colin saw this ; but in justi- 
 fication of himself, and especially in 
 presence of those before whom he had 
 been insulted, he did not think it would 
 be quite proper for him to allow the 
 matter to pass over unnoticed. " Mr.
 
 78 the writer's clerk. 
 
 Black,"- said he, " you have this day 
 treated me in a most abusive manner ; in 
 a manner, sir, which I never before, and, 
 I trust, never shall again experience. 
 You have been, sir, my superior, my 
 teacher ; and I will therefore ask no apo- 
 logy for your conduct, nor would I take 
 one were it offered. All that I wish you to 
 understand from me now is, that you shall 
 be my superior no longer ; that I shall 
 not from this moment ever enter your 
 school in the capacity of one of your 
 pupils/' 
 
 Mr. Black, not being accustomed to 
 such decisive language from his pupils, 
 and being sensible of his error in this in- 
 stance, felt not a little disconcerted. Colin 
 did not however wait an answer ; for he 
 immediately collected his books, and went 
 out of the school. 
 
 After his departure Mr. Black became 
 quite outrageous. He walked and stamp- 
 ed upon the floor, muttering to himself — 
 " These urchins! — -Urchins? devils they
 
 the writer's clerk. 79 
 
 truly are, would make Socrates himself 
 mad — absolutely mad, I declare !" 
 
 Maclachlan could not deny that he felt for 
 weeks afterwards the marks of the chastise- 
 ment of that day. The mother would cer- 
 tainly have withdrawn him from school in 
 consequence of the master, as she conceiv- 
 ed, having punished him unjustly; but she 
 had soon too much reason to acknowledge 
 the justice of the punishment ; for Hoof, 
 who had been informed of the aggressor, 
 paid his respects immediately to Mrs. 
 Maclachlan, demanding remuneration for 
 the injury her son had done to his pro- 
 perty. This lady could not but see that 
 the conduct of master Stays was repre- 
 hensible, and after a slight admonition as 
 to his future conduct, advised him to re- 
 turn to school. 
 
 When Mr. Black had finished the du- 
 ties of the day, which were done very soon 
 after Maclachlan had been flogged (for 
 this fracas had occupied more than two 
 hours, and the teacher did not feel much
 
 80 the writer's clerk. 
 
 disposed, after such unprecedented ex- 
 ertion to continue his official avocations 
 any longer), James proceeded homewards, 
 ruminating on the unusual events he had 
 witnessed. As he came upon a meadow 
 which he required to pass, and where the 
 road lay along certain enclosures, he ob- 
 served Colin Dowell reclining upon a gate 
 that led into one of the gardens. Colin 
 appeared pensive, and so much absorbed 
 in thought, that he might have passed 
 him unobserved had he not spoken. While 
 he stood for a minute he heard him utter 
 these words : "What will my poor mother 
 say of my conduct this day?" He was 
 just about to speak when Colin lifted up 
 his eyes and observed him. " Are you 
 here ?" said Colin, in a languid manner. 
 
 •' Yes," replied James. 
 
 " The school," said Colin, " will be dis- 
 missed V 
 
 James answered in the affirmative. 
 " Why do you stop here ?" said he. " Per- 
 haps you are not well after what has hap-
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 81 
 
 pened at school. You had better come 
 along with me to cur house and see 
 Stuart, for he left the school very sud- 
 denly to-day, and I am afraid he is not 
 well.". 
 
 " Stuart unwell !" interrupted Colin. 
 ** I remember — you are right. I shall go 
 with you, James." They both proceeded 
 home in silence. When they arrived, 
 James made his mother acquainted with 
 his companion, for this was the first time 
 Colin had been in the house. The parents 
 had a high respect for Colin's father, for 
 they had been his hearers for upwards of 
 twenty years. They were aware of Stu- 
 art's intimacy with the son, and were very 
 happy at it. 
 
 Mrs. Kiniven came forward and wel- 
 comed Colin to the house in the kindest 
 manner; and on his making inquiry con- 
 cerning Stuart's health — " Aye/' said she, 
 Stuart is not a very stout boy ; but still he 
 ay kept his health pretty well, till this 
 day he came from school very suddenly, 
 
 e5
 
 82 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 and went to his room without speaking 
 a single word ; but I suspect, sir, that it 
 is just a fit of cold, and that he will be 
 well in a few days. Stuart has a high 
 opinion of you, sir : indeed, he is never 
 happy except in your company. We are 
 just going to dine, and you will please re- 
 main and take dinner with us." 
 
 u I will stay with pleasure," said Colin, 
 " if it will put you to no inconvenience or 
 trouble." 
 
 " Not in the least, sir," replied Mrs. 
 Kiniven. " James," said she, " go down 
 to the shop and tell your father that din- 
 ner is ready, and let him come up imme- 
 diately. I am afraid, sir," continued Mrs. 
 Kiniven, after James was gone, " that he 
 will never be so good a scholar as his 
 brother, and what is very extraordinary, 
 sir, his father and I thought he had better 
 parts than Stuart ; but he has not the 
 willing mind : the willing mind is a great 
 thing, Mr. Dowel! . Bat James, I believe, 
 is a good boy for all that; though his father
 
 the writer's clerk. 83 
 
 sometimes says that he is much afraid for 
 him." 
 
 Colin was about to reply, when the en- 
 trance of Mr. Kiniven prevented him. 
 
 It is now nearly twenty years since we 
 have heard Mr. Kiniven speak ; but be- 
 fore we renew our acquaintance with 
 him, we shall say a word or two on his 
 appearance. He was much altered in 
 person and manner since we last noticed 
 him. The bluffness of his cheeks and the 
 rotundity of his chest showed that his pre- 
 sent trade agreed with him better than 
 the tailor business. When he entered the 
 room he was dressed in his usual clothes, 
 which were, gray stockings, velvet breeches, 
 black vest, and a brown coat. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Dowell," taking off his hat 
 as he entered, a T am glad to see you in 
 this house. I was from my earliest remem- 
 brance a constant hearer of your worthy 
 father. I hope your mother is very well. 
 I remember she was a young lassie when
 
 84. the writer's clerk. 
 
 I used to work to her worthy father, pro- 
 vost M'Dougall ; but she'll ha'e nae dou't 
 forgot me by this time." 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Kiniven," said Colin : 
 " I have heard her talk of you repeat- 
 edly ; and I believe it was no later than 
 last night that she told your son Stuart 
 that she was to call on you and Mrs. Kini- 
 ven very soon. By the bye, I think she 
 mentioned to Stuart last night that she 
 was to be in town this very evening." 
 
 " It will give us all much pleasure to see 
 her," said Mr. Kiniven. " Come, guidwife, 
 tell Betty tae bring in the dinner." 
 
 Dinner was accordingly produced, dur- 
 ing which Mr. Kiniven entertained Colin 
 with an account of some of his proceed- 
 ings. " You see, Mr. Dowell, we are 
 plain, simple fouks here ; we dinna study 
 much grandeur. I am very thrang just now, 
 tanning Nets that I must send this season 
 wi' the herring vessels to the Hielands. 
 But," looking around him, " guidwife, 
 whaur's Stuart ?"
 
 the writer's clerk. 85 
 
 Mrs. Kiniven informed him of his situa- 
 tion, and Colin then explained the cause of 
 it, to the no small wonder of the family. 
 
 " Aye," repeated Mr. Kiniven, thought- 
 fully, " Is that the case ? What strange 
 things happen in this world ! I aften tell't 
 ye, guidwife, that I thought that man did 
 not possess enough of sound judgment 
 for makin' a guid teacher ; and it now ap- 
 pears, from what Mr. Dowell says, that I 
 was right : but," recollecting himself, 
 " we're forgetting our business. If ye're 
 dune o' your dinner, James, there's the 
 key ; gang doun an' keep the shop door 
 open till I come. If Effy Runners comes 
 in wi' any Deepings, be sure to count the 
 meshes, and weigh them ; and, hear ! — 
 come back ! — be sure tae gie her nae 
 money. Tell her, I gie nathing but 
 guids for workin' deepings. And, if any 
 other person wants me, come up and tell 
 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Kiniven never forgot his business 
 and directions whoever was present. He
 
 86 the writer's clerk. 
 
 thought if he overlooked that for a mo- 
 ment, that all would go wrong. "Nae- 
 thing like attendin' on business in this 
 world, as my father used to say. If ye 
 dinna attend tae business, business will 
 not attend to you." 
 
 " It is always proper to attend to 
 business/' answered Colin. 
 
 When dinner was over, Colin expressed 
 a wish to see Stuart, and was accordingly 
 directed to his study-room, and found him 
 in bed. " What is the matter with you, 
 Stuart V 
 
 " Oh," said Stuart, wishing to waive the 
 question, " I have been troubled with a 
 slight cold for some time past, but I am 
 perfectly well now." 
 
 Colin was, however, aware of the real 
 cause of complaint ; but refrained from 
 asking him any further questions on the 
 subject. "Well, Stuart," he said, "did 
 you ever witness such a scene as that 
 which took place in school to-day ?" 
 
 " I never did," replied Stuart. " I
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 87 
 
 need not disguise from you the effect it 
 has produced on my mind. If I dropped 
 a tear when you gave me, last night, an 
 account of the distresses of your family, I 
 certainly had more reason to have done 
 so to-day, when I saw you so cruelly 
 treated.'' 
 
 " But I shall never be used in such a 
 manner again," replied Colin ; " I have 
 left the school, resolved never to return to 
 it." Colin gave an account of all that 
 had passed between him and the master. 
 " But the only thing, 5 ' continued he, 
 " that vexes me at present, is, that I am 
 afraid my mother may be displeased with 
 my behaviour. She has hitherto consi- 
 dered my conduct to be correct, and 
 gives implicit credit to all that I say ; but 
 still she is a woman who is disposed to 
 think well of every person, and especially 
 of a teacher who has been bred to holy 
 orders ; and she must, therefore, notwith- 
 standing my statement, have some doubts 
 in her own mind of the propriety of my
 
 88 the writer's clerk. 
 
 conduct, before a teacher would adopt 
 such arbitrary measures towards me." 
 
 Now, this is just what I was thinking 
 of when your brother James overtook me 
 in the meadows. When he told me you 
 were unwell I would have come at once ; 
 but the principal reason for my staying 
 dinner was to see if you would accom- 
 pany me home to-night, as my mother, 
 who has such a high opinion of you, 
 would be more apt to give implicit credit 
 to my statement, when it was seconded 
 by you." 
 
 Stuart could scarcely believe that Colin 
 had really formed the resolution of quitting 
 the school. "What shall I do now? You 
 were the only acquaintance and friend I 
 ever made at school : — how lonely I shall 
 be without you !" 
 
 " But, Stuart," said Colin, "you surely 
 do not think I was wrong in acting as I 
 did." 
 
 "Oh no," said Stuart — " what I said was 
 all for my own interest : you were right,
 
 the writer's clerk. 89 
 
 certainly — very right — in leaving it ; and 
 if you wish me to accompany you home, 
 I will go with you and confirm every 
 thing that you say." 
 
 Stuart was however fortunately saved 
 that trouble, for his father's voice was at 
 this moment heard on the staircase. 
 
 It was indeed his father, accompanying 
 Mrs. Dowell up to the house. She had 
 been obliged to come to town in the even- 
 ing ; and as her son had not reached home 
 when she left, she felt a little anxious 
 on his account, particularly as he had 
 gone away on such a wet morning with- 
 out her knowledge. Aware of the inti- 
 macy that subsisted between Stuart Kini- 
 ven and her son, she had directed her 
 steps towards Mr. Kiniven's shop. 
 
 " I hope you are very well, Mr. Kini- 
 ven?" said Mrs. Dowell, as she entered. 
 
 " Pretty well, I am much obliged to 
 you," was the answer. 
 
 " Is my son Colin with your Stuart V* 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Dowell," said Mr. Kiniven, " I
 
 90 the writer's clerk. 
 
 beg your pardon, ma'am : it's becoming 
 rather dark, and I did not know you at 
 first, although I was for twenty years a 
 constant hearer of your worthy husband's, 
 indeed was I ; and a good man he was. 
 But Colin, ma'am, is quite safe: my son 
 Stuart is not very well, and your son came 
 to see him. I understand there has been 
 some fuss in the school to-day, and likely 
 they'll be talking about that." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that my son is 
 in such good company, Mr. Kiniven. If 
 Mrs. Kiniven is not engaged, and it will be 
 no ways inconvenient to you and her, I 
 shall be glad to remain and drink tea with 
 you." 
 
 " Not in the least, ma'am, I assure you," 
 said Mr. Kiniven, — '- she'll be very happy 
 of your company." 
 
 They were accordingly in the act of 
 going up stairs when Stuart had caught 
 the sound of his father's voice. 
 
 " Keep close tae the wall, ma'am ; it's 
 a very narrow stair this."
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 91 
 
 ' ' I shall find the way," said Mrs. Dowell : 
 " we cannot expect to find the conveni- 
 ences of a country residence in a crowded 
 town. I ought, however, to be acquainted 
 with stairs of this kind ; for when I was 
 a young girl I was well accustomed to 
 them." 
 
 " I declare," said Colin, astonished, 
 " that is my mother's voice." 
 
 " It is not unlike it," replied Stuart. 
 
 They were not long kept in suspense, 
 for their voices were soon recognised in 
 the passage, as they were entering the 
 room. Stuart immediately began to dress 
 himself, and in a little time both he and 
 Colin were prepared to go down stairs. 
 
 When they entered the room, Mrs. 
 Dowell was sitting at one side of the fire, 
 Mrs. Kiniven at the other, and Mr. Kini- 
 ven on a chair at a distance. " Ah! Colin, 
 what a pretty fellow you are !" — taking 
 hold of his hand — " you should have told 
 me you were to remain here before you 
 left home this morning."
 
 92 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 " My dear mother," said Colin, " I am 
 afraid you will be grieved when you hear 
 what has happened. I have been sadly 
 used at school to-day." He gave her an 
 account of what had occurred. Mrs. 
 Dowell was astonished. She was quite 
 unaccustomed to hear of such proceedings. 
 For a moment she thought that Colin had 
 misbehaved, or that his conduct had been 
 improper ; but when Stuart began to con- 
 firm every particular in his plain simple 
 manner, she could not but credit the state- 
 ment, although she was rather sorry that 
 these proceedings should have had any 
 reference to her son, whom she wished to 
 bring through the world in a quiet in- 
 offensive manner. She could not, however, 
 fail to perceive that the conduct of her 
 son was justifiable, that what was done 
 could not now be undone ; and it was 
 therefore in vain to be dissatisfied. 
 
 " I hope, my dear mother," said Colin, 
 " you do not think my conduct was wrong." 
 
 i( No, my dear boy; I should be sorry to
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. QS 
 
 think so : you may have been perhaps too 
 rash, but I believe it proceeded from good 
 motives." 
 
 " I aye took Mr. Black/' said Mr. Kini- 
 ven, " to be too light-headed for a good 
 teacher. I told my guidwife, when he got 
 the school, that he would never be such 
 a man as Mr. Patience. He was a worthy 
 man, Mr. Patience." 
 
 " That is true, Mr. Kiniven," replied 
 Mrs. Dowell ; " but what is to be done 
 now ?" 
 
 " Troth I dinna ken. Mr. Black was 
 aye considered the best and most respect- 
 able teacher in this place. What can ye 
 therefore do when a better canna be got ? 
 We maun e'en mak' the best o' a bad bar- 
 gain. I ken naething else that can be 
 dune, than that Stuart and James maun 
 just continue wi' him ; only that it will 
 be their ain interest to pick up their edu- 
 cation as fast as they can, and then they'll 
 be the sooner dune wi' him." 
 
 " But you see, Mr. Kiniven," said Mrs.
 
 94 the writer's clerk. 
 
 Dowell, " that my son will not return to 
 school. I thought, if he had remained at 
 school, that he would be enabled to go this 
 winter to college, which was intended to 
 be his destination ; but I hope as it is he 
 will be prepared to go thither this winter. 
 Now, Mr. Kiniven, there is a plan that has 
 struck me, and if it meets with your appro- 
 bation I am sure that it will be agreeable 
 to both boys. As Stuart and Colin are 
 very fond of each other, and would be 
 happy together, I think you could not do 
 better than allow Stuart to accompany 
 him to college. Far be it from me to 
 alter any plan which you may have already 
 formed for your son ; but from his dis- 
 position, and his attachment to learning, I 
 think that he is peculiarly qualified for 
 the study of divinity/' 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know," said Mr. Kini- 
 ven ; " I ha'ena rightly made up my mind 
 what tae mak' o' him. I once thought of 
 binding him wi' a manufacturer : but as to 
 sending him to the college, that will na dae
 
 the writer's clerk. 95 
 
 for either him or me. There is naething 
 I would be mair proud o' than tae see 
 Stuart a minister, but the expense will 
 not suit my purse." 
 
 " But if that is your only objection, Mr. 
 Kiniven," said Mrs. Dowell, " I can tell 
 you that I have known boys bring them- 
 selves through the classes by their own in- 
 dustry ; and others, who depended solely 
 on their friends, cost them not much more 
 than twenty pounds. But this might be 
 much less in the present case, for Stuart 
 and Colin could lodge together ; and I 
 am certain that they would live very mo- 
 derately, and you and I could send them 
 any requisite articles by the packet." 
 
 " That is all very true," replied Mr. Kini- 
 ven ; <e but allowing that he went there, 
 what is to come o' him after he has finished 
 his studies? I hae nae interest to get him 
 a kirk : he may perhaps, after a great fight, 
 get a school, and there he may linger out 
 his days. What is that in comparison to 
 a manufacturer? I ken some o' them in
 
 96 THE WRITER^ CLERK. 
 
 Glasgow, who were once weaver boys, that 
 are now worth thousands, and keep their 
 carriage. That's the best business ; but 
 dinna think I mean any disparagement to 
 the plan which you have formed regarding 
 your son. I think he is naturally cut out 
 for that profession ; and besides, he has 
 good interest, and I hope he'll not want 
 a good living when he's ready, for the sake 
 of his worthy father, in whose kirk I was 
 a constant sitter for upwards of twenty 
 years." 
 
 " But, Mr. Kiniven," said Mrs. Dowel], 
 who seemed unwilling to relinquish her 
 point, " I should be very sorry indeed to 
 advise you to train your son to a profession 
 that would be unsuitable to either of you : 
 but I see that you have formed an erro- 
 neous opinion of the profession ; and in- 
 deed in this notion you are not singular. 
 Mr. Kiniven, I have always considered 
 you, and so did my worthy husband, to 
 be a candid and sensible man, and as such 
 I would beg your attention to a few re-
 
 the writer's clerk. 97 
 
 marks I am going to make on the subject, 
 and which perhaps may be useful to the 
 young men themselves." 
 
 Attention and sincerity were indeed 
 depicted on Mr. Kiniven's countenance, 
 as he sat, one leg over the other, tapping 
 and revolving his snuff-box through his 
 fingers. When Mrs. Dowell came to ex- 
 press her husband's opinion of his cha- 
 racter, he appeared very much gratified, 
 and could not refrain from again repeat- 
 ing his common remark : — " He was in- 
 deed a worthy man Dr. Dowell, and 
 good reason I have to know it, for I was 
 upwards of twenty years his constant 
 liearer." 
 
 " It is, no doubt," said Mrs. Dowell, 
 " highly proper in people to act cautiously 
 in the world ; but caution can only be 
 prudently exercised in reference to the 
 circumstances which lead to its adoption : 
 when adopted from contracted and timo- 
 rous motives it is worse than useless, but 
 when wisely applied it will be productive 
 
 VOL. i. f
 
 98 the writer's clerk. 
 
 of salutary advantages. There are some 
 people who send their children to trades 
 for which they are not naturally disposed 
 or qualified. This proceeds from igno- 
 rance and want of penetration. The boy 
 who is driven to a business to which his 
 heart feels repugnant his labours will be 
 painful — his proficiency slow and imper- 
 fect, so that all that is derived is just so 
 much precious time spent to disadvan- 
 tage, and probably the utter extinction of 
 youthful vigour. But the parent who can 
 read the nature and mind of his son — 
 trace from his infant years the natural 
 bent of his genius and inclination, and 
 attach him to that profession for which 
 alone he is peculiarly qualified, will have 
 discharged with fidelity his duty to him- 
 self and his child. What is consonant to 
 the boy's disposition will be light and 
 pleasing, and, in all the buoyancy of ar- 
 dour and hope, he will prosecute his la- 
 bours with assiduity and alacrity. 
 
 " It is now, Mr. Kiniven, the beginning
 
 the writer's clerk. 99 
 
 of September, and, as I have already no- 
 ticed, it is likely that Colin shall become 
 a collegian this ensuing winter ; and in- 
 deed, from what has occurred in school 
 to-day, it will be his only alternative. He 
 is now fifteen years old, not an unseason- 
 able period for any boy quitting the abode 
 of his parents, and by no means too late to 
 commence the necessary studies for that 
 great and important profession to which, 
 through divine aid, he intends to aspire ; 
 and I am sure, Mr. Kiniven/' continued 
 Mrs. Dowell, with a good-natured smile, 
 " you will agree with me, that the ap- 
 pearance of Colin is more in unison with 
 the study of Divinity than that of Law or 
 Physic— or the Mercantile or Military 
 Professions." 
 
 " Indeed," said Mr. Kiniven, after look- 
 ing stedfastly on Colin's face, " I dinna 
 well know, but I ha'e nae doubt that your 
 son will be an ornament to the ministerial 
 profession; and that there is nae fear o' 
 
 f %
 
 100 THE WRITER'S CLERK'. 
 
 him getting a kirk, though it were only 
 for the sake of his worthy father." 
 
 "lam afraid, Mr. Kiniven/' said Colin, 
 with a smile, " that you will make me too 
 proud of myself." 
 
 " I hope," said Mrs. Dowell, " that Mr. 
 Kiniven will readily believe that it is far 
 from my intention to advise him to do any 
 thing against his wish, or which might 
 be afterwards cause of regret. You may 
 perhaps conclude, from what I have al- 
 ready said, that I have made myself rather 
 too officious in your affairs. If you think 
 so, which I do not believe, all the apology 
 I can offer is, that ever since your family 
 and mine became acquainted, I have en- 
 tertained a high opinion of your son, and 
 have no hesitation in saying, that I con- 
 sider Stuart peculiarly fitted for prosecut- 
 ing divinity studies, and afterwards fulfill- 
 ing the duties of a clergyman. T do not 
 wish to flatter him in his presence ; but, 
 from his anxious desire for education 
 together with a mind and constitution so
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 101 
 
 much accustomed to study, he is better 
 qualified for this profession than for the 
 bustling duties of a merchant. 
 
 " With regard, Mr. Kiniven, to what 
 you say about having no interest to pro- 
 cure him a church : this no doubt is some- 
 times attended with difficulty ; but there 
 is no general rule without modifications 
 and exceptions. Influence with the great 
 is no doubt beneficial, and it must be 
 admitted that lucrative situations are by 
 those means often obtained, while some, 
 perhaps more or less deserving, who have 
 no interest, must remain unsupplied, or be 
 content with situations of a humble kind* 
 While I allow this in general, yet I have 
 known more instances of the reverse. 
 True merit, sooner or later, seldom fails 
 to be rewarded, 
 
 " I need say no more on the subject, Mr. 
 Kiniven. It is from a warm regard for the 
 interests of your son that I have spoken 
 so much. I'll not ask you to give me your 
 opinion just now ; — weigh the subject seri- 
 ously in your own mind; and when you
 
 102 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 have come to a favourable determination 
 I hope that you and Mrs. Kiniven will 
 take an early opportunity of spending a 
 day with me at Purly-knoll. The evening 
 is far advanced, and Colin and I must 
 proceed home : we shall have a pleasant 
 walk — I see that it is moonlight." 
 
 Mr. Kiniven proffered many thanks to 
 Mrs. Dowell for her kindness and atten- 
 tion to his family, and said that if he was 
 spared, by to-morrow he would consider 
 seriously what he had heard from her. 
 
 Colin was rejoiced at the plans which 
 his mother had formed; and when she 
 had ended he shook Stuart heartily by the 
 hand, saying — " I see by your father's 
 countenance that he will consent ; you and 
 I, Stuart, shall be fellow-lodgers for seven 
 or eight years." 
 
 After some further conversation, Mrs. 
 Dowell and Colin bade adieu to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Kiniven, and proceeded homewards, 
 accompanied by Stuart, who had agreed 
 to convoy them part of the way. Mr.
 
 the writer's clerk. 103 
 
 Kiniven indeed said that he would will- 
 ingly accompany them himself; but that 
 he was anxious to go to the shop, and see 
 what sort of shopkeeper James had made 
 in his absence. " Though he is pretty ac- 
 tive in the shop, yet I need not be sur- 
 prised/' said he, half laughing, " if he 
 has fallen fast asleep by this time ; but 
 he does well enough to keep it just now, 
 for really, this town is very dull ; little 
 business is done in the day, and far less 
 at night." 
 
 " Your father complains of the dulness 
 of trade," said Mrs. Dowell to Stuart, as 
 soon as Mr. Kiniven had disappeared, 
 " and yet he would have you put to a 
 trade." 
 
 " Indeed," said Stuart, " my father has 
 often said, that he might give up shop- 
 keeping when he pleased, for any thing 
 that he makes by it. A good herring- 
 fishing in the Highlands is the principal 
 thing he depends on for the support of 
 his family. He has at present, to my
 
 104 the writer's clerk. 
 
 knowledge, about six or seven hundred 
 pounds involved in those concerns." 
 
 " If that is the case," replied Mrs. 
 Dowel], " he is very well able to give you 
 a college education. 
 
 " By the by, Stuart, I have not yet 
 seen your brother James ; bring him along 
 with you to-morrow, when you come to 
 see us." 
 
 " I am afraid he will not come. He is 
 fonder of sailing through the harbour in 
 his father's boat, with Stays Maclachlan, 
 Richard Valeburn and some others, than 
 visiting ladies." 
 
 " That is quite a harmless amusement,' 5 
 replied Mrs. Dowell. u Indeed, Stuart, 
 you'll find very few boys so studious or 
 reserved as you are ; but your brother is 
 but young, and will in the course of time 
 improve." 
 
 Stuart soon took leave of his friends, 
 and returned home. 
 
 When Mr. Kiniven came to his shop, he 
 found his son in the situation he had anti- 
 cipated. The half door of the shop was
 
 the writer's clerk. 105 
 
 barred ; the small door and cover of the 
 counter closed, and James was sitting in 
 the window, with his head declining on 
 the upper counter, in profound repose. It 
 appeared that he had been reading before 
 he had fallen a prey to the goddess of 
 slumber, as the book lay open beside him : 
 the appearance of the candle, however, 
 sufficiently proved that he must have re- 
 mained in this state for some time ; for 
 three inches of the wick of that luminary 
 had got into a state of decay for want of 
 relief. , 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was, of course, much dis- 
 pleased with this negligent conduct of 
 his son, although it was no uncommon 
 practice. He shook him by the shoulders : 
 " You lazy rascal, is this the way you 
 keep the shop in your father's absence ?" 
 
 James soon awakened, and excused him- 
 self by saying that he had been sleepy. 
 
 " Sleepy ! you stupid boy !" reiterated 
 the father ; " the shop might have taken 
 fire, or all the goods in it might have
 
 106 
 
 been taken away ; and what a pretty ex- 
 cuse would it be to say, ye were sleepy ! 
 That's no the way ye can expect to come 
 through the world — you must be vigilant, 
 careful and attentive, or ye may gang, as 
 your grandfather used to say, behind a 
 dyke and die.'' 
 
 James was sitting doggedly at the win- 
 dow, knotting and twirling some cords 
 through his fingers, while his father was 
 walking up and down within the counter, 
 advancing many salutary admonitions to 
 his son, till the entrance of Stuart inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 It was now ten o'clock, the usual time 
 for locking up the shop for the night, the 
 shutters were put up on the window ; the 
 fire and candle carefully extinguished, 
 and the keys given to Stuart to take 
 home, while the father took the usual 
 walk down the quay, to see what sort of 
 a night it was, and to know if there were 
 any arrivals or accounts from the High- 
 lands. When he returned home, there
 
 the writer's clerk. 107 
 
 was nothing said or done till the usual de- 
 votional exercises were performed. It is 
 an exercise, we hope, too common to need 
 any description. The large Bible was 
 taken solemnly down from the shelf where 
 it usually lay ; the rest of the family col- 
 lected their smaller Bibles and psalm- 
 books, and sat around the table. The good 
 man commences by mentioning the psalm, 
 which, after having been prefaced with 
 a solemn blessing, is read, and then sung 
 by all present, with the feeling and pathos 
 of sincere Christians. After this, the chap- 
 ter is given out, which Mrs. Kiniven reads, 
 and then prayers follow. The whole ser- 
 vice occupies about forty minutes. 
 
 How pure and delicious must be the 
 delights of that family who are habituated 
 to such exercises, when they reflect on 
 the promises of their heavenly Father, 
 that, " where two or three are met to- 
 gether in his name, that there he will be 
 in the midst of them to bless them, and 
 to do them good !" Ask those who are
 
 108 the writer's clerk:. 
 
 thus engaged, and they will tell you that 
 it is the happiest moment they have 
 ever spent. The mind is, as it were, ab- 
 stracted from earthly business, — in a state 
 of forgetfulness of earthly vanities, — and 
 wholly absorbed in contemplations of 
 heaven and eternity. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Kiniven had finished 
 these solemn exercises, and while taking 
 his usual evening repast with his family, 
 with the exception of James, who had re- 
 tired to bed, the following dialogue en- 
 sued. 
 
 " Mrs. Dowell," said Mrs. Kiniven, " is 
 really a very complaisant lady." 
 
 " She is so, indeed," said Mr. Kiniven. 
 " Weel, Stuart, what is your opinion o* 
 what she has been saying ?" 
 
 " You know, father," said Stuart, " I 
 have always had a great desire for learn- 
 ing, and I should certainly prefer the 
 study of divinity to the mercantile pro- 
 fession, if it were agreeable to you ; but I 
 cannot help thinking with Mrs. Dowell,
 
 the writer's clerk. 109 
 
 that I have not a sufficiently bustling or 
 worldly disposition for the mercantile 
 profession ; but if you wish me to follow 
 that business, I will do so with pleasure." 
 
 " I think/' said his mother, "that there 
 would be no great harm in sending Stuart 
 to college in the mean time, and if things 
 should not turn out well, he'll not be the 
 worse for the time he has spent there, or 
 too old to go to something else." 
 
 <t But, my dear," replied Mr. Kiniven, 
 " that is a' very true ; and I am sure, nane 
 could ha'e mair ambition than I would to 
 make Stuart a minister, which is the most 
 honourable profession on earth ; but ye 
 dinna ken what expense it will be ; and 
 then if he did na' succeed, what o' money 
 and precious time will be lost ! It does 
 very well for Mrs. Dowell, who has plenty 
 of money, and big friends, to send her son 
 to college, and I dare say, what she said 
 may be a' very true ; but it requires a 
 poor man like me to be cautious, and not- 
 withstanding a' that she said about cau-
 
 110 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 tion, I have aye found it to be very useful 
 to me: had I not been so, I might ha' 
 been just now a poor journeyman tailor, or 
 something worse. See, for instance, Robin 
 Whig and Willie Lightfoot ; many a time 
 they and I wrought together. They were 
 bien farmers' sons, and many a time they 
 went wi' a full belly, when mine was 
 empty ; but they were heedless, roving 
 chields, and would jeer me for my saving 
 an* cautious disposition. But what are 
 they now ? puir, meagre, drivelling crea- 
 tures, that ha'e scarcely a farthing to 
 bless themselves with! Although, no dou't, 
 I have a little money, and would willingly 
 give my children a good education, yet I 
 am unwilling to spend my money, and 
 them to spend their time, when it would 
 be productive of no good," 
 
 Mrs. Kiniven was, as we have already 
 seen, a woman of few words, and although 
 she possessed much affection for her fa- 
 mily, yet she always concurred with her 
 husband. Indeed he gave such plausible
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. Ill 
 
 reasons, — and reasons, no doubt, which he 
 conceived to be just, for all his actions, 
 that they could not but appear to a com- 
 mon mind to be quite conclusive ; at least, 
 to be such as not to be easily overturned 
 by one who was his acknowledged in- 
 ferior in penetration, experience, and 
 judgment. She therefore remained silent 
 when her husband concluded. 
 
 Stuart, though but a boy, possessed a 
 higher and more enlightened knowledge 
 of mankind, but at the same time had too 
 much good sense and deference towards 
 his parents to attempt to manifest this 
 superiority over them. He said, that his 
 father judged from experience — that his 
 motives of action originated chiefly in the 
 conduct of the lower orders, and that he 
 was not only ignorant of, but, perhaps a 
 little prejudiced against, the more elevat- 
 ed classes of society. After a pause, he 
 answered his father : " I might attend col- 
 lege and have no intentions towards the mi- 
 nistry ; and even though I were going to
 
 112 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 college just now, for the express purpose 
 of that profession being my ultimate de- 
 stination, yet I might never acknowledge 
 it to any person, in case that I might be 
 unable to accomplish it. Might I not, 
 therefore, continue at the college in win- 
 ter, and teach during summer, or become 
 tutor in a family, which some of the pro- 
 fessors who might happen to befriend me 
 might procure for me? and if I succeeded 
 in this way I should not be any burden on 
 you. This, no doubt, is uncertain ; but 
 may not the same Providence who favour- 
 ed you provide also for me ? and, con- 
 tinually placing my trust in Him, I might 
 ultimately attain my desired object. 
 
 " Remember also, father," continued 
 Stuart, u that the disciples and followers 
 of our Saviour were all poor men. See 
 how our Saviour honoured them and 
 blessed them ! They have been the ho- 
 noured instruments of declaring to the 
 world and to future ages his mission — his 
 miracles — his death and resurrection. From
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 113 
 
 them the evidences of Christianity have 
 flowed. Many have they converted — 
 many have they saved. Their testimony 
 has been read with interest and atten- 
 tion." 
 
 Seeing his father listening to him with 
 seeming pleasure, he continued — " Ob- 
 serve, father, that our Saviour enjoins 
 them to * go through all the world, and 
 preach the gospel to every creature.' 
 And again, he says, ( that he who con- 
 fesses me before men, him also shall my 
 Father confess in heaven.' Should not 
 we be anxious to aspire to that profession 
 whose duty it is to deliver the glad tidings 
 of salvation, and for accomplishing which 
 such gracious promises are held out? 
 
 * I confess," said Stuart, in a lower 
 tone, " that I have spoken rather too 
 freely on such an important subject, 
 especially for one who is but a mere boy — 
 God alone knows what we are, and what 
 we shall be." Here Stuart concluded, 
 apparently very much affected.
 
 114 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven had never heard Stuart 
 express such sentiments of religion. Re- 
 ligion was on all occasions his favourite 
 topic ; but to hear it discussed in this 
 manner by one of his family, made him 
 not a little astonished. He caught Stuart 
 by the hand — " You are/' said he, " a 
 good boy, Stuart — you will be an honour 
 to yourself and a blessing to the family. 
 I shall never oppose what you desire, my 
 dear boy ! You shall go to college, and so 
 far as I am able, I will assist you." 
 
 Stuart, though affected, saw that his 
 father was more so ; he pressed affec- 
 tionately his father's hands, and left the 
 room. When he was gone, his father said, 
 " I wish James was such a boy as that !" 
 
 Mrs. Kiniven, who was well pleased 
 with what had been decided, said, with 
 her usual indulgent disposition, " Poor 
 boy, he's but young ; he'll come on." 
 
 This ended the evening's conversation, 
 and the family retired to rest.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 As Mr. Kiniven had agreed that Stuart 
 should go to college the ensuing season, 
 and as a few weeks had only to elapse 
 until the time of his departure, it was 
 not deemed necessary that he should re- 
 turn to school. 
 
 On the following day he went to his 
 friends at Purly-knoll, and informed them 
 that he had procured his father's consent 
 to go to college. The information was 
 received by Mrs. Dowell and her son with 
 much pleasure, and they instantly began 
 to talk of the manner in which they were 
 to conduct themselves when at college. 
 Mrs. Dowell gave them many directions 
 about what sort of lodgings they were to 
 take ; their mode of living, and the con- 
 duct they ought to pursue ; and so much
 
 116 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 regard did she manifest for their welfare, 
 that she caused Colin to take notes of her 
 instructions, in order that they might have 
 recourse to them as occasion might re- 
 quire. 
 
 In the mean time, our hero continued 
 at school, and likewise the little fellow 
 Girmour. Mr. Black was much displeased 
 at losing two of his best scholars ; but as 
 he could not but be aware that he himself 
 was the sole occasion of it, he did not 
 think proper to speak to their parents on 
 the subject. 
 
 As Stays Maclachlan soon left the 
 school for Edinburgh, where he was bound 
 to the law, the boys attended to their du- 
 ties without any of that interruption they 
 had formerly experienced. 
 
 Richard Valeburn continued to be 
 James's most familiar companion. As 
 long as Stuart remained at home, he felt 
 little difficulty in getting his Latin exer- 
 cises ; but he was aware that he should
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 117 
 
 soon be deprived of his valuable assist- 
 ance, and he very properly studied very 
 assiduously, to acquire as much know- 
 ledge of the language as would enable 
 him to go on respectably without the aid 
 of his brother. 
 
 The necessary time for the departure of 
 the two classic heroes soon approached. 
 They took their departure in the Luggage 
 Packet for Glasgow; where they were 
 safely landed — were duly matriculated — 
 became very assiduous in their studies, 
 and, in short, conducted themselves with 
 that prudence and propriety which so 
 much accorded with their dispositions, 
 and which the reader, from what he has 
 already known of their conduct, would na- 
 turally expect. 
 
 Mrs. Do well was certainly sorry for the 
 departure of her son ; but as she saw it 
 was necessary, she did not long repine : 
 and the frequent letters she received 
 tended considerably to console her dur- 
 ing his absence.
 
 118 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Kiniven were not so con- 
 solable. This was the first time Stuart 
 had been from home, and they felt some- 
 what dull and lonely during his absence. 
 But none of them felt, or had cause to re- 
 gret his absence more than James. The 
 bad practice of depending on his brother 
 for assistance in scholastic exercises, was 
 now painfully demonstrated. But what 
 was he to do ? The Georgics of Virgil were 
 no easy study; and he who had been so 
 often accustomed to assist others, could 
 now scarcely inform himself. It is need- 
 less to say, that had James, instead of re- 
 lying on his brother's assistance, been more 
 assiduous himself to learn the nature of 
 the language, he would have felt no diffi- 
 culty, and, of course, have no cause of re- 
 gret. He could not brook the idea of go- 
 ing to school. He thought, and perhaps 
 justly, that those in the same class with 
 him who were in the habit of relying on 
 him for the performance of their exercises, 
 would condemn him for his ignorance.
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 119 
 
 He, however, reluctantly agreed to make 
 a trial ; he went, and the consequence was 
 such as he had suspected. There had 
 been four or five in the class, among whom 
 were Sandy Girmour and Richard Vale- 
 burn. The latter was the only one who 
 bestowed any degree of attention on his 
 study, and though he could not repeat 
 the task so fluently as our hero when he 
 had his brother's assistance, yet he knew, 
 in reality, more of the nature of the lan- 
 guage. When the class was called to 
 perform the task, James, being head, was 
 the first to go on. The difference with 
 which he performed the exercises now, 
 from what he had formerly done, could 
 not fail to be marked by Mr. Black: 
 he was examined more strictly, and still 
 appeared the more ignorant. The ques- 
 tions which he could not answer were put 
 to the next, and they were answered cor- 
 rectly by Richard Valeburn ; who was 
 immediately declared the head of the 
 class. The others were as ignorant, if
 
 120 THE WRITER*S CLERK. 
 
 not more so, than James, and they were 
 dismissed to their seats, after severe cor- 
 rection and rebuke. 
 
 James now thought, that his remaining 
 longer in school would only serve to con- 
 firm his ignorance to the teacher, and 
 weaken his influence with his companions; 
 and that they would attribute any know- 
 ledge that he previously possessed, to the 
 assistance he derived from his brother, and 
 not to his own exertions. 
 
 Such was the condition of our hero 
 after his brother's departure. He was 
 much averse to disclose his mind to his 
 parents, and choosed rather to absent him- 
 self from school for several days, to con- 
 sider of the best means of rescuing him- 
 self from his present dilemma. This he 
 actually put into execution, by strolling 
 about the country during school hours ; 
 but there was soon a message from school 
 to know the cause of his absence. He 
 went the length of feigning sickness, and 
 was for a few days excused on this score ;
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 121 
 
 but at last, when it became apparent to 
 his parents that he had some other reason 
 besides sickness for not going to school^ 
 they insisted on knowing it. James re- 
 solved not to dissemble any longer, and 
 immediately acquainted them with the 
 cause. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven ascribed this conduct to 
 an indolent disposition ; but being un- 
 willing to quarrel with James, now his 
 only remaining son, he addressed him in 
 a mild manner, and earnestly advised him 
 to return to school. u Education," said 
 he, " is the only thing that would mak' a 
 man o' you ;" and that as it was only the 
 Latin language of which he complained, 
 he might go over it again. 
 
 James would perhaps have no objec- 
 tion to do this with any other master, but 
 Mr. Black was the only Latin teacher in 
 the town, and to go back to his school, 
 and return to the rudiments of the lan- 
 guage, was a proposition that he would not 
 submit to. His father used every morn- 
 
 vol. i. . g
 
 122 the writer's clerk. 
 
 ing, by entreaties, threats, and otherwise, 
 to persuade him to return to school ; but 
 all were ineffectual. " Poor boy, ye dinna 
 ken what ye're about ; ye'll soon see the 
 want of education whan ye gang tae the 
 uncos ;* ye canna expect to be a' your 
 days about your father's fire-side. Remem- 
 ber, ye'll find my words to prove true." 
 
 James was certainly sorry for causing 
 so much trouble to his parents ; but he 
 saw that he could not avoid it, and 
 therefore told his father, candidly, his 
 reasons for not complying with his injunc- 
 tions : but informed him at the same 
 time, that to make up in some measure 
 for his misconduct, he would apply dili- 
 gently and sedulously at home to his 
 studies ; and with the assistance of books 
 he hoped to be able to make himself 
 pretty perfect in his education. 
 
 His father seeing that nothing better 
 could be done, reluctantly agreed ; and in 
 justice to James, we must say that he was 
 * Meaning among strangers.
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 123 
 
 as good as his word, and became very dili- 
 gent in bis private studies. 
 
 In this way be continued for a few 
 months, and was fortunate to maintain the 
 good opinion of his former acquaintances ; 
 but some circumstances which happened 
 with regard to them, tended considerably 
 to alter his views. 
 
 Richard Valeburn was soon to be ap- 
 prenticed to a writer in Edinburgh, and 
 the father of little Girmour had put his 
 son to the weaving business, preparatory 
 to his becoming a manufacturer. 
 
 The writers of Homeston ranked among 
 the principal people of the town. Whe- 
 ther they acquired this dignity by their 
 professional talents, or elicited it from the 
 lower ranks by the dread which they in- 
 fused into their minds by their arbitrary 
 proceedings, we will not venture to say, 
 but certain it was that they were con- 
 sidered " mighty men." 
 
 Though James had been aware of their 
 
 g 2
 
 124 
 
 character, and had often remarked the 
 gentlemanlike appearance of their clerks, 
 and the power and authority which they 
 seemed to possess, or at least to manifest : 
 and particularly the nature of their busi- 
 ness, having apparently little to do ex- 
 cept bustling about courts, debtors, poind- 
 ings, and apprehensions ; yet from his 
 father having had little or no connec- 
 tion with them, he had never once thought 
 of becoming a member of that profession ; 
 but now that he saw how delighted his 
 friend was in the anticipation of his new 
 employment, he also began to think of 
 becoming a lawyer, and his resolution was 
 soon unalterably fixed to follow that pro- 
 fession. 
 
 His father had, however, different views 
 for him. Since his intention of making 
 Stuart a manufacturer had been frus- 
 trated, he never once thought but that 
 James would accede to his wishes, and 
 about this period he began to think that 
 he should be put to the business. He ac-
 
 Tiic writer's clerk. 1^.3 
 
 cordingly took an early opportunity of 
 addressing his son on the subject. 
 
 "James," said he, " ye're now fourteen 
 years of age, and it is high time for you 
 to think o' what ye're gaun tae be. 
 There's your acquaintance, Sandy Gir- 
 mour, is gone wi* Barny Shuttle, the 
 weaver, o'er in the Roading, to prepare 
 him for becoming a manufacturer. Now 
 if it be agreeable to you, I'll speak to 
 Shuttle to see if he'll tak' you ; and as I 
 ha'e some influence wi' the Glasgow 
 merchants, I have no doubt but that I 
 shall get you into a warehouse." 
 
 James answered, that he was resolved 
 to be a writer, in preference to a weaver 
 or manufacturer. 
 
 His father was astonished ; but as he 
 had not thought of it sufficiently, he did 
 not condemn it altogether, but said, from 
 the feelings of the moment, "Dear me! 
 James, who has put these notions in your 
 head ? — A writer ! — " shaking his head 
 very seriously : " the writing business I
 
 V26 
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 never liked. Some o' them just live by 
 creating mischief amang fouk. The 
 writers here are proud, conceited people, 
 and have no religion wi' them. It may 
 do well enough for gentlemen to send 
 their sons to that idle life ; but remem- 
 ber ye, that your father 's but a poor man, 
 and that it disna beseem him to mak' 
 gentlemen lawyers of his sons." 
 
 " I do not think, father," said James, 
 fretfully, " that you are dealing with me 
 fairly. You have sent Stuart to college, 
 and will make him a gentleman, and I am 
 to be a weaver ! — a poor man ! I am sure 
 I have as much right to be a gentleman 
 as Stuart. Besides, I hate the trade you 
 would wish me to learn. I know that 
 I'll succeed at the writing business, and 
 there are many respectable men of that 
 profession. I know that you cannot 
 send me to Edinburgh as Mr. Vale- 
 burn sends Richard ; but when I have 
 been with a writer here for a year or two, 
 I can go to Edinburgh, where, as I am
 
 the writer's clerk. 1 c 27 
 
 informed, I may get a very lucrative situ- 
 ation, and then I shall be no burden to 
 you. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven, who was generally not 
 hasty in coming to a determination, agreed 
 that the matter should be put off until 
 the mother should be consulted ; " But," 
 added he, " you mistake me, James, if you 
 think that I would do any injustice either 
 to you or Stuart. It was for your own 
 good that I proposed you should be a ma- 
 nufacturer, and you will find my words 
 to be true if you are so foolish as to be- 
 come a writer." 
 
 James had been a favourite with his 
 mother since the departure of Stuart, and 
 he easily influenced her on his behalf. 
 When Mr. Kiniven spoke to her on the 
 subject, she answered, that while she left 
 the matter entirely to his better judge- 
 ment, she thought at the same time, that 
 it might be for his advantage to be for a 
 short time with a writer. " It will be the 
 mean," said the good woman, " of im-
 
 128 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 proving his hand-writing, and giving him 
 a knowledge of business; and as the boy 
 is yet but young, he may in the course of 
 a short time fix on some business that will 
 be more agreeable to both of us." 
 
 " Weel, my dear/' said Mr. Kiniven, 
 " I would be sorry to force the boy to any 
 profession that he did not incline to him- 
 self ; so, therefore, let you and James ha*e 
 your ain way in this matter, trusting it'll 
 be a 5 for his good. But to what writer 
 will we send him ? I ken by sight a wheen 
 o' these flighty sort o' chields ; but, Guid 
 be thanked, I never had any thing tae 
 doe wi' them. I dare say that Angus 
 Maclaren is the best o' them ; he is an 
 auld hand at the business. He was once 
 one o' our magistrates when I was a 
 councillor, and I am weel acquainted wi" 
 him. I'll better speak tae him, and see 
 if he'll tak* James, as it is as weel that he 
 should be wi' a respectable man." 
 
 Mrs. Kiniven cheerfully assented. 
 
 Mr. Angus Maclaren had been a writer
 
 the writer's clerk. 129 
 
 in Homeston for thirty years, and could 
 boast of respectable and extensive busi- 
 ness. To the rich and the poor he ad- 
 dressed himself with an habitual ease 
 and obsequiousness which never fails to 
 elicit respect ; and it was by this sa- 
 gacious and insinuating manner he had 
 initiated himself into the favour of many 
 of the country gentlemen, and procured 
 many lucrative and important factorships, 
 agencies, and clerkships. 
 
 Mr. Maclaren being well acquainted 
 with Mr. Kiniven, readily agreed to make 
 trial of his son. 
 
 " Now, James," said his father, " I have 
 spoke to Mr. Maclaren about you, and 
 you are to go to him to-morrow ; and 
 you'll ha'e an opportunity now to be 
 what you want — a gentleman: and it is 
 my earnest wish that ye maybe so in an 
 honest and religious way." 
 
 James was in raptures when he was in- 
 formed that he was to go to Mr. Mac- 
 laren. The idea of being in such a re- 
 
 g 5
 
 130 the writer's clerk. 
 
 spectable office, and at so respectable a 
 profession, filled his mind with delight. 
 He thought he might now be sufficiently 
 recompensed for his past mortifications 
 and sorrows, and concluded that he was 
 now to be in real earnest a gentleman. 
 
 On the following morning he put on his 
 best Sunday clothes, and proceeded to 
 Mr. Maclaren's office with more pleasure 
 than he had, perhaps, ever felt. When 
 he appeared in the office, Mr. Maclaren 
 was in his nightgown, sitting at one side 
 of the desk dictating to Mr. Sealup, a tall, 
 meagre person who sat opposite to him, 
 and who was his stated and confidential 
 clerk. James stood before them with his 
 hat in his hand. Mr. Maclaren having 
 observed him, raised his spectacles above 
 his eyes, and addressed him in his usual 
 homely style. 
 
 " Weel, my boy , whare do ye come 
 frae ? Were ye wantin' me or Mr. Sealup ?" 
 (seeing James apparently disconcerted), 
 * Who'se aught ye, my boy V
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 131 
 
 " I am a son of Mr. Kiniven's," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " L — cl bless me ! what a memory I 
 ha'e got ! O aye ! your father was speak- 
 ing to me yesterday about ye. Come in 
 my boy. Now, your father says ye're 
 fond o' the writing business. I see ye 
 write a pretty good hand, and it will im- 
 prove by practice; so be very attentive, and 
 never tell any thing that ye hear or see in 
 this office. What's your first name?" 
 
 * James," was the reply. 
 
 " Now, James, my boy, you maun gang- 
 to Knockstaple for my black horse, as I 
 am gaun out to my dinner to the country 
 this afternoon ; and tell Lauchlan Fleech, 
 my shepherd, to be very attentive about 
 the sheep on the hill this cauld wather, 
 and to be sure tae come down the morn's 
 night, to tell me how they're comin' on, 
 Lauchlan has nae saddle, so that if ye 
 dinna like to ride on the bare back o' the 
 horse, ye'U get a piece o' a rug frae him. 
 Sae gang awa as fast as ye can, and Mr,
 
 132 the writer's clerk. 
 
 Sealup will ha'e some papers ready for ye 
 when ye return." 
 
 Knockstaple was a small farm about a 
 mile distant from the town, which Mr. 
 Maclaren had rented for the purpose of 
 grazing sheep, and here he had kept his 
 riding horse. James did not much relish 
 this kind of introductory employment. 
 His notions of the profession had led him 
 to expect a different reception. He did 
 not, therefore, execute this message with 
 much alacrity ; he thought that it savoured 
 more of the hostler than of the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 When he was gone, Mr. Maclaren told 
 Mr. Sealup to get a table placed in front of 
 the desk for the boy James. " The chield," 
 said he, " can be of some use to us in going 
 errands, and that was the chief reason for 
 which I agreed to take him from his father. 
 But to improve his hand ye'd better give 
 him something to write; that he may be 
 able to tell his father that we're showing 
 him some attention. The best thing that
 
 the writer's clerk. 133 
 
 ye can give him tae copy, is the auld styles, 
 and ye see, Mr. Sealup, ye need na give 
 him guid paper for it; the back o' the 
 auld blank schedules will doe weel enough; 
 but ye need na let on to him but that his 
 writing is tae be of some use." 
 
 Mr. Sealup was a man considerably ad- 
 vanced in years. He had been originally 
 a teacher, but had some how or other been 
 transferred from that profession to Mr. 
 Maclaren's desk, and had managed his 
 business for some years. He was aware of 
 his master's selfish character, but did not 
 conceive it to be his duty to find fault with 
 it, and accordingly, when James returned 
 from Knockstaple, Mr. Sealup acted to- 
 wards him as he had been desired ; not 
 failing to recommend to him to bestow 
 considerable pains and attention on his 
 writing, as they were papers of importance, 
 and were to be appropriated to important 
 purposes. 
 
 James applied himself sedulously and
 
 134 the writer's clerk. 
 
 attentively to the writing business, and 
 soon became a favourite with Mr. Mac- 
 laren. This gentleman knew well how 
 to act towards his dependents so as to get 
 his ends properly attained, while at the 
 same time he commanded their respect 
 and esteem. 
 
 James would execute Mr. Maclaren's 
 commands with more pleasure than he 
 ever did those of his father. He showed 
 more attention to Mr. Maclaren when he 
 addressed him in these words : " My boy, 
 James, ye'll do such a thing/' than he did 
 to all the expostulations of his father. 
 
 Mr. Maclaren having an extensive prac- 
 tice in his profession, our hero gradually 
 advanced in acquiring knowledge in court 
 procedure and general business, under the 
 superintendence and instruction of his 
 worthy masters. He soon became ac- 
 quainted with the character and disposi- 
 tion of these gentlemen. He often re- 
 marked some sagacious instances of Mr.
 
 the writer's clerk. 185 
 
 Maclaren's conduct, which tended not a 
 little to enlighten his mind with a know- 
 ledge of human nature. 
 
 When it happened that any person 
 came to the office for payment of an ac- 
 count, as soon as they made their ap- 
 pearance or mentioned their object, and 
 although he was engaged in no business 
 whatever, he would instantly seem to re- 
 collect of something that required to be 
 done, or snatch up the readiest papers 
 which lay on the desk, and with an ap- 
 pearance of bustle and confusion he would 
 exclaim, " L — d bless me ! I canna speak 
 tae ye the day; ye see I am just in the 
 midst of confusion ; good day t'ye : I am 
 very throng — call back next week." Then, 
 addressing himself to Mr. Sealup, " Get 
 out the letter-book as fast as ye can, that 
 we may get that letter written tae yon 
 man ;" and observing, perhaps, the caller 
 lingering behind, as if to express more 
 fully his wants — " Aye ! Ye see I am
 
 136 the writer's clerk. 
 
 busy ; — good day tae ye. James, show 
 the gentleman the door." 
 
 But when the case was different ; when 
 a person came to pay him money, or the 
 tenants over whom he was factor to pay 
 their rents, he recognised their business 
 as soon as they made their appearance : 
 then, though he was in confusion, or the 
 greatest hurry, or oppressed with a load 
 of business, he would immediately disen- 
 gage himself and attend to them. Kindly 
 addressing them by their names, he would 
 say, " I am glad to see ye ; how's a' wi' 
 ye the day ? Come o'er to the fire ; sit 
 doun and rest yoursel', and give us a' your 
 news, and tell us how ye're coming on." 
 
 Notwithstanding this duplicity, Mr. 
 Maclaren's debts were all ultimately paid, 
 and he was considered, and perhaps justly, 
 to be a very respectable man. He was 
 known to be of a very frugal disposition ; 
 and never gave expensive entertainments 
 but to those who had it in their power
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 13? 
 
 to make him an ample remuneration in 
 some way or other. 
 
 Colin Dovell returned from college in 
 the month of April, and brought very 
 gratifying intelligence of Stuart's success. 
 Stuart had been fortunate in distinguish- 
 ing himself by his abilities in the class, 
 and had been taken notice of by the pro- 
 fessor, invited to his house, and questioned 
 concerning his parentage and his views. 
 The professor being a man of a benevo- 
 lent disposition, and much inclined to re- 
 ward merit, informed Stuart that he had 
 been for some time on the look out for a 
 tutor to a gentleman's family ; and that 
 if he choosed to accept of such a situation 
 it was at his service. Stuart, not wishing 
 to be any burden on his parents, readily 
 accepted the offer. 
 
 This news came not directly from 
 Stuart, but was reported by Colin Dowel], 
 and the reason was this : Stuart was a
 
 138 the writer's clerk. 
 
 boy who could not be precipitately elated 
 with success, and perhaps, from a delicacy 
 of feeling, did not wish to divulge it to his 
 friends, till he was secured in the situa- 
 tion, and saw that it was likely to suit 
 him. A few days however, brought the 
 wished-for intelligence from himself. 
 
 The parents were exceedingly rejoiced 
 at his success; and often did they, in their 
 prayers, fervently thank that Almighty 
 Being who so miraculously provides for 
 those who have sincerely resolved to de- 
 vote their time and talents to his service. 
 
 Colin Dowell remained with his mother 
 in the country, and devoted almost his 
 whole time to study. He was seldom 
 seen in town, except on Sunday, when he 
 generally made a call at Mr. Kiniven's 
 house. Sometimes he invited James to 
 Purly-knoll on a Saturday evening, al- 
 though he did not seem to cultivate much 
 of his acquaintance : he probably saw that 
 he would not make a suitable companion,
 
 the writer's clerk. 139 
 
 and these invitations were made purely 
 from the respect which he entertained for 
 his brother. 
 
 About this time Richard Valeburn an- 
 nounced to James, that his departure for 
 Edinburgh was fixed for the following 
 Monday. The Kiniven and Valeburn fa- 
 milies were particularly intimate. Mr. 
 Valeburn, though holding a respectable 
 situation, was extremely mild in his man- 
 ners; and Mrs. Valeburn, though descended 
 of respectable parents, was just such an- 
 other plain, good-natured woman as Mrs. 
 Kiniven. On the evening that Richard 
 had announced his departure, the Valeburn 
 family were drinking tea in Mr. Kiniven's 
 house. 
 
 Tea parties are as common among the 
 middling ranks in Homeston, as dinner- 
 parties are with the rich, and probably 
 more luxurious than the latter. It was 
 the custom of Mrs. Kiniven, once perhaps 
 in two years, to have three or four nights 
 of a social tea party ; but on this oc-
 
 140 THE WRITER'S CEERK. 
 
 casion she happened to have no other 
 company than the Valeburn family. 
 
 In the course of the conversation that 
 took place, Mr. Valeburn, when noticing 
 the success of Stuart, observed that James 
 ought to have been sent to Edinburgh at 
 once, if he was intended for a lawyer. 
 " It is/' said he, " but a very limited 
 knowledge of business he can acquire 
 from the writers in Homeston. You 
 see, Mr. Kiniven, what I am doing with 
 my son. He is to be apprenticed to an 
 old friend of mine, a very respectable 
 writer to the signet. There is nothing like 
 sending a young person to a place where 
 the business he proposes to learn is car- 
 ried on to its utmost extent. I would 
 advise you to take James from Mr. Mae- 
 laren and allow him to accompany Richard ; 
 and I shall give him a letter to Mr. Clin- 
 ton, who, I have no doubt will take him 
 as an apprentice likewise. It will not 
 cost you much more than two hundred 
 pounds ; and in the course of their ap-
 
 141 
 
 prenticeship, I understand that they can 
 make by their writings what will defray 
 the expenses of their living." 
 
 " Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Kiniven : " ye surely think that T ha' 
 money to throw away like sclate stanes. 
 Two hundred pounds are no so easily 
 got. It may do well enough for you to 
 throw away that money on your son, as 
 you have interest, and will be able to pro- 
 cure him a respectable business when he 
 has finished his apprenticeship ; but it's 
 quite different wi' me ; I hae nae interest 
 wi' the great ; and it was for that and 
 some other reason that I did not wish 
 James to go to the profession ; but he 
 thought that he could not be a gentle- 
 man in any other way than by becoming a 
 writer, and he thinks that in a short time 
 he might get a situation in Edinburgh. 
 As he didna follow my advice to be a 
 manufacturer, a business in which I was 
 certain he would have succeeded, he must 
 just follow the bent of his ain mind. Al-
 
 142 
 
 though I am not of opinion that young 
 people should have their ain way in every 
 thing ; yet when they'll not take their 
 parents' advice, they cannot have them to 
 blame if they do not succeed." 
 
 " I dare say, Mr. Kiniven," said Mr. 
 Valeburn, " that after all you are right ; 
 but if James should afterwards think of 
 becoming a manufacturer, he will not be 
 the worse for the time he has spent with 
 Mr. Maclaren." 
 
 This subject was dropped, and other 
 topics of conversation were introduced ; in 
 the course of which the Fair that was to be 
 on the following day came to be mention- 
 ed, and it was agreed between Mrs. Vale- 
 burn and Mrs. Kiniven that they should 
 have a walk to the Hill to view the Fair, 
 as they had not been abroad on these oc- 
 casions for many years. 
 
 James and Richard agreed that they 
 should spend the day in his father's boat, 
 as both were very fond of nautical ex- 
 cursions ; and as this was the last oppor-
 
 the writer's clerk. 143 
 
 tunity the two friends would have of en- 
 joying themselves together, the occasion 
 that offered for this purpose was gladly 
 embraced. 
 
 With this understanding among the 
 parties, we shall now proceed to Mr. 
 Valeburn's kitchen, and make the reader 
 a little acquainted with two of his do- 
 mestics ; but first we must briefly describe 
 the subject of their discourse — the Home- 
 ston May-fair ; and with this we shall 
 commence the next chapter.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It has already been noticed, that in 
 Homeston there were four fairs in the 
 course of the year. These took place 
 at the terms of Candlemas, Whitsunday, 
 Lammas and Martinmas. On these oc- 
 casions multitudes of people assembled 
 from all quarters of the country. The 
 town was completely crowded. On the 
 streets were to be seen groups of farmers 
 bargaining with cattle-dealers, accom- 
 panying their words, expressed in the 
 Gaelic language, with a motion of the 
 butt-end of their whips, with a view, per- 
 haps, of making their meaning more sig- 
 nificant and forcible. A low country ob- 
 server would have inferred from their 
 vociferous clamour that they were scold- 
 ing or insulting each other, and might 
 be apt to imagine that their discourse 
 would terminate in blows ; but in a little
 
 the writer's clerk. 145 
 
 time he could see them in apparent good 
 humour proceeding to the adjoining public- 
 house to seal their agreements with a glass 
 of their favourite usquebaugh. 
 
 These were the only occasions on which 
 anything like business was done among the 
 merchants. All that sort of people who de- 
 pended on public custom, had their articles 
 exposed in the most advantageous and 
 fascinating manner. The shopkeeper had 
 his shop overhauled the day previous 
 to the fair, and every thing prepared for 
 the sales that were expected to take place 
 on the following day. The hucksterer 
 had also tables placed before her door, 
 overspread with gingerbread, confec- 
 tions, &c. The landlady of the public- 
 house was not the least backward of any 
 on these occasions. She had the walls of 
 her rooms newly white-washed, and the 
 forms properly arranged for the reception 
 of her drouthy visitors. 
 
 It was also on this occasion that farm- 
 servants were paid their wages, and con- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 MB THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 sequently made it their chief holiday. 
 The country girls had, therefore, an op- 
 portunity of exhibiting themselves to 
 advantage ; and the young lads, flushed 
 with money and drink, might be seen in 
 the evening tripping through the streets 
 with the girls, perhaps some ten or twelve 
 of them in a row, and afterwards spending 
 the evening in reels and dances ; which the 
 blithesome damsel claimed under the name 
 of "a fairing." 
 
 The clamour and confusion which pre- 
 vailed in the streets on these occasions 
 were great. Horses were gallopped back- 
 wards and forwards by country servants, 
 and by the more mischievous interference 
 of the town boys. In the evening, what 
 with darkness and drunkenness, the scene 
 not unfrequently ended in a state of riotous 
 confusion. 
 
 A day of this kind was however much 
 wanted. The shopkeepers were certain 
 to procure payment from those who had 
 been intrusted with their merchandise.
 
 the writer's clerk. 147 
 
 This was always a busy day with Mr. Kini- 
 ven. Some of the family generally attended 
 the shop while he went through the fair to 
 find out his debtors. When his exertions 
 happened to be unsuccessful, he would ex- 
 claim angrily, "lam just perfectly plagued 
 wi* a wheen o' thae chields," meaning 
 farm-servants. " When they ha'ena any 
 money they'll come wi' a poor mouth and 
 seek goods frae me on trust; but now 
 when they ha'e money they'll shun me. I 
 must really quat giving credit, for I see 
 there's naething but trouble and loss to 
 be gained by it. It's no the way that I 
 must pay my debts. I ha'ena bought 
 my goods half a year frae the Glasgow 
 merchants, when they are at me for pay- 
 ment and new orders." 
 
 Though these complaints proceeded 
 from Mr. Kiniven's naturally anxious dis" 
 position about his business, yet he had in 
 reality little or nothing to complain of, in 
 comparison to others, who, less active and 
 attentive on these occasions, were some 
 
 h 1
 
 148 THE writer's clerk. 
 
 times reduced to bankruptcy and beg- 
 gary. 
 
 The Whitsunday fair (the one which at 
 present occupies our attention) was con- 
 sidered to be the best. It was conducted 
 somewhat differently from those we have 
 already noticed. On a rising ground 
 about half a mile from Homeston, which 
 was known by the name of the Hill, the 
 drovers concentrated their flocks of black 
 cattle, and here was the chief business 
 of the fair conducted ; and as nothing 
 on these occasions could be transacted 
 without the aid of artificial spirits, the 
 poorer classes of the town embraced this 
 opportunity of erecting small tents for 
 the sale of those articles which were 
 requisite. 
 
 These tents were in general erected by 
 the wives of fishermen, and by those who 
 possessed vigour and strength to undergo 
 the trouble and fatigue with which they 
 were attended. The manner in which 
 they were constructed was simply this —
 
 the writer's clerk. 149 
 
 two oars or poles were tied across each 
 other and fixed in the ground, at the top 
 and sides of which were attached smaller 
 poles which came perpendicularly to the 
 ground from the main cross poles, and 
 over the whole were thrown some blankets 
 or the old sails of fishing-boats. Seats 
 about a foot in height, composed of turf 
 or clods, were erected within; and in 
 the centre was fixed a small table, on 
 which were placed a whisky stoup, bottles, 
 glasses, &c. On the outside of the tent, 
 and immediately at the corner of its en- 
 trance was placed another table over- 
 spread with gingerbread, confections, &c. 
 Upwards of a hundred of these tents 
 might be seen in a cluster on the face of 
 the hill ; and all who passed them, might 
 see less or more of the country gentry, 
 and many of the town folks too, discuss- 
 ing over their libations the common busi- 
 ness of the day. 
 
 In a country town, where every thing 
 is monotonous and little variety exhibited,
 
 150 the writer's clerk. 
 
 scenes of this kind are peculiarly attractive, 
 and are rendered still more so, as the 
 weather in the month of May is generally 
 fine. The road that led up to this scene 
 of bustle and business was in the course 
 of the day continually crowded. Those 
 who had sold their cattle might be seen 
 hurrying towards the town to transact 
 any necessary business. Some of the 
 country lads who had no important mat- 
 ters to transact, might be seen straggling 
 on the road towards the town, to visit 
 their acquaintances, or to gratify their 
 curiosity with a view of the vessels in the 
 harbour. While these amused themselves 
 in this way, the good women, with children 
 in their arms, and a dimpling smile on 
 their countenances, might be seen walk- 
 ing soberly up to the Hill to get a view of 
 the May fair. 
 
 Having taken this cursory view of the 
 Fair, we shall proceed to notice the conver- 
 sation that took place in Mr. Valeburn's
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 151 
 
 kitchen, between Kate Duncanson and 
 Hector Macfarlane,two of the domestics of 
 that family. The person oi the former 
 was of such bulk that it was with con- 
 siderable difficulty she moved through 
 the house — her large, swoln red cheeks 
 gave token of ease and health. A squint 
 which was peculiarly attached to one of 
 her eyes, while it made her appear as a 
 good, harmless creature, served on many 
 occasions to reconnoitre the thoughts* 
 and intentions of her superiors. In pre- 
 sence of them she was obedient and hum- 
 ble, and in their absence she did not much 
 care to be the reverse. — The person of the 
 latter was below the middle size, but 
 thick, and stoutly made. His countenance 
 was of the serio-comic cast, and in his 
 dialect he laboured under the inconve- 
 nience of very bad English. 
 
 " Hector," said Kate, as she was turn- 
 ing the bread which she had been baking, 
 on the griddle, and addressing herself to 
 Hector, who was supping his mess of
 
 152 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 porridge from a pail with no common 
 voracity — " the morn's the fair, an' ye 
 maun tak* care that ye dinna drink too 
 much whisky, as ye aften do at fairs, and 
 come hame a perfect beast. O, quat it! 
 I beg to you ; for it will be your death, 
 as sure as ye're livin\ Oh ! it's an abo- 
 minable thing that whisky. — Poison ! be- 
 lieve me, Hector." 
 
 Kate was in general very kind and at- 
 tentive to Hector. She saw that Mr. 
 Valeburn was pleased with him, as an 
 honest and industrious workman, and 
 she thought they would not make an un- 
 seemly match, provided always that Mr. 
 Valeburn extended his generosity so far 
 as to procure him a farm, which he had it 
 in his power to do, if he thought proper. 
 Kate deemed it necessary to give him a 
 caution on this occasion, as Hector had a 
 particular failing on fair days, which was 
 the only holiday he enjoyed from his la- 
 bours, and generally devoted that day 
 with his companions over the bottle ; and
 
 the writer's clerk. 153 
 
 this repeated conduct, she feared, would 
 not much prepossess his employer and 
 their intended patron in his favour. Hec- 
 tor, like other people, did not much like 
 to hear his faults told him, and when 
 Kate had ended her admonitions, he ab- 
 ruptly stopt the spoon, when he was in the 
 act of conveying its contents to his mouth, 
 and answered Kate rather sharply—" Fat 
 the de'il maks you ta'k to me in that 
 manner ? Don't you tink I know as well 
 how to tak' care o' mysel' as fat you do ? 
 De'il tak* me if I heard the like o' tat 
 Kate Duncanson ! I tells you before your 
 face, tat you drink mair visky than I ever 
 did in a' my lifes — Now ! an' waur it no 
 gaun tae affront you a'thegither, I wad 
 tell you tat you keep a bottle below your 
 bed-head, and tat it be there just even 
 now." 
 
 Kate did not much relish this retort. 
 She had thought that Hector was too 
 dull to have observed any of her pro- 
 ceedings, which made her use the free- 
 
 h5
 
 154 
 
 dom of making the present remark. Her 
 proceedings, however, had not escaped 
 Hector's observation; but from a feel- 
 ing of modesty, and respect which he 
 had entertained towards the fair sex, he 
 did not think proper to take notice of it, 
 nor would he have done so on the present 
 occasion, had he not been nettled by the 
 unguarded observations she had made 
 with regard to his irregular habits. Al- 
 though she was inwardly much displeased 
 at the remark, she thought that it would 
 have less effect, and be forgotten the more 
 readily, by appearing to treat it lightly : 
 she laughed, and acquiesced in all that he 
 had said, and added as a reason for her 
 occasional indulgence in spirituous liquors, 
 that he was quite ignorant of the com- 
 plaints and necessities of women — that 
 she required to use it frequently for the 
 stitches which often troubled her. " And 
 to show you, Hector," said she, "that I 
 am not without a bottle, I will instantly 
 gang and fetch you a dram."
 
 the writer's clerk. 155 
 
 This proposal produced a wonderful 
 effect on the disposition of Hector, and by 
 the time that Kate had fairly produced 
 the bottle, his countenance brightened 
 up with a good humoured smile. " I ay' 
 fund you guid to me, Kate ; and I wad 
 be tam'd vex'd, believe me, to say any 
 ting again' you, Kate ! But you know a 
 man 'ill say mony a ting whaun he's 
 'tacked on the weak side, that he wadna 
 like to say at other times. So, Kate, I 
 drinks tae your health ; an' de'il tak me, 
 if e'er waur again be amang us !" 
 
 Kate was well pleased to perceive that 
 her plan had been so successful, and 
 having bolted the door of the kitchen, she 
 and Duncan quaffed their libations with 
 as much pleasure as some of our great 
 lords would have done at a banqueting 
 hall. 
 
 " Faur is my master and mistress thae 
 night?" said Hector, in evasion of some 
 indirect hints of matrimony which had 
 dropped from the mouth of his blooming
 
 156 the writer's clerk. 
 
 companion, and which he did not fail to 
 perceive were intended to be applied to 
 himself : " I dou't they'll no be pleased 
 to see us drinking thegither." 
 
 " Hoot man ! dinna fash your thumb 
 about that ; ye ken a' the family is out at 
 their tea the night, in honest John Kini- 
 ven's, and that they'll no be here for a 
 guid hour yet ; so just mak* yourseV easy, 
 Hector. Weel, as I was tellin' you, ye 
 ken 'am in great reputation wi'my master 
 and mistress. Now, if you an' I, Hector," 
 taking hold of his hand, " could try an' 
 make up a match atween us, I ha'e nae 
 dou't that Mr. Valeburn wad gi'e us a 
 farm, and we wad live happy and com- 
 fortable thegither" — squeezing his hand 
 very affectionately. 
 
 The passion of love had not,as yet, taken 
 any outrageous possession of Hector ; nor 
 did the charms of Kate Duncanson seem 
 to awaken the dormant spark, for, during 
 the whole of this tender address, Kate 
 could not fail to observe that he did not
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 157 
 
 receive it with any reciprocal degree of 
 affection ; but that, on the contrary, she 
 might have perceived by his fidgeting and 
 uneasiness, that he did not relish the pro- 
 posal so well as he had done the good 
 fermtosh. 
 
 Hector at last interrupted her ; " Haud 
 your tongue, Kate, ye maun be jokin' — 
 wife ! — me no wife; I ha'e plenty tae dae 
 to support mysel' an' my auld mother ; 
 Hector is no to be tackt in wi' wives ! So 
 Kate, an* ye hae naething mair tae gi'e in 
 the way o' drink, you may just awa' and 
 mind your wark, and I'll mind mine." 
 
 w Hush !" said Kate, exceedingly mor- 
 tified; "I was only makin* fun wi' ye, you 
 blockhead. I hear our fouks comin* ; I 
 maun run an' put past thir things." She 
 went for that purpose to the adjoining 
 apartment, biting her lips and saying, 
 " I'll be revenged for this on the sense- 
 less, drunken brute, or I'm no Kate Dun- 
 canson I" 
 
 " I'll be far mista'en," said Hector to
 
 158 THE WRITERS clerk. 
 
 himself, after she disappeared, " gin that 
 woman's no wantin* tae marry me. De'il 
 tak' me if she gets me tho' |" 
 
 His cogitations were interrupted by the 
 entrance of Richard and James. 
 
 " Hector !" said Richard, gayly, "Mrs. 
 Kiniven with my mother and Eliza go to 
 the Hill to-morrow to see the fair ; and 
 I understand that they have selected 
 you for their guide, to protect them amid 
 the bustle of the fair, and keep them from 
 accidents. Some particular business pre- 
 vents my father from accompanying them 
 himself, and James and I am to have a sea- 
 excursion. So, Hector, be careful not to 
 drink so much whisky as you did last 
 fair, which might render you incapable of 
 attending to your trust." 
 
 " O, de'il a fear o' me, master Richard ; 
 your mother kens that I can dae business, 
 drunk or sober; but for the sake o* the 
 ladies, I warrant you Pll keep myseP free 
 o* liquor." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Valeburn entered at this
 
 the writer's clerk. 159 
 
 moment ; the latter, with little Eliza, went 
 into the kitchen, and renewed their orders 
 to Hector, on the subject of his attending 
 them at the fair. u I have not been out 
 at a May fair, " said Mrs. Valeburn, " these 
 twelve years ; they have put it into my 
 head to go to-morrow, and I have agreed 
 to accompany Mrs. Kiniven." 
 
 The little Eliza, who was by the side 
 of her mother at this time, seemed also to 
 be delighted with the prospect of going to 
 a May fair. She ran over to her brother, 
 who was engaged in conversation with 
 James Kiniven, lisping all the affectionate 
 words she had learned. Richard, who was 
 fond of his sister, caught her in his arms, 
 kissed her affectionately, and playfully 
 made her to understand how much she 
 would be pleased with the novelties of the 
 ensuing day. 
 
 " Indeed, Eliza," said Mrs. Valeburn ; 
 "it would perhaps be just as well for you 
 and I to remain at home ; we are only 
 going to gratify an idle curiosity, which
 
 160 the writer's clerk. 
 
 may be productive of more harm than 
 good." 
 
 Alas! how too prophetic were her 
 words.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In the forenoon of the next day, Mrs. 
 Valeburn and her daughter, accompanied 
 by Mrs. Kiniven, and followed by Hector 
 as their guide and protector, proceeded to 
 the place where the Fair was held. The 
 day was uncommonly fine, so that travel- 
 lers from all parts of the country had 
 assembled at this mart, and the hill was, 
 of course, more than usually crowded. 
 The tents were erected on the face of the 
 Hill, in the manner already described. 
 Droves of cattle were continually pouring 
 in from the country, followed by their 
 respective attendants, arrayed in their 
 homely garb ; a tartan plaid thrown across 
 the shoulders ; the stockings drawn up 
 over the knees of their breeches. They 
 were seen constantly running from one 
 side to the other, to prevent their cattle
 
 162 the writer's clerk. 
 
 from going astray : their panting respira- 
 tion could well attest the fatigue and ex- 
 ertion of their trade, and the rolling, 
 anxious eye sufficiently manifested the in- 
 terest which they took in the preservation 
 of their own property, or that of their 
 employers. Groups of riders were seen 
 coming along the road. Sometimes the 
 good man of the farm with his faithful 
 spouse, buckled up in her blue capuchin, 
 or set out in a gaudy coloured short- 
 gown, buff shawl, and a head covering de- 
 corated with ribbons, and with a smiling 
 countenance, sitting cautiously on the back 
 of the horse, with her right hand care- 
 fully entwined round the waist of her 
 spouse. Again, were seen groups of pedes- 
 trians, comprehending peasants, country- 
 servants and others, bustling along the 
 road, with whips or cudgels in their 
 hands. All these and many more sights, 
 showed to our visitors that the Fair was 
 really a thing of interest and importance. 
 Our worthy visitors having witnessed
 
 the writer's clerk. l63 
 
 and admired every thing as they went along, 
 they at last seated themselves on a small 
 hillock, or eminence, at some little distance 
 from the fair; and this station, while it 
 commanded an extensive view of all that 
 was going* on in this busy scene, secured 
 them at the same time from any perils that 
 might arise from the bustle of the fair. 
 
 Hector had not been with them at this 
 place, for as they were going up among 
 the tents, he had come in contact with an 
 acquaintance whom he had not seen for 
 some time, and who had intimated to him 
 that he wished to take him to an adjoining 
 tent, to give him his welcome to the fair. 
 Hector should have had no objection to ac- 
 cede to this proposal, had he been placed 
 in any other situation than the present : 
 but considering how he had been warned 
 on the preceding night, not to indulge 
 in such habits, he gave a reluctant denial 
 to the kind invitation of his acquaintance. 
 Mrs. Valeburn had overheard part of the 
 conversation, and not wishing, when no
 
 164 THE writer's clerk. 
 
 danger was apparent to prevent Hec- 
 tor from associating with his companion 
 and sharing the sports of the fair, told 
 him where they proposed to remain for 
 some time, and that they could dispense 
 with his company for an hour; during 
 which he might have an opportunity of 
 seeing his acquaintances. 
 
 The party were so much captivated by 
 the bustle of the operations which were 
 carrying on immediately below them, that 
 time passed on almost imperceptibly . Three 
 hours had elapsed and Hector had not yet 
 made his appearance. They thought it 
 proper, however, as they had come hither 
 merely for amusement, to remain a little 
 longer; and more so, as they did not 
 deem it safe to return home without his 
 guidance. 
 
 While they sat here making their ob- 
 servations on the scenes below them, they 
 were accosted by a female mendicant, who 
 had come cautiously from behind, and pre- 
 sented herself unexpectedly before them.
 
 the writer's clerk. 165 
 
 As soon as she was seen, both Mrs. Vale- 
 burn and Mrs. Kiniven were momentarily 
 astonished. The little, playful Eliza, who 
 had been seated on the grass before them, 
 amusing herself with her doll, had no sooner 
 cast her little blue eyes on the uncouth 
 figure and countenance of the mendicant, 
 who was gazing full on her face, than she 
 screamed, shuddered and started back, as 
 if it had been a demon who was about to 
 lay hold of her. Both Mrs. Kiniven and 
 Mrs.Valeburn started. The mother caught 
 the child in her arms, and being somewhat 
 displeased, instantly asked the woman 
 what she wanted. 
 
 There was a pause ensued, during which 
 this impudent intruder gazed intently on 
 Mrs. Kiniven, then on Mrs. Valeburn, and 
 fixed her dark, piercing eyes on the child 
 Eliza. Mrs.Valeburn repeated the question. 
 
 " Charity !" replied the woman, in a 
 coarse tone, denoting both independence 
 and contempt, and still fixing her eyes in- 
 tently on Eliza.
 
 166 the writer's clerk. 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn, who was very charitably 
 disposed, in her own house, was never more 
 inclined to be the reverse than on the pre- 
 sent occasion ; she therefore told the wo- 
 man that she did not conceive her to be 
 an object of charity ; that she appeared 
 neither a disabled nor infirm person ; that 
 her appearance did not seem that of a 
 humble mendicant, and therefore, that 
 she was not disposed to exercise any 
 liberality towards her on the present oc- 
 casion. 
 
 " All that you have said is true," re- 
 plied the woman ; u but it is as true that 
 I have not upon me a shilling, a six- 
 pence ; no, not even so much as a single 
 plack." 
 
 " And why do you not work ?" said 
 Mrs. Kiniven. 
 
 " Because, madam, it is not my plea- 
 sure/' was the response. 
 
 le You do not therefore expect thai 
 idle people ought to be encouraged with 
 alms."
 
 the writer's clerk. 167 
 
 " I have been, and shall be encouraged/' 
 replied the woman, in a bold tone. 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn became somewhat alarm- 
 ed at the menacing aspect of the mendi- 
 cant. She thought, at one time, that she 
 must be insane ; at another, that she was 
 an impostor ; for she made herself believe, 
 though not a woman of great penetration, 
 that there appeared to be some lurking 
 villany in her eye, which did not speak 
 much in her favour. She felt anxious to 
 remove from their present situation, which 
 was certainly not over agreeable in the 
 presence of such a person as the one who 
 now stood before them. They had, indeed, 
 thousands within their view, but these 
 were at a distance, and apparently too 
 much engrossed with business to make it 
 possible for them to render any assistance, 
 if they happened to stand in need of it. 
 Though they did not dread any actual 
 violence from this pretended mendicant, 
 yet they did not feel altogether at ease in 
 her presence, and therefore cared not how
 
 168 the writer's clerk. 
 
 soon they got rid of her company. Be- 
 sides, the day was getting far advanced, 
 and they now began to apprehend, from 
 Hector's absence, that he had fallen into 
 the snare which they had previously an- 
 ticipated. She therefore suggested to 
 Mrs. Kiniven the propriety of moving 
 homewards, and getting through the fair 
 the best way they could. Mrs. Kiniven, 
 as the reader already knows, being a quiet, 
 peaceable woman, said but little on this 
 extraordinary occasion, and silently ac- 
 quiesced with Mrs. Valeburn's proposal. 
 
 The mendicant, who seemed for a mo- 
 ment to be deeply absorbed in thought, no 
 sooner observed them preparing to depart, 
 than she, in a loud harsh voice, desired 
 them to stop. 
 
 " That is, if you please, ladies," con- 
 tinued she, in a lower voice, perceiving 
 that her rudeness had made them shudder 
 with terror. " You have refused," said 
 she, "to supply my wants; and yet," 
 said she, somewhat softened, " methinks
 
 the writer's clerk. 169 
 
 your reasons are just ; but I am an execra- 
 ble wretch! a demon! and what will a 
 demon not do V* 
 
 As she said these last words, she struck 
 her hands convulsively on her forehead, 
 but soon resumed, n I shall not want!" 
 with an eye expressive of frantic wild- 
 ness, or brooding upon intended mischief, 
 and keenly fixed on the countenance of 
 the trembling Mrs. Valeburn ; " there are 
 some who will have more cause to express 
 their wants than I ever had; wants, which 
 not all their wealth, and influence, and 
 power, or even death itself shall be able 
 to supply ;" and with a maniac laugh, 
 and extending her hand towards the sun, 
 she continued, " and this want shall be 
 felt ere that sun that is shining so bright 
 upon you, shall have disappeared behind 
 these hills." 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn and Mrs. Kiniven could 
 not be otherwise than much surprised and 
 alarmed by this mysterious and inexplica- 
 ble discourse; but they at once concluded 
 vol. i. . I
 
 170 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 that the woman was deranged. They 
 must certainly have considered their situa- 
 tion not a little perilous, had not Hector, 
 like a guardian angel, in the hour of 
 danger made his appearance, and relieved 
 them from further embarrassment. 
 
 Though it was evident from Hector's 
 flushed countenance, that his libations in 
 the course of the day were neither few nor 
 small, yet his presence was hailed with 
 much pleasure, and considered a sufficient 
 protection against further molestation. 
 
 But though Hector was in a state of 
 inebriation, he was anxious to give every 
 assistance to those whom he had under- 
 taken to protect ; and wished to convince 
 them that he could do his duty equally 
 well, whether drunk or sober. When he 
 came within their view his eye had been 
 anxiously fixed on their situation : — he 
 could perceive that they were annoyed 
 by some person, who was evidently trou- 
 blesome to them, and therefore judged 
 this a fit opportunity of* manifesting his
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 17 1 
 
 usefulness. He had accordingly come up 
 behind the mendicant and caught her by 
 the shoulders before she seemed to be 
 aware of his presence : " Fat the de'il/' 
 said he, " mak* you an' the like o' you place 
 yourseP beside gentlefolks? It's a tam'd 
 shame to see you, an' the likes of you, pre- 
 tend to set up a chat with your betters : get 
 awa' about your ain business ! Awa' wi' 
 you! your absence is good company." 
 
 The mendicant started as violently 
 when she felt the touch of Hector, as a 
 thief would do when apprehended by an 
 officer of the law in an obscure retreat, 
 while indulging in his spoils. When she 
 saw however, who it was, her terror some- 
 what subsided ; but without uttering any 
 more words, she moved off, casting an ill- 
 natured grin upon Hector. 
 
 When she had disappeared, Mrs. Vale- 
 burn inquired of Hector, if he knew who 
 she was. 
 
 " Some tam'd vagrant, l'se warrant," 
 answered Hector. 
 
 i °2
 
 172 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 " Now, Hector/' said Mrs. Valeburn, 
 " we have been obliged to remain here on 
 account of your absence longer than we 
 wished ; but we are now to proceed home- 
 wards, and therefore you will conduct us 
 the best and safest way : but I think, 
 Hector," continued Mrs. Valeburn, in a 
 good-humoured tone, " that the fairings 
 you have got to-day have rather disturbed 
 your head, so take care that you do not 
 lead us astray." 
 
 " O teila fear i" replied Hector, " I only 
 got twa or tree half-mutchkins from my 
 auld frien' Jock Drywhistle o' Muir- 
 heather. It's a lang time sin' I seen him, 
 and he ne'er lets me awa' till we get a 
 dram thegither." 
 
 The ladies could not repress their 
 mirth at the simplicity of Hector ; and 
 at the awkward appearance he made in 
 his evident attempts to subdue the bright- 
 ened eye and flushed countenance, which 
 fully evinced that the drink he had taken 
 was no small quantity ; and his sometimes
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 173 
 
 ineffectual efforts to speak correctly, and 
 walk steadily, and in short, to convince 
 them that he was in a state of perfect 
 sobriety. His facetious demeanor tended 
 considerably to distract their thoughts 
 from the strange mendicant, whose ap- 
 pearance had so lately frightened them. 
 
 It was agreed that Hector should carry 
 Eliza in his arms, that she might not re- 
 tard their progress through the fair. 
 " When I be big," said the sweet prat- 
 tling child, putting her hands round Hec- 
 tor's neck, (i I vont go in youll alms ; if 
 mamma would allow me, I wouldn't be 
 tellified to go through the clowd.' , 
 
 Hector and Eliza were preceded a few 
 paces by Mrs.Valeburn and Mrs. Kiniven, 
 and in this manner they proceeded through 
 the fair, but not with the same facility as 
 they came. The bargains were now closed, 
 and the people were running backwards 
 and forwards; some seeking their friends, 
 their servants, and their horses, and those 
 who had settled their business were post-
 
 174 the writer's clerk. 
 
 ing with all convenient speed towards the 
 town. All were in a state of confusion, 
 whether arising from the bustle of busi- 
 ness, or the noisy clamour produced by 
 their libations. Some were screaming, 
 some fighting, some hollowing, some run- 
 ning, and others galloping. Proceeding 
 through a scene of this kind, the party 
 were frequently necessitated to go off 
 the common path that led over the Hill, 
 and sometimes to take shelter among the 
 tents. On these occasions, but not often, 
 Hector would lose sight of Mrs. Valeburn 
 and Mrs. Kiniven, and they sometimes of 
 him. It happened that as they proceeded 
 among the tents in this manner, Hector 
 again came in contact with his crony, Jock 
 Drywhistle o' Muirheather. The friends 
 were so glad to renew their meeting so 
 unexpectedly, and Jock being just upon 
 the eve of going home, that to separate 
 without another half-mutchkin would be 
 deemed altogether unpardonable. Hector, 
 however, appeared to have some doubt
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 1^5 
 
 and hesitation in complying with his re- 
 quest ; but perceiving that Mrs. Valeburn 
 and Mrs. Kiniven were not in view, he 
 thought he might be able to satisfy his 
 friend and his own propensity, without 
 their knowledge. "Just put down the 
 wean, and come in here," said Jock Dry- 
 whistle; " I'll no keep ye twa minutes : 
 it may be perhaps the last glass we may 
 e'er ha'e thegither." 
 
 He had inadvertently set down Eliza ; 
 but instead of remaining two minutes, a 
 full quarter of an hour was consumed 
 without the knowledge of either. The 
 little Eliza had in the mean time, wan- 
 dered to the outside of the tent, unper- 
 ceived by her conductor, who was still en- 
 gaged in chit-chat with his companion, and 
 the gill-stoup had been as yet untouched ; 
 but Hector now beginning to feel that it 
 was high time to be off, said, " Now, 
 Jock lad, ye munna keep me, no half a 
 minute, as I canna ha'e my mistress out o' 
 my sight." But, looking anxiously around
 
 176 the writer's clerk. 
 
 him, " Got save us !" exclaimed he, " faur 
 the ten's the lassie gane ?" Hector, not 
 wishing to be accused of going into a 
 tent for nought, and perceiving that he 
 must now make despatch, snatched up the 
 stoup — drank its contents — threw it down, 
 and ran out of the tent, to the no small 
 displeasure and amazement of his gazing 
 friend, Jock Drywhistle o' Muirheather. 
 
 Under the supposition that Eliza had 
 either followed, or been taken up by her 
 mother, who, it will be observed, had 
 preceded him in passing through the 
 fair, and often, for a considerable dis- 
 tance, — Hector made the best of his way 
 towards the town ; but notwithstanding 
 all his speed, he did not overtake his mis- 
 tress until she and Mrs. Kiniven had 
 reached the house. 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn had thought that Hec- 
 tor had been all the time behind, for in 
 consequence of the crowds which thronged 
 the road, she could see but a very little 
 distance behind her; and it was not
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 177 
 
 till she had come to the door of her 
 own house, that she discovered he had 
 not immediately followed her. She did 
 not, however, think it proper to re- 
 turn, being aware that Hector was well 
 acquainted with all the various intricate 
 by-paths upon the Hill, and that he was 
 too faithful and attentive to the interest 
 of his employers not to be careful and 
 cautious of their child : she therefore 
 entered the house under the impression 
 that Hector would soon make his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 What was the consternation of the fa- 
 mily, when Hector came breathless into 
 the kitchen, asking if Eliza was safe at 
 home ! 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn, to whom the safety of 
 the child, since she had lost sight of her, 
 had caused some unaccountable anxiety 
 and uneasiness, now stood aghast, when 
 Hector appeared without the child, and 
 mentioned the cause of it. She became 
 extremely agitated, and went through the 
 
 1 5
 
 178 the writer's clerk. 
 
 house, as if unable to speak, or at a loss 
 what course to pursue. She soon began to 
 consider, however, that there might not 
 be cause for disquietude ; that any per- 
 son who found Eliza would take care of 
 her ; or that she might have wandered 
 among the tents, and that she would be 
 kept carefully till she was brought home. 
 Still, however, she could not rid her mind 
 of painful anxiety. She chid Hector rather 
 severely for his negligence, and imme- 
 diately despatched him back to the Hill, 
 with a peremptory command to bring 
 Eliza instantly home. 
 
 Hector obeyed, and got speedily up 
 to the tent where he had left the child. 
 The people were gradually dispersing, 
 some of the tents were already removed, 
 and others were in the act of taking 
 down. The unlucky tent into which he 
 had gone with Jock Drywhistle, when he 
 set down Eliza, was just in this state. The 
 people were therefore too busily employed 
 to give much heed to his earnest inquiries
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 179 
 
 after the child. " We hae mair tae doe 
 than tae luick after weans" said they, 
 without averting their eye from the busi- 
 ness in which they were engaged ; " we 
 didna see any o' your bairn, lad." 
 
 Hector, who felt reluctant to go home 
 without bringing his charge, still lingered 
 behind, and went up and down several 
 times to the eminence where Mrs. Vale- 
 burn and Mrs. Kiniven had sat, to find 
 out the little Eliza, who he thought 
 might perhaps have wandered thither 
 when he set her down at the tent : but 
 here no Eliza was to be seen. Never 
 did Hector feel so much perplexed as 
 when standing here, and thinking on 
 what his carelessness, or rather his drink- 
 ing propensity, had occasioned. He could 
 not imagine whither it was possible the 
 child could have gone; he had never 
 heard of a child having been amissing or 
 going astray. He became uneasy and fret- 
 ful, and scratching his head angrily, he 
 muttered to himself, " I wonder fat the teil
 
 180 THE writer's clerk. 
 
 taks womans out on sic days as this ; and 
 faur the teil can the wean be gane tae? 
 I wish thae tamt set had staid at hame, 
 and nae ha'e put fouks tae such a trouble; 
 and I wish the tamt chiel, Jock Dry- 
 whistle, had staid at hame too, an' no 
 ha'e came here tae put temptations in the 
 way o' sober fouks. I canna ha' the face 
 tae gang hame without that wean/' 
 
 Hector had remained about the hill, until 
 he could say that he had now seen " the 
 last o' the fair fouks." They had indeed 
 mostly retired. A solitary rider, or tra- 
 veller, might be seen plodding his weary 
 way to the place of his destination. Hec- 
 tor thought that it was needless to re- 
 main any longer ; that if the child was 
 not at home by this time, " The teil herseP 
 must ha'e ran awa wP hur." He had 
 made many inquiries of individuals, and 
 at the neighbouring huts concerning the 
 child, but all to no purpose. The dusk 
 was fast approaching, so that nothing 
 farther could be done in his present situa-
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 181 
 
 tion; and he therefore began to retrace 
 his steps to the town, not in the very best 
 mood. 
 
 As he proceeded homewards, his ears 
 were aroused by the enlivening music of 
 the bagpipe cheering along the road a 
 jolly band of the fair folks. This was a 
 party consisting of men, women, and 
 children, to the number, perhaps, of three 
 hundred, marching on the road, preceded 
 by a merry piper, who was going cantily 
 on with the enlivening Scotch tune of the 
 Gathering. Those who composed the 
 party, had apparently been devoting them- 
 selves rather too freely at the shrine of 
 Bacchus, as was indeed sufficiently evi- 
 dent from their conduct. The whole rout, 
 composed principally of men, women, lads, 
 and girls, formed a sort of irregular line ; 
 some were jumping and dancing, some 
 singing and shouting, and others again, 
 of the young lads, were in the midst of 
 the girls, who seemed heartily pleased 
 with their situation, laughing and in-
 
 182 
 
 dulging in all the volatile merriment which 
 ardent spirits never fail to produce. 
 
 While the party were passing Hector, 
 (who found it necessary to stand at a side 
 of the road,) one merry fellow among them, 
 perhaps observing his disconsolate coun- 
 tenance, struck him pretty smartly on the 
 shoulder — " Ho ! cheer up, my hearty. 
 When will people be merry if it isn't at a 
 fair ?" said he, and gayly passed on. 
 
 " Troth," said Hector, gazing after 
 them, and not a little envying their plea- 
 sure, " that's true, lad ; but if ye kent it, 
 I ha'e na muckle cause tae be merry on 
 the present occasion. Aye," said Hector, 
 continuing to cast a lingering look at the 
 jovial band until they had disappeared, — 
 u that's something like keepin' a fair, — teil 
 a wean yon fouk are seekin' after." 
 
 Towards Mr. Valeburn's house Hector 
 now proceeded, ruminating in his mind 
 the extraordinary events of the day. His 
 reverie was soon interrupted, for he had 
 no sooner come within sight of the house
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 183 
 
 when Kate Duncanson approached him, to 
 know if he had found the child. 
 
 This dame was not on the present oc- 
 casion sparing of her remarks on the con- 
 duct of Hector, to which she attributed the 
 loss of the child. " O Hector, man!" said 
 she, " have ye not found the child ? Ye'll 
 put my puir mistress quite distracted if 
 ye come hame without her. Weel did I 
 tell ye, last night, tae tak' guid care o' 
 yourseF the day; an' ye see now the 
 effects o* no takin' my biddin." 
 
 Before Hector could reply, they were at 
 the house, and in the presence of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Valeburn, who were standing at the 
 door, impatient for his return ; the latter 
 of whom had stood for some time gazing 
 on every person who came within sight, 
 with the desperate look of one who ex- 
 pects every moment the messenger who 
 bears the tidings of the life or death of a 
 favourite child. She eagerly fixed her 
 eye on every person who came in view, 
 to see if they were Hector and Eliza.
 
 I84t the writer's clerk. 
 
 Sometimes she was terror-struck, when 
 she perceived a person unaccompanied by 
 a child, and whom her frightened imagi- 
 nation had conjectured to be Hector. At 
 other times she feared to look, in case 
 that he might appear without the child. 
 
 It was while Mrs. Valeburn was in this 
 agitated condition, that Mr. Valeburn 
 had sent Kate Duncanson to meet Hec- 
 tor, and hasten him home with Eliza, whose 
 absence had excited so much alarm. 
 
 Had the lifeless body of her dear Eliza 
 been suddenly presented to her view, she 
 could not have been more thunderstruck 
 than when her vigilant eyes caught the 
 well-known figures of Hector and Kate, 
 and perceived that the child was not with 
 them! Her countenance turned pale — her 
 eyes became dim, and she would most 
 probably have fallen to the ground, had 
 she not been supported by her husband. 
 
 Mr. Valeburn, though possessed of more 
 philosophy than his wife, still felt uneasy 
 for the safety of his daughter. The idea
 
 the writer's clerk. 185 
 
 of her being kidnapped never once entered 
 the thoughts of either. Their only appre- 
 hension was, that she might have been 
 trampled upon by some of the horses, or 
 fallen into some place out of which she 
 could not get extricated ; but when Hec- 
 tor declared that he had made a most 
 diligent search upon the Hill, Mr. Vale- 
 burn began to think that his daughter 
 might still be in a place of security ; that 
 some person must have taken care of her ; 
 and that, as she could lisp her name if 
 she was not recognised, and as he was 
 well known in the country, they might be 
 able to know to whom she belonged, and 
 would speedily restore her to them. 
 
 These surmises somewhat calmed Mrs. 
 Valeburn, and they went into the house, 
 revolving in their minds all the possible 
 causes of the unaccountable absence of 
 their daughter, and waiting with impa- 
 tience for the arrival of some person who 
 was to bring her home, or communicate 
 some intelligence concerning her.
 
 186 the writer's clerk. 
 
 While in this state of suspense, their 
 son Richard came in. He had not been 
 at the Fair, as we have already observed, 
 but had been taking his last nautical 
 excursion with his friend. He was much 
 alarmed when he was informed of the cause 
 of their distress. The night grew late; 
 and no appearance of Eliza! Richard was 
 most anxious to go abroad himself and 
 renew the inquiry for his sister; but this 
 the parents saw would be unavailing at 
 such a late hour of the night, and therefore 
 restrained him from his purpose ; but it 
 was determined, that if she did not appear, 
 a strict search should be made early on the 
 following morning ; and with these reso- 
 lutions the family reluctantly retired, to 
 seek in repose a temporary solace to their 
 troubled minds.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was on the evening of the following 
 day that Mrs. Kiniven called at the house 
 of the Valeburn family, to know if they 
 had yet received any intelligence of Eliza. 
 She found the family in a most disconso- 
 late condition. Richard and his mother 
 sat upon a sofa absorbed in extreme 
 grief. Mr. Valeburn sat at the window 
 with some papers before him, with the 
 view of disguising that anxiety and agita- 
 tion which he was but ill able to repress. 
 In reality he read or minded nothing ; his 
 eyes were but vacantly fixed upon them. — 
 In answer to the inquiries of Mrs. Kiniven 
 respecting the child, Mr. Valeburn in- 
 formed her that nothing had as yet tran- 
 spired that could acquaint them of her 
 situation ; that Richard and himself had 
 just returned, after making a fruitless
 
 188 the writer's clerk. 
 
 search about the neighbourhood of the 
 place where she had been left ; that mes- 
 sengers and servants had been despatched 
 in various directions of the country to find 
 her, and they were now impatiently wait- 
 ing their return, to know the result of 
 their inquiries. " It is the most unac- 
 countable and mysterious event that ever 
 occurred in my experience," continued 
 Mr. Valeburn, " that a child should be 
 a missing and not the smallest trace obtain- 
 ed, towards a discovery. There is, however, 
 one consolation, if there can be any con- 
 solation in the case, that she cannot have 
 been injured by the bustle and confusion 
 of the fair, else we must have heard or 
 seen something of her by this time." 
 
 At this moment Mr. Valeburn observed 
 Hector making his appearance ; " Poor 
 fellow/' said he, " he seems much fa- 
 tigued." 
 
 a Is Eliza with him ?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Valeburn wildly. 
 
 " No, my dear," said Mr. Valeburn, with
 
 the writer's clerk. 189 
 
 a sigh, " but perhaps he brings tidings of 
 her." 
 
 Richard sprang to the door and im- 
 portuned Hector with anxious inquiries 
 ere he had reached the house. 
 
 Mr. Valeburn thought it prudent to 
 know the intelligence of Hector before 
 they were communicated to Mrs. Valeburn ; 
 and for this purpose he was proceeding 
 out of the room. " Stay where you are, 
 my dear," said the affectionate husband ; 
 " I shall be up directly and tell you what 
 Hector says." 
 
 Patience in such an emergency was no 
 philosophy of Mrs. Valeburn. She an- 
 swered that she would go down and hear 
 what Hector said ; that it was impossible 
 for her to remain when something might 
 be discovered that would relieve their 
 minds of their present painful anxiety. 
 
 " Well, my dear," replied Mr. Valeburn, 
 * don't you leave the room. Hector shall 
 be called up here, and we shall all hear 
 the information he has to give us."
 
 190 the writer's clerk. 
 
 They had, however, no occasion to send 
 the message, for ere Mr. Valeburn had 
 uttered the last words Hector was at the 
 room door, as eager to communicate his 
 news as they were anxious to hear. 
 Richard was by his side, but had been 
 told nothing, for Hector, who had actually 
 ran for upwards of eighteen miles, was 
 panting for respiration as he entered the 
 room. His news, which at another time 
 would have been suspended till he had 
 rested and refreshed himself, was on the 
 present occasion rendered more interest- 
 ing by the importance which seemed at- 
 tached to his tidings, from his evident agi- 
 tation. The account which he gave was 
 so inarticulately muttered that none but 
 those immediately interested and ac- 
 quainted with his pronunciation were able 
 to understand him ; we therefore think it 
 proper, injustice both to Hector and the 
 reader, to give his account in our own 
 words. 
 
 It has already been noticed that several
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 191 
 
 messengers had been despatched through 
 the country. Hector had gone one way 
 by himself. His instructions were to call 
 at every house that lay on his way, and 
 to inquire about the child from every 
 person he met with. Hector faithfully 
 fulfilled these instructions : many were 
 the houses into which he entered in the 
 course of his way, and many the inquiries 
 he made. The people were generally 
 civil to him, but could give him no infor- 
 mation on the subject of his inquiry. 
 Often did Hector mutter to himself, " Fat 
 thede'il's gane o'er the wean? sure the fair 
 fouks wadna tak* her in their pouches!" 
 In this manner he had proceeded for about 
 ten miles, and was still unsuccessful ; and 
 he therefore began to think that it was 
 now needless to proceed or inquire any 
 further, and went to a public-house on 
 the road side to get refreshment before 
 he commenced his journey homewards. 
 He happened to inform the innkeeper 
 of his business, though little expecting
 
 192 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 to receive any information. Naugliton 
 M'Murchy seemed somewhat astonished ; 
 he said, that a circumstance which had 
 come under his notice early in the morning 
 must certainly have had some connexion 
 with Mr. Valeburn's child. Hector was 
 transported at the intelligence, but it was 
 only the transport of a moment. Naugh- 
 ton proceeded to acquaint him that he had 
 been at the Fair on the preceding day, 
 and having remained in town till a late 
 hour, it w T as early in the morning be- 
 fore he got home : that he had but little 
 company on the road, and when he was 
 about three miles from his own house, 
 and walking quite alone, a circumstance 
 occurred that struck him at the time as 
 remarkable, and from what Hector told 
 him now, he had strong suspicions that he 
 must be interested in it. The morning 
 light, he said, was just about clearing 
 the mist from the surrounding hills, when 
 he observed a woman walking very rapidly 
 across a field that lay on his right hand ;
 
 the writer's clerk. 193 
 
 at this time it might be about the fourth 
 hour of the morning : not a sound was 
 heard, the atmosphere being extremely 
 calm. Having little to occupy his atten- 
 tion in a lonely situation of this kind, he 
 had kept his eye steadily fixed on this 
 object as he went along the road. As she 
 came nearer he could hear distinctly some 
 cries of distress ; but he soon observed, by 
 her appearance, that she was a mendicant 
 bearing something on her back, which was 
 covered by her cloak wrapt about her 
 shoulders, and this he soon discovered was 
 a child, from whom the cries proceeded. 
 The hood of the cloak concealed her coun- 
 tenance from his view, and she seemed not 
 to have observed him till she came close 
 upon the side of the road; and when she 
 did so he thought that she was startled, for 
 she stood for some moments gazing on him 
 wildly. He conceived the child to be her 
 own, and that both were in actual distress 
 and stood in need of assistance, and there- 
 fore made offer of his services to her. At 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194* the writer's clerk. 
 
 this time the space that lay between them 
 was but a little more than the ditch that 
 separated the highway from the fields. 
 To his inquiry, however, she made no 
 answer, but moved off towards the ad- 
 joining hill. He had frequently observed 
 mendicants carrying children ; but he 
 thought at the time that this woman's 
 situation and conduct were rather extra- 
 ordinary, although he had no sufficient 
 reason for suspecting any impropriety in 
 them. The cries of the child were very 
 piercing, and he could hear distinctly 
 these words— " Oh, mamma, mamma!" 
 uttered in distressing sobs. He had ob- 
 served the child's face, and he now thought, 
 from what he had heard, that the child 
 certainly appeared superior to one who 
 generally belongs to a mendicant. The 
 child had no covering on its head, and it 
 appeared to have been long weeping, for 
 its eyes were apparently closed ; the head 
 reclined on the shoulders of the woman, 
 and had it not been for its cries he should
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 195 
 
 have thought that it was asleep. The 
 distressing sobs which in this state it 
 uttered seemed much to displease the 
 woman, and she frequently endeavoured 
 to cover it with her cloak ; but he could 
 perceive the hands and the head of the 
 little sufferer sometimes bursting out of 
 the covering, struggling for respiration. 
 When the woman disappeared, he pro- 
 ceeded home, and went to bed musing on 
 the adventure, and thinking it a little ex- 
 traordinary that she should have refused 
 his kindness, which was an offer of ac- 
 commodation in his own house till the 
 morning, — a civility rarely rejected by 
 persons of her character. 
 
 From this information, Hector became 
 impressed with a belief that this woman 
 could be no other than the mendicant he 
 had turned away from Mrs. Valeburn and 
 Mrs. Kiniven, and that the child she had 
 in her possession was no other than the 
 little Eliza. He acquainted the innkeeper 
 with these suspicions, and Naughton, who 
 
 K 2
 
 196 
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 had a high regard for Mr. Valeburn, 
 agreed to assist Hector in his endeavours 
 to discover the woman and the child. 
 They resolved to proceed up the country 
 as far as the ferry of Rockmhuir, for the 
 purpose of overtaking the fugitives. — 
 Thither they accordingly proceeded, and 
 made the necessary inquiries on the way ; 
 and at the village of Rockmhuir they 
 made a particular search, but no such 
 person as they described had been seen. 
 They also made inquiry if any boat had 
 left the ferry that morning, and were in- 
 formed that various boats had left it for 
 various places, but could get no descrip- 
 tion of the passengers. Having made 
 every search and inquiry, Hector deemed 
 it advisable to return to Homeston and 
 acquaint .Mr. Valeburn with the intelli- 
 gence he had received from Naughton 
 M'Murchy, and to take his advice as to 
 what further should be done. 
 
 Some may think that Hector was much 
 to blame in not pursuing his search further,
 
 the writer's clerk. 197 
 
 or not leaving orders with others to do so. 
 It certainly was a very imprudent omission; 
 but both Naughton and Hector were illi- 
 terate persons, and destitute of right judg- 
 ment to enable them to act properly in 
 the moments of emergency. Hector con- 
 ceived he had sufficiently discharged his 
 duty, and therefore hastened down with 
 all possible speed to report to his master 
 what had transpired. 
 
 Hector perhaps was still more impru- 
 dent in communicating every particular 
 of this distressing event to the already 
 agitated parents. The tears started in 
 the eye of Mr. Valeburn, and he had 
 not sufficient presence of mind to pre- 
 vent Hector from making this disclosure 
 in the presence of his agonized family. 
 Mrs. Valeburn was almost frantic with 
 grief when he came to the description of 
 the woman and the state of the child ; 
 her countenance grew pale, she gasped 
 for breath : " My child — my child i" she 
 exclaimed, from the very recesses of her
 
 i 98 the writer's clerk. 
 
 heart. Though the child had been tor- 
 tured in her presence, she could not have 
 been in such a deplorable state of grief as 
 she was at this moment. She traversed 
 the room, wringing her hands and ex- 
 claiming — " Can my child not be found 
 to me ? — can none of you procure her to 
 me? — will kind Providence not restore her 
 to me ? — oh ! will none of you/' said she 
 in the most heart-rending accents, " get 
 my child to me ? Gracious Heaven, why do 
 you all remain here ? — Husband, Richard, 
 Hector, and all of you, go instantly and 
 get my child ; wherever she is, find her 
 out — ask every person — search every 
 house — go over hills and fields — examine 
 the whole country — search the wide world 
 — the very depths of the ocean — ere you 
 return without her ! Mercy ! what am I 
 uttering? Go — go," said she, and at 
 this moment her eyes stood fixed in their 
 sockets ; her lips quivered, as she panted 
 for respiration, and her deplorable coun- 
 tenance and heaving breast bespoke the
 
 the writer's clerk. 199 
 
 convulsive agony of her mind — " Get me 
 my child. O husband, why do you re- 
 main ? — I don't want your assistance — See 
 your daughter in the hands of a vile ruffian 
 — an abandoned wretch. O Richard, get 
 your sister to me — your dear Eliza ! — 
 Take her — snatch her instantly from that 
 horrible monster — think with what cruelty 
 she is used — hear how piercing her cries ! 
 O God ! how cruel you are, that none 
 of you will go. Then I must go myself. 
 Oh ! do not hold me — I will— I must get 
 her out. Do you think that I can remain 
 here and my child in such a terrible situa- 
 tion ?" With these words she made an 
 effort to wrest herself from those who held 
 her, but again sunk back into their arms 
 in a state of great exhaustion. They 
 placed her on a sofa in a very weak state ; 
 but all her thoughts were still about her 
 child. 
 
 " Oh ! how happy should I have been, 
 my dear child — my dear Eliza," said she, 
 apparently somewhat composed, that I 
 had thee at this moment even a corpse
 
 200 the writer's clerk. 
 
 in the house : had ye died yesterday I 
 would have carried yon home and gazed 
 upon you with delight rather than know 
 that ye are in the hands of the cruel 
 monster. Oh! why did I ever leave my 
 own house — why did I not bring my dear 
 child home in my arms ? What a fatal 
 fair it has been to me ! I remember how 
 my Eliza started when she saw that 
 wicked wretch : little did I know that 
 the wicked purpose she expressed applied 
 so fatally to myself! Was it to be tor- 
 tured by this wretch that I brought thee 
 up, my dear child ? Ye will never again 
 be the little cheerful Eliza — no more shall 
 I hear her lisp and chant her little even- 
 ing song — no more shall I smooth her 
 little cherub cheek, or look on her sweet 
 sparkling eyes. Never shall I behold her 
 again — never again shall I have her in my 
 arms I" 
 
 Some may think that this language 
 savours too much of the enthusiastic senti- 
 mentalist, and is incompatible with the 
 placid disposition of Mrs. Valeburn ; but
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 201 
 
 many cases are governed by their own cir- 
 cumstances, and so is this one. Never had 
 such an extraordinary or heart-rending 
 event taken place in the course of Mrs. 
 Valeb urn's experience ; and therefore 
 these ravings must not be compared with 
 her usual character, but viewed as ex- 
 cited by the feelings and situation of the 
 moment — the loss of a sweet child, the 
 object of her fondest affections. 
 
 During Mrs. Valeburn's excitement, 
 she seemed scarcely to have observed any 
 other person in the room. Mrs. Kiniven 
 was present, who did not think it proper 
 to interrupt her while she thus gave free- 
 dom to her thoughts. She now began to 
 address words of condolence to her ; but 
 all her efforts for this purpose were in- 
 effectual ; they seemed to be totally un- 
 noticed. In a few minutes her counte- 
 nance exhibited a ghastly smile, and she 
 sank apparently lifeless on the sofa by 
 the side of Mrs. Kiniven. 
 
 Mr. Valeburn and his son had retired 
 
 k5
 
 202 the writer's clerk. 
 
 with Hector, as soon as they thought she 
 was in a state of composure, for the pur- 
 pose of reporting to the civil powers what 
 had happened, that the necessary legal 
 measures might be employed in order to 
 discover the delinquent and the child. 
 Having seen these warrants issued, proper 
 instructions given, and the messengers 
 dispatched, they returned to the house, 
 and found that Mrs. Valeburn had been 
 put to bed in a very weakly state. 
 
 Though Richard was not susceptible 
 of such excessive sorrow — or rather per- 
 haps from a wish not to indulge it — as his 
 mother, yet he was much grieved, and no 
 person could have looked on his counte- 
 nance without pain and pity. " My poor 
 sister !" he repeatedly exclaimed — his eyes 
 swimming in tears ; and his flushed coun- 
 tenance showed the anguish and sorrow 
 he felt for her loss. 
 
 The father did not pretend to comfort 
 him, for he was as much depressed as his 
 son, although he did not wish to make it
 
 the writer's clerk. l 2Q3 
 
 visible; but the frequent sighs which were 
 heaved from his breast fully evinced the 
 affliction of his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn was sitting in bed, at- 
 tended by Mrs. Kiniven. She gazed 
 wildly upon them, but spoke not. Mr. 
 Valeburn took her hand : " My dear," 
 said he, with feigned ease, " compose 
 yourself; I have been at Bailie M'Dou- 
 gall's, and the law authorities have been 
 dispatched, so I expect in a short time 
 that our dear Eliza will be safely restored, 
 and that we shall be relieved from all our 
 present affliction." 
 
 The eyes and the words of Mrs. Vale- 
 burn sufficiently showed that she had be- 
 come delirious. " My dear," said she.' 
 " why do you trouble yourself — don't you 
 see Eliza before you ?" pointing to Richard 
 : — Come to me my dear — you will be a 
 good child to-night — you are always so — 
 but why do you cry ?" — taking the weeping 
 boy by the hand, and laughing wildly — 
 " we will go to the fair to-morrow — will
 
 204 the writer's clerk. 
 
 you not be glad of that? — Mrs. Kiniven, 
 have you made the funeral bread ? — Eliza 
 and I will drink tea with you to-morrow 
 night. You are a good woman, Mrs. Kini- 
 ven, and so is your husband !" 
 
 This scene was truly heart-rending. It 
 was more than the family had expected, 
 or could withstand. Mr. Valeburn was 
 in the greatest agitation. Richard cried 
 excessively, and Mrs. Kiniven herself 
 could not refrain from weeping. 
 
 Mrs. Valeburn, as if recalled to her 
 senses by this state of the family, sud- 
 denly stopped in the course of her inco- 
 herent expressions, looked affectionately 
 and sorrowfully upon all present ; but, as 
 if exhausted by the sudden transition, she 
 instantly fell back on the bed, and in a 
 moment breathed her last, without ut- 
 tering a groan.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The grief of the Valeburn family may 
 be better imagined than described, so that 
 we shall not dwell upon it. The whole 
 town deeply sympathized in their distress, 
 and Mrs. Dowell and her son not the least 
 of all. It is almost needless to say, that 
 notwithstanding all the inquiries and ex- 
 ertions of the civil powers the mendicant 
 and the child remained undiscovered. 
 
 Mr. Valeburn did not seem likely to re- 
 cover speedily his former spirits ; the loss 
 of his favourite child and beloved wife 
 seemed to make an indelible impression 
 on his heart. Richard had wept and 
 cried almost incessantly for a month. His 
 father, amidst his affliction, always pos- 
 sessed his usual serenity of mind ; and 
 though he could have wished to keep 
 Richard at home, yet he knew that it
 
 206 the writer's clerk. 
 
 would be better for the boy himself to 
 be removed from the scene of his grief. 
 The former intention of sending him to 
 Edinburgh was therefore revived, and 
 Richard seemed to have no objection to 
 the change ; so, after taking an affec- 
 tionate leave of his father and friends, 
 he left Homeston for Edinburgh. 
 
 Our hero, James, continued in the em- 
 ployment of Mr. Maclaren ; and in a little 
 time after the departure of his friend, he 
 began to anticipate the arrival of that 
 period when he should be able to turn to 
 advantage the time he had spent, and the 
 proficiency he had made in the knowledge 
 of the law. 
 
 When one has been put to a business, 
 though undetermined, at the time, of mak- 
 ing it his after profession, still in many 
 instances, when the mind has become 
 familiarized to it, and particularly when 
 there is no prospect of engaging in any 
 other more advantageous pursuit, he be- 
 comes instinctively attached to it ; and
 
 the writer's clerk. 207 
 
 from the same principle, too, parents 
 themselves yield a ready acquiescence. 
 
 Such was the present case. The parents 
 of our hero had no other intention, when 
 he was first sent to Mr. Maclaren, than 
 that of his acquiring an insight and know- 
 ledge of business. But as he went on, 
 and the occupation appeared agreeable 
 to him, they deemed it advisable, when 
 he had now spent such a length of time 
 in the business, and was more qualified to 
 follow it, and had more immediate pro- 
 spect of succeeding in it than in any other, 
 to allow him to follow the bent of his own 
 mind. 
 
 James had another reason that influ- 
 enced his views. In Homeston there were, 
 as we have already observed, more writers 
 than Mr. Maclaren ; and the boys who 
 were taught by them often procured situ- 
 ations in the metropolis, the grand re- 
 ceptacle of lawyers. A winter in Edin- 
 burgh made a wonderful difference in 
 their persons. The long coat was now
 
 208 the writer's clerk. 
 
 exchanged for the short one ; and in the 
 course of the summer, when on a visit to 
 their friends, they generally sported their 
 fashionable figure about the streets of 
 Homeston, in a manner that commanded 
 the respect, if not the admiration, of the 
 good folks of the town. These beaux did 
 not fail to attract the notice of our hero, 
 who envied not a little the distinguished 
 appearance which they made, and the 
 respect which was manifested to them. 
 Considering that these youths had been 
 once in a similar situation with himself, 
 he longed to become as elegant and inde- 
 pendent as they seemed to be ; but he had 
 soon an opportunity of seeing his prospects 
 arranged by a prudent father, who was 
 not disposed to allow his son to be igno- 
 rant or undetermined with regard to his 
 future plans. 
 
 " James," said his father, one evening 
 they happened to be together, " I think 
 ye ha'e been lang enough wi' Mr. Mac- 
 laren, and ye ken that 'am but a puir man,
 
 the writer's clerk. 209 
 
 an* no able to keep ye about me. There 's 
 your brother Stuart has been these three 
 summers working for himself; that boy 
 cannot but do well : now, James, if ye 
 mean to follow the writing business, I 
 think ye should speak to Mr. Maclaren to 
 recommend ye to some o' the Edinburgh 
 writers, as 'am no acquainted wi' any of 
 them myself. Ye should see about this 
 immediately, for ye ha'e been really lang 
 enough wi' Mr. Maclaren. If ye dinna 
 like to speak to him, I'll tak' an oppor- 
 tunity o' speakin' to him myseF. Ye ken, 
 James, that I would be very fond to keep 
 ye about me if I was able, but it will be 
 for your ain advantage to see a little o* 
 the world, and do something for your- 
 self. Besides, a' your young friends are 
 already doing for themselves. That rov- 
 ing chid' Maclachlan, that I ha'e often 
 seen wi' ye, is awa' this lang time ; and 
 that other fine boy, Richard Valeburn, 
 whose misfortunes I ha'e much pitied, is 
 also doing for himself. I was na sae lang
 
 210 the writer's clerk. 
 
 about my parents as what ye ha'e been : 
 I was sent to the uncos when I was only 
 seven years o' age." 
 
 There is something disheartening to a 
 young person on hearing that he must 
 provide for himself; that he must leave 
 the house in which he has lived from his 
 infancy, where he was brought up under 
 the care of an attentive parent, and had 
 all the necessaries of life at his service, 
 without knowing or caring from whence 
 they came : — to be obliged to go to a 
 distance and earn a subsistence ! There 
 was something chilling and repugnant in 
 the word uncos which his father had used, 
 that had never before forcibly struck his 
 mind while contemplating his future plans. 
 He began to particularise the difficulties 
 he was likely to encounter, and he thought 
 that he felt rather reluctant to leave Mr. 
 Maclaren and his parents, and to seek for 
 employment in a strange place ; but he 
 saw that it was impossible for him to re- 
 main all his days with his parents, in his
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 211 
 
 present situation. He therefore answered 
 his father by saying that he should be 
 very glad if a situation could be pro- 
 cured for him in Edinburgh ; and wished 
 him to speak to Mr Maclaren on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Mr. Maclaren happened next day to call 
 at Mr. Kinlven's shop, to procure some 
 small articles he wanted (for he was a 
 man that bestowed as much personal at- 
 tention on trifles as he did on matters of 
 importance), and the subject of the pre- 
 ceding night's conversation was disclosed 
 to him. 
 
 Mr. Maclaren seemed a little surprised. 
 We did him no injustice when we said that 
 he was of a selfish disposition, and cared 
 not how long people remained subservient 
 to his purposes. He put on his serious 
 face, and answered Mr. Kiniven, that it 
 was unfair to take the boy from him, now 
 that he was capable of doing something 
 for himself; that he and Mr. Sealup had
 
 212 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 been at great trouble in giving him a 
 knowledge of the business ; that it was 
 too soon to send him away, as the boy 
 was yet but young. " Besides/' said Mr. 
 Maclaren, " it is a very difficult matter 
 now-a-days to get a situation as clerk in 
 a writer's office in Edinburgh ; it requires 
 great interest: I understand, moreover, 
 that they often prefer apprentices to 
 clerks ; with the former they receive a 
 large apprentice-fee, whereas to the other 
 they must pay a salary. Just let your 
 son remain with me for another year, Mr. 
 Kiniven, and we '11 see by that time what 
 can be done for him." 
 
 " Indeed," replied Mr. Kiniven, " there 
 is nothing got in the world without some 
 difficulty and trouble, but it is necessary 
 to use the means. If I was able, Mr. 
 Maclaren, to keep my son about me, I 
 don't see where he could be better em- 
 ployed than under the direction of you 
 and Mr. Sealup ; but, Mr. Maclaren, it is
 
 the writer's clerk. 213 
 
 high time that the boy should be doing 
 something for himself. My other son has 
 been doing for himself these two years 
 past ; so, sir,' if ye could use your interest 
 in procuring him a situation in Edinburgh, 
 I would be obliged to you. If James had 
 ta'en my advice, and gane to Barney 
 Shuttle the weaver when he went to you, 
 1 am certain that I could ha'e got him 
 by this time a respectable situation wi' a 
 manufacturer in Glasgow. But (without 
 meaning any disparagement to your pro- 
 fession, Mr. Maclaren) no — my son didna 
 like that ; he thought he would be a gentle- 
 man at once by going to you, so let him 
 e'en tak' his ain way o't ; an' if he disna 
 succeed he'll no ha'e his father to blame. 
 O, it 's an excellent trade the manufactur- 
 ing business ; there 's a boy, a son of Allan 
 Girmour, that went to the weaving busi- 
 ness when James went to you, and he has 
 now a situation o' sixty pounds a year wi' 
 a respectable manufacturer, and may come 
 on in a short time to be a manufacturer
 
 214 the writer's clerk. 
 
 himsel\ That's something like a business, 
 Mr. Maclaren." 
 
 Mr. Maclaren, perceiving by Mr. Kini- 
 ven's discourse that he was determined to 
 send his son to Edinburgh, saw that it 
 would be in vain to make any farther ob- 
 jection. " Well, Mr. Kiniven," said he, 
 " I would be sorry to alter any views you 
 may have formed for your son, and if you 
 are resolved that he shall leave me, you 
 will not have to say that I did not give 
 you my assent. Your son, during the 
 time he has been with me, has served me 
 faithfully; and if he is to go to Edinburgh, 
 I will give him, not only a satisfactory 
 certificate to that effect, but also letters 
 of recommendation to several gentlemen 
 in Edinburgh with whom I am acquainted, 
 which, if they do him no good, can do him 
 no harm. But when would you wish him 
 to go ?" 
 
 " Immediately !" replied Mr. Kiniven. 
 " The court o' session, I understand, sits 
 on the twelfth o' November, and that is
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 215 
 
 the next month, and I am informed that it 
 is the best time to get a situation ; so that 
 that there is little time to lose." 
 
 "Well, well, Mr. Kiniven," said Mr. 
 Maclaren, " I'll not oppose your resolu- 
 tion : ' learn young, learn fair,' is a true 
 by-word ; with all my heart I wish that 
 James may succeed." 
 
 Notwithstanding the bright prospects 
 which James had formerly figured out to 
 himself, he could not but say that he felt 
 greater reluctance in quitting his native 
 home, the nearer the time fixed for his 
 departure approached, but he saw that 
 it would be improper to insist on remaining 
 any longer at home, and therefore ac- 
 quiesced in his father's proposal ; con- 
 soling himself with the hope that he 
 should soon procure a situation in Edin- 
 burgh, of fifty or even a hundred pounds 
 per annum, — which would make him in 
 reality a gentleman. 
 
 The time fixed for his departure soon 
 came round, and his mother was in the
 
 216 the writer's clerk. 
 
 mean while busily occupied in preparing- 
 shirts and clothes, and all those articles of 
 which he might stand in need. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven spoke to some others of the 
 writers and gentlemen of the town, who 
 agreed to give his son letters of recom- 
 mendation to respectable members of the 
 legal profession in Edinburgh. Even Mr. 
 Sealup himself agreed to give him a letter 
 of introduction to a writer's clerk in Edin- 
 burgh ; saying, at the same time, that it 
 would be of the highest importance to 
 him, as the person to whom it was ad- 
 dressed was in high favour with the 
 gentleman to whom he wrote. 
 
 When James came to take his depar- 
 ture from Mr. Maclaren, he received the 
 letters and the certificate which were 
 promised him, together with a very ap- 
 propriate advice, delivered in his usual 
 homely style. " James, my boy/' said his 
 sapient master, " ye're now going to leave 
 us ; ye're going to Edinburgh, and ye'll 
 be there in a manner your ain maister ;
 
 the writer's clerk. 217 
 
 ye'll not have your father to look over 
 your conduct, or his house to enter at 
 night. You are going to take up your 
 residence in a large city, and among 
 strangers, where you will be exposed to, 
 and perhaps allured by many temptations, if 
 you be not constantly on your guard, so that 
 you will now require to assume the courage 
 and the prudence of a wise man. Before 
 you make any acquaintances, examine 
 their character, and if you find that it is 
 not good, avoid their company as you 
 would do that of a mad dog; for, depend 
 on it, they would ruin you. As soon as 
 the business of the day is over, go directly 
 home to your lodging, and never be seen 
 on the streets after ten o'clock at night? 
 if ye can help it. I do not doubt that 
 yell attend to all these things ; but I 
 have known boys just as good as you are 
 when they left their friends, and before 
 they were a twelvemonth out of their 
 sight their moral and religious principles 
 were totally perverted. Now, James, here 
 
 VOL. I. l
 
 218 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 are three guinea-notes, which may be of 
 some service to you till ye get a situa- 
 tion ; I wish yon safely in Edinburgh, and 
 speedy employment after you have arrived 
 there." 
 
 James listened with attention to this 
 suitable admonition, and having bid fare- 
 well to his employer and Mr. Sealup, he 
 proceeded to his father's house, where he 
 received similar instructions from his pa- 
 rents, but delivered with more energy and 
 fervor. " My dear James," said the affec- 
 tionate father, who was perhaps more so 
 on the present occasion than he had ever 
 been before, "I am sure there is not a 
 father would be more unwilling to part 
 wi' any o* his family than I would be, if 
 there was any way for them at home ; but 
 ye must be convinced that there is nothing 
 to do for a young person in this poor 
 place. No doubt ye might not altogether 
 starve about me, but ye would just be 
 completely spoiled, and be a poor man 
 like your father. As ye ha'e got a good
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 219 
 
 education, wha kens ye may come on 
 to be an advocat, or ane o' yon gran* 
 fouk wi' the big wigs that I saw at the 
 circuit the last year I was summoned as a 
 juryman ? But to be serious, I beg of 
 you to shun bad company, and in all 
 your transactions to be upright and faith- 
 ful. Study to live moderately, and save 
 money, for people are not respected in this 
 world unless they have a little money. 
 And above all, I beg of you to walk in the 
 fear of the Almighty : remember that his 
 eye is ever upon your behaviour, and 
 never forget your duty to him morning 
 and evening, and tak' particular tent how 
 ye spend the Sabbath : take a seat in 
 some good kirk, and attend divine service 
 regularly. Put your trust in the Lord, 
 and he will abundantly prosper you. 
 There are some writer chiels in Edin- 
 burgh belonging to this place, and with 
 them I would not have you to associate 
 much ; they are thoughtless, light-headed 
 chiels, who have no religion, and they 
 
 l 2
 
 c 2%0 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 may perhaps laugh at you for keeping 
 
 the Sabbath better than they. Never 
 mind that, but be cautious how you fol- 
 low any part of their example. It would 
 grieve your mother and me to hear that 
 ye had gane astray after a' our trouble 
 and pains in training you up in the paths 
 of virtue, and setting a good example of 
 religion before you." 
 
 James's mother saw the approaching 
 hour of her son's departure with consider- 
 able pain, but she had too much good 
 sense not to see, that what had been pro- 
 posed by her husband was for the boy's 
 good, and she quietly acquiesced. She 
 told James, after her husband had finished 
 his admonition, that she had put a Bible, 
 and two or three other good books into 
 his trunk. She gave him some directions 
 about his clothes, told him that they were 
 all new and clean, enjoined him in cold 
 weather to be sure to wear a flannel 
 w r aistcoat, a pair of drawers : with other 
 necessary advices on the same subject.
 
 the writer's clerk. 221 
 
 " We maun mak' haste," said Mr. Kini- 
 ven ; " the packet sails at eleven o'clock, 
 and it's no' far frae that hour now. Tak' 
 out the bottle, guidwife, and we'll drink 
 James's health." 
 
 " Here's your health, my dear boy," 
 said the warm-hearted father, taking his 
 hand kindly, " I hope ye'll succeed in the 
 place ye're gaun to. With the ten 
 pounds I have given you, and the three 
 guineas ye ha' got frae Mr. Maclaren, I 
 don't see that ye'll be ill aff, even tho' ye 
 should na get a situation for some time. 
 I think that Mr. Maclaren might ha'e gi'en 
 you mair than three notes for serving him 
 so long. I myself made more than that 
 the first year I wrought at the tailor busi- 
 ness. It has na kept ye in shoes since 
 ye went to him. He is no dou't a good 
 sort of man, Mr. Maclaren ; but it may 
 serve to show you what a poor place 
 Homeston is, when the writers can scarcely 
 afford to give a guinea a year to their 
 clerks. But let that stand ; ye're dune
 
 222 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 wi* him now, and ye may before long, if 
 ye're attentive and clever, be as grand a 
 man as himself. But come, we must go 
 down to the quay, as the vessel will now 
 be about ready to sail." 
 
 When James's mother saw him fairly 
 clad in his greatcoat, wrapped about the 
 neck with a large neckcloth, his stick in 
 his hand, and all prepared for the passage, 
 the good woman gazed on her son with 
 maternal pity. When she thought to her- 
 self that the poor boy was now about to 
 be ushered into the busy world, and to 
 battle his way among strangers ; and that 
 perhaps she might never see him again, 
 she looked on his approaching departure 
 with grief. 
 
 James did not perceive with apathy 
 these feelings of his mother ; and, to tell 
 the truth, although he strove to conceal 
 them, his own emotions were somewhat 
 reciprocal, and the thought of leaving an 
 affectionate mother, who had always shown 
 such tenderness and affection for him,
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. H23 
 
 produced in his breast no inconsiderable 
 pangs of regret. 
 
 After taking an affectionate leave, he 
 was hurried off by his father. " Now, 
 James, don't be cast down, though your 
 mother, worthy woman, is vex'd that ye 
 ha' left her. We cannot help these things : 
 people must push and be active in the 
 world, and I hope that ye'll prove your* 
 self so. Be sure to write me often. I'll 
 no' grudge the postage o' a letter frae 
 you every week. I ha' some thoughts o' 
 being in Glasgow in January, and per- 
 haps I may go as far as Edinburgh to 
 see you." So continued the father, as the 
 son was about to step on board the vessel. 
 " Farewell ! — and, God bless you !" 
 
 The vessel soon moved off, and it was 
 expected, as the wind was favourable, 
 that she would make a speedy passage. 
 Mr. Kiniven continued to gaze on the ves- 
 sel until she went out of sight, and he then 
 returned home to comfort his wife, and 
 attend to his business in the usual manner.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The vessel, in the mean time, was 
 rapidly conveying our hero to the shores 
 of the low country. James felt the sorrow 
 of his mind considerably relieved by al" 
 lowing those tears, which had been checked 
 in the presence of his parents, to get vent. 
 He was again to turn his thoughts more 
 steadily on his future destiny. My father 
 and mother, thought he to himself, are 
 good, worthy people, and my absence 
 from them now will be the means of de- 
 priving me of many comforts ; but I must 
 just live and hope for the best. I think 
 they need not have expressed so much 
 solicitude about the conduct I am to pur- 
 sue, and I certainly should have told them 
 so, had I not been so much afflicted by 
 the feelings of the moment. My father does
 
 the writer's clerk. 225 
 
 not seem to be aware that I have as much 
 sagacity as he has, and that I am one not 
 likely to act improperly, or do any thing 
 prejudicial to my own interest. He says 
 that he knows mankind well ; but I thin/c, 
 young as I am, I know them pretty well 
 too; and therefore can never be such a 
 fool as to be corrupted by bad company. 
 I am too fond of my brother Stuart to 
 envy their partiality and high opinion of 
 him ; still, I cannot help thinking that 
 they are somewhat too doubtful of my con- 
 duct ; but when I return from Edinburgh, 
 they'll have a more favourable opinion of 
 me. I hope, continued he, in the same 
 train of thought, as he walked up and 
 down the deck of the vessel, that I'll 
 succeed in procuring a good situation in 
 Edinburgh ; — perhaps I may get one with 
 a yearly salary of a hundred pounds. 
 I hope that this will soon be the 
 case ; then should I be able to walk the 
 streets of Homeston like a gentleman, 
 
 Ld
 
 226 the writer's clerk. 
 
 and I'll not be called any more James, 
 but Mr, Kiniven. 
 
 In these wandering thoughts of our 
 hero, no apprehension of disappointment, 
 or failure, seemed to have entered his 
 mind. That feeling of hope, the steady 
 friend of youth, was always his constant 
 companion ; and, of course, all the pros- 
 pects that his fancy suggested appeared to 
 him as realities. 
 
 The packet soon arrived at Greenock, 
 from whence our hero immediately pro- 
 ceeded to Glasgow. His brother had not 
 yet come to college, so that he was obliged 
 to take lodgings for the night in a public 
 house. Next day he went in the coach to 
 Edinburgh, and arrived there in the even- 
 ing. As he carried letters to his friend 
 Richard Valeburn, he determined to go 
 first to his place of abode, and was ac- 
 cordingly conducted thither by one of the 
 chairmen of the city. He found him at 
 home, and was welcomed by Richard with
 
 the writer's clerk. l 2^7 
 
 every feeling and expression of friendship 
 and regard. Both were indeed equally glad 
 to see each other, and the evening was spent 
 in talking of the various occurrences which 
 had taken place since Richard left Homes- 
 ton, and of the manner in which he had 
 lived since he came to Edinburgh. 
 
 " You and I, James, have been ac- 
 quainted from our infancy, and each of 
 us has always been fond of the other. 
 I am glad that I shall now have the plea- 
 sure of your company, for I have made 
 very few acquaintances since I came here. 
 I hope you will soon succeed in getting a 
 situation, and both of us, I am sure, will 
 pass our time very agreeably. I must say 
 however, that it is rather difficult to get 
 a situation, and I fear that it is not in my 
 power to promote your views ; for sup- 
 posing I had any interest with my em- 
 ployer, which I have not, it would be of 
 no service, as our office is already over- 
 stocked with clerks. 5 '
 
 228 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 " But, Richard," said James, " I have 
 letters of recommendation to several re- 
 spectable writers here, and I think that I 
 need not despair of getting a situation 
 under one or other of them." 
 
 " I should be very sorry," replied Richard, 
 " to give you any discouragement, but the 
 fact is, that situations are not so easily 
 procured as I had thought before I left 
 Homeston. Of this I had intended to in- 
 form you, but I did not wish to damp your 
 prospects. I do not, however, say that 
 it is altogether impossible to procure a 
 situation : — you may chance to get one in 
 a few days; and you may chance to be 
 idle for six months." 
 
 " I am happy, Richard, to observe/' 
 said James, wishing to change the subject, 
 as he saw that it was likely to assume a 
 disheartening turn, " that you are much 
 improved both in your looks and manners 
 since you left home. If this has been pro- 
 duced from the profession in which you
 
 the writer's clerk. 229 
 
 are engaged, I think my father ought to 
 have a better opinion of it than what he 
 entertains at present." 
 
 " My character," said Richard, " is cer- 
 tainly somewhat different from what you 
 have known it. T am not now the thought- 
 less schoolboy — then I was hardly a think- 
 ing being ; but you know a more efficient 
 cause for my being what I am, than what 
 the study of the law could have produced 
 — the loss — the mysterious loss of my dear 
 sister, which caused so much painful re- 
 flection. Since that fatal event, I have 
 acquired a habit of thinking, which has 
 proved beneficial, inasmuch as it gives me 
 a disrelish for the frivolities of the world ; 
 enables me to view my conduct more im- 
 partially, and to act with propriety in the 
 prosecution of my avocations. It may 
 seem to be unnaturally selfish to trace 
 my improvement to this source ; but we 
 often find, that it is only in time of afflic- 
 tion that we begin to learn our duty to 
 ourselves and to our God."
 
 230 THE WRITERS CLERK. 
 
 " I never think/' said James, " upon the 
 loss of Eliza, but with sorrow — poor little 
 girl ! When I used to call at your house, 
 I believe she was as glad to see me as 
 you were ; but I trust that she will soon 
 be restored." 
 
 " Do not indulge such a hope; neither 
 you nor I shall ever look upon her again. 
 It would be impossible that any child — 
 far less my dear sister, who was scarcely 
 ever out of her mother's sight till that 
 fatal moment when she was left with 
 Hector, could survive the treatment she 
 must have experienced from the wicked 
 person who deprived us of her. I am 
 happy to see by the letters you have 
 brought me, that my father is bearing his 
 afflictions better than I expected ; but," 
 continued Richard, struggling to repress 
 his emotions, " enough of this painful sub- 
 ject. Let me hear all the news you have 
 brought fromHomeston, and we shall have 
 supper, and retire for the night, as you 
 will, no doubt, be fatigued after your
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. ^31 
 
 journey. I am only a boarder here, so 
 that I cannot call this my own room ; but 
 you shall be accommodated with me for 
 this night, and to-morrow I will assist 
 you in procuring a suitable lodging."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 As Richard was obliged to go to his of- 
 fice on the folio wing morning rather earlier 
 than usual, he could not, on that account, 
 accompany James in his perambulations 
 through the city, and he was therefore 
 under the necessity of sallying forth alone. 
 
 A person who has views of taking up 
 his abode in a town, does not feel like a 
 transient stranger that is anxiously curious 
 to see those natural or artificial structures 
 which have been renowned for their beauty 
 and grandeur, and those curiosities and 
 amusements which attract the attention 
 of casual visitors. The stranger goes for 
 pleasure, and therefore makes it his busi- 
 ness to see every object that is worthy 
 of notice ; the other does not feel such 
 immediate anxiety, being aware that he 
 shall have sufficient time to see them, either
 
 the writer's clerk. 233 
 
 in the course of his residence, or before he 
 quits the place ; and the express business 
 on which he comes is generally the chief 
 subject of his thoughts. 
 
 Such, at least, were the feelings of 
 James Kiniven. He, no doubt, beheld, as 
 he passed through some of the principal 
 streets, many objects which attracted his 
 attention,but he did not stop to wonder and 
 gaze at them further than by casting a look 
 as he passed. The fact was, that at this 
 time an anxiety to get a permanent 
 situation was what occupied his mind, in 
 preference to all other objects. He, in- 
 deed, in this instance acted properly, or 
 rather after his father's manner, which was, 
 always to give business the precedence. 
 He therefore employed himself in deliver- 
 ing his introductory letters, which occu- 
 pied a considerable portion of the day. 
 
 The gentlemen to whom he was recom- 
 mended were respectable members of 
 the law, and he was received by them ac- 
 cording to their different tempers and
 
 <234t the writer's clerk. 
 
 situations. One of them had too little 
 leisure to attend to matters of such a 
 futile nature as he considered these ap- 
 plications to be. " Situations," said he, 
 after he had read the letter, or rather 
 glanced over its contents, " are at present 
 very difficult to be had ; but," resuming 
 his business, <l I'll be/' continued he, in a 
 listless manner, " in the parliament house 
 to-morrow, and inquire of some of the 
 writers there if they want a clerk : so that 
 you may call upon me by the beginning of 
 next week, or when you happen to be pass- 
 ing, and I'll be able to inform you if I shall 
 have heard of any thing." But, ere James 
 had reached the street, the gentleman had 
 in reality forgot his intentions, or deter- 
 mined to give himself no farther trouble 
 in the matter, so that James's confident 
 reliance for ultimate success on these as- 
 surances, and his impatience till the time 
 arrived when he could decently call on 
 him, were altogether unnecessary and 
 vain.
 
 the writer's clerk. 285 
 
 Another to whom he went, was, or at 
 least wished to be, more civil than the 
 last — told him that he was sorry he had 
 not at present any vacancy in his own 
 office for a clerk, but that he would do 
 all in his power to procure him a situa- 
 tion, and that he had no doubt of being 
 able to do so in a short time ; — and with 
 these pleasing assurances James was 
 easily put off. The gentleman however 
 did not perform his promise strictly. If 
 the subject came in course, when speaking 
 to some other professional brother, a 
 general careless interrogation, whether he 
 knew of any vacant situation, might per- 
 haps be made ; and this was the kind of 
 interest that was employed for procuring 
 our hero a employment. 
 
 The last of these gentlemen to whom 
 he applied, was a man who either had, or 
 pretended to have, a great business ; and 
 not considering himself sufficiently ac- 
 quainted with the recommendator to 
 induce him to pay any marked atten-
 
 Q36 the writer's clerk. 
 
 tion to the letter, informed the applicant, 
 rather sharply, that it was quite absurd in 
 provincial writers to foist their ignorant 
 boys upon Edinburgh lawyers. " Young 
 man," said he, " you have been deceived 
 in your prospects ; situations in the 
 writing department here are already oc- 
 cupied by abler hands than you, or such 
 as you, who derive legal knowledge from 
 country practitioners. It is absolutely 
 farcical to think that a boy brought up 
 with a country writer, who knows little 
 or nothing of the law, should presume to 
 undertake the business of an Edinburgh 
 writer, quite unacquainted, as he must 
 be, with making out crown-charters, and 
 the various writs that pass the king's 
 seal : totally ignorant of the business 
 and the forms of the parliament house, 
 the register and signet offices, and all 
 the other matters connected , with the 
 courts of law. Young man, take my ad- 
 vice, and return to the place from whence 
 ye came, and direct your views to some
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 237 
 
 more suitable employment ; for depend 
 upon it, that by remaining here you will 
 incur considerable expense, without its be- 
 ing 1 productive of any advantage whatever." 
 
 This address did not sound well in the 
 ears of our hero. He was so astonished, 
 that he wandered out to the street ere 
 he rightly knew whither he was going, 
 or was sensible of what he had heard. 
 Can it really be true what that man 
 says ? thought he. If it be, what shall 
 I do ? What will become of me ? Well 
 may my father retort upon me the con- 
 sequences of refusing to follow the pro- 
 fession he had planned for me. To see 
 Sandy Girmour a gentleman, and me a 
 poor scribe ! 
 
 His mind was occupied with such and 
 similar transient reflections, when he ar- 
 rived at his lodging (which had been 
 taken by him and his friend in the course 
 of the day). The evening was not spent 
 with any degree of good humour. His 
 prospects seemed now to be blasted ; his
 
 238 THE writer's clerk. 
 
 hopes of future success began to sink, and 
 his spirits to languish. The unaccustomed 
 loneliness of his situation did not tend 
 much to cheer him. Instead of sitting 
 contentedly and cheerfully at his mother's 
 fire-side, when he came home in the even- 
 ing from Mr. Maclaren's office, he was 
 now shut up in a solitary bed-room. In- 
 stead of having recourse, at pleasure, to 
 the substantial contents of his mother's 
 cupboard, he could now only gaze on 
 the limited and scanty allowance that was 
 deposited in his own. Instead of having 
 his mother's assiduous attention in per- 
 forming the numerous little kind offices 
 about him, he had now only the formal, 
 the civil services of his landlady, Mrs. 
 Furnish. 
 
 That respect which he sometimes se- 
 cretly wished for, and expected, was now 
 extended towards him in abundance by 
 his obsequious landlady. He had only 
 to ring the bell, and he was instantly 
 waited upon ; whatever he desired was
 
 the writer's clerk. 239 
 
 speedily produced. However agreeable 
 these things might be on other occasions, 
 yet to James, in his present situation, they 
 seemed only mockery. He would now 
 rather have heard his name simply men- 
 tioned by his mother, than hear all the 
 respectful appellations that were added to 
 it by Mrs. Furnish. 
 
 This woman was in rather an advanced 
 period of life. She was extremely cour- 
 teous and obliging to her lodgers, as 
 it was on accommodating strangers that 
 she principally relied for support, and 
 therefore justly conceived that they were 
 entitled to attention and deference. 
 
 The sadness of our hero was not of 
 long continuance. Youthful vexation ge- 
 nerally increases or diminishes according 
 to the lassitude or intensity of mental 
 vigour and vivacity. When he awakened 
 in the morning, he found that the refresh- 
 ing sleep he had enjoyed tended much to 
 dispel the gloom that brooded over his 
 mind on the preceding day. His hopes
 
 240 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 began to revive, as the cheering rays of the 
 winter morning's sun dazzled his eyes 
 when he was opening the shutters of his 
 bed-room window. Having breakfasted, 
 he was in a few minutes again in the 
 Edinburgh streets. 
 
 He had not gone far ere his eye caught 
 the figure of his quondam friend, Stays 
 Maclachlan the younger, of Drumdibble, 
 coming directly down towards him. Mr. 
 Maclachlan was dressed after the highest 
 fashion of the day ; which, by the by, was 
 not quite dissimilar to some of the modern 
 dandyism. Whether he observed our hero 
 or not is unknown, but he did pass with- 
 out having noticed him. James was rather 
 surprised ; he thought that Stays must 
 have perceived him, and he stood for a 
 time, undetermined what course to pur- 
 sue. If this were an intentional slight, he 
 concluded that it would be proper to 
 seem as independent as Maclachlan him- 
 self, and pass on; but if Stays did not 
 really see him, he thought that it would
 
 the writer's clerk. 241 
 
 be proper to turn back and speak to him ; 
 to acquaint his old friend and schoolfel- 
 low of his arrival, and communicate to him 
 the Homeston news. This latter resolu- 
 tion he adopted, and accordingly turned, 
 and, walking pretty quick, soon overtook 
 him. 
 
 "Stays!" bawled out James, when a 
 little behind him, — " that is, Mr. Mac- 
 lachlan !— Hem !" 
 
 Mr. Maclachlan accordingly turned on 
 his heel, and bending his eye on James, 
 with a look of indifferent recognition, said, 
 « Oh ! how d'ye do, Mr. Kiniven ? Ex- 
 cuse my glove ;" — giving him two fingers 
 of the gloved hand; the remaining fingers 
 being employed in holding an elegant 
 silver-headed cane. " When did ye come 
 here ?" 
 
 u The other day," replied James. " I 
 saw your mother at church the Sunday 
 before I left home, and she appeared to be 
 quite well. I hope that you have been in 
 good health since you came here." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 
 
 These words were totally lost on Mr. 
 Maclachlan ; for, as James began to speak, 
 his eye was attracted by some gentleman 
 or lady who was passing, and was kept so 
 intently fixed on the party, that he almost 
 seemed unconscious of his presence. As 
 soon, however, as the objects which at- 
 tracted his attention disappeared, he be- 
 came aware of his situation, and said — 
 " Oh ! and when do you go off, Mr. Kini- 
 ven ? I'll trouble you with a letter to my 
 mother. 1 ' 
 
 " I have no immediate intention of re- 
 turning home," replied James, not a little 
 displeased with the cold, indifferent manner 
 of his ci-devant friend and schoolfellow. 
 
 " Oh ! exactly :" replied Maclachlan : 
 " and what do you purpose doing here ?" 
 
 "I am at present on the look-out for a 
 situation as clerk or book-keeper to some of 
 the practitioners in the supreme courts." 
 
 " Oh ! ho ! is that your drift ! You'll 
 find that, as I am informed, dem'd difficult 
 to procure/'
 
 the writer's clerk. 243 
 
 " Could you be of any service to me in 
 procuring a situation ?" 
 
 " Oh, demme ! not I. I don't trouble 
 my head about such matters. The fact 
 is, I possess no influence in that way." 
 
 " Perhaps you might, by speaking to 
 your master — " 
 
 " Master, I have no master," replied 
 Mr. Maclachlan. " The gentleman for 
 whom I write is already sufficiently sup- 
 plied with clerks. Indeed, he often tells 
 us, that the half of them would be quite 
 sufficient to manage his business." 
 
 James had enough of penetration to en- 
 able him to discover that Stays Maclach- 
 lan was much altered. He saw that he 
 had become intolerably proud : — his was 
 not the true pride of a gentleman, but that 
 of a coxcomb. Feeling a little displeased 
 at the reception he had met with, he briefly 
 expressed his regret for having troubled 
 him on the subject, and bade him good 
 morning. 
 
 Mr. Maclachlan was, in his own estima- 
 
 m V Z
 
 ^44 the writer's clerk. 
 
 tion, a person of no small importance, and 
 therefore expected that all who addressed 
 him, especially his acknowledged inferiors, 
 should pay him some deference and re- 
 spect. He thought that James would 
 rather crouch to him than otherwise ; but 
 the manner in which onr hero had taken 
 his leave of him on the present occasion 
 struck Maclachlan that he was more of 
 a gentleman than he had imagined. With- 
 out however seeming to take notice of 
 him, he said, with a very low bow, " Oh ! 
 good morning to you, sir ;" and so saying, 
 both moved off in different directions. 
 
 What a change, thought James to him- 
 self, has taken place in Stays Maclachlan ! 
 He certainly acts the gentleman complete ! 
 I suspect he considers himself far superior 
 to me, and therefore disdains my com- 
 pany. He never before called me Mr. 
 Kiniven, and although I can't say I have 
 any objection to be called Mr. Kiniven 
 by some people, yet to be called so by an 
 intimate school-companion does not show
 
 the writer's clerk. 245 
 
 any sincere friendship ; and must either 
 proceed from derision, or a wish to re- 
 press any attempts at familiarity. 
 
 As James had delivered the whole of his 
 introductory letters only the preceding 
 day, it was, of course, at this time pre- 
 mature to pay them another visit, to know 
 the result of his applications. The rest of 
 the day he occupied in delivering some 
 letters and messages with which he had 
 been entrusted, from acquaintances at 
 Homeston to their friends in Edinburgh. 
 
 In the evening Richard Valeburn came 
 to his lodging, and his coming was hailed 
 by our hero with heartfelt gladness. " I 
 came," said Richard, as he entered, " to 
 see how you were pleased with your ac- 
 commodation. I hope you find Mrs. Fur- 
 nish to be a good woman. I am afraid 
 that you will think that I have been care- 
 less about you since you came here ; but 
 the truth is, that I have been extremely 
 busied before and ever since you came,
 
 246 the writer's clerk. 
 
 This is the only leisure night I have had 
 for some considerable time past." 
 
 " Oh, do not say a word about that!" 
 said James, his heart glowing with plea- 
 sure in the thought that while Richard 
 Valeburn remained in Edinburgh he should 
 not be left desolate or friendless ; " lam 
 convinced of your friendship, and I feel it 
 the more, when I view it in comparison 
 with the unexpected reception I expe- 
 rienced from one with whom I have been 
 from infancy, I may say, on the same foot- 
 ing as with yourself." 
 
 James mentioned to Richard the con- 
 versation that had passed between him 
 and Maclachlan ; and expressed his sur- 
 prise at the alteration that had taken 
 place in his appearance and manners. 
 e " I am not at all surprised at what you 
 say,'' answered Richard. " At school, he 
 and I were on a very intimate footing ; 
 but since I came to Edinburgh, I don't 
 believe we have had ten minutes' chat, to-
 
 the writer's clerk. <247 
 
 put it all together. I remember, when I 
 first came here, that he just treated me in 
 the same manner as he did you. He has 
 occasionally given me a passing nod, or a 
 ! how d'ye do V but of late I have never 
 answered any of these haughty tokens of 
 recognition, so that we now pass each 
 other in the street as if we had never been 
 acquainted. Mr. Stays was certainly none 
 of the most amiable characters at school, 
 and though I never wish to speak ill of 
 any person, yet I don't think that he is 
 much improved since he came here. I be- 
 lieve that he might not be altogether so 
 bad, or rather so disgustingly proud, did 
 he associate with better companions. From 
 the few opportunities of observation which 
 I have had since I came here, I cannot 
 too much deprecate the conduct of pa- 
 rents, in putting thoughtless and inex- 
 perienced boys into an office, crowded with 
 a set of immoral and irreligious clerks. 
 They are just blindly allowing them to 
 drop into a stream, where they will perish
 
 48 the writer's clerk. 
 
 ere their perilous situation is discovered. 
 Those parents who propose training their 
 children to the profession of the law, can- 
 not be too careful or scrupulously cautious 
 to ascertain the kind of office to which 
 they intend to send them. It rarely hap- 
 pens, where there is a crowd of clerks in 
 an office, that they conduct themselves 
 with decency and propriety. Now, a boy 
 coming from the country is naturally 
 simple, and ignorant of the etiquette of 
 an office, and every thing appears to him 
 quite novel ; his habits and character are 
 not properly established; and he has 
 neither knowledge nor experience suf- 
 ficient to enable him to detect the wiles, 
 nor reprobate the conduct, of persons well 
 initiated in the ways of the world, He has 
 a knowledge of business to acquire ; and 
 how is this to be done ? In the presence of 
 his master, you would say ; but such is not 
 always the case. The master often writes 
 in a different apartment from that of his 
 clerks, and he derives no farther in-
 
 the writer's clerk. 249 
 
 struction or knowledge from him, than 
 answering, perhaps, the summons of the 
 bell, and writing a paper or letter at his 
 dictation. He has therefore to acquire 
 a knowledge of his profession among a 
 set of unprincipled office clerks, where re- 
 ligious sentiment is ridiculed, and obscene 
 language used with the utmost freedom ; 
 and how can a boy be expected to possess 
 that superior virtue that will enable him 
 to keep his morals untainted in such a 
 scene of iniquity ? While he progressively 
 advances in a knowledge of law, he 
 is at the same time insensibly seduced, 
 and progressively initiated into all their 
 practical vices. In such a situation, I 
 think, has our friend Stays Maclachlan 
 been placed ; and if, indeed, he had 
 been a great deal better than he was 
 when he came here, he would have shared 
 the same fate. He could scarcely be said 
 to have been allured or seduced by them. 
 Their conduct and conversation would 
 captivate one who had hitherto been a 
 
 m 5
 
 250 the writer's clerk. 
 
 stranger to virtue, and had never walked 
 in the fear of the Almighty. It requires no 
 great penetration to see what Stays is, — 
 a vain coxcomb, much fonder of pleasure 
 than of business. In the evening, I under- 
 stand that he engages himself in scenes of 
 pleasure and dissipation, and in the morn- 
 ing feels those pangs of compunction and 
 pain which such conduct never fails to 
 produce ; and is so much incapacitated 
 for business, that whatever is given him to 
 do is performed carelessly and slovenly. 
 He feels uneasy and languid under a de- 
 bilitated constitution; and his frequent 
 yawnings show the ennui under which he 
 labours by his wicked course. In our of- 
 fice, I must confess, the clerks are not so 
 numerous, nor quite so bad as they are 
 in the generality of offices. I associate, 
 however, as little as possible with them. I 
 always make it a practice, when the busi- 
 ness of the day is over, to go directly 
 home, where I pass the remainder of the 
 night in reading books from which I de-
 
 the writer's clerk. &51 
 
 rive both amusement and knowledge ; and 
 in the morning, when I resume my duties 
 at the office, I feel fresh and vigorous. 
 But enough of this. I have not yet asked 
 you how you have succeeded with the 
 gentlemen to whom you were recom- 
 mended — are your introductory letters 
 disposed of?" 
 
 James answered in the affirmative, and 
 told him what the gentlemen had severally 
 said to him ; he also expressed his own 
 anxiety and apprehension on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " What they have told you," said 
 Richard, " is partly true. To my own 
 knowledge, there were no less than twenty 
 candidates applying at our office for situa- 
 tions since the court met, and for any thing 
 I know, they are still unemployed ; but 
 don't you on that account be discouraged 
 — live in hope — chance may soon put you 
 into a good situation. I would advise you, 
 however, to call frequently on those gentle- 
 men ; for, by doing so, you not only keep
 
 252 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 them in remembrance of your wants, but 
 they will also exert themselves, and take 
 more interest in getting you a situation, 
 when they see that you are really serious 
 and anxious about procuring one ; so that 
 I don't see any great harm in renew- 
 ing your visit to-morrow. But the night 
 is getting late, and I must be home. I 
 never am out of the house any night past 
 ten o'clock. Indeed, the rules of the house 
 expressly prohibit my being so, even if I 
 were so inclined.'' 
 
 After some desultory conversation, 
 which it is needless to record, Richard 
 went home, and James spent the remain- 
 der of the evening in ruminating on the 
 events of the day, and philosophizing on 
 the character of his friend. "There must 
 certainly, thought he, be two extremes in 
 this world. How wonderfully improved 
 is Richard Valeburn ; and how much 
 changed to the worse is Stays Maclach- 
 lan ! But what am I ? I think that I 
 should be able by this time to examine
 
 the writer's clerk. 253 
 
 my conduct and character impartially. 
 I am certainly not so bad as Stays Mac- 
 lachlan ; but it is clear that I am not so 
 good or so clever as Richard Valeburn, 
 and yet I thought I was his superior at 
 school. — Why can't I be so now? Had 
 my father been a gentleman, I should 
 be a gentleman too : a gentleman! no, 
 that won't do, — a person's own conduct is 
 that which makes him a gentleman. — 
 Stays Maclachlan was bred and born a 
 gentleman; and perhaps that is the rea- 
 son why he is so bad. Having plenty of 
 money at his command, he has it in his 
 power to associate with his companions 
 m sinful and expensive pastimes ; but 
 were he in my situation, obliged to work 
 for his own support, with little money and 
 few friends, it would certainly take away 
 a considerable portion of his pleasures ; 
 so, therefore, the poor man's son may be 
 more of the gentleman than the son of a 
 rich man. Richard's father is, no doubt, a 
 gentleman ; but he has always been, like
 
 &54 the writer's clerk. 
 
 my own father, of humble manners ; and 
 I dare say that my father is as rieh, if 
 not richer than he ; but his father has sent 
 his son to work for himself, and truly, he 
 must have great pleasure from his con- 
 duct. When I get a situation my mind 
 will be at ease, and all will then go well ; 
 I shall strive to imitate Richard's laudable 
 conduct, and my father will have pleasure 
 
 Such were his cogitations till he retired 
 to rest.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Next day, James did not fail to put 
 into execution the recommendation of his 
 friend. The first gentleman on whom he 
 waited was the one who had given a de- 
 cided opinion of the difficulty, or rather 
 the impossibility, of procuring a situation. 
 He should certainly not have again trou- 
 bled this gentleman, had he not been 
 advised to do so. When he came into his 
 presence there was another with him, 
 apparently on business. He was instantly 
 saluted with, " Well, young man, do you 
 want me?" 
 
 "Yes!" was the answer; "I am the 
 person who delivered to you the letter 
 from Mr. Maclaren ; and I come to ask 
 if you have yet heard of any situation for 
 me ?" 
 
 " Young man, I thought I informed
 
 2'36 the writer's clerk. 
 
 you, when you last called, that I could not 
 be of the smallest service to you in that 
 way; and therefore why do you trouble 
 me again V 
 
 James began to think, from the severe 
 tone of the gentleman, that he had given 
 him offence, and therefore deemed it pro- 
 per to give his reason for having again 
 called on him. Accordingly he replied, 
 very bluntly, " Because, sir, I was told by 
 a friend that it was no uncommon custom 
 for writers to say one thing one day, 
 and speak differently another ; but, sir, 
 if I have offended you, I have not done 
 so intentionally, and I assure you, that 
 I shall never again be induced to repeat 
 my error. For what I have done at pre- 
 sent, I can only ask your pardon." 
 
 The gentleman to whom James thus 
 properly replied had entertained an idea, 
 from the general character of similar ap- 
 plicants, that they were a species of drivel- 
 ing mendicants ; persons of indolent dis-
 
 the writer's clerk. 257 
 
 positions, whose pride would not suffer 
 them to engage in mechanical callings, 
 more suitable, perhaps, to the wishes of 
 their friends, and their own abilities ; 
 and being unable to procure employment, 
 or satisfy their ambition at home, con- 
 ceived that they had only to come to 
 Edinburgh, and tease respectable mem- 
 bers of the law for employment, that they 
 might at once, forsooth, become gentle- 
 men ! and therefore he felt no scruple in 
 treating the numbers who applied to him 
 for situations in the same manner as he 
 had done James Kiniven. The blunt re- 
 ply of our hero was, however, unexpect- 
 ed; and he began to suppose that the 
 applicant was more meritorious than he 
 had at first imagined. He laughed at 
 the reply, and perceiving James about to 
 depart, he called on him to stop, and 
 addressed himself to the gentleman in the 
 room — "Mr. Drawout, do you know of 
 any person who wants a clerk ? Here is a 
 young gentleman, who comes well recom-
 
 2.58 the writer's clerk. 
 
 mended to me by a friend of mine, one 
 Mr. Maclaren of Homeston.'* 
 
 Mr. Drawout, who seemed an elderly, 
 corpulent gentleman, was sitting at the 
 other side of the desk, engaged in per- 
 using some law paper. When the re- 
 ference was made to him, he took his spec- 
 tacles from his eyes, and, drawing his hand 
 very gravely over his countenance, spoke 
 slowly, as follows : " That's a difficult 
 thing now-a-days, Mr. M'llchene. In my 
 younger days, it was an easy matter for a 
 clerk to get employment, for these two 
 reasons, Mr. M'Hehene ; in the first place, 
 the papers which have to be produced in 
 the court of session were not then printed, 
 so that many had to be made; and of 
 course many more hands were employed. 
 In the second place, Mr. M'llchene, the 
 agents did not care how many tran- 
 scribers they employed, nor how much 
 they wrote, because they paid them for 
 each page only one penny. Now, Mr. 
 M'llchene, as you know yourself, the case
 
 the writer's clerk. 259 
 
 is quite different. The whole session- 
 papers (with one or two exceptions) must 
 now be printed ; and the clerks de- 
 mand threepence for every page they 
 write ; on which account, writers employ 
 them as little as possible. To these 
 two causes, I apprehend, is owing the 
 non-requisition of clerks ; and hence arises 
 the difficulty of procuring a clerkship in a 
 writer's office." 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of all that, Mr. 
 Drawout," interrupted Mr. M'llehene, 
 somewhat teased by the unnecessary pro- 
 lixity of his remarks on a subject, as he 
 conceived, so futile and unimportant. 
 f This young gentleman is already, no 
 doubt, likewise aware of all that you say. 
 We cannot spend the whole of a court- 
 day in such trivial talk as this. The 
 simple question at present is, Do you know 
 of any person who may have employment, 
 or have you yourself any employment, 
 for this young man as a clerk V* 
 
 Mr. Drawout, noway abashed at the
 
 260 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 hints given him of his tediousness, replied, 
 in his usual cool manner, and again draw- 
 ing his fingers very gravely across his 
 cheeks : " Really, Mr. M'llchene, I can- 
 not say that I have any use at present for 
 an additional clerk. I have three lads 
 in my office now, and I cannot but say 
 that they do my business very well ; and, 
 indeed, they are quite sufficient for it." 
 
 " I have still less use for him than you, 
 Mr. Drawout, for I have no less than nine 
 young men, between apprentices and 
 clerks, in my office ; and I must confess, 
 that one-half, or say two-thirds, of the 
 number, are quite sufficient for the ma- 
 nagement of my business. Have you no 
 acquaintance, Mr. Drawout, to whom 
 you might recommend this young gentle* 
 man ? WJiat should you think of sending 
 him to our club-friend, Mr. Mandate ?*' 
 
 " Quite right, Mr. M'llchene," said Mr. 
 Drawout. " Thamas Mandate is a capi- 
 tal hand at getting situations. I have 
 known many young men for whom he has
 
 261 
 
 procured employment. By all means, 
 send this young gentleman to Thamas ; 
 he'll be of service to him. I'll write a 
 line myself to Mr. Mandate — that is, upon 
 your recommendation, Mr. M^Ilchene." 
 
 " If you please, Mr. Drawout," said 
 Mr. M'llchene ; who was not much in- 
 clined to trouble, or stand indebted to, 
 any of his friends with applications for 
 clerkships. 
 
 " You say, Mr. M'llchene, that this 
 young man has been well recommended. 
 I can assert this, on your word, to Mr. 
 Mandate ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly," replied Mr. M'llchene, 
 without dropping the business in which 
 he was engaged. 
 
 James sat, during the whole of this 
 conversation, on a chair in the centre of 
 the room, with his hat in his hand, waiting 
 with impatience to know the result. It 
 was with much pleasure that he saw Mr. 
 Drawout write the letter in his favour ; 
 and, from the length of time he took in
 
 262 the writer's clerk. 
 
 writing it, he concluded that it must con- 
 tain something extraordinary. The con- 
 tents of the letter, he afterwards ascer- 
 tained, were as follow : 
 
 "Dear Thamas, — I don't think that 
 Lucky Ringer's ale was very good last 
 night; for I feel rather heavy to-day, 
 after the quantity that we drank. I 
 think our club should change the place 
 of meeting, for Mrs. Ringer, honest body, 
 is growing old, and getting careless about 
 us. You and I, however, cannot decide 
 the case ; but it certainly ought to be sub- 
 mitted by one or other of us at next 
 meeting. I dare say, you don't feel much 
 rejoiced to-day at the wager you made 
 with our drouthy friend. He was certainly 
 very quarrelsome last night. I was ex- 
 ceedingly glad when the dispute that took 
 place between you and him was so hap- 
 pily terminated ; for I do assure you I 
 was at one time apprehensive that one or 
 other of you would have felt the effects of 
 it on your body. But I am forgetting the
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 263 
 
 principal purpose of writing you at pre- 
 sent. Our worthy friend, Mr. M'llchene, 
 I suspect, is becoming tired of us, and 
 our club, now that he has got married. 
 I must admit that it is natural : and cer- 
 tainly, it would be very reprehensible 
 in him, who has a wife, to think that a 
 drunken club was better calculated to 
 afford amusement than the company of a 
 lovely and virtuous woman ; but you and 
 I, Thamas, act differently ; we are old 
 bachelors, and have nothing to solace us 
 after the toils of the day but the club : but 
 what has all this to do with the subject of 
 my letter ? I must surely be, as you have 
 once or twice very modestly told me, an 
 old crazy bachelor. It is seldom, indeed, 
 that I write you so facetiously on busi- 
 ness. Do not, however, think that the 
 business is very important ; I assure you, 
 Thamas, that it will not put a three- 
 and-fourpence or a six-and-eightpence in 
 either your pocket or mine. To speak, 
 then, pointedly, and without further cir-
 
 264 the writer's clerk. 
 
 cumlocution, the business is neither more 
 nor less than this : I was doing business 
 with our busy friend, Mr. M'llchene, in 
 whose office I write this epistle, and a 
 young man, a candidate for a clerkship in 
 a writer's office presented himself; so 
 Mr. M'llchene and I have thought proper 
 to recommend him to you, trusting that 
 you will be able to procure the needful 
 for him. 
 
 " I ever am, dear Thamas, 
 " Your's truly, 
 " Andrew Drawout." 
 
 " P. S. — Do not fail to be punctual in 
 your attendance at the club to-night. 
 You will find me there, as usual, at eight 
 o'clock precisely ; and I have something 
 of importance to communicate." 
 
 This letter being sealed, and addressed 
 to Thomas Mandate, Esq. &c. &c. was de- 
 livered by Mr. Drawout to James, accom- 
 panied with some directions concerning 
 this gentleman's place of abode ; * and I 
 hope/' said Mr. Drawout, * that Mr.
 
 the writer's clerk. %65 
 
 Mandate will be able to do something for 
 you." 
 
 James thanked Mr. Drawout and Mr. 
 M'llchene, for their attention to his in- 
 terest, and quitted their presence. " I had 
 been led to suppose/' thought James to 
 himself, as he was moving towards Mr. 
 Mandate's, "that all the writers here were 
 complete gentlemen. Agents in the su- 
 preme courts of Scotland ought certainly 
 to be far superior in every respect to 
 the procurators in the courts at Homes- 
 ton. Had I been ignorant of Mr. Draw- 
 out's profession, I should have concluded, 
 from his appearance, that he was a grocer, 
 or a member of some operative business ; 
 but I suppose that the reason why the 
 country writers have a more genteel ap- 
 pearance than those of the metropolis is, 
 that they appear like a few striking prints 
 in a window, which command exclusive 
 attraction, because there are no finer 
 ones to eclipse them. Be that as it may, 
 I must now try my fortune with Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. n
 
 266 the writer's clerk. 
 
 Mandate." By this time he stood at 
 Mr. Mandate's door — rang the bell, and 
 inquired if the gentleman was at home. 
 The servant answered in the affirmative, 
 and desired him to step into the writing- 
 room, whither she herself conducted him ; 
 telling him at the same time that Mr. 
 Mandate was engaged just then, but 
 would be with him in a few minutes. 
 
 James had sat in Mr. Mandate's cham- 
 ber for about ten minutes, when a little 
 thin sharp-faced man came bustling into 
 the apartment. " Beg pardon — how do 
 you do — I am glad to see you — keep your 
 seat, sir." This was all said by Mr. Man- 
 date with an air of familiarity, as if he had 
 been addressing an intimate acquaintance. 
 
 James presented the letter, and it was 
 perused by Mr. Mandate with apparent 
 good-humour. " You will no doubt be 
 aware, sir," said he, after he had read it, 
 " that it is rather difficult to procure a 
 situation in a writer's office here ; but we 
 must see what can be done for you. Have
 
 the writer's clerk. 267 
 
 you got a specimen of your writing ?" 
 The specimen being produced : " A good 
 hand/' resumed Mr. Mandate, " and a 
 little more practice will improve it consi- 
 derably. I am sorry that I do not know 
 at present of any vacant situation ; but I 
 shall be on the look-out, and if any occur 
 I shall not fail to give you due notice. 
 By the by, sir, you had better leave your 
 address with me, in case that T should 
 have occasion to send for you." While 
 James was writing his address, Mr. Man- 
 date continued, rather reservedly, " It is 
 not unlikely that in a short time I may 
 have occasion for a clerk myself. I keep 
 only one clerk, and he has lately hinted 
 to me that he had a prospect of suc- 
 ceeding to a higher and more lucrative 
 situation than the one he holds at present 
 under me. Should this take place, I would 
 have no hesitation in placing you in the si- 
 tuation, in consequence of Mr. Drawout's 
 recommendation ; but you are not, how- 
 
 N 2
 
 268 
 
 THE WRITER S CLERK. 
 
 ever, to rely on this change taking place. 
 I am too sensible of the fidelity and atten- 
 tion of my present clerk, to turn him off 
 on account of any applicant, however well 
 recommended. So Mr. — beg pardon — 
 what 's your name, pray V 
 
 " Kiniven — as you will see from the ad- 
 dress in your hand." 
 
 " So, Mr. Kiniven, you will just exert 
 yourself as if no such event were likely to 
 happen, which, in the uncertainty of hu- 
 man affairs, cannot be depended on ; and, 
 with your own exertions and those of your 
 friends, I hope you will speedily get em- 
 ployment. You will now excuse me, sir, 
 as I must prepare to go to the Parliament 
 House — so, good morning." 
 
 James now fondly indulged the idea 
 that his prospects were likely to assume 
 a brighter appearance than they had hi- 
 therto presented : he therefore called with 
 more cheerfulness upon the other gentle- 
 men to whom he had been introduced, but
 
 the writer's clerk. 26 ( J 
 
 was unfortunate enough to receive from 
 them no additional encouragement. The 
 general answer was, u Nothing has yet 
 occurred — you must just have patience — 
 make a call next week, and you shall hear 
 what progress we have made in our in- 
 quiries." 
 
 To a person who had once held a re- 
 spectable situation, and been somehow 
 or other deprived of it, these applications 
 and repulses would have been extremely 
 unpleasant and humiliating ; but to a 
 youth who has never been in a regular 
 situation, and has never possessed influ- 
 ence nor power, this mode of procuring 
 a situation appears quite different. He 
 will never find it humiliating, and rarely 
 unpleasant. He is aware of the diffi- 
 culty, and he gees that there is a neces- 
 sary process to go through in order to 
 attain his end ; and if, notwithstanding 
 all his exertions, he finds his efforts in- 
 effectual, he attributes his want of success, 
 not to misfortune, but to difficulty ; and
 
 270 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 only regrets that these difficulties cannot 
 be surmounted. 
 
 James, having finished his round of calls, 
 went home, and spent the rest of the after- 
 noon in writing a dutiful epistle to his 
 father. 
 
 " Dear Father, — I might have written 
 to you sooner, but I had nothing of any im- 
 portance to communicate. I arrived here 
 safely on the 17th current. Edinburgh 
 is really an elegant city ; it is neither so 
 narrow, so crowded, nor so confined, as 
 Glasgow appears to be. If I succeed 
 here, I expect to live more healthy and 
 comfortable than I could be if I were with 
 a manufacturer in Glasgow. I cannot say, 
 however, that my prospects here are at 
 present very sanguine. There are so 
 many applicants for situations, that I 
 have found it, as yet, rather difficult to 
 procure employment ; but I must just do 
 as they bid me here, ' have a little pa- 
 tience/ and hope for the best. I am, 
 however, using all the means in my power
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 271 
 
 for procuring a situation. I make fre- 
 quent calls on the gentlemen to whom I 
 have been introduced, and I believe that 
 they are exerting themselves in my behalf. 
 In the evening I sometimes feel a little 
 lonely ; but I am fortunately blessed with 
 the society of Richard Valeburn, who, 
 though kept excessively busy in his office, 
 embraces every opportunity of coming to 
 see me. He is the only companion I have 
 associated with since I came here, and 
 indeed I never would ask for a better. 
 You may acquaint his father that he is 
 doing well, which will be some comfort to 
 him under his present affliction. 
 
 H I hope there is a good fishing in the 
 Highlands, that you have got all the nets 
 sold, and that business is still continuing 
 brisk in the shop. Stuart has not written 
 to me since I came here ; and I do not 
 know whether or not he has yet come to 
 Glasgow. Give me some accounts of him 
 in the letter I expect soon to receive
 
 272 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 from you. Remember me kindly to my 
 mother. 
 
 " I remain, dear father, 
 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 
 " James Kiniven." 
 
 To this letter was subjoined a postscript, 
 relating to some trivial matters, with which 
 neither we nor the reader has any thing 
 to do. 
 
 During the space of ten days after this 
 letter was written, little or nothing tran- 
 spired with regard to our hero worthy of 
 notice. Occasionally he had met Mr. 
 Stavs Maclachlan, who honoured him 
 with a silent nod, which he always po- 
 litely returned. This token of recogni- 
 tion was, however, only made when Mr. 
 Stays walked alone ; that is, when he 
 happened to be unaccompanied by any of 
 his friends, and when he was in a place 
 where he was certain that those who 
 knew him could not observe him stoop- 
 ing so low — as he conceived he did when
 
 the writer's clerk. l 2J3 
 
 he honoured James Kiniven with a nod of 
 recognition. This was really the fact, for 
 when on other occasions James passed 
 this haughty personage, when he was at- 
 tended by some of his brother beaus, he 
 passed him without taking any notice of 
 him whatever. James on these occasions 
 felt somewhat humbled; for, had Mr. 
 Stays been of a familiar disposition, he 
 would perhaps have cultivated his ac- 
 quaintance, as he had a natural incli- 
 nation to form friendships with his su- 
 periors. This was strengthened by his 
 father's recommendation, " always to en- 
 deavour to get acquainted wi' big fouks, 
 as they had it in their power to be of 
 service to him." James, however, con- 
 soled himself for the apparent disregard 
 manifested to him by his ci-devant school- 
 fellow, with the knowledge that he pos- 
 sessed the friendship of a more worthy, 
 though less wealthy companion, than Mr. 
 Stays. 
 
 James's wish, in the present instance, 
 
 n5
 
 274 THE WRITER S CLERK. 
 
 to form an acquaintanceship with Stays 
 Maclachlan, was certainly a perversion, in 
 the application, of his father's advice ; for 
 though he had undoubtedly recommended 
 him to endeavour to obtain the friendship 
 of the great, yet the advice by no means 
 implied that he was to form an intimacy 
 with the profane, however high their 
 rank. The limited nature, however, of 
 our hero's experience, and even of his 
 boasted sagacity, made him on the pre- 
 sent occasion overlook the necessity of 
 the distinction. 
 
 In the evenings, when business per- 
 mitted, Richard and our hero went alter- 
 nately to each other's apartments, to 
 talk over their concerns, and recommend 
 and advise what was necessary to be per- 
 formed. 
 
 Little variety, therefore, occurred in 
 the history of our hero while he thus 
 was a probationer for a clerkship. The 
 same words were almost invariably used 
 by the gentlemen of the law upon whom
 
 THE WRITER S CLERK. 2J5 
 
 he waited, except a small alteration that 
 must have arisen from the trouble which 
 they conceived his visits occasioned, or 
 the frequent disappointments he experi- 
 enced, viz. — that he need not trouble 
 himself to call any more upon them, as 
 they would send him notice as soon as 
 they heard of a vacant situation. This 
 was no small discouragement to James. 
 He saw that he could not again properly 
 call on these gentlemen, without mani- 
 festing a degree of meanness and impor- 
 tunity from which his disposition recoiled. 
 Mr. Mandate, on whom he now placed 
 his sole reliance, was at this time in the 
 country. 
 
 It cannot be thought that James felt 
 very happy in the present state of his 
 affairs. Such was the effect of his dis- 
 appointments, that he began to wish he 
 had taken his father's advice to become a 
 weaver ; and, from his father's influence 
 with the Glasgow merchants, a situation
 
 2J6 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 
 
 with a respectable manufacturer would 
 have been easily procured. He also felt 
 uneasy that he had never yet got any ac- 
 counts from his friends at Homeston. He 
 became fretful at his comfortless condition, 
 and on many occasions indulged himself 
 in fits of dulness and melancholy ; so 
 much so, that he often refused to be com- 
 forted or consoled even by his friend 
 Richard Valeburn. 
 
 Richard was indeed sorry that James 
 had not yet succeeded. He had himself 
 few or no acquaintances, and therefore 
 possessed little influence ; and from a 
 feeling of delicacy he was dissuaded from 
 applying to his employer in his behalf. 
 He could therefore only reiterate the ad- 
 monition of patience, and bade him hope 
 for the best ; though inwardly doubtful of 
 a favourable result. 
 
 James's own experience had indeed 
 begun to convince him that his hopes of 
 future greatness were not likely to be
 
 THE WRITER'S CLERK. 2?7 
 
 speedily realised ; but what tended not a 
 little to dishearten him was a knowledge 
 that his pockets, unless replenished, would 
 soon be empty ; and that it would be im- 
 possible to remain long in an expensive 
 city without money. Something there- 
 fore was to be done, and that speedily. 
 
 Some may be apt to think that James's 
 natural vivacity might have kept him from 
 sinking into a state of despondency, at 
 least in a place where so many varying 
 scenes presented themselves to his view ; 
 but our hero was possessed of too much 
 sense to be inclined to visit at this time 
 those scenes of expensive amusement, 
 where the voluptuary expects to calm a 
 troubled conscience, to soothe an agi- 
 tated mind, or to forget the cares of the 
 world. James had indeed, at this time, 
 no fancy for any places of amusement, 
 nor perhaps even a knowledge of their 
 existence. Besides, he was too feelingly 
 alive to his present condition even to
 
 278 the writer's clerk. 
 
 hear or think of such places, far less to 
 visit them. 
 
 After musing one evening on his pre- 
 sent state, and thinking of many different 
 projects, and plans for the regulation of 
 his future conduct, he at last came to the 
 resolution, however humiliating and de- 
 grading it was, to return home and follow 
 the trade which his father had originally in- 
 tended he should follow. He was actually 
 going to prepare for accomplishing this 
 purpose, when his ears were assailed by 
 an unusually loud rap, apparently made 
 with the butt-end of a stick, on the outer 
 door of the house. As he was the only 
 lodger, he imagined that it must be some 
 person coming to visit him ; although he 
 thought, as it was at this time past ten- 
 o'clock, that it was rather an unusual 
 hour for any person to call who had busi- 
 ness with him. He was not kept long in 
 suspense ; for as soon as the landlady 
 opened the door, he heard the gladdening
 
 the writer's clerk. 279 
 
 question — " Can ye tell me, guidwife, it' 
 there 's a young chield o' the name o' 
 James Kiniven in this house?" It was 
 the voice of his father. James instantly 
 ran out to meet him, and in the transport 
 of the moment he forgot all his past dis- 
 appointments.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven having got some refresh- 
 ment, and related to his son all the news 
 he had brought from Homeston, began to 
 " talk on business," to use an expression 
 of his own. u Now, James," said he, 
 " since I ha'e gi'en you all my news, ye 
 maun tell me something about yourseF. 
 Are ye doing any thing, or ha'e ye got a 
 situation ? I was unco anxious to hear 
 frae ye on that subject before I left Home- 
 ston ; but I dare say ye expected a letter 
 frae me in answer to yours. I wad ha'e 
 written ye wP pleasure, had I got a pri- 
 vate opportunity o' somebody comiiP out 
 here, but I could not get that; and as 
 I intended to be in Glasgow sae soon 
 myseP, I was unwilling to put you to the 
 expense o' postage : that's the truth o't. 
 I assure you."
 
 281 
 
 " That is of no consequence now, father: 
 but I am sorry to say that I have not yet 
 obtained a situation, and have little pro- 
 spect of it, except from one gentleman, 
 and he is at present in the country." Here 
 James gave a distinct account to his father 
 of all that had taken place with regard to 
 himself since he had come to Edinburgh ; 
 suppressing, however, the resolution he 
 had just formed of returning home. 
 
 " Well, James,'' replied the father, not 
 
 wishing to discourage him by recalling to 
 
 his mind his former disobedience, " thev 
 
 if 
 
 say that a hard beginning is a good be- 
 ginning, and I hope it will prove so to 
 you, my dear boy. I trust that the 
 same Providence that has favoured your 
 father, and protected us from danger, will 
 also provide for you ; but it is necessary 
 to use the means : it is then and then 
 only that we can expect a blessing on our 
 endeavours. I think, James, ye might 
 ha'e been far cleverer than ye ha'e been; 
 although no dou't its no right to be too
 
 282 the writer's clerk. 
 
 forward, yet I think ye ought to ha'e 
 gane through a' the writers that's o' 
 them, for unless ye mak' your wants 
 known it 's impossible they can he sup- 
 plied. If I was a young chield like you, 
 an' afore I wad ha'e wanted a situation 
 sae lang, I wad ha'e gane through every 
 ane o' them — every ane o' them ; and if 
 there was a situation to be got in Edin- 
 burgh I wad ha'et by this time. Tut man, 
 ye 're no half clever." 
 
 " But, father, it would be impossible to 
 do this without being recommended to 
 them ; they could not know who you were, 
 and of course would pay no attention to 
 you." 
 
 " Naething 's impossible to him that's 
 clever an' active. Ha'e ye no a tongue 
 in your head, man ? Could na ye tell them 
 that ye were three years wi' Mr. Mac- 
 laren, in Homeston ? could na ye tell them 
 that your father was an elder in the kirk, 
 an' ane o' the town councillors ; and 
 could na ye tell them that ye had a bro-
 
 the writer's clerk. 283 
 
 ther a tutor in the family o' a respectable 
 gentleman o' landed property in the High- 
 lands. Besides, ye ha'e a good looking 
 countenance yoursel', and a genteel figure. 
 If a' that — if a' that, man," continued he 
 with emphasis, but at the same time in a 
 good-humoured tone, " wadna be suffi- 
 cient recommendation, they maun really 
 be unco ill to please. See what a fine 
 situation your brother has got ! He has 
 na been at home since he went to the 
 college. O he 's a good boy, Stuart, and 
 I am sure that he '11 do well." 
 
 " It is very odd," said James, wishing 
 to change the subject for a little, " that 
 Stuart never writes me. You told me 
 that you saw him in Glasgow, but what 
 more ? do Colin Dowell and he still lodge 
 together? and are they as brotherly as 
 ever ?" 
 
 " O, I believe they are still very fond 
 o' ane another. Ay, that's another sensible 
 genteel boy ; so was his father — a worthy 
 man, as I ha'e good reason to know, having 
 been his constant hearer for upwards of
 
 284 the writer's clerk. 
 
 twenty years" — taking at the same time 
 a hearty pinch of snuff, which he usually 
 did whenever pleasant subjects were re- 
 called to his remembrance ; " but," con- 
 tinued he, " young M'Dowell and Stuart 
 do not lodge together this season. The 
 gentleman that Stuart 's with has sent 
 twa o' his sons to the college this year, 
 and he stays with them, or rather they 
 stay with him. He 's very much ta'en up 
 about them, and anxious to bring them 
 forward in their education, so that, baith 
 Wl' his ain education and their's, the puir 
 boy's time is much occupied; and that's 
 the reason, I suppose, that he did na write 
 you. But, now that I recollect, he desired 
 me to tell you that he wad write to you 
 soon. He ay minds to write his father 
 though. I get a letter punctually frae 
 him by every return of the packet. But 
 what has a' this to do wi' the present 
 business ? Stuart gi'es me nae concern. 
 I see that he's doing well, and likely to 
 continue so. It's you that I am uneasy 
 and anxious about. If I saw you rightly
 
 285 
 
 situated, I would consider myself very 
 happy. There's nothing on earth that 
 can gi'e a parent greater pleasure than 
 to see his family doing well. Now, 
 it 's purposely to see about you that I 
 ha'e come this length. I maun be awa' 
 again the morn's night, for the packet 
 goes awa' the next morning, an' I maun 
 be alang wi' her, as a* the goods are on 
 board o' her. I bought about five hun- 
 dred pounds worth o' goods yonder, but 
 dear knows whaur am to get siller to 
 pay them ! Little sells in the shop, and 
 a' that's sold maun be gi'en out on credit ; 
 and then I have a faught before I can get 
 payment frae them, as ye well know your- 
 self. But, however, the Glasgow fouks 
 got aye regular payments frae me ; and 
 I think, at least I hope, that they '11 ne'er 
 hae to say the contrary o' me. Now you 
 see, James, that I ha'e just the morn to 
 spend wi' you, an' we maun see an' turn 
 it to some profit. I '11 go along with you 
 myself and speak to some o' the fouk
 
 286 
 
 for you, and it will surely be very hard if 
 we dinna come some speed." 
 
 " I am much afraid of it, father," said 
 James, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " Then, if that 's the case," replied the 
 father, " ye canna stay any langer here. 
 It 's nonsense spending guid siller for bad, 
 and precious time that might otherwise 
 be better employed, in idleness. I canna 
 help thinking, James, although I by no 
 means wish it to be reflected on you now, 
 that it was a great pity ye did na tak' my 
 advice, and gang to Barny Shuttle. I 
 could ha'e easily got ye a nice situation, 
 and of as genteel a sort as the one that 
 Allan Girmour s son is in ; but, however, 
 these things cannot now be helped ; ye 
 maun just see and mak' the best o' what 
 ye 're about, as it would be a little dis- 
 honourable for ye to begin another busi- 
 ness. The fouk wad speak about it, and 
 perhaps put their tongue in their cheek 
 and laugh at you for your pretensions to 
 be a writer ; and indeed I dinna much
 
 THE WRITE U*S CLERK. 287 
 
 like mysel' fouk that's too fond o' changes ; 
 so that, if there's a situation to be got in 
 Edinburgh I wad ha'et, even though it 
 was a very puir one ; it wad aye be a be- 
 ginning ; and I wad rather gi'e you some 
 assistance for a year or two mysel' than 
 that you should come hame. Besides, it 
 would not omen well for a young man 
 like you to have recourse already to a 
 number of professions. It 's clear, how- 
 ever, that we can do nae guid the night ; 
 we '11 therefore drop this subject for the 
 present, and trust for success to our exer- 
 tions to-morrow. We '11 hae a word o' 
 prayer before we go to our beds." 
 
 On the following morning Mr. Kiniven 
 and his son took an early breakfast, and 
 then sallied into the streets of Edin- 
 burgh. " I see there 's a great many al- 
 terations," said the father, as he was 
 gazing with wonder about him, " have 
 taken place since I was last here ; at the 
 time that I was summoned as a witness 
 to the Exchaker, in that great smuggling
 
 288 the writer's clerk. 
 
 concern that ye hae often heard me speak 
 about — The King, and Arthur Tapthe- 
 worm, the exciseman, against Licence 
 Breivithout. Its just fifteen years since — 
 the year after you were born. Puir Mr. 
 Breivithout was a respectable man before 
 the King and Taptheworm took him in 
 hands, but they soon ruined him. He 
 was, in consequence o' that plea, reduced 
 to beggary, and shortly afterwards died. 
 It 's a very bad thing to ha'e any thing 
 to do wi' law pleas or contraband goods. 
 But whaur are ye takin' me to now, 
 James ?" 
 
 " To the Parliament House ; it is the 
 only place ye can see any of our ac- 
 quaintances, or some of the gentlemen to 
 whom I have been recommended." 
 
 " Very right ; it 's best to go to the 
 fountain head at once. We '11 gang up 
 and see what's to be done there." 
 
 They accordingly proceeded thither, 
 and were within the walls of the Parlia- 
 ment House by ten o'clock.
 
 the writer's clerk. 289 
 
 " Dear me!" said Mr. Kiniven, as he 
 entered, " what's a dae here the day? 
 There is something o' importance gaun 
 on, nae dou't ; — what a croud o* fouk ! 
 
 " There are few in it now besides what 
 I have seen in it," said James ; " and if 
 you remain for an hour longer, you'll 
 find treble the number that are here at 
 present/' 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was so much attracted by 
 and astonished at the bustling crowd, 
 which surrounded him, that he had 
 nearly lost sight of the business which 
 had brought him to this grand fountain 
 of the law. At one door were seen the 
 learned counsel issuing forth ; some of 
 them adjusting the gown on their shoul- 
 der as they entered. Others, who had 
 apparently been rather too hurriedly 
 raised from their beds, were seen stretch- 
 ing their arms, or drawing their fingers 
 yawningly across their half-slumbering 
 eyelids. The agents were again seen 
 running, and looking after counsel, for 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 290 the writer's clerk. 
 
 the purpose of having a consultation pre- 
 vious to the calling, or debate, in which 
 they had been engaged. At another part 
 of this extensive hall were seen the 
 clerks of these gentlemen, turning and 
 running their eyes over the rolls, for the 
 purpose of ascertaining the number and 
 state of their causes. 
 
 The attention of Mr. Kiniven was so 
 much taken up with the scene before him, 
 as to be unaware that he stood in the way 
 of a macer, who preceded a lord ordinary 
 to one of the outer-house benches. The 
 officer was clearing a way for his lordship 
 through the crowd. " Back, back/' said 
 he, " mak' way there, for my lord ordi- 
 nar, shentlemen!" and while pushing the 
 crowd asunder in this manner, he came to 
 Mr. Kiniven, who happened to be stand- 
 ing, unconsciously, in his way, and whom 
 he at once knew from his appearance to 
 be a stranger, he accompanied his words 
 with action of his hands, by pushing him 
 rather rudely aside: " What the deil's the
 
 THE WRITERS CLERK. 291 
 
 like o 5 you wanting here, I wonder ?" mut- 
 tered he as he passed, and frowned on Mr. 
 Kiniven. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven did not feel well pleased to 
 be pushed back so abruptly, and answered 
 somewhat angrily, * Tut, guidman, it's 
 seldom I fash you ; ye may let me stan' 
 whaur I am." The mecer was, however, 
 too much engaged about his lordship to 
 hear these words. Having mounted the 
 bench, he soon began to exercise his 
 loud Stentorian voice ; upon which, 
 numbers soon gathered : — some asking 
 after and telling the state of their causes ; 
 some anxiously waiting till the one in 
 which they were interested came on ; and 
 others, whose cases were called, had to 
 seek for their counsel ; and here and there 
 they were running, prying, calling, and 
 speaking, all at one and the same time. 
 
 " But come, James," (who had been 
 all the time looking at some advertise- 
 ments) " standing here will do no 
 good," said the father : " see how anxious 
 
 o 2
 
 292 the writer's clerk. 
 
 the fouk are about their business ; that 
 ought to teach us to be so too." 
 
 Mr. Kiniven and his son having pushed 
 their way down to one end of the house, 
 where few of the assembly were, except- 
 ing one or two, who happened to be pass- 
 ing or repassing ; " We'll ha'e room here 
 to draw our breath, and think on what's 
 next to be done/' said the father. 
 
 "But what are you going to do, father?" 
 said James ; " you cannot speak to any 
 of these gentlemen, whom you are un- 
 acquainted with ; they would pay no at- 
 tention to you." 
 
 " Never ye mind that," said his father; 
 " if it will do no good, it will do no harm. 
 Altho' they are great folks, they are just 
 but flesh and blood like oursels ; they'll 
 no' bite us, I'se warrant." 
 
 Mr. Kiniven soon fulfilled his determi- 
 nation. A sprightly looking fellow hap- 
 pening to pass them, he went after him, 
 and addressed him. " Heigh !" stam- 
 mering though a little : " I was gaun tae
 
 '293 
 
 speak to you about a son o' mine ; a 
 young chield ; here, come forat, James. 
 He's a pretty clever chield, and a good 
 scholar ;" accompanying all his emphati- 
 cal expressions by stamping his stick on 
 the floor. "He was," continued he, '" three 
 years at the Latin, and three years wi' Mr. 
 Maclaren of Homeston. He is a capital 
 good writer, and will be a treasure to any 
 person who takes him. ,, 
 
 The gentleman stood gazing with won- 
 der, on hearing such an address from an 
 entire stranger. The thing was so uncom- 
 mon : and notwithstanding the earnest- 
 ness with which it was delivered, he could 
 not retain his gravity. " Old gentleman," 
 said he, " I am sorry that I have no situa- 
 tion for your son ;" and immediately walked 
 off. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was a little displeased at 
 the failure of this application ; " But 
 we're no' to be cast down," said he, 
 tt because we ha'e once failed. If that's
 
 294< the writer's clerk. 
 
 to be the case, we may go ahint a dyke 
 and die. We'll gang up and speak to 
 this man," perceiving an elderly gentle- 
 man sitting by himself on an adjoining 
 seat, whose powdered three-tailed wig 
 showed that he was a member of the fa- 
 culty of advocates. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven accordingly went up to 
 him, and addressed him, in similar terms as 
 he had done the other gentleman ; adding, 
 that " if he could get a situation for the 
 boy, he would be much obliged to him." 
 
 " Really," said the gentleman, smiling, 
 " I am not a good hand to apply to for 
 that purpose. I have only occasion for 
 one clerk myself ; but I have no objection, 
 sir, to give you a letter to one of my agents, 
 and recommend your son to his atten- 
 tion." 
 
 While Mr. Khriven was proffering a 
 profusion of thanks for his civility, the 
 gentleman's name was vociferated from 
 one part of the house, when he instantly
 
 the writer's clerk. 295 
 
 sprang from his seat, without saying a 
 word, and in a moment disappeared among 
 the crowd. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was somewhat amazed at 
 this unexpected summons ; " But," said 
 he, as lie gazed among the crowd, " we 
 must follow him, James ; yon man may be 
 o' service to you." 
 
 While he thus spoke, James received a 
 tap on the shoulder from behind ; and, 
 turning round, he observed that it was 
 Mr. Mandate : " O Mr. Kiniven/' said he, 
 " I am sorry that I was from home when 
 ye called upon me yesterday. My clerk 
 has left me, and I now stand in immediate 
 need of some person to assist me." 
 
 " Eh ! what's that ?" said Mr. Kiniven, 
 interposing. 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was not a man of cere- 
 mony. He paid no attention to James, 
 when he introduced him to Mr. Mandate, 
 but continued speaking ; — " O he's a 
 clever boy ; he'll mak' a guid clerk ; he's 
 an excellent scholar ! many a pound and
 
 296 the writer's clerk. 
 
 penny he cost me when he was at the 
 Latin." 
 
 " I have no reason/' said Mr. Man- 
 date, " to doubt what you say ; your 
 son's abilities can be judged only after a 
 fair trial. He has been recommended to 
 me by Mr. Drawout, a particular friend of 
 mine ; and, in consequence of his recom- 
 mendation, I intend to give your son the 
 preference, provided that we can agree 
 upon fair terms, to about a dozen who 
 have already been applying to me for the 
 situation. Now, what salary may you 
 be expecting from me ?'' addressing him- 
 self to James. 
 
 " O just gi'e him," said Mr. Kiniven, 
 f the same salary that your former clerk 
 had." 
 
 " Ah ! that cannot be ; — my former 
 clerk was a long time with me ; he was 
 an experienced hand at the business: he 
 had a salary of a hundred pounds a-year 
 from me/' 
 
 " Oh, James has been a long time at the
 
 the writer's clerk. 297 
 
 business too; he was three years wi' Mr. 
 Maclaren, who had a very extensive busi- 
 ness." 
 
 * Mr. Maclaren, sir/' replied Mr. Man- 
 date, * would be equally ignorant with 
 your son in transacting our business; 
 so that his having been with that gentle- 
 man signifies little or nothing in re- 
 gard to qualifying him for transacting 
 business before the supreme courts here. 
 However, I should always wish to allow 
 a young man what would keep him toler- 
 ably decent and respectable ; and I shall 
 engage with your son for two years, and 
 give him the first year seventy pounds ; 
 and it will depend much on his own con- 
 duct whether or not it be augmented for 
 the next." 
 
 Mr. Kiniven, though he wished that his 
 son should get as much as he could, 
 secretly thought that it was a good salary 
 for a boy who was not yet seventeen 
 years of age ; he therefore, in the name
 
 298 the writer's clerk. 
 
 of his son, acceded to Mr. Mandate's 
 proposal. 
 
 Ere any thing farther was said, Mr. 
 Mandate was called off by some person : 
 he had time only to tell James, that he 
 expected to see him in the office at ten 
 o'clock the following morning ; and so 
 bade good-b'ye to Mr. Kiniven. 
 
 " Now/' said Mr. Kiniven to his son, as 
 they were proceeding out of the court, 
 " ye see that my coming here has been o' 
 some use to ye. Ye wadna likely ha'e 
 got that situation, had I not been on the 
 spot. Now I think ye may live comfort- 
 ably, and save money. Dear me! seventy 
 pounds is a great sum of money. When 
 I was at the tailor business, I kept my- 
 self many a year in meat and claes for less 
 than ten pounds in the twalvemonth. No 
 doubt ye'll ha'e to gang decent, and I 
 would recommend you to do so : but, by 
 all means, I wad beg of you to be atten- 
 tive to the interest o' your employer, and
 
 299 
 
 punctual in your attendance at his office : 
 for there is nothing that pleases a gentle- 
 man better than to see a young man 
 clever and exact. There's another thing, 
 James, I wad mention to you. In some 
 things I believe you very active, but in 
 others ye're too simple. Now, I beg of 
 you to hejirm and manly in all your pro- 
 ceedings/' 
 
 Mr. Kiniven was interrupted in his re- 
 marks by Richard Valeburn, who was so 
 glad to see the friend of his dear father, 
 that he had clasped his hand before he 
 observed him. Mr. Kiniven, on his part, 
 was equally happy to see Richard, and 
 answered, cheerfully, all his eager in- 
 quiries with regard to the news he had 
 brought from home ; but nothing gave 
 Richard more pleasure than when he 
 heard of his friend's success. 
 
 " I always told you, James," said he, 
 " to have patience, and that you would 
 soon succeed." 
 
 " Ay, but," said the father, " he wad
 
 300 the writer's clerk. 
 
 na ha'e succeeded unless I cam' here ; it 
 was me that got the situation for him." 
 
 James was inwardly too much elated at 
 his own good fortune to dispute his fa- 
 ther's assertion. 
 
 Richard remained in the company of 
 Mr. Kiniven and his son, and the party, 
 after having taken a cursory glance of the 
 curiosities of Edinburgh, returned to 
 James's lodgings, where they dined, and 
 Mr. Kiniven, during dinner, favoured 
 them with an account of all the events 
 which had occurred since they had left 
 Homeston ; and afterwards renewed his 
 former religious, moral, and domestic in- 
 struction to his son. " I forgot/' said 
 he, " to ask you what kirk ye gang to 
 here. I hope that ye have taken a seat 
 in a good one." 
 
 " You may be quite easy," said Richard, 
 " on that head. Ever since James came 
 here, he has sat along with myself in 
 the church that I frequent ; and we spend 
 the rest of the day, which is the only day
 
 the writer's clerk. 301 
 
 we have an opportunity of being much 
 together — sometimes in taking a quiet 
 walk along the sea-shore ; sometimes in 
 religious conversation at home ; and some- 
 times in hearing an evening discourse. " 
 
 " I am glad to hear that,'' said Mr. 
 Kiniven. " Those who keep the Sabbath 
 holy, will be sure to prosper through the 
 week/' 
 
 Richard very respectfully returned his 
 thanks to Mr. Kiniven for his good ad- 
 vices ; and James promised to attend to 
 them. They endeavoured to persuade him 
 to remain for a few days ; but he could 
 not be prevailed on to stay : he was de- 
 termined' to be off to Glasgow that after- 
 noon. " Business maun be attended to," 
 said he, " and there's nae farther occasion 
 for me staying any longer here.'' 
 
 Before he left the house, he fervently 
 implored the blessing of the Almighty on 
 both of them. When the hour of his depar- 
 ture arrived, they accompanied him to the 
 the coach, where he took an affectionate
 
 302 THE writer's clerk. 
 
 leave of them, and ascended the top of the 
 vehicle, but his worldly notions had not 
 altogether left him, for as the coach was 
 moving off, he turned his head and called 
 to James, " Be sure an' be at Mr. 
 Mandate's office the morn's morning, 
 preceesely at ten o'clock." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BV THOMAS DAVISOV, WHITKFRIARS.
 
 xA