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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:41 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:41 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1217-h/1217-h.htm b/1217-h/1217-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..802a56b --- /dev/null +++ b/1217-h/1217-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7755 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Penelope's Experiences in Scotland, by Kate Douglas Wiggin + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1217 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + PENELOPE’S EXPERIENCES IN SCOTLAND + </h1> + <h3> + Being extracts from the commonplace book of Penelope Hamilton + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Kate Douglas Wiggin + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + 1913 Gay and Hancock edition + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + To G.C.R. + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter II. Edina, Scotia’s Darling Seat. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter III. A vision in Princes Street. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter IV. Susanna Crum cudna say. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V. We emulate the Jackdaw. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI. Edinburgh society, past and + present. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII. Francesca meets th’ unconquer’d + Scot. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII. ‘What made th’ Assembly shine?’ + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX. Omnia presbyteria est divisa in + partes tres. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter X. Mrs. M’Collop as a sermon-taster. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter XI. Holyrood awakens. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter XII. Farewell to Edinburgh. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XIII. The spell of Scotland. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XIV. The wee theekit hoosie in the + loaning. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter XV. Jane Grieve and her grievances. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter XVI. The path that led to Crummylowe. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter XVII. Playing Sir Patrick Spens. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter XIX. Fowk o’ Fife. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter XX. A Fifeshire tea-party. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter XXI. International bickering. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter XXII. Francesca entertains the + green-eyed monster. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter XXIV. Old songs and modern instances. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter XXV. A treaty between nations. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter XXVI. ‘Scotland’s burning! Look out!’ + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage. + </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Edina, Scotia’s Darling seat! + All hail thy palaces and towers!’ +</pre> + <p> + Edinburgh, April 189-. + </p> + <p> + 22 Breadalbane Terrace. + </p> + <p> + We have travelled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and we know + the very worst there is to know about one another. After this point has + been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had taken place, and, with + the honeymoon comfortably over, we slip along in thoroughly friendly + fashion. I use no warmer word than’friendly’ because, in the first place, + the highest tides of feeling do not visit the coasts of triangular + alliances; and because, in the second place, ‘friendly’ is a word capable + of putting to the blush many a more passionate and endearing one. + </p> + <p> + Every one knows of our experiences in England, for we wrote volumes of + letters concerning them, the which were widely circulated among our + friends at the time, and read aloud under the evening lamps in the several + cities of our residence. + </p> + <p> + Since then few striking changes have taken place in our history. + </p> + <p> + Salemina returned to Boston for the winter, to find, to her amazement, + that for forty odd years she had been rather overestimating it. + </p> + <p> + On arriving in New York, Francesca discovered that the young lawyer whom + for six months she had been advising to marry somebody more worthy than + herself was at last about to do it. This was somewhat in the nature of a + shock, for Francesca had been in the habit, ever since she was seventeen, + of giving her lovers similar advice, and up to this time no one of them + has ever taken it. She therefore has had the not unnatural hope, I think, + of organising at one time or another all these disappointed and faithful + swains into a celibate brotherhood; and perhaps of driving by the + interesting monastery with her husband and calling his attention modestly + to the fact that these poor monks were filling their barren lives with + deeds of piety, trying to remember their Creator with such assiduity that + they might, in time, forget Her. + </p> + <p> + Her chagrin was all the keener at losing this last aspirant to her hand in + that she had almost persuaded herself that she was as fond of him as she + was likely to be of anybody, and that on the whole she had better marry + him and save his life and reason. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately she had not communicated this gleam of hope by letter, + feeling, I suppose, that she would like to see for herself the light of + joy breaking over his pale cheek. The scene would have been rather pretty + and touching, but meantime the Worm had turned and despatched a letter to + the Majestic at the quarantine station, telling her that he had found a + less reluctant bride in the person of her intimate friend Miss Rosa Van + Brunt; and so Francesca’s dream of duty and sacrifice was over. + </p> + <p> + Salemina says she was somewhat constrained for a week and a trifle cynical + for a fortnight, but that afterwards her spirits mounted on ever ascending + spirals to impossible heights, where they have since remained. It appears + from all this that although she was piqued at being taken at her word, her + heart was not in the least damaged. It never was one of those fragile + things which have to be wrapped in cotton, and preserved from the + slightest blow—Francesca’s heart. It is made of excellent stout, + durable material, and I often tell her with the care she takes of it, and + the moderate strain to which it is subjected, it ought to be as good as + new a hundred years hence. + </p> + <p> + As for me, the scene of my own love-story is laid in America and England, + and has nought to do with Edinburgh. It is far from finished; indeed, I + hope it will be the longest serial on record, one of those charming tales + that grow in interest as chapter after chapter unfolds, until at the end + we feel as if we could never part with the delightful people. + </p> + <p> + I should be, at this very moment, Mrs. William Beresford, a highly + respectable young matron who painted rather good pictures in her spinster + days, when she was Penelope Hamilton of the great American working-class, + Unlimited; but first Mrs. Beresford’s dangerous illness and then her + death, have kept my dear boy a willing prisoner in Cannes, his heart sadly + torn betwixt his love and duty to his mother and his desire to be with me. + The separation is virtually over now, and we two, alas! have ne’er a + mother or a father between us, so we shall not wait many months before + beginning to comfort each other in good earnest. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Salemina and Francesca have persuaded me to join their forces, + and Mr. Beresford will follow us to Scotland in a few short weeks, when we + shall have established ourselves in the country. + </p> + <p> + We are overjoyed at being together again, we three women folk. As I said + before, we know the worst of one another, and the future has no terrors. + We have learned, for example, that— + </p> + <p> + Francesca does not like an early morning start. Salemina refuses to arrive + late anywhere. Penelope prefers to stay behind and follow next day. + </p> + <p> + Francesca scorns to travel third class. So does Salemina, but she will if + urged. + </p> + <p> + Penelope hates a four-wheeler. Salemina is nervous in a hansom. Francesca + prefers a barouche or a landau. + </p> + <p> + Salemina likes a steady fire in the grate. Penelope opens a window and + fans herself. + </p> + <p> + Salemina inclines to instructive and profitable expeditions. Francesca + loves processions and sightseeing. Penelope abhors all of these equally. + </p> + <p> + Salemina likes history. Francesca loves fiction. Penelope adores poetry + and detests facts. + </p> + <p> + Penelope likes substantial breakfasts. Francesca dislikes the sight of + food in the morning. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of breakfasts, when we have leisure to assert our individual + tastes, Salemina prefers tea, Francesca cocoa, and I, coffee. We can + never, therefore, be served with a large comfortable pot of anything, but + are confronted instead with a caravan of silver jugs, china jugs, bowls of + hard and soft sugar, hot milk, cold milk, hot water, and cream, while each + in her secret heart wishes that the other two were less exigeante in the + matter of diet and beverages. + </p> + <p> + This does not sound promising, but it works perfectly well in practice by + the exercise of a little flexibility. + </p> + <p> + As we left dear old Dovermarle Street and Smith’s Private Hotel behind, + and drove to the station to take the Flying Scotsman, we indulged in + floods of reminiscence over the joys of travel we had tasted together in + the past, and talked with lively anticipation of the new experiences + awaiting us in the land of heather. + </p> + <p> + While Salemina went to purchase the three first-class tickets, I + superintended the porters as they disposed our luggage in the van, and in + so doing my eye lighted upon a third-class carriage which was, for a + wonder, clean, comfortable, and vacant. Comparing it hastily with the + first-class compartment being held by Francesca, I found that it differed + only in having no carpet on the floor, and a smaller number of buttons in + the upholstering. This was really heartrending when the difference in fare + for three persons would be at least twenty dollars. What a delightful sum + to put aside for a rainy day!—that is, be it understood, what a + delightful sum to put aside and spend on the first rainy day! for that is + the way we always interpret the expression. + </p> + <p> + When Salemina returned with the tickets, she found me, as usual, bewailing + our extravagance. + </p> + <p> + Francesca descended suddenly from her post, and, wresting the tickets from + her duenna, exclaimed, “‘I know that I can save the country, and I know no + other man can!’ as William Pitt said to the Duke of Devonshire. I have had + enough of this argument. For six months of last year we discussed + travelling third class and continued to travel first. Get into that clean + hard-seated, ill-upholstered third-class carriage immediately, both of + you; save room enough for a mother with two babies, and man carrying a + basket of fish, and an old woman with five pieces of hand-luggage and a + dog; meanwhile I will exchange the tickets.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, she disappeared rapidly among the throng of passengers, guards, + porters, newspaper boys, golfers with bags of clubs, young ladies with + bicycles, and old ladies with tin hat-boxes. + </p> + <p> + “What decision, what swiftness of judgment, what courage and energy!” + murmured Salemina. “Isn’t she wonderfully improved since that unexpected + turning of the Worm?” + </p> + <p> + Francesca rejoined us just as the guard was about to lock us in, and flung + herself down, quite breathless from her unusual exertion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we are travelling third for once, and the money is saved, or at + least it is ready to spend again at the first opportunity. The man didn’t + wish to exchange the tickets at all. He says it is never done. I told him + they were bought by a very inexperienced American lady (that is you, + Salemina) who knew almost nothing of the distinctions between first and + third class, and naturally took the best, believing it to be none too good + for a citizen of the greatest republic on the face of the earth. He said + the tickets had been stamped on. I said so should I be if I returned + without exchanging them. He was a very dense person, and didn’t see my + joke at all, but then, it is true, there were thirteen men in line behind + me, with the train starting in three minutes, and there is nothing so + debilitating to a naturally weak sense of humour as selling tickets behind + a grating, so I am not really vexed with him. There! we are quite + comfortable, pending the arrival of the babies, the dog, and the fish, and + certainly no vendor of periodic literature will dare approach us while we + keep these books in evidence.” + </p> + <p> + She had Laurence Hutton’s Literary Landmarks and Royal Edinburgh, by Mrs. + Oliphant; I had Lord Cockburn’s Memorials of his Time; and somebody had + given Salemina, at the moment of leaving London, a work on ‘Scotias’s + darling seat,’ in three huge volumes. When all this printed matter was + heaped on the top of Salemina’s hold-all on the platform, the guard had + asked, “Do you belong to these books, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “We may consider ourselves injured in going from London to Edinburgh in a + third-class carriage in eight or ten hours, but listen to this,” said + Salemina, who had opened one of her large volumes at random when the train + started. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Edinburgh and London Stage-coach begins on Monday, 13th October + 1712. All that desire... let them repair to the Coach and Horses at the + head of the Canongate every Saturday, or the Black Swan in Holborn every + other Monday, at both of which places they may be received in a coach + which performs the whole journey in thirteen days without any stoppage (if + God permits) having eighty able horses. Each passenger paying 4 pounds, 10 + shillings for the whole journey, allowing each 20 lbs. weight and all + above to pay 6 pence per lb. The coach sets off at six in the morning’ + (you could never have caught it, Francesca!), ‘and is performed by Henry + Harrison.’ And here is a ‘modern improvement,’ forty-two years later. In + July 1754, the Edinburgh Courant advertises the stage-coach drawn by six + horses, with a postilion on one of the leaders, as a ‘new, genteel, + two-end glass machine, hung on steel springs, exceedingly light and easy, + to go in ten days in summer and twelve in winter. Passengers to pay as + usual. Performed (if God permits) by your dutiful servant, Hosea Eastgate. + CARE IS TAKEN OF SMALL PARCELS ACCORDING TO THEIR VALUE.’” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been a long, wearisome journey,” said I contemplatively; + “but, nevertheless, I wish we were making it in 1712 instead of a century + and three-quarters later.” + </p> + <p> + “What would have been happening, Salemina?” asked Francesca politely, but + with no real desire to know. + </p> + <p> + “The Union had been already established five years,” began Salemina + intelligently. + </p> + <p> + “Which Union?” + </p> + <p> + “Whose Union?” + </p> + <p> + Salemina is used to these interruptions and eruptions of illiteracy on our + part. I think she rather enjoys them, as in the presence of such complete + ignorance as ours her lamp of knowledge burns all the brighter. + </p> + <p> + “Anne was on the throne,” she went on, with serene dignity. + </p> + <p> + “What Anne?” + </p> + <p> + “I know all about Anne!” exclaimed Francesca. “She came from the Midnight + Sun country, or up that way. She was very extravagant, and had something + to do with Jingling Geordie in The Fortunes of Nigel. It is marvellous how + one’s history comes back to one!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite marvellous,” said Salemina dryly; “or at least the state in which + it comes back is marvellous. I am not a stickler for dates, as you know, + but if you could only contrive to fix a few periods in your minds, girls, + just in a general way, you would not be so shamefully befogged. Your Anne + of Denmark, Francesca, was the wife of James VI. of Scotland, who was + James I. of England, and she died a hundred years before the Anne I mean,—the + last of the Stuarts, you know. My Anne came after William and Mary, and + before the Georges.” + </p> + <p> + “Which William and Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “What Georges?” + </p> + <p> + But this was too much even for Salemina’s equanimity, and she retired + behind her book in dignified displeasure, while Francesca and I meekly + looked up the Annes in a genealogical table, and tried to decide whether + ‘b.1665’ meant born or beheaded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter II. Edina, Scotia’s Darling Seat. + </h2> + <p> + The weather that greeted us on our unheralded arrival in Scotland was of + the precise sort offered by Edinburgh to her unfortunate queen, when, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘After a youth by woes o’ercast, + After a thousand sorrows past, + The lovely Mary once again + Set foot upon her native plain.’ +</pre> + <p> + John Knox records of those memorable days: ‘The very face of heaven did + manifestlie speak what comfort was brought to this country with hir—to + wit, sorrow, dolour, darkness and all impiety—for in the memorie of + man never was seen a more dolorous face of the heavens than was seen at + her arryvall... the myst was so thick that skairse micht onie man espy + another; and the sun was not seyn to shyne two days befoir nor two days + after.’ + </p> + <p> + We could not see Edina’s famous palaces and towers because of the haar, + that damp, chilling, drizzling, dripping fog or mist which the east wind + summons from the sea; but we knew that they were there, shrouded in the + heart of that opaque, mysterious greyness, and that before many hours our + eyes would feast upon their beauty. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the weather, but I could think of nothing but poor Queen + Mary! She had drifted into my imagination with the haar, so that I could + fancy her homesick gaze across the water as she murmured, ‘Adieu, ma chere + France! Je ne vous verray jamais plus!’—could fancy her saying as in + Allan Cunningham’s verse:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The sun rises bright in France, + And fair sets he; + But he hath tint the blithe blink he had + In my ain countree.’ +</pre> + <p> + And then I recalled Mary’s first good-night in Edinburgh: that ‘serenade + of 500 rascals with vile fiddles and rebecks’; that singing, ‘in bad + accord,’ of Protestant psalms by the wet crowd beneath the palace windows, + while the fires on Arthur’s Seat shot flickering gleams of welcome through + the dreary fog. What a lullaby for poor Mary, half Frenchwoman and all + Papist! + </p> + <p> + It is but just to remember the ‘indefatigable and undissuadable’ John + Knox’s statement, ‘the melody lyked her weill, and she willed the same to + be continewed some nightis after.’ For my part, however, I distrust John + Knox’s musical feeling, and incline sympathetically to the Sieur de + Brantome’s account, with its ‘vile fiddles’ and ‘discordant psalms,’ + although his judgment was doubtless a good deal depressed by what he + called the si grand brouillard that so dampened the spirits of Mary’s + French retinue. + </p> + <p> + Ah well, I was obliged to remember, in order to be reasonably happy + myself, that Mary had a gay heart, after all; that she was but nineteen; + that, though already a widow, she did not mourn her young husband as one + who could not be comforted; and that she must soon have been furnished + with merrier music than the psalms, for another of the sour comments of + the time is, ‘Our Queen weareth the dule [weeds], but she can dance daily, + dule and all!’ + </p> + <p> + These were my thoughts as we drove through invisible streets in the + Edinburgh haar, turned into what proved next day to be a Crescent, and + drew up to an invisible house with a visible number 22 gleaming over a + door which gaslight transformed into a probability. We alighted, and + though we could scarcely see the driver’s outstretched hand, he was quite + able to discern a half-crown, and demanded three shillings. + </p> + <p> + The noise of our cab had brought Mrs. M’Collop to the door,—good (or + at least pretty good) Mrs. M’Collop, to whose apartments we had been + commended by English friends who had never occupied them. + </p> + <p> + Dreary as it was without, all was comfortable within-doors, and a cheery + (one-and-sixpenny) fire crackled in the grate. Our private drawing-room + was charmingly furnished, and so large that, notwithstanding the presence + of a piano, two sofas, five small tables, cabinets, desks, and chairs,—not + forgetting a dainty five-o’clock tea equipage,—we might have given a + party in the remaining space. + </p> + <p> + “If this is a typical Scotch lodging, I like it; and if it is Scotch + hospitality to lay the cloth and make the fire before it is asked for, + then I call it simply Arabian in character!” and Salemina drew off her + damp gloves, and extended her hands to the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “And isn’t it delightful that the bill doesn’t come in for a whole week?” + asked Francesca. “We have only our English experiences on which to found + our knowledge, and all is delicious mystery. The tea may be a present from + Mrs. M’Collop, and the sugar may not be an extra; the fire may be included + in the rent of the apartment, and the piano may not be taken away + to-morrow to enhance the attractions of the dining-room floor.” (It was + Francesca, you remember, who had ‘warstled’ with the itemised accounts at + Smith’s Private Hotel in London, and she who was always obliged to turn + pounds, shillings, and pence into dollars and cents before she could add + or subtract.) + </p> + <p> + “Come and look at the flowers in my bedroom,” I called, “four great boxes + full! Mr. Beresford must have ordered the carnations, because he always + does; but where did the roses come from, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + I rang the bell, and a neat white-aproned maid appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Who brought these flowers, please?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M’Collop?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment she returned with the message, “There will be a letter in the + box, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me the letter should be in the box now, if it is ever to be,” + I thought, and I presently drew this card from among the fragrant buds:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Lady Baird sends these Scotch roses as a small return for the pleasure + she has received from Miss Hamilton’s pictures. Lady Baird will give + herself the pleasure of calling to-morrow; meantime she hopes that Miss + Hamilton and her party will dine with her some evening this week.’ + </p> + <p> + “How nice!” exclaimed Salemina. + </p> + <p> + “The celebrated Miss Hamilton’s undistinguished party presents its humble + compliments to Lady Baird,” chanted Francesca, “and having no engagements + whatever, and small hope of any, will dine with her on any and every + evening she may name. Miss Hamilton’s party will wear its best clothes, + polish its mental jewels, and endeavour in every possible way not to + injure the gifted Miss Hamilton’s reputation among the Scottish nobility.” + </p> + <p> + I wrote a hasty note of thanks to Lady Baird, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Can I send a message, please?” I asked the maid. + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M’Collop, please?” + </p> + <p> + Interval; then:— + </p> + <p> + “The Boots will tak’ it at seeven o’clock, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; is Fotheringay Crescent near here?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; what is your name, please?” + </p> + <p> + I waited in well-grounded anxiety, for I had no idea that she knew her + name, or that if she had ever heard it, she could say it; but, to my + surprise, she answered almost immediately, “Susanna Crum, mam!” + </p> + <p> + What a joy it is in a vexatious world, where things ‘gang aft agley,’ to + find something absolutely right. + </p> + <p> + If I had devoted years to the subject, having the body of Susanna Crum + before my eyes every minute of the time for inspiration, Susanna Crum is + what I should have named that maid. Not a vowel could be added, not a + consonant omitted. I said so when first I saw her, and weeks of intimate + acquaintance only deepened my reverence for the parental genius that had + so described her to the world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter III. A vision in Princes Street. + </h2> + <p> + When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and was shining in + at Mrs. M’Collop’s back windows. + </p> + <p> + We should have arisen at once to burn sacrifices and offer oblations, but + we had seen the sun frequently in America, and had no idea (poor fools!) + that it was anything to be grateful for, so we accepted it, almost without + comment, as one of the perennial providences of life. + </p> + <p> + When I speak of Edinburgh sunshine I do not mean, of course, any such + burning, whole-souled, ardent warmth of beam as one finds in countries + where they make a specialty of climate. It is, generally speaking, a + half-hearted, uncertain ray, as pale and transitory as a martyr’s smile; + but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt to gleam, is admired + and recorded by its well-disciplined constituency. Not only that, but at + the first timid blink of the sun the true Scotsman remarks smilingly, ‘I + think now we shall be having settled weather!’ It is a pathetic optimism, + beautiful but quite groundless, and leads one to believe in the story that + when Father Noah refused to take Sandy into the ark, he sat down + philosophically outside, saying, with a glance at the clouds, ‘Aweel! the + day’s just aboot the ord’nar’, an’ I wouldna won’er if we saw the sun + afore nicht!’ + </p> + <p> + But what loyal son of Edina cares for these transatlantic gibes, and where + is the dweller within her royal gates who fails to succumb to the sombre + beauty of that old grey town of the North? ‘Grey! why, it is grey or grey + and gold, or grey and gold and blue, or grey and gold and blue and green, + or grey and gold and blue and green and purple, according as the heaven + pleases and you choose your ground! But take it when it is most sombrely + grey, where is another such grey city?’ + </p> + <p> + So says one of her lovers, and so the great army of lovers would say, had + they the same gift of language; for + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be,... + Yea, an imperial city that might hold + Five time a hundred noble towns in fee.... + Thus should her towers be raised; with vicinage + Of clear bold hills, that curve her very streets, + As if to indicate, ‘mid choicest seats + Of Art, abiding Nature’s majesty.’ +</pre> + <p> + We ate a hasty breakfast that first morning, and prepared to go out for a + walk into the great unknown, perhaps the most pleasurable sensation in the + world. Francesca was ready first, and, having mentioned the fact several + times ostentatiously, she went into the drawing-room to wait and read the + Scotsman. When we went thither a few minutes later we found that she had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “She is below, of course,” said Salemina. “She fancies that we shall feel + more ashamed at our tardiness if we find her sitting on the hall bench in + silent martyrdom.” + </p> + <p> + There was no one in the hall, however, save Susanna, who inquired if we + would see the cook before going out. + </p> + <p> + “We have no time now, Susanna,” I remarked. “We are anxious to have a walk + before the weather changes, if possible, but we shall be out for luncheon + and in for dinner, and Mrs. M’Collop may give us anything she pleases. Do + you know where Miss Francesca is?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna s—-” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, of course you couldn’t; but I wonder if Mrs. M’Collop saw + her?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. M’Collop appeared from the basement, and vouchsafed the information + that she had seen ‘the young leddy rinnin’ after the regiment.’ + </p> + <p> + “Running after the regiment!” repeated Salemina automatically. “What a + reversal of the laws of nature? Why, in Berlin, it was always the regiment + that used to run after her!” + </p> + <p> + We learned in what direction the soldiers had gone, and pursuing the same + path found the young lady on the corner of a street near by. She was quite + unabashed. “You don’t know what you have missed!” she said excitedly. “Let + us get into this tram, and possibly we can head them off somewhere. They + may be going into battle, and if so, my heart’s blood is at their service. + It is one of those experiences that come only once in a lifetime. There + were pipes and there were kilts! (I didn’t suppose they ever really wore + them outside of the theatre!) When you have seen the kilts swinging, + Salemina, you will never be the same woman afterwards! You never expected + to see the Olympian gods walking, did you? Perhaps you thought they always + sat on practicable rocks and made stiff gestures, from the elbow, as they + do in the Wagner operas? Well, these gods walked, if you can call the + inspired gait a walk! If there is a single spinster left in Scotland, it + is because none of these ever asked her to marry him. Ah, how grateful I + ought to be that I am free to say ‘yes’, if a kilt ever asks me to be his! + Poor Penelope, yoked to your commonplace trousered Beresford! (I wish the + tram would go faster!) You must capture one of them, by fair means or + foul, Penelope, and Salemina and I will hold him down while you paint him,—there + they are, they are there somewhere, don’t you hear them?” + </p> + <p> + There they were indeed, filing down the grassy slopes of the Gardens, + swinging across one of the stone bridges, and winding up the Castlehill to + the Esplanade like a long glittering snake; the streamers of their + Highland bonnets waving, their arms glistening in the sun, and the + bagpipes playing ‘The March of the Cameron Men.’ The pipers themselves + were mercifully hidden from us on that first occasion, and it was well, + for we could never have borne another feather’s weight of ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + It was in Princes Street that we had alighted,—named thus for the + prince who afterwards became George IV.—and I hope he was, and is, + properly grateful. It ought never to be called a street, this most + magnificent of terraces, and the world has cause to bless that interdict + of the Court of Session in 1774 which prevented the Gradgrinds of the day + from erecting buildings along its south side,—a sordid scheme that + would have been the very superfluity of naughtiness. + </p> + <p> + It was an envious Glasgow body who said grudgingly, as he came out of + Waverley Station, and gazed along its splendid length for the first time, + “Weel, wi’ a’ their haverin’, it’s but half a street onyway!”—which + always reminded me of the Western farmer who came from his native plains + to the beautiful Berkshire hills. “I’ve always heard o’ this scenery,” he + said. “Blamed if I can find any scenery; but if there was, nobody could + see it, there’s so much high ground in the way!” + </p> + <p> + To think that not so much more than a hundred years ago Princes Street was + nought but a straight country road, the ‘Lang Dykes’ and the ‘Lang Gait,’ + as it was called. + </p> + <p> + We looked down over the grassy chasm that separates the New from the Old + Town; looked our first on Arthur’s Seat, that crouching lion of a + mountain; saw the Corstorphine Hill, and Calton heights, and Salisbury + Crags, and finally that stupendous bluff of rock that culminates so + majestically in Edinburgh Castle. There is something else which, like + Susanna Crum’s name, is absolutely and ideally right! Stevenson calls it + one of the most satisfactory crags in nature—a Bass rock upon dry + land, rooted in a garden, shaken by passing trains, carrying a crown of + battlements and turrets, and describing its warlike shadow over the + liveliest and brightest thoroughfare of the new town. It dominates the + whole countryside from water and land. The men who would have the courage + to build such a castle in such a spot are all dead; all dead, and the + world is infinitely more comfortable without them. They are all gone, and + no more like unto them will ever be born, and we can most of us count upon + dying safely in our beds, of diseases bred of modern civilisation. But I + am glad that those old barbarians, those rudimentary creatures working + their way up into the divine likeness, when they were not hanging, + drawing, quartering, torturing, and chopping their neighbours, and using + their heads in conventional patterns on the tops of gate-posts, did devote + their leisure intervals to rearing fortresses like this. Edinburgh Castle + could not be conceived, much less built, nowadays, when all our energy is + consumed in bettering the condition of the ‘submerged tenth’! What did + they care about the ‘masses,’ that ‘regal race that is now no more,’ when + they were hewing those blocks of rugged rock and piling them against the + sky-line on the top of that great stone mountain! It amuses me to think + how much more picturesque they left the world, and how much better we + shall leave it; though if an artist were requested to distribute + individual awards to different generations, you could never persuade him + to give first prizes to the centuries that produced steam laundries, + trolleys, X rays, and sanitary plumbing. + </p> + <p> + What did they reck of Peace Congresses and bloodless arbitrations when + they lighted the beacon-fires, flaming out to the gudeman and his sons + ploughing or sowing in the Lang Dykes the news that their ‘ancient enemies + of England had crossed the Tweed’! + </p> + <p> + I am the most peaceful person in the world, but the Castle was too much + for my imagination. I was mounted and off and away from the first moment I + gazed upon its embattled towers, heard the pipers in the distance, and saw + the Black Watch swinging up the green steps where the huge fortress ‘holds + its state.’ The modern world had vanished, and my steed was galloping, + galloping, galloping back into the place-of-the-things-that-are-past, + traversing centuries at every leap. + </p> + <p> + ‘To arms! Let every banner in Scotland float defiance to the breeze!’ (So + I heard my new-born imaginary spirit say to my real one.) ‘Yes, and let + the Deacon Convener unfurl the sacred Blue Blanket, under which every + liege burgher of the kingdom is bound to answer summons! The bale-fires + are gleaming, giving alarm to Hume, Haddington, Dunbar, Dalkeith, and + Eggerhope. Rise, Stirling, Fife, and the North! All Scotland will be under + arms in two hours. One bale-fire: the English are in motion! Two: they are + advancing! Four in a row: they are of great strength! All men in arms west + of Edinburgh muster there! All eastward, at Haddington! And every + Englishman caught in Scotland is lawfully the prisoner of whoever takes + him!’ (What am I saying? I love Englishmen, but the spell is upon me!) + ‘Come on, Macduff!’ (The only suitable and familiar challenge my warlike + tenant can summon at the moment.) ‘I am the son of a Gael! My dagger is in + my belt, and with the guid broadsword at my side I can with one blow cut a + man in twain! My bow is cut from the wood of the yews of Glenure; the + shaft is from the wood of Lochetive, the feathers from the great golden + eagles of Locktreigside! My arrowhead was made by the smiths of the race + of Macphedran! Come on, Macduff!’ + </p> + <p> + And now a shopkeeper has filled his window with royal Stuart tartans, and + I am instantly a Jacobite. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The Highland clans wi’ sword in hand, + Frae John o’ Groat’s to Airly, + Hae to a man declar’d to stand + Or fa’ wi’ Royal Charlie. + + ‘Come through the heather, around him gather, + Come Ronald, come Donald, come a’thegither, + And crown your rightfu’ lawfu’ king, + For wha’ll be king but Charlie?’ +</pre> + <p> + It is the eve of the battle of Prestonpans. Is it not under the Rock of + Dunsappie on yonder Arthur’s Seat that our Highland army will encamp + to-night? At dusk the prince will hold a council of his chiefs and nobles + (I am a chief and a noble), and at daybreak we shall march through the old + hedgerows and woods of Duddingston, pipes playing and colours flying, + bonnie Charlie at the head, his claymore drawn and the scabbard flung + away! (I mean awa’!)— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Then here’s a health to Charlie’s cause, + And be’t complete an’ early; + His very name my heart’s blood warms + To arms for Royal Charlie! + + ‘Come through the heather, around him gather, + Come Ronald, come Donald, come a’thegither, + And crown your rightfu’, lawfu’ king, + For wha’ll be king but Charlie?’ +</pre> + <p> + I hope that those in authority will never attempt to convene a Peace + Congress in Edinburgh, lest the influence of the Castle be too strong for + the delegates. They could not resist it nor turn their backs upon it, + since, unlike other ancient fortresses, it is but a stone’s-throw from the + front windows of all the hotels. They might mean never so well, but they + would end by buying dirk hat-pins and claymore brooches for their wives, + their daughters would all run after the kilted regiment and marry as many + of the pipers as asked them, and before night they would all be shouting + with the noble FitzEustace— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Where’s the coward who would not dare + To fight for such a land?’ +</pre> + <p> + While I was rhapsodising, Salemina and Francesca were shopping in the + Arcade, buying some of the cairngorms, and Tam O’Shanter purses, and + models of Burns’s cottage, and copies of Marmion in plaided covers, and + thistle belt-buckles, and bluebell penwipers, with which we afterwards + inundated our native land. When my warlike mood had passed, I sat down + upon the steps of the Scott monument and watched the passers-by in a sort + of waking dream. I suppose they were the usual professors and doctors and + ministers who are wont to walk up and down the Edinburgh streets, with a + sprinkling of lairds and leddies of high degree and a few Americans + looking at the shop windows to choose their clan tartans; but for me they + did not exist. In their places stalked the ghosts of kings and queens and + knights and nobles; Columba, Abbot of Iona; Queen Margaret and Malcolm—she + the sweetest saint in all the throng; King David riding towards Drumsheugh + forest on Holy Rood day, with his horns and hounds and huntsmen following + close behind; Anne of Denmark and Jingling Geordie; Mary Stuart in all her + girlish beauty, with the four Maries in her train; and lurking behind, + Bothwell, ‘that ower sune stepfaither,’ and the murdered Rizzio and + Darnley; John Knox, in his black Geneva cloak; Bonnie Prince Charlie and + Flora Macdonald; lovely Annabella Drummond; Robert the Bruce; George + Heriot with a banner bearing on it the words ‘I distribute chearfully’; + James I. carrying The King’s Quair; Oliver Cromwell; and a long line of + heroes, martyrs, humble saints, and princely knaves. + </p> + <p> + Behind them, regardless of precedence, came the Ploughman Poet and the + Ettrick Shepherd, Boswell and Dr. Johnson, Dr. John Brown and Thomas + Carlyle, Lady Nairne and Drummond of Hawthornden, Allan Ramsay and Sir + Walter; and is it not a proof of the Wizard’s magic art, that side by side + with the wraiths of these real people walked, or seemed to walk, the Fair + Maid of Perth, Jeanie Deans, Meg Merrilies, Guy Mannering, Ellen, Marmion, + and a host of others so sweetly familiar and so humanly dear that the very + street-laddies could have named and greeted them as they passed by? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IV. Susanna Crum cudna say. + </h2> + <p> + Life at Mrs. M’Collop’s apartments in 22 Breadalbane Terrace is about as + simple, comfortable, dignified, and delightful as it well can be. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. M’Collop herself is neat, thrifty, precise, tolerably genial, and + ‘verra releegious.’ + </p> + <p> + Her partner, who is also the cook, is a person introduced to us as Miss + Diggity. We afterwards learned that this is spelled Dalgety, but it is not + considered good form, in Scotland, to pronounce the names of persons and + places as they are written. When, therefore, I allude to the cook, which + will be as seldom as possible, I shall speak of her as Miss + Diggity-Dalgety, so that I shall be presenting her correctly both to the + eye and to the ear, and giving her at the same time a hyphenated name, a + thing which is a secret object of aspiration in Great Britain. + </p> + <p> + In selecting our own letters and parcels from the common stock on the hall + table, I perceive that most of our fellow-lodgers are hyphenated ladies, + whose visiting-cards diffuse the intelligence that in their single persons + two ancient families and fortunes are united. On the ground floor are the + Misses Hepburn-Sciennes (pronounced Hebburn-Sheens); on the floor above us + are Miss Colquhoun (Cohoon) and her cousin Miss Cockburn-Sinclair + (Coburn-Sinkler). As soon as the Hepburn-Sciennes depart, Mrs. M’Collop + expects Mrs. Menzies of Kilconquhar, of whom we shall speak as Mrs. + Mingess of Kinyuchar. There is not a man in the house; even the Boots is a + girl, so that 22 Breadalbane Terrace is as truly a castra puellarum as was + ever the Castle of Edinburgh with its maiden princesses in the olden time. + </p> + <p> + We talked with Miss Diggity-Dalgety on the evening of our first day at + Mrs. M’Collop’s, when she came up to know our commands. As Francesca and + Salemina were both in the room, I determined to be as Scotch as possible, + for it is Salemina’s proud boast that she is taken for a native of every + country she visits. + </p> + <p> + “We shall not be entertaining at present, Miss Diggity,” I said, “so you + can give us just the ordinary dishes,—no doubt you are accustomed to + them: scones, baps or bannocks with marmalade, finnan-haddie or kippered + herring for breakfast; tea,—of course we never touch coffee in the + morning” (here Francesca started with surprise); “porridge, and we like + them well boiled, please” (I hope she noted the plural pronoun; Salemina + did, and blanched with envy); “minced collops for luncheon, or a nice + little black-faced chop; Scotch broth, pease brose or cockyleekie soup at + dinner, and haggis now and then, with a cold shape for dessert. That is + about the sort of thing we are accustomed to,—just plain Scotch + living.” + </p> + <p> + I was impressing Miss Diggity-Dalgety,—I could see that clearly; but + Francesca spoiled the effect by inquiring, maliciously, if we could + sometimes have a howtowdy wi’ drappit eggs, or her favourite dish, wee + grumphie wi’ neeps. + </p> + <p> + Here Salemina was obliged to poke the fire in order to conceal her smiles, + and the cook probably suspected that Francesca found howtowdy in the + Scotch glossary; but we amused each other vastly, and that is our + principal object in life. + </p> + <p> + Miss Diggity-Dalgety’s forebears must have been exposed to foreign + influences, for she interlards her culinary conversation with French + terms, and we have discovered that this is quite common. A ‘jigget’ of + mutton is of course a gigot, and we have identified an ‘ashet’ as an + assiette. The ‘petticoat tails’ she requested me to buy at the + confectioner’s were somewhat more puzzling, but when they were finally + purchased by Susanna Crum they appeared to be ordinary little cakes; + perhaps, therefore, petits gastels, since gastel is an old form of gateau, + as was bel for beau. Susanna, on her part, speaks of the wardrobe in my + bedroom as an ‘awmry.’ It certainly contains no weapons, so cannot be an + armoury, and we conjecture that her word must be a corruption of armoire. + </p> + <p> + “That was a remarkable touch about the black-faced chop,” laughed + Salemina, when Miss Diggity-Dalgety had retired; “not that I believe they + ever say it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure they must,” I asserted stoutly, “for I passed a flesher’s on my + way home, and saw a sign with ‘Prime Black-Faced Mutton’ printed on it. I + also saw ‘Fed Veal,’ but I forgot to ask the cook for it.” + </p> + <p> + “We ought really to have kept house in Edinburgh,” observed Francesca, + looking up from the Scotsman. “One can get a ‘self-contained residential + flat’ for twenty pounds a month. We are such an enthusiastic trio that a + self-contained flat would be everything to us; and if it were not fully + furnished, here is a firm that wishes to sell a ‘composite bed’ for six + pounds, and a ‘gent’s stuffed easy’ for five. Added to these inducements + there is somebody who advertises that parties who intend ‘displenishing’ + at the Whit Term would do well to consult him, as he makes a specialty of + second-handed furniture and ‘cyclealities.’ What are ‘cyclealities,’ + Susanna?” (She had just come in with coals.) + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; no, you need not ask Mrs. M’Collop; it is of no consequence.” + </p> + <p> + Susanna Crum is a most estimable young woman, clean, respectful, willing, + capable, and methodical, but as a Bureau of Information she is painfully + inadequate. Barring this single limitation she seems to be a + treasure-house of all good practical qualities; and being thus clad and + panoplied in virtue, why should she be so timid and self-distrustful? + </p> + <p> + She wears an expression which can mean only one of two things: either she + has heard of the national tomahawk and is afraid of violence on our part, + or else her mother was frightened before she was born. This applies in + general to her walk and voice and manner, but is it fear that prompts her + eternal ‘I cudna say,’ or is it perchance Scotch caution and prudence? Is + she afraid of projecting her personality too indecently far? Is it the + indirect effect of heresy trials on her imagination? Does she remember the + thumbscrew of former generations? At all events, she will neither affirm + nor deny, and I am putting her to all sorts of tests, hoping to discover + finally whether she is an accident, an exaggeration, or a type. + </p> + <p> + Salemina thinks that our American accent may confuse her. Of course she + means Francesca’s and mine, for she has none; although we have tempered + ours so much for the sake of the natives, that we can scarcely understand + each other any more. As for Susanna’s own accent, she comes from the heart + of Aberdeenshire, and her intonation is beyond my power to reproduce. + </p> + <p> + We naturally wish to identify all the national dishes; so, “Is this cockle + soup, Susanna?” I ask her, as she passes me the plate at dinner. + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say.” + </p> + <p> + “This vegetable is new to me, Susanna; is it perhaps sea-kale?” + </p> + <p> + “I canna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + Then finally, in despair, as she handed me a boiled potato one day, I + fixed my searching Yankee brown eyes on her blue-Presbyterian, + non-committal ones, and asked, “What is this vegetable, Susanna?” + </p> + <p> + In an instant she withdrew herself, her soul, her ego, so utterly that I + felt myself gazing at an inscrutable stone image, as she replied, “I cudna + say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + This was too much! Her mother may have been frightened, very badly + frightened, but this was more that I could endure without protest. The + plain boiled potato is practically universal. It is not only common to all + temperate climates, but it has permeated all classes of society. I am + confident that the plain boiled potato has been one of the chief + constituents in the building up of that frame in which Susanna Crum + conceals her opinions and emotions. I remarked, therefore, as an, apparent + afterthought, “Why, it is a potato, is it not, Susanna?” + </p> + <p> + What do you think she replied, when thus hunted into a corner, pushed + against a wall, driven to the very confines of her personal and national + liberty? She subjected the potato to a second careful scrutiny, and + answered, “I wudna say it’s no’!” + </p> + <p> + Now there is no inherited physical terror in this. It is the concentrated + essence of intelligent reserve, caution, and obstinacy; it is a conscious + intellectual hedging; it is a dogged and determined attempt to build up + barriers of defence between the questioner and the questionee: it must be, + therefore, the offspring of the catechism and the heresy trial. + </p> + <p> + Once again, after establishing an equally obvious fact, I succeeded in + wringing from her the reluctant admission, “It depends,” but she was so + shattered by the bulk and force of this outgo, so fearful that in some way + she had imperilled her life or reputation, so anxious concerning the + effect that her unwilling testimony might have upon unborn generations, + that she was of no real service the rest of the day. + </p> + <p> + I wish that the Lord Advocate, or some modern counterpart of Braxfield, + the hanging judge, would summon Susanna Crum as a witness in an important + case. He would need his longest plummet to sound the depths of her + consciousness. + </p> + <p> + I have had no legal experience, but I can imagine the scene. + </p> + <p> + “Is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not understood the question, Susanna. Is the prisoner your + father?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, my girl! you must answer the questions put you by the court. + You have been an inmate of the prisoner’s household since your earliest + consciousness. He provided you with food, lodging, and clothing during + your infancy and early youth. You have seen him on annual visits to your + home, and watched him as he performed the usual parental functions for + your younger brothers and sisters. I therefore repeat, is the prisoner + your father, Susanna Crum?” + </p> + <p> + “I wudna say he’s no’, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “This is really beyond credence! What do you conceive to be the idea + involved in the word ‘father,’ Susanna Crum?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + And this, a few hundred years earlier, would have been the natural and + effective moment for the thumbscrews. + </p> + <p> + I do not wish to be understood as defending these uncomfortable + appliances. They would never have been needed to elicit information from + me, for I should have spent my nights inventing matter to confess in the + daytime. I feel sure that I should have poured out such floods of + confessions and retractations that if all Scotland had been one listening + ear it could not have heard my tale. I am only wondering if, in the + extracting of testimony from the common mind, the thumbscrew might not + have been more necessary with some nations than with others. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter V. We emulate the Jackdaw. + </h2> + <p> + Invitations had been pouring in upon us since the delivery of our letters + of introduction, and it was now the evening of our debut in Edinburgh + society. Francesca had volunteered to perform the task of leaving cards, + ordering a private victoria for the purpose, and arraying herself in + purple and fine linen. + </p> + <p> + “Much depends upon the first impression,” she had said. “Miss Hamilton’s + ‘party’ may not be gifted, but it is well-dressed. My hope is that some of + our future hostesses will be looking from the second-story front-windows. + If they are, I can assure them in advance that I shall be a national + advertisement.” + </p> + <p> + It is needless to remark that as it began to rain heavily as she was + leaving the house, she was obliged to send back the open carriage, and + order, to save time, one of the public cabs from the stand in the Terrace. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind having the lamiter, being first in line?” asked Susanna of + Salemina, who had transmitted the command. + </p> + <p> + When Salemina fails to understand anything, the world is kept in complete + ignorance.—Least of all would she stoop to ask a humble maidservant + to translate the vernacular of the country; so she replied affably, + “Certainly, Susanna, that is the kind we always prefer. I suppose it is + covered?” + </p> + <p> + Francesca did not notice, until her coachman alighted to deliver the first + letter and cards, that he had one club foot and one wooden leg; it was + then that the full significance of ‘lamiter’ came to her. He was covered, + however, as Salemina had supposed, and the occurrence gave us a precious + opportunity of chaffing that dungeon of learning. He was tolerably alert + and vigorous, too, although he certainly did not impart elegance to a + vehicle, and he knew every street in the court end of Edinburgh, and every + close and wynd in the Old Town. On this our first meeting with him, he + faltered only when Francesca asked him last of all to drive to ‘Kildonan + House, Helmsdale’; supposing, not unnaturally, that it was as well known + an address as Morningside House, Tipperlinn, whence she had just come. The + lamiter had never heard of Kildonan House nor of Helmsdale, and he had + driven in the streets of Auld Reekie for thirty years. None of the drivers + whom he consulted could supply any information; Susanna Crum cudna say + that she had ever heard of it, nor could Mrs. M’Collop, nor could Miss + Diggity-Dalgety. It was reserved for Lady Baird to explain that Helmsdale + was two hundred and eighty miles north, and that Kildonan House was ten + miles from the Helmsdale railway station, so that the poor lamiter would + have had a weary drive even had he known the way. The friends who had + given us letters to Mr. and Mrs. Jameson-Inglis (Jimmyson-Ingals) must + have expected us either to visit John o’ Groats on the northern border, + and drop in on Kildonan House en route, or to send our note of + introduction by post and await an invitation to pass the summer. At all + events, the anecdote proved very pleasing to our Edinburgh acquaintances. + I hardly know whether, if they should visit America, they would enjoy + tales of their own stupidity as hugely as they did the tales of ours, but + they really were very appreciative in this particular, and it is but + justice to ourselves to say that we gave them every opportunity for + enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + But I must go back to our first grand dinner in Scotland. We were dressed + at quarter-past seven, when, in looking at the invitation again, we + discovered that the dinner-hour was eight o’clock, not seven-thirty. + Susanna did not happen to know the exact approximate distance to + Fotheringay Crescent, but the maiden Boots affirmed that it was only two + minutes’ drive, so we sat down in front of the fire to chat. + </p> + <p> + It was Lady Baird’s birthday feast to which we had been bidden, and we had + done our best to honour the occasion. We had prepared a large bouquet tied + with the Maclean tartan (Lady Baird is a Maclean), and had printed in gold + letters on one of the ribbons, ‘Another for Hector,’ the battle-cry of the + clan. We each wore a sprig of holly, because it is the badge of the + family, while I added a girdle and shoulder-knot of tartan velvet to my + pale green gown, and borrowed Francesca’s emerald necklace,—persuading + her that she was too young to wear such jewels in the old country. + </p> + <p> + Francesca was miserably envious that she had not thought of tartans first. + “You may consider yourself ‘geyan fine,’ all covered over with Scotch + plaid, but I wouldn’t be so ‘kenspeckle’ for worlds!” she said, using + expressions borrowed from Mrs. M’Collop; “and as for disguising your + nationality, do not flatter yourself that you look like anything but an + American. I forgot to tell you the conversation I overheard in the tram + this morning, between a mother and daughter, who were talking about us, I + dare say. ‘Have they any proper frocks for so large a party, Bella?’ asked + the mother. + </p> + <p> + “‘I thought I explained in the beginning, mamma, that they are Americans.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Still, you know they are only travelling,—just passing through, as + it were; they may not be familiar with our customs, and we do want our + party to be a smart one.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Wait until you see them, mamma, and you will probably feel like hiding + your diminished head! It is my belief that if an American lady takes a + half-hour journey in a tram she carries full evening dress and a diamond + necklace, in case anything should happen on the way. I am not in the least + nervous about their appearance. I only hope that they will not be too + exuberant; American girls are so frightfully vivacious and informal, I + always feel as if I were being taken by the throat!’” + </p> + <p> + “A picturesque, though rather vigorous expression; however, it does no + harm to be perfectly dressed,” said Salemina consciously, putting a steel + embroidered slipper on the fender and settling the holly in the silver + folds of her gown; “then when they discover that we are all well bred, and + that one of us is intelligent, it will be the more credit to the country + that gave us birth.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is impossible to tell what country did give YOU birth,” + retorted Francesca, “but that will only be to your advantage—away + from home!” + </p> + <p> + Francesca is inflexibly, almost aggressively American, but Salemina is a + citizen of the world. If the United States should be involved in a war, I + am confident that Salemina would be in front with the other Gatling guns, + for in that case a principle would be at stake; but in all lesser matters + she is extremely unprejudiced. She prefers German music, Italian climate, + French dressmakers, English tailors, Japanese manners, and American—American + something—I have forgotten just what; it is either the ice-cream + soda or the form of government,—I can’t remember which. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why they named it ‘Fotheringay’ Crescent,” mused Francesca. + “Some association with Mary Stuart, of course. Poor, poor, pretty lady! A + free queen only six years, and think of the number of beds she slept in, + and the number of trees she planted; we have already seen, I am afraid to + say how many. When did she govern, when did she scheme, above all when did + she flirt, with all this racing and chasing over the country? Mrs. + M’Collop calls Anne of Denmark a ‘sad scattercash’ and Mary an ‘awfu’ + gadabout,’ and I am inclined to agree with her. By the way, when she was + making my bed this morning, she told me that her mother claimed descent + from the Stewarts of Appin, whoever they may be. She apologised for Queen + Mary’s defects as if she were a distant family connection. If so, then the + famous Stuart charm has been lost somewhere, for Mrs M’Collop certainly + possesses no alluring curves of temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to select some distinguished ancestors this very minute, + before I go to my first Edinburgh dinner,” said I decidedly. “It seems + hard that ancestors should have everything to do with settling our + nationality and our position in life, and we not have a word to say. How + nice it would be to select one’s own after one had arrived at years of + discretion, or to adopt different ones according to the country one + chanced to be visiting! I am going to do it; it is unusual, but there must + be a pioneer in every good movement. Let me think: do help me, Salemina! I + am a Hamilton to begin with; I might be descended from the logical Sir + William himself, and thus become the idol of the university set!” + </p> + <p> + “He died only about thirty years ago, and you would have to be his + daughter: that would never do,” said Salemina. “Why don’t you take Thomas + Hamilton, Earl of Melrose and Haddington? He was Secretary of State, + King’s Advocate, Lord President of the Court of Session, and all sorts of + fine things. He was the one King James used to call ‘Tam o’ the Cowgate’!” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly delightful! I don’t care so much about his other titles, but + ‘Tam o’ the Cowgate’ is irresistible. I will take him. He was my—what + was he?” + </p> + <p> + “He was at least your great-great-great-great-grandfather; that is a safe + distance. Then there’s that famous Jenny Geddes, who flung her fauld-stule + at the Dean in St. Giles’,—she was a Hamilton too, if you fancy + her!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll take her with pleasure,” I responded thankfully. “Of course I + don’t know why she flung the stool,—it may have been very + reprehensible; but there is always good stuff in stool-flingers; it’s the + sort of spirit one likes to inherit in diluted form. Now, whom will you + take?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t even a peg on which to hang a Scottish ancestor,” said Salemina + disconsolately. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense! think harder. Anybody will do as a starting-point; only you + must be honourable and really show relationship, as I did with Jenny and + Tam.” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt Mary-Emma married a Lindsay,” ventured Salemina hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” I answered delightedly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The Gordons gay in English blude + They wat their hose and shoon; + The Lindsays flew like fire aboot + Till a’ the fray was dune.’ +</pre> + <p> + “You can play that you are one of the famous ‘licht Lindsays,’ and you can + look up the particular ancestor in your big book. Now, Francesca, it’s + your turn!” + </p> + <p> + “I am American to the backbone,” she declared, with insufferable dignity. + “I do not desire any foreign ancestors.” + </p> + <p> + “Francesca!” I expostulated. “Do you mean to tell me that you can dine + with a lineal descendant of Sir Fitzroy Donald Maclean, Baronet, of Duart + and Morven, and not make any effort to trace your genealogy back further + than your parents?” + </p> + <p> + “If you goad me to desperation,” she answered, “I will wear an American + flag in my hair, declare that my father is a Red Indian, or a pork-packer, + and talk about the superiority of our checking system and hotels all the + evening. I don’t want to go, any way. It is sure to be stiff and + ceremonious, and the man who takes me in will ask me the population of + Chicago and the amount of wheat we exported last year,—he always + does.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t see why he should,” said I. “I am sure you don’t look as if you + knew.” + </p> + <p> + “My looks have thus far proved no protection,” she replied sadly. + “Salemina is so flexible, and you are so dramatic, that you enter into all + these experiences with zest. You already more than half believe in that + Tam o’ the Cowgate story. But there’ll be nothing for me in Edinburgh + society; it will be all clergymen—” + </p> + <p> + “Ministers” interjected Salemina,—“all ministers and professors. My + Redfern gowns will be unappreciated, and my Worth evening frocks worse + than wasted!” + </p> + <p> + “There are a few thousand medical students,” I said encouragingly, “and + all the young advocates, and a sprinkling of military men—they know + Worth frocks.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued Salemina bitingly, “there will always be, even in an + intellectual city like Edinburgh, a few men who continue to escape all the + developing influences about them, and remain commonplace, conventional + manikins, devoted to dancing and flirting. Never fear, they will find + you!” + </p> + <p> + This sounds harsh, but nobody minds Salemina, least of all Francesca, who + well knows that she is the apple of that spinster’s eye. But at this + moment Susanna opens the door (timorously, as if there might be a panther + behind it) and announces the cab (in the same tone in which she would + announce the beast); we pick up our draperies, and are whirled off by the + lamiter to dine with the Scottish nobility. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VI. Edinburgh society, past and present. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Wha last beside his chair shall fa’ + He is the king amang us three!’ +</pre> + <p> + It was the Princess Dashkoff who said, in the latter part of the + eighteenth century, that of all the societies of men of talent she had met + with in her travels, Edinburgh’s was the first in point of abilities. + </p> + <p> + One might make the same remark to-day, perhaps, and not depart widely from + the truth. One does not find, however, as many noted names as are + associated with the annals of the Cape and Poker Clubs or the Crochallan + Fencibles, those famous groups of famous men who met for relaxation (and + intoxication, I should think) at the old Isle of Man Arms or in Dawney’s + Tavern in the Anchor Close. These groups included such shining lights as + Robert Fergusson the poet, and Adam Ferguson the historian and + philosopher, Gavin Wilson, Sir Henry Raeburn, David Hume, Erskine, Lords + Newton, Gillies, Monboddo, Hailes, Kames, Henry Mackenzie, and the + Ploughman Poet himself, who has kept alive the memory of the Crochallans + in many a jovial verse like that in which he describes Smellie, the + eccentric philosopher and printer:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came, + The old cocked hat, the grey surtout the same, + His bristling beard just rising in its might; + ‘Twas four long nights and days to shaving night’; +</pre> + <p> + or in the characteristic picture of William Dunbar, a wit of the time, and + the merriest of the Fencibles:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘As I cam by Crochallan + I cannily keekit ben; + Rattlin’, roarin’ Willie + Was sitting at yon boord en’; + Sitting at yon boord en’, + And amang guid companie! + Rattlin’, roarin’ Willie, + Ye’re welcome hame to me!’ +</pre> + <p> + or in the verses on Creech, Burns’s publisher, who left Edinburgh for a + time in 1789. The ‘Willies,’ by the way, seem to be especially inspiring + to the Scottish balladists. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Oh, Willie was a witty wight, + And had o’ things an unco slight! + Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight + And trig and braw; + But now they’ll busk her like a fright— + Willie’s awa’!’ +</pre> + <p> + I think perhaps the gatherings of the present time are neither quite as + gay nor quite as brilliant as those of Burns’s day, when + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Willie brewed a peck o’ maut, + An’ Rob an’ Allan cam to pree’; +</pre> + <p> + but the ideal standard of those meetings seems to be voiced in the lines:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Wha last beside his chair shall fa’, + He is the king amang us three!’ +</pre> + <p> + As they sit in their chairs nowadays to the very end of the feast, there + is doubtless joined with modern sobriety a soupcon of modern dulness and + discretion. + </p> + <p> + To an American the great charm of Edinburgh is its leisurely atmosphere: + ‘not the leisure of a village arising from the deficiency of ideas and + motives, but the leisure of a city reposing grandly on tradition and + history; which has done its work, and does not require to weave its own + clothing, to dig its own coals, or smelt its own iron.’ + </p> + <p> + We were reminded of this more than once, and it never failed to depress us + properly. If one had ever lived in Pittsburg, Fall River, or Kansas City, + I should think it would be almost impossible to maintain self-respect in a + place like Edinburgh, where the citizens ‘are released from the + vulgarising dominion of the hour.’ Whenever one of Auld Reekie’s great men + took this tone with me, I always felt as though I were the germ in a + half-hatched egg, and he were an aged and lordly cock gazing at me + pityingly through my shell. He, lucky creature, had lived through all the + struggles which I was to undergo; he, indeed, was released from ‘the + vulgarising dominion of the hour’; but I, poor thing, must grow and grow, + and keep pecking at my shell, in order to achieve existence. + </p> + <p> + Sydney Smith says in one of his letters, ‘Never shall I forget the happy + days passed there [in Edinburgh], amidst odious smells, barbarous sounds, + bad suppers, excellent hearts, and the most enlightened and cultivated + understandings.’ His only criticism of the conversation of that day + (1797-1802) concerned itself with the prevalence of that form of Scotch + humour which was called wut; and with the disputations and dialectics. We + were more fortunate than Sydney Smith, because Edinburgh has outgrown its + odious smells, barbarous sounds, and bad suppers and, wonderful to relate, + has kept its excellent hearts and its enlightened and cultivated + understandings. As for mingled wut and dialectics, where can one find a + better foundation for dinner-table conversation? + </p> + <p> + The hospitable board itself presents no striking differences from our own, + save the customs of serving sweets in soup-plates with dessert-spoons, of + a smaller number of forks on parade, of the invariable fish-knife at each + plate, of the prevalent ‘savoury’ and ‘cold shape,’ and the unusual grace + and skill with which the hostess carves. Even at very large dinners one + occasionally sees a lady of high degree severing the joints of chickens + and birds most daintily, while her lord looks on in happy idleness, + thinking, perhaps, how greatly times have changed for the better since the + ages of strife and bloodshed, when Scottish nobles + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Carved at the meal with gloves of steel, + And drank their wine through helmets barred.’ +</pre> + <p> + The Scotch butler is not in the least like an English one. No man could be + as respectable as he looks, not even an elder of the kirk, whom he + resembles closely. He hands your plate as if it were a contribution-box, + and in his moments of ease, when he stands behind the ‘maister,’ I am + always expecting him to pronounce a benediction. The English butler, when + he wishes to avoid the appearance of listening to the conversation, gazes + with level eye into vacancy; the Scotch butler looks distinctly + heavenward, as if he were brooding on the principle of co-ordinate + jurisdiction with mutual subordination. It would be impossible for me to + deny the key of the wine-cellar to a being so steeped in sanctity, but it + has been done, I am told, in certain rare and isolated cases. + </p> + <p> + As for toilets, the men dress like all other men (alas, and alas, that we + should say it, for we were continually hoping for a kilt!) though there + seems to be no survival of the finical Lord Napier’s spirit. Perhaps you + remember that Lord and Lady Napier arrived at Castlemilk in Lanarkshire + with the intention of staying a week, but announced next morning that a + circumstance had occurred which rendered it indispensable to return + without delay to their seat in Selkirkshire. This was the only explanation + given, but it was afterwards discovered that Lord Napier’s valet had + committed the grievous mistake of packing up a set of neckcloths which did + not correspond IN POINT OF DATE with the shirts they accompanied! + </p> + <p> + The ladies of the ‘smart set’ in Edinburgh wear French fripperies and + chiffons, as do their sisters every where, but the other women of society + dress a trifle more staidly than their cousins in London, Paris, or New + York. The sobriety of taste and severity of style that characterise + Scotswomen may be due, like Susanna Crum’s dubieties, to the haar, to the + shorter catechism, or perhaps in some degree to the presence of three + branches of the Presbyterian Church among them; the society that bears in + its bosom three separate and antagonistic kinds of Presbyterianism at the + same time must have its chilly moments. + </p> + <p> + In Lord Cockburn’s time the ‘dames of high and aristocratic breed’ must + have been sufficiently awake to feminine frivolities to be both gorgeously + and extravagantly arrayed. I do not know in all literature a more + delicious and lifelike word-portrait than Lord Cockburn gives of Mrs. + Rochead, the Lady of Inverleith, in the Memorials. It is quite worthy to + hang beside a Raeburn canvas; one can scarce say more. + </p> + <p> + ‘Except Mrs. Siddons in some of her displays of magnificent royalty, + nobody could sit down like the Lady of Inverleith. She would sail like a + ship from Tarshish, gorgeous in velvet or rustling silk, done up in all + the accompaniments of fans, ear-rings, and finger-rings, falling sleeves, + scent-bottle, embroidered bag, hoop, and train; managing all this + seemingly heavy rigging with as much ease as a full-blown swan does its + plumage. She would take possession of the centre of a large sofa, and at + the same moment, without the slightest visible exertion, cover the whole + of it with her bravery, the graceful folds seeming to lay themselves over + it, like summer waves. The descent from her carriage, too, where she sat + like a nautilus in its shell, was a display which no one in these days + could accomplish or even fancy. The mulberry-coloured coach, apparently + not too large for what it contained, though she alone was in it; the + handsome, jolly coachman and his splendid hammer-cloth loaded with lace; + the two respectful liveried footmen, one on each side of the richly + carpeted step,—these were lost sight of amidst the slow majesty with + which the Lady of Inverleith came down and touched the earth.’ + </p> + <p> + My right-hand neighbour at Lady Baird’s dinner was surprised at my quoting + Lord Cockburn. One’s attendant squires here always seem surprised when one + knows anything; but they are always delighted, too, so that the amazement + is less trying. True, I had read the Memorials only the week before, and + had never heard of them previous to that time; but that detail, according + to my theories, makes no real difference. The woman who knows how and when + to ‘read up,’ who reads because she wants to be in sympathy with a new + environment; the woman who has wit and perspective enough to be stimulated + by novel conditions and kindled by fresh influences, who is susceptible to + the vibrations of other people’s history, is safe to be fairly intelligent + and extremely agreeable, if only she is sufficiently modest. I think my + neighbour found me thoroughly delightful after he discovered my point of + view. He was an earl; and it always takes an earl a certain length of time + to understand me. I scarcely know why, for I certainly should not think it + courteous to interpose any real barriers between the nobility and that + portion of the ‘masses’ represented in my humble person. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me at first that the earl did not apply himself to the study + of my national peculiarities with much assiduity, but wasted considerable + time in gazing at Francesca, who was opposite. She is certainly very + handsome, and I never saw her lovelier than at that dinner; her eyes were + like stars, and her cheeks and lips a splendid crimson, for she was + quarrelling with her attendant cavalier about the relative merits of + Scotland and America, and they apparently ceased to speak to each other + after the salad. + </p> + <p> + When the earl had sufficiently piqued me by his devotion to his dinner and + his glances at Francesca, I began a systematic attempt to achieve his + (transient) subjugation. Of course I am ardently attached to Willie + Beresford and prefer him to any earl in Britain, but one’s self-respect + demands something in the way of food. I could see Salemina at the far end + of the table radiant with success, the W.S. at her side bending ever and + anon to catch the (artificial) pearls of thought that dropped from her + lips. “Miss Hamilton appears simple” (I thought I heard her say); “but in + reality she is as deep as the Currie Brig!” Now where did she get that + allusion? And again, when the W.S. asked her whither she was going when + she left Edinburgh, “I hardly know,” she replied pensively. “I am waiting + for the shade of Montrose to direct me, as the Viscount Dundee said to + your Duke of Gordon.” The entranced Scotsman little knew that she had + perfected this style of conversation by long experience with the Q.C.‘s of + England. Talk about my being as deep as the Currie Brig (whatever it may + be); Salemina is deeper than the Atlantic Ocean! I shall take pains to + inform her Writer to the Signet, after dinner, that she eats sugar on her + porridge every morning; that will show him her nationality conclusively. + </p> + <p> + The earl took the greatest interest in my new ancestors, and approved + thoroughly of my choice. He thinks I must have been named for Lady + Penelope Belhaven, who lived in Leven Lodge, one of the country villas of + the Earls of Leven, from whom he himself is descended. “Does that make us + relatives?” I asked. “Relatives, most assuredly,” he replied, “but not too + near to destroy the charm of friendship.” + </p> + <p> + He thought it a great deal nicer to select one’s own forebears than to + allow them all the responsibility, and said it would save a world of + trouble if the method could be universally adopted. He added that he + should be glad to part with a good many of his, but doubted whether I + would accept them, as they were ‘rather a scratch lot.’ (I use his own + language, which I thought delightfully easy for a belted earl.) He was + charmed with the story of Francesca and the lamiter, and offered to drive + me to Kildonan House, Helmsdale, on the first fine day. I told him he was + quite safe in making the proposition, for we had already had the fine day, + and we understood that the climate had exhausted itself and retired for + the season. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman on my left, a distinguished Dean of the Thistle, gave me a + few moments’ discomfort by telling me that the old custom of ‘rounds’ of + toasts still prevailed at Lady Baird’s on formal occasions, and that + before the ladies retired every one would be called upon for appropriate + ‘sentiments.’ + </p> + <p> + “What sort of sentiments?” I inquired, quite overcome with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, epigrammatic sentences expressive of moral feelings or virtues,” + replied my neighbour easily. “They are not quite as formal and hackneyed + now as they were in the olden time, when some of the favourite toasts were + ‘May the pleasure of the evening bear the reflections of the morning!’ + ‘May the friends of our youth be the companions of our old age!’ ‘May the + honest heart never feel distress!’ ‘May the hand of charity wipe the eye + of sorrow!’” + </p> + <p> + “I can never do it in the world!” I ejaculated. “Oh, one ought never, + never to leave one’s own country! A light-minded and cynical English + gentleman told me that I should frequently be called upon to read hymns + and recite verses of Scripture at family dinners in Edinburgh, and I hope + I am always prepared to do that; but nobody warned me that I should have + to evolve epigrammatic sentiments on the spur of the moment.” + </p> + <p> + My confusion was so evident that the good dean relented and confessed that + he was imposing upon my ignorance. He made me laugh heartily at the story + of a poor dominie at Arndilly. He was called upon in his turn, at a large + party, and having nothing to aid him in an exercise to which he was new + save the example of his predecessors, lifted his glass after much writhing + and groaning and gave, “The reflection of the moon in the cawm bosom of + the lake!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Lady Baird glanced at me, and we all rose to go into the + drawing-room; but on the way from my chair to the door, whither the earl + escorted me, he said gallantly, “I suppose the men in your country do not + take champagne at dinner? I cannot fancy their craving it when dining + beside an American woman!” + </p> + <p> + That was charming, though he did pay my country a compliment at my + expense. One likes, of course, to have the type recognised as fine; at the + same time his remark would have been more flattering if it had been less + sweeping. + </p> + <p> + When I remember that he offered me his ancestors, asked me to drive two + hundred and eighty miles, and likened me to champagne, I feel that, with + my heart already occupied and my hand promised, I could hardly have + accomplished more in the course of a single dinner-hour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VII. Francesca meets th’ unconquer’d Scot. + </h2> + <p> + Francesca’s experiences were not so fortunate; indeed, I have never seen + her more out of sorts than she was during our long chat over the fire, + after our return to Breadalbane Terrace. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get on with your delightful minister?” inquired Salemina of + the young lady, as she flung her unoffending wrap over the back of a + chair. “He was quite the handsomest man in the room; who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is the Reverend Ronald Macdonald, and the most disagreeable, + condescending, ill-tempered prig I ever met!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Francesca!” I exclaimed. “Lady Baird speaks of him as her favourite + nephew, and says he is full of charm.” + </p> + <p> + “He is just as full of charm as he was when I met him,” returned the girl + nonchalantly; “that is, he parted with none of it this evening. He was + incorrigibly stiff and rude, and oh! so Scotch! I believe if one punctured + him with a hat-pin, oatmeal would fly into the air!” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless you acquainted him, early in the evening, with the immeasurable + advantages of our sleeping-car system, the superiority of our fast-running + elevators, and the height of our buildings?” observed Salemina. + </p> + <p> + “I mentioned them,” Francesca answered evasively. + </p> + <p> + “You naturally inveighed against the Scotch climate?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I alluded to it; but only when he said that our hot summers must be + insufferable.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you repeated the remark you made at luncheon, that the ladies + you had seen in Princes Street were excessively plain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did!” she replied hotly; “but that was because he said that + American girls generally looked bloodless and frail. He asked if it were + really true that they ate chalk and slate pencils. Wasn’t that + unendurable? I answered that those were the chief solid article of food, + but that after their complexions were established, so to speak, their + parents often allowed them pickles and native claret to vary the diet.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say to that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he said, ‘Quite so, quite so’; that was his invariable response to + all my witticisms. Then when I told him casually that the shops looked + very small and dark and stuffy here, and that there were not as many + tartans and plaids in the windows as we had expected, he remarked that as + to the latter point, the American season had not opened yet! Presently he + asserted that no royal city in Europe could boast ten centuries of such + glorious and stirring history as Edinburgh. I said it did not appear to be + stirring much at present, and that everything in Scotland seemed a little + slow to an American; that he could have no idea of push or enterprise + until he visited a city like Chicago. He retorted that, happily, Edinburgh + was peculiarly free from the taint of the ledger and the counting-house; + that it was Weimar without a Goethe, Boston without its twang!” + </p> + <p> + “Incredible!” cried Salemina, deeply wounded in her local pride. “He never + could have said ‘twang’ unless you had tried him beyond measure!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I did; he is easily tried,” returned Francesca. “I asked him, + sarcastically, if he had ever been in Boston. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it is not + necessary to GO there! And while we are discussing these matters,’ he went + on, ‘how is your American dyspepsia these days,—have you decided + what is the cause of it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, we have,’ said I, as quick as a flash; ‘we have always taken in + more foreigners than we could assimilate!’ I wanted to tell him that one + Scotsman of his type would upset the national digestion anywhere, but I + restrained myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you did restrain yourself—once,” exclaimed Salemina. + “What a tactful person the Reverend Ronald must be, if you have reported + him faithfully! Why didn’t you give him up, and turn to your other + neighbour?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, as soon as I could with courtesy; but the man on my left was the + type that always haunts me at dinners; if the hostess hasn’t one on her + visiting-list she imports one for the occasion. He asked me at once of + what material the Brooklyn Bridge is made. I told him I really didn’t + know. Why should I? I seldom go over it. Then he asked me whether it was a + suspension bridge or a cantilever. Of course I didn’t know; I am not an + engineer.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so tactlessly, needlessly candid,” I expostulated. “Why didn’t + you say boldly that the Brooklyn Bridge is a wooden cantilever, with + gutta-percha braces? He didn’t know, or he wouldn’t have asked you. He + couldn’t find out until he reached home, and you would never have seen him + again; and if you had, and he had taunted you, you could have laughed + vivaciously and said you were chaffing. That is my method, and it is the + only way to preserve life in a foreign country. Even my earl, who did not + thirst for information (fortunately), asked me the population of the + Yellowstone Park, and I simply told him three hundred thousand, at a + venture.” + </p> + <p> + “That would never have satisfied my neighbour,” said Francesca. “Finding + me in such a lamentable state of ignorance, he explained the principle of + his own stupid Forth Bridge to me. When I said I understood perfectly, + just to get into shallower water, where we wouldn’t need any bridge, the + Reverend Ronald joined in the conversation, and asked me to repeat the + explanation to him. Naturally I couldn’t, and he knew that I couldn’t when + he asked me, so the bridge man (I don’t know his name, and don’t care to + know it) drew a diagram of the national idol on his dinner-card and gave a + dull and elaborate lecture upon it. Here is the card, and now that three + hours have intervened I cannot tell which way to turn the drawing so as to + make the bridge right side up; if there is anything puzzling in the world, + it is these architectural plans and diagrams. I am going to pin it to the + wall and ask the Reverend Ronald which way it goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that he will call upon us?” we cried in concert. + </p> + <p> + “He asked if he might come and continue our ‘stimulating’ conversation, + and as Lady Baird was standing by I could hardly say no. I am sure of one + thing: that before I finish with him I will widen his horizon so that he + will be able to see something beside Scotland and his little insignificant + Fifeshire parish! I told him our country parishes in America were ten + times as large as his. He said he had heard that they covered a good deal + of territory, and that the ministers’ salaries were sometimes paid in pork + and potatoes. That shows you the style of his retorts!” + </p> + <p> + “I really cannot decide which of you was the more disagreeable,” said + Salemina; “if he calls, I shall not remain in the room.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t gratify him by staying out,” retorted Francesca. “He is + extremely good for the circulation; I think I was never so warm in my life + as when I talked with him; as physical exercise he is equal to bicycling. + The bridge man is coming to call, too. I made him a diagram of Breadalbane + Terrace, and a plan of the hall and staircase, on my dinner-card. He was + distinctly ungrateful; in fact, he remarked that he had been born in this + very house, but would not trust himself to find his way upstairs with my + plan as a guide. He also said the American vocabulary was vastly amusing, + so picturesque, unstudied, and fresh.” + </p> + <p> + “That was nice, surely,” I interpolated. + </p> + <p> + “You know perfectly well that it was an insult.” + </p> + <p> + “Francesca is very like that young man,” laughed Salemina, “who, whenever + he engaged in controversy, seemed to take off his flesh and sit in his + nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not supersensitive,” replied Francesca, “but when one’s vocabulary is + called picturesque by a Britisher, one always knows he is thinking of + cowboys and broncos. However, I shifted the weight into the other scale by + answering ‘Thank you. And your phraseology is just as unusual to us.’ + ‘Indeed?’ he said with some surprise. ‘I supposed our method of expression + very sedate and uneventful.’ ‘Not at all,’ I returned, ‘when you say, as + you did a moment ago, that you never eat potato to your fish.’ ‘But I do + not,’ he urged obtusely. ‘Very likely,’ I argued, ‘but the fact is not of + so much importance as the preposition. Now I eat potato WITH my fish.’ + ‘You make a mistake,’ he said, and we both laughed in spite of ourselves, + while he murmured, ‘eating potato WITH fish—how extraordinary.’ + Well, the bridge man may not add perceptibly to the gaiety of the nations, + but he is better than the Reverend Ronald. I forgot to say that when I + chanced to be speaking of doughnuts, that ‘unconquer’d Scot’ asked me if a + doughnut resembled a peanut? Can you conceive such ignorance?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you were not only aggressively American, but painfully + provincial,” said Salemina, with some warmth. “Why in the world should you + drag doughnuts into a dinner-table conversation in Edinburgh? Why not + select topics of universal interest?” + </p> + <p> + “Like the Currie Brig or the shade of Montrose,” I murmured slyly. + </p> + <p> + “To one who has ever eaten a doughnut, the subject is of transcendent + interest; and as for one who has not—well, he should be made to feel + his limitations,” replied Francesca, with a yawn. “Come, let us forget our + troubles in sleep; it is after midnight.” + </p> + <p> + About half an hour later she came to my bedside, her dark hair hanging + over her white gown, her eyes still bright. + </p> + <p> + “Penelope,” she said softly, “I did not dare tell Salemina, and I should + not confess it to you save that I am afraid Lady Baird will complain of + me; but I was dreadfully rude to the Reverend Ronald! I couldn’t help it; + he roused my worst passions. It all began with his saying he thought + international marriages presented even more difficulties to the + imagination than the other kind. I hadn’t said anything about marriages + nor thought anything about marriages of any sort, but I told him INSTANTLY + I considered that every international marriage involved two national + suicides. He said that he shouldn’t have put it quite so forcibly, but + that he hadn’t given much thought to the subject. I said that I had, and I + thought we had gone on long enough filling the coffers of the British + nobility with American gold.” + </p> + <p> + “FRANCES!” I interrupted. “Don’t tell me that you made that vulgar, cheap + newspaper assertion!” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” she replied stoutly, “and at the moment I only wished I could + make it stronger. If there had been anything cheaper or more vulgar, I + should have said it, but of course there isn’t. Then he remarked that the + British nobility merited and needed all the support it could get in these + hard times, and asked if we had not cherished some intention in the + States, lately, of bestowing it in greenbacks instead of gold! I threw all + manners to the winds after that and told him that there were no husbands + in the world like American men, and that foreigners never seemed to have + any proper consideration for women. Now, were my remarks any worse than + his, after all, and what shall I do about it anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “You should go to bed first,” I murmured sleepily; “and if you ever have + an opportunity to make amends, which I doubt, you should devote yourself + to showing the Reverend Ronald the breadth of your own horizon instead of + trying so hard to broaden his. As you are extremely pretty, you may + possibly succeed; man is human, and I dare say in a month you will be + advising him to love somebody more worthy than yourself. (He could easily + do it!) Now don’t kiss me again, for I am displeased with you; I hate + international bickering!” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” agreed Francesca virtuously, as she plaited her hair, “and + there is no spectacle so abhorrent to every sense as a narrow-minded man + who cannot see anything outside of his own country. But he is awfully + good-looking,—I will say that for him: and if you don’t explain me + to Lady Baird, I will write to Mr. Beresford about the earl. There was no + bickering there; it was looking at you two that made us think of + international marriages.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have suggested to you that speech about filling the coffers of + the British nobility,” I replied sarcastically, “inasmuch as the earl has + twenty thousand pounds a year, probably, and I could barely buy two gold + hairpins to pin on the coronet. There, do go away and leave me in peace!” + </p> + <p> + “Good night again, then,” she said, as she rose reluctantly from the foot + of the bed. “I doubt if I can sleep for thinking what a pity it is that + such an egotistic, bumptious, pugnacious, prejudiced, insular, bigoted + person should be so handsome! And who wants to marry him any way, that he + should be so distressed about international alliances? One would think + that all female America was sighing to lead him to the altar!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VIII. ‘What made th’ Assembly shine?’ + </h2> + <p> + Two or three days ago we noted an unusual though subdued air of excitement + at 22 Breadalbane Terrace, where for a week we had been the sole lodgers. + Mrs. Menzies, whom we call Mingess, has returned to Kilconquhar, which she + calls Kinyuchar; Miss Cockburn-Sinclair has purchased her wedding outfit + and gone back to Inverness, where she will be greeted as Coburn-Sinkler; + the Hepburn-Sciennes will be leaving to-morrow, just as we have learned to + pronounce their names; and the sound of the scrubbing-brush is heard in + the land. In corners where all was clean and spotless before, Mrs. + M’Collop is digging with the broom, and the maiden Boots is following her + with a damp cloth. The stair carpets are hanging on lines in the back + garden, and Susanna, with her cap rakishly on one side, is always to be + seen polishing the stair-rods. Whenever we traverse the halls we are + obliged to leap over pails of suds, and Miss Diggity-Dalgety has given us + two dinners which bore a curious resemblance to washing-day repasts in + suburban America. + </p> + <p> + “Is it spring house-cleaning?” I ask Mistress M’Collop. + </p> + <p> + “Na, na,” she replies hurriedly; “it’s the meenisters.” + </p> + <p> + On the 19th of May we are a maiden castle no longer. Black coats and hats + ring at the bell, and pass in and out of the different apartments. The + hall table is sprinkled with letters, visiting-cards, and programmes which + seem to have had the alphabet shaken out upon them, for they bear the + names of professors, doctors, reverends, and very reverends, and fairly + bristle with A.M.‘s, M.A.‘s, A.B.‘s, D.D.‘s, and LL.D.‘s. The voice of + family prayer is lifted up from the dining-room floor, and paraphrases and + hymns float down the stairs from above. Their Graces the Lord High + Commissioner and the Marchioness of Heatherdale will arrive to-day at + Holyrood Palace, there to reside during the sittings of the General + Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and to-morrow the Royal Standard will + be hoisted at Edinburgh Castle from reveille to retreat. His Grace will + hold a levee at eleven. Directly His Grace leaves the palace after the + levee, the guard of honour will proceed by the Canongate to receive him on + his arrival at St. Giles’ Church, and will then proceed to Assembly Hall + to receive him on his arrival there. The Sixth Inniskilling Dragoons and + the First Battalion Royal Scots will be in attendance, and there will be + Unicorns, Carricks, pursuivants, heralds, mace-bearers, ushers, and pages, + together with the Purse-bearer, and the Lyon King-of-Arms, and the + national anthem, and the royal salute; for the palace has awakened and is + ‘mimicking its past.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Should the weather be wet, the troops will be cloaked at the discretion + of the commanding officer.’ They print this instruction as a matter of + form, and of course every man has his macintosh ready. The only hope lies + in the fact that this is a national function, and ‘Queen’s weather’ is a + possibility. The one personage for whom the Scottish climate will + occasionally relax is Her Majesty Queen Victoria, who for sixty years has + exerted a benign influence on British skies and at least secured sunshine + on great parade days. Such women are all too few! + </p> + <p> + In this wise enters His Grace the Lord High Commissioner to open the + General Assembly of the Church of Scotland; and on the same day there + arrives by the railway (but travelling first class) the Moderator of the + Church of Scotland Free, to convene its separate supreme Courts in + Edinburgh. He will have no Union Jacks, Royal Standards, Dragoons, bands, + or pipers; he will bear his own purse and stay at an hotel; but when the + final procession of all comes, he will probably march beside His Grace the + Lord High Commissioner, and they will talk together, not of dead-and-gone + kingdoms, but of the one at hand, where there are no more divisions in the + ranks, and where all the soldiers are simply ‘king’s men,’ marching to + victory under the inspiration of a common watchword. + </p> + <p> + It is a matter of regret to us that the U.P.‘s, the third branch of + Scottish Presbyterianism, could not be holding an Assembly during this + same week, so that we might the more easily decide in which flock we + really belong. 22 Breadalbane Terrace now represents all shades of + religious opinion within the bounds of Presbyterianism. We have an Elder, + a Professor of Biblical Criticism, a Majesty’s Chaplain, and even an + ex-Moderator under our roof, and they are equally divided between the Free + and the Established bodies. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. M’Collop herself is a pillar of the Free Kirk, but she has no + prejudice in lodgers, and says so long as she ‘mak’s her rent she doesna + care aboot their releegious principles.’ Miss Diggity-Dalgety is the sole + representative of United Presbyterianism in the household, and she is + somewhat gloomy in Assembly time. To belong to a dissenting body, and yet + to cook early and late for the purpose of fattening one’s religious + rivals, is doubtless trying to the temper; and then she asserts that + ‘meenisters are aye tume [empty].’ + </p> + <p> + “You must put away your Scottish ballads and histories now, Salemina, and + keep your Concordance and your umbrella constantly at hand.” + </p> + <p> + This I said as we stood on George IV. Bridge and saw the ministers + glooming down from the Mound in a dense Assembly fog. As the presence of + any considerable number of priests on an ocean steamer is supposed to + bring rough weather, so the addition of a few hundred parsons to the + population of Edinburgh is believed to induce rain,—or perhaps I + should say, more rain. + </p> + <p> + Of course, when one is in perfect bodily health one can more readily + resist the infection of disease. Similarly if Scottish skies were not + ready and longing to pour out rain, were not ignobly weak in holding it + back, they would not be so susceptible to the depressing influences of + visiting ministers. This is Francesca’s theory as stated to the Reverend + Ronald, who was holding an umbrella over her ungrateful head at the time; + and she went on to boast of a convention she once attended in California, + where twenty-six thousand Christian Endeavourers were unable to dim the + American sunshine, though they stayed ten days. + </p> + <p> + “Our first duty, both to ourselves and to the community,” I continued to + Salemina, “is to learn how there can be three distinct kinds of proper + Presbyterianism. Perhaps it would be a graceful act on our part if we + should each espouse a different kind; then there would be no feeling among + our Edinburgh friends. And again what is this ‘union’ of which we hear + murmurs? Is it religious or political? Is it an echo of the 1707 Union you + explained to us last week, or is it a new one? What is Disestablishment? + What is Disruption? Are they the same thing? What is the Sustentation + Fund? What was the Non-Intrusion party? What was the Dundas Despotism? + What is the argument at present going on about taking the Shorter + Catechism out of the schools? What is the Shorter Catechism, any way,—or + at least what have they left out of the Longer Catechism to make it + shorter,—and is the length of the Catechism one of the points of + difference? then when we have looked up Chalmers and Candlish, we can ask + the ex-Moderator and the Professor of Biblical Criticism to tea; + separately, of course, lest there should be ecclesiastical quarrels.” + </p> + <p> + Salemina and Francesca both incline to the Established church, I lean + instinctively toward the Free; but that does not mean that we have any + knowledge of the differences that separate them. Salemina is a + conservative in all things; she loves law, order, historic associations, + old customs; and so when there is a regularly established national church,—or, + for that matter, a regularly established anything, she gravitates to it by + the law of her being. Francesca’s religious convictions, when she is away + from her own minister and native land, are inclined to be flexible. The + church that enters Edinburgh with a marquis and a marchioness representing + the Crown, the church that opens its Assembly with splendid processions + and dignified pageants, the church that dispenses generous hospitality + from Holyrood Palace,—above all, the church that escorts its Lord + High Commissioner from place to place with bands and pipers,—that is + the church to which she pledges her constant presence and enthusiastic + support. + </p> + <p> + As for me, I believe I am a born protestant, or ‘come-outer,’ as they used + to call dissenters in the early days of New England. I have not yet had + time to study the question, but as I lack all knowledge of the other two + branches of Presbyterianism, I am enabled to say unhesitatingly that I + belong to the Free Kirk. To begin with, the very word ‘free’ has a + fascination for the citizen of a republic; and then my theological + training was begun this morning by a gifted young minister of Edinburgh + whom we call the Friar, because the first time we saw him in his gown and + bands (the little spot of sheer whiteness beneath the chin, that lends + such added spirituality to a spiritual face) we fancied that he looked + like some pale brother of the Church in the olden time. His pallor, in a + land of rosy redness and milky whiteness; his smooth, fair hair, which in + the light from the stained-glass window above the pulpit looked reddish + gold; the Southern heat of passionate conviction that coloured his slow + Northern speech; the remoteness of his personality; the weariness of his + deep-set eyes, that bespoke such fastings and vigils as he probably never + practised,—all this led to our choice of the name. + </p> + <p> + As we walked toward St. Andrew’s Church and Tanfield Hall, where he + insisted on taking me to get the ‘proper historical background,’ he told + me about the great Disruption movement. He was extremely eloquent,—so + eloquent that the image of Willie Beresford tottered continually on its + throne, and I found not the slightest difficulty in giving an unswerving + allegiance to the principles presented by such an orator. + </p> + <p> + We went first to St. Andrew’s, where the General Assembly met in 1843, and + where the famous exodus of the Free Protesting Church took place,—one + of the most important events in the modern history of the United Kingdom. + </p> + <p> + The movement was promoted by the great Dr. Chalmers and his party, mainly + to abolish the patronage of livings, then in the hands of certain heritors + or patrons, who might appoint any minister they wished, without consulting + the congregation. Needless to say, as a free-born American citizen, and + never having had a heritor in the family, my blood easily boiled at the + recital of such tyranny. In 1834 the Church had passed a law of its own, + it seems, ordaining that no presentee to a parish should be admitted, if + opposed by the majority of the male communicants. That would have been + well enough could the State have been made to agree, though I should have + gone further, personally, and allowed the female communicants to have some + voice in the matter. + </p> + <p> + The Friar took me into a particularly chilly historic corner, and, leaning + against a damp stone pillar, painted the scene in St. Andrew’s when the + Assembly met in the presence of a great body of spectators, while a vast + throng gathered without, breathlessly awaiting the result. No one believed + that any large number of ministers would relinquish livings and stipends + and cast their bread upon the waters for what many thought a ‘fantastic + principle.’ Yet when the Moderator left his place, after reading a formal + protest signed by one hundred and twenty ministers and seventy-two elders, + he was followed first by Dr. Chalmers, and then by four hundred and + seventy men, who marched in a body to Tanfield Hall, where they formed + themselves into the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland. When + Lord Jeffrey was told of it an hour later, he exclaimed, ‘Thank God for + Scotland! there is not another country on earth where such a deed could be + done!’ And the Friar reminded me proudly of Macaulay’s saying that the + Scots had made sacrifices for the sake of religious opinion for which + there was no parallel in the annals of England. On the next Sunday after + these remarkable scenes in Edinburgh there were heart-breaking farewells, + so the Friar said, in many village parishes, when the minister, in + dismissing his congregation, told them that he had ceased to belong to the + Established Church and would neither preach nor pray in that pulpit again; + that he had joined the Free Protesting Church of Scotland, and, God + willing, would speak the next Sabbath morning at the manse door to as many + as cared to follow him. “What affecting leave-takings there must have + been!” the Friar exclaimed. “When my grandfather left his church that May + morning, only fifteen members remained behind, and he could hear the more + courageous say to the timid ones, ‘Tak’ your Bible and come awa’, mon!’ + Was not all this a splendid testimony to the power of principle and the + sacred demands of conscience?” I said “Yea” most heartily, for the spirit + of Jenny Geddes stirred within me that morning, and under the spell of the + Friar’s kindling eye and eloquent voice I positively gloried in the + valiant achievements of the Free Church. It would always be easier for a + woman to say, “Yea” than “Nay” to the Friar. When he left me in + Breadalbane Terrace I was at heart a member of his congregation in good + (and irregular) standing, ready to teach in his Sunday-school, sing in his + choir, visit his aged and sick poor, and especially to stand between him + and a too admiring feminine constituency. + </p> + <p> + When I entered the drawing-room, I found that Salemina had just enjoyed an + hour’s conversation with the ex-Moderator of the opposite church wing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear,” she sighed, “you have missed such a treat! You have no + conception of these Scottish ministers of the Establishment,—such + culture, such courtliness of manner, such scholarship, such spirituality, + such wise benignity of opinion! I asked the doctor to explain the + Disruption movement to me, and he was most interesting and lucid, and most + affecting, too, when he described the misunderstandings and misconceptions + that the Church suffered in those terrible days of 1843, when its very + life-blood, as well as its integrity and unity, were threatened by the + foes in its own household; when breaches of faith and trust occurred on + all sides, and dissents and disloyalties shook it to its very foundation! + You see, Penelope, I have never fully understood the disagreements about + heritors and livings and state control before, but here is the whole + matter in a nut-sh—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Salemina,” I interposed, with dignity, “you will pardon me, I am + sure, when I tell you that any discussion on this point would be intensely + painful to me, as I now belong to the Free Kirk.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been this morning?” she asked, with a piercing glance. + </p> + <p> + “To St. Andrew’s and Tanfield Hall.” + </p> + <p> + “With whom?” + </p> + <p> + “With the Friar.” + </p> + <p> + “I see! Happy the missionary to whom you incline your ear, FIRST!”—which + I thought rather inconsistent of Salemina, as she had been converted by + precisely the same methods and in precisely the same length of time as had + I, the only difference being in the ages of our respective missionaries, + one being about five-and-thirty, and other five-and-sixty. Even this is to + my credit after all, for if one can be persuaded so quickly and fully by a + young and comparatively inexperienced man, it shows that one must be + extremely susceptible to spiritual influences or—something. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IX. Omnia presbyteria est divisa in partes tres. + </h2> + <p> + Religion in Edinburgh is a theory, a convention, a fashion (both humble + and aristocratic), a sensation, an intellectual conviction, an emotion, a + dissipation, a sweet habit of the blood; in fact, it is, it seems to me, + every sort of thing it can be to the human spirit. + </p> + <p> + When we had finished our church toilettes, and came into the drawing-room, + on the first Sunday morning, I remember that we found Francesca at the + window. + </p> + <p> + “There is a battle, murder, or sudden death going on in the square below,” + she said. “I am going to ask Susanna to ask Mrs. M’Collop what it means. + Never have I seen such a crowd moving peacefully, with no excitement or + confusion, in one direction. Where can the people be going? Do you suppose + it is a fire? Why, I believe... it cannot be possible... yes, they + certainly are disappearing in that big church on the corner; and millions, + simply millions and trillions, are coming in the other direction,—toward + St. Knox’s.” + </p> + <p> + Impressive as was this morning church-going, a still greater surprise + awaited us at seven o’clock in the evening, when the crowd blocked the + streets on two sides of a church near Breadalbane Terrace; and though it + was quite ten minutes before service when we entered, Salemina and I only + secured the last two seats in the aisle, and Francesca was obliged to sit + on the steps of the pulpit or seek a sermon elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + It amused me greatly to see Francesca sitting on pulpit steps, her Paris + gown and smart toque in close juxtaposition to the rusty bonnet and + bombazine dress of a respectable elderly tradeswoman. The church officer + entered first, bearing the great Bible and hymn-book, which he reverently + placed on the pulpit cushions; and close behind him, to our entire + astonishment, came the Reverend Ronald Macdonald, evidently exchanging + with the regular minister of the parish, whom we had come especially to + hear. I pitied Francesca’s confusion and embarrassment, but I was too far + from her to offer an exchange of seats, and through the long service she + sat there at the feet of her foe, so near that she could have touched the + hem of his gown as he knelt devoutly for his first silent prayer. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she was thinking of her last interview with him, when she + descanted at length on that superfluity of naughtiness and Biblical + pedantry which, she asserted, made Scottish ministers preach from + out-of-the-way texts. + </p> + <p> + “I have never been able to find my place in the Bible since I arrived,” + she complained to Salemina, when she was quite sure that Mr. Macdonald was + listening to her; and this he generally was, in my opinion, no matter who + chanced to be talking. “What with their skipping and hopping about from + Haggai to Philemon, Habakkuk to Jude, and Micah to Titus, in their + readings, and then settling on seventh Nahum, sixth Zephaniah, or second + Calathumpians for the sermon, I do nothing but search the Scriptures in + the Edinburgh churches,—search, search, search, until some Christian + by my side or in the pew behind me notices my hapless plight, and hands me + a Bible opened at the text. Last Sunday it was Obadiah first, fifteenth, + ‘For the day of the Lord is near upon all the heathen.’ It chanced to be a + returned missionary who was preaching on that occasion; but the Bible is + full of heathen, and why need he have chosen a text from Obadiah, poor + little Obadiah one page long, slipped in between Amos and Jonah, where + nobody but an elder could find him?” If Francesca had not seen with wicked + delight the Reverend Ronald’s expression of anxiety, she would never have + spoken of second Calathumpians; but of course he has no means of knowing + how unlike herself she is when in his company. + </p> + <p> + To go back to our first Sunday worship in Edinburgh. The church officer + closed the door of the pulpit on the Reverend Ronald, and I thought I + heard the clicking of a lock; at all events, he returned at the close of + the services to liberate him and escort him back to the vestry; for the + entrances and exits of this beadle, or ‘minister’s man,’ as the church + officer is called in the country districts, form an impressive part of the + ceremonies. If he did lock the minister into the pulpit, it is probably + only another national custom, like the occasional locking in of the + passengers in a railway train, and may be positively necessary in the case + of such magnetic and popular preachers as Mr. Macdonald, or the Friar. + </p> + <p> + I have never seen such attention, such concentration, as in these great + congregations of the Edinburgh churches. As nearly as I can judge, it is + intellectual rather than emotional; but it is not a tribute paid to + eloquence alone, it is habitual and universal, and is yielded loyally to + insufferable dulness when occasion demands. + </p> + <p> + When the text is announced, there is an indescribable rhythmic movement + forward, followed by a concerted rustle of Bible leaves; not the rustle of + a few Bibles in a few pious pews, but the rustle of all of them in all the + pews,—and there are more Bibles in an Edinburgh Presbyterian church + than one ever sees anywhere else, unless it be in the warehouses of the + Bible Societies. + </p> + <p> + The text is read twice clearly, and another rhythmic movement follows when + the books are replaced on the shelves. Then there is a delightful settling + back of the entire congregation, a snuggling comfortably into corners and + a fitting of shoulders to the pews.—not to sleep, however; an older + generation may have done that under the strain of a two-hour ‘wearifu’ + dreich’ sermon, but these church-goers are not to be caught napping. They + wear, on the contrary, a keen, expectant, critical look, which must be + inexpressibly encouraging to the minister, if he has anything to say. If + he has not (and this is a possibility in Edinburgh, as it is everywhere + else), then I am sure it is wisdom for the beadle to lock him in, lest he + flee when he meets those searching eyes. + </p> + <p> + The Edinburgh sermon, though doubtless softened in outline in these later + years, is still a more carefully built discourse than one ordinarily hears + out of Scotland, being constructed on conventional lines of doctrine, + exposition, logical inference, and practical application. Though modern + preachers do not announce the division of their subject into heads and + sub-heads, firstlies and secondlies and finallies, my brethren, there + seems to be the old framework underneath the sermon, and every one + recognises it as moving silently below the surface; at least, I always + fancy that as the minister finishes one point and attacks another the + younger folk fix their eagle eyes on him afresh, and the whole + congregation sits up straighter and listens more intently, as if making + mental notes. They do not listen so much as if they were enthralled, + though they often are, and have good reason to be, but as if they were to + pass an examination on the subject afterwards; and I have no doubt that + this is the fact. + </p> + <p> + The prayers are many, and are divided, apparently, like those of the + liturgies, into petitions, confessions, and aspirations; not forgetting + the all-embracing one with which we are perfectly familiar in our native + land, in which the preacher commends to the Fatherly care every animate + and inanimate thing not mentioned specifically in the foregoing + supplications. It was in the middle of this compendious petition, ‘the + lang prayer,’ that rheumatic old Scottish dames used to make a practice of + ‘cheengin’ the fit,’ as they stood devoutly through it. “When the + meenister comes to the ‘ingetherin’ o’ the Gentiles,’ I ken weel it’s time + to cheenge legs, for then the prayer is jist half dune,” said a good + sermon-taster of Fife. + </p> + <p> + The organ is finding its way rapidly into the Scottish kirks (how can the + shade of John Knox endure a ‘kist o’ whistles’ in good St. Giles’?), but + it is not used yet in some of those we attend most frequently. There is a + certain quaint solemnity, a beautiful austerity, in the unaccompanied + singing of hymns that touches me profoundly. I am often carried very high + on the waves of splendid church music, when the organ’s thunder rolls + ‘through vaulted aisles’ and the angelic voices of a trained choir chant + the aspirations of my soul for me; and when an Edinburgh congregation + stands, and the precentor leads in that noble paraphrase, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘God of our fathers, be the God + Of their succeeding race,’ +</pre> + <p> + there is a certain ascetic fervour in it that seems to me the perfection + of worship. It may be that my Puritan ancestors are mainly responsible for + this feeling, or perhaps my recently adopted Jenny Geddes is a factor in + it; of course, if she were in the habit of flinging fauldstules at Deans, + she was probably the friend of truth and the foe of beauty, so far as it + was in her power to separate them. + </p> + <p> + There is no music during the offertory in these churches, and this, too, + pleases my sense of the fitness of things. It cannot soften the woe of the + people who are disinclined to the giving away of money, and the cheerful + givers need no encouragement. For my part, I like to sit, quite + undistracted by soprano solos, and listen to the refined tinkle of the + sixpences and shillings, and the vulgar chink of the pennies and + ha’pennies, in the contribution-boxes. Country ministers, I am told, + develop such an acute sense of hearing that they can estimate the amount + of the collection before it is counted. There is often a huge pewter plate + just within the church door, in which the offerings are placed as the + worshippers enter or leave; and one always notes the preponderance of + silver at the morning, and of copper at the evening services. It is + perhaps needless to say that before Francesca had been in Edinburgh a + fortnight she asked Mr. Macdonald if it were true that the Scots continued + coining the farthing for years and years, merely to have a piece of money + serviceable for church offerings! + </p> + <p> + As to social differences in the congregations we are somewhat at sea. We + tried to arrive at a conclusion by the hats and bonnets, than which there + is usually no more infallible test. On our first Sunday we attended the + Free Kirk in the morning, and the Established in the evening. The bonnets + of the Free Kirk were so much the more elegant that we said to one + another, “This is evidently the church of society, though the adjective + ‘Free’ should by rights attract the masses.” On the second Sunday we + reversed the order of things, and found the Established bonnets much finer + than the Free bonnets, which was a source of mystification to us, until we + discovered that it was a question of morning or evening service, not of + the form of Presbyterianism. We think, on the whole, that, taking town and + country congregations together, millinery has not flourished under + Presbyterianism,—it seems to thrive better in the Romish atmosphere + of France; but the Disruption at least, has had nothing to answer for in + the matter, as it appears simply to have parted the bonnets of Scotland in + twain, as Moses divided the Red Sea, and left good and evil on both sides. + </p> + <p> + I can never forget our first military service at St. Giles’. We left + Breadalbane Terrace before nine in the morning and walked along the + beautiful curve of street that sweeps around the base of the Castle Rock,—walked + on through the poverty and squalor of the High Street, keeping in view the + beautiful lantern tower as a guiding-star, till we heard + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The murmur of the city crowd; + And, from his steeple, jingling loud, + St. Giles’s mingling din.’ +</pre> + <p> + We joined the throng outside the venerable church, and awaited the + approach of the soldiers from the Castle parade-ground; for it is from + there they march in detachments to the church of their choice. A religion + they must have, and if, when called up and questioned about it, they have + forgotten to provide themselves, or have no preference as to form of + worship, they are assigned to one by the person in authority. When the + regiments are assembled on the parade-ground of a Sunday morning, the + first command is, ‘Church of Scotland, right about face, quick march!’—the + bodies of men belonging to other denominations standing fast until their + turn comes to move. It is said that a new officer once gave the command, + ‘Church of Scotland, right about face, quick march! Fancy releegions, stay + where ye are!’ + </p> + <p> + Just as we were being told this story by an attendant squire, there was a + burst of scarlet and a blare of music, and down Castlehill and the + Lawnmarket into Parliament Square marched hundreds of redcoats, the + Highland pipers (otherwise the Olympian gods) swinging in front, leaving + the American female heart prostrate beneath their victorious tread. The + strains of music that in the distance sounded so martial and triumphant we + recognised in a moment as ‘Abide with me,’ and never did the fine old tune + seem more majestic than when it marked a measure for the steady tramp, + tramp, tramp, of those soldierly feet. As ‘The March of the Cameron Men,’ + piped from the green steeps of Castlehill, had aroused in us thoughts of + splendid victories on the battlefield, so did this simple hymn awake the + spirit of the church militant; a no less stern but more spiritual + soldiership, in which ‘the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them + that make peace.’ + </p> + <p> + As I fell asleep on that first Sunday night in Edinburgh, after the + somewhat unusual experience of three church services in a single day, + three separate notes of memory floated in and out of the fabric of my + dreams; the sound of the soldiers’ feet marching into old St. Giles’ to + the strains of ‘Abide with me’; the voice of the Reverend Ronald ringing + out with manly insistence: ‘It is aspiration that counts, not realisation; + pursuit, not achievement; quest, not conquest!’—and the closing + phrases of the Friar’s prayer; ‘When Christ has forgiven us, help us to + forgive ourselves! Help us to forgive ourselves so fully that we can even + forget ourselves, remembering only Him! And so let His kingdom come; we + ask it for the King’s sake, Amen.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter X. Mrs. M’Collop as a sermon-taster. + </h2> + <p> + Even at this time of Assemblies, when the atmosphere is almost exclusively + clerical and ecclesiastical, the two great church armies represented here + certainly conceal from the casual observer all rivalries and jealousies, + if indeed they cherish any. As for the two dissenting bodies, the Church + of the Disruption and the Church of the Secession have been keeping + company, so to speak, for some years, with a distant eye to an eventual + union. In the light of all this pleasant toleration, it seems difficult to + realise that earlier Edinburgh, where, we learned from old parochial + records of 1605, Margaret Sinclair was cited by the Session of the Kirk + for being at the ‘Burne’ for water on the Sabbath; that Janet Merling was + ordered to make public repentance for concealing a bairn unbaptized in her + house for the space of twenty weeks and calling said bairn Janet; that Pat + Richardson had to crave mercy for being found in his boat in time of + afternoon service; and that Janet Walker, accused of having visitors in + her house in sermon-time, had to confess her offence and on her knees + crave mercy of God AND the Kirk Session (which no doubt was much worse) + under penalty of a hundred pounds Scots. Possibly there are people yet who + would prefer to pay a hundred pounds rather than hear a sermon, but they + are few. + </p> + <p> + It was in the early seventeen hundred and thirties when Allan Ramsay, ‘in + fear and trembling of legal and clerical censure,’ lent out the plays of + Congreve and Farquhar from his famous High Street library. In 1756 it was, + that the Presbytery of Edinburgh suspended all clergymen who had witnessed + the representation of Douglas, that virtuous tragedy written, to the + dismay of all Scotland, by a minister of the Kirk. That the world, even + the theological world, moves with tolerable rapidity when once set in + motion, is evinced by the fact that on Mrs. Siddons’ second engagement in + Edinburgh, in the summer of 1785, vast crowds gathered about the doors of + the theatre, not at night alone, but in the day, to secure places. It + became necessary to admit them first at three in the afternoon and then at + noon, and eventually ‘the General Assembly of the Church then in session + was compelled to arrange its meetings with reference to the appearance of + the great actress.’ How one would have enjoyed hearing that Scotsman say, + after one of her most splendid flights of tragic passion, ‘That’s no bad!’ + We have read of her dismay at this ludicrous parsimony of praise, but her + self-respect must have been restored when the Edinburgh ladies fainted by + dozens during her impersonation of Isabella in The Fatal Marriage. + </p> + <p> + Since Scottish hospitality is well-nigh inexhaustible, it is not strange + that from the moment Edinburgh streets began to be crowded with ministers, + our drawing-room table began to bear shoals of engraved invitations of + every conceivable sort, all equally unfamiliar to our American eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Purse-Bearer is commanded by the Lord High Commissioner and the + Marchioness of Heatherdale to invite Miss Hamilton to a Garden Party at + the Palace of Holyrood House, on the 27th of May. WEATHER PERMITTING.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland admits Miss Hamilton + to any gallery on any day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Marchioness of Heatherdale is At Home on the 26th of May from a + quarter-past nine in the evening. Palace of Holyrood House.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Moderator of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland is + At Home in the Library of the New College on Saturday, the 22nd of May, + from eight to ten in the evening.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Moderator asks the pleasure of Miss Hamilton’s presence at a + Breakfast to be given on the morning of the 25th May at Dunedin Hotel.’ + </p> + <p> + We determined to go to all these functions impartially, tracking thus the + Presbyterian lion to his very lair, and observing his home as well as his + company manners. In everything that related to the distinctively religious + side of the proceedings we sought advice from Mrs. M’Collop, while we went + to Lady Baird for definite information on secular matters. We also found + an unexpected ally in the person of our own ex-Moderator’s niece, Miss + Jean Dalziel (Deeyell). She has been educated in Paris, but she must + always have been a delightfully breezy person, quite too irrepressible to + be affected by Scottish haar or theology. “Go to the Assemblies, by all + means,” she said, “and be sure and get places for the heresy case. These + are no longer what they once were,—we are getting lamentably weak + and gelatinous in our beliefs,—but there is an unusually nice one + this year; the heretic is very young and handsome, and quite wicked, as + ministers go. Don’t fail to be presented at the Marchioness’s court at + Holyrood, for it is a capital preparation for the ordeal of Her Majesty + and Buckingham Palace. ‘Nothing fit to wear’? You have never seen the + people who go or you wouldn’t say that! I even advise you to attend one of + the breakfasts; it can’t do you any serious or permanent injury so long as + you eat something before you go. Oh no, it doesn’t matter,—whichever + one you choose, you will cheerfully omit the other; for I avow, as a + Scottish spinster, and the niece of an ex-Moderator, that to a stranger + and a foreigner the breakfasts are worse than Arctic explorations. If you + do not chance to be at the table of honour—” + </p> + <p> + “The gifted Miss Hamilton is always at the table of honour; unless she is + placed there she refuses to eat, and then the universe rocks to its + centre,” interpolated Francesca impertinently. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” continued Miss Dalziel, “you will often sit beside a + minister or a minister’s wife, who will make you scorn the sordid + appetites of flesh, but if you do not, then eat as little as may be, and + flee up the Mound to whichever Assembly is the Mecca of your soul!” + </p> + <p> + “My niece’s tongue is an unruly member,” said the ex-Moderator, who was + present at this diatribe, “and the principal mistakes she makes in her + judgment of these clerical feasts is that she criticises them as + conventional repasts, whereas they are intended to be informal meetings + together of people who wish to be better acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + “Hot bacon and eggs would be no harm to friendship,” answered Miss + Dalziel, with an affectionate moue. + </p> + <p> + “Cold bacon and eggs is better than cold piety,” said the ex-Moderator, + “and it may be a good discipline for fastidious young ladies who have been + spoiled by Parisian breakfasts.” + </p> + <p> + It is to Mrs. M’Collop that we owe our chief insight into technical church + matters, although we seldom agree with her ‘opeenions’ after we gain our + own experience. She never misses hearing one sermon on a Sabbath, and + oftener she listens to two or three. Neither does she confine herself to + the ministrations of a single preacher, but roves from one sanctuary to + another, seeking the bread of life,—often, however, according to her + own account, getting a particularly indigestible ‘stane.’ + </p> + <p> + She is thus a complete guide to the Edinburgh pulpit, and when she is + making a bed in the morning she dispenses criticism in so large and + impartial a manner that it would make the flesh of the ‘meenistry’ creep + were it overheard. I used to think Ian Maclaren’s sermon-taster a possible + exaggeration of an existent type, but I now see that she is truth itself. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll be tryin’ anither kirk the morn?” suggests Mrs. M’Collop, spreading + the clean Sunday sheet over the mattress. “Wha did ye hear the Sawbath + that’s bye? Dr. A? Ay, I ken him ower weel; he’s been there for fifteen + years an’ mair. Ay, he’s a gifted mon—AFF AN’ ON!” with an emphasis + showing clearly that, in her estimation, the times when he is ‘aff’ + outnumber those when he is ‘on’... “Ye havena heard auld Dr. B yet?” (Here + she tucks in the upper sheet tidily at the foot.) “He’s a graund + strachtforrit mon, is Dr. B, forbye he’s growin’ maist awfu’ dreich in his + sermons, though when he’s that wearisome a body canna heed him wi’oot + takin’ peppermints to the kirk, he’s nane the less, at seeventy-sax, a + better mon than the new asseestant. Div ye ken the new asseestant? He’s a + wee-bit, finger-fed mannie, ower sma’ maist to wear a goon! I canna thole + him, wi’ his lang-nebbit words, explainin’ an’ expoundin’ the gude Book as + if it had jist come oot! The auld doctor’s nae kirk-filler, but he gies us + fu’ meesure, pressed doun an’ rinnin’ ower, nae bit-pickin’s like the + haverin’ asseestant; it’s my opeenion he’s no soond, wi’ his parleyvoos + an’ his clishmaclavers!... Mr. C?” (Now comes the shaking and + straightening and smoothing of the first blanket.) “Ay, he’s weel eneuch! + I mind aince he prayed for oor Free Assembly, an’ then he turned roon’ an’ + prayed for the Estaiblished, maist in the same breath,—he’s a broad, + leeberal mon is Mr. C!... Mr. D? Ay, I ken him fine; he micht be waur, + though he’s ower fond o’ the kittle pairts o’ the Old Testament; but he + reads his sermon frae the paper, an’ it’s an auld sayin’, ‘If a meenister + canna mind [remember] his ain discoorse, nae mair can the congregation be + expectit to mind it.’... Mr. E? He’s my ain meenister.” (She has a pillow + in her mouth now, but though she is shaking it as a terrier would a rat, + and drawing on the linen slip at the same time, she is still intelligible + between the jerks). “Susanna says his sermon is like claith made o’ soond + ‘oo [wool] wi’ a guid twined thread, an’ wairpit an’ weftit wi’ doctrine. + Susanna kens her Bible weel, but she’s never gaed forrit.” (To ‘gang + forrit’ is to take the communion). “Dr. F? I ca’ him the greetin’ doctor! + He’s aye dingin’ the dust oot o’ the poopit cushions, an’ greetin’ ower + the sins o’ the human race, an’ eespecially o’ his ain congregation. He’s + waur sin his last wife sickened an’ slippit awa’. ‘Twas a chastenin’ he’d + put up wi’ twice afore, but he grat nane the less. She was a bonnie bit + body, was the thurd Mistress F! E’nboro could ‘a’ better spared the + greetin’ doctor than her, I’m thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, according to His good will and + pleasure,” I ventured piously, as Mrs. M’Collop beat the bolster and laid + it in place. + </p> + <p> + “Ou ay,” responded that good woman, as she spread the counterpane over the + pillows in the way I particularly dislike,—“ou ay, but whiles I + think it’s a peety he couldna be guidit!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XI. Holyrood awakens. + </h2> + <p> + We were to make our bow to the Lord High Commissioner and the Marchioness + of Heatherdale in the evening, and we were in a state of republican + excitement at 22 Breadalbane Terrace. + </p> + <p> + Francesca had surprised us by refusing to be presented at this semi-royal + Scottish court. “Not I,” she said. “The Marchioness represents the Queen; + we may discover, when we arrive, that she has raised the standards of + admission, and requires us to ‘back out’ of the throne-room. I don’t + propose to do that without London training. Besides, I detest crowds, and + I never go to my own President’s receptions; and I have a headache, + anyway, and I don’t feel like coping with the Reverend Ronald to-night!” + (Lady Baird was to take us under her wing, and her nephew was to escort + us, Sir Robert being in Inveraray). + </p> + <p> + “Sally, my dear,” I said, as Francesca left the room with a bottle of + smelling-salts somewhat ostentatiously in evidence, “methinks the damsel + doth protest too much. In other words, she devotes a good deal of time and + discussion to a gentleman whom she heartily dislikes. As she is under your + care, I will direct your attention to the following points:— + </p> + <p> + “Ronald Macdonald is a Scotsman; Francesca disapproves of international + alliances. + </p> + <p> + “He is a Presbyterian; she is a Swedenborgian. + </p> + <p> + “His father was a famous old-school doctor; Francesca is a homoeopathist. + </p> + <p> + “He is serious; Francesca is gay. + </p> + <p> + “I think, under all the circumstances, their acquaintance will bear + watching. Two persons so utterly dissimilar, and, so far as superficial + observation goes, so entirely unsuited to each other, are quite likely to + drift into marriage unless diverted by watchful philanthropists.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” returned Salemina brusquely. “You think because you are under + the spell of the tender passion yourself that other people are in constant + danger. Francesca detests him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you so?” + </p> + <p> + “She herself,” triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Salemina,” I said pityingly, “I have always believed you a spinster from + choice; don’t lead me to think that you have never had any experience in + these matters! The Reverend Ronald has also intimated to me as plainly as + he dared that he cannot bear the sight of Francesca. What do I gather from + this statement? The general conclusion that if it be true, it is curious + that he looks at her incessantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Francesca would never live in Scotland,” remarked Salemina feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Not unless she were asked, of course,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “He would never ask her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless he thought he had a chance of an affirmative answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Her father would never allow it.” + </p> + <p> + “Her father allows what she permits him to allow. You know that perfectly + well.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do about it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Consult me.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall WE do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let Nature have her own way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe in Nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be profane, Salemina, and don’t be unromantic, which is worse; but + if you insist, trust in Providence.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather trust Francesca’s hard heart.” + </p> + <p> + “The hardest hearts melt if sufficient heat be applied. Did I take you to + Newhaven and read you Christie Johnstone on the beach for nought? Don’t + you remember Charles Reade said that the Scotch are icebergs, with + volcanoes underneath; thaw the Scotch ice, which is very cold, and you + shall get to the Scotch fire, warmer than any sun of Italy or Spain. I + think Mr. Macdonald is a volcano.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish he were extinct,” said Salemina petulantly; “and I wish you + wouldn’t make me nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “If you had any faculty of premonition, you wouldn’t have waited for me to + make you nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “Some people are singularly omniscient.” + </p> + <p> + “Others are singularly deficient—” And at this moment Susanna Crum + came in to announce Miss Jean Dalziel, who had come to see sights with us. + </p> + <p> + It was our almost daily practice to walk through the Old Town, and we were + now familiar with every street and close in that densely-crowded quarter. + Our quest for the sites of ancient landmarks never grew monotonous, and we + were always reconstructing, in imagination, the Cowgate, the Canongate, + the Lawnmarket, and the High Street, until we could see Auld Reekie as it + was in bygone centuries. In those days of continual war with England, + people crowded their dwellings as near the Castle as possible, so floor + was piled upon floor, and flat upon flat, families ensconcing themselves + above other families, the tendency being ever skyward. Those who dwelt on + top had no desire to spend their strength in carrying down the corkscrew + stairs matter which would descend by the force of gravity if pitched from + the window or door; so the wayfarer, especially after dusk, would be + greeted with cries of ‘Get oot o’ the gait!’ or ‘Gardy loo!’ which was in + the French ‘Gardez l’eau,’ and which would have been understood in any + language, I fancy, after a little experience. The streets then were filled + with the debris flung from a hundred upper windows, while certain + ground-floor tenants, such as butchers and candlemakers, contributed their + full share to the fragrant heaps. As for these too seldom used narrow + turnpike stairs, imagine the dames of fashion tilting their vast hoops and + silken show-petticoats up and down in them! + </p> + <p> + That swine roamed at will in these Elysian fields is to be presumed, since + we have this amusing picture of three High Street belles and beauties in + the Traditions of Edinburgh:— + </p> + <p> + ‘So easy were the manners of the great, fabled to be so stiff and + decorous,’ says the author, ‘that Lady Maxwell’s daughter Jane, who + afterward became the Duchess of Gordon, was seen riding a sow up the High + Street, while her sister Eglantine (afterwards Lady Wallace of Craigie) + thumped lustily behind with a stick.’ + </p> + <p> + No wonder, in view of all this, that King James VI., when about to bring + home his ‘darrest spous,’ Anne of Denmark, wrote to the Provost, ‘For + God’s sake see a’ things are richt at our hame-coming; a king with a + new-married wife doesna come hame ilka day.’ + </p> + <p> + Had it not been for these royal home-comings and visits of distinguished + foreigners, now and again aided by something still more salutary, an + occasional outbreak of the plague, the easy-going authorities would never + have issued any ‘cleaning edicts,’ and the still easier-going inhabitants + would never have obeyed them. It was these dark, tortuous wynds and + closes, nevertheless, that made up the Court End of Old Edinbro’; for some + one writes in 1530, ‘Via vaccarum in qua habitant patricii et senatores + urbis’ (The nobility and chief senators of the city dwell in the Cowgate). + And as for the Canongate, this Saxon gaet or way of the Holy rood canons, + it still sheltered in 1753 ‘two dukes, sixteen earls, two dowager + countesses, seven lords, seven lords of session, thirteen baronets, four + commanders of the forces in Scotland, and five eminent men,’—fine + game indeed for Mally Lee! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘A’ doun alang the Canongate + Were beaux o’ ilk degree; + And mony ane turned round to look + At bonny Mally Lee. + And we’re a’ gaun east an’ west, + We’re a’ gaun agee, + We’re a’ gaun east an’ west + Courtin’ Mally Lee!’ +</pre> + <p> + Every corner bristles with memories. Here is the Stamp Office Close, from + which the lovely Susanna, Countess of Eglinton, was wont to issue on + assembly nights; she, six feet in height, with a brilliantly fair + complexion, and a ‘face of the maist bewitching loveliness.’ Her seven + daughters and stepdaughters were all conspicuously handsome, and it was + deemed a goodly sight to watch the long procession of eight gilded + sedan-chairs pass from the Stamp Office Close, bearing her and her stately + brood to the Assembly Room, amid a crowd that was ‘hushed with respect and + admiration to behold their lofty and graceful figures step from the chairs + on the pavement.’ + </p> + <p> + Here itself is the site of those old assemblies, presided over at one time + by the famous Miss Nicky Murray, a directress of society affairs, who + seems to have been a feminine premonition of Count d’Orsay and our own + M’Allister. Rather dull they must have been, those old Scotch balls, where + Goldsmith saw the ladies and gentlemen in two dismal groups divided by the + length of the room. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The Assembly Close received the fair— + Order and elegance presided there— + Each gay Right Honourable had her place, + To walk a minuet with becoming grace. + No racing to the dance with rival hurry, + Such was thy sway, O famed Miss Nicky Murray!’ +</pre> + <p> + It was half-past nine in the evening when Salemina and I drove to + Holyrood, our humble cab-horse jogging faithfully behind Lady Baird’s + brougham, and it was the new experience of seeing Auld Reekie by lamplight + that called up these gay visions of other days,—visions and days so + thoroughly our mental property that we could not help resenting the fact + that women were hanging washing from the Countess of Eglinton’s former + windows, and popping their unkempt heads out of the Duchess of Gordon’s + old doorway. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Ronald is so kind! He enters so fully into our spirit of + inquiry, and takes such pleasure in our enthusiasms! He even sprang + lightly out of Lady Baird’s carriage and called to our ‘lamiter’ to halt + while he showed us the site of the Black Turnpike, from whose windows + Queen Mary saw the last of her kingdom’s capital. + </p> + <p> + “Here was the Black Turnpike, Miss Hamilton!” he cried; “and from here + Mary went to Loch Leven, where you Hamiltons and the Setons came gallantly + to her help. Don’t you remember the ‘far ride to the Solway sands?’” + </p> + <p> + I looked with interest, though I was in such a state of delicious + excitement that I could scarce keep my seat. + </p> + <p> + “Only a few minutes more, Salemina,” I sighed, “and we shall be in the + palace courtyard; then a probable half-hour in crowded dressing-rooms, + with another half-hour in line, and then, then we shall be making our best + republican bow in the Gallery of the Kings! How I wish Mr. Beresford and + Francesca were with us! What do you suppose was her real reason for + staying away? Some petty disagreement with our young minister, I am sure. + Do you think the dampness is taking the curl out of our hair? Do you + suppose our gowns will be torn to ribbons before the Marchioness sees + them? Do you believe we shall look as well as anybody? Privately, I think + we must look better than anybody; but I always think that on my way to a + party, never after I arrive.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. M’Collop had asserted that I was ‘bonnie eneuch for ony court,’ and I + could not help wishing that ‘mine ain dear Somebody’ might see me in my + French frock embroidered with silver thistles, and my ‘shower bouquet’ of + Scottish bluebells tied loosely together. Salemina wore pinky-purple + velvet; a real heather colour it was, though the Lord High Commissioner + would probably never note the fact. + </p> + <p> + When we had presented our cards of invitation at the palace doors, we + joined the throng and patiently made our way up the splendid staircases, + past powdered lackeys without number, and, divested of our wraps, joined + another throng on our way to the throne-room, Salemina and I pressing + those cards with our names ‘legibly written on them’ close to our + palpitating breasts. + </p> + <p> + At last the moment came when, Lady Baird having preceded me, I handed my + bit of pasteboard to the usher; and hearing ‘Miss Hamilton’ called in + stentorian accents, I went forward in my turn, and executed a graceful and + elegant, but not too profound curtsy, carefully arranged to suit the + semi-royal, semi-ecclesiastical occasion. I had not divulged that fact + even to Salemina, but I had worn Mrs. M’Collop’s carpet quite threadbare + in front of the long mirror, and had curtsied to myself so many times in + its crystal surface that I had developed a sort of fictitious reverence + for my reflected image. I had only begun my well-practised obeisance when + Her Grace the Marchioness, to my mingled surprise and embarrassment, + extended a gracious hand and murmured my name in a particularly kind + voice. She is fond of Lady Baird, and perhaps chose this method of showing + her friendship; or it may be that she noticed my silver thistles and + Salemina’s heather-coloured velvet,—they certainly deserved special + recognition; or it may be that I was too beautiful to pass over in + silence,—in my state of exaltation I was quite equal to the belief. + </p> + <p> + The presentation over, we wandered through the spacious apartments, + leaning from the open windows to hear the music of the band playing in the + courtyard below, looking at the royal portraits, and chatting with groups + of friends who appeared and reappeared in the throng. Finally Lady Baird + sent for us to join her in a knot of personages more or less + distinguished, who had dined at the palace, and who were standing behind + the receiving party in a sort of sacred group. This indeed was a ground of + vantage, and one could have stood there for hours, watching all sorts and + conditions of men and women bowing before the Lord High Commissioner and + the Marchioness, who, with her Cleopatra-like beauty and scarlet gown, + looked like a gorgeous cardinal-flower. + </p> + <p> + Salemina and I watched the curtsying narrowly, with the view at first of + improving our own obeisances for Buckingham Palace; but truth to say we + got no added light, and plainly most of the people had not worn threadbare + the carpets in front of their dressing-mirrors. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly we heard a familiar name announced, ‘Lord Colquhoun,’ a + distinguished judge who had lately been raised to the peerage, and whom we + often met at dinners; then ‘Miss Rowena Colquhoun’; and then in the midst, + we fancied, of an unusual stir at the entrance door—‘Miss Francesca + Van Buren Monroe.’ I involuntarily touched the Reverend Ronald’s shoulder + in my astonishment, while Salemina lifted her tortoise-shell lorgnette, + and we gazed silently at our recreant charge. + </p> + <p> + After presentation, each person has fifteen or twenty feet of awful space + to traverse in solitary and defenceless majesty; scanned meanwhile by the + maids of honour (who if they were truly honourable, would turn their eyes + another way), ladies-in-waiting, the sacred group in the rear, and the + Purse-Bearer himself. I had supposed that this functionary would keep the + purse in his upper bureau drawer at home, when he was not paying bills, + but it seems that when on processional duty he carries a bag of red velvet + quite a yard long over his arm, where it looks not unlike a lady’s + opera-cloak. It would hold the sum-total of all moneys disbursed, even if + they were reduced to the standard of vulgar copper. + </p> + <p> + Under this appalling fire of inspection, some of the victims waddle, some + hurry; some look up and down nervously, others glance over the shoulder as + if dreading to be apprehended; some turn red, others pale, according to + complexion and temperament; some swing their arms, other trip on their + gowns; some twitch the buttons of a glove, or tweak a flower or a jewel. + Francesca rose superior to all these weaknesses, and I doubt if the + Gallery of the Kings ever served as a background for anything lovelier or + more high-bred than that untitled slip of a girl from ‘the States.’ Her + trailing gown of pearl-white satin fell in unbroken lustrous folds behind + her. Her beautiful throat and shoulders rose in statuesque whiteness from + the mist of chiffon that encircled them. Her dark hair showed a moonbeam + parting that rested the eye, wearied by the contemplation of waves and + frizzes fresh from the curling-tongs. Her mother’s pearls hung in ropes + from neck to waist, and the one spot of colour about her was the single + American Beauty rose she carried. There is a patriotic florist in Paris + who grows these long-stemmed empresses of the rose-garden, and Mr. + Beresford sends some to me every week. Francesca had taken the flower + without permission, and I must say she was as worthy of it as it of her. + </p> + <p> + She curtsied deeply, with no exaggerated ceremony, but with a sort of + innocent and childlike gravity, while the satin of her gown spread itself + like a great blossom over the floor. Her head was bowed until the dark + lashes swept her crimson cheeks; then she rose again from the heart of the + shimmering lily, with the one splendid rose glowing against all her + dazzling whiteness, and floated slowly across the dreaded space to the + door of exit as if she were preceded by invisible heralds and followed by + invisible train-bearers. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” we heard whispered here and there. “Look at the rose!” “Look + at the pearls! Is she a princess or only an American?” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at the Reverend Ronald. I imagined he looked pale; at any rate + he was biting his under lip nervously, and I believe he was in fancy + laying his serious, Scottish, allopathic, Presbyterian heart at + Francesca’s gay, American, homoeopathic, Swedenborgian feet. + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity Miss Monroe is such an ardent republican,” he said, with + unconcealed bitterness; “otherwise she ought to be a duchess. I never saw + a head that better suited a coronet, nor, if you will pardon me, one that + contained more caprices.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true she flatly refused to accompany us here,” I allowed, “but + perhaps she has some explanation more or less silly and serviceable; + meantime, I defy you to tell me she isn’t a beauty, and I implore you to + say nothing about its being only skin-deep. Give me a beautiful exterior, + say I, and I will spend my life in making the hidden things of mind and + soul conform to it; but deliver me from all forlorn attempts to make my + beauty of character speak through a large mouth, breathe through a fat + nose, and look at my neighbour through crossed eyes!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macdonald agreed with me, with some few ministerial reservations. He + always agrees with me, and why he is not tortured at the thought of my + being the promised bride of another, but continues to squander his + affections upon a quarrelsome and unappreciative girl is more than I can + comprehend. + </p> + <p> + Francesca, escorted by Lord Colquhoun, appeared presently in our group, + but Salemina did not even attempt to scold her. One cannot scold an + imperious young beauty in white satin and pearls, particularly if she is + leaning nonchalantly on the arm of a peer of the realm. + </p> + <p> + It seems that shortly after our departure (we had dined with Lady Baird), + Lord Colquhoun had sent a note to me, requiring an answer. Francesca had + opened it, and found that he offered an extra card of invitation to one of + us, and said that he and his sister would gladly serve as escort to + Holyrood, if desired. She had had an hour or two of solitude by this time, + and was well weary of it, while the last vestige of headache disappeared + under the temptation of appearing at court with all the eclat of + unexpectedness. She despatched a note of acceptance to Lord Colquhoun, + summoned Mrs. M’Collop, Susanna, and the maiden Boots to her assistance, + spread the trays of her Saratoga trunks about our three bedrooms, grouped + all our candles on her dressing-table, and borrowed any trinket or bit of + frippery which we chanced to have left behind. Her own store of adornments + is much greater than ours, but we possess certain articles for which she + has a childlike admiration: my white satin slippers embroidered with seed + pearls, Salemina’s pearl-topped comb, Salemina’s Valenciennes handkerchief + and diamond belt-clasp, my pearl frog with ruby eyes. We identified our + property on her impertinent young person, and the list of her borrowings + so amused the Reverend Ronald that he forgot his injuries. + </p> + <p> + “It is really an ordeal, that presentation, no matter how strong one’s + sense of humour may be, nor how well rooted one’s democracy,” chattered + Francesca to a serried rank of officers who surrounded her to the total + routing of the ministry. “It is especially trying if one has come + unexpectedly and has no idea of what is to happen. I was agitated at the + supreme moment, because, at the entrance of the throne-room, I had just + shaken hands reverently with a splendid person who proved to be a footman. + Of course I took him for the Commander of the Queen’s Guards, or the + Keeper of the Dungeon Keys, or the Most Noble Custodian of the Royal + Moats, Drawbridges, and Portcullises. When he put out his hand I had no + idea it was simply to waft me onward, and so naturally I shook it,—it’s + a mercy that I didn’t kiss it! Then I curtsied to the Royal Usher, and + overlooked the Lord High Commissioner altogether, having no eyes for any + one but the beautiful scarlet Marchioness. I only hope they were too busy + to notice my mistakes, otherwise I shall be banished from Court at the + very moment of my presentation.—Do you still banish nowadays?” + turning the battery of her eyes upon a particularly insignificant officer + who was far too dazed to answer. “And did you see the child of ten who was + next to me in line? She is Mrs. Macstronachlacher; at least that was the + name on the card she carried, and she was thus announced. As they tell us + the Purse-Bearer is most rigorous in arranging these functions and issuing + the invitations, I presume she must be Mrs. Macstronachlacher; but if so, + they marry very young in Scotland, and her skirts should really have been + longer!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XII. Farewell to Edinburgh. + </h2> + <p> + It is our last day in ‘Scotia’s darling seat,’ our last day in Breadalbane + Terrace, our last day with Mrs. M’Collop; and though every one says that + we shall love the life in the country, we are loath to leave Auld Reekie. + </p> + <p> + Salemina and I have spent two days in search of an abiding-place, and have + visited eight well-recommended villages with that end in view; but she + disliked four of them, and I couldn’t endure the other four, though I + considered some of those that fell under her disapproval as quite + delightful in every respect. + </p> + <p> + We never take Francesca on these pilgrimages of disagreement, as three + conflicting opinions on the same subject would make insupportable what is + otherwise rather exhilarating. She starts from Edinburgh to-morrow for a + brief visit to the Highlands with the Dalziels, and will join us when we + have settled ourselves. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beresford leaves Paris as soon after our decision as he is permitted, + so Salemina and I have agreed to agree upon one ideal spot within + thirty-six hours of our quitting Edinburgh, knowing privately that after a + last battle-royal we shall enthusiastically support the joint decision for + the rest of our lives. + </p> + <p> + We have been bidding good-bye to people and places and things, and wishing + the sun would not shine and thus make our task the harder. We have looked + our last on the old grey town from Calton Hill, of all places the best, + perhaps, for a view; since, as Stevenson says, from Calton Hill you can + see the Castle, which you lose from the Castle, and Arthur’s Seat, which + you cannot see from Arthur’s Seat. We have taken a farewell walk to the + Dean Bridge, to gaze wistfully eastward and marvel for the hundredth time + to find so beautiful a spot in the heart of a city. The soft-flowing Water + of Leith winding over pebbles between grassy banks and groups of splendid + trees, the roof of the little temple to Hygeia rising picturesquely among + green branches, the slopes of emerald velvet leading up to the grey stone + of the houses,—where, in all the world of cities, can one find a + view to equal it in peaceful loveliness? Francesca’s ‘bridge-man,’ who, by + the way, proved to be a distinguished young professor of medicine in the + University, says that the beautiful cities of the world should be ranked + thus,—Constantinople, Prague, Genoa, Edinburgh; but having seen only + one of these, and that the last, I refuse to credit any sliding scale of + comparison which leaves Edina at the foot. + </p> + <p> + It was nearing tea-time, an hour when we never fail to have visitors, and + we were all in the drawing-room together. I was at the piano, singing + Jacobite melodies for Salemina’s delectation. When I came to the last + verse of Lady Nairne’s ‘Hundred Pipers,’ the spirited words had taken my + fancy captive, and I am sure I could not have sung with more vigour and + passion had my people been ‘out with the Chevalier.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The Esk was swollen sae red an’ sae deep, + But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep; + Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground, + An’ danced themselves dry to the pibroch’s sound. + Dumfounder’d the English saw, they saw, + Dumfounder’d they heard the blaw, the blaw, + Dumfounder’d they a’ ran awa’, awa’, + Frae the hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’!’ +</pre> + <p> + By the time I came to ‘Dumfounder’d the English saw,’ Francesca left her + book and joined in the next four lines, and when we broke into the chorus + Salemina rushed to the piano, and although she cannot sing, she lifted her + voice both high and loud in the refrain, beating time the while with a + dirk paper-knife. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’, + Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’, + We’ll up an’ gie them a blaw, a blaw, + Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’!’ +</pre> + <p> + Susanna ushered in Mr. Macdonald and Dr. Moncrieffe as the last ‘blaw’ + faded into silence, and Jean Dalziel came upstairs to say that they could + seldom get a quiet moment for family prayers, because we were always at + the piano, hurling incendiary sentiments into the air,—sentiments + set to such stirring melodies that no one could resist them. + </p> + <p> + “We are very sorry, Miss Dalziel,” I said penitently. “We reserve an hour + in the morning and another at bedtime for your uncle’s prayers, but we had + no idea you had them at afternoon tea, even in Scotland. I believe that + you are chaffing, and came up only to swell the chorus. Come, let us all + sing together from ‘Dumfounder’d the English saw.’” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macdonald and Dr. Moncrieffe gave such splendid body to the music, and + Jean such warlike energy, that Salemina waved her paper-knife in a manner + more than ever sanguinary, and Susanna, hesitating outside the door for + sheer delight, had to be coaxed in with the tea-things. On the heels of + the tea-things came the Dominie, another dear old friend of six weeks’ + standing; and while the doctor sang ‘Jock o’ Hazeldean’ with such + irresistible charm that we all longed to elope with somebody on the + instant, Salemina dispensed buttered toast, marmalade sandwiches, and the + fragrant cup. By this time we were thoroughly cosy, and Mr. Macdonald made + himself and us very much at home by stirring the fire; whereupon Francesca + embarrassed him by begging him not to touch it unless he could do it + properly, which, she added, seemed quite unlikely, from the way in which + he handled the poker. + </p> + <p> + “What will Edinburgh do without you?” he asked, turning towards us with + flattering sadness in his tone. “Who will hear our Scotch stories, never + suspecting their hoary old age? Who will ask us questions to which we + somehow always know the answers? Who will make us study and reverence anew + our own landmarks? Who will keep warm our national and local pride by + judicious enthusiasm?” + </p> + <p> + “I think the national and local pride may be counted on to exist without + any artificial stimulants,” dryly observed Francesca, whose spirit is not + in the least quenched by approaching departure. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” answered the Reverend Ronald; “but at any rate, you, Miss + Monroe, will always be able to reflect that you have never been + responsible even for its momentary inflation!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it strange that she cannot get on better with that charming + fellow?” murmured Salemina, as she passed me the sugar for my second cup. + </p> + <p> + “If your present symptoms of blindness continue, Salemina,” I said, + searching for a small lump so as to gain time, “I shall write you a + plaintive ballad, buy you a dog, and stand you on a street corner! If you + had ever permitted yourself to ‘get on’ with any man as Francesca is + getting on with Mr. Macdonald, you would now be Mrs.—Somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, doctor,” asked the Dominie, “that Miss Hamilton shed real + tears at Holyrood the other night, when the band played ‘Bonnie Charlie’s + noo awa’?’” + </p> + <p> + “They were real,” I confessed, “in the sense that they certainly were not + crocodile tears; but I am somewhat at a loss to explain them from a + sensible, American standpoint. Of course my Jacobitism is purely + impersonal, though scarcely more so than yours, at this late day; at least + it is merely a poetic sentiment, for which Caroline, Baroness Nairne, is + mainly responsible. My romantic tears came from a vision of the Bonnie + Prince as he entered Holyrood, dressed in his short tartan coat, his + scarlet breeches and military boots, the star of St. Andrew on his breast, + a blue ribbon over his shoulder, and the famous blue velvet bonnet and + white cockade. He must have looked so brave and handsome and hopeful at + that moment, and the moment was so sadly brief, that when the band played + the plaintive air I kept hearing the words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Mony a heart will break in twa, + Should he no come back again.’ +</pre> + <p> + He did come back again to me that evening, and held a phantom levee behind + the Marchioness of Heatherdale’s shoulder. His ‘ghaist’ looked bonnie and + rosy and confident, yet all the time the band was playing the requiem for + his lost cause and buried hopes.” + </p> + <p> + I looked towards the fire to hide the moisture that crept again into my + eyes, and my glance fell upon Francesca sitting dreamily on a hassock in + front of the cheerful blaze, her chin in the hollow of her palm, and the + Reverend Ronald standing on the hearth-rug gazing at her, the poker in his + hand, and his heart, I regret to say, in such an exposed position on his + sleeve that even Salemina could have seen it had she turned her eyes that + way. + </p> + <p> + Jean Dalziel broke the momentary silence: “I am sure I never hear the last + two lines— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Better lo’ed ye canna be, + Will ye no’ come back again?’ +</pre> + <p> + without a lump in my throat,” and she hummed the lovely melody. “It is all + as you say, purely impersonal and poetic. My mother is an Englishwoman, + but she sings ‘Dumfounder’d the English saw, they saw’ with the greatest + fire and fury.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIII. The spell of Scotland. + </h2> + <p> + “I think I was never so completely under the spell of a country as I am of + Scotland.” I made this acknowledgment freely, but I knew that it would + provoke comment from my compatriots. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, my dear, you have been just as spellbound before, only you don’t + remember it,” replied Salemina promptly. “I have never seen a person more + perilously appreciative or receptive than you.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Perilously’ is just the word,” chimed in Francesca delightedly; “when + you care for a place you grow porous, as it were, until after a time you + are precisely like blotting-paper. Now, there was Italy, for example. + After eight weeks in Venice, you were completely Venetian, from your fan + to the ridiculous little crepe shawl you wore because an Italian prince + had told you that centuries were usually needed to teach a woman how to + wear a shawl, but that you had been born with the art, and the shoulders! + Anything but a watery street was repulsive to you. Cobblestones? + ‘Ordinario, duro, brutto! A gondola? Ah, bellissima! Let me float for ever + thus!’ You bathed your spirit in sunshine and colour; I can hear you + murmur now, ‘O Venezia benedetta! non ti voglio lasciar!’” + </p> + <p> + “It was just the same when she spent a month in France with the Baroness + de Hautenoblesse,” continued Salemina. “When she returned to America, it + is no flattery to say that in dress, attitude, inflection, manner, she was + a thorough Parisienne. There was an elegant superficiality and a + superficial elegance about her that I can never forget, nor yet her + extraordinary volubility in a foreign language,—the fluency with + which she expressed her inmost soul on all topics without the aid of a + single irregular verb, for these she was never able to acquire; oh, it was + wonderful, but there was no affectation about it; she had simply been a + kind of blotting-paper, as Miss Monroe says, and France had written itself + all over her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to interfere with anybody’s diagnosis,” I interposed at the + first possible moment, “but perhaps after you’ve both finished your + psychologic investigation the subject may be allowed to explain herself + from the inside, so to speak. I won’t deny the spell of Italy, but I think + the spell that Scotland casts over one is quite a different thing, more + spiritual, more difficult to break. Italy’s charm has something physical + in it; it is born of blue sky, sunlit waves, soft atmosphere, orange + sails, and yellow moons, and appeals more to the senses. In Scotland the + climate certainly has nought to do with it, but the imagination is somehow + made captive. I am not enthralled by the past of Italy or France, for + instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are not at the present moment,” said Francesca, “because + you are enthralled by the past of Scotland, and even you cannot be the + slave of two pasts at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was particularly enthralled by Italy’s past,” I argued with + exemplary patience, “but the romance of Scotland has a flavour all its + own. I do not quite know the secret of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the kilts and the pipes,” said Francesca. + </p> + <p> + “No, the history.” (This from Salemina.) + </p> + <p> + “Or Sir Walter and the literature,” suggested Mr. Macdonald. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Or the songs and ballads,” ventured Jean Dalziel. +</pre> + <p> + “There!” I exclaimed triumphantly, “you see for yourselves you have named + avenue after avenue along which one’s mind is led in charmed subjection. + Where can you find battles that kindle your fancy like Falkirk and Flodden + and Culloden and Bannockburn? Where a sovereign that attracts, baffles, + repels, allures, like Mary Queen of Scots,—and where, tell me where, + is there a Pretender like Bonnie Prince Charlie? Think of the spirit in + those old Scottish matrons who could sing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel, + My rippling-kame and spinning-wheel, + To buy my lad a tartan plaid, + A braidsword, durk and white cockade.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes,” chimed in Salemina when I had finished quoting, “or that other + verse that goes— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I ance had sons, I now hae nane, + I bare them toiling sairlie; + But I would bear them a’ again + To lose them a’ for Charlie!’ +</pre> + <p> + Isn’t the enthusiasm almost beyond belief at this distance of time?” she + went on; “and isn’t it a curious fact, as Mr. Macdonald told me a moment + ago, that though the whole country was vocal with songs for the lost cause + and the fallen race, not one in favour of the victors ever became + popular?” + </p> + <p> + “Sympathy for the under dog, as Miss Monroe’s countrywomen would say + picturesquely,” remarked Mr. Macdonald. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why all the vulgarisms in the dictionary should be foisted on + the American girl,” retorted Francesca loftily, “unless, indeed, it is a + determined attempt to find spots upon the sun for fear we shall worship + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, quite so!” returned the Reverend Ronald, who has had reason to + know that this phrase reduces Miss Monroe to voiceless rage. + </p> + <p> + “The Stuart charm and personal magnetism must have been a powerful factor + in all that movement,” said Salemina, plunging hastily back into the topic + to avert any further recrimination. “I suppose we feel it even now, and if + I had been alive in 1745 I should probably have made myself ridiculous. + ‘Old maiden ladies,’ I read this morning, ‘were the last leal Jacobites in + Edinburgh; spinsterhood in its loneliness remained ever true to Prince + Charlie and the vanished dreams of youth.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued the Dominie, “the story is told of the last of those + Jacobite ladies who never failed to close her Prayer-Book and stand erect + in silent protest when the prayer for ‘King George III. and the reigning + family’ was read by the congregation.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the prayer of the Reverend Neil M’Vicar in St. + Cuthbert’s?” asked Mr. Macdonald. “It was in 1745, after the victory at + Prestonpans, when a message was sent to the Edinburgh ministers, in the + name of ‘Charles, Prince Regent’ desiring them to open their churches next + day as usual. M’Vicar preached to a large congregation, many of whom were + armed Highlanders, and prayed for George II., and also for Charles Edward, + in the following fashion: ‘Bless the king! Thou knowest what king I mean. + May the crown sit long upon his head! As for that young man who has come + among us to seek an earthly crown, we beseech Thee to take him to Thyself, + and give him a crown of glory!’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, what a pity the Bonnie Prince had not died after his meteor victory + at Falkirk!” exclaimed Jean Dalziel, when we had finished laughing at Mr. + Macdonald’s story. + </p> + <p> + “Or at Culloden, ‘where, quenched in blood on the Muir of Drummossie, the + star of the Stuarts sank forever,’” quoted the Dominie. “There is where + his better self died; would that the young Chevalier had died with it! By + the way, doctor, we must not sit here eating goodies and sipping tea until + the dinner-hour, for these ladies have doubtless much to do for their + flitting” (a pretty Scots word for ‘moving’). + </p> + <p> + “We are quite ready for our flitting so far as packing is concerned,” + Salemina assured him. “Would that we were as ready in spirit! Miss + Hamilton has even written her farewell poem, which I am sure she will read + for the asking.” + </p> + <p> + “She will read it without that formality,” murmured Francesca. “She has + lived and toiled only for this moment, and the poem is in her pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Delightful!” said the doctor flatteringly. “Has she favoured you already? + Have you heard it, Miss Monroe?” + </p> + <p> + “Have we heard it!” ejaculated that young person. “We have heard nothing + else all the morning! What you will take for local colour is nothing but + our mental life-blood, which she has mercilessly drawn to stain her + verses. We each tried to write a Scottish poem, and as Miss Hamilton’s was + better, or perhaps I might say less bad, than ours, we encouraged her to + develop and finish it. I wanted to do an imitation of Lindsay’s + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Adieu, Edinburgh! thou heich triumphant town, + Within whose bounds richt blithefull have I been! +</pre> + <p> + but it proved too difficult. Miss Hamilton’s general idea was that we + should write some verses in good plain English. Then we were to take out + all the final g’s, and indeed the final letters from all the words + wherever it was possible, so that full, awful, call, ball, hall, and away + should be fu’, awfu’, ca’, ba’, ha’, an’ awa’. This alone gives great + charm and character to a poem; but we were also to change all words ending + in ow into aw. This doesn’t injure the verse, you see, as blaw and snaw + rhyme just as well as blow and snow, beside bringing tears to the common + eye with their poetic associations. Similarly, if we had daughter and + slaughter, we were to write them dochter and slauchter, substituting in + all cases doon, froon, goon, and toon, for down, frown gown, and town. + Then we made a list of Scottish idols,—pet words, national + institutions, stock phrases, beloved objects,—convinced if we could + weave them in we should attain ‘atmosphere.’ Here is the first list; it + lengthened speedily: thistle, tartan, haar, haggis, kirk, claymore, + parritch, broom, whin, sporran, whaup, plaid, scone, collops, whisky, + mutch, cairngorm, oatmeal, brae, kilt, brose, heather. Salemina and I were + too devoted to common-sense to succeed in this weaving process, so + Penelope triumphed and won the first prize, both for that and also because + she brought in a saying given us by Miss Dalziel, about the social + classification of all Scotland into ‘the gentlemen of the North, men of + the South, people of the West, fowk o’ Fife, and the Paisley bodies.’ We + think that her success came chiefly from her writing the verses with a + Scotch plaid lead-pencil. What effect the absorption of so much red, blue, + and green paint will have I cannot fancy, but she ate off—and up—all + the tartan glaze before finishing the poem; it had a wonderfully + stimulating effect, but the end is not yet!” + </p> + <p> + Of course there was a chorus of laughter when the young wretch exhibited + my battered pencil, bought in Princes Street yesterday, its gay Gordon + tints sadly disfigured by the destroying tooth, not of Time, but of a bard + in the throes of composition. + </p> + <p> + “We bestowed a consolation prize on Salemina,” continued Francesca, + “because she succeeded in getting hoots, losh, havers, and blethers into + one line, but naturally she could not maintain such an ideal standard. + Read your verses, Pen, though there is little hope that our friends will + enjoy them as much as you do. Whenever Miss Hamilton writes anything of + this kind, she emulates her distinguished ancestor Sir William Hamilton, + who always fell off his own chair in fits of laughter when he was + composing verses.” + </p> + <p> + With this inspiring introduction I read my lines as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AN AMERICAN GIRL’S FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH + + The muse being somewhat under the influence of the Scottish ballad + + I canna thole my ain toun, + Sin’ I hae dwelt i’ this; + To bide in Edinboro’ reek + Wad be the tap o’ bliss. + Yon bonnie plaid aboot me hap, + The skirlin’ pipes gae bring, + With thistles fair tie up my hair, + While I of Scotia sing. + + The collops an’ the cairngorms, + The haggis an’ the whin, + The ‘Staiblished, Free, an’ U.P. kirks, + The hairt convinced o’ sin,— + The parritch an’ the heather-bell, + The snawdrap on the shaw, + The bit lam’s bleatin’ on the braes,— + How can I leave them a’? + + How can I leave the marmalade + An’ bonnets o’ Dundee? + The haar, the haddies, an’ the brose, + The East win’ blawin’ free? + How can I lay my sporran by, + An’ sit me doun at hame, + Wi’oot a Hieland philabeg + Or hyphenated name? + + I lo’e the gentry o’ the North, + The Southern men I lo’e, + The canty people o’ the West, + The Paisley bodies too. + The pawky folk o’ Fife are dear,— + Sae dear are ane an’ a’, + That e’en to think that we maun pairt + Maist braks my hairt in twa. + + So fetch me tartans, heather, scones, + An’ dye my tresses red; + I’d deck me like th’ unconquer’d Scots, + Wha hae wi’ Wallace bled. + Then bind my claymore to my side, + My kilt an’ mutch gae bring; + While Scottish lays soun’ i’ my lugs + M’Kinley’s no my king,— + + For Charlie, bonnie Stuart Prince, + Has turned me Jacobite; + I’d wear displayed the white cockade. + An’ (whiles) for him I’ll fight! + An’ (whiles) I’d fight for a’ that’s Scotch, + Save whusky an’ oatmeal, + For wi’ their ballads i’ my bluid, + Nae Scot could be mair leal! +</pre> + <p> + I fancied that I had pitched my verses in so high a key that no one could + mistake their burlesque intention. What was my confusion, however, to have + one of the company remark when I finished, ‘Extremely pretty; but a mutch, + you know, is an article of WOMAN’S apparel, and would never be worn with a + kilt!’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macdonald flung himself gallantly into the breach. He is such a dear + fellow! So quick, so discriminating, so warm-hearted! + </p> + <p> + “Don’t pick flaws in Miss Hamilton’s finest line! That picture of a fair + American, clad in a kilt and mutch, decked in heather and scones, and + brandishing a claymore, will live for ever in my memory. Don’t clip the + wings of her imagination! You will be telling her soon that one doesn’t + tie one’s hair with thistles, nor couple collops with cairngorms.” + </p> + <p> + Somebody sent Francesca a great bunch of yellow broom, late that + afternoon. There was no name in the box, she said, but at night she wore + the odorous tips in the bosom of her black dinner-gown, and standing erect + in her dark hair like golden aigrettes. + </p> + <p> + When she came into my room to say good night, she laid the pretty frock in + one of my trunks, which was to be filled with garments of fashionable + society and left behind in Edinburgh. The next moment I chanced to look on + the floor, and discovered a little card, a bent card with two lines + written on it:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Better lo’ed ye canna be, + Will ye no’ come back again?’ +</pre> + <p> + We have received many invitations in that handwriting. I know it well, and + so does Francesca, though it is blurred; and the reason for this, + according to my way of thinking, is that it has been lying next the moist + stems of flowers, and unless I do her wrong, very near to somebody’s warm + heart as well. + </p> + <p> + I will not betray her to Salemina, even to gain a victory over that blind + and deaf but much beloved woman. How could I, with my heart beating high + at the thought of seeing my ain dear laddie before many days? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, love, love, lassie, + Love is like a dizziness: + It winna lat a puir body + Gang aboot his business.’ +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIV. The wee theekit hoosie in the loaning. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Now she’s cast aff her bonny shoon + Made o’ gilded leather, + And she’s put on her Hieland brogues + To skip amang the heather. + And she’s cast aff her bonny goon + Made o’ the silk and satin, + And she’s put on a tartan plaid + To row amang the braken.’ +</pre> + <p> + Lizzie Baillie. + </p> + <p> + We are in the East Neuk o’ Fife; we are in Pettybaw; we are neither + boarders nor lodgers; we are residents, inhabitants, householders, and we + live (live, mind you) in a wee theekit hoosie in the old loaning. Words + fail to tell you how absolutely Scotch we are and how blissfully happy. It + is a happiness, I assure you, achieved through great tribulation. Salemina + and I travelled many miles in railway trains, and many in various other + sorts of wheeled vehicles, while the ideal ever beckoned us onward. I was + determined to find a romantic lodging, Salemina a comfortable one, and + this special combination of virtues is next to impossible, as every one + knows. Linghurst was too much of a town; Bonnie Craig had no respectable + inn; Winnybrae was struggling to be a watering-place; Broomlea had no + golf-course within ten miles, and we intended to go back to our native + land and win silver goblets in mixed foursomes; the ‘new toun o’ Fairlock’ + (which looked centuries old) was delightful, but we could not find + apartments there; Pinkie Leith was nice, but they were tearing up the + ‘fore street’ and laying drain-pipes in it. Strathdee had been highly + recommended, but it rained when we were in Strathdee, and nobody can + deliberately settle in a place where it rains during the process of + deliberation. No train left this moist and dripping hamlet for three + hours, so we took a covered trap and drove onward in melancholy mood. + Suddenly the clouds lifted and the rain ceased; the driver thought we + should be having settled weather now, and put back the top of the + carriage, saying meanwhile that it was a verra dry simmer this year, and + that the crops sairly needed shoo’rs. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if there is any district in Scotland where for any reason + droughts are possible, that is where we wish to settle,” I whispered to + Salemina; “though, so far as I can see, the Strathdee crops are up to + their knees in mud. Here is another wee village. What is this place, + driver?” + </p> + <p> + “Pettybaw, mam; a fine toun!” + </p> + <p> + “Will there be apartments to let there?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” + </p> + <p> + “Susanna Crum’s father! How curious that he should live here!” I murmured; + and at this moment the sun came out, and shone full, or at least almost + full, on our future home. + </p> + <p> + “Pettybaw! Petit bois, I suppose,” said Salemina; “and there, to be sure, + it is,—the ‘little wood’ yonder.” + </p> + <p> + We drove to the Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, and, alighting, + dismissed the driver. We had still three good hours of daylight, although + it was five o’clock, and we refreshed ourselves with a delicious cup of + tea before looking for lodgings. We consulted the greengrocer, the baker, + and the flesher, about furnished apartments, and started on our quest, not + regarding the little posting establishment as a possibility. Apartments we + found to be very scarce, and in one or two places that were quite suitable + the landlady refused to do any cooking. We wandered from house to house, + the sun shining brighter and brighter, and Pettybaw looking lovelier and + lovelier; and as we were refused shelter again and again, we grew more and + more enamoured, as is the manner of human kind. The blue sea sparkled, and + Pettybaw Sands gleamed white a mile or two in the distance, the pretty + stone church raised its curved spire from the green trees, the manse next + door was hidden in vines, the sheep lay close to the grey stone walls and + the young lambs nestled beside them, while the song of the burn, tinkling + merrily down the glade on the edge of which we stood, and the cawing of + the rooks in the little wood, were the only sounds to be heard. + </p> + <p> + Salemina, under the influence of this sylvan solitude, nobly declared that + she could and would do without a set bath-tub, and proposed building a + cabin and living near to nature’s heart. + </p> + <p> + “I think, on the whole, we should be more comfortable living near to the + innkeeper’s heart,” I answered. “Let us go back there and pass the night, + trying thus the bed and breakfast, with a view to seeing what they are + like—although they did say in Edinburgh that nobody thinks of living + in these wayside hostelries.” + </p> + <p> + Back we went, accordingly, and after ordering dinner came out and strolled + idly up the main street. A small sign in the draper’s window, heretofore + overlooked, caught our eye. ‘House and Garden To Let Inquire Within.’ + Inquiring within with all possible speed, we found the draper selling + winceys, the draper’s assistant tidying the ribbon-box, the draper’s wife + sewing in one corner, and the draper’s baby playing on the clean floor. We + were impressed favourably, and entered into negotiations without delay. + </p> + <p> + “The house will be in the loaning; do you mind, ma’am?” asked the draper. + (We have long since discovered that this use of the verb is a bequest from + the Gaelic, in which there is no present tense. Man never is, but always + to be blessed, in that language, which in this particular is not unlike + old-fashioned Calvinism.) + </p> + <p> + We went out of the back door and down the green loaning, until we came to + the wee stone cottage in which the draper himself lives most of the year, + retiring for the warmer months to the back of his shop, and eking out a + comfortable income by renting his hearth-stone to the summer visitor. + </p> + <p> + The thatched roof on the wing that formed the kitchen attracted my + artist’s eye, and we went in to examine the interior, which we found + surprisingly attractive. There was a tiny sitting-room, with a fireplace + and a microscopic piano; a dining-room adorned with portraits of relatives + who looked nervous when they met my eye, for they knew that they would be + turned face to the wall on the morrow; four bedrooms, a kitchen, and a + back garden so filled with vegetables and flowers that we exclaimed with + astonishment and admiration. + </p> + <p> + “But we cannot keep house in Scotland,” objected Salemina. “Think of the + care! And what about the servants?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not eat at the inn?” I suggested. “Think of living in a real loaning, + Salemina! Look at the stone floor in the kitchen, and the adorable stuffy + box-bed in the wall! Look at the bust of Sir Walter in the hall, and the + chromo of Melrose Abbey by moonlight! Look at the lintel over the front + door, with a ship, moon, stars, and 1602 carved in the stone! What is food + to all this?” + </p> + <p> + Salemina agreed that it was hardly worth considering; and in truth so many + landladies had refused to receive her as a tenant that day that her + spirits were rather low, and she was uncommonly flexible. + </p> + <p> + “It is the lintel and the back garden that rents the hoose,” remarked the + draper complacently in broad Scotch that I cannot reproduce. He is a + house-agent as well as a draper, and went on to tell us that when he had a + cottage he could rent in no other way he planted plenty of creepers in + front of it. “The baker’s hoose is no sae bonnie,” he said, “and the linen + and cutlery verra scanty, but there is a yellow laburnum growin’ by the + door: the leddies see that, and forget to ask aboot the linen. It depends + a good bit on the weather, too; it is easy to let a hoose when the sun + shines upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “We hardly dare undertake regular housekeeping,” I said; “do your tenants + ever take meals at the inn?” + </p> + <p> + “I cudna say, mam.” (Dear, dear, the Crums are a large family!) + </p> + <p> + “If we did that, we should still need a servant to keep the house tidy,” + said Salemina, as we walked away. “Perhaps housemaids are to be had, + though not nearer than Edinburgh, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + This gave me an idea, and I slipped over to the post-office while Salemina + was preparing for dinner, and despatched a telegram to Mrs. M’Collop at + Breadalbane Terrace, asking her if she could send a reliable general + servant to us, capable of cooking simple breakfasts and caring for a + house. + </p> + <p> + We had scarcely finished our Scotch broth, fried haddies, mutton-chops, + and rhubarb tart when I received an answer from Mrs. M’Collop to the + effect that her sister’s husband’s niece, Jane Grieve, could join us on + the morrow if we desired. The relationship was an interesting fact, though + we scarcely thought the information worth the additional pennies we paid + for it in the telegram; however, Mrs. M’Collop’s comfortable assurance, + together with the quality of the rhubarb tart and mutton-chops, brought us + to a decision. Before going to sleep we rented the draper’s house, named + it Bide-a-Wee Cottage, engaged daily luncheons and dinners for three + persons at the Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, telegraphed to + Edinburgh for Jane Grieve, to Callander for Francesca, and despatched a + letter to Paris for Mr. Beresford, telling him we had taken a ‘wee theekit + hoosie,’ and that the ‘yett was ajee’ whenever he chose to come. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly it would have been wiser not send for them until we were + settled,” I said reflectively. “Jane Grieve may not prove a suitable + person.” + </p> + <p> + “The name somehow sounds too young and inexperienced,” observed Salemina, + “and what association have I with the phrase ‘sister’s husband’s niece’?” + </p> + <p> + “You have heard me quote Lewis Carroll’s verse, perhaps:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He thought he saw a buffalo + Upon the chimney-piece; + He looked again and found it was + His sister’s husband’s niece: + “Unless you leave the house,” he said, + “I’ll send for the police!”’ +</pre> + <p> + The only thing that troubles me,” I went on, “is the question of Willie + Beresford’s place of residence. He expects to be somewhere within easy + walking or cycling distance,—four or five miles at most.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t be desolate even if he doesn’t have a thatched roof, a pansy + garden, and a blossoming shrub,” said Salemina sleepily, for our business + arrangements and discussions had lasted well into the evening. “What he + will want is a lodging where he can have frequent sight and speech of you. + How I dread him! How I resent his sharing of you with us! I don’t know why + I use the word ‘sharing,’ forsooth! There is nothing half so fair and just + in his majesty’s greedy mind. Well, it’s the way of the world; only it is + odd, with the universe of women to choose from, that he must needs take + you. Strathdee seems the most desirable place for him, if he has a + macintosh and rubber boots. Inchcaldy is another town near here that we + didn’t see at all—that might do; the draper’s wife says that we can + send fine linen to the laundry there.” + </p> + <p> + “Inchcaldy? Oh yes, I think we heard of it in Edinburgh—at least I + have some association with the name: it has a fine golf-course, I believe, + and very likely we ought to have looked at it, although for my part I have + no regrets. Nothing can equal Pettybaw; and I am so pleased to be a + Scottish householder! Aren’t we just like Bessie Bell and Mary Gray? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘They were twa bonnie lassies; + They biggit a bower on yon burnbrae, + An’ theekit it ower wi’ rashes.’ +</pre> + <p> + Think of our stone-floored kitchen, Salemina! Think of the real box-bed in + the wall for little Jane Grieve! She will have red-gold hair, blue eyes, + and a pink cotton gown. Think of our own cat! Think how Francesca will + admire the 1602 lintel! Think of our back garden, with our own ‘neeps’ and + vegetable marrows growing in it! Think how they will envy us at home when + they learn that we have settled down into Scottish yeowomen! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘It’s oh, for a patch of land! + It’s oh, for a patch of land! + Of all the blessings tongue can name, + There’s nane like a patch of land!’ +</pre> + <p> + Think of Willie coming to step on the floor and look at the bed and stroke + the cat and covet the lintel and walk in the garden and weed the turnips + and pluck the marrows that grow by our ain wee theekit hoosie!” + </p> + <p> + “Penelope, you appear slightly intoxicated! Do close the window and come + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “I am intoxicated with the caller air of Pettybaw,” I rejoined, leaning on + the window-sill and looking at the stars, while I thought: “Edinburgh was + beautiful; it is the most beautiful grey city in the world; it lacked one + thing only to make it perfect, and Pettybaw will have that before many + moons:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Oh, Willie’s rare an’ Willie’s fair + An’ Willie’s wondrous bonny; + An’ Willie’s hecht to marry me + Gin e’er he marries ony. + + ‘O gentle wind that bloweth south, + From where my love repaireth, + Convey a word from his dear mouth, + An’ tell me how he fareth.’” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XV. Jane Grieve and her grievances. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Gae tak’ awa’ the china plates, + Gae tak’ them far frae me; + And bring to me a wooden dish, + It’s that I’m best used wi’. + And tak’ awa’ thae siller spoons, + The like I ne’er did see, + And bring to me the horn cutties, + They’re good eneugh for me.’ +</pre> + <p> + Earl Richard’s Wedding. + </p> + <p> + The next day was one of the most cheerful and one of the most fatiguing + that I ever spent. Salemina and I moved every article of furniture in our + wee theekit hoosie from the place where it originally stood to another and + a better place: arguing, of course, over the precise spot it should + occupy, which was generally upstairs if the thing were already down, or + downstairs if it were already up. We hid all the more hideous ornaments of + the draper’s wife, and folded away her most objectionable tidies and + table-covers, replacing them with our own pretty draperies. There were + only two pictures in the sitting-room, and as an artist I would not have + parted with them for worlds. The first was The Life of a Fireman, which + could only remind one of the explosion of a mammoth tomato, and the other + was The Spirit of Poetry calling Burns from the Plough. Burns wore white + knee-breeches, military boots, a splendid waistcoat with lace ruffles, and + carried a cocked hat. To have been so dressed he must have known the + Spirit was intending to come. The plough-horse was a magnificent Arabian, + whose tail swept the freshly furrowed earth, while the Spirit of Poetry + was issuing from a practicable wigwam on the left, and was a lady of such + ample dimensions that no poet would have dared say ‘no’ when she called + him. + </p> + <p> + The dining-room was blighted by framed photographs of the draper’s + relations and the draper’s wife’s relations; all uniformly ugly. It seems + strange that married couples having the least beauty to bequeath to their + offspring should persist in having the largest families. These ladies and + gentlemen were too numerous to remove, so we obscured them with trailing + branches; reflecting that we only breakfasted in the room, and the morning + meal is easily digested when one lives in the open air. We arranged + flowers everywhere, and bought potted plants at a little nursery hard by. + We apportioned the bedrooms, giving Francesca the hardest bed,—as + she is the youngest, and wasn’t here to choose,—me the next hardest, + and Salemina the best; Francesca the largest looking-glass and wardrobe, + me the best view, and Salemina the largest bath. We bought housekeeping + stores, distributing our patronage equally between the two grocers; we + purchased aprons and dust-cloths from the rival drapers, engaged bread and + rolls from the baker, milk and cream from the plumber (who keeps three + cows), interviewed the flesher about chops; in fact, no young couple + facing love in a cottage ever had a busier or happier time than we; and at + sundown, when Francesca arrived, we were in the pink of order, standing + under our own lintel, ready to welcome her to Pettybaw. As to being + strangers in a strange land, we had a bowing acquaintance with everybody + on the main street of the tiny village, and were on terms of considerable + intimacy with half a dozen families, including dogs and babies. + </p> + <p> + Francesca was delighted with everything, from the station (Pettybaw Sands, + two miles away) to Jane Grieve’s name, which she thought as perfect, in + its way, as Susanna Crum’s. She had purchased a ‘tirling-pin,’ that + old-time precursor of knockers and bells, at an antique shop in Oban, and + we fastened it on the front door at once, taking turns at risping it until + our own nerves were shattered, and the draper’s wife ran down the loaning + to see if we were in need of anything. The twisted bar of iron stands out + from the door and the ring is drawn up and down over a series of nicks, + making a rasping noise. The lovers and ghaists in the old ballads always + ‘tirled at the pin,’ you remember; that is, touched it gently. + </p> + <p> + Francesca brought us letters from Edinburgh, and what was my joy, in + opening Willie’s, to learn that he begged us to find a place in Fifeshire, + and as near St. Rules or Strathdee as convenient; for in that case he + could accept an invitation he had just received to visit his friend Robin + Anstruther, at Rowardennan Castle. + </p> + <p> + “It is not the visit at the castle I wish so much, you may be sure,” he + wrote, “as the fact that Lady Ardmore will make everything pleasant for + you. You will like my friend Robin Anstruther, who is Lady Ardmore’s + youngest brother, and who is going to her to be nursed and coddled after a + baddish accident in the hunting-field. He is very sweet-tempered, and will + get on well with Francesca—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see the connection,” rudely interrupted that spirited young + person. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she has more room on her list in the country than she had in + Edinburgh; but if my remembrance serves me, she always enrolls a goodly + number of victims, whether she has any immediate use for them or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beresford’s manners have not been improved by his residence in + Paris,” observed Francesca, with resentment in her tone and delight in her + eye. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beresford’s manners are always perfect,” said Salemina loyally, “and + I have no doubt that this visit to Lady Ardmore will be extremely pleasant + for him, though very embarrassing to us. If we are thrown into forced + intimacy with a castle” (Salemina spoke of it as if it had fangs and a + lashing tail), “what shall we do in this draper’s hut?” + </p> + <p> + “Salemina!” I expostulated, “bears will devour you as they did the + ungrateful child in the fairy-tale. I wonder at your daring to use the + word ‘hut’ in connection with our wee theekit hoosie!” + </p> + <p> + “They will never understand that we are doing all this for the novelty of + it,” she objected. “The Scottish nobility and gentry probably never think + of renting a house for a joke. Imagine Lord and Lady Ardmore, the young + Ardmores, Robin Anstruther, and Willie Beresford calling upon us in this + sitting-room! We ourselves would have to sit in the hall and talk in + through the doorway.” + </p> + <p> + “All will be well,” Francesca assured her soothingly. “We shall be + pardoned much because we are Americans, and will not be expected to know + any better. Besides, the gifted Miss Hamilton is an artist, and that + covers a multitude of sins against conventionality. When the castle people + ‘tirl at the pin,’ I will appear as the maid, if you like, following your + example at Mrs Bobby’s cottage in Belvern, Pen.” + </p> + <p> + “And it isn’t as if there were many houses to choose from, Salemina, nor + as if Bide-a-Wee cottage were cheap,” I continued. “Think of the rent we + pay and keep your head high. Remember that the draper’s wife says there is + nothing half so comfortable in Inchcaldy, although that is twice as large + a town.” + </p> + <p> + “INCHCALDY!” ejaculated Francesca, sitting down heavily upon the sofa and + staring at me. + </p> + <p> + “Inchcaldy, my dear,—spelled CALDY, but pronounced CAWDY; the town + where you are to take your nonsensical little fripperies to be laundered.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Inchcaldy? How far away?” + </p> + <p> + “About five miles, I believe, but a lovely road.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she exclaimed bitterly, “of course Scotland is a small, + insignificant country; but, tiny as it is, it presents some liberty of + choice, and why you need have pitched upon Pettybaw, and brought me here, + when it is only five miles from Inchcaldy, and a lovely road besides, is + more than I can understand!” + </p> + <p> + “In what way has Inchcaldy been so unhappy as to offend you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It has not offended me, save that it chances to be Ronald Macdonald’s + parish—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ronald Macdonald’s parish!” we repeated automatically. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—you must have heard him mention Inchcaldy; and how queer + he will think it that I have come to Pettybaw, under all the + circumstances!” + </p> + <p> + “We do not know ‘all the circumstances,’” quoted Salemina somewhat + haughtily; “and you must remember, my dear, that our opportunities for + speech with Mr. Macdonald have been very rare when you were present. For + my part, I was always in such a tremor of anxiety during his visits lest + one or both of you should descend to blows that I remember no details of + his conversation. Besides, we did not choose Pettybaw; we discovered it by + chance as we were driving from Strathdee to St. Rules. How were we to know + that it was near this fatal Inchcaldy? If you think it best, we will hold + no communication with the place, and Mr. Macdonald need never know you are + here.” + </p> + <p> + I thought Francesca looked rather startled at this proposition. At all + events she said hastily, “Oh, well, let it go; we could not avoid each + other long, anyway, although it is very awkward, of course; you see, we + did not part friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I had never seen you on more cordial terms,” remarked Salemina. + </p> + <p> + “But you weren’t there,” answered Francesca unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + “Weren’t where?” + </p> + <p> + “Weren’t there.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At the station.” + </p> + <p> + “What station?” + </p> + <p> + “The station in Edinburgh from which I started for the Highlands.” + </p> + <p> + “You never said that he came to see you off.” + </p> + <p> + “The matter was too unimportant for notice; and the more I think of his + being here, the less I mind it after all; and so, dull care, begone! When + I first meet him on the sands or in the loaning, I shall say, ‘Dear me, is + it Mr. Macdonald! What brought you to our quiet hamlet?’ (I shall put the + responsibility on him, you know.) ‘That is the worst of these small + countries,—fowk are aye i’ the gait! When we part for ever in + America, we are able to stay parted, if we wish.’ Then he will say, ‘Quite + so, quite so; but I suppose even you, Miss Monroe, will allow that a + minister may not move his church to please a lady.’ ‘Certainly not,’ I + shall reply, ‘especially when it is Estaiblished!’ Then he will laugh, and + we shall be better friends for a few moments; and then I shall tell him my + latest story about the Scotchman who prayed, ‘Lord, I do not ask that Thou + shouldst give me wealth; only show me where it is, and I will attend to + the rest.’” + </p> + <p> + Salemina moaned at the delightful prospect opening before us, while I went + to the piano and carolled impersonally— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, wherefore did I cross the Forth, + And leave my love behind me? + Why did I venture to the north + With one that did not mind me? + I’m sure I’ve seen a better limb + And twenty better faces; + But still my mind it runs on him + When I am at the races!” + </pre> + <p> + Francesca left the room at this, and closed the door behind her with such + energy that the bust of Sir Walter rocked on the hall shelf. Running + upstairs she locked herself in her bedroom, and came down again only to + help us receive Jane Grieve, who arrived at eight o’clock. + </p> + <p> + In times of joy Salemina, Francesca, and I occasionally have our trifling + differences of opinion, but in hours of affliction we are as one flesh. An + all-wise Providence sent us Jane Grieve for fear that we should be too + happy in Pettybaw. Plans made in heaven for the discipline of sinful human + flesh are always successful, and this was no exception. + </p> + <p> + We had sent a ‘machine’ from the inn to meet her, and when it drew up at + the door we went forward to greet the rosy little Jane of our fancy. An + aged person, wearing a rusty black bonnet and shawl, and carrying what + appeared to be a tin cake-box and a baby’s bath-tub, descended + rheumatically from the vehicle and announced herself as Miss Grieve. She + was too old to call by her Christian name, too sensitive to call by her + surname, so Miss Grieve she remained, as announced, to the end of the + chapter, and our rosy little Jane died before she was actually born. The + man took her grotesque luggage into the kitchen, and Salemina escorted her + thither, while Francesca and I fell into each other’s arms and laughed + hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody need tell me that she is Mrs. M’Collop’s sister’s husband’s + niece,” she whispered, “although she may possibly be somebody’s + grand-aunt. Doesn’t she remind you of Mrs. Gummidge?” + </p> + <p> + Salemina returned in a quarter of an hour, and sank dejectedly on the + sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Run over to the inn, Francesca” she said, “and order bacon and eggs at + eight-thirty to-morrow morning. Miss Grieve thinks we had better not + breakfast at home until she becomes accustomed to the surroundings.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we allow her to become accustomed to them?” I questioned. + </p> + <p> + “She came up from Glasgow to Edinburgh for the day, and went to see Mrs. + M’Collop just as our telegram arrived. She was living with an ‘extremely + nice family’ in Glasgow, and only broke her engagement in order to try + Fifeshire air for the summer; so she will remain with us as long as she is + benefited by the climate.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you pay her for a month and send her away?” + </p> + <p> + “How can we? She is Mrs. M’Collop’s sister’s husband’s niece, and we + intend returning to Mrs. M’Collop. She has a nice ladylike appearance, but + when she takes her bonnet off she looks seventy years old.” + </p> + <p> + “She ought always to keep it off, then,” returned Francesca, “for she + looked eighty with it on. We shall have to soothe her last moments, of + course, and pay her funeral expenses. Did you offer her a cup of tea and + show her the box-bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she said she was muckle obleeged to me, but the coals were so poor + and hard she couldna batter them up to start a fire the nicht, and she + would try the box-bed to see if she could sleep in it. I am glad to + remember that it was you who telegraphed for her, Penelope.” + </p> + <p> + “Let there be no recriminations,” I responded; “let us stand shoulder to + shoulder in this calamity,—isn’t there a story called Calamity Jane? + We might live at the inn, and give her the cottage for a summer residence, + but I utterly refuse to be parted from our cat and the 1602 lintel.” + </p> + <p> + After I have once described Miss Grieve I shall not suffer her to begloom + these pages as she did our young lives. She is so exactly like her kind in + America she cannot be looked upon as a national type. Everywhere we go we + see fresh, fair-haired, sonsie lasses; why should we have been visited by + this affliction, we who have no courage in a foreign land to rid ourselves + of it? + </p> + <p> + She appears at the door of the kitchen with some complaint, and stands + there talking to herself in a depressing murmur until she arrives at the + next grievance. Whenever we hear this, which is whenever we are in the + sitting-room, we amuse ourselves by chanting lines of melancholy poetry + which correspond to the sentiments she seems to be uttering. It is the + only way the infliction can be endured, for the sitting-room is so small + that we cannot keep the door closed habitually. The effect of this plan is + something like the following:— + </p> + <p> + She. “The range has sic a bad draft I canna mak’ the fire draw!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘But I’m ower auld for the tears to start, + An’ sae the sighs maun blaw!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “The clock i’ the hall doesna strike. I have to get oot o’ my bed to + see the time.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘The broken hairt it kens + Nae second spring again!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “There’s no’ eneuch jugs i’ the hoose.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘I’m downright dizzy wi’ the thought— + In troth I’m like to greet!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “The sink drain isna recht.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘An’ it’s oh! to win awa’, awa’, + An’ it’s oh! to win awa’!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “I canna thole a box-bed!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘Ay waukin O + Waukin O an’ weary. + Sleep I can get nane, + Ay waukin O!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “It’s fair insultin’ to rent a hoose wi’ so few convenience.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘An’ I’m ower auld to fish ony mair, + An’ I hinna the chance to droon.’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “The work is fair sickenin’ i’ this hoose, an’ a’ for ane puir body + to do by her lane.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘How can ye chant, ye little birds, + An’ I sae weary, fu’ o’ care?’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “Ah, but that was a fine family I lived wi’ in Glasgy; an’ it’s a + wearifu’ day’s work I’ve had the day.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘Oh why was I spared to cry, Wae’s me!’ +</pre> + <p> + She. “Why dinna they leave floo’rs i’ the garden makin’ a mess i’ the + hoose wi’ ‘em? It’s not for the knowin’ what they will be after next!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We. ‘Oh, waly waly up the bank, + And waly waly doon the brae!’ +</pre> + <p> + Miss Grieve’s plaints never grow less, though we are sometimes at a loss + for appropriate quotations to match them. The poetic interpolations are + introduced merely to show the general spirit of her conversation. They + take the place of her sighs, which are by their nature unprintable. Many + times each day she is wont to sink into one low chair, and, extending her + feet in another, close her eyes and murmur undistinguishable plaints which + come to us in a kind of rhythmic way. She has such a shaking right hand we + have been obliged to give up coffee and have tea, as the former beverage + became too unsettled on its journey from the kitchen to the + breakfast-table. She says she kens she is a guid cook, though salf-praise + is sma’ racommendation (sma’ as it is she will get nae ither!); but we + have little opportunity to test her skill, as she prepares only our + breakfasts of eggs and porridge. Visions of home-made goodies had danced + before our eyes, but as the hall clock doesna strike she is unable to rise + at any exact hour, and as the range draft is bad, and the coals too hard + to batter up wi’ a hatchet, we naturally have to content ourselves with + the baker’s loaf. + </p> + <p> + And this is a truthful portrait of ‘Calamity Jane,’ our one Pettybaw + grievance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVI. The path that led to Crummylowe. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Gae farer up the burn to Habbie’s Howe, + Where a’ the sweets o’ spring an’ simmer grow: + Between twa birks, out o’er a little lin, + The water fa’s an’ mak’s a singan din; + A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, + Kisses, wi’ easy whirls, the bord’ring grass.’ +</pre> + <p> + The Gentle Shepherd. + </p> + <p> + That is what Peggy says to Jenny in Allan Ramsay’s poem, and if you + substitute ‘Crummylowe’ for ‘Habbie’s Howe’ in the first line, you will + have a lovely picture of the farm-steadin’. + </p> + <p> + You come to it by turning the corner from the inn, first passing the + cottage where the lady wishes to rent two rooms for fifteen shillings a + week, but will not give much attendance, as she is slightly asthmatic, and + the house is always as clean as it is this minute, and the view from the + window looking out on Pettybaw Bay canna be surpassed at ony money. Then + comes the little house where Will’am Beattie’s sister Mary died in May, + and there wasna a bonnier woman in Fife. Next is the cottage with the + pansy-garden, where the lady in the widow’s cap takes five-o’clock tea in + the bay-window, and a snug little supper at eight. She has for the first, + scones and marmalade, and her tea is in a small black teapot under a red + cosy with a white muslin cover drawn over it. At eight she has more tea, + and generally a kippered herring, or a bit of cold mutton left from the + noon dinner. We note the changes in her bill of fare as we pass hastily + by, and feel admitted quite into the family secrets. Beyond this + bay-window, which is so redolent of simple peace and comfort that we long + to go in and sit down, is the cottage with the double white tulips, the + cottage with the collie on the front steps, the doctor’s house with the + yellow laburnum tree, and then the house where the Disagreeable Woman + lives. She has a lovely baby, which, to begin with, is somewhat + remarkable, as disagreeable women rarely have babies; or else, having had + them, rapidly lose their disagreeableness—so rapidly that one has + not time to notice it. The Disagreeable Woman’s house is at the end of the + row, and across the road is a wicket-gate leading—Where did it lead?—that + was the very point. Along the left, as you lean wistfully over the gate, + there runs a stone wall topped by a green hedge; and on the right, first + furrows of pale fawn, then below, furrows of deeper brown, and mulberry, + and red ploughed earth stretching down to waving fields of green, and + thence to the sea, grey, misty, opalescent, melting into the pearly white + clouds, so that one cannot tell where sea ends and sky begins. + </p> + <p> + There is a path between the green hedge and the ploughed field, and it + leads seductively to the farm-steadin’; or we felt that it might thus + lead, if we dared unlatch the wicket gate. Seeing no sign ‘Private Way,’ + ‘Trespassers Not Allowed,’ or other printed defiance to the stranger, we + were considering the opening of the gate, when we observed two female + figures coming toward us along the path, and paused until they should come + through. It was the Disagreeable Woman (although we knew it not) and an + elderly friend. We accosted the friend, feeling instinctively that she was + framed of softer stuff, and asked her if the path were a private one. It + was a question that had never met her ear before, and she was too dull or + too discreet to deal with it on the instant. To our amazement, she did not + even manage to falter, ‘I couldna say.’ + </p> + <p> + “Is the path private?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly the idea to keep it a little private,” said the + Disagreeable Woman, coming into the conversation without being addressed. + “Where do you wish to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere in particular. The walk looks so inviting we should like to see + the end.” + </p> + <p> + “It goes only to the Farm, and you can reach that by the highroad; it is + only a half-mile further. Do you wish to call at the Farm?” + </p> + <p> + “No, oh no; the path is so very pretty that—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see; well, I should call it rather private.” And with this she + departed, leaving us to stand on the outskirts of paradise, while she went + into her house and stared at us from the window as she played with the + lovely undeserved baby. But that was not the end of the matter. + </p> + <p> + We found ourselves there next day, Francesca and I—Salemina was too + proud—drawn by an insatiable longing to view the beloved and + forbidden scene. We did not dare to glance at the Disagreeable Woman’s + windows, lest our courage should ooze away, so we opened the gate and + stole through into the rather private path. + </p> + <p> + It was a most lovely path; even if it had not been in a sense prohibited, + it would still have been lovely, simply on its own merits. There were + little gaps in the hedge and the wall, through which we peered into a + daisy-starred pasture, where a white bossy and a herd of flaxen-haired + cows fed on the sweet green grass. The mellow ploughed earth on the right + hand stretched down to the shore-line, and a plough-boy walked up and down + the long, straight furrows whistling ‘My Nannie’s awa’.’ Pettybaw is so + far removed from the music-halls that their cheap songs and strident + echoes never reach its sylvan shades, and the herd-laddies and plough-boys + still sweeten their labours with the old classic melodies. + </p> + <p> + We walked on and on, determined to come every day; and we settled that if + we were accosted by any one, or if our innocent business were demanded, + Francesca should ask, ‘Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here, and has she + any new-laid eggs?’ + </p> + <p> + Soon the gates of the Farm appeared in sight. There was a cluster of + buildings, with doves huddling and cooing on the red-tiled roofs,—dairy + houses, workmen’s cottages, comely rows of haystacks (towering yellow + things with peaked tops); a little pond with ducks and geese chattering + together as they paddled about, and for additional music the trickling of + two tiny burns making ‘a singan din,’ as they wimpled through the bushes. + A speckle-breasted thrush perched on a corner of the grey wall and poured + his heart out. Overhead there was a chorus of rooks in the tall trees, but + there was no sound of human voice save that of the plough-laddie whistling + ‘My Nannie’s awa’.’ + </p> + <p> + We turned our backs on this darling solitude, and retraced our steps + lingeringly. As we neared the wicket gate again we stood upon a bit of + jutting rock and peered over the wall, sniffing the hawthorn buds with + ecstasy. The white bossy drew closer, treading softly on its daisy carpet; + the wondering cows looked up at us as they peacefully chewed their cuds; a + man in corduroy breeches came from a corner of the pasture, and with a + sharp, narrow hoe rooted out a thistle or two that had found their way + into this sweet feeding-ground. Suddenly we heard the swish of a dress + behind, and turned, conscience-stricken, though we had in nothing sinned. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here?” stammered Francesca like a + parrot. + </p> + <p> + It was an idiotic time and place for the question. We had certainly + arranged that she should ask it, but something must be left to the + judgment in such cases. Francesca was hanging over a stone wall regarding + a herd of cows in a pasture, and there was no possible shelter for a Mrs. + Macstronachlacher within a quarter of a mile. What made the remark more + unfortunate was the fact that, although she had on a different dress and + bonnet, the person interrogated was the Disagreeable Woman; but Francesca + is particularly slow in discerning resemblances. She would have gone on + mechanically asking for new-laid eggs, had I not caught her eye and held + it sternly. The foe looked at us suspiciously for a moment (Francesca’s + hats are not easily forgotten), and then vanished up the path, to tell the + people at Crummylowe, I suppose, that their grounds were invested by + marauding strangers whose curiosity was manifestly the outgrowth of a + republican government. + </p> + <p> + As she disappeared in one direction, we walked slowly in the other; and + just as we reached the corner of the pasture where two stone walls meet, + and where a group of oaks gives grateful shade, we heard children’s + voices. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried somebody; “it must be still higher at this end, for the + tower—this is where the king will sit. Help me with this heavy one, + Rafe. Dandie, mind your foot. Why don’t you be making the flag for the + ship?—and do keep the Wrig away from us till we finish building!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVII. Playing Sir Patrick Spens. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘O lang, lang may the ladyes sit + Wi’ their face into their hand, + Before they see Sir Patrick Spens + Come sailing to the strand.’ +</pre> + <p> + Sir Patrick Spens. + </p> + <p> + We forced our toes into the crevices of the wall and peeped stealthily + over the top. Two boys of eight or ten years, with two younger children, + were busily engaged in building a castle. A great pile of stones had been + hauled to the spot, evidently for the purpose of mending the wall, and + these were serving as rich material for sport. The oldest of the company, + a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy in an Eton jacket and broad white collar, + was obviously commander-in-chief; and the next in size, whom he called + Rafe, was a laddie of eight, in kilts. These two looked as if they might + be scions of the aristocracy, while Dandie and the Wrig were fat little + yokels of another sort. The miniature castle must have been the work of + several mornings, and was worthy of the respectful but silent admiration + with which we gazed upon it; but as the last stone was placed in the + tower, the master builder looked up and spied our interested eyes peering + at him over the wall. We were properly abashed, and ducked our heads + discreetly at once, but were reassured by hearing him run rapidly towards + us, calling, “Stop, if you please! Have you anything on just now—are + you busy?” + </p> + <p> + We answered that we were quite at leisure. + </p> + <p> + “Then would you mind coming in to help us play ‘Sir Patrick Spens’? There + aren’t enough of us to do it nicely.” + </p> + <p> + This confidence was touching, and luckily it was not in the least + misplaced. Playing ‘Sir Patrick Spens’ was exactly in our line, little as + he suspected it. + </p> + <p> + “Come and help?” I said. “Simply delighted! Do come, Fanny dear. How can + we get over the wall?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show you the good broken place!” cried Sir Apple-Cheek; and + following his directions we scrambled through, while Rafe took off his + Highland bonnet ceremoniously and handed us down to earth. + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah! now it will be something like fun! Do you know ‘Sir Patrick + Spens’?” + </p> + <p> + “Every word of it. Don’t you want us to pass an examination before you + allow us in the game?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered gravely; “it’s a great help, of course, to know it, but + it isn’t necessary. I keep the words in my pocket to prompt Dandie, and + the Wrig can only say two lines, she’s so little.” (Here he produced some + tattered leaves torn from a book of ballads.) “We’ve done it many a time, + but this is a new Dunfermline Castle, and we are trying the play in a + different way. Rafe is the king, and Dandie is the ‘eldern knight,’—you + remember him?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; he sat at the king’s right knee.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, that’s the one! Then Rafe is Sir Patrick part of the time, and + I the other part, because everybody likes to be him; but there’s nobody + left for the ‘lords o’ Noroway’ or the sailors, and the Wrig is the only + maiden to sit on the shore, and she always forgets to comb her hair and + weep at the right time.” + </p> + <p> + The forgetful and placid Wrig (I afterwards learned that this is a Scots + word for the youngest bird in the nest) was seated on the grass, with her + fat hands full of pink thyme and white wild woodruff. The sun shone on her + curly flaxen head. She wore a dark blue cotton frock with white dots, and + a short-sleeved pinafore; and though she was utterly useless from a + dramatic point of view, she was the sweetest little Scotch dumpling I ever + looked upon. She had been tried and found wanting in most of the principal + parts of the ballad, but when left out of the performance altogether she + was wont to scream so lustily that all Crummylowe rushed to her + assistance. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us practise a bit to see if we know what we are going to do,” + said Sir Apple-Cheek. “Rafe, you can be Sir Patrick this time. The reason + why we all like to be Sir Patrick,” he explained, turning to me, “is that + the lords o’ Noroway say to him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our King’s gowd, + And a’ our Queenis fee’; +</pre> + <p> + and then he answers,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Ye lee! ye lee! ye leers loud, + Fu’ loudly do ye lee!”’ +</pre> + <p> + and a lot of splendid things like that. Well, I’ll be the king,” and + accordingly he began:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The King sits in Dunfermline tower, + Drinking the bluid-red wine. + “O whaur will I get a skeely skipper + To sail this new ship o’ mine?”’ +</pre> + <p> + A dead silence ensued, whereupon the king said testily, “Now, Dandie, you + never remember you’re the eldern knight; go on!” + </p> + <p> + Thus reminded, Dandie recited:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘O up and spake an eldern knight, + Sat at the King’s right knee: + “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor + That ever sailed the sea.”’ +</pre> + <p> + “Now I’ll write my letter,” said the king, who was endeavouring to make + himself comfortable in his somewhat contracted tower. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The King has written a braid letter + And sealed it with his hand; + And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, + Was walking on the strand.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Read the letter out loud, Rafe, and then you’ll remember what to do.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“To Noroway! to Noroway! + To Noroway o’er the faem! + The King’s daughter of Noroway, + ‘Tis thou maun bring her hame,”’ +</pre> + <p> + read Rafe. + </p> + <p> + “Now do the next part!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t; I’m going to chuck up that next part. I wish you’d do Sir + Patrick until it comes to ‘Ye lee! ‘ye lee!’” + </p> + <p> + “No, that won’t do, Rafe. We have to mix up everybody else, but it’s too + bad to spoil Sir Patrick.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll give him to you, then, and be the king. I don’t mind so much + now that we’ve got such a good tower; and why can’t I stop up there even + after the ship sets sail and look out over the sea with a telescope? + That’s the way Elizabeth did the time she was king.” + </p> + <p> + “You can stay till you have to come down and be a dead Scots lord. I’m not + going to lie there as I did last time, with nobody but the Wrig for a + Scots lord, and her forgetting to be dead!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Apple-Cheek then essayed the hard part ‘chucked up’ by Rafe. It was + rather difficult, I confess, as the first four lines were in pantomime, + and required great versatility:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The first word that Sir Patrick read, + Fu’ loud, loud laughed he: + The neist word that Sir Patrick read, + The tear blinded his e’e.’ +</pre> + <p> + These conflicting emotions successfully simulated, Sir Patrick resumed:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“O wha is he has done this deed, + And tauld the King o’ me,— + To send us out, at this time o’ the year, + To sail upon the sea?”’ +</pre> + <p> + Then the king stood up in the unstable tower and shouted his own orders:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, + Our ship maun sail the faem; + The King’s daughter o’ Noroway, + ‘Tis we maun fetch her hame.”’ +</pre> + <p> + “Can’t we rig the ship a little better?” demanded our stage-manager at + this juncture. “It isn’t half as good as the tower.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes’ hard work, in which we assisted, produced something a trifle + more nautical and seaworthy than the first craft. The ground with a few + boards spread upon it was the deck. Tarpaulin sheets were arranged on + sticks to represent sails, and we located the vessel so cleverly that two + slender trees shot out of the middle of it and served as the tall + topmasts. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us make believe that we’ve hoisted our sails on ‘Mononday morn’ + and been in Noroway ‘weeks but only twae,’” said our leading man; “and + your time has come now,”—turning to us. + </p> + <p> + We felt indeed that it had; but plucking up sufficient courage for the + lords o’ Noroway, we cried accusingly,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our King’s gowd, + And a’ our Queenis fee!”’ +</pre> + <p> + Oh but Sir Apple-Cheek was glorious as he roared virtuously:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Ye lee! ye lee! ye leers loud, + Fu’ loudly do you lee! + + “For I brocht as much white monie + As gane my men and me, + An’ I brocht a half-fou o’ gude red gowd + Out ower the sea wi’ me. + + “But betide me well, betide me wae, + This day I’se leave the shore; + And never spend my King’s monie + ‘Mong Noroway dogs no more. + + “Make ready, make ready, my merry men a’, + Our gude ship sails the morn.”’ +</pre> + <p> + “Now you be the sailors, please!” + </p> + <p> + Glad to be anything but Noroway dogs, we recited obediently— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Now, ever alake, my master dear, + I fear a deadly storm? + . . . . . . . + And if ye gang to sea, master, + I fear we’ll come to harm.”’ +</pre> + <p> + We added much to the effect of this stanza by flinging ourselves on the + turf and embracing Sir Patrick’s knees, with which touch of melodrama he + was enchanted. + </p> + <p> + Then came a storm so terrible that I can hardly trust myself to describe + its fury. The entire corps dramatique personated the elements, and tore + the gallant ship in twain, while Sir Patrick shouted in the teeth of the + gale— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“O whaur will I get a gude sailor + To tak’ my helm in hand, + Till I get up to the tall topmast + To see if I can spy land?”’ +</pre> + <p> + I knew the words a trifle better than Francesca, and thus succeeded in + forestalling her as the fortunate hero— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“O here I am, a sailor gude, + To tak’ the helm in hand, + Till you go up to the tall topmast; + But I fear ye’ll ne’er spy land.”’ +</pre> + <p> + And the heroic sailor was right, for + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He hadna gone a step, a step, + A step but only ane, + When a bout flew out o’ our goodly ship, + And the saut sea it came in.’ +</pre> + <p> + Then we fetched a web o’ the silken claith, and anither o’ the twine, as + our captain bade us; we wapped them into our ship’s side and letna the sea + come in; but in vain, in vain. Laith were the gude Scots lords to weet + their cork-heeled shune, but they did, and wat their hats abune; for the + ship sank in spite of their despairing efforts, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘And mony was the gude lord’s son + That never mair cam’ hame.’ +</pre> + <p> + Francesca and I were now obliged to creep from under the tarpaulins and + personate the dishevelled ladies on the strand. + </p> + <p> + “Will your hair come down?” asked the manager gravely. + </p> + <p> + “It will and shall,” we rejoined; and it did. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The ladies wrang their fingers white, + The maidens tore their hair.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Do tear your hair, Jessie! It’s the only thing you have to do, and you + never do it on time!” + </p> + <p> + The Wrig made ready to howl with offended pride, but we soothed her, and + she tore her yellow curls with her chubby hands. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘And lang, lang may the maidens sit + Wi’ there gowd kaims i’ the hair, + A’ waitin’ for their ain dear luves, + For them they’ll see nae mair.’ +</pre> + <p> + I did a bit of sobbing here that would have been a credit to Sarah + Siddons. + </p> + <p> + “Splendid! Grand!” cried Sir Patrick, as he stretched himself fifty + fathoms below the imaginary surface of the water, and gave explicit + ante-mortem directions to the other Scots lords to spread themselves out + in like manner. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, + ‘Tis fifty fathoms deep, + And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, + Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, it is grand!” he repeated jubilantly. “If I could only be the king + and see it all from Dunfermline tower! Could you be Sir Patrick once, do + you think, now that I have shown you how?” he asked Francesca. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I could!” she replied, glowing with excitement (and small wonder) + at being chosen for the principal role. + </p> + <p> + “The only trouble is that you do look awfully like a girl in that white + frock.” + </p> + <p> + Francesca appeared rather ashamed at her natural disqualifications for the + part of Sir Patrick. “If I had only worn my long black cloak!” she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have an idea!” cried the boy. “Hand her the minister’s gown from + the hedge, Rafe. You see, Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe lent us this old + gown for a sail; she’s doing something to a new one, and this was her + pattern.” + </p> + <p> + Francesca slipped it on over her white serge, and the Pettybaw parson + should have seen her with the long veil of her dark locks floating over + his ministerial garment. + </p> + <p> + “It seems a pity to put up your hair,” said the stage manager critically, + “because you look so jolly and wild with it down, but I suppose you must; + and will you have Rafe’s bonnet?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, she would have Rafe’s bonnet; and when she perched it on the side of + her head and paced the deck restlessly, while the black gown floated + behind in the breeze, we all cheered with enthusiasm, and, having rebuilt + the ship, began the play again from the moment of the gale. The wreck was + more horribly realistic than ever, this time, because of our rehearsal; + and when I crawled from under the masts and sails to seat myself on the + beach with the Wrig, I had scarcely strength enough to remove the cooky + from her hand and set her a-combing her curly locks. + </p> + <p> + When our new Sir Patrick stretched herself on the ocean bed, she fell with + a despairing wail; her gown spread like a pall over the earth, the + Highland bonnet came off, and her hair floated over a haphazard pillow of + Jessie’s wildflowers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is fine, that part; but from here is where it always goes wrong!” + cried the king from the castle tower. “It’s too bad to take the maidens + away from the strand where they look so bonnie, and Rafe is splendid as + the gude sailor, but Dandie looks so silly as one little dead Scots lord; + if we only had one more person, young or old, if he was ever so stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “WOULD I DO?” + </p> + <p> + This unexpected offer came from behind one of the trees that served as + topmasts, and at the same moment there issued from that delightfully + secluded retreat Ronald Macdonald, in knickerbockers and a golf-cap. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly as this apparition came, there was no lack of welcome on the + children’s part. They shouted his name in glee, embraced his legs, and + pulled him about like affectionate young bears. Confusion reigned for a + moment, while Sir Patrick rose from her sea grave all in a mist of + floating hair, from which hung impromptu garlands of pink thyme and green + grasses. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to do the honours, please, Jamie,” said Mr. Macdonald, when he + could escape from the children’s clutches. “Have you been properly + presented? I suppose not. Ladies, the young Master of Rowardennan. Jamie, + Miss Hamilton and Miss Monroe from the United States of America.” Sir + Apple-Cheek bowed respectfully. “Let me present the Honourable Ralph + Ardmore, also from the castle, together with Dandie Dinmont and the Wrig + from Crummylowe. Sir Patrick, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. + Must you take off my gown? I had thought it was past use, but it never + looked so well before.” + </p> + <p> + “YOUR gown?” + </p> + <p> + The counterfeit presentment of Sir Patrick vanished as the long drapery + flew to the hedge whence it came, and there remained only an offended + young goddess, who swung her dark mane tempestuously to one side, plaited + it in a thick braid, tossed it back again over her white serge shoulder, + and crowded on her sailor hat with unnecessary vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, MY gown; whose else could you more appropriately borrow, pray? + Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe presses, sponges, and darns my bachelor + wardrobe, but I confess I never suspected that she rented it out for + theatrical purposes. I have been calling upon you in Pettybaw; Lady + Ardmore was there at the same time. Finding but one of the three American + Graces at home, I stayed a few moments only, and am now returning to + Inchcaldy by way of Crummylowe.” Here he plucked the gown off the hedge + and folded it carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we keep it for a sail, Mr. Macdonald?” pleaded Jamie. “Mistress + Ogilvie said it wasn’t any more good.” + </p> + <p> + “When Mistress Ogilvie made that remark,” replied the Reverend Ronald, + “she had no idea that it would ever touch the shoulders of the martyred + Sir Patrick Spens. Now, I happen to love—” + </p> + <p> + Francesca hung out a scarlet flag in each cheek, and I was about to say, + ‘Don’t mind me!’ when he continued— + </p> + <p> + “As I was saying, I happen to love ‘Sir Patrick Spens,’—it is my + favourite ballad; so, with your permission, I will take the gown, and you + can find something less valuable for a sail!” + </p> + <p> + I could never understand just why Francesca was so annoyed at being + discovered in our innocent game. Of course she was prone on Mother Earth + and her tresses were much dishevelled, but she looked lovely after all, in + comparison with me, the humble ‘supe’ and lightning-change artist; yet I + kept my temper,—at least I kept it until the Reverend Ronald + observed, after escorting us through the gap in the wall, “By the way, + Miss Hamilton, there was a gentleman from Paris at your cottage, and he is + walking down the road to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + Walking down the road to meet me, forsooth! Have ministers no brains? The + Reverend Mr. Macdonald had wasted five good minutes with his observations, + introductions, explanations, felicitations, and adorations, and meantime, + regardez-moi, messieurs et mesdames, s’il vous plait! I have been a + Noroway dog, a shipbuilder, and a gallant sailorman; I have been a gurly + sea and a towering gale; I have crawled from beneath broken anchors, + topsails, and mizzenmasts to a strand where I have been a suffering lady + plying a gowd kaim. My skirt of blue drill has been twisted about my + person until it trails in front; my collar is wilted, my cravat untied; I + have lost a stud and a sleeve-link; my hair is in a tangled mass, my face + is scarlet and dusty—and a gentleman from Paris is walking down the + road to meet me! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘There were three ladies in a hall— + With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay, + There came a lord among them all— + As the primrose spreads so sweetly.’ + + —The Cruel Brother. +</pre> + <p> + Willie Beresford has come to Pettybaw, and that Arcadian village has + received the last touch that makes it Paradise. + </p> + <p> + We are exploring the neighbourhood together, and whichever path we take we + think it lovelier than the one before. This morning we drove to Pettybaw + Sands, Francesca and Salemina following by the footpath and meeting us on + the shore. It is all so enchantingly fresh and green on one of these rare + bright days: the trig lass bleaching her ‘claes’ on the grass by the burn + near the little stone bridge; the wild partridges whirring about in pairs; + the farm-boy seated on the clean straw in the bottom of his cart, and + cracking his whip in mere wanton joy at the sunshine; the pretty cottages; + and the gardens with rows of currant and gooseberry bushes hanging thick + with fruit that suggests jam and tart in every delicious globule. It is a + love-coloured landscape, we know it full well; and nothing in the fair + world about us is half as beautiful as what we see in each other’s eyes. + Ah, the memories of these first golden mornings together after our long + separation. I shall sprinkle them with lavender and lay them away in that + dim chamber of the heart where we keep precious things. We all know the + chamber. It is fragrant with other hidden treasures, for all of them are + sweet, though some are sad. That is the reason why we put a finger on the + lip and say ‘Hush,’ if we open the door and allow any one to peep in. + </p> + <p> + We tied the pony by the wayside and alighted: Willie to gather some sprays + of the pink veronica and blue speedwell, I to sit on an old bench and + watch him in happy idleness. The ‘white-blossomed slaes’ sweetened the + air, and the distant hills were gay with golden whin and broom, or flushed + with the purply-red of the bell heather. + </p> + <p> + We heard the note of the cushats from a neighbouring bush. They used to + build their nests on the ground, so the story goes, but the cows trampled + them. Now they are wiser and build higher, and their cry is supposed to be + a derisive one, directed to their ancient enemies. ‘Come noo, Coo, Coo! + Come noo!’ + </p> + <p> + A hedgehog crept stealthily along the ground, and at a sudden sound curled + himself up like a wee brown bear. There were women working in the fields + near by,—a strange sight to our eyes at first, but nothing unusual + here, where many of them are employed on the farms all the year round, + sowing weeding, planting, even ploughing in the spring, and in winter + working at threshing or in the granary. + </p> + <p> + An old man, leaning on his staff, came tottering feebly along, and sank + down on the bench beside me. He was dirty, ragged, unkempt, and feeble, + but quite sober, and pathetically anxious for human sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m achty-sax year auld,’ he maundered, apropos of nothing, “achty-sax + year auld. I’ve seen five lairds o’ Pettybaw, sax placed meenisters, an’ + seeven doctors. I was a mason, an’ a stoot mon i’ thae days, but it’s a + meeserable life noo. Wife deid, bairns deid! I sit by my lane, an’ smoke + my pipe, wi’ naebody to gi’e me a sup o’ water. Achty-sax is ower auld for + a mon,—ower auld.” + </p> + <p> + These are the sharp contrasts of life one cannot bear to face when one is + young and happy. Willie gave him a half-crown and some tobacco for his + pipe, and when the pony trotted off briskly, and we left the shrunken + figure alone on his bench as he was lonely in his life, we kissed each + other and pledged ourselves to look after him as long as we remain in + Pettybaw; for what is love worth if it does not kindle the flames of + spirit, open the gates of feeling, and widen the heart to shelter all the + little loves and great loves that crave admittance? + </p> + <p> + As we neared the tiny fishing-village on the sands we met a fishwife brave + in her short skirt and eight petticoats, the basket with its two hundred + pound weight on her head, and the auld wife herself knitting placidly as + she walked along. They look superbly strong, these women; but, to be sure, + the ‘weak anes dee,’ as one of them told me. + </p> + <p> + There was an air of bustle about the little quay,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘That joyfu’ din when the boats come in, + When the boats come in sae early; + When the lift is blue an’ the herring-nets fu’, + And the sun glints in a’ things rarely.’ +</pre> + <p> + The silvery shoals of fish no longer come so near the shore as they used + in the olden time, for then the kirk bell of St. Monan’s had its tongue + tied when the ‘draive’ was off the coast, lest its knell should frighten + away the shining myriads of the deep. + </p> + <p> + We climbed the shoulder of a great green cliff until we could sit on the + rugged rocks at the top and overlook the sea. The bluff is well named + Nirly Scaur, and a wild desolate spot it is, with grey lichen-clad + boulders and stunted heather on its summit. In a storm here, the wind + buffets and slashes and scourges one like invisible whips, and below the + sea churns itself into foaming waves, driving its ‘infinite squadrons of + wild white horses’ eternally toward the shore. It was calm and blue + to-day, and no sound disturbed the quiet save the incessant shriek and + scream of the rock birds, the kittiwakes, black-headed gulls, and + guillemots that live on the sides of these high sheer craigs. Here the + mother guillemot lays her single egg, and here, on these narrow shelves of + precipitous rock, she holds it in place with her foot until the warmth of + her leg and overhanging body hatches it into life, when she takes it on + her back and flies down to the sea. Motherhood under difficulties, it + would seem, and the education of the baby guillemot is carried forward on + Spartan principles; for the moment he is out of the shell he is swept + downward hundreds of feet and plunged into a cold ocean, where he can sink + or swim as instinct serves him. In a life so fraught with anxieties, + exposures, and dangers, it is not strange that the guillemots keeps up a + ceaseless clang of excited conversation, a very riot and wrangle of + altercation and argument which the circumstances seem to warrant. The + prospective father is obliged to take turns with the prospective mother, + and hold the one precious egg on the rock while she goes for a fly, a + swim, a bite, and a sup. As there are five hundred other parents on the + same rock, and the eggs look to be only a couple of inches apart, the + scene must be distracting, and I have no doubt we should find, if + statistics were gathered, that thousands of guillemots die of nervous + prostration. + </p> + <p> + Willie and I interpreted the clamour somewhat as follows:— + </p> + <p> + [Between parent birds.] + </p> + <p> + “I am going to take my foot off. Are you ready to put yours on? Don’t be + clumsy! Wait a minute, I’m not ready. I’M NOT READY, I TELL YOU! NOW!!” + </p> + <p> + [Between rival mothers.] + </p> + <p> + “Your egg is so close to mine that I can’t breathe—-” + </p> + <p> + “Move your egg, then, I can’t move mine!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re sitting so close, I can’t stretch my wings.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither can I. You’ve got as much room as I have.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tumble if you crowd me.” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead and tumble, then! There is plenty of room in the sea.” + </p> + <p> + [From one father to another ceremoniously.] + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I shoved your wife off the rock last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it. I remember I shoved off your wife’s mother last year.” + </p> + <p> + We walked among the tiny whitewashed low-roofed cots, each with its + silver-skinned fishes tacked invitingly against the door-frame to dry, + until we came to my favourite, the corner cottage in the row. It has + beautiful narrow garden strips in front,—solid patches of colour in + sweet gillyflower bushes, from which the kindly housewife plucked a + nosegay for us. Her white columbines she calls ‘granny’s mutches’; and + indeed they are not unlike those fresh white caps. Dear Robbie Burns, ten + inches high in plaster, stands in the sunny window in a tiny box of + blossoming plants surrounded by a miniature green picket fence. Outside, + looming white among the gillyflowers, is Sir Walter, and near him is still + another and a larger bust on a cracked pedestal a foot high, perhaps. We + did not recognise the head at once, and asked the little woman who it was. + </p> + <p> + “Homer, the graund Greek poet,” she answered cheerily; “an’ I’m to have + anither o’ Burns, as tall as Homer, when my daughter comes hame frae + E’nbro’.” + </p> + <p> + If the shade of Homer keeps account of his earthly triumphs, I think he is + proud of his place in that humble Scotchwoman’s gillyflower garden, with + his head under the drooping petals of granny’s white mutches. + </p> + <p> + What do you think her ‘mon’ is called in the village! John o’ Mary! But he + is not alone in his meekness, for there are Jock o’ Meg, Willie o’ Janet, + Jem o’ Tibby, and a dozen others. These primitive fishing-villages are the + places where all the advanced women ought to congregate, for the wife is + head of the house; the accountant, the treasurer, the auditor, the + chancellor of the exchequer; and though her husband does catch the fish + for her to sell, that is accounted apparently as a detail too trivial for + notice. + </p> + <p> + When we passed Mary’s cottage on our way to the sands next day, Burns’s + head had been accidentally broken off by the children, and we felt as + though we had lost a friend; but Scotch thrift, and loyalty to the dear + Ploughman Poet, came to the rescue, and when we returned, Robert’s plaster + head had been glued to his body. He smiled at us again from between the + two scarlet geraniums, and a tendril of ivy had been gently curled about + his neck to hide the cruel wound. + </p> + <p> + After such long, lovely mornings as this, there is a late luncheon under + the shadow of a rock with Salemina and Francesca, an idle chat, or the + chapter of a book, and presently Lady Ardmore and her daughter Elizabeth + drive down to the sands. They are followed by Robin Anstruther, Jamie, and + Ralph on bicycles, and before long the stalwart figure of Ronald Macdonald + appears in the distance, just in time for a cup of tea, which we brew in + Lady Ardmore’s bath-house on the beach. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIX. Fowk o’ Fife. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, + The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene; + The native feelings strong, the guileless ways.’ +</pre> + <p> + The Cotter’s Saturday Night. + </p> + <p> + We have lived in Pettybaw a very short time, but I see that we have + already made an impression upon all grades of society. This was not our + intention. We gave Edinburgh as our last place of residence, with the view + of concealing our nationality, until such time as we should choose to + declare it; that is, when public excitement with regard to our rental of + the house in the loaning should have lapsed into a state of indifference. + And yet, modest, economical, and commonplace as has been the + administration of our affairs, our method of life has evidently been + thought unusual, and our conduct not precisely the conduct of other summer + visitors. Even our daily purchases, in manner, in number, and in + character, seem to be looked upon as eccentric, for whenever we leave a + shop, the relatives of the greengrocer, flesher, draper, whoever it may + be, bound downstairs, surround him in an eager circle, and inquire the + latest news. + </p> + <p> + In an unwise moment we begged the draper’s wife to honour us with a visit + and explain the obliquities of the kitchen range and the tortuosities of + the sink-spout to Miss Grieve. While our landlady was on the premises, I + took occasion to invite her up to my own room, with a view of seeing + whether my mattress of pebbles and iron-filings could be supplemented by + another of shavings or straw, or some material less provocative of bodily + injuries. She was most sympathetic, persuasive, logical and after the + manner of her kind proved to me conclusively that the trouble lay with the + too-saft occupant of the bed, not with the bed itself, and gave me + statistics with regard to the latter which established its reputation and + at the same moment destroyed my own. + </p> + <p> + She looked in at the various doors casually as she passed up and down the + stairs,—all save that of the dining-room, which Francesca had + prudently locked to conceal the fact that we had covered the family + portraits,—and I noticed at the time that her face wore an + expression of mingled grief and astonishment. It seemed to us afterward + that there was a good deal more passing up and down the loaning than when + we first arrived. At dusk especially, small processions of children and + young people walked by our cottage and gave shy glances at the windows. + </p> + <p> + Finding Miss Grieve in an unusually amiable mood, I inquired the probable + cause of this phenomenon. She would not go so far as to give any judicial + opinion, but offered a few conjectures. + </p> + <p> + It might be the tirling-pin; it might be the white satin ribbons on the + curtains; it might be the guitars and banjos; it might be the bicycle + crate; it might be the profusion of plants; it might be the continual + feasting and revelry; it might be the blazing fires in a Pettybaw summer. + She thought a much more likely reason, however, was because it had become + known in the village that we had moved every stick of furniture in the + house out of its accustomed place and taken the dressing-tables away from + the windows,—‘the windys,’ she called them. + </p> + <p> + I discussed this matter fully with Mr. Macdonald later on. He laughed + heartily, but confessed, with an amused relish of his national + conservatism, that to his mind there certainly was something radical, + advanced, and courageous in taking a dressing-table away from its place, + back to the window, and putting it anywhere else in a room. He would be + frank, he said, and acknowledge that it suggested an undisciplined and + lawless habit of thought, a disregard for authority, a lack of reverence + for tradition, and a riotous and unbridled imagination. + </p> + <p> + This view of the matter gave us exquisite enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “But why?” I asked laughingly. “The dressing-table is not a sacred object, + even to a woman. Why treat it with such veneration? Where there is but one + good light, and that immediately in front of the window, there is every + excuse for the British custom, but when the light is well diffused, why + not place the table where-ever it looks well?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but it doesn’t look well anywhere but back to the window,” said Mr. + Macdonald artlessly. “It belongs there, you see; it has probably been + there since the time of Malcolm Canmore, unless Margaret was too pious to + look in a mirror. With your national love of change, you cannot conceive + how soothing it is to know that whenever you enter your gate and glance + upward, you will always see the curtains parted, and between them, like an + idol in a shrine, the ugly wooden back of a little oval or oblong + looking-glass. It gives one a sense of permanence in a world where all is + fleeting.” + </p> + <p> + The public interest in our doings seems to be entirely of a friendly + nature, and if our neighbours find a hundredth part of the charm and + novelty in us that we find in them, they are fortunate indeed, and we + cheerfully sacrifice our privacy on the altar of the public good. + </p> + <p> + A village in Scotland is the only place I can fancy where housekeeping + becomes an enthralling occupation. All drudgery disappears in a rosy glow + of unexpected, unique, and stimulating conditions. I would rather + superintend Miss Grieve, and cause the light of amazement to gleam ten + times daily in her humid eye, than lead a cotillion with Willie Beresford. + I would rather do the marketing for our humble breakfasts and teas, or + talk over the day’s luncheons and dinners with Mistress Brodie of the + Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, than go to the opera. + </p> + <p> + Salemina and Francesca do not enjoy it all quite as intensely as I, so + they considerately give me the lion’s share. Every morning, after an + exhilarating interview with the Niobe of our kitchen (who thinks me + irresponsible, and prays Heaven in her heart I be no worse), I put on my + goloshes, take my umbrella, and trudge up and down the little streets and + lanes on real and, if need be, imaginary errands. The Duke of Wellington + said, ‘When fair in Scotland, always carry an umbrella; when it rains, + please yourself,’ and I sometimes agree with Stevenson’s shivering + statement, ‘Life does not seem to me to be an amusement adapted to this + climate.’ I quoted this to the doctor yesterday, but he remarked with some + surprise that he had not missed a day’s golfing for weeks. The chemist + observed as he handed me a cake of soap, ‘Won’erful blest in weather, we + are, mam,’ simply because, the rain being unaccompanied with high wind, + one was enabled to hold up an umbrella without having it turned inside + out. When it ceased dripping for an hour at noon, the greengrocer said + cheerily, ‘Another grand day, mam!’ I assented, though I could not for the + life of me remember when the last one occurred. However, dreary as the + weather may be, one cannot be dull when doing one’s morning round of + shopping in Pettybaw or Strathdee. I have only to give you thumb-nail + sketches of our favourite tradespeople to convince you of that fact. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We bought our first groceries of Mrs. Robert Phin, of Strathdee, simply + because she is an inimitable conversationalist. She is expansive, too, + about family matters, and tells us certain of her ‘mon’s’ faults which it + would be more seemly to keep in the safe shelter of her own bosom. + </p> + <p> + Rab takes a wee drappie too much, it appears, and takes it so often that + he has little time to earn an honest penny for his family. This is bad + enough; but the fact that Mrs. Phin has been twice wed before, and that in + each case she innocently chose a ne’er-do-weel for a mate, makes her a + trifle cynical. She told me that she had laid twa husbands in the + kirk-yard near which her little shop stands, and added cheerfully, as I + made some sympathetic response, ‘An’ I hope it’ll no’ be lang afore I box + Rab!’ + </p> + <p> + Salemina objects to the shop because it is so disorderly. Soap and sugar, + tea and bloaters, starch and gingham, lead pencils and sausages, lie side + by side cosily. Boxes of pins are kept on top of kegs of herrings. Tins of + coffee are distributed impartially anywhere and everywhere, and the bacon + sometimes reposes in a glass case with small-wares and findings, out of + the reach of Alexander’s dogs. + </p> + <p> + Alexander is one of a brood, or perhaps I should say three broods, of + children which wander among the barrels and boxes and hams and winceys + seeking what they may devour,—a handful of sugar, a prune, or a + sweetie. + </p> + <p> + We often see the bairns at their luncheon or dinner in a little room just + off the shop, Alexander the Small always sitting or kneeling on a + ‘creepie,’ holding his plate down firmly with the left hand and eating + with the right, whether the food be fish, porridge, or broth. In the Phin + family the person who does not hold his plate down runs the risk of losing + it to one of the other children or to the dogs, who, with eager eye and + reminding paw, gather round the hospitable board, licking their chops + hopefully. + </p> + <p> + I enjoy these scenes very much, but, alas! I can no longer witness them as + often as formerly. + </p> + <p> + This morning Mrs. Phin greeted me with some embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe ye’ll no’ ken me,” she said, her usually clear speech a little + blurred. “It’s the teeth. I’ve mislaid ‘em somewhere. I paid far too much + siller for ‘em to wear ‘em ilka day. Sometimes I rest ‘em in the teabox to + keep ‘em awa’ frae the bairns, but I canna find ‘em theer. I’m thinkin’ + maybe they’ll be in the rice, but I’ve been ower thrang to luik!” + </p> + <p> + This anecdote was too rich to keep to myself, but its unconscious humour + made no impression upon Salemina, who insisted upon the withdrawal of our + patronage. I have tried to persuade her that, whatever may be said of tea + and rice, we run no risk in buying eggs; but she is relentless. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The kirkyard where Rab’s two predecessors have been laid, and where Rab + will lie when Mrs. Phin has ‘boxed’ him, is a sleepy little place set on a + gentle slope of ground, softly shaded by willow and yew trees. It is + enclosed by a stone wall, into which an occasional ancient tombstone is + built, its name and date almost obliterated by stress of time and weather. + </p> + <p> + We often walk through its quiet, myrtle-bordered paths on our way to the + other end of the village, where Mrs. Bruce, the flesher, keeps an + unrivalled assortment of beef and mutton. The headstones, many of them + laid flat upon the graves, are interesting to us because of their quaint + inscriptions, in which the occupation of the deceased is often stated with + modest pride and candour. One expects to see the achievements of the + soldier, the sailor, or the statesman carved in the stone that marks his + resting-place, but to our eyes it is strange enough to read that the + subject of eulogy was a plumber, tobacconist, maker of golf-balls, or a + golf champion; in which latter case there is a spirited etching or + bas-relief of the dead hero, with knickerbockers, cap, and clubs complete. + </p> + <p> + There, too, lies Thomas Loughead, Hairdresser, a profession far too little + celebrated in song and story. His stone is a simple one, and bears merely + the touching tribute:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He was lovely and pleasant in his life, +</pre> + <p> + the inference being, to one who knows a line of Scripture, that in his + death he was not divided. + </p> + <p> + These kirkyard personalities almost lead one to believe in the + authenticity of the British tradesman’s epitaph, wherein his + practical-minded relict stated that the ‘bereaved widow would continue to + carry on the tripe and trotter business at the old stand.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + One day when we were walking through the little village of Strathdee we + turned the corner of a quiet side street and came suddenly upon something + altogether strange and unexpected. + </p> + <p> + A stone cottage of the everyday sort stood a trifle back from the road and + bore over its front door a sign announcing that Mrs. Bruce, Flesher, + carried on her business within; and indeed one could look through the + windows and see ruddy joints hanging from beams, and piles of + pink-and-white steaks and chops lying neatly on the counter, crying, + ‘Come, eat me!’ Nevertheless, one’s first glance would be arrested neither + by Mrs Bruce’s black-and-gold sign, nor by the enticements of her + stock-in-trade, because one’s attention is rapped squarely between the + eyes by an astonishing shape that arises from the patch of lawn in front + of the cottage, and completely dominates the scene. Imagine yourself face + to face with the last thing you would expect to see in a modest front + dooryard,—the figurehead of a ship, heroic in size, gorgeous in + colour, majestic in pose! A female personage it appears to be from the + drapery, which is the only key the artist furnishes as to sex, and a + queenly female withal, for she wears a crown at least a foot high, and + brandishes a forbidding sceptre. All this seen from the front, but the + rear view discloses the fact that the lady terminates in the tail of a + fish which wriggles artistically in mid-air and is of a brittle sort, as + it has evidently been thrice broken and glued together. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Bruce did not leave us long in suspense, but obligingly came out, + partly to comment on the low price of mutton and partly to tell the tale + of the mammoth mermaid. By rights, of course, Mrs. Bruce’s husband should + have been the gallant captain of a bark which foundered at sea and sent + every man to his grave on the ocean-bed. The ship’s figurehead should have + been discovered by some miracle, brought to the sorrowing widow, and set + up in the garden in eternal remembrance of the dear departed. This was the + story in my mind, but as a matter of fact the rude effigy was wrought by + Mrs. Bruce’s father for a ship to be called the Sea Queen, but by some + mischance, ship and figurehead never came together, and the old + wood-carver left it to his daughter, in lieu of other property. It has not + been wholly unproductive, Mrs. Bruce fancies, for the casual passers-by, + like those who came to scoff and remained to pray, go into the shop to ask + questions about the Sea Queen and buy chops out of courtesy and gratitude. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + On our way to the bakery, which is a daily walk with us, we always glance + at a little cot in a grassy lane just off the fore street. In one half of + this humble dwelling Mrs. Davidson keeps a slender stock of shop-worn + articles,—pins, needles, threads, sealing-wax, pencils, and sweeties + for the children, all disposed attractively upon a single shelf behind the + window. + </p> + <p> + Across the passage, close to the other window, sits day after day an old + woman of eight-six summers who has lost her kinship with the present and + gone back to dwell for ever in the past. A small table stands in front of + her rush-bottomed chair, the old family Bible rests upon it, and in front + of the Bible are always four tiny dolls, with which the trembling old + fingers play from morning till night. They are cheap, common little + puppets, but she robes and disrobes them with tenderest care. They are put + to bed upon the Bible, take their walks along its time-worn pages, are + married on it, buried on it, and the direst punishment they ever receive + is to be removed from its sacred covers and temporarily hidden beneath the + dear old soul’s black alpaca apron. She is quite happy with her treasures + on week-days; but on Sundays—alas and alas! the poor old dame sits + in her lonely chair with the furtive tears dropping on her wrinkled + cheeks, for it is a God-fearing household, and it is neither lawful nor + seemly to play with dolls on the Sawbath! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Mrs. Nicolson is the presiding genius of the bakery, she is more—she + is the bakery itself. A Mr. Nicolson there is, and he is known to be the + baker, but he dwells in the regions below the shop and only issues at rare + intervals, beneath the friendly shelter of a huge tin tray filled with + scones and baps. + </p> + <p> + If you saw Mrs. Nicolson’s kitchen with the firelight gleaming on its + bright copper, its polished candlesticks, and its snowy floor, you would + think her an admirable housewife, but you would get no clue to those + shrewd and masterful traits of character which reveal themselves chiefly + behind the counter. + </p> + <p> + Miss Grieve had purchased of Mrs. Nicolson a quarter section of very + appetising ginger-cake to eat with our afternoon tea, and I stepped in to + buy more. She showed me a large round loaf for two shillings. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I objected, “I cannot use a whole loaf, thank you. We eat very + little at a time, and like it perfectly fresh. I wish a small piece such + as my maid bought the other day.” + </p> + <p> + Then ensued a discourse which I cannot render in the vernacular, more’s + the pity, though I understood it all too well for my comfort. The + substance of it was this: that she couldna and wouldna tak’ it in hand to + give me a quarter section of cake when the other three-quarters might gae + dry in the bakery; that the reason she sold the small piece on the former + occasion was that her daughter, her son-in-law, and their three children + came from Ballahoolish to visit her, and she gave them a high tea with no + expense spared; that at this function they devoured three-fourths of a + ginger-cake, and just as she was mournfully regarding the remainder my + servant came in and took it off her hands; that she had kept a bakery for + thirty years and her mother before her, and never had a two-shilling + ginger-cake been sold in pieces before, nor was it likely ever to occur + again; that if I, under Providence, so to speak, had been the fortunate + gainer by the transaction, why not eat my six penny-worth in solemn + gratitude once for all, and not expect a like miracle to happen the next + week? And finally, that two-shilling ginger-cakes were, in the very nature + of things, designed for large families; and it was the part of wisdom for + small families to fix their affections on something else, for she couldna + and wouldna tak’ it in hand to cut a rare and expensive article for a + small customer. + </p> + <p> + The torrent of logic was over, and I said humbly that I would take the + whole loaf. + </p> + <p> + “Verra weel, mam,” she responded more affably, “thank you kindly; no, I + couldna tak’ it in hand to sell six pennyworth of that ginger-cake and let + one-and-sixpence worth gae dry in the bakery.—A beautiful day, mam! + Won’erful blest in weather ye are! Let me open your umbrella for you, + mam!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . +</pre> + <p> + David Robb is the weaver of Pettybaw. All day long he sits at his + old-fashioned hand-loom, which, like the fruit of his toil and the dear + old greybeard himself, belongs to a day that is past and gone. + </p> + <p> + He might have work enough to keep an apprentice busy, but where would he + find a lad sufficiently behind the times to learn a humble trade now + banished to the limbo of superseded, almost forgotten things? + </p> + <p> + His home is but a poor place, but the rough room in which he works is big + enough to hold a deal of sweet content. It is cheery enough, too, to + attract the Pettybaw weans, who steal in on wet days and sit on the floor + playing with the thrums, or with bits of coloured ravellings. Sometimes + when they have proved themselves wise and prudent little virgins, they are + even allowed to touch the hanks of pink and yellow and blue yarn that lie + in rainbow-hued confusion on the long deal table. + </p> + <p> + All this time the ‘heddles’ go up and down, up and down, with their + ceaseless clatter, and David throws the shuttle back and forth as he + weaves his old-fashioned winceys. + </p> + <p> + We have grown to be good friends, David and I, and I have been permitted + the signal honour of painting him at his work. + </p> + <p> + The loom stands by an eastern window, and the rare Pettybaw sunshine + filters through the branches of a tree, shines upon the dusty + window-panes, and throws a halo round David’s head that he well deserves + and little suspects. In my foreground sit Meg and Jean and Elspeth playing + with thrums and wearing the fruit of David’s loom in their gingham frocks. + David himself sits on his wooden bench behind the maze of cords that form + the ‘loom harness.’ + </p> + <p> + The snows of seventy winters powder his hair and beard. His spectacles are + often pushed back on his kindly brow, but no glass could wholly obscure + the clear integrity and steadfast purity of his eyes; and as for his + smile, I have not the art to paint that! It holds in solution so many + sweet though humble virtues of patience, temperance, self-denial, honest + endeavour, that my brush falters in the attempt to fix the radiant whole + upon the canvas. Fashions come and go, modern improvements transform the + arts and trades, manual skill gives way to the cunning of the machine, but + old David Robb, after more than fifty years of toil, still sits at his + hand-loom and weaves his winceys for the Pettybaw bairnies. + </p> + <p> + David has small book-learning, so he tells me; and indeed he had need to + tell me, for I should never have discovered it myself,—one misses it + so little when the larger things are all present! + </p> + <p> + A certain summer visitor in Pettybaw (a compatriot of ours, by the way) + bought a quantity of David’s orange-coloured wincey, and finding that it + wore like iron, wished to order more. She used the word ‘reproduce’ in her + telegram, as there was one pattern and one colour she specially liked. + Perhaps the context was not illuminating, but at any rate the word + ‘reproduce’ was not in David’s vocabulary, and putting back his spectacles + he told me his difficulty in deciphering the exact meaning of his + fine-lady patron. He called at the Free Kirk manse,—the meenister + was no’ at hame; then to the library,—it was closed; then to the + Estaiblished manse,—the meenister was awa’. At last he obtained a + glance at the schoolmaster’s dictionary, and turning to ‘reproduce’ found + that it meant ‘nought but mak’ ower again’;—and with an amused smile + at the bedevilments of language he turned once more to his loom and I to + my canvas. + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding his unfamiliarity with ‘langnebbit’ words, David has + absorbed a deal of wisdom in his quiet life; though so far as I can see, + his only books have been the green tree outside his window, a glimpse of + the distant ocean, and the toil of his hands. + </p> + <p> + But I sometimes question if as many scholars are not made as marred in + this wise, for—to the seeing eye—the waving leaf and the far + sea, the daily task, one’s own heart-beats, and one’s neighbour’s,—these + teach us in good time to interpret Nature’s secrets, and man’s, and God’s + as well. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XX. A Fifeshire tea-party. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The knights they harpit in their bow’r, + The ladyes sew’d and sang; + The mirth that was in that chamber + Through all the place it rang.’ +</pre> + <p> + Rose the Red and White Lily. + </p> + <p> + Tea at Rowardennan Castle is an impressive and a delightful function. It + is served by a ministerial-looking butler and a just-ready-to-be-ordained + footman. They both look as if they had been nourished on the Thirty-Nine + Articles, but they know their business as well as if they had been trained + in heathen lands,—which is saying a good deal, for everybody knows + that heathen servants wait upon one with idolatrous solicitude. However, + from the quality of the cheering beverage itself down to the thickness of + the cream, the thinness of the china, the crispness of the toast, and the + plummyness of the cake, tea at Rowardennan Castle is perfect in every + detail. + </p> + <p> + The scones are of unusual lightness, also. I should think they would + scarcely weigh more than four, perhaps even five, to a pound; but I am + aware that the casual traveller, who eats only at hotels, and never has + the privilege of entering feudal castles, will be slow to believe this + estimate, particularly just after breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Salemina always describes a Scotch scone as an aspiring but unsuccessful + soda-biscuit of the New England sort. Stevenson, in writing of that dense + black substance, inimical to life, called Scotch bun, says that the + patriotism that leads a Scotsman to eat it will hardly desert him in any + emergency. Salemina thinks that the scone should be bracketed with the bun + (in description, of course, never in the human stomach), and says that, as + a matter of fact, ‘th’ unconquer’d Scot’ of old was not only clad in a + shirt of mail, but well fortified within when he went forth to warfare + after a meal of oatmeal and scones. She insists that the spear which would + pierce the shirt of mail would be turned aside and blunted by the ordinary + scone of commerce; but what signifies the opinion of a woman who eats + sugar on her porridge? + </p> + <p> + Considering the air of liberal hospitality that hangs about the castle + tea-table, I wonder that our friends do not oftener avail themselves of + its privileges and allow us to do so; but on all dark, foggy, or inclement + days, or whenever they tire of the sands, everybody persists in taking tea + at Bide-a-Wee Cottage. + </p> + <p> + We buy our tea of the Pettybaw grocer, some of our cups are cracked, the + teapot is of earthenware, Miss Grieve disapproves of all social + tea-fuddles, and shows it plainly when she brings in the tray, and the + room is so small that some of us overflow into the hall or the garden; it + matters not; there is some fatal charm in our humble hospitality. At four + o’clock one of us is obliged to be, like Sister Anne, on the housetop; and + if company approaches, she must descend and speed to the plumber’s for six + pennyworth extra of cream. In most well-ordered British households Miss + Grieve would be requested to do this speeding, but both her mind and her + body move too slowly for such domestic crises; and then, too, her temper + has to be kept as unruffled as possible, so that she will cut the bread + and butter thin. This she generally does if she has not been ‘fair + doun-hadden wi’ wark’; but the washing of her own spinster cup and plate, + together with the incident sighs and groans, occupies her till so late an + hour that she is not always dressed for callers. + </p> + <p> + Willie and I were reading The Lady of the Lake the other day, in the back + garden, surrounded by the verdant leafage of our own kale-yard. It is a + pretty spot when the sun shines, a trifle domestic in its air, perhaps, + but restful: Miss Grieve’s dish-towels and aprons drying on the currant + bushes, the cat playing with a mutton-bone or a fish-tail on the grass, + and the little birds perching on the rims of our wash-boiler and + water-buckets. It can be reached only by way of the kitchen, which + somewhat lessens its value as a pleasure-ground or a rustic retreat, but + Willie and I retire there now and then for a quiet chat. + </p> + <p> + On this particular occasion Willie was declaiming the exciting verses + where Fitz-James and Murdoch are crossing the stream + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘That joins Loch Katrine to Achray,’ +</pre> + <p> + where the crazed Blanche of Devan first appears:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘All in the Trosachs’ glen was still, + Noontide was sleeping on the hill: + Sudden his guide whoop’d loud and high— + “Murdoch! was that a signal cry?”’ +</pre> + <p> + “It was indeed,” said Francesca, appearing suddenly at an upper window + overhanging the garden. “Pardon this intrusion, but the Castle people are + here,” she continued in what is known as a stage whisper,—that is, + one that can be easily heard by a thousand persons,—“the Castle + people and the ladies from Pettybaw House; and Mr. Macdonald is coming + down the loaning; but Calamity Jane is making her toilet in the kitchen, + and you cannot take Mr. Beresford through into the sitting-room at + present. She says this hoose has so few conveniences that it’s ‘fair + sickenin’.’” + </p> + <p> + “How long will she be?” queried Mr. Beresford anxiously, putting The Lady + of the Lake in his pocket, and pacing up and down between the rows of + cabbages. + </p> + <p> + “She has just begun. Whatever you do, don’t unsettle her temper, for she + will have to prepare for eight to-day. I will send Mr. Macdonald and Miss + Macrae to the bakery for gingerbread, to gain time, and possibly I can + think of a way to rescue you. If I can’t, are you tolerably comfortable? + Perhaps Miss Grieve won’t mind Penelope, and she can come through the + kitchen any time and join us; but naturally you don’t want to be + separated, that’s the worst of being engaged. Of course I can lower your + tea in a tin bucket, and if it should rain I can throw out umbrellas. + Would you like your golf-caps, Pen? ‘Won’erful blest in weather ye are, + mam!’ The situation is not so bad as it might be,” she added consolingly, + “because in case Miss Grieve’s toilet should last longer than usual, your + wedding need not be indefinitely postponed, for Mr. Macdonald can marry + you from this window.” + </p> + <p> + Here she disappeared, and we had scarcely time to take in the full humour + of the affair before Robin Anstruther’s laughing eyes appeared over the + top of the high brick wall that protects our garden on three sides. + </p> + <p> + “Do not shoot,” said he. “I am not come to steal the fruit, but to succour + humanity in distress. Miss Monroe insisted that I should borrow the inn + ladder. She thought a rescue would be much more romantic than waiting for + Miss Grieve. Everybody is coming out to witness it, at least all your + guests,—there are no strangers present,—and Miss Monroe is + already collecting sixpence a head for the entertainment, to be given, she + says, for your dear Friar’s sustenation fund.” + </p> + <p> + He was now astride of the wall, and speedily lifted the ladder to our + side, where it leaned comfortably against the stout branches of the + draper’s peach vine. Willie ran nimbly up the ladder and bestrode the + wall. I followed, first standing, and then decorously sitting down on the + top of it. Mr. Anstruther pulled up the ladder, and replaced it on the + side of liberty; then he descended, then Willie, and I last of all, amidst + the acclamations of the onlookers, a select company of six or eight + persons. + </p> + <p> + When Miss Grieve formally entered the sitting-room bearing the tea-tray, + she was buskit braw in black stuff gown, clean apron, and fresh cap + trimmed with purple ribbons, under which her white locks were neatly + dressed. + </p> + <p> + She deplored the coolness of the tea, but accounted for it to me in an + aside by the sickening quality of Mrs. Sinkler’s coals and Mr. Macbrose’s + kindling-wood, to say nothing of the insulting draft in the draper’s + range. When she left the room, I suppose she was unable to explain the + peals of laughter that rang through our circumscribed halls. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ardmore insists that the rescue was the most unique episode she ever + witnessed, and says that she never understood America until she made our + acquaintance. I persuaded her that this was fallacious reasoning; that + while she might understand us by knowing America, she could not possibly + reverse this mental operation and be sure of the result. The ladies of + Pettybaw House said that the occurrence was as Fifish as anything that + ever happened in Fife. The kingdom of Fife is noted, it seems, for its + ‘doocots [dovecots] and its daft lairds,’ and to be eccentric and Fifish + are one and the same thing. Thereupon Francesca told Mr. Macdonald a story + she heard in Edinburgh, to the effect that when a certain committee or + council was quarrelling as to which of certain Fifeshire towns should be + the seat of a projected lunatic asylum, a new resident arose and suggested + that the building of a wall round the kingdom of Fife would solve the + difficulty, settle all disputes, and give sufficient room for the lunatics + to exercise properly. + </p> + <p> + This is the sort of tale that a native can tell with a genial chuckle, but + it comes with poor grace from an American lady sojourning in Fife. + Francesca does not mind this, however, as she is at present avenging fresh + insults to her own beloved country. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXI. International bickering. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With mimic din of stroke and ward + The broadsword upon target jarr’d. +</pre> + <p> + The Lady of the Lake. + </p> + <p> + Robin Anstruther was telling stories at the tea-table. + </p> + <p> + “I got acquainted with an American girl in rather a queer sort of way,” he + said, between cups. “It was in London, on the Duke of York’s wedding-day. + I’m rather a tall chap, you see, and in the crowd somebody touched me on + the shoulder, and a plaintive voice behind me said, ‘You’re such a big + man, and I am so little, will you please help me to save my life? My + mother was separated from me in the crowd somewhere as we were trying to + reach the Berkeley, and I don’t know what to do.’ I was a trifle + nonplussed, but I did the best I could. She was a tiny thing, in a + marvellous frock and a flowery hat and a silver girdle and chatelaine. In + another minute she spied a second man, an officer, a full head taller than + I am, broad shoulders, splendidly put up altogether. Bless me! if she + didn’t turn to him and say, ‘Oh, you’re so nice and big, you’re even + bigger than this other gentleman, and I need you both in this dreadful + crush. If you’ll be good enough to stand on either side of me, I shall be + awfully obliged.’ We exchanged amused glances of embarrassment over her + blonde head, but there was no resisting the irresistible. She was a small + person, but she had the soul of a general, and we obeyed orders. We stood + guard over her little ladyship for nearly an hour, and I must say she + entertained us thoroughly, for she was as clever as she was pretty. Then I + got her a seat in one of the windows of my club, while the other man, + armed with a full description, went out to hunt up the mother; and, by + Jove! he found her, too. She would have her mother, and her mother she + had. They were awfully jolly people; they came to luncheon in my chambers + at the Albany afterwards, and we grew to be great friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say she was an English girl masquerading,” I remarked facetiously. + “What made you think her an American?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, her general appearance and accent, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably she didn’t say Barkley,” observed Francesca cuttingly; “she + would have been sure to commit that sort of solecism.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you say Barkley in the States?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; we never call them the States, and with us c-l-e-r-k + spells clerk, and B-e-r-k Berk.” + </p> + <p> + “How very odd!” remarked Mr. Anstruther. + </p> + <p> + “No odder than you saying Bark, and not half as odd as your calling it + Albany,” I interpolated, to help Francesca. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Mr. Anstruther; “but how do you say Albany in America?” + </p> + <p> + “Penelope and I always call it Allbany,” responded Francesca + nonsensically, “but Salemina, who has been much in England, always calls + it Albany.” + </p> + <p> + This anecdote was the signal for Miss Ardmore to remark (apropos of her + own discrimination and the American accent) that hearing a lady ask for a + certain med’cine in a chemist’s shop, she noted the intonation, and + inquired of the chemist, when the fair stranger had retired, if she were + not an American. “And she was!” exclaimed the Honourable Elizabeth + triumphantly. “And what makes it the more curious, she had been over here + twenty years, and of course, spoke English quite properly.” + </p> + <p> + In avenging fancied insults, it is certainly more just to heap punishment + on the head of the real offender than upon his neighbour, and it is a + trifle difficult to decide why Francesca should chastise Mr. Macdonald for + the good-humoured sins of Mr. Anstruther and Miss Ardmore; yet she does + so, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + The history of these chastisements she recounts in the nightly half-hour + which she spends with me when I am endeavouring to compose myself for + sleep. Francesca is fluent at all times, but once seated on the foot of my + bed she becomes eloquent! + </p> + <p> + “It all began with his saying—” + </p> + <p> + This is her perennial introduction, and I respond as invariably, “What + began?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to-day’s argument with Mr. Macdonald. It was a literary quarrel this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Fools rush in—‘” I quoted. + </p> + <p> + “There is a good deal of nonsense in that old saw,” she interrupted; “at + all events, the most foolish fools I have ever known stayed still and + didn’t do anything. Rushing shows a certain movement of the mind, even if + it is in the wrong direction. However, Mr. Macdonald is both opinionated + and dogmatic, but his worst enemy could never call him a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t allude to Mr. Macdonald.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you suppose I know to whom you alluded, dear? Is not your style so + simple, frank, and direct that a wayfaring girl can read it and not err + therein? No, I am not sitting on your feet, and it is not time to go to + sleep; I wonder you do not tire of making those futile protests. As a + matter of fact, we began this literary discussion yesterday morning, but + were interrupted; and knowing that it was sure to come up again, I + prepared for it with Salemina. She furnished the ammunition, so to speak, + and I fired the guns.” + </p> + <p> + “You always make so much noise with blank cartridges I wonder you ever + bother about real shot,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Penelope, how can you abuse me when I am in trouble? Well, Mr. Macdonald + was prating, as usual, about the antiquity of Scotland and its aeons of + stirring history. I am so weary of the venerableness of this country. How + old will it have to be, I wonder, before it gets used to it? If it’s the + province of art to conceal art, it ought to be the province of age to + conceal age, and it generally is. ‘Everything doesn’t improve with years,’ + I observed sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “‘For instance?’ he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you know how that question affected me! How I do dislike an + appetite for specific details! It is simply paralysing to a good + conversation. Do you remember that silly game in which some one points a + stick at you and says, ‘Beast, bird, or fish,—BEAST!’ and you have + to name one while he counts ten? If a beast has been requested, you can + think of one fish and two birds, but no beast. If he says ‘FISH,’ all the + beasts in the universe stalk through your memory, but not one finny, + sealy, swimming thing! Well, that is the effect of ‘For instance?’ on my + faculties. So I stumbled a bit, and succeeded in recalling, as objects + which do not improve with age, mushrooms, women, and chickens, and he was + obliged to agree with me, which nearly killed him. Then I said that + although America is so fresh and blooming that people persist in calling + it young, it is much older than it appears to the superficial eye. There + is no real propriety in dating us as a nation from the Declaration of + Independence in 1776, I said, nor even from the landing of the Pilgrims in + 1620; nor, for that matter, from Columbus’s discovery in 1492. It’s my + opinion, I asserted, that some of us had been there thousands of years + before, but nobody had had the sense to discover us. We couldn’t discover + ourselves,—though if we could have foreseen how the sere and yellow + nations of the earth would taunt us with youth and inexperience, we should + have had to do something desperate!” + </p> + <p> + “That theory must have been very convincing to the philosophic Scots + mind,” I interjected. + </p> + <p> + “It was; even Mr. Macdonald thought it ingenious. ‘And so,’ I went on, ‘we + were alive and awake and beginning to make history when you Scots were + only bare-legged savages roaming over the hills and stealing cattle. It + was a very bad habit of yours, that cattle-stealing, and one which you + kept up too long.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No worse a sin than your stealing land from the Indians,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh yes,’ I answered, ‘because it was a smaller one! Yours was a vice, + and ours a sin; or I mean it would have been a sin had we done it; but in + reality we didn’t steal land; we just TOOK it, reserving plenty for the + Indians to play about on; and for every hunting-ground we took away we + gave them in exchange a serviceable plough, or a school, or a nice Indian + agent, or something. That was land-grabbing, if you like, but it is a + habit you Britishers have still, while we gave it up when we reached years + of discretion.’” + </p> + <p> + “This is very illuminating,” I interrupted, now thoroughly wide awake, + “but it isn’t my idea of a literary discussion.” + </p> + <p> + “I am coming to that,” she responded. “It was just at this point that, + goaded into secret fury by my innocent speech about cattle-stealing, he + began to belittle American literature, the poetry especially. Of course he + waxed eloquent about the royal line of poet-kings that had made his + country famous, and said the people who could claim Shakespeare had reason + to be the proudest nation on earth. ‘Doubtless,’ I said. ‘But do you mean + to say that Scotland has any nearer claim upon Shakespeare than we have? I + do not now allude to the fact that in the large sense he is the common + property of the English-speaking world’ (Salemina told me to say that), + ‘but Shakespeare died in 1616, and the union of Scotland with England + didn’t come about till 1707, nearly a century afterwards. You really + haven’t anything to do with him! But as for us, we didn’t leave England + until 1620, when Shakespeare had been perfectly dead four years. We took + very good care not to come away too soon. Chaucer and Spenser were dead + too, and we had nothing to stay for!’” + </p> + <p> + I was obliged to relax here and give vent to a burst of merriment at + Francesca’s absurdities. + </p> + <p> + “I could see that he had never regarded the matter in that light before,” + she went on gaily, encouraged by my laughter, “but he braced himself for + the conflict, and said ‘I wonder that you didn’t stay a little longer + while you were about it. Milton and Ben Jonson were still alive; Bacon’s + Novum Organum was just coming out; and in thirty or forty years you could + have had L’Allegro, Il Penseroso and Paradise Lost; Newton’s Principia, + too, in 1687. Perhaps these were all too serious and heavy for your + national taste; still one sometimes likes to claim things one cannot fully + appreciate. And then, too, if you had once begun to stay, waiting for the + great things to happen and the great books to be written, you would never + have gone, for there would still have been Browning, Tennyson, and + Swinburne to delay you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘If we couldn’t stay to see out your great bards, we certainly couldn’t + afford to remain and welcome your minor ones,’ I answered frigidly; ‘but + we wanted to be well out of the way before England united with Scotland, + knowing that if we were uncomfortable as things were, it would be a good + deal worse after the Union; and we had to come home anyway, and start our + own poets. Emerson, Whittier, Longfellow, Holmes, and Lowell had to be + born.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I suppose they had to be if you had set your mind on it,’ he said, + ‘though personally I could have spared one or two on that roll of honour.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Very probably,’ I remarked, as thoroughly angry now as he intended I + should be. ‘We cannot expect you to appreciate all the American poets; + indeed, you cannot appreciate all of your own, for the same nation doesn’t + always furnish the writers and the readers. Take your precious Browning, + for example! There are hundreds of Browning Clubs in America, and I never + heard of a single one in Scotland.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ he retorted, ‘I dare say; but there is a good deal in belonging to + a people who can understand him without clubs!’” + </p> + <p> + “O Francesca!” I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright among my pillows. “How + could you give him that chance! How COULD you! What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said nothing,” she replied mysteriously. “I did something much more to + the point,—I cried!” + </p> + <p> + “CRIED?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cried; not rivers and freshets of woe, but small brooks and + streamlets of helpless mortification.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say ‘do’?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mean ‘say,’ of course. Don’t trifle; go on. What did he say then?” + </p> + <p> + “There are some things too dreadful to describe,” she answered, and + wrapping her Italian blanket majestically about her she retired to her own + apartment, shooting one enigmatical glance at me as she closed the door. + </p> + <p> + That glance puzzled me for some time after she left the room. It was as + expressive and interesting a beam as ever darted from a woman’s eye. The + combination of elements involved in it, if an abstract thing may be + conceived as existing in component parts, was something like this:— + </p> + <p> + One-half, mystery. One-eighth, triumph. One-eighth, amusement. + One-sixteenth, pride. One-sixteenth, shame. One-sixteenth, desire to + confess. One-sixteenth, determination to conceal. + </p> + <p> + And all these delicate, complex emotions played together in a circle of + arching eyebrow, curving lip, and tremulous chin,—played together, + mingling and melting into one another like fire and snow; bewildering, + mystifying, enchanting the beholder! + </p> + <p> + If Ronald Macdonald did—I am a woman, but, for one, I can hardly + blame him! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXII. Francesca entertains the green-eyed monster. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“O has he chosen a bonny bride, + An’ has he clean forgotten me?” + An’ sighing said that gay ladye, + “I would I were in my ain countrie!”’ +</pre> + <p> + Lord Beichan. + </p> + <p> + It rained in torrents; Salemina was darning stockings in the inglenook at + Bide-a-Wee Cottage, and I was reading her a Scotch letter which Francesca + and I had concocted the evening before. I proposed sending the document to + certain chosen spirits in our own country, who were pleased to be + facetious concerning our devotion to Scotland. It contained, in sooth, + little that was new, and still less that was true, for we were confined to + a very small vocabulary which we were obliged to supplement now and then + by a dip into Burns and Allan Ramsay. + </p> + <p> + Here is the letter:— + </p> + <p> + Bide-a-Wee Cottage, Pettybaw, East Neuk o’ Fife. + </p> + <p> + To my trusty fieres, + </p> + <p> + Mony’s the time I hae ettled to send ye a screed, but there was aye + something that cam’ i’ the gait. It wisna that I couldna be fashed, for + aften hae I thocht o’ ye and my hairt has been wi’ ye mony’s the day. + There’s no’ muckle fowk frae Ameriky hereawa; they’re a’ jist Fife bodies, + and a lass canna get her tongue roun’ their thrapple-taxin’ words ava’, so + it’s like I may een drap a’ the sweetness o’ my good mither-tongue. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tis a dulefu’ nicht, and an awfu’ blash is ragin’ wi’oot. Fanny’s awa’ at + the gowff rinnin’ aboot wi’ a bag o’ sticks after a wee bit ba’, and Sally + and I are hame by oor lane. Laith will the lassie be to weet her bonny + shoon, but lang ere the play’ll be ower she’ll wat her hat aboon. A gust + o’ win’ is skirlin’ the noo, and as we luik ower the faem, the haar is + risin’, weetin’ the green swaird wi’ misty shoo’rs. + </p> + <p> + Yestreen was a calm simmer gloamin’, sae sweet an’ bonnie that when the + sun was sinkin’ doon ower Pettybaw Sands we daundered ower the muir. As we + cam’ through the scented birks, we saw a trottin’ burnie wimplin’ ‘neath + the white-blossomed slaes and hirplin’ doon the hillside; an’ while a + herd-laddie lilted ower the fernie brae, a cushat cooed leesomely doon i’ + the dale. We pit aff oor shoon, sae blithe were we, kilted oor coats a + little aboon the knee, and paidilt i’ the burn, gettin’ geyan weet the + while. Then Sally pu’d the gowans wat wi’ dew an’ twined her bree wi’ + tasselled broom, while I had a wee crackie wi’ Tibby Buchan, the flesher’s + dochter frae Auld Reekie. Tibby’s nae giglet gawky like the lave, ye ken,—she’s + a sonsie maid, as sweet as ony hinny pear, wi’ her twa pawky een an’ her + cockernony snooded up fu’ sleek. + </p> + <p> + We were unco gleg to win hame when a’ this was dune, an’ after steekin’ + the door, to sit an’ birsle oor taes at the bit blaze. Mickle thocht we o’ + the gentles ayont the sea, an’ sair grat we for a’ frien’s we kent lang + syne in oor ain countree. + </p> + <p> + Late at nicht, Fanny, the bonny gypsy, cam’ ben the hoose an’ tirled at + the pin of oor bigly bower door, speirin’ for baps and bannocks. + </p> + <p> + “Hoots, lassie!” cried oot Sally, “th’ auld carline i’ the kitchen is i’ + her box-bed, an’ weel aneuch ye ken is lang syne cuddled doon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oo ay!” said Fanny, strikin’ her curly pow, “then fetch me parritch, an’ + dinna be lang wi’ them, for I’ve lickit a Pettybaw lad at the gowff, an’ I + could eat twa guid jints o’ beef gin I had them!” + </p> + <p> + “Losh girl,” said I, “gie ower makin’ sic a mickle din. Ye ken verra weel + ye’ll get nae parritch the nicht. I’ll rin and fetch ye a ‘piece’ to stap + awee the soun’.” + </p> + <p> + “Blethers an’ havers!” cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the while, an’ + when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an’ stappit her mooth + wi’ a bit o’ oaten cake. We aye keep that i’ the hoose, for th’ auld + servant-body is geyan bad at the cookin’, an’ she’s sae dour an’ dowie + that to speak but till her we daur hardly mint. + </p> + <p> + In sic divairsions pass the lang simmer days in braid Scotland, but I + canna write mair the nicht, for ‘tis the wee sma’ hours ayont the twal’. + </p> + <p> + Like th’ auld wife’s parrot, ‘we dinna speak muckle, but we’re deevils to + think,’ an’ we’re aye thinkin’ aboot ye. An’ noo I maun leave ye to mak’ + what ye can oot o’ this, for I jalouse it’ll pass ye to untaukle the whole + hypothec. + </p> + <p> + Fair fa’ ye a’! Lang may yer lum reek, an’ may prosperity attend oor clan! + </p> + <p> + Aye your gude frien’, + </p> + <p> + Penelope Hamilton. + </p> + <p> + “It may be very fine,” remarked Salemina judicially, “though I cannot + understand more than half of it.” + </p> + <p> + “That would also be true of Browning,” I replied. “Don’t you love to see + great ideas looming through a mist of words?” + </p> + <p> + “The words are misty enough in this case,” she said, “and I do wish you + would not tell the world that I paddle in the burn, or ‘twine my bree wi’ + tasselled broom.’ I’m too old to be made ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody will believe it,” said Francesca, appearing in the doorway. “They + will know it is only Penelope’s havering,” and with this undeserved scoff, + she took her mashie and went golfing—not on the links, on this + occasion, but in our microscopic sitting-room. It is twelve feet square, + and holds a tiny piano, desk, centre-table, sofa, and chairs, but the spot + between the fire-place and the table is Francesca’s favourite + ‘putting-green.’ She wishes to become more deadly in the matter of + approaches, and thinks her tee-shots weak; so these two deficiencies she + is trying to make good by home practice in inclement weather. She turns a + tumbler on its side on the floor, and ‘putts’ the ball into it, or at it, + as the case may be, from the opposite side of the room. It is excellent + discipline, and as the tumblers are inexpensive the breakage really does + not matter. Whenever Miss Grieve hears the shivering of glass, she + murmurs, not without reason, ‘It is not for the knowing what they will be + doing next.’ + </p> + <p> + “Penelope, has it ever occurred to you that Elizabeth Ardmore is seriously + interested in Mr. Macdonald?” + </p> + <p> + Salemina propounded this question to me with the same innocence that a + babe would display in placing a lighted fuse beside a dynamite bomb. + </p> + <p> + Francesca naturally heard the remark,—although it was addressed to + me,—pricked up her ears, and missed the tumbler by several feet. + </p> + <p> + It was a simple inquiry, but as I look back upon it from the safe ground + of subsequent knowledge I perceive that it had a certain amount of + influence upon Francesca’s history. The suggestion would have carried no + weight with me for two reasons. In the first place, Salemina is + far-sighted. If objects are located at some distance from her, she sees + them clearly; but if they are under her very nose she overlooks them + altogether, unless they are sufficiently fragrant or audible to address + other senses. This physical peculiarity she carries over into her mental + processes. Her impression of the Disruption movement, for example, would + be lively and distinct, but her perception of a contemporary lover’s + quarrel (particularly if it were fought at her own apron-strings) would be + singularly vague. If she suggested, therefore, that Elizabeth Ardmore was + interested in Mr. Beresford, who is the rightful captive of my bow and + spear, I should be perfectly calm. + </p> + <p> + My second reason for comfortable indifference is that frequently in + novels, and always in plays, the heroine is instigated to violent jealousy + by insinuations of this sort, usually conveyed by the villain of the + piece, male or female. I have seen this happen so often in the modern + drama that it has long since ceased to be convincing; but though Francesca + has witnessed scores of plays and read hundreds of novels, it did not + apparently strike her as a theatrical or literary suggestion that Lady + Ardmore’s daughter should be in love with Mr. Macdonald. The effect of the + new point of view was most salutary, on the whole. She had come to think + herself the only prominent figure in the Reverend Ronald’s landscape, and + anything more impertinent than her tone with him (unless it is his with + her) I certainly never heard. This criticism, however, relates only to + their public performances, and I have long suspected that their private + conversations are of a kindlier character. When it occurred to her that he + might simply be sharpening his mental sword on her steel, but that his + heart had at last wandered into a more genial climate than she had ever + provided for it, she softened unconsciously; the Scotsman and the American + receded into a truer perspective, and the man and the woman approached + each other with dangerous nearness. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do if Francesca and Mr. Macdonald really fall in love with + each other?” asked Salemina, when Francesca had gone into the hall to try + long drives. (There is a good deal of excitement in this, as Miss Grieve + has to cross the passage on her way from the kitchen to the china-closet, + and thus often serves as a reluctant ‘hazard’ or ‘bunker.’) + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean what should we have done?” I queried. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, don’t be captious! It can’t be too late yet. They have known + each other only a little over two months; when would you have had me + interfere, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon what you expect to accomplish. If you wish to stop the + marriage, interfere in a fortnight or so; if you wish to prevent an + engagement, speak—well, say to-morrow; if, however, you didn’t wish + them to fall in love with each other, you should have kept one of them + away from Lady Baird’s dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have waited a trifle longer than that,” argued Salemina, “for you + remember how badly they got on at first.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember you thought so,” I responded dryly; “but I believe Mr. + Macdonald has been interested in Francesca from the outset, partly because + her beauty and vivacity attracted him, partly because he could keep her in + order only by putting his whole mind upon her. On his side, he has + succeeded in piquing her into thinking of him continually, though solely, + as she fancies, for the purpose of crossing swords with him. If they ever + drop their weapons for an instant, and allow the din of warfare to subside + so that they can listen to their own heart-beats, they will discover that + they love each other to distraction.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye ken mair than’s in the catecheesm,” remarked Salemina, yawning a + little as she put away her darning-ball. “It is pathetic to see you waste + your time painting mediocre pictures, when as a lecturer upon love you + could instruct your thousands.” + </p> + <p> + “The thousands would never satisfy me,” I retorted, “so long as you + remained uninstructed, for in your single person you would so swell the + sum of human ignorance on that subject that my teaching would be for ever + in vain.” + </p> + <p> + “Very clever indeed! Well, what will Mr. Monroe say to me when I return to + New York without his daughter, or with his son-in-law?” + </p> + <p> + “He has never denied Francesca anything in her life; why should he draw + the line at a Scotsman? I am much more concerned about Mr. Macdonald’s + congregation.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not anxious about that,” said Salemina loyally. “Francesca would be + the life of an Inchcaldy parish.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” I observed, “but she might be the death of the pastor.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ashamed of you, Penelope; or I should be if you meant what you say. + She can make the people love her if she tries; when did she ever fail at + that? But with Mr. Macdonald’s talent, to say nothing of his family + connections, he is sure to get a church in Edinburgh in a few years if he + wishes. Undoubtedly, it would not be a great match in a money sense. I + suppose he has a manse and three or four hundred pounds a year.” + </p> + <p> + “That sum would do nicely for cabs.” + </p> + <p> + “Penelope, you are flippant!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean it, dear; it’s only for fun; and it would be so absurd if we + should leave Francesca over here as the presiding genius of an Inchcaldy + parsonage—I mean a manse!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t as if she were penniless,” continued Salemina; “she has fortune + enough to assure her own independence, and not enough to threaten his—the + ideal amount. I hardly think the good Lord’s first intention was to make + her a minister’s wife, but He knows very well that Love is a master + architect. Francesca is full of beautiful possibilities if Mr. Macdonald + is the man to bring them out, and I am inclined to think he is.” + </p> + <p> + “He has brought out impishness so far,” I objected. + </p> + <p> + “The impishness is transitory,” she returned, “and I am speaking of + permanent qualities. His is the stronger and more serious nature, + Francesca’s the sweeter and more flexible. He will be the oak-tree, and + she will be the sunshine playing in the branches.” + </p> + <p> + “Salemina, dear,” I said penitently, kissing her grey hair, “I apologise: + you are not absolutely ignorant about Love, after all, when you call him + the master architect; and that is very lovely and very true about the + oak-tree and the sunshine.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Love, I maun gang to Edinbrugh, + Love, I maun gang an’ leave thee!” + She sighed right sair, an’ said nae mair + But “O gin I were wi’ ye!”’ +</pre> + <p> + Andrew Lammie. + </p> + <p> + Jean Dalziel came to visit us a week ago, and has put new life into our + little circle. I suppose it was playing ‘Sir Patrick Spens’ that set us + thinking about it, for one warm, idle day when we were all in the Glen we + began a series of ballad-revels, in which each of us assumed a favourite + character. The choice induced so much argument and disagreement that Mr. + Beresford was at last appointed head of the clan; and having announced + himself formally as The Mackintosh, he was placed on the summit of a + hastily arranged pyramidal cairn. He was given an ash wand and a + rowan-tree sword; and then, according to ancient custom, his pedigree and + the exploits of his ancestors were recounted, and he was exhorted to + emulate their example. Now it seems that a Highland chief of the olden + time, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as any prince, had a + corresponding number of officers attached to his person. He had a + bodyguard, who fought around him in battle, and independent of this he had + a staff of officers who accompanied him wherever he went. These our chief + proceeded to appoint as follows:— + </p> + <p> + Henchman, Ronald Macdonald; bard, Penelope Hamilton; spokesman or fool, + Robin Anstruther; sword-bearer, Francesca Monroe; piper, Salemina; piper’s + attendant, Elizabeth Ardmore; baggage gillie, Jean Dalziel; running + footman, Ralph; bridle gillie, Jamie; ford gillie, Miss Grieve. The ford + gillie carries the chief across fords only, and there are no fords in the + vicinity; so Mr. Beresford, not liking to leave a member of our household + out of office, thought this the best post for Calamity Jane. + </p> + <p> + With The Mackintosh on his pyramidal cairn matters went very much better, + and at Jamie’s instigation we began to hold rehearsals for certain + festivities at Rowardennan; for as Jamie’s birthday fell on the eve of the + Queen’s Jubilee, there was to be a gay party at the Castle. + </p> + <p> + All this occurred days ago, and yesterday evening the ballad-revels came + off, and Rowardennan was a scene of great pageant and splendour. Lady + Ardmore, dressed as the Lady of Inverleith, received the guests, and there + were all manner of tableaux, and ballads in costume, and pantomimes, and a + grand march by the clan, in which we appeared in our chosen roles. + </p> + <p> + Salemina was Lady Maisry—she whom all the lords of the north + countrie came wooing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘But a’ that they could say to her, + Her answer still was “Na.”’ +</pre> + <p> + And again:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“O haud your tongues, young men,” she said, + “And think nae mair on me!”’ +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Beresford was Lord Beichan, and I was Shusy Pye + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Lord Beichan was a Christian born, + And such resolved to live and dee, + So he was ta’en by a savage Moor, + Who treated him right cruellie. + + The Moor he had an only daughter, + The damsel’s name was Shusy Pye; + And ilka day as she took the air + Lord Beichan’s prison she pass’d by.’ +</pre> + <p> + Elizabeth Ardmore was Leezie Lindsay, who kilted her coats o’ green satin + to the knee and was aff to the Hielands so expeditiously when her lover + declared himself to be ‘Lord Ronald Macdonald, a chieftain of high + degree.’ + </p> + <p> + Francesca was Mary Ambree. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte, + Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, + They mustred their souldiers by two and by three, + And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree. + + When the brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight + Who was her true lover, her joy and delight, + Because he was slaine most treacherouslie, + Then vow’d to avenge him Mary Ambree.’ +</pre> + <p> + Brenda Macrae from Pettybaw House was Fairly Fair; Jamie, Sir Patrick + Spens; Ralph, King Alexander of Dunfermline; Mr. Anstruther, Bonnie + Glenlogie, ‘the flower o’ them a’;’ Mr. Macdonald and Miss Dalziel, Young + Hynde Horn and the king’s daughter Jean respectively. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Oh, it’s Hynde Horn fair, and it’s Hynde Horn free; + Oh, where were you born, and in what countrie?” + “In a far distant countrie I was born; + But of home and friends I am quite forlorn.” + + Oh, it’s seven long years he served the king, + But wages from him he ne’er got a thing; + Oh, it’s seven long years he served, I ween, + And all for love of the king’s daughter Jean.’ +</pre> + <p> + It is not to be supposed that all this went off without any of the + difficulties and heart-burnings that are incident to things dramatic. When + Elizabeth Ardmore chose to be Leezie Lindsay, she asked me to sing the + ballad behind the scenes. Mr. Beresford naturally thought that Mr. + Macdonald would take the opposite part in the tableau, inasmuch as the + hero bears his name; but he positively declined to play Lord Ronald + Macdonald, and said it was altogether too personal. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Anstruther was rather disagreeable at the beginning, and upbraided + Miss Dalziel for offering to be the king’s daughter Jean to Mr. + Macdonald’s Hynde Horn, when she knew very well he wanted her for Ladye + Jeanie in Glenlogie. (She had meantime confided to me that nothing could + induce her to appear in Glenlogie; it was far too personal.) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macdonald offended Francesca by sending her his cast-off gown and + begging her to be Sir Patrick Spens; and she was still more gloomy (so I + imagined) because he had not proffered his six feet of manly beauty for + the part of the captain in Mary Ambree, when the only other person to take + it was Jamie’s tutor. He is an Oxford man and a delightful person, but + very bow-legged; added to that, by the time the rehearsals had ended she + had been obliged to beg him to love some one more worthy than herself, and + did not wish to appear in the same tableau with him, feeling that it was + much too personal. + </p> + <p> + When the eventful hour came, yesterday, Willie and I were the only actors + really willing to take lovers’ parts, save Jamie and Ralph, who were but + too anxious to play all the characters, whatever their age, sex, colour, + or relations. But the guests knew nothing of these trivial disagreements, + and at ten o’clock last night it would have been difficult to match + Rowardennan Castle for a scene of beauty and revelry. Everything went + merrily till we came to Hynde Horn, the concluding tableau, and the most + effective and elaborate one on the programme. At the very last moment, + when the opening scene was nearly ready, Jean Dalziel fell down a secret + staircase that led from the tapestry chamber into Lady Ardmore’s boudoir, + where the rest of us were dressing. It was a short flight of steps, but as + she held a candle, and was carrying her costume, she fell awkwardly, + spraining her wrist and ankle. Finding that she was not maimed for life, + Lady Ardmore turned with comical and unsympathetic haste to Francesca, so + completely do amateur theatricals dry the milk of kindness in the human + breast. + </p> + <p> + “Put on these clothes at once,” she said imperiously, knowing nothing of + the volcanoes beneath the surface. “Hynde Horn is already on the stage, + and somebody must be Jean. Take care of Miss Dalziel, girls, and ring for + more maids. Helene, come and dress Miss Monroe; put on her slippers while + I lace her gown; run and fetch more jewels,—more still,—she + can carry off any number; not any rouge, Helene—she has too much + colour now; pull the frock more off the shoulders—it’s a pity to + cover an inch of them; pile her hair higher—here, take my diamond + tiara, child; hurry, Helene, fetch the silver cup and the cake—no, + they are on the stage; take her train, Helene. Miss Hamilton, run and open + the doors ahead of them, please. I won’t go down for this tableau. I’ll + put Miss Dalziel right, and then I’ll slip into the drawing-room, to be + ready for the guests when they come in.” + </p> + <p> + We hurried breathlessly through an interminable series of rooms and + corridors. I gave the signal to Mr. Beresford, who was nervously waiting + for it in the wings, and the curtain went up on Hynde Horn disguised as + the auld beggar man at the king’s gate. Mr. Beresford was reading the + ballad, and we took up the tableaux at the point where Hynde Horn has come + from a far countrie to see why the diamonds in the ring given him by his + own true love have grown pale and wan. He hears that the king’s daughter + Jean has been married to a knight these nine days past. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘But unto him a wife the bride winna be, + For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea.’ +</pre> + <p> + He therefore borrows the old beggar’s garments and hobbles to the king’s + palace, where he petitions the porter for a cup of wine and a bit of cake + to be handed him by the fair bride herself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul, + And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all, + For one cup of wine and one bit of bread, + To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead. + + And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn, + To hand them to me so sadly forlorn.” + Then the porter for pity the message convey’d, + And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.’ +</pre> + <p> + The curtain went up again. The porter, moved to pity, has gone to give the + message to his lady. Hynde Horn is watching the staircase at the rear of + the stage, his heart in his eyes. The tapestries that hide it are drawn, + and there stands the king’s daughter, who tripped down the stair— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘And in her fair hands did lovingly bear + A cup of red wine, and a farle of cake, + To give the old man for loved Hynde Horn’s sake.’ +</pre> + <p> + The hero of the ballad, who had not seen his true love for seven long + years, could not have been more amazed at the change in her than was + Ronald Macdonald at the sight of the flushed, excited, almost tearful + king’s daughter on the staircase, Lady Ardmore’s diamonds flashing from + her crimson satin gown, Lady Ardmore’s rubies glowing on her white arms + and throat; not Miss Dalziel, as had been arranged, but Francesca, + rebellious, reluctant, embarrassed, angrily beautiful and beautifully + angry! + </p> + <p> + In the next scene Hynde Horn has drained the cup and dropped the ring into + it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land, + Or got you that ring off a dead man’s hand?” + “Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land, + But I got that ring from a fair lady’s hand. + + As a pledge of true love she gave it to me, + Full seven years ago as I sail’d o’er the sea; + But now that the diamonds are changed in their hue, + I know that my love has to me proved untrue.”’ +</pre> + <p> + I never saw a prettier picture of sweet, tremulous womanhood, a more + enchanting, breathing image of fidelity, than Francesca looked as Mr. + Beresford read:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown, + And follow thee on from town unto town; + And I will take the gold kaims from my hair, + And follow my true love for evermair.”’ +</pre> + <p> + Whereupon Hynde Horn lets his beggar weeds fall, and shines there the + foremost and noblest of all the king’s companie as he says:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“You need not cast off your gay costly gown, + To follow me on from town unto town; + You need not take the gold kaims from your hair, + For Hynde Horn has gold enough and to spare.” + + Then the bridegrooms were changed, and the lady re-wed + To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.’ +</pre> + <p> + There is no doubt that this tableau gained the success of the evening, and + the participants in it should have modestly and gratefully received the + choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offered during the supper + and dance that followed. Instead of that, what happened? Francesca drove + home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrille d’honneur, and when Willie + bade me good night at the gate in the loaning, he said, “I shall not be + early to-morrow, dear. I am going to see Macdonald off.” + </p> + <p> + “Off!” I exclaimed. “Where is he going?” + </p> + <p> + “Only to Edinburgh and London, to stay till the last of next week.” + </p> + <p> + “But we may have left Pettybaw by that time.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; that is probably what he has in mind. But let me tell you + this, Penelope: Macdonald is fathoms deep in love with Francesca, and if + she trifles with him she shall know what I think of her!” + </p> + <p> + “And let me tell you this, sir: Francesca is fathoms deep in love with + Ronald Macdonald, little as you suspect it, and if he trifles with her he + shall know what I think of him!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXIV. Old songs and modern instances. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He set her on a coal-black steed, + Himself lap on behind her, + An’ he’s awa’ to the Hieland hills + Whare her frien’s they canna find her.’ +</pre> + <p> + Rob Roy. + </p> + <p> + The occupants of Bide-a-Wee Cottage awoke in anything but a Jubilee + humour, next day. Willie had intended to come at nine, but of course did + not appear. Francesca took her breakfast in bed, and came listlessly into + the sitting-room at ten o’clock, looking like a ghost. Jean’s ankle was + much better—the sprain proved to be not even a strain—but her + wrist was painful. It was drizzling, too, and we had promised Miss Ardmore + and Miss Macrae to aid with the last Jubilee decorations, the distribution + of medals at the church, and the children’s games and tea on the links in + the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + We have determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for the metropolis + on this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowk o’ Fife who had + grown to be a part of our lives. + </p> + <p> + Bide-a-Wee Cottage does not occupy an imposing position in the landscape, + and the choice of art fabrics at the Pettybaw draper’s is small, but the + moment it should stop raining we were intending to carry out a dazzling + scheme of decoration that would proclaim our affectionate respect for the + ‘little lady in black’ on her Diamond Jubilee. But would it stop raining?—that + was the question. The draper wasna certain that so licht a shoo’r could + richtly be called rain. The village weans were yearning for the hour to + arrive when they might sit on the wet golf-course and have tea; + manifestly, therefore, it could not be a bad day for Scotland; but if it + should grow worse, what would become of our mammoth subscription bonfire + on Pettybaw Law—the bonfire that Brenda Macrae was to light, as the + lady of the manor? + </p> + <p> + There were no deputations to request the honour of Miss Macrae’s + distinguished services on this occasion; that is not the way the + self-respecting villager comports himself in Fifeshire. The chairman of + the local committee, a respectable gardener, called upon Miss Macrae at + Pettybaw House, and said, “I’m sent to tell ye ye’re to have the pleasure + an’ the honour of lichtin’ the bonfire the nicht! Ay, it’s a grand chance + ye’re havin’, miss, ye’ll remember it as long as ye live, I’m thinkin’!” + </p> + <p> + When I complimented this rugged soul on his decoration of the triumphal + arch under which the school-children were to pass, I said, “I think if her + Majesty could see it, she would be pleased with our village to-day, + James.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ye’re richt, miss,” he replied complacently. “She’d see that + Inchcawdy canna compeer wi’ us; we’ve patronised her weel in Pettybaw!” + </p> + <p> + Truly, as Stevenson says, ‘he who goes fishing among the Scots peasantry + with condescension for a bait will have an empty basket by evening.’ + </p> + <p> + At eleven o’clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with an interesting-looking + package, which I promptly opened. That dear foolish lover of mine (whose + foolishness is one of the most adorable things about him) makes me only + two visits a day, and is therefore constrained to send me some reminder of + himself in the intervening hours, or minutes—a book, a flower, or a + note. Uncovering the pretty box, I found a long, slender—something—of + sparkling silver. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I exclaimed, holding it up. “It is too long and not wide + enough for a paper-knife, although it would be famous for cutting + magazines. Is it a baton? Where did Willie find it, and what can it be? + There is something engraved on one side, something that looks like birds + on a twig,—yes, three little birds; and see the lovely cairngorm set + in the end! Oh, it has words cut in it: ‘To Jean: From Hynde Horn’—Goodness + me! I’ve opened Miss Dalziel’s package!” + </p> + <p> + Francesca made a sudden swooping motion, and caught box, cover, and + contents in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “It is mine! I know it is mine!” she cried. “You really ought not to claim + everything that is sent to the house, Penelope—as if nobody had any + friends or presents but you!” and she rushed upstairs like a whirlwind. + </p> + <p> + I examined the outside wrapper, lying on the floor, and found, to my + chagrin, that it did bear Miss Monroe’s name, somewhat blotted by the + rain; but if the box were addressed to her, why was the silver thing + inscribed to Miss Dalziel? Well, Francesca would explain the mystery + within the hour, unless she had become a changed being. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes passed. Salemina was making Jubilee sandwiches at Pettybaw + House, Miss Dalziel was asleep in her room, I was being devoured slowly by + curiosity, when Francesca came down without a word, walked out of the + front door, went up to the main street, and entered the village + post-office without so much as a backward glance. She was a changed being, + then! I might as well be living in a Gaboriau novel, I thought, and went + up into my little painting and writing room to address a programme of the + Pettybaw celebration to Lady Baird, watch for the glimpse of Willie coming + down the loaning, and see if I could discover where Francesca went from + the post-office. + </p> + <p> + Sitting down by my desk, I could find neither my wax nor my silver + candlestick, my scissors nor my ball of twine. Plainly Francesca had been + on one of her borrowing tours; and she had left an additional trace of + herself—if one were needed—in a book of old Scottish ballads, + open at ‘Hynde Horn.’ I glanced at it idly while I was waiting for her to + return. I was not familiar with the opening verses, and these were the + first lines that met my eye:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand, + Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland; + With three singing laverocks set thereon + For to mind her of him when he was gone. + + And his love gave to him a gay gold ring + With three shining diamonds set therein; + Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring, + Of virtue and value above all thing.’ +</pre> + <p> + A light dawned upon me! The silver mystery, then, was intended for a wand—and + a very pretty way of making love to an American girl, too, to call it a + ‘sceptre of rule over fair Scotland’; and the three birds were three + singing laverocks ‘to mind her of him when he was gone’! + </p> + <p> + But the real Hynde Horn in the dear old ballad had a truelove who was not + captious and capricious and cold like Francesca. His love gave him a gay + gold ring— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Of virtue and value above all thing.’ +</pre> + <p> + Yet stay: behind the ballad book flung heedlessly on my desk was—what + should it be but the little morocco case, empty now, in which our + Francesca keeps her dead mother’s engagement ring—the mother who + died when she was a wee child. Truly a very pretty modern ballad to be + sung in these unromantic, degenerate days! + </p> + <p> + Francesca came in at the door behind me, saw her secret reflected in my + tell-tale face, saw the sympathetic moisture in my eyes, and, flinging + herself into my willing arms, burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “O Pen, dear, dear Pen, I am so miserable and so happy; so afraid that he + won’t come back, so frightened for fear that he will! I sent him away + because there were so many lions in the path, and I didn’t know how to + slay them. I thought of my f-father; I thought of my c-c-country. I didn’t + want to live with him in Scotland, I knew that I couldn’t live without him + in America, and there I was! I didn’t think I was s-suited to a minister, + and I am not; but oh! this p-particular minister is so s-suited to me!” + and she threw herself on the sofa and buried her head in the cushions. + </p> + <p> + She was so absurd even in her grief that I had hard work to keep from + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Let us talk about the lions,” I said soothingly. “But when did the + trouble begin? When did he speak to you?” + </p> + <p> + “After the tableau last night; but of course there had been other—other—times—and + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He had told me a week before that he should go away for a while, that it + made him too wretched to stay here just now; and I suppose that was when + he got the silver wand ready for me. It was meant for the Jean of the + poem, you know. Of course he would not put my own name on a gift like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think he had it made for Jean Dalziel in the first place?”—I + asked this, thinking she needed some sort of tonic in her relaxed + condition. + </p> + <p> + “You know him better than that, Penelope! I am ashamed of you! We had read + Hynde Horn together ages before Jean Dalziel came; but I imagine, when we + came to acting the lines, he thought it would be better to have some other + king’s daughter; that is, that it would be less personal. And I never, + never would have been in the tableau, if I had dared refuse Lady Ardmore, + or could have explained; but I had no time to think. And then, naturally, + he thought by me being there as the king’s daughter that—that—the + lions were slain, you know; instead of which they were roaring so that I + could hardly hear the orchestra.” + </p> + <p> + “Francesca, look me in the eye! Do—you—love him?” + </p> + <p> + “Love him? I adore him!” she exclaimed in good clear decisive English, as + she rose impetuously and paced up and down in front of the sofa. “But in + the first place there is the difference in nationality.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no patience with you. One would think he was a Turk, an Esquimau, + or a cannibal. He is white, he speaks English, and he believes in the + Christian religion. The idea of calling such a man a foreigner!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it didn’t prevent me from loving him,” she confessed, “but I thought + at first it would be unpatriotic to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you think Columbia could not spare you even as a rare specimen to be + used for exhibition purposes?” I asked wickedly. + </p> + <p> + “You know I am not so conceited as that! No,” she continued ingenuously, + “I feared that if I accepted him it would look, over here, as if the + home-supply of husbands were of inferior quality; and then we had such + disagreeable discussions at the beginning, I simply could not bear to + leave my nice new free country, and ally myself with his aeons of tiresome + history. But it came to me in the night, a week ago, that after all I + should hate a man who didn’t love his Fatherland; and in the illumination + of that new idea Ronald’s character assumed a different outline in my + mind. How could he love America when he had never seen it? How could I + convince him that American women are the most charming in the world in any + better way than by letting him live under the same roof with a good + example? How could I expect him to let me love my country best unless I + permitted him to love his best?” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t offer so many apologies for your infatuation, my dear,” I + answered dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not apologising for it!” she exclaimed impulsively. “Oh, if you + could only keep it to yourself, I should like to tell you how I trust and + admire and reverence Ronald Macdonald, but of course you will repeat + everything to Willie Beresford within the hour! You think he has gone on + and on loving me against his better judgment. You believe he has fought + against it because of my unfitness, but that I, poor, weak, trivial thing, + am not capable of deep feeling and that I shall never appreciate the + sacrifices he makes in choosing me! Very well, then, I tell you plainly + that if I had to live in a damp manse the rest of my life, drink tea and + eat scones for breakfast, and—and buy my hats of the Inchcaldy + milliner, I should still glory in the possibility of being Ronald + Macdonald’s wife—a possibility hourly growing more uncertain, I am + sorry to say!” + </p> + <p> + “And the extreme aversion with which you began,” I asked—“what has + become of that, and when did it begin to turn in the opposite direction?” + </p> + <p> + “Aversion!” she cried, with convincing and unblushing candour. “That + aversion was a cover, clapped on to keep my self-respect warm. I abused + him a good deal, it is true, because it was so delightful to hear you and + Salemina take his part. Sometimes I trembled for fear you would agree with + me, but you never did. The more I criticised him, the louder you sang his + praises—it was lovely! The fact is—we might as well throw + light upon the whole matter, and then never allude to it again; and if you + tell Willie Beresford, you shall never visit my manse, nor see me preside + at my mothers’ meetings, nor hear me address the infant class in the + Sunday-school—the fact is, I liked him from the beginning at Lady + Baird’s dinner. I liked the bow he made when he offered me his arm (I wish + it had been his hand); I liked the top of his head when it was bowed; I + liked his arm when I took it; I liked the height of his shoulder when I + stood beside it; I liked the way he put me in my chair (that showed + chivalry), and unfolded his napkin (that was neat and business-like), and + pushed aside all his wine-glasses but one (that was temperate); I liked + the side view of his nose, the shape of his collar, the cleanness of his + shave, the manliness of his tone—oh, I liked him altogether, you + must know how it is, Penelope—the goodness and strength and + simplicity that radiated from him. And when he said, within the first + half-hour, that international alliances presented even more difficulties + to the imagination than others, I felt, to my confusion, a distinct sense + of disappointment. Even while I was quarrelling with him, I said to + myself, ‘Poor darling, you cannot have him even if you should want him, so + don’t look at him much!’—But I did look at him; and what is worse, + he looked at me; and what is worse yet, he curled himself so tightly round + my heart that if he takes himself away, I shall be cold the rest of my + life!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are really sure of your love this time, and you have never + advised him to wed somebody more worthy than yourself?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not I!” she replied. “I wouldn’t put such an idea into his head for + worlds! He might adopt it!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXV. A treaty between nations. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Pale and wan was she when Glenlogie gaed ben, + But red rosy grew she whene’er he sat doun. +</pre> + <p> + Glenlogie. + </p> + <p> + Just here the front door banged, and a manly step sounded on the stair. + Francesca sat up straight in a big chair, and dried her eyes hastily with + her poor little wet ball of a handkerchief; for she knows that Willie is a + privileged visitor in my studio. The door opened (it was ajar) and Ronald + Macdonald strode into the room. I hope I may never have the same sense of + nothingness again! To be young, pleasing, gifted, and to be regarded no + more than a fly upon the wall, is death to one’s self-respect. + </p> + <p> + He dropped on one knee beside Francesca, and took her two hands in his + without removing his gaze from her speaking face. She burned, but did not + flinch under the ordeal. The colour leaped into her cheeks. Love swam in + her tears, but was not drowned there; it was too strong. + </p> + <p> + “Did you mean it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, trembling, as she said, “I meant every word, and far, + far more. I meant all that a girl can say to a man when she loves him, and + wants to be everything she is capable of being to him, to his work, to his + people, and to his—country.” + </p> + <p> + Even this brief colloquy had been embarrassing, but I knew that worse was + still to come and could not be delayed much longer, so I left the room + hastily and with no attempt at apology—not that they minded my + presence in the least, or observed my exit, though I was obliged to leap + over Mr. Macdonald’s feet in passing. + </p> + <p> + I found Mr. Beresford sitting on the stairs, in the lower hall. + </p> + <p> + “Willie, you angel, you idol, where did you find him?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “When I went into the post-office, an hour ago,” he replied, “I met + Francesca. She asked me for Macdonald’s Edinburgh address, saying she had + something that belonged to him and wished to send it after him. I offered + to address the package and see that it reached him as expeditiously as + possible. ‘That is what I wish,” she said, with elaborate formality. ‘This + is something I have just discovered, something he needs very much, + something he does not know he has left behind.’ I did not think it best to + tell her at the moment that Macdonald had not yet deserted Inchcaldy.” + </p> + <p> + “Willie, you have the quickest intelligence and the most exquisite insight + of any man I ever met!” + </p> + <p> + “But the fact was that I had been to see him off, and found him detained + by the sudden illness of one of his elders. I rode over again to take him + the little parcel. Of course I don’t know what it contained; by its size + and shape I should judge it might be a thimble, or a collar-button, or a + sixpence; but, at all events, he must have needed the thing, for he + certainly did not let the grass grow under his feet after he received it! + Let us go into the sitting-room until they come down,—as they will + have to, poor wretches, sooner or later; I know that I am always being + brought down against my will. Salemina wants your advice about the number + of her Majesty’s portraits to be hung on the front of the cottage, and the + number of candles to be placed in each window.” + </p> + <p> + It was a half-hour later when Mr. Macdonald came into the room, and, + walking directly up to Salemina, kissed her hand respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Salemina,” he said, with evident emotion, “I want to borrow one of + your national jewels for my Queen’s crown.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will our President say to lose a jewel from his crown?” + </p> + <p> + “Good republican rulers do not wear coronets, as a matter of principle,” + he argued; “but in truth I fear I am not thinking of her Majesty—God + bless her! This gem is not entirely for state occasions. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“I would wear it in my bosom, + Lest my jewel I should tine.”’ +</pre> + <p> + It is the crowning of my own life rather than that of the British Empire + that engages my present thought. Will you intercede for me with + Francesca’s father?” + </p> + <p> + “And this is the end of all your international bickering?” Salemina asked + teasingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered; “we have buried the hatchet, signed articles of + agreement, made treaties of international comity. Francesca stays over + here as a kind of missionary to Scotland, so she says, or as a feminine + diplomat; she wishes to be on hand to enforce the Monroe Doctrine + properly, in case her government’s accredited ambassadors relax in the + performance of their duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Salemina!” called a laughing voice outside the door. “I am won’erful + lifted up. You will be a prood woman the day, for I am now Estaiblished!” + and Francesca, clad in Miss Grieve’s Sunday bonnet, shawl, and black + cotton gloves, entered, and curtsied demurely to the floor. She held, as + corroborative detail, a life of John Knox in her hand, and anything more + incongruous than her sparkling eyes and mutinous mouth under the + melancholy head-gear can hardly be imagined. + </p> + <p> + “I am now Estaiblished,” she repeated. “Div ye ken the new asseestant frae + Inchcawdy pairish? I’m the mon’ (a second deep curtsy here). “I trust, + leddies, that ye’ll mak’ the maist o’ your releegious preevileges, an’ + that ye’ll be constant at the kurruk.—Have you given papa’s consent, + Salemina? And isn’t it dreadful that he is Scotch?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it dreadful that she is not?” asked Mr. Macdonald. “Yet to my mind + no woman in Scotland is half as lovable as she!” + </p> + <p> + “And no man in America begins to compare with him,” Francesca confessed + sadly. “Isn’t it pitiful that out of the millions of our own countrypeople + we couldn’t have found somebody that would do? What do you think now, Lord + Ronald Macdonald, of these dangerous international alliances?” + </p> + <p> + “You never understood that speech of mine,” he replied, with prompt + mendacity. “When I said that international marriages presented more + difficulties to the imagination than others, I was thinking of your + marriage and mine, and that, I knew from the first moment I saw you, would + be extremely difficult to arrange!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXVI. ‘Scotland’s burning! Look out!’ + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘And soon a score of fires, I ween, + From height, and hill, and cliff were seen; + . . . . . . . + Each after each they glanced to sight, + As stars arise upon the night, + They gleamed on many a dusky tarn, + Haunted by the lonely earn; + On many a cairn’s grey pyramid, + Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid.’ +</pre> + <p> + The Lay of the Last Minstrel. + </p> + <p> + The rain continued at intervals throughout the day, but as the afternoon + wore on the skies looked a trifle more hopeful. It would be ‘saft,’ no + doubt, climbing the Law, but the bonfire must be lighted. Would Pettybaw + be behind London? Would Pettybaw desert the Queen in her hour of need? Not + though the rain were bursting the well-heads on Cawda; not though the + swollen mountain burns drowned us to the knee! So off we started as the + short midsummer night descended. + </p> + <p> + We were to climb the Law, wait for the signal from Cawda’s lonely height, + and then fire Pettybaw’s torch of loyalty to the little lady in black; not + a blaze flaming out war and rumours of war, as was the beacon-fire on the + old grey battlements of Edinburgh Castle in the days of yore, but a + message of peace and good-will. Pausing at a hut on the side of the great + green mountain, we looked north toward Helva, white-crested with a wreath + of vapour. (You need not look on your map of Scotland for Cawda and Helva, + for you will not find them any more than you will find Pettybaw and + Inchcaldy.) One by one the tops of the distant hills began to clear, and + with the glass we could discern the bonfire cairns up-built here and there + for Scotland’s evening sacrifice of love and fealty. Cawda was still + veiled, and Cawda was to give the signal for all the smaller fires. + Pettybaw’s, I suppose, was counted as a flash in the pan, but not one of + the hundred patriots climbing the mountain-side would have acknowledged + it; to us the good name of the kingdom of Fife and the glory of the + British Empire depended on Pettybaw fire. Some of us had misgivings, too,—misgivings + founded upon Miss Grieve’s dismal prophecies. She had agreed to put nine + lighted candles in each of our cottage windows at ten o’clock, but had + declined to go out of her kitchen to see a procession, hear a band, or + look at a bonfire. She had had a fair sickenin’ day, an amount of work too + wearifu’ for one person by her lane. She hoped that the bonfire wasna + built o’ Mrs. Sinkler’s coals nor Mr. Macbrose’s kindlings, nor soaked + with Mr. Cameron’s paraffin; and she finished with the customary, but + irrelative and exasperating, allusion to the exceedingly nice family with + whom she had live in Glasgy. + </p> + <p> + And still we toiled upward, keeping our doubts to ourselves. Jean was + limping bravely, supported by Robin Anstruther’s arm. Mr. Macdonald was + ardently helping Francesca, who can climb like a chamois, but would + doubtless rather be assisted. Her gypsy face shone radiant out of her + black cloth hood, and Ronald’s was no less luminous. I have never seen two + beings more love-daft. They comport themselves as if they had read the + manuscript of the tender passion, and were moving in exalted superiority + through a less favoured world,—a world waiting impatiently for the + first number of the story to come out. + </p> + <p> + Still we climbed, and as we approached the Grey Lady (a curious rock very + near the summit) somebody proposed three cheers for the Queen. + </p> + <p> + How the children hurrahed,—for the infant heart is easily inflamed,—and + how their shrill Jubilee slogan pierced the mystery of the night, and went + rolling on from glen to glen to the Firth of Forth itself! Then there was + a shout from the rocketmen far out on the open moor,—‘Cawda’s clear! + Cawda’s clear!’ Back against a silver sky stood the signal pile, and + signal rockets flashed upward, to be answered from all the surrounding + hills. + </p> + <p> + Now to light our own fire. One of the village committee solemnly took off + his hat and poured on oil. The great moment had come. Brenda Macrae + approached the sacred pile, and, tremulous from the effect of much + contradictory advice, applied the torch. Silence, thou Grieve and others, + false prophets of disaster! Who now could say that Pettybaw bonfire had + been badly built, or that its fifteen tons of coal and twenty cords of + wood had been unphilosophically heaped together? + </p> + <p> + The flames rushed toward the sky with ruddy blaze, shining with weird + effect against the black fir-trees and the blacker night. Three cheers + more! God save the Queen! May she reign over us, happy and glorious! And + we cheered lustily, too, you may be sure! It was more for the woman than + the monarch; it was for the blameless life, not for the splendid monarchy; + but there was everything hearty, and nothing alien in our tone, when we + sang ‘God save the Queen’ with the rest of the Pettybaw villagers. + </p> + <p> + The land darkened; the wind blew chill. Willie, Mr. Macdonald, and Mr. + Anstruther brought rugs, and found a sheltered nook for us where we might + still watch the scene. There we sat, looking at the plains below, with all + the village streets sparkling with light, with rockets shooting into the + air and falling to earth in golden rain, with red lights flickering on the + grey lakes, and with one beacon-fire after another gleaming from the + hilltops, till we could count more than fifty answering one another from + the wooded crests along the shore, some of them piercing the rifts of + low-lying clouds till they seemed to be burning in mid-heaven. + </p> + <p> + Then one by one the distant fires faded, and as some of us still sat there + silently, far, far away in the grey east there was a faint flush of + carmine where the new dawn was kindling in secret. Underneath that violet + bank of cloud the sun was forging his beams of light. The pole-star paled. + The breath of the new morrow stole up out of the rosy grey. The wings of + the morning stirred and trembled; and in the darkness and chill and + mysterious awakening eyes looked into other eyes, hand sought hand, and + cheeks touched each other in mute caress. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Sun, gallop down the westlin skies, + Gang soon to bed, an’ quickly rise; + O lash your steeds, post time away, + And haste about our bridal day!’ +</pre> + <p> + The Gentle Shepherd. + </p> + <p> + Every noon, during this last week, as we have wended our way up the + loaning to the Pettybaw inn for our luncheon, we have passed three magpies + sitting together on the topmost rail of the fence. I am not prepared to + state that they were always the same magpies; I only know there were + always three of them. We have just discovered what they were about, and + great is the excitement in our little circle. I am to be married + to-morrow, and married in Pettybaw, and Miss Grieve says that in Scotland + the number of magpies one sees is of infinite significance: that one means + sorrow; two, mirth; three, a marriage; four, a birth, and we now recall as + corroborative detail that we saw one magpie, our first, on the afternoon + of her arrival. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beresford has been cabled for, and must return to America at once on + important business. He persuaded me that the Atlantic is an ower large + body of water to roll between two lovers, and I agreed with all my heart. + </p> + <p> + A wedding was arranged, mostly by telegraph, in six hours. The Reverend + Ronald and the Friar are to perform the ceremony; a dear old painter + friend of mine, a London R.A., will come to give me away; Francesca will + be my maid of honour; Elizabeth Ardmore and Jean Dalziel, my bridemaidens; + Robin Anstruther, the best man; while Jamie and Ralph will be kilted + pages-in-waiting, and Lady Ardmore will give the breakfast at the Castle. + </p> + <p> + Never was there such generosity, such hospitality, such wealth of + friendship! True, I have no wedding finery; but as I am perforce a + Scottish bride, I can be married in the white gown with the silver + thistles in which I went to Holyrood. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Anstruther took a night train to and from London to choose the + bouquets and bridal souvenirs. Lady Baird has sent the veil, and a + wonderful diamond thistle to pin it on,—a jewel fit for a princess! + With the dear Dominie’s note promising to be an usher came an antique + silver casket filled with white heather. And as for the bride-cake, it is + one of Salemina’s gifts, chosen as much in a spirit of fun as affection. + It is surely appropriate for this American wedding transplanted to + Scottish soil, and what should it be but a model, in fairy icing, of Sir + Walter’s beautiful monument in Princes Street! Of course Francesca is full + of nonsensical quips about it, and says that the Edinburgh jail would have + been just as fine architecturally (it is, in truth, a building beautiful + enough to tempt an aesthete to crime), and a much more fitting symbol for + a wedding-cake, unless, indeed, she adds, Salemina intends her gift to be + a monument to my folly. + </p> + <p> + Pettybaw kirk is trimmed with yellow broom from these dear Scottish banks + and braes; and waving their green fans and plumes up and down the aisle + where I shall walk a bride, are tall ferns and bracken from Crummylowe + Glen, where we played ballads. + </p> + <p> + As I look back upon it, the life here has been all a ballad from first to + last. Like the elfin Tam Lin, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The queen o’ fairies she caught me + In this green hill to dwell,’ +</pre> + <p> + and these hasty nuptials are a fittingly romantic ending to the summer’s + poetry. I am in a mood, were it necessary, to be ‘ta’en by the milk-white + hand,’ lifted to a pillion on a coal-black charger, and spirited ‘o’er the + border an’ awa’’ by my dear Jock o’ Hazeldean. Unhappily, all is quite + regular and aboveboard; no ‘lord o’ Langley dale’ contests the prize with + the bridegroom, but the marriage is at least unique and unconventional; no + one can rob me of that sweet consolation. + </p> + <p> + So ‘gallop down the westlin skies,’ dear Sun, but, prythee, gallop back + to-morrow! ‘Gang soon to bed,’ an you will, but rise again betimes! Give + me Queen’s weather, dear Sun, and shine a benison upon my wedding-morn! + </p> + <p> + <br /> [Exit Penelope into the ballad-land of maiden dreams.] <br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1217 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |