Chapter III: Part 3

"My dear Madam, you can't make your son a gentleman. You can't put blue blood into his veins and give him a pedigree a thousand years long. But you may give him a gentlemanly education, and make him as good a gentleman as ninety-nine out of every hundred who assume the name. Send him to a high-class English school and then to Oxford. There he will get up the classics, the only branch worthy of a gentleman.'

"So by the Earl's advice I was sent to Vere de Vere College, in Yorkshire: Principal, the Rev. Augustus Caesar, LL.D. The doctor, as he was called, received me in a very friendly manner. So did the pupils, after their own way; rather a rollicking kind of way, however. They were healthy, riotous, and as full of mischief as monkeys. Surrounding me, staring at me, and pulling me about, they plied me with all sorts of questions--what was my governor? had he lots of tin? was Scotland such a wild place? how did I feel in trousers? had I brought my kilt with me? Then they began 'to make me at home,' as they called it. One borrowed a sixpence from me; another, learning that I could not box, showed me the way and gave me a bloody nose; and all of them joined in crying out, that, as a new boy, I must pay my footing and stand them a jolly spread of pies and tarts and rum-shrub.

"For the first few days I had rather a lively time. As I was a new boy, they thought it only right to practise all their tricks upon me, such as putting a bunch of thistles in my bed, filling my boots with hot water, and putting cobbler's wax upon my seat, which held me fast when the doctor called me to get up. They also exercised their ingenuity in inventing nick-names for me, and I was addressed as 'Scotty,' 'Haggis,' 'Jew,' and 'Balls' (for they had ferreted out that my father had been a pawnbroker). But at length Lord Gulpington, who was the trump card of the college, being the heir to a marquisate, claimed me as his fag, and would allow no one to torment me except himself. He slept in the same room with me, and generally awoke me in the morning by throwing his slipper at my head. Then I got up, and, after dressing hurriedly, went down for his boots and his hot water. During the day I did anything that he required, and at night I often had to smuggle in 'grub and lush,' as he called it. We got on well together. I was quite delighted to be connected in any way with a lord; and after a while he said that next to his bull dog, Griffin, which he kept at the butcher's in the village, he liked me best of any creature about the place.

"As far as the body was concerned, the pupils got on very well. They had capital appetites, which they constantly attended to; and they were not content with the abundance that was placed before them, but they were constantly devouring apples, oranges, hardbake, and ginger-beer. Most hearty were they also in taking physical exercise. They played cricket and football, and talked about them incessantly, as if they had been the chief end of man; and they ran at hounds and hares as if they had been hunting a fortune, and not a dirty little boy with a bag of paper scraps.

"The physical training, indeed, was splendid, but I can't say as much for the mental training. With the exception of a little Greek, the thing that we always seemed to be grinding at was Latin. Our grammar book was in Latin. Our reading book was in Latin. The very grace said at table was in Latin. I tried to fix Latin in my head, but it came out again as fast as I put it in. They endeavoured to improve my memory by giving me several hundred verses to commit, but that only made me worse. In despair, one day I told the doctor that I would never be able to learn Latin. He told me that I must learn it, if I wished to be educated. I then had the presumption to ask him what was the use of it.

"'Oh,' he said, 'it is the best instrument for training the faculties. Besides, it is the "open sesame" into good society.'

"Had I been the only backward pupil, I might have thought that the fault lay in my stupidity. But with the exception of two or three, the other pupils were nearly as bad as myself, and detested their lessons. If a knowledge of Latin was to be the 'open sesame' into good society, I'm afraid they would never get in.

"At the end of four years my course at school was finished; and before proceeding to Oxford I spent a few weeks at home. One evening my father, in his business-like way, asked me to make up an account of the items I had got in return for the money he had laid out,--in other words, to tell him distinctly how much I had learnt.

"Afraid to go into details, I said, 'Well, at least, I've learnt the ways and manners of a gentleman.'

"'Ah,' replied my father, 'to be sure, that's worth all the book knowledge. You'll be better able to do business with gentlemen.'

"In this way I had staved off an ugly question; but in my own room, before going to bed that night, I ran over in my mind what I had learnt and what I had not learnt at school. I had learnt to play cricket and football, to run, to leap, to box, to smoke, to drink beer, and make bets. I had _not_ learnt to write a good hand, to spell correctly, to count correctly, and to know something of the history and geography of my native country.

"My mother came to have some notion of the true state of matters. She had asked me to write to the minister, inviting him to our house on a certain night to meet some friends, and unfortunately I had spelt _meet_ with an _a_. The minister was a great humorist, and this was an occasion for a joke which he could not neglect. Consequently, he called next morning, with my letter in his hand, to ask what kind of meat he would bring--beef, or mutton, or pork. My mother, when she understood the mistake, felt it keenly. So, one evening at the fireside, while the Earl and my father were having their game of draughts, she said:

"'Well, Ben, I hope you will get on at Oxford, and correct all your deficiencies, and come out a perfect scholar.'

"'My dear madam,' said the Earl, 'if any place can make him a scholar Oxford is that place. It has got all the means; it has the most money, the best teachers, and the greatest reputation.'

"My mother, however, although she knew it not, was cruelly deceived. To men who were in love with learning, Oxford gave every facility for maturing their scholarship. But to those who had no such love she could do nothing. Into this latter class I was unfortunate enough to fall. Lord Gulpington was there before me, and introduced me to his set, which consisted of the sons of the aristocratic and the wealthy. These youths, though passing through the curriculum of the University, were students merely in name. They did almost everything but study. Bless you! how could you expect them to do otherwise? What charms could they find in musty, out-of-date Latin and Greek works? They were young, healthy, spirited, and rich; and the bright and breathing world lay around them. Everything within them and without them called upon them to enjoy themselves. They, indeed, went through the farce of attending chapel in the morning, and lectures in the forenoon. But everyone, their teachers as well as themselves, knew it to be a farce. As soon as they went back to their rooms, they tossed their gowns aside, donned their sporting habiliments, and were off to the river, or the road, or the hunting-field, or the racecourse. Then back they came in the evening with a keen relish for other kinds of enjoyment. They feasted, they caroused, they gamboled, they sang jovial glees and choruses, and in fact rattled on as if life were to be a perpetual feast, without any such thing as duty, or trial, or suffering. In all these frolics I mingled. The jolly fellows, though they knew my origin, and called me by no other name than 'Balls,' were free and easy with me, played practical jokes upon me, borrowed my money, smoked my cigars, drank my wine, and even used my rooms for their parties.

"But all things come to an end; and the time arrived when the most of these devotees of pleasure had to lay aside their frivolities, and, in order to please the old folks at home, had to go in for their degree, or, as they called it, 'their smalls.' Many of them were, as it is called, 'plucked,' and no wonder! Their feathers were not home-grown, but were borrowed plumes stuck on with infinite labour and skill by tutors, and, therefore, came off easily. On me they would not even stick, and so I could not go up for the degree, and had not even the honour of being plucked.

"My poor parents were spared the chagrin of seeing the failure of their efforts to make me a gentleman. Before my Oxford career was finished, they died, both in the same week, the victims of the terrible Asiatic cholera, during its first visit to this country in 1832. As I now came into a considerable fortune, I saw no necessity for adopting a profession, or doing any useful work. To enjoy myself was, I thought, to be my only business; and the proper place for enjoyment was London, the centre of all that is pleasant and grand. So, as soon as I had wound up affairs in Edinburgh, I hastened to the metropolis.

"I put up at the Golden Cross, and proceeded, as it is called, 'to do the sights of London.' I visited picture galleries, museums, theatres, concert rooms, until I was tired out and disgusted. Then came on the most terrible feeling I ever experienced, a feeling which you busy and healthy people never had. _I did not know what to do._ I did not care to stroll about the streets, for the everlasting din and endless throng grew intolerable. I could not sit all day in the coffee-room of the hotel, staring at everyone that entered, and pretending to read the newspaper. When I got up in the morning, it seemed as if I would never manage to get through the day. Time was my great enemy. It loaded the present, and blocked up the future. How was I to kill it? To do this I would have been inclined to try almost anything. I now understood how men committed suicide through sheer weariness. I also felt the truth of the saying that idleness is the cause of nearly every crime, and that the idle man does not wait to be tempted, but of his own accord tempts the devil. My devil soon appeared.

"I had noticed among the inmates of the hotel a middle-aged, stout, and grey-headed gentleman, whom the waiters addressed as Colonel. He seemed to me to be round and oily with health, good nature, and jollity. One day, when he appeared to be idle, he sat down and had a talk with me. Without telling me much about himself, except that he been an officer in the Spanish service, he managed to extract from me a good deal about myself; and when he heard me complain about feeling dull, he at once placed his services at my disposal.

"'London dull!' he said, 'why, it's a paradise, a garden full of flowers, and I, like a bee, or rather a bumble-bee, have visited all of them.'

"And certainly no idle man could have a pleasanter companion than the Colonel. He was stimulating and enlivening, like the morning sunshine. His animal spirits and relish for life never flagged, and he was always ready, when the occasion turned up, to joke, to laugh, to eat, or to drink. Every day he had some novelty to offer. 'Now,' he would say, 'I'll give you a treat that you never had before;' and then he would drive me to a racecourse or some other resort of fashion, or he would take me to some famous old chop-house in the recesses of the city, or some new and gorgeous hotel in one of the fashionable thoroughfares; and, while we sat down to what he called, 'a nice little dinner,' he would introduce some new dish, or some new blend of whisky, or some new brand of wine; and while we discussed it he would smack his lips, rub his hands, and look at me as much as to say, 'Did I not tell you so?' His enjoyment of the pleasures of the great city never seemed to fail. The only thing, in fact, that ever failed with him was money. He sometimes had no change, or had forgotten his purse; but I was only too glad to pay his expenses in return for his company. I could not do without him. He had made life like a dream, a little feverish perhaps, but exceedingly pleasant.

"One night after the theatre, he took me to a house in the Haymarket, where, he said, we could sup cosily together. As soon as we had entered, to his great surprise, he found two old friends who had just arrived from the Continent. They were middle-aged, fashionably dressed, and well-mannered, and were introduced to me as Captain Spurr and Count Lago. At my invitation they joined us in a private room, where we supped on lobster and champagne, and all grew as sociable and as pleasant as you like. A game of whist was proposed, and the Colonel and I played against the other two for small stakes. We had astonishing luck, and won game after game; and at the end of several hours, rose the winners of a considerable sum of money. Of course, we continued the practice of meeting and playing there, and night after night the same results happened. The Colonel and I always won. Such a thing had never been known before. They all attributed it to me; and even the landlord and the waiters complimented me, and wondered that I did not back my luck sufficiently. This was pleasant so far; but I did not like the idea of winning so much money, and feared that we might completely clean out our opponents, and I frankly told the Colonel my feelings on the matter, and suggested that we should stop.

"'Stop!' he exclaimed, 'we can't stop; we must give them their revenge. Oh, don't be afraid that you'll beggar them; they have plenty of the needful.'

"So on we drove in our career of victory, until our winnings amounted to a large sum. Then fortune changed, and, strange to say, went on as steadily against us as it had done for us, until our opponents had not only regained all they had lost, but had won some of our money.

"While on our way home that night I said to the Colonel--'As our opponents have recouped themselves, we must now stop.'

"'Hang it!' said the Colonel, 'not just yet if you please. I can't afford to lose any money if you can. Let us adopt this method. We are so much money out of pocket. On our first game to-night, let us stake the double of that. If we lose, let us double it again; and let us go on doing this; and whenever the luck turns, and, hang it! you know, it must turn very soon, we shall, at one go, have won all our money back, and then we can cry quits.'

"This seemed a dangerous plan, but I felt that we must follow it. So on we went, night after night losing our games, and always piling up the money, till the stake had become something tremendous, and I became almost mad with excitement. To provide funds, I kept selling out my investments and lodging the money in a London bank; and to keep up my nerve I drank champagne incessantly--and then the crash came!

"I woke up one day with a head a mass of pain, a mouth as dry as a lime-kiln, and a confused memory of exciting scenes, to find myself in a bed in our nightly resort. On summoning the waiter, I learnt from him that I had been very tipsy, and that the Colonel and his friends had had some difficulty in managing me, and getting me to bed. I lost no time in going to the Golden Cross Hotel to see the Colonel, but to my horror I was told that the Colonel had left that morning with all his luggage. I understood now the hellish plot which had been devised for my ruin; but I thanked God that I had still ten thousand pounds in the bank. I hurried to the bank to make sure; but there I was met with the intelligence that a gentleman, that morning, had presented my cheque for the whole amount, and that all my money had been paid to him. I asked to see the cheque, thinking that it must have been forged; but no, there was my undoubted signature! I had been drugged, and while in a stupor made to sign my name; and my whole fortune was gone. The Colonel, who, it seems, was notorious as a most accomplished blackleg, was advertised for, but was never caught.

"I had now to give up my rooms in the hotel, and all my refined habits, take lodgings in a street near Drury Lane, and seek for some way of earning my bread. Surely, I thought, I can't starve: in this immense community there must be many thousands of vacant situations. But I did not take into account, that for every single vacancy there must be at least ten applicants. And I very soon found that the education which I had got at school and at the university, and which had cost so much, was practically useless. In fact, it was now the great stumbling-block in my way. It had not fitted me for the higher situations, for I could not even spell correctly; and it had _un_fitted me for the lower situations, for no one would engage an Oxford scholar for a menial office. I could not even compete with the ragged street boys in running on an errand, holding a horse, or sweeping a crossing. Their education, picked up amid the mud and jostle of the streets, had been far more practical and effective than mine. Instead, therefore, of living by my labour, I was obliged to subsist by pawning my valuables, and bit after bit of my finery, like the plumes of a moulting peacock, dropped from me, till I was left almost bare. Then I was obliged to give up my lodgings, and go out on the streets.

"I was now an outcast in London. It seemed strange that in the midst of so many thousand houses, I should be without a corner to lay my head in,--that in the midst of millions of people I should not have a single one to help me, or take an interest in me. Such was my condition on a night of August last. I had a few shillings in my pocket, but as I did not see any way by which I could earn money, it was necessary to be rigidly economical. I applied for a night's shelter at a cheap lodging-house in the Borough, but it was so crowded with shabby, dirty, and noisy lodgers that I turned sick, and was obliged to leave. I then tried the casual ward in one of the infirmaries, but it was even more disgusting. Quite at a loss to know what to do, I wandered aimlessly up and down till I found myself on London Bridge, when the steeples were pealing out the hour of midnight. Footsore and weary, I threw myself down on the hard stone seat in one of the recesses; but shortly, a poor, slouching tatterdemalion squatted down beside me, actually laying his unkempt head upon my legs. In disgust, I started up, and crawled away into the city. Hour after hour I dragged my weary limbs along the solitary, interminable streets, looking for some covered doorway where I might lay me down and sleep. Twice I had found a suitable spot; but before I could take possession of it, a policeman's lantern was seen approaching, and I was obliged to move on. When morning began to break I found myself close to Regent's Park, and the soft green sward appeared a temptation which I could not resist. Climbing the fence with some difficulty, I made for a large beech tree, and pillowing my head on one of its extended roots, and stretching out my legs on the soft delightful grass, I fell at once into a deep slumber.

"After several hours of absolute unconsciousness, I had a dream, and thought I was back again in Scotland, in our garden at Eskbank, and heard somebody calling to me. I gradually came to myself, and opened my eyes; and there was a working-man standing over me, and, in an accent unmistakably Scotch, calling me by name, and asking why I was there. I cannot describe the gush of delight that ran through me when I heard the kindly tones of my native land, and realised that here at least was a man who took an interest in me. Raising myself up, I asked him how he came to know me? He told me that he belonged to Eskbank, that he used to know me by sight, that he was on his way to his work in Regent Park Gardens, and that he was astonished to see me lying like an outcast there. What could I do but tell him my sad story? He said that it might be a long time before I could get any suitable berth in London, and that my best plan would be to go home at once, and that he would lend me five shillings--all that he had on him--to help me on my way. My heart bounded with delight at the suggestion, and I wondered that I had never thought of it before. So, taking his offered loan, and along with it his address, and promising to repay him as soon as I was able, I shook hands with my humble friend, and set off at once to prepare for my journey. Not having enough money to pay the fare either by coach or boat, I resolved to go on foot, and hoped that by taking every precaution, I would not find it too much for me, and that I might be able to get some odd jobs by the road, which would assist my expenses. So I packed up all my effects in a napkin, and bravely set my face to the north.

"When, from the top of Highgate, I had taken my last look of the smoky wilderness called London, and when I turned to go forward through the rich autumn landscape, I felt really happy. After my bitter experience of the endless rows of brick houses, and the everlasting stone pavement, I enjoyed the long lines of leafy trees and hedges, and the soft, fragrant wayside grass. The very thought that every step was taking me nearer home was a delight in itself. That the distance was four hundred miles did not seem to matter much. Our school's sports, especially that of hounds and hare, had taught me to hold in, and not expend all my resources at once. So I moved along at a steady, regular pace, taking care not to strain my muscles. When my feet grew hot, I refreshed them by walking into a brook. When faintness came on, I did not seek the ale-house; but I bought a penny loaf, and sitting down by a wayside well, found that plain bread and water were both palatable and invigorating. For dessert, I sometimes had a young Swedish turnip, which I found more sweet and juicy than any pine-apple I ever tasted. At night, as the weather continued remarkably dry and warm, I preferred the open air to the tramp's lodging-house; and under the newly-cut corn sheaves, or in the recess of a haystack, I slept soundly till I was wakened by the rising sun.

"With all my economy, however, my little stock of money melted fast away; and I soon saw that if I wished to be saved from the degradation of begging I must earn something. I therefore hit upon a plan which I thought would be sure to get me some employment. This was to call upon the clergymen through whose parishes I passed, to tell them frankly the cause of my degradation, and to ask them in the name of Christian charity to allow me to do some work for them, by which I could earn a meal or a small sum of money. But, unfortunately, this patent plan of mine failed. Without exception, the parish priests listened to my story with an incredulous look, shook their heads, and shut their doors in my face. At length I ventured to ask one why he disbelieved me?

"'My good man,' he said, 'I can't help it. I have been so often taken in by people like you. The more plausible your story is, the more likely it is to be false.'

"'You look upon poverty, then,' said I, 'as a crime?'

"'No,' he replied, 'not exactly, but as one of the marks of a criminal. I may be wrong, but I can't help it.'

"I saw, too, that my fellow-tramps had the same opinion about me. One evening, at a sudden turn of the road, I found myself face to face with one of a most villainous type. There was no mistaking him. He was a real London-made rough, spawned in the gutter, bred in the slums, moulded in the jostle of the streets, with plunder in his look and blasphemy on his tongue.

"Planting himself right before me, and devouring me with his rat-like eyes, he croaked out, 'Well, my bloomin' cove! what lay are you on?'

"I told him that I was a gentleman who had been unfortunate in London, and was now on my way back to my native country.

"'Oh! a gent are you?' he said, with a sneer; 'then, by ----, fork out like a gent;' and he seized me by the coat collar.

"And now, for the first time, I found I had been taught at school something that was useful. Throwing off his hand, I leapt back, and put myself in a boxing attitude; and, as he made a furious assault upon me, I parried his blows, and letting go my left straight from the shoulder, landed on his jaw a crashing blow which sent him to the grass; and there he lay half-stunned, and looking like a heap of filthy clothes. I asked him if he would have any more, and getting nothing but a terrible imprecation in reply, I left him, and went on my way.

"By this time I had passed Newark, and I was in a sorry plight. I was without shoes and without a waistcoat, and my hat was crushed and battered out of all shape. With bleeding feet and empty stomach, I was limping along painfully, when I came to a farmer superintending his reapers near the roadside. Touching my forehead, I asked him if he could not give a starving man a job by which he could earn a bite of bread.

"'No lad,' he said, 'but if ye had coomed when the taters were young I could have given you a job. I might have employed you as a scarecrow.'

"Thereupon all the workers laughed, especially the women, who sent up a loud skirl of delight. So I had to crawl on, foot-sore, and also heart-sore at the cruelty of my fellow-creatures.

"But relief was at hand. I had not gone far, when, turning a corner of the road, I came upon a strange sight: a fat little man, with a red coat, and a red face, both discoloured by the weather, sitting at the edge of a wood, eating his dinner, with his little dog in front of him, and his properties--a Punch and Judy show, a big drum, and Pandean pipes--indistinctly seen in the foliage behind him. He was eating bread and cheese, which he cut with a clasp-knife, and Toby was eyeing him greedily, ready to snap his occasional bit. Everything about the man was so hearty, and so suggestive of sunshine and country roads, that he seemed to warm up the landscape.

"As soon as he caught sight of me he called out, 'Hallo, mate! you seem done up. Come and peck a bit. Sit down.' And he handed me a big hunk of bread and another of cheese, looking on beamingly when I devoured it; and when at length I could eat no more, he produced a flask.

"'Here is some of the right sort; take a good swig of it; it will oil your digestion works. Man! it does me good to see you enjoy your grub. I feel as if I were eating a second dinner. Now for your yarn.' Then he lit his pipe and smoked while I gave an account of myself.

"'Ah,' he said, knocking out the ashes, 'my case is not altogether unlike yours. I, too, got a good education, or what was intended to be a good education. But I could never settle in any place. By nature I was a rolling stone, or rather a rolling ball of fat; and Fortune, mistaking me for a football, began to kick me about, and has been playing with me ever since. But thanks to my fat, I always fall soft and always rebound. Ha! ha!' and he laughed till his face puckered up and showed his eyes like two small steel beads.

"While he was talking, I had taken up the Pandean pipes, and I now played a tune on them.

"'Ah!' he said, 'can you work that?'

"'Yes,' I replied; 'when I was a boy in Edinburgh, there was nothing I so much delighted in as a Punch and Judy performance. I used to loiter for hours at the foot of the Mound, and see it repeated again and again; and coming upon a set of Pandean pipes in my father's pawnshop, I used to practise upon them.'

"'Why,' said Joe Greener (for, as I learnt afterwards, this was his name), 'you're the very man I want. Aint it lucky? To tell you the truth, I'm in a bit of a fix. My pal bolted two days ago with all the swag. A good riddance at the price.' (And here Joe abandoned himself to his peculiar snigger. He seemed to laugh all his trouble away, and blow it off as if with a gust of merriment.)

"'I have written,' he continued, 'for an old partner in London, but he can't come for some weeks. Meanwhile you'll do for a substitute. I'll soon coach you up in the business. All that you have got to do is to play the overture before the drama begins, and while it is going on to collect the money and keep the imps of children from pulling aside the baize and peeping in. The terms are six bob a week and your grub; and I'll advance something at once to rig you out.'

"The bargain was struck; and that evening, in the inn yard of the neighbouring village, we had several rehearsals, and I felt that I would manage to get through my part fairly well.

"Behold me now, an Oxford man, and formerly the chum of lords and swells, degraded into a Punch and Judy assistant. It was a bustling life. We were out in the road in all weathers, performing at fairs, and in the evenings in small towns and villages. In fact, wherever we saw groups of people hanging about on the outlook for amusement, we set up our stage. Once we were hired to amuse the boys at my old school, Vere de Vere College. I cannot describe the feelings with which, in my new character, I entered the well-known scenes. My uppermost feeling was the fear lest I should be identified as a former scholar. But, to my infinite relief, I saw that all the pupils and the servants were strangers. The doctor, indeed, stared at me for a moment as if he recognised me; but he turned away, muttering 'No, no, impossible!' He could not believe that anyone who had had the unspeakable advantage of being taught by him could possibly have fallen so low. His conceit saved me.

"This vagrant life had its drudgery and its difficulties; but there were certain things about it that I liked very much: the quiet country roads, the resting on the green grass under hawthorn hedges, the palatable dinners of bread and cheese and cider at rustic inns, and the merry faces that clustered round us when that abandoned rascal Punch began to play his pranks. But, at the end of a few weeks, Joe Greener's former pal arrived from London, and my occupation was gone. So, bidding a hearty farewell to my merry benefactor, I turned my face northwards again, and partly by walking and partly by coaching, I have come thus far.

"When I arrived at your gate to-night, and listened to the well-remembered sound of the wind in the big plane tree, the past came back upon me, and I felt as if I were a boy again, and as if my strange experiences at Oxford and London were but the medley of a dream."

"Bless me," cried Miss Grizzie, "did you ever live here?" and she and her sister were on their feet scrutinising the face of the stranger.

"Yes," he said quietly; "I once lived in this very house, and I can give you a proof of it. Look at the back of the fireplace there, on the left-hand side, and you will see the letters B.L. cut in a stone." They all crowded round the fire to look; and, surely enough, they detected the initials, badly formed and rather indistinct, but still recognisable.

Then Miss Lizzie, turning round and looking intently at the stranger, called out, "Are you Ben Levy? Eh! I thocht that there was something about yer face that I should ken. Ah! I mind ye weel--a bit laddie, comin' ower here in yer vakens, and introducin' yersel as oor coosin, and steyin' for three or four weeks."

"But yer faither," said Miss Grizzie, "was a gentleman, I thocht. I never heard o' him bein' a pawnbroker."

"No," said Ben, "he had retired by that time from the three balls, and wished them to be forgotten."

Hillend, now putting his hand on the shoulder of the stranger, said, "Oh man! is this you? Man, I'm fain to see ye. I mind ye weel--an auld-farrant loon, dour at the readin', writin', and coontin', but ready with yer haunds, and in the thick of everything--howin', shearin', and threshin',--and wi' an awfu' wark wi' bease. An' have ye really been through a' thae ups and doons: and what are ye gaun to dae noo?"

"Well," said Ben, "that's just what I want to tell you. You see I have had my chances--all the advantages which a man could have--education, society, money. I could not use them, and they nearly did for me. They have been a curse to me. I don't want them again. It is evident that my proper sphere is a humble lot in the country. I shall be content if anybody allows me to work in the fields, and gives me in return bed and board and a suit of clothes once a year. A man who has frequently supped on a turnip and slept under a hedge, will look upon a cog of oatmeal porridge and a bunch of straw in the barn as real luxuries."

Hillend's eyes glistened. "Well," he thought, "here's something new at a farmer's fireside, a man that has gaen up and doon the hale ladder o' Fortune, and kens a' the changes o' Life. What a companion he will be for the long winter nichts! A' the tales o' the Borders in one livin' edition! A well that can always be pumped, and will never gang dry! I think we must ask him to stey for a week or twa at least."

He gave a significant glance at his sisters, and they returned it. Then he said--"Ye micht stey on here for a wee till ye can look aroond ye. It happens that Jamie Doo, oor orra man, has just left. Ye can tak his place, and pit oot your haund to ony job that's wanted; and ye'se get a bed in the bothy, and your share o' the parritch and kail that's gaun in the kitchen."

Weeks, months, and even years passed, and Ben Levy still remained at the farm. The truth is that they could not do without him. He was the factotum of Hillend, and also of the two sisters. During the day, if any stress of work arose, he was the man to push it through; and in the evening, if any visitors dropt in, he was the man to entertain them with his startling experiences.

One remark he always made at the end of his story. "It's strange that a few weeks experience of country labour in my boyhood should have been more useful to me than all my school and university education. It has enabled me to earn my bread. I believe it's because my heart was in it.

"'The heart's aye the part aye That maks us richt or wrang.'"

THE ONE FATAL MISTAKE.

In my boyhood I was familiar with a thin emaciated man, that used to be seen in the streets of Sandyriggs. Consumption had wasted his body, and utterly quenched his spirit. Wan and dumb, he moved among the healthy faces of the town folk like a ghost; and it was a painful sight to see him crawl up the outside stair that led to his solitary room above the butcher's shop. People called him "a blighted being" and "a living wreck," and associated his name with a tragedy which had long been the talk of the county. Yet, twenty years before, he began his career under the most favourable auspices.

When Malcolm Blair entered the University of St Andrews, he might have been considered a favourite of Fortune. He was the only son and the pride of his father, a prosperous farmer. His body was healthy and handsome, and his mind agile and enthusiastic. He had a keen relish, not only for material blessings, but for knowledge of every kind. It was as pleasant to him to study as to take a bracing morning walk. Without any difficulty he drank in classics, mathematics, literature, and science. In all the college competitions he easily took the first place, and at the end of every session came out the first man of his year.

At the same time, his learning did not make him moody and unsocial. He put it (to use a homely phrase) "into a good skin." It was thoroughly digested, became part of his being, promoted his general health, and fed his buoyant spirits. When the time came for tossing aside his books, mirth danced in his eyes and rioted in his laugh. His motto seemed to be "Taste life's glad moments." At all the students' recreations--the social gatherings on the Friday night, the Saturday excursions into the country, the jolly junketings at Guardbridge and at Leuchars--he was the life of the company. He could sing, recite, tell stories, make a speech or "screamer," as it was called, and give the most ludicrous imitation of the different professors.

"Blair," said one of his friends, "is irrepressible. How does he keep up that vivid tone, both of body and mind? One would imagine that his food was ambrosia and his drink was nectar; and the air which he breathed was laughing-gas."

Altogether Blair was a youth full of promise, and apparently destined for a popular and successful career.

But it was this highly-strung excitable temperament that brought him into danger. The time came, towards the end of his Arts curriculum at St Andrews, when "the young man's fancy lightly turned to thoughts of love." If he had been privileged to mix in cultured family life, his fancy might have settled on a suitable object. But in St Andrews, where the distinctions of caste are strongly defined, the students are unfortunately placed. They are regarded as being beneath the upper or professional class; and they consider themselves as above the under or trading class. They are, therefore, shut out from family life, and are left to herd together in their lodgings. And thus it came to pass that Malcolm Blair's fancy was unable to find a resting-place till it settled on his landlady's daughter.

Grace Bourhill, daughter of Mrs Bourhill, lodging-house keeper in College Street, had no special charms beyond a fresh complexion and a pair of bright eyes. But she was ambitious, and tried all her little fascinations on Mr Blair. When she brought in his meals, she was always tidy as Hebe herself or neat-handed Phyllis. When he spoke to her, she would blush and smile and look at him from the corner of her eyes. When she ran against him in the lobby, she would show the prettiest confusion, and after begging pardon, would trip away like a startled fawn. As a matter of course, he soon saw that the girl was fond of him, and could not help appreciating her good feeling and taste. He found a pleasure in looking upon her and speaking to her, and when he was singing Burns's songs, he would often call up her image to help him to realise the poet's heroines. Yet all the while he never once thought of her as a suitable partner for him. He considered the whole affair as an innocent flirtation. Miserable delusion! He soon found out his mistake.

Blair's curriculum was drawing to a close. He was about to take farewell of St Andrews' University. As he was preparing himself for the Dissenting Ministry, his divinity studies were to be prosecuted in Edinburgh. It was a time of great excitement among the students. The winter, with its dull days and its hard work, had gone; and the spring, with its bright hours and its prospect of country holidays, had come. Song and laughter were in the air, and infected every one; and the evenings were entirely given up to farewell merry-meetings. One of the most important of these was the _Gaudeamus_ of the Literary Society, held in the Cross Keys Hotel. The chair was taken by an honorary member, a divinity student of jovial tendencies; and a galaxy of youthful faces, all glowing with intelligence and good humour, was grouped before him. What could be the result but an utter abandonment to the influence of the time? The past, with all its trials, was forgotten; the future, with its promised happiness, was taken for granted; and the present, with its grateful pleasures, engrossed their whole souls.

Prominent among the company was Malcolm Blair. He was, in a certain sense, the hero of the evening. He had just completed his literary course with the greatest distinction, having taken his degree of Master of Arts with special commendation, and come out the first man of his year in every branch; and he had, therefore, every reason for being in the highest spirits. During dinner his jokes and anecdotes kept up a constant roar. After dinner he sang songs and proposed toasts in the most effective style. And then to crown all, he was called upon by the voice of the whole company to give his imitation of Tammy, the mathematical professor. Standing up, and putting on the well-known grimaces, awkward gestures, and broad Scotch accent, he delivered a speech on elocution, urging them all to cultivate a correct and refined style of speaking, and to take an example from him, the speaker, who, though born and brought up in Fife, had so thoroughly got rid of his native peculiarities of phrase and accent, that he defied any stranger to detect even his nationality. He sat down amid a prolonged shout of applause; and on every side he was saluted with cries of "Health and Imitation," and with pressing calls from dozens of his admirers to drink with them.

Replying to these on the spur of the moment, he imbibed more than he was aware of; and thus it happened, when the meeting broke up, that he was in a state of the highest excitement.

This state of excitement was, indeed, very unfortunate. But another unfortunate circumstance was fated to happen. On that particular night, of all nights in the year, it chanced that his landlady, Mrs Bourhill, was seized with a sort of fit; and when he reached his lodgings, he witnessed a most distressing plight--the mother lying insensible on the sofa, and the daughter wringing her hands and crying in despair. Alarm and pity took possession of his heart; and after uttering a few words of sympathy and comfort, he rushed away and brought back a doctor. The doctor, a young man beginning practice, was solemn and taciturn. Asking a few questions, and feeling the pulse of Mrs Bourhill, he looked very grave, and tried one restorative after another until at length she opened her eyes; and then, with the aid of the daughter, he led her to her bedroom and shut the door.

Blair retired to his own room to wait the result. The minutes passed slowly without a single sound to break the oppressive silence. At last he heard the doctor go, and shut the outer door; but he waited in vain for any other sound. Sick of suspense, and imagining all sorts of evil, he crept quietly out of his room and entered the parlour; and there he found Miss Bourhill seated on a chair, the picture of silent misery.

"What has happened?" he asked, in a voice of alarm.

She answered by breaking down into a paroxysm of weeping.

"For God's sake, Miss Bourhill," he cried, "what has happened? Is your mother dead?"

Then she rose, and with her hair streaming over her shoulders, and the tears running down her cheeks, she clasped his hands, and said, "Oh, Mr Blair! you have been so kind. But what am I to do? what _am_ I to do? The doctor says that mother's condition is very serious, and that another attack may be fatal, and I shall be left alone in the world with nobody to care for me." And here she broke down again.

Now, what could this unsophisticated lad do, wrought up as he was by various causes into a high state of excitement? What could he do but take her hand, and pat her on the shoulder, and, in his anxiety to soothe her, protest that he would take care of her? And other tender promises he made which he was afterwards told about, but which he did not remember.

Next morning he awoke with a curious, confused feeling which cannot be described. Amid all the confusion, however, there still started up the impression that he had said to Miss Bourhill many things which he ought not to have said. He feared, in fact, that he had given her the impression that he really loved her; and he resolved to lose no time in disabusing her mind. He would represent it as an ordinary flirtation, and would apologise most earnestly and humbly for trifling with her feelings. He was not going to allow his future prospects to be blighted, and he must set himself right at once, and at all hazards. But, unfortunately, this resolute plan of his was utterly foiled by unforeseen circumstances. No sooner had he stepped out of his bedroom into the passage than Miss Bourhill, radiant with the consciousness of one who was both loving and beloved, and looking really beautiful, had thrown her arms around his neck and was embracing him; and her mother, glowing with recovered health, came up and saluted him also.

"Mother," said the daughter, "this is my future husband."

And the mother, blessing them fervently, protested that he was the very one whom she herself would have chosen, and congratulated him upon his having secured such a priceless jewel.

"She canna," said she, "strum on the pianny, but she can darn stockins and mak shirts. She'll no be able to jabber French, but she'll scrub and cook and keep yer manse comfortable. And she's high-spirited too, and she'll keep the members o' the congregation in their proper places. She was jist born to be a minister's wife."

Now what could the fated Malcolm do, involved as he was in such a witches' coil! He felt that if he didn't speak out and protest at once he was lost; but the smiles, caresses, and blandishments that were rained upon him, drugged and chloroformed his powers, and literally shut his mouth; and he remained speechless and helpless. Two days afterwards, Malcolm Blair left St Andrews an engaged man. The one fatal mistake had been made.

During the six months of the summer vacation that Scotch students enjoy, Malcolm Blair had been accustomed to continue his studies under the most exhilarating circumstances. What a pleasant change it was from the closeness and monotony of St Andrews' lecture-rooms to the airy canopy and ever-changing glories of nature! And oh, the delight, at daybreak, when the ploughman drove his team afield amid the thousand melodies of morn; or at noon, when a golden haze brooded over the pastures and cornfields, and the silence was broken only by the hum of the bee; or in the evening, when the scent of flowers was in the air and the coo of the cushat came from the firry woodland--oh, the delight! to dwell upon the country scenes of the Mantuan Bard, or roll out the winged words of Homer, or trill "the native wood-notes wild" of the Swan of Avon. Standing on the same green earth, under the same glorious sky, and amid the same perennial influences, he was able to look at things from their point of view and in their spirit, and thus virtually to realise--to make real to himself--their thoughts and feelings regarding Nature.

But now, what a difference! He moped about the fields and hedges a blighted being. The consciousness of his calamity, like a frosty cloud, enveloped his imagination; and, seen through this cloud, the world had lost its glory. And before he had been a week at home there came from his betrothed a letter which brought the blush to his cheek. With unsteady pen and bad spelling, the poor girl had laboured to express her affection, but, alas! had only betrayed her meagre and undeveloped mind. As he read this epistle at breakfast, his mother was watching him; and he knew that she was wondering who his illiterate correspondent could be; and to give her no more ground for suspicion, he was mean enough to bribe Marjory, the servant, to bring his letters in future directly to himself, and not to lay them on the breakfast table.

One day, however, when he was superintending (or "grieving," as it was called) the haymakers, an idea struck across his brain, and instantly changed his whole mood, and filled his heart with delight. Grace, he thought, was uneducated just now, but was it necessary that she should remain so? She was naturally bright and clever, and without doubt would be eager to learn. Why should she not have the opportunity? He would earn some money by going out as a tutor, and with this money he would send her to a first-class boarding-school, where she would learn the accomplishments, manners, and graces; and thus she would become a young lady of whom anyone in his position might be proud. A fond dream which might so easily be realised!

But when, in his next letter, he had propounded his plan to Grace, she, instead of accepting it gratefully, rejected it with the utmost scorn. She had some difficulty in expressing her love, but none in giving vent to her indignation. So (she wrote) he was ashamed of her because she could not jabber a few French phrases, and hammer on the piano; and he wanted her to go to one of those boarding-schools, where nothing but what was bad could be learned. She would not go to one of these dens of wickedness; but as he was ashamed of her, she would poison herself, and her murder would lie at his door. Thus ended Blair's first and last attempt to educate his betrothed.