Chapter VIII (2)

It certainly was very remarkable, but not in the least mysterious. This new mistake of Johnny, like all the rest, was a perfectly simple occurrence; and, like them, too, arose as plainly and naturally out of circumstances as it was possible for any effect to do from a cause. But, however, this may be, the captain--although he could not help laughing at the awkward predicament of his passenger--really felt for him, seeing the distress he was in, and was so much influenced by this feeling as to offer to convey him back to Rotterdam, to which, he said, he would return in two days, free of any charge; adding, with a smile, and with the kind intention of reconciling Johnny to what could not now be helped, that it was nothing, after all--that it would make a difference of only a few days--and that it would be always showing him a little more of the world.

"Mony thanks to ye," said Johnny, perceiving and appreciating the friendly purpose of the captain; "and I'll e'en tak advantage o' yer kind offer; but as to seein' the world, by my faith, I've seen now about just as muckle o't as I want to see, and maybe a trifle mair--a hantle mair, at ony rate, than I ever expected to see." Then, in a soliloquizing tone and manner--"God keep me, whar's Brechin noo! A' that I wanted, and a' that I intended, was to get to that bit paltry place; and, instead o' that, here am I within a stane-cast o' the north pole, for aught I ken to the contrar, and, to a' appearances, no half dune wi't yet. Heaven kens whar I'll be sent niest!--maybe be landed on Owhyhee, or on some desert island, like another Robinson Crusoe. Na, it's certain, if things gang on muckle langer this way."

Of the drift or scope of these remarks, or, at any rate, of the feelings that dictated them, the captain could make nothing, not knowing Johnny's precise circumstances; nor did he seek to have them explained, but contented himself with repeating his offer of conveying Johnny back to Rotterdam, and renewing his well-meant efforts to reconcile him to his fate, in so far as his present voyage was concerned. In the meantime, the wind continued to blow in a manner perfectly satisfactory in every respect to all on board the _Jungfrau_ of Rotterdam and Rouen; and, in about the space of time mentioned by the captain, the vessel reached her destination in safety. Johnny Armstrong, whose whole mind was absorbed by anxiety to reach that home which he yet seemed destined never again to see, took no interest whatever in the scenes presented to him in the part of the world he was now in. Indeed, he never left the vessel at all, for fear she would slip through his fingers; for, if he was afraid of accidents of this kind before, he was ten times more so now; and, with this fear upon him, that the packet might, by some chance or other, escape him, he determined to stick by her--never to lose sight of her for a moment, till she had conveyed him back to Rotterdam; and his vigilance ultimately secured the end he had in view. The _Jungfrau_ sailed from Rouen with Johnny on board, and, in due time, deposited him once more at Rotterdam. But what was Johnny's surprise, what Dunder Vander Dunder's amazement, when they again encountered one another, and that within ten minutes of the former's landing! The amazement of the latter, however, was, on this occasion, evidently mingled with a degree of suspicion of the perfect uprightness of Johnny's character. He began now to think, in short, that there had been more in the circumstance of Johnny's apprehension than he had been informed of. He did not like these frequent reappearances; he thought them very odd--and he did not hesitate to say so.

"Mine Got! vat you here again for, man? Vat is de meaning of all dis, mine goot freend?" he exclaimed, with a somewhat dry and doubtful manner, quite at variance with the cordial tone of his former greetings.

Johnny Armstrong explained to him, but seemingly without obtaining implicit credence for all he said. When he had done--

"'Tis veree odd," said Vander Dunder, coldly; "veree straunge. But, you really vant to go to Scotlan, dere is vessel going to sail for Leet now, and I vill see you on board mineself."

It was very questionable whether Vander's civility, in this case, proceeded from a desire really to serve Johnny, or from a wish to get fairly rid of him. However this might be, Johnny readily accepted his offer, and at once accompanied him to the vessel he alluded to, which was, indeed, on the point of sailing. Vander, taking care that there should be no mistake in this case, conducted him down into the cabin, and waited on the quay till he saw the vessel fairly under weigh.

Having brought the disasters of Johnny Armstrong to this point, we proceed now to finish what we assure our readers, is an "ower true tale."

As we were strolling down the pier of Leith, with a friend, one afternoon in the year 18--, we saw a vessel making for the harbour. It was high water, and the scene altogether was a very pleasing and a very stirring one. But, amongst the various objects of interest that presented themselves, there was none that attracted so much of our attention as the stately vessel that, with outspread canvas, was rapidly nearing the pier. We asked a seaman who stood beside us, where she was from. He replied--"Rotterdam."

On approaching the pier, the vessel shortened sail, and, by this process, enabled us deliberately to scan her decks from our elevated position, as she glided gently along with us. During this scrutiny, we observed amongst the passengers a stout little man in a brown greatcoat, with a large red comforter about his neck, and his hat secured on his head--for it was blowing pretty hard--by a blue pocket-handkerchief, which was passed beneath his chin, and gave him, in a very particular manner, the peculiar air of a traveller or _vóyageur_. There was nothing whatever in the appearance of the little man in the brown greatcoat which would have led any one to suppose, _à priori_, that there possibly could be anything remarkable or extraordinary in his history; but I was induced suddenly to change my opinion, or at least to take some interest in him, by my friend's exclaiming, in the utmost amazement, and, at the same time, pointing to him with the red comforter--

"Gracious Heaven, if there is not Johnny Armstrong! Or it is his ghost!"

"No ghost at all, we warrant you," said we; "ghosts do not generally wear greatcoats and red comforters. But who in all the world is Johnny Armstrong?"

"Johnny Armstrong," replied our friend, greatly excited, "is a person, a particular acquaintance of mine, who has been missing these six weeks; and who was supposed, by everybody who knew him, to have perished by some accident or other, but of what nature could never be ascertained, on his way to Brechin, where he had gone to visit some relations."

We felt interested in Johnny, by this brief sketch of his mysterious story; and, not a little curious to know where on earth he could possibly have been all the time, we readily closed with our friend's proposal to run round to the berth for which we saw the vessel was making, and to await his coming on shore.

"But how, in all the world," said our friend, communing with himself during this interval, "has he got into a vessel from Rotterdam? He could not have been there, surely? It's impossible."

As to this we could say nothing, not knowing at the time anything at all of Johnny's adventures; but of these we were not now long kept in ignorance. On his stepping on shore, our friend seized him joyously by the hand, and expressed great satisfaction at seeing him again. This satisfaction appeared to be mutual; for Johnny returned his friend's grasp with great cordiality and warmth. The first salutations over--

"But where on all the earth, Mr. Armstrong," said our friend, "have you been for these three months back?"

Johnny smiled, and said it was "ower lang a tale" to tell where we then were; but, as he meant to stop either in Leith or Edinburgh for the night, it being now pretty far in the evening, if my friend and I would adjourn with him to some respectable house, where he could get a night's quarters, he would give us the whole story of his adventures. With this proposal we readily closed; and on Johnny asking if we could point out such a house as he alluded to, we at once named the New Ship Tavern. Thither we accordingly repaired; and, in less than two hours thereafter, we were put, good reader, in possession, by Johnny himself, of that part of his story to which the preceding pages have been devoted. What follows--for Johnny's misfortunes had not yet terminated--we learned afterwards from another quarter.

On the next day--we mean the day succeeding the evening we spent with Johnny--the latter proceeded to Edinburgh, with the view of taking coach there for Carlisle. But, in making his way up Catherine Street, and when precisely opposite No. 12, Calton Street--we like to be particular--Johnny found himself suddenly accosted by one of his oldest and most intimate friends. This was a Mr. James Stevenson, a fellow-townsman and fellow-shopkeeper of his own.

The astonishment of the latter, on meeting with Johnny, and, indeed, of finding him at all in the land of the living, was very great; and he sufficiently expressed this feeling by the lively and highly excited manner in which he addressed him.

Having put the usual queries, with that air of intense interest which they naturally excited, as to where Johnny had been, what he had been about, &c. &c., and having obtained a brief sketch of his adventures, with the promise of a fuller one afterwards, Mr. Stevenson, in reply, asked Johnny what course he was now steering.

"Hame, to be sure," said Johnny, with a smile. "It's time noo, I think--I'm just sae far on my way to tak' oot a ticket for the coach."

"Ye needna do that unless ye like," replied Johnny's friend. "Ye may save your siller, and no be abune an hour langer tarried, by takin' a seat wi' me in the gig I hae in wi' me. I'm sure ye're welcome, and I'll be blythe o' your company."

"Hae ye a gig in wi' ye?" said Johnny, looking pleased by the intelligence.

"'Deed hae I, Mr. Armstrong, and ye'll just clink down beside me in't."

"I'll do that wi' great thankfu'ness," replied Johnny, "and muckle obleeged by the offer."

The friends now walked away, arm in arm together; and in about two hours afterwards--Mr. Stevenson having, in the meantime, despatched what business he had to do in the city--they were both, seated in the gig, and birring it on merrily towards Carlisle.

Neither Mr. Stevenson nor Johnny, however, were great whips--a deficiency which was by no means compensated for by the circumstance of their having a rather spirited horse, although blind of an eye. He was, in truth, a very troublesome animal; boggling and shying at everything that presented itself to his solitary optic. Notwithstanding this, the travellers got on very well for a time, and were whirling over the ground at a rapid rate, when an unlucky cart of hay came in their way at a narrow turn of the road. How this simple occurrence should have operated so unfavourably as it did for them, we shall explain.

A cart of hay is not a very alarming object to rational creatures like ourselves, but to the one-eyed horse of the travellers it appeared a very serious affair; for it had no sooner presented itself to his solitary organ of vision than he pricked up his ears, snorted furiously, and began to exhibit sundry other symptoms of disquietude. By dint, however, of some well-directed punishment from Jamie Stevenson's whip, which Johnny increased by an energetic application of his stick, the restive animal was brought _up_ to the waggon of hay; but, for some time, the inducements just mentioned failed to prevail on him to _pass_ it.

At length, however, Johnny having added greatly to the vigour of his blows with his stick, and his neighbour to that of his strokes with the whip, the horse _did_ pass the waggon, and that with a vengeance. Taking heart, or rather becoming desperate, he bolted past it with the rapidity of a cannon shot; and not only this, but when he had cleared it, continued the velocity of his movements with unabated energy, to the great discomfort and no small terror of both Johnny and his companion, who now found themselves going at a rate which they had neither anticipated nor desired. Indeed, this was so very great that both directly saw that something was wrong. Both saw, in short, what was, indeed, too true, that the horse had fairly run away with them; for he was now going like the wind, with fury and distraction in his looks. It was a shocking and most dreadfully alarming affair; and so Johnny and his friend felt it to be, as might be distinctly seen by their horror-stricken faces.

On discovering the predicament they were in, both the travellers--the one dropping his whip, and the other his stick--seized on the reins, and began pulling with all their might, in the desperate hope of checking the animal's speed by main force; Johnny, in his terror, exclaiming the while, distractedly--

"Mair o't yet, mair o't yet! Lord have a care o' me, but this is awfu'! This is waur than onything I hae met wi' yet. Waur than the _Fifteen Sisters_, Dutchmen, and a'. God be wi' us! are my misfortunes never to hae an end, till they hae finished me outricht? Am I never to get safe to either ae place or anither?--either to hame or to Brechin? Surely ane o' them might be permitted to me. O, Jamie, see hoo he's gaun! He doesna seem to fin' us at his hurdies, nae mair than if we war a pair o' preencushions."

This was true enough. The horse in his fury did not indeed seem to feel either them or the vehicle they were seated in, but pushed madly onwards, till he came to where the road divided itself into two distinct roads--the one being the right one, and the other, of course, the wrong--when, as if inspired by Johnny's evil genius, he at once took the latter, and in little more than twenty minutes, had him and his friend fully half as many miles out of their way. Now, however, the catastrophe was to be wound up. A milestone caught one of the wheels of the gig, canted it over, and threw Johnny sprawling on the road with a broken leg; his friend, although also thrown, escaping wholly unhurt.

"Aweel, here it's at last," said Johnny, sitting up in the mud amongst which he had been planted, and fully believing that his injuries were fatal. "Here it's at last. I'm clean dune for noo, after a' my escapes. It may be noo plainly seen, I think," he went on, "that some evil spirit has had me in its power, for these six weeks past at ony rate, and has been gowfin' me about the world like a fitba', to kill me wi' a gig at last."

Luckily, Johnny's injuries did not prove so serious as he had feared they would do; and no less fortunate was it that the accident to which they were owing happened not far from a small country town in which there was a resident surgeon. To the latter place Johnny was immediately removed on a temporary bier, hastily constructed for the purpose by some labouring men who chanced to be near the spot where the accident happened, and there he lay for six entire weeks, when the surgeon above alluded to, and who had attended him all that time, intimated to him that he might now venture to return home. Delighted with the intelligence, Johnny instantly acted on it, and next day entered Carlisle triumphantly in a post-chaise--not looking, nor really being, after all, much the worse for his unprecedented adventures, save and except a lameness in the injured limb, which ever after imparted to his movements the graceful up-and-down motion produced by that peculiar longitudinal proportion of the nether limbs, designated by the descriptive definition of "a short leg and a shorter." Having, with this last occurrence, concluded the story of Johnny's disasters, we have only to add that Johnny has never, to this good hour, got the length of Brechin--nor will, he says, ever again make the attempt.

THE PROFESSOR'S TALES.[4] THE MOUNTAIN STORM.

[4] The author of these stories (to be continued), the well-known Professor Thomas Gillespie, was one of the principal writers in _Blackwood_ during the "storm and stress" period of that magazine. As an author, his peculiarity consisted in vivid descriptions of scenery and incidents coming within the range of a very eccentric experience, all given with a versatility and _abandon_ which he could not restrain, and which, being the reflex of a poetical enthusiasm, formed the charm of his writings.--_Ed._

Packman _loquitur_.--For several days the wind had been easterly, with an intense frost. At last, however, the weather subsided into a calm and dense fog, under which, at mid-day, it was difficult to find one's way amidst those mountain tracks along which, in general, my route lay. The grass and heath were absolutely loaded with hoar-frost. My cheeks became encompassed by a powdered covering; my breath was intensely visible, and floated and lingered about my face with an oppressive and almost suffocating density. No sun, moon, or star had appeared for upwards of forty-eight hours; when, according to my preconcerted plan, I reached the farm town of Burnfoot. I was now in the centre of Queensberry Hills, the most notable sheep-pasturage in the south of Scotland. It was about three o'clock of the fifteenth day of January, when, under a cheerful welcome from the guidwife, I rested my pack (for, be it known, I belong to this class of peripatetic merchants) upon the meal ark, disengaged my arms from the leather straps by which the pack was suspended from my shoulders, and proceeded to light my pipe at the blazing peat-fire. Refreshments, such as are best suited to the _packman's drouth_, were soon and amply supplied, and I had the happiness of seeing my old acquaintances (for I visited Burnfoot twice a year, on my going and coming from Glasgow to Manchester) drop _in_ from their several avocations, one after another, and all truly rejoiced to behold my face, and still more delighted to inspect the treasure and the wonders of "the pack." At last the guidman himself suspended his plaid from the mid-door head, put off his shoes and leggings, assumed his slippers, along with his prescriptive seat at the head or upper end of the lang-settle. The guidwife, returning _butt_ from bedding the youngest of some half-score of children, welcomed her husband with a look of the most genuine affection. She put a little creepie stool under his feet, felt that his clothes were not wet, scolded the dogs to a respectful distance, and inspired the peats into a double blaze. The oldest daughter, now "woman grown," sat combing the hoar-frost from her raven locks, and looking out from beneath beautifully arched and bushy eyebrows upon the interesting addition which had been made to the meal-ark. Some half-a-score of healthy lads and lasses occupied the bench ayont the fire, o'er-canopied by sheep-skins, aprons, stockings, and footless hose. The dogs, after various and somewhat noisy differences had been adjusted, fell into order and position around the hearth, enjoying the warmth, and licking, peacefully and carefully, the wet from their sides. The cat, by this time, had made a returning motion from the cupboard head, from which she had been watching the arrangements and movements beneath. As this appeared to "Help" to be an infringement of the terms of armistice and of the frontier laws, he sprang with eagerness over the hearth. Pussy, finding it dangerous, under this sudden and somewhat unexpected movement, "_dare terga_," instantly drew up her whole body into an attitude not only of defence, but defiance; curving herself into a bristling crescent, with the head of a dragon attached to it, and, with one horrid hiss and sputter, compelled Help first to hesitate and then to retreat.

"Three paces back the youth retired,
And saved himself from harm."

The guidwife, however,--who seemed not unaccustomed to such demonstrations, and who manifestly acted on the humane principle of assisting the weaker by assailing the stronger combatant--gave Help such demonstrations of her intentions, as at once reduced matters to the _status quo ante bellum_. (I have as good a right to scholarship as my brother packman, Plato, who carried oil to Egypt.) Thus peace and good order being restored, the treasures of my burden became an immediate and a universal subject of inquiry. I was compelled, nothing loath, to unstrap my various packages, and disclose to view all the varied treasures of the spindle and loom. Shawls were spread out into enormous display, with central, and corner, and border ornaments, the most amazing and the most fashionable; waistcoat pieces of every stripe and figure, from the straight line to the circle, of every hue and colouring which the rainbow exhibits, were unfolded in the presence and under the scrutinizing thumb of many purchasers. The guidwife herself half coaxed and half scolded a fine remnant of Flanders lace, of most tempting aspect, out of the guidman's reluctant pocket. The very dogs seemed anxious to be accommodated, and applied their noses to some unopened bales, with a knowing look of inquiry. Things were proceeding in this manner, when the door opened, and there entered a young man of the most prepossessing appearance; in fact, what Burns terms a "strapping youth." I could observe that, at his entrance, the daughter's eye (of whom I have formerly made mention) immediately kindled into an expression of the most universal kindness and benevolence. Hitherto she had taken but a limited interest in what was going on; but now she became the most prominent figure in the group--whilst the mother dusted a chair for the welcome stranger with her apron, and the guidman welcomed him with a--

"Come awa, Willie Wilson, an' tak a seat. The nicht's gay dark an' dreary. I wonder how ye cleared the Whitstane Cleugh and the Side Scaur, man, on sic an eerie nicht."

"Indeed," responded the stranger, casting a look, in the meantime, towards the guidman's buxom, and, indeed, lovely daughter--"indeed, it's an unco fearfu' nicht--sic a mist and sic a cauld I hae seldom if ever encountered; but I dinna ken hoo it was--I coulda rest at hame till I had tellt ye a' the news o' the last Langhom market."

"Ay, ay," interrupted the guidwife; "the last Langhom market, man, is an auld tale noo, I trow. Na, na, yer mither's son camna here on sic a nicht, and at sic an hour, on sic an unmeaning errand"--finishing her sentence, however, by a whisper into Willie's ear, which brought a deeper red into his cheek, and seemed to operate in a similar manner on the apparently deeply engaged daughter.

"But, Watty," continued my fair purchaser, "you _must_ give me this Bible a little cheaper--it's ower dear, man--heard ever onybody o' five white shillings gien for a Bible, and it only a New Testament, after a'?--it's baith a sin an' a shame, Watty."

After some suitable reluctance, I was on the point of reducing the price by a single sixpence, when Willie Wilson advanced towards the pack, and at once taking up the book and the conversation--

"Ower dear, Jessie, my dear!--it's the word o' God, ye ken--his ain precious word; and I'll e'en mak ye a present o' the book at Watty's ain price. Ye ken he maun live, as we a' do, by his trade."

The money was instantly paid down from a purse pretty will filled; for William Wilson was the son of a wealthy and much respected sheep-farmer in the neighbourhood, and had had his name _once_ called in the kirk, along with that of "Janet Harkness of Burnfoot, both in this parish."

"Hoot noo, bairns," rejoined the mother; "ye're baith wrang--that Bible winna do ava. Ye maun hae a big ha' Bible to take the buik wi', and worship the God o' yer fathers nicht and morning, as they hae dune afore ye; and Watty will bring ye ane frae Glasgow the next time he comes roun'; and it will, maybe, be usefu', ye ken, in _anither way_."

"Tout, mither, wi' yer nonsense," interrupted the conscious bride; "I never liked to see my name and age marked and pointed out to onybody on oor muckle Bible; sae just haud yer tongue, mither, and tak a present frae William and _me_," added she, blushing deeply, "o' that big printed Testament. The minister, ye ken, seldom meddles wi' the auld Bible, unless it be a bit o' the Psalms; and yer een noo are no sae gleg as they were whan ye were married to my father there."

The father, overcome by this well-timed and well-directed evidence of goodness, piety, and filial affection, rose from his seat on the long-settle, and, with tears in his eyes, pronounced a most fervent benediction over the shoulders of his child.

"O God in heaven, bless and preserve my dear Jessie!" said he--his child's tears now falling fast and faster. "Oh, may the God of thy fathers make thee happy--thee and thine--him there and his!--and when thy mother's grey hairs and mine are laid and hid in the dust, mayest thou have children, such as thy fond and dutiful self, to bless and comfort, to rejoice and support thy heart!"

There was not, by this time, a dry eye in the family; and, as a painful silence was on the point of succeeding to this outbreaking of nature, the venerable parent slowly and deliberately took down the big ha' Bible from its bole in the wall, and, placing it on the lang-settle table, he proceeded to family worship with the usual solemn prefatory annunciation--"Let us worship God."

Love, filial affection, and piety--what a noble, what a beautiful triumvirate! By means of these, Scotland has rendered herself comparatively great, independent, and happy. These are the graces which, in beautiful union, have protected her liberties, sweetened her enjoyments, and exalted her head amongst the nations, and which, over all, have cast an expression and a feature irresistibly winning and nationally characteristic. It is over such scenes as the kitchen fireside of Burnfoot now presented, that the soul hovers with ever-awakening and ever-intenser delight; that even amidst the coldness, and unconcern, and irreligion of an iron age, the mind, at least at intervals, is redeemed into ecstasy, and feels, in spite of habit, and example, and deadened apprehensions, that there is a beauty in pure and virgin love, a depth in genuine and spontaneous filial regard, and an impulse in communion with Him that is most high, which, even when taken separately, are hallowing, sacred, and elevating; but which, when blended and softened down into one great and leading feature, prove incontestably that man is, in his origin and unalloyed nature, but a little lower than the angels.

Such was the aspect of matters in this sequestered and sanctified dwelling, when the house seemed, all at once, to be smitten, like Job's, at the four corners. The soot fell in showers into the grate; the rafters creaked; the dust descended; every door in the house rattled on its sneck and hinges; and the very dogs sprung at once from their slumbers and barked. There was something so awful in the suddenness and violence of the commotion, that the prayer was abruptly and suddenly brought to a conclusion.

"Ay, fearfu', sirs!" were John Harkness' first words when springing to his feet; "but there's an awfu' nicht. Open the outer door, Jamie, and let us see what it is like." The outer door was opened; but the drift burst in with such a suffocating swirl, that a strong lad who encountered it, reeled and gasped for breath.

"The hogs!" exclaimed the guidman, "and the gimmers!--where did ye leave them, Jamie?"

"In Capleslacks," was the answer, "by east the Dod. The wind has set in frae the nor'-east, and fifty score o' sheep, if this continue, will never see the mornin'."

But what was to be done?

"The wind blew as 'twould blawn its last,"

and the whole atmosphere was one almost solid wreath of penetrating snow; when you thrust forth your hand into the open air, it was as if you had perforated an iceberg. Burnfoot stands at the convergence of two mountain glens, adown one of which the tempest came as from a funnel--collected, compressed, irresistible. There was a momentary look of suspense--every one eying the rest with an expression of indecision and utter helplessness. The young couple, by some law of affinity, stood together in a corner. The shepherd lads, with Jamie Hogg at their head, were employed in adjusting plaids to their persons. The guidman had already resumed his leggings, and the dogs were all exceedingly excited--amazed at this unexpected movement, but perfectly resolved to do their duty.

"Jamie," said the guidman, "you and I will try to mak oor way by the Head Scaur to Capleyetts, where the main hirsel was left; and Will, Tam, and Geordie will see after the hogs and gimmers ayont the Dod."

"I, too," exclaimed a voice from the corner, over which, however, a fair hand was pressed, and which was therefore but indistinctly heard--"I will--(canna ye let me speak, Jessie!)--I will not, I shall not be left behind--I will accompany the guidman, and do what I can to seek and to save."

"Indeed and indeed, my dear William, ye can do nae guid--ye dinna ken the grun' like my faither; and there's mony a kittle step forbye the Head Scaur; and, the Lord be wi' us! on sic a nicht too." So saying, she clasped her betrothed firmly around the neck, and absolutely compelled him to relinquish his purpose. Having gained this one object, the fair and affectionate bride rushed across the room to her father, and falling down on her knees, grasped him by the legs, and exclaimed--

"O mither, mither! come and help me--come and help me! faither, my dear faither, let Jamie Hogg gang, and the rest; they are young, ye ken, and as weel acquant as yersel' wi' the ly o' the glens! but this is no a nicht for the faither o' a family to risk his life to save his substance. O faither, faither! I am soon, ye ken, to leave you and bonny Burnfoot--grant me, oh, grant me this one, this last request!"

The mother sat all this while wringing her hands and exclaiming--

"Ay, ay, Jenny, get him to stay, get him to stay!"

The father answered not a word, but, making a sign to Hogg, and whistling on Help, and at the same time kissing his _now_ all but fainting child, he rushed out of the door (as Mrs. Harkness said) "like a fey man," and he and his companion, with a suitable accompaniment of dogs, were almost instantly invisible. The three other lads, suitably armed and accompanied, followed the example set to them, and the guidwife, the two lovers, five or six younger branches, and the female servants of the family, with myself, remained at home in a state of anxiety and suspense which can be better conceived than expressed.

"The varnished clock that clicked behind the door,"

with a force and a stroke loud and painful in the extreme, struck first ten, then eleven, then twelve; but there was no return. Again and again were voices heard commingling with the tempest's rush; again and again did the outer door seem to move backwards on its hinges; but nothing entered save the shrill pipe of the blast, accompanied by the comminuted drift, which penetrated through every seam and cranny. This state of uncertainty was awful; even the ascertained reality of death, partial or universal, had perhaps less of soul-benumbing cold in it than this inconceivable suspense. It required Willie Wilson's utmost efforts and mine to keep the frantic woman from madly rushing into the drift; and the voice of lamentation was sad and loud amongst the children and the servant lasses--each of the latter class lamented, indeed, the fate of all, but there was always an under prayer offered up for the safety of Geordie, or Will, or Jamie, in particular. At last the three lads who had encompassed the Dod arrived--alive, indeed, but almost breathless and frozen to death. They had, however, surmounted incredible difficulties, and had succeeded in placing their hirsel in a position of comparative security; but where were Jamie Hogg and the guidman? The violence of the storm had nothing abated, the snow was every moment accumulating, and the danger and difficulty increasing tenfold. Spirits, heat, and friction gradually restored the three lads to their senses, and to the kind attentions of their several favourites of the female order; but _there_ sat the mother and the daughter, whilst the father was either, in all probability, dead or dying. The very thought was distracting; and, accordingly, the young bride, now turning to her lover with a look of inexpressible anguish, exclaimed--

"O Willie! my ain dear Willie, ye maun gang, after a', ye maun gang this instant," (Willie was on his feet and plaided whilst yet the sentence was unfinished,) "and try to rescue my dear, dear faither from this awfu' and untimely end; but tak care, oh tak care o' the big Scaur, and keep far west by Caplecleuch, and maybe ye'll meet them coming back that way." These last words were lost in the drift, whilst Willie Wilson, with his faithful follower, Rover, were penetrating, and flouncing, and floundering their way towards the place pointed out.

In about half an hour after this, the howl and scratch of a dog were heard at the door-back, and Help immediately rushed in, the welcome forerunner of his master and Hogg. They had, indeed, had a fearful struggle, and fearful wanderings; but, in endeavouring to avoid the dangerous, because precipitous, Head Scaur, they had wandered from the track, and from the object of their travel; and, after having been inclined once or twice to lie down and take a rest (the deceitful messenger of death), they had at last got upon the track of Caple Water; and, by keeping to its windings--which they had often traced at the risk of being drowned--they had at last weathered the old cham'er, the byre, and peat-stack, and were now, thank God! within "bigget wa's."

But where, alas! was Willie Wilson? Him, in consequence of their deviations, they had missed; and over him, thus exposed, the tempest was still renewing at intervals its hurricane gusts. There was one scream heard, such as would have penetrated the heart of a tiger, and all was still. There she lay, the beauteous, but now marble bride; her head reposing on her mother's lap, her lips pale as the snowdrop, her eyes fixed and soulless, her cheek without a tint, and her mouth half-open and breathless. Long, long was the withdrawment--again and again was the dram-glass applied to the mouth, to catch the first expiration of returning breath--ere the frame began to quiver, the hands to move, the lips and cheeks to colour, and the eyes to indicate the approaching return to reason and perception.

"I have killed him! I have killed him!" were the first frantic accents. "I have murdered, murdered my dear Willie! It was me that sent him--forced him--compelled him out--out into the drift--the cold, cold drift. Away!" added the maniac--"away! I'll go after him--I'll perish with him--where he lies, there will I lie, and there will I be buried. What! is there none of ye that will make an effort to save a perishing--a choking--oh, my God! a suffocating man?"

Hereupon she again sank backwards, and was prevented from falling by the arms of a father.

"O my child!" said parental love and affection--"O my dear wean!--oh, be patient!--God is guid--He has preserved _us_ all--He will not desert _him_ in the hour of his need--He neither slumbers nor sleeps--His hand is not shortened that He cannot save--and what He can, He will--He never deserted any that trusted in Him. O my child! my bairn!--my first-born!--be patient--be patient. There--there--there is a scratch at the door-back--it is Rover."

And to be sure Rover it was--but Rover in despair. His faithful companion and friend only entered the house to solicit immediate aid--he ran round and round, looking up into the face of every one with an expression of the most imploring anxiety. The poor frantic girl sprung from her father's embrace, and clung to the neck of the well-known cur--she absolutely kissed him--(oh, to what will not love, omnipotent, virtuous love, descend!)--then rising, in renewed recollection, she sat herself down on the long-settle beside her father, and burst into loud and passionate grief.

It was now manifest to all that something must be attempted, else the young farmer must perish. Hogg, though awfully exhausted, was the first to volunteer a new excursion. The whole band were at once on their feet; but Jessie now clung to her father, as she had formerly done to her lover, and would not let him go--indeed, the guidman was in no danger of putting his purpose into effect, for he could scarcely stand on his feet. He sat, or rather fell down, consequently, beside his daughter, and continued in constant prayer and supplication at the throne of grace. The daughter listened, and said she was comforted--the voyagers were again on their way--the tempest had somewhat abated--the moon had once or twice shone out--and there was now a greater chance of success in their undertaking.

How we all contrived to exist during an interval of about two hours, I cannot say; but this I know, that the endurance of this second trial was worse than the first, to all but the sweet bride herself. Her mind had now taken a more calm and religious view of the case. She repeated, at intervals and pauses in her father's ejaculatory prayer--

"Yes--oh, yes--_His_ will--His holy will be done! The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away--blessed be the name of the Lord for ever! We shall meet again--oh, yes--where the weary are at rest.

'A few short years of evil past,
We reach the happy shore
Where death-divided friends at last
Shall meet, to part no more.'

O father, is not that a gracious saying, and worthy of all acceptation!"

At length the door opened, and in walked William Wilson.

The reader need scarcely to be told that the sagacious dog had left his master floundered, and unable to extricate himself in a snow wreath; that the same faithful guide had taken the searchers to the spot, where they found Wilson just in the act of falling into a sleep--from which, indeed, but for the providential sagacity of his dog, he had never wakened; and that, by means of some spirits which they had taken in a bottle, they completely restored and conducted him home.

"Lives there one with soul so dead"

as not now to image the happy meeting betwixt bride and bridegroom, and, above all, the influence which this trial had upon the happiness and religious character of their future married and prosperous lot?

It is, indeed, long since I have laid aside the pack--to which, after a good education, I had taken, from a wandering propensity--and taken up my residence in the flourishing village of Thornhill, Dumfriesshire; living, at first, on the profits of my shop, and now retired on my little, but, to me, ample competency; but I still have great pleasure in paying a yearly visit to my friends of Mitchelslacks, and in recalling with them, over a comfortable meal, the interesting incidents of the snow storm 1794.

THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES.

I did not like the idea of having all the specimens of the fine arts in Europe collected into one "bonne bouche" at the Louvre. It was like collecting, while a boy, a handful of strawberries, and devouring them at one indiscriminating gulp. I do not like floral exhibitions, for the same reason. I had rather a thousand times meet my old and my new friends in my solitary walks, or in my country rambles. All museums in this way confound and bewilder me; and had the Turk not been master of Greece, I should have preferred a view of the Elgin marbles in the land of their nativity. And it is for a similar reason that my mind still reverts, with a kind of dreamy delight, to the time when I viewed mankind in detail, and in all their individual and natural peculiarities, rather than _en masse_, and in one regimental uniform. Educate up! Educate up! Invent machinery--discover agencies--saddle nature with the panniers of labour--and, at last, stand alongside of her, clothed, from the peasant to the prince, in the wonders of her manufacture, and merrily whistling, in idle unconcern, to the tune of her unerring despatch! But what have we gained? One mass of similarities: the housemaid, the housekeeper, the lady, and the princess, speaking the same language, clothed in the same habiliments, and enjoying the same immunities from corporeal labour--the colours of the rainbow whirled and blended into one glare of white! Towards this _ultimatum_ we are now fast hastening. Where is the shepherd stocking-weaver, with his wires and his fingers moving invisibly? Where the "wee and the muckle wheel," with the aged dames, in pletted toys, singing "Tarry woo?" Where the hodden-grey clad patriarch, sitting in the midst of his family, and mixing familiarly, and in perfect equality with all the household--servant and child? My heart constantly warms to these recollections; and I feel as if wandering over a landscape variegated by pleasant and contrasting colouring, and overshadowed with associations which have long been a part of myself. One exception to the general progression and assimilation still happily remains to gratify, I must confess, my liking for things as they were. The fisher population of Newhaven, Buckhaven, and Cellardykes--(my observation extends no farther, and I limit my remarks accordingly)--are, in fact, the Scottish highlanders, the Irish, the Welsh, and the Manks of Fisherdom. Differing each somewhat from the other, they are united by one common bond of character--they are varieties of the same animal--the different species under one genus. I like this. I am always in high spirits when I pass through a fishing village or a fisher street. No accumulation of filth in every hue--of shell, and gill, and fish-tail--can disgust me. I even smell a sweet savour from their empty baskets, as they exhale themselves dry in the sunbeam. And then there is a hue of robust health over all. No mincing of matters. Female arms and legs of the true Tuscan order--cheeks and chins where neither the rose nor the bone has been stinted. Children of the dub and the mire--all agog in demi-nudity, and following nature most vociferously. Snug, comfortable cabins, where garish day makes no unhandsome inquiries, and where rousing fires and plentiful meals abide from June to January. They have a language, too, of their own--the true Mucklebacket dialect; and freely and firmly do they throw from them censure, praise, or ribaldry. The men are here but men; mere human machines--useful, but not ornamental--necessary incumbrances rather than valuable protectors. "Poor creature!" says Meg of the Mucklebacket, "she canna maintain a man." Sir Walter saw through the character I am labouring to describe; and, in one sentence, put life and identity into it. I know he was exceedingly fond of conversing with fisherwomen in particular. But, whilst such are the general features, each locality I have mentioned has its distinctive lineaments. The Newhaven fisherwoman (for the man is unknown) is a bundle of snug comfort. Her body, her dress, her countenance, her basket, her voice, all partake of the same character of _enbonpointness_. Yet there is nothing at all untidy about her. She may ensconce her large limbs in more plaiden coverings than the gravedigger in "Hamlet" had waistcoats, but still she moves without constraint; and under a burden which would press my lady's waiting-maid to the carpet, she moves free, firm, elastic. Her tongue is not labour-logged, her feet are not creel-retarded; but, altogether unconscious of the presence of hundreds, she holds on her way and her discourse as if she were a caravan in the desert. She is to be found in every street and alley of Auld Reekie, till her work is accomplished. Her voice of call is exceedingly musical, and sounds sweetly in the ears of the infirm and bedrid. All night long she holds her stand close by the theatre, with her broad knife and her opened oyster. In vain does the young spark endeavour to engage her in licentious talk. He soon discovers that, wherever her feelings or affections tend, they do not point in his favour. Thus, loaded with pence, and primed with gin, she returns by midnight to her home--there to share a supper-pint with her man and her neighbours, and to prepare, by deep repose, for the duties of a new day. Far happier and far more useful she, in her day and generation, than that thing of fashion which men call a beau or a belle--in whose labours no one rejoices, and in whose bosom no sentiment but self finds a place. In Buckhaven, again, the Salique law prevails. There men are men, and women mere appendages. The sea department is here all in all. The women, indeed, crawl a little way, and through a few deserted fields, into the surrounding country; but the man drives the cart, and the cart carries the fish; and the fish are found in all the larger inland towns eastward. Cellardykes is a mixture of the two--a kind of William and Mary government, where, side by side, at the same cart, and not unfrequently in the same boat, are to be found man and woman, lad and lass. Oh, it is a pretty sight to see the Cellardyke fishers leaving the coast for the herring-fishing in the north! I witnessed it some years ago, as I passed to Edinburgh; and this year I witnessed it again.

Meeting and conversing with my old friend the minister of the parish of Kilrenny, we laid us down on the sunny slope of the brae facing the east and the Isle of May, whilst he gave me the following narrative:--

Thomas Laing and Sarah Black were born and brought up under the same roof--namely, that double-storied tenement which stands somewhat by itself, overlooking the harbour. They entered by the same outer door, but occupied each a separate story. Thomas Laing was always a stout, hardy, fearless boy, better acquainted with every boat on the station than with his single questions, and far fonder of little Sarah's company than of the schoolmaster's. Sarah was likewise a healthy, stirring child, extremely sensitive and easily offended, but capable, at the same time, of the deepest feelings of gratitude and attachment. Thomas Laing was, in fact, her champion, her Don Quixote, from the time when he could square his arms and manage his fists; and much mischief and obloquy did he suffer among his companions on account of his chivalrous defence of little Sally. One day whilst the fisher boys and girls were playing on the pier, whilst the tide was at the full, a mischievous boy, wishing to annoy Thomas, pushed little Sall into the harbour, where, but for Thomas's timely and skilful aid (for he was an excellent swimmer,) she would probably have been drowned. Having placed his favourite in a condition and place of safety, Tom felled the offender, with a terrible fister, to the earth. The blow had taken place on the pit of the stomach, and was mortal. Tom was taken up, imprisoned, and tried for manslaughter; but, on account of his youth--being then only thirteen--he was merely imprisoned for a certain number of months. Poor Sally, on whose account Tom had incurred the punishment of the law, visited him, as did many good-natured fishermen, whilst in prison, where he always expressed extreme contrition for his rashness. After the expiry of his imprisonment, Tom returned to Cellardykes, only to take farewell of his parents, and his now more than ever dear Sally. He could not bear, he said, to face the parents of the boy whose death he had occasioned. The parting was momentary. He promised to spend one night at home; but he had no such intention--and, for several years, nobody knew what had become of Thomas Laing. The subject was at first a speculation, then a wonder, next an occasional recollection; and, in a few months, the place which once knew bold Tom Laing, knew him no more. Even his parents, engaged as they were in the active pursuits of fishing, and surrounded as they were by a large and dependent family, soon learned to forget him. One bosom alone retained the image of Tom, more faithfully and indelibly than ever did coin the impression of royalty. Meanwhile, Sarah grew--for she was a year older than Tom--into womanhood, and fairly took her share in all the more laborious parts of a fisher's life. She could row a boat, carry a creel, or drive a cart with the best of them; and, whilst her frame was thus hardened, her limbs acquired a consistency and proportion which bespoke the buxom woman rather than the bonny lass. Her eye, however, was large and brown, and her lips had that variety of expression which lips only can exhibit. Many a jolly fisher wished and attempted to press these lips to his; but was always repulsed. She neither spoke of her Thomas, nor did she grieve for him much in secret; but her heart revolted from a union with any other person whilst Thomas might still be alive. Upon a person differently situated, the passion (for passion assuredly it was) which she entertained for her absent lover, might and would have produced very different effects. Had Sarah been a young boarding-school miss, she would assuredly either have eloped with another, or have died in a madhouse; had she been a sentimental sprig of gentility, consumption must have followed: but Sarah was neither of these. She had a heart to feel, and deeply too; but she knew that labour was her destiny, and that when "want came in at the door, love escapes by the window." So she just laboured, laughed, ate, drank, and slept, very much like other people. Yet few sailors came to the place whom she did not question about Thomas; and many a time and oft did she retire to the rocks of a Sabbath eve, to think of and pray for Thomas Laing. People imagine, from the free and open mariner, and talk of the fisherwomen, that they are all or generally people of doubtful morality. Never was there a greater mistake. To the public in general they are inaccessible; they almost universally intermarry with one another; and there are fewer cases (said my reverend informant) of public or sessional reproof in Cellardykes, than in any other district of my parish. But, from the precarious and somewhat solitary nature of their employment, they are exceedingly superstitious; and I had access to know, that many a sly sixpence passed from Sally's pocket into old Effie the wise woman's, with the view of having the cards cut and cups read for poor Thomas.