Chapter VII: Part 7

"Dear Agnes," he began, "can one with so kind a heart look with indifference on the wants and the sufferings of a father and a mother? It is in your power to make them happy, to restore them to prosperity. For two years I have sought your hand, without meeting one look of encouragement or one word of hope. Yet believe me, Agnes, I admire the constancy which induces you to cherish a hopeless passion, and reject me. If not for my sake, yet for the sake of your poor father, for that of your fond mother, yea, for your own sake, dearest, permit me to call you mine. I do not ask your love now; give me but your esteem, and I will study to deserve your affection. Dear friends, plead for me," he added, addressing her parents.

Her father laid his hand upon hers--"Dear Agnes," said he, "your father is now a poor man--he is very poor. I fear the hand of death is already upon me; and when I am gone, who will provide for your poor mother--who will protect thee, my child? It is the only wish of my heart to see you provided for, and your father would die in peace. And oh, my Agnes, as your father's dying request, permit me to bestow your hand upon this generous youth."

"Save us, my sweet one!" cried her mother, and she flung her arms around her daughter's neck.

"It is done!" exclaimed Agnes, bursting into tears; and she stretched out her hand to Mr Walker.

A few weeks afterwards, and the village bells rang a merry peal, children scattered flowers, and there was joy on every face, save upon the face of the fair bride, who went as a sacrifice to the altar. She heard not the words of the clergyman as he read the ceremony. She trembled, she would have fallen to the ground, but that the bridesmaid supported her.

The marriage party were returning by a footpath from the church, the sorrowful bride resting on the arm of her bridegroom. A stranger met them--he turned aside, that they might pass. His eyes fell upon the countenance of the bride.

"O Heavens! my Agnes!" cried the stranger, in a voice of agony.

"Henry! my Henry!" screamed the wretched bride, and, starting from the side of the bridegroom, she sank on the breast of the stranger.

That stranger was indeed Henry Cranstoun. A severe illness had brought him to the verge of death, and with his restoration to health reason was restored also. He had come to take his bride to his bosom--he met her the bride of another. It was a scene of misery.

"O Agnes! Agnes!" groaned Henry, "would to Heaven I had died! You are another's, though your heart is mine! Farewell! Farewell!--we must meet no more! I have endured much, but never misery like this!"

She could only exclaim, "Henry!" and speech failed her--recollection fled. Henry Cranstoun struck his hand upon his brow, and rushed wildly away. Agnes was conveyed to her father's house, as being nearer than that of her bridegroom's. She was laid upon her bed, she seemed unconscious of all around, and her tongue only uttered the word "Henry." She rose not again from the bed on which she was laid, and within a week her gentle spirit fled. The shock which Henry had met with occasioned a relapse of the fever from which he had but recently recovered. He was taken to the village inn. He felt that death was about to terminate his sufferings, and when he heard of the death of his Agnes, he requested to be buried by her side. Within three weeks he died, and his latest wish was fulfilled--he was laid by the side of Agnes Percy, and a rose-tree was planted over their grave.

THE HENPECKED MAN.

Every one has heard the phrase, "_Go to Birgham!_" which signifies much the same as bidding you go to a worse place. The phrase is familiar not only on the Borders, but throughout all Scotland, and has been in use for more than five hundred years, having taken its rise from Birgham being the place where the Scottish nobility were when they dastardly betrayed their country into the hands of the first Edward; and the people, despising the conduct and the cowardice of the nobles, have rendered the saying, "_Go to Birgham!_" an expression of contempt until this day. Many, however, may have heard the saying, and even used it, who know not that Birgham is a small village, beautifully situated on the north side of the Tweed, about midway between Coldstream and Kelso; though, if I should say that the village itself is beautiful, I should be speaking on the wrong side of the truth. Yet there may be many who have both heard the saying and seen the place, who never heard of little Patie Crichton, the bicker-maker. Patie was of diminutive stature, and he followed the profession (if the members of the _learned professions_ be not offended at my using the term) of a cooper, or bicker-maker, in Birgham for many years. His neighbours used to say of him, "The puir body's henpecked."

Patie was in the habit of attending the neighbouring fairs with the water-cogs, cream-bowies, bickers, piggins, and other articles of his manufacture. It was Dunse fair, and Patie said he "had done extraordinar' weel--the sale had been far beyond what he expeckit." His success might be attributed to the circumstance that, when out of the sight and hearing of his better half, for every bicker he sold, he gave his customers half-a-dozen jokes into the bargain. Every one, therefore, liked to deal with little Patie. The fair being over, he retired with a crony to a public-house in the Castle Wynd, to crack of old stories over a glass, and inquire into each other's welfare. It was seldom they met, and it was as seldom that Patie dared to indulge in a single glass; but, on the day in question, he thought they could manage another gill, and another was brought. Whether the sight of it reminded him of his domestic miseries, and of what awaited him at home, I cannot tell; but, after drinking another glass, and pronouncing the spirits excellent, he thus addressed his friend:--

"Ay, Robin" (his friend's name was Robin Roughead), "ye're a happy man--ye're maister in your ain hoose, and ye've a wife that adores and _obeys_ ye; but I'm nae better than naebody at my ain fireside. I'll declare I'm waur: wife an' bairns laugh at me--I'm treated like an outlan' body an' a fule. Though without me they micht gang an' beg, there is nae mair respeck paid to me than if I were a pair o' auld bauchels flung into a corner. Fifteen years syne I couldna believed it o' Tibby, though onybody had sworn it to me. I firmly believe that a guid wife is the greatest blessin that can be conferred upon a man upon this earth. I can imagine it by the treasure that my faither had in my mither; for, though the best may hae _words_ atween them occasionally, and I'm no saying that they hadna, yet they were just like passin showers, to mak' the kisses o' the sun upon the earth mair sweet after them. Her whole study was to please him and to mak' him comfortable. She was never happy but when he was happy; an' he was just the same wi' her. I've heard him say that she was worth untold gold. But, O Robin! if I think that a guid wife is the greatest blessin a man can enjoy, weel do _I_ ken that a scoldin, domineerin wife is his greatest curse. It's a terrible thing to be snooled in your ain house--naebody can form an idea o't but they wha experience it.

"Ye remember whan I first got acquainted wi' Tibby, she was doing the bondage work at Riselaw. I first saw her coming out o' Eccles kirk ae day, and I really thocht that I had never seen a better-faured or a more gallant-looking lass. Her cheeks were red and white like a half-ripe strawberry, or rather, I should say, like a cherry; and she seemed as modest and meek as a lamb. It wasna very lang until I drew up; and, though she didna gie me ony great encouragement at first, yet, in a week or twa, after the ice was fairly broken, she became remarkably ceevil, and gied me her oxter on a Sunday. We used to saunter about the loanings, no saying meikle, but unco happy; and I was aye restless whan I was out o' her sight. Ye may guess that the shoemaker was nae loser by it during the six months that I ran four times a-week, wet or dry, between Birgham and Riselaw. But the term-time was drawing nigh, and I put the important question, and pressed her to name the day. She hung her head, and she seemed no to ken weel what to say; for she was sae mim and sae gentle then, that ye wad hae said 'butter wadna melt in her mouth.' And when I pressed her mair urgently--

"'I'll just leave it to yersel, Peter,' says she.

"I thocht my heart wad louped out at my mouth. I believe there never was a man sae beside himsel wi' joy in this warld afore. I fairly danced again, and cut as many antics as a merryandrew. 'O Tibby,' says I,

'I'm owre happy now!--Oh, haud my head!
This gift o' joy is like to be my dead.'

"'I hope no, Peter,' said she; 'I wad rather hae ye to live than dee for me.'

"I thocht she was as sensible as she was bonny, and better natured than baith.

"Weel, I got the house set up, the wedding-day cam, and everything passed owre as agreeably as onybody could desire. I thocht Tibby turning bonnier and bonnier. For the first five or six days after the weddin, everything was '_hinny_,' and '_my love_,' and '_Tibby, dear_,' or '_Peter, dear_.' But matters didna stand lang at this. It was on a Saturday nicht, I mind, just afore I was gaun to drap work, that three or four acquaintances cam into the shop to wush me joy, and they insisted I should pay off for the weddin. Ye ken I never was behint hand; and I agreed that I wad just fling on my coat and step up wi' them to Orange Lane. So I gaed into the house and took down my market coat, which was hangin behint the bed; and after that I gaed to the kist to tak out a shilling or twa; for, up to that time, Tibby had not usurped the office of Chancellor o' the Exchequer. I did it as cannily as I could; but she had suspected something, and heard the jinkin o' the siller.

"'What are ye doing, Patie?' says she; 'whar are ye gaun?'

"I had never heard her voice hae sic a sound afore, save the first time I drew up to her, when it was rather sharp than agreeable.

"'Ou, my dear,' says I, 'I'm just gaun up to Orange Lane a wee while.'

"'To Orange Lane!' says she; 'what in the name o' fortune's gaun to tak ye there?'

"'O hinny,' says I, 'it's just a neebor lad or twa that's drapped in to wush us joy, and, ye ken, we canna but be neebor-like.'

"'Ay! the sorrow joy them!' says she, 'and neebor too!--an' how meikle will that cost ye?'

"'Hoot, Tibby,' says I, for I was quite astonished at her, 'ye no understand things, woman.'

"'No understand them!' says she; 'I wish to guidness that ye wad understand them though! If that's the way ye intend to mak the siller flee, it's time there were somebody to tak care o't.'

"I had put the silver in my pocket, and I was gaun to the door mair surprised than I can weel express, when she cried to me--

"'Mind what ye spend, and see that ye dinna stop.'

"'Ye need be under nae apprehensions o' that, hinny,' said I, wishing to pacify her.

"'See that it be sae,' cried she, as I shut the door.

"I joined my neebors in a state of greater uneasiness o' mind than I had experienced for a length o' time. I couldna help thinkin but that Tibby had rather early begun to tak the upper hand, and it was what I never expected from her. However, as I was saying, we went up to Orange Lane, and we sat doun, and ae gill brocht on anither. Tibby's health and mine were drunk; we had several capital sangs; and, I daresay, it was weel on for ten o'clock afore we rose to gang awa. I was nae mair affected wi' drink than I am at this moment. But, somehow or ither, I was uneasy at the idea o' facing Tibby. I thought it would be a terrible thing to quarrel wi' her. I opened the door, and, bolting it after me, slipped in, half on the edge o' my fit. She was sitting wi' her hand at her haffit by the side o' the fire, but she never let on that she either saw or heard me--she didna speak a single word. If ever there was a woman

'Nursing her wrath to keep it warm,'

it was her that nicht. I drew in a chair, and, though I was half-feared to speak--

"'What's the matter, my pet?' says I--'what's happened ye?'

"But she sat looking into the fire, and never let on she heard me. 'E'en's ye like, Meg Dorts,' thought I, as Allan Ramsay says; but I durstna say it, for I saw that there was a storm brewing. At last, I ventured to say again--

"'What ails ye, Tibby, dear?--are ye no weel?'

"'Weel!' cried she--'wha can be weel? Is this the way ye mean to carry on? What a time o' nicht is this to keep a body to, waiting and fretting on o' ye, their lane? Do you no think shame o' yoursel?'

"'Hoot, woman,' says I, 'I'm surprised at ye; I'm sure ye hae naething to mak a wark about--it's no late yet.'

"'I dinna ken what ye ca' late,' said she; 'it wadna be late amang yer cronies, nae doubt; but if it's no late, it's early, for I warrant its mornin.'

"'Nonsense!' says I.

"'Dinna tell me it's nonsense,' said she, 'for I'll be spoken to in na sic way--I'll let you ken that. But how meikle has it cost ye? Ye wad be treating them, nae doubt--and how meikle hae ye spent, if it be a fair question?'

"'Toots, Tibby!' said I, 'whar's the cause for a' this? What great deal could it cost me?'

"'But hair by hair makes the carle's head bare,' added she--'mind ye that; and mind ye that ye've a house to keep aboon your head noo. But, if ye canna do it, I maun do it for ye--sae gie me the key o' that kist--gie me it instantly; and I'll tak care how ye gang drinkin wi' ony body and treatin them till mornin again.'

"For the sake o' peace I gied her the key; for she was speakin sae loud that I thocht a' the neebors wad hear--and she had nae suner got it, than awa she gaed to the kist and counted every shilling. I had nae great abundance then mair than I've now; and--

"'Is that a' ye hae?' said she; 'an' yet ye'll think o' gaun drinkin and treatin folk frae Saturday nicht till Sabbath mornin! If this is the life ye intend to lead, I wush to guidness I had ne'er had onything to say to ye.'

"'And if this is the life ye intend to lead me,' thought I, 'I wush the same thing.'

"But that was but the beginnin o' my slavery. From that hour to this she has continued on from bad to worse. No man livin can form an idea o' what I've suffered but mysel. In a mornin, or rather, I may say, in a forenoon, for it was aye nine or ten o'clock afore she got up, she sat doun to her tea and white scones and butter, while I had to be content wi' a scrimpit bicker o' brose and sour milk for kitchen. Nor was this the warst o't; for, when I cam in frae my wark for my breakfast, mornin after mornin, the fire was black out; and there had I, before I could get a bite to put in my mouth, to bend doun upon my knees and blaw it, and blaw it, till I was half-blind wi' ashes--for we hadna a pair o' bellowses; and there wad she lie grumblin a' the time, ca'in me useless _this_, and useless _that_; and I just had to put up wi' it. But, after our first bairn was born, she grew far warse, and I becam mair and mair miserable every day. If I had been sleeping through the nicht, and the bairn had begun a kickin, or whingin--then she was at the scoldin, and I was sure to be started out o' my sleep wi' a great drive atween the shouthers, and her crying--

"'Get up, ye lazy body, ye--get up, and see what's the maiter wi' this bairn.'

"An' this was the trade half-a-dizen o' times in a nicht.

"At last, there was ae day, when a' that I had dune was simply saying a word about the denner no bein ready, and afore ever I kenned whar I was, a cracky-stool that she had bought for the bairn cam fleein across the room, and gied me a dirl on the elbow, that made me think my arm was broken. Ye may guess what a stroke it was, when I tell ye I couldna lift my hand to my head for a week to come. Noo, the like o' that, ye ken, was what mortal man couldna stand.

"'Tibby,' said I, and I looked very desperate and determined, 'what do ye mean by this conduct? By a' that's gracious, I'll no put up wi' it ony langer!'

"'Ye'll no put up wi' it, _ye cratur_!' said she; 'if ye gie me ony mair o' yer provocation, I'll pu' yer lugs for ye--wull ye put up wi' that?'

"It was terrible for a man to hear his ain wife ca' him _a cratur_!--just as if I had been a monkey or a laupdoug!

"'O ye disdainfu' limmer,' thought I; 'but if I could humble your proud spirit, I wad do it!' Weel, there was a grand new ballant hawkin about the country at the time--it was ca'd 'Watty and Meg'--ye have nae doubt seen't. Meg was just such a terrible termagant as my Tibby; and I remembered the perfect reformation that was wrought upon her by Watty's bidding her farweel, and threatenin to list. So it just struck me that I wad tak a leaf out o' the ballant. Therefore, keeping the same serious and determined look, for I was in no humour to seem otherwise--'Tibby,' says I, 'there shall be nae mair o' this. But I will gang and list this very day, and ye'll see what will come owre ye then--ye'll maybe repent o' yer conduct whan it's owre late.'

"'List! ye _totum_ ye!' said she; 'do ye say _list_?' and she said this in a tone and wi' a look o' derision that gaed through my very soul. 'What squad will ye list into?--what regiment will tak ye? Do ye intend to list for a fifer laddie?' And as she said this, she held up her oxter, as if to tak me below't.

"I thought I wad hae drapped doun wi' indignation. I could hae strucken her, if I durst. Ye observe I am just five feet twa inches and an eighth, upon my stokin-soles. That is rather below the army standard--and I maun say it's a very foolish standard; for a man o' my height stands a better chance to shoot anither than a giant that wad fire owre his head. But she was aware that I was below the mark, and my threat was of no avail; so I had just to slink awa into the shop, rubbin my elbow.

"But the cracky-stool was but the beginnin o' her drivin; there wasna a week after that but she let flee at me whatever cam in the way, whenever I by accident crossed her cankered humour. It's a wonder that I'm in the land o' the living; for I've had the skin peeled off my legs--my arms maistly broken--my head cut, and ither parts o' my body a' black and blue, times out o' number. I thought her an angel whan I was courtin her; but, O Robin! she has turned out--I'll no say what--an adder!--a teeger!--a she fury!

"As for askin onybody into the house, it's a thing I durstna do for the life that's in my body. I never did it but ance, and that was whan an auld schulefellow, that had been several years in America, ca'ed at the shop to see me. After we had cracked a while--

"'But I maun see the wife, Patie,' says he.

"Whether he had heard aboot her behaviour or no, I canna tell; but, I assure ye, his request was onything but agreeable to me. However, I took him into the house, and I introduced him wi' fear and tremblin.

"'Tibby, dear,' said I--and I dinna think I had ca'ed her _dear_ for ten years afore--'here's Mr W----, an auld schulefellow o' mine, that's come a' the way frae America, an' ca'ed in to see ye.'

"'Ye're aye meetin wi' auld schulefellows, or some set or ither, to tak ye aff yer wark,' muttered she, sulkily, but loud enough for him to hear.

"I was completely at a loss what to do or say next; but, pretending as though I hadna heard her, I said, as familiarly and kindly as I could, though my heart was in a terrible swither--'Bring out the bottle, lass.'

"'Bottle!' quo' she, 'what bottle?--what does the man mean?--has he pairted wi' the little sense that he ever had?' But had ye seen her as she said this!--I've seen a cloud black when driven wi' a hurricane, and I've seen it awfu' when roarin in the agony o' thunder; but never did I see onything that I was mair in fear o' than my wife's face at that moment. But, somehow or ither, I gathered courage to say--'Hoots, woman, what's the use o' behavin that way? I'm sure ye ken weel aneugh it's the speerit bottle.'

"'The speerit bottle!' cried she, wi' a scream; 'and when was there a speerit bottle within this door? Dinna show yoursel aff to your American freend for a greater man than ye are, Patie. I think, if wi' a' that ye bring in I get meat and bits o' duds for your bairns, I do very weel.'

"This piece o' impudence completely knocked me stupid, for, wad ye believe it, Robin, though she had lang driven a' my freends frae about the house, yet never did ony o' _her_ freends ca'--and that was maistly every Sunday, and every Coldstream market-day--but there was the bottle out frae the cupboard, which she aye kept under lock and key; and a dram, and a bit short-bread nae less, was aye and to this day handed round to every ane o' them. They hae discovered that it's worth while to make Patie the bicker-maker's a half-way house. But, if I happen to be in when they ca', though she pours out a fu' glass a-piece for them, she takes aye guid care to stand in afore me when she comes to me, between them and me, so that they canna see what she is doing, or how meikle she pours out; and, I assure ye, it is seldom a thimblefu' that fa's to my share, though she hauds the bottle lang up in her hand--mony a time, no a weetin; and again and again have I shoved my head past her side, and said, 'Your health, Mrs So-and-so'--or, 'Yours, Mr Such-a-thing,' wi' no as meikle in my glass as wad droun a midge. Or, if I was sae placed that she durstna but, for shame, fill a glass within half-an-inch o' the tap or sae, she wad gie me a look, or a wink, or mak a motion o' some kind, which weel did I ken the meanin o', and which was the same as saying--'Drink it if ye daur!' O Robin, man! it's weel for ye that no kens what it is to be a footba' at your ain fireside. I daresay, my freend burned at the bane for me; for he got up, and--

"'I wish you good-day, Mr Crichton,' said he; 'I have business in Kelso to-night yet, and can't stop.'

"I was perfectly overpowered wi' shame; but it was a relief to me when he gaed awa--and I slipped out after him, and into the shop again.

"But Tibby's isna the only persecution that I hae to put up wi'; for we hae five bairns, and she's brought them a' up to treat me as she does hersel. If I offer to correct them, they cry out--'I'll tell my mither!'--and frae the auldest to the youngest o' them, when they speak aboot me, it is _he_ did this, or _he_ did that--they for ever talk o' me as _him!--him!_ I never got the name o' _faither_ frae ane o' them--and it's a' her doings. Now, I just ask ye simply if ony faither would put up wi' the like o' that! But I maun put up wi't. If I were offering to lay hands upon them for't, I am sure and persuaded she wad raise a' Birgham about me--my life wadna be safe where she is--but, indeed, I needna say that, for it never is.

"But there is ae thing that grieves me beyond a' that I hae mentioned to ye. Ye ken my mither, puir auld body, is a widow now. She is in the seventy-sixth year o' her age, and very frail. She has naebody to look after her but me--naebody that has a natural right to do it; for I never had ony brothers, as ye ken; and, as for my twa sisters, I daresay they have just a sair aneugh fecht wi' their ain families, and as they are at a distance, I dinna ken how they are situated wi' their guidmen--though I maun say for them, they send her a stane o' oatmeal, an ounce o' tobacco, or a pickle tea and sugar, now and then, which is very likely as often as they hae it in their power; and that is a great deal mair than I'm _allowed_ to do for her--me that has a right to protect and maintain her. A' that she has to support her is fifteenpence a-week aff the parish o' Mertoun. O Robin, man!--Robin, man!--my heart rugs within me, when I talk to you about this. A' that I hae endured is naething to it! To see my puir auld mither in a state o' starvation, and no to be allowed to gie her a saxpence! O Robin, man!--Robin, man!--is it no awfu'? When she was first left destitute, and a widow, I tried to break the maiter to Tibby, and to reason wi' her.

"'O Tibby, woman!' said I, 'I'm very distressed. Here's my faither laid in the grave, and I dinna see what's to come o' my mither, puir body--she is auld, and she is frail--she has naebody to look after or provide for her but me.'

"'You!' cried Tibby--'you! I wush ye wad mind what ye are talkin about! Ye have as many dougs, I can tell ye, as ye hae banes to pike! Let your mither do as ither widows hae done afore her--let the parish look after her.'

"'O Tibby, woman!' said I; 'but if ye'll only consider--the parish money is very sma', and, puir body, it will mak her heart sair to receive a penny o't; for she weel kens that my faither would rather hae dee'd in a ditch than been behauden to either a parish or an individual for a saxpence.'

"'An' meikle they hae made by their pride,' said Tibby. 'I wush ye wud haud your tongue.'

"'Ay, but Tibby,' says I, for I was nettled mair than I durst show it, 'but she has been a guid mother to me, and ye ken yoursel that she's no been an ill _guid-mother_ to ye. She never stood in the way o' you an' me comin thegither, though I was paying six shillings a-week into the house.'

"'And what am I obliged to her for that?' interrupted my Jezebel.

"'I dinna ken, Tibby,' says I; 'but it's a hard thing for a son to see a mother in want, when he can assist her. Now, it isna meikle she takes--she never was used wi' dainties; and, if I may just tak her hame, little will serve her, and her meat will ne'er be missed.'

"'Ye born idiot!' cried Tibby. 'I aye thought ye a fule--but ye are warse than a fule! Bring your mither here! An auld, crossgrained, faut-finding wife, that I ne'er could hae patience to endure for ten minutes in my days! Bring her here, say ye! No! while I live in this house, I'll let ye ken that I'll be _mistress_.'

"Ay, and maister too, thought I. I found it was o' nae use to argue wi' her. There was nae possibility o' gettin my mither into the house; and as to assisting her wi' a shillin or twa at a time by chance, or paying her house rent, or sending her a load o' coals, it was perfectly out o' the question, and beyond my power. Frae the nicht that I went to Orange Lane to this moment, I hae never had a saxpence under my thumb that I could ca' my ain. Indeed, I never hae money in my hands, unless it be on a day like this, when I hae to gang to a fair, or the like o' that; and even then, before I start, her leddyship sees every bowie, bicker, and piggin, that gangs into the cart--she kens the price o' them as weel as I do; and if I shouldna bring hame either money or goods according to her valuation, I actually believe she wad murder me. There is nae cheatin her. It is by mere chance that, having had a guid market, I've outreached her the day by a shillin or twa; and ane o' them I'll spend wi' you, Robin, and the rest shall gang to my mither. O man! ye may bless your stars that ye dinna ken what it is to hae a termagant wife."

"I am sorry for ye, Patie," said Robin Roughead; "but really I think, in a great measure, ye hae yoursel to blame for it a'!"

"Me!" said Patie--"what do ye mean, Robin?"

"Why, Patie," said Robin, "I ken it is said that every ane can rule a bad wife but he that has her--and I believe it is true. I am quite convinced that naebody kens sae weel where the shoe pinches as they that hae it on; though I am quite satisfied that, had my case been yours, I wad hae brought her to her senses long afore now, though I had

'Dauded her lugs wi' Rab Roryson's bannet.'

or gien her a _hoopin_ like your friend the cooper o' Coldingham."

"Save us, man!" said Patie, who loved a joke, even though at second-hand, and at his own expense; "but ye see the cooper's case is not in point, though I am in the same line; for, as I hae observed, I am only five feet twa inches and an eighth in height--my wife _is not the weaker vessel_--that I ken to my sorrow."

"Weel, Patie," said Robin, "I wadna hae ye to lift your hand--I was but jokin upon that score, it wadna be manly;--but there is ae thing that ye can do, and I am sure it wad hae an excellent effect."

"Dearsake! what is that?" cried Patie.

"For a' that has happened ye," said Robin, "ye hae just yoursel to blame, for giein up the key and the siller to her management that nicht ye gaed to Orange Lane. That is the short and the lang o' a' your troubles, Patie."

"Do you think sae?" inquired the little bicker-maker.

"Yes, I think sae, Peter, and I say it," said Robin; "and there is but ae remedy left."

"And what is that!" asked Patie, eagerly.

"Just this," said Robin--"_stop the supplies_."

"_Stop the supplies!_" returned Patie--"what do you mean, Robin? I canna say that I fully comprehend ye."

"I just mean this," added the other; "be your ain banker--your ain cashier--be maister o' your ain siller--let her find that it is to you she is indebted for every penny she has the power to spend; and if ye dinna bring Tibby to reason and kindness within a month, my name's no Robin Roughead."

"Do ye think that wad do it?" said Patie.

"If that wadna, naething wad," answered Robin; "but try it for a twelvemonth--begin this very nicht; and if we baith live and be spared to this time next year, I'll meet ye again, and I'll be the death o' a mutchkin, but that ye tell me Tibby's a different woman--your bairns different--your hail house different--and your auld mither comfortable."

"O man, if it might be sae," said Patie; "but this very nicht, the moment I get hame, I'll try it--and, if I succeed, I'll try ye wi' a bottle o' wine, and I believe I never drank ane in my life."

"Agreed," said Robin; "but mind ye're no to do things by halves. Ye're no to be feared out o' your resolution because Tibby may fire and storm, and let drive the things in the house at ye--nor even though she should greet."

"I thoroughly understand ye," said Patie; "my resolution's ta'en, and I'll stand by it."

"Gie's your hand on't," said Robin; and Patie gave him his hand.

Now the two friends parted, and it is unnecessary for me either to describe their parting, or the reception which Patie, on his arriving at Birgham, met with from his spouse.

Twelve months went round, Dunse fair came again, and after the fair was over, Patie Crichton once more went in quest of his old friend, Robin Roughead. He found him standing in the horse market, and--

"How's a' wi' ye, my freend?" says Patie.

"Oh, hearty, hearty," cries the other; "but how's a' wi' ye?--how is yer family?"

"Come and get the bottle o' wine that I've to gie ye," said Patie, "and I'll tell ye a' about it."

"I'll do that," said Robin, "for my business is dune."

So they went into the same house in the Castle Wynd where they had been twelve months before, and Patie called for a bottle of wine; but he found that the house had not the wine license, and was therefore content with a gill of whisky made into toddy.

"O man," said he to Robin, "I wad pay ye half a dizen bottles o' wine wi' as great cheerfu'ness as I raise this glass to my lips. It was a grand advice that o' yours--_stop the supplies_."

"I am glad to hear it," said Robin; "I was sure it was the only thing that would do."

"Ye shall hear a' about it," said Patie. "After parting wi' ye, I trudged hame to Birgham, and when I got to my house--before I had the sneck o' the door weel out o' my hand--

"'What's stopped ye to this time o' nicht, ye fitless, feckless cratur ye?' cried Tibby--'whar hae ye been? Gie an account o' yoursel.'

"'An account o' mysel!' says I, and I gied the door a drive ahint me, as if I wad driven it aff the hinges--'for what should I gie an account o' mysel?--or wha should I gie it to? I suppose this house is my ain, and I can come in and gang out when I like!'

"'Yours!' cried she; 'is the _body_ drunk?'

"'No,' says I; 'I'm no drunk, but I wad hae you to be decent. Where is my supper?--it is time that I had it.'

"'Ye micht hae come in in time to get it then,' said she; 'folk canna keep suppers waitin on you.'

"'But I'll gang whar I can get it,' said I; and I offered to leave the house.

"'I'll tak the life o' ye first,' said she. 'Gie me the siller. Ye had five cogs, a dizen o' bickers, twa dizen o' piggins, three bowies, four cream dishes, and twa ladles, besides the wooden spoons that I packed up mysel. Gie me the siller--and, you puir profligate, let me see what ye hae spent.'

"'Gie you the siller!' says I; 'na, na, I've dune that lang aneugh--_I hae stopped the supplies_, my woman.'

"'Stop your breath!' cried she; 'gie me the siller, every farthin, or wo betide ye.'

"It was needless for her to say _every farthin_; for, had I dune as I used to do, I kenned she wad search through every pocket o' my claes the moment she thocht me asleep--through every hole and corner o' them, to see if I had cheated her out o' a single penny--ay, and tak them up, and shake them, and shake them, after a' was dune. But I was determined to stand fast by your advice.

"'Do as ye like,' says I; 'I'll bring ye to your senses--_I've stopped the supplies_.'

"She saw that I wasna drunk, and my manner rather dumfoundered her a little. The bairns--wha, as I have tauld ye, she aye encouraged to mock me--began to giggle at me, and to mak game o' me, as usual. I banged out o' the house, and into the shop, and I took down the belt o' the bit turning-lathe, and into the house I goes again wi' it in my hand.

"'Wha maks a fule o' me now?'

"And they a' laughed thegither, and I up wi' the belt, and I loundered them round the house and round the house, till ane screamed and anither screamed, and even their mither got clouts in trying to run betwixt them and me; and it was wha to squeel loudest. Sae, after I had brocht them a' to ken what I was, I awa yont to my mither's, and I gied her five shillins, puir body; and after stoppin an hour wi' her, I gaed back to the house again. The bairns were a' abed, and some o' them were still sobbin, and Tibby was sittin by the fire; but she didna venture to say a word--I had completely astonished her--and as little said I.

"There wasna a word passed between us for three days; I was beginning to carry my head higher in the house, and on the fourth day I observed that she had nae tea to her breakfast. A day or twa after, the auldest lassie cam to me ae morning about ten o'clock, and says she--

"'Faither, I want siller for tea and sugar.'

"'Gae back to them that sent ye,' says I, 'and tell them to fare as I do, and they'll save the tea and sugar.'

"But it is of nae use dwellin upon the subject. I did stop the supplies most effectually. I very soon brocht Tibby to ken wha was her bread-winner. An' when I saw that my object was accomplished, I showed mair kindness and affection to her than ever I had dune. The bairns became as obedient as lambs, and she soon came to say--'Peter, should I do this thing?'--or, 'Peter, should I do that thing?' So, when I had brocht her that far--'Tibby,' says I, 'we hae a but and a ben, and it's grievin me to see my auld mither starvin, and left by hersel wi' naebody to look after her. I think I'll bring her hame the morn--she'll aye be o' use about the house--she'll can knit the bairns' stockins, or darn them when they are out o' the heels.'

"'Weel, Peter,' said Tibby, 'I'm sure it's as little as a son can do, and I'm perfectly agreeable.'

"I banged up--I flung my arms round Tibby's neck--'Oh! bless ye, my dear!' says I; 'bless ye for that!--there's the key o' the kist and the siller--from this time henceforth do wi' it what ye like.'

"Tibby grat. My mother cam hame to my house the next day. Tibby did everything to mak her comfortable--a' the bairns ran at her bidden--and, frae that day to this, there isna a happier man on this wide world than Patie Crichton the bicker-maker o' Birgham."

MORTLAKE.--A LEGEND OF MERTON.

"Pray, sir, will you condescend to inform me by what title you presume to set your foot on my grounds? Have I not already warned you; and if I use you now severely, the blame must rest with yourself."

These words were addressed by Sir Thomas Bruce Vavasour, in an evident state of excitement, to a young lad apparently of about nineteen, but in reality not much above sixteen, whom he met traversing the grounds of Merton. Tom Vallance did not condescend to inform his interrogator why he had presumed to intrude where his presence seemed far from welcome, or explain why, on the present occasion, he happened to have in his hand a gun, which suspicious folks might be apt to suppose was intended to create some little confusion among the game on this well-preserved estate. He returned no very distinct answer; but some inarticulate sounds issued from his mouth, which, no doubt, were intended to deprecate the rage of the hasty and irritable baronet; but which seemed to have the effect only of heightening his ire, as he turned round to his keeper, who, with one of the servants, was at his back, and bade them secure the fowling-piece with which the youth was furnished--a command which was instantly obeyed; and the lad, not prepared for the sudden attack, was without difficulty disarmed.

"Now, my lad," quoth Sir Thomas, "you had better be off, unless you wish me to use violence; for I will not allow my property to be trespassed upon, and my game destroyed, by you and the like of you."

Tom stood firm, scowling on the baronet. At length he gained nerve enough to say--

"Give me back my gun. You have no right to rob me, nor shall you."

"But you shall submit, my little cock-sparrow. Don't suppose I want to keep your twopenny-halfpenny pop-gun. Here, John, just take Master Tom by the shoulders, and turn him off my grounds; and you, Peter, carry this rubbishy thing to Mrs Vallance, and tell her it would better become her to keep her son behind the counter of her shop, to serve her customers with farthing-candles and brown soap, than allow him to vagabondise about the country poaching. If he does not mend his manners, I've a pretty good guess that some of those days he'll either take a voyage at the expense of his country, or get his neck thrust into a noose."

This was certainly impertinent. It was, moreover, unjust and uncalled for; as, whatever might be said to the charge of Tom Vallance, on account of his predilection for field sports, no impeachment lay otherwise to his moral character. But Sir Thomas was in a passion; and, like all persons in that state, spoke without reflection. Naturally of a hasty and irritable temper, he had received a letter that morning which excited his ire excessively, and as, upon issuing from the mansion, the lad Vallance crossed his path, the first burst of his wrath fell on his devoted head. Tom felt deeply the insult. He had been accustomed to a shake of the head, and sometimes a sharp word; but Sir Thomas, upon the whole, used him well enough; for, as his mother had been housekeeper in the family during the lifetime of Sir Marmaduke Vavasour, who had married the heiress of Merton, the lad was looked upon, or rather he looked upon himself, as a sort of licensed person on the grounds. To be deprived of his gun was bad, but to insinuate moral turpitude was worse; and, forgetful of the rank of his tormentor, he exclaimed--

"I am no thief--I am as honest as yourself, Sir Thomas! and bitterly, bitterly shall you rue this day! When I set my foot next time on your grounds, it will be for no good to you."

Saying this, he turned on his heel, and, extricating himself suddenly from the hands of the servants, cleared a ditch which opposed his retreat, and was speedily out of reach.

The passion of Sir Thomas was not lessened by this unexpected reply, followed as it was by the speedy evasion of the speaker; and, as Tom was out of his reach, he transferred his wrath to the attendants, who were scolded in the most exemplary style for not knocking the young rascal down. After indulging some time in this agreeable relaxation, he returned to the house, looking all the while, as his men said, "like a bear wi' a sair head."

Sir Thomas Bruce Vavasour was the third son of an English baronet of ancient lineage, who, by intermarriage with Isabella, daughter, and afterwards sole heiress, of Reginald Bruce of Merton, in the County of Roxburgh, eventually carried that estate into his family. He had three brothers, two elder and one younger than himself. By the marriage contract, the English estate, which was considerable, was destined to the elder son, the Scottish one to the second son. Thomas got a commission, went abroad, and, after much battling about, attained the rank of general, when, by the death of his brother William, he succeeded to Merton; and a few years afterwards, the demise of the eldest brother, who broke his neck whilst fox-hunting, gave him the extensive manor of Vavasour Castle, and the title of a baronet. The younger brother married an heiress, by whom he had one son, whom, after his demise, he left under the guardianship of Sir Thomas--excluding Mrs Vavasour from all control. The uncle carefully superintended the education of his ward--became much attached to him--and, during the holidays, frequently took him to Merton, to the infinite displeasure of Mrs Richard Vavasour, who cordially hated her brother-in-law. When he grew up, those visits were discontinued, partly as he was studying for the bar, and partly to please his mother, whom he considered he was in duty bound to propitiate as much as he could--rather a difficult task, as she was a capricious, fine lady, with violent and vindictive feelings. Edward was about four-and-twenty, and had formed an attachment to a lady--his equal in birth and fortune--but who did not meet with the mother's approbation. She demanded that the match should be broken off--Edward remonstrated--she persisted; and, after a war of words, matters remained precisely as they originally were: he avowing a fixed determination to make himself happy, notwithstanding Mrs Vavasour's threats of vengeance. This he accordingly did; and his mother, bursting a blood-vessel, soon afterwards died, leaving a sealed letter to be sent, after her demise, to Sir Thomas, whom she hated.

Three weeks had elapsed from the date of this interview, when, one evening early in the month of September, a party of farmers (for it was market-day) were sitting, after dinner, in the public inn of the county town, when the landlord suddenly entered, exclaiming--

"Gracious! a dreadful murder has just been committed. The Laird of Merton has been killed in his own house!"

This announcement was received with equal astonishment and horror by those assembled; and the intruder had every possible question to answer as to the time, place, and person, that the half-muddled brains of those present could devise; and such a Babel of voices arose in sweet discord, that a gentleman, who sat in the parlour alone, and who had arrived by that day's mail, was so much disturbed as to ring violently, to know why his meditations were thus so unharmoniously interrupted.

"Waiter," said he, "why this disturbance? Cannot your farmers dine here without kicking up a riot?"

"Oh, sir, it's the murder!"

"What murder?"

"The General, sir, who lives at Merton, sir, found stabbed in his own sitting-room, sir!"

"Stabbed, do you say? It cannot be!"

"Quite true, sir, as I'm a waiter! And they have got the murderer in custody."

"Murderer! impossible! What mean you?" exclaimed the traveller, hastily.

"Why, sir, the fellow that killed Sir Thomas is taken redhand, I think they call it."

"Who is he?"

"Just Tom Vallance, sir--an idle fellow, to be sure, but the last person that I would have thought would do such a thing."

"What! the son of the old housekeeper?"

"Yes. Do you know him, sir?"

"Not I; but I've heard of his mother. What inducement could he have to commit so dreadful a crime?"

"Revenge, sir! The General, some two or three weeks since, seized his gun, and, poor gentleman, abused Tom fearfully, for he was in one of his terrifics; and Tom told him the next time he was on his grounds he would do for him--at least so it is said."

"Dreadful! And what was this Tom Vallance, as I think you call him?"

"Nothing, sir. His mother is an industrious woman; and the lad was not that bad fellow neither--but dreadfully idle. He had a good education; but his father dying two years since, Tom left school; and his mother, in place of sending him back, kept him at home. She was so fond of him that she let him do whatever he liked."

"How can she afford to maintain him?"

"She is very industrious, sir; and, as she was daft fond of him, every penny she could scrape together went into his pockets."

"Where is the accused?"

"Tom, sir, do you mean? Why, before the sheriff, making his declaration."

"Who succeeds the late baronet?"

"His nephew--a very nice chap. He was often at Merton when a lad; but he has not been here for many years. He'll be better liked than his uncle, though the old fellow was not so bad neither. But I must go, sir, for I hear the bell ringing in the travellers'-room."

So saying, he whipped his napkin under his arm, and withdrew with praiseworthy celerity.

The unknown traveller paced slowly up and down the room, apparently very much perplexed in his mind. He muttered--

"Strange!--very strange!--caught in the room--a previous threat--all concurs."

Shortly afterwards he again rang the bell, ordered in and paid his bill; and, taking a post-chaise to the next town, waited there only until the mail from Edinburgh to London stopped to change horses, and, having procured a seat, arrived in due time in the metropolis.

The investigation of facts connected with the death of Sir Thomas proceeded, and a strong case was made out against the accused. The two servants swore to the threat; and, although not giving exactly the waiter's version of it, made it pretty nearly as bad; for, not having heard the precise words, they supplied the defect in hearing by generalising. "He threatened," they said, "to be revenged, and that he would come to the grounds for that purpose;" or used some such words, showing a determined resolution of getting "_amends_" of their master. That the General met his death by a stab in the heart was plain enough; and that the servants found Tom beside him, grasping a bloody knife, was equally so. Presumptions were, therefore, strongly against him; nor did his declaration or judicial statement help him much; for he admitted, after some little hesitation, that he had slipped into the grounds to redeem his threat of revenge by carrying off some very fine peaches, of which the General was very proud, and which he intended as a present to a neighbouring friend. Knowing that Sir Thomas was accustomed to take his _siesta_ immediately after dinner, which was usually at five--for he followed a fashion of his own in this respect, which has, since his time, become popular--and that the gardener left at six, he lurked about the grounds till after that period, and then, easily getting into the garden, thought it prudent to see how the land lay before he proceeded to his labour of love.

The house of Merton was an old-fashioned building; or rather series of buildings erected at different times; and the present possessor, who had a fancy for horticulture, had added an apartment, which opened by a glass-door upon a terrace, from which, by descending a few steps, he entered the garden. This room was, necessarily, remote from the rest of the mansion, and here Sir Thomas uniformly dined, summer and winter. After dinner was removed, and the dessert and wine placed on the table, the servants withdrew, and were forbidden to enter till seven o'clock, when coffee was served. Of all this Tom was perfectly cognisant.