Chapter VIII: Part 8

I will not weary you with our hawking adventures. We progressed on our journey with various success, but constantly with gain, our packs lightening apace; I liking the profession very ill. I loved not money sufficiently to bend my mind to the slights and insults we were often forced to endure. Upon Wilson they had no effect in ruffling his temper. He would smile, and, with a slyness of humour, turn their bitterest taunts against the taunters, or banter them into good-humour, and effect a sale. He would, indeed, be as good-humoured under insult as if he had been civilly treated; while I was on the eve of bursting into a rage, and either looking sulky or returning taunt for taunt. Indeed, before we reached Northallerton, I had made up my mind to relinquish my new calling as soon as we got to London; and told Wilson so. He shook his head.

"John Square, you are one of those who, for want of firmness, never get on in the world. When there is an object to gain, we must not be scared from it by trifles, or neglect an honest mean that leads to success. You have commenced at the hardest part of a packman's life--his journey in England. But, ho! here is Northallerton. To-morrow we will strike off the eastern road, and go to York. I expect to see some acquaintances there."

Thus we journeyed on, I more through a dogged stubbornness not to yield, than any love I had for the mode of life I had chosen, until we were a few miles from York, where we overtook a brother of the trade. As soon as he came in sight, Wilson said--

"There is Simon Hepburn, the Praying Packman, as the profane call him, or Pious Simon, his more befitting name; for he really is a good, well-meaning man. I have known him for some years, neither richer nor poorer; his pack or cash seldom exceeds twenty pounds, yet he could easily increase his store, if he had ambition; but that he wants; and his gains are always spent upon objects of charity or piety. He is never without Bibles or pious books, which he bestows, in free gift, where he thinks they may be of use; he has only particular houses where he stops, and he is always a welcome guest, superseding the goodman of the house, for the time, in the Christian office of a teacher. The most pleasing and edifying evenings I have ever spent were with him. When he is in Haddington, Widow Craig's is his home; and, although we are two of a trade, happy am I when we meet. You shall judge for yourself. His history is a most singular one, and nothing gives him more pleasure than to relate it. Let him speak for himself."

We quickened our pace, and soon overtook him. He was a man, to all appearance, above sixty years of age; his hair was white as snow, with a shade of care at times upon his regular features, that flitted off, and was succeeded by a gleam of internal satisfaction. The smoothness of his brow, and the fulness of his features, bore an unusual contrast to the whiteness of his locks, the appearance of age and youth being strangely combined, while his whole appearance was winning in the extreme. When we came up to him, Bill said--

"Simon, I am happy to have met you; how come you on?"

"Far beyond my deserts," said he. "How are you? and how did you leave my worthy friend the widow?"

"In good health," said Bill; "I thank you. I have been just talking of you to my friend Square here, who would feel obliged were you to give him an outline of your strange history, as we walk on to York."

"Certainly, Bill, certainly; it may be of use to him. He is a new beginner in his present craft, as I was when the events happened that I am going to relate.

"The changes that occur both in nations and families," said Simon, "are soon felt by the individuals. Lawsuits and bad management had reduced the once extensive patrimony of our family to a small farm. At my grandfather's death, my father, who had married, as his father thought, far beneath him, had three sons. My oldest brother, before he succeeded, went to Holland, having got a commission in the Scottish brigade; the second attended the farm, at which I assisted until I was about eighteen. I grew weary of farming, and resolved to become a merchant. I was induced to this by the success of several who had left our neighbourhood, done well after a few years' travel as packmen, and were then settled in various towns, and prosperous. It was in the beginning of May, as soon as the weather became settled, that I left the neighbourhood of Annan, with a few pounds, on my way to Dumfries, and thence to Edinburgh; my object being to furnish my pack. I had a relation of my mother's, a wholesale merchant, in the first town, who had promised to do all in his power for me, as far as advice and a few articles would go. Cheerful and full of hope, I strode along, till, within about two miles from Dumfries, I overtook a young and interesting female, accompanied by a young man. We entered into conversation as we walked along. She appeared sad, and often sighed; while he was taciturn, and appeared to avoid conversation. When within a few hundred yards of the town, they stopped behind for a minute or so, and then, the man leaving her, she overtook me, and we entered the town together. I learned from her that she was on her way to Edinburgh, and, having a brother married in Dumfries, she was going to his house for some articles belonging to her, and her fellow-traveller was to meet her there.

"Anxious to commence my new mode of life, I had soon completed my business with my friend. He was standing at the door when I came up with the young woman, and, laughing, inquired if she was my sweetheart or wife. In the course of two or three hours, I was again upon the road towards Moffat, on my way to Edinburgh, with my light pack upon my back, as happy as a king. As I passed the side of a young plantation that skirted the road, a few miles from Dumfries, I saw, lying on the side of the way, a small bundle, tied in a silk handkerchief. I immediately picked it up; and, after standing a few minutes, and looking around to see if any one was in sight who might have dropped it, I called aloud, but there was no answer. I continued my pace, rejoicing in my good fortune. At about a quarter-of-a-mile from the spot, there was a public-house, into which I entered, for a little refreshment, and to inquire if they would purchase anything I could supply them. I placed the bundle I had picked up and my pack upon the table, got what I asked for, and then inquired if they would purchase. During my stay, two farm-servants came in; and, when I was about to depart, they, seeing me lift the bundle from the table, inquired if it was my own. I hesitated for a moment, and, unfortunately, said that it was. They looked at each other; no more passed, and I resumed my journey towards Moffat, which I was anxious to reach before nightfall. I accomplished it; and, stopping at a cheap lodging-house, had an early supper, and went soon to bed, weary with my day's walk.

"Scarce had I fallen asleep, when I was aroused by a loud knocking at the door, and the sound of many voices. Before I was fully awake, I was seized in my bed, and my hands bound tightly together. My terror became extreme--I shook in every limb. In vain I strove to speak, and inquire what all this meant. I could only see that every eye was bent on me with an expression of horror and rage. My clothes were searched, and then forced upon me. I was not allowed to assist myself--my hands were unbound to get on my coat; but a man held each arm while another pulled. They seemed afraid I would do something desperate, and were as coarse and cautious as if I had been a ferocious animal; yet I was passive from excess of fear; and, although numbers were speaking, I was in such a state that I could not collect the purport of their conversation. Execrations sounded in my ears above the confusion of voices, and the first sentence I made out was spoken by my landlady:--'Oh, the bloody-minded young wretch!' she cried. 'Who would have thought it, to look at him? But I hope they will hang him as high as Haman. And, after all, to come into a lone widow's house to bring disgrace on it. Take him away, sirs, as quick as you can, or I shall be an undone woman, and my character entirely lost.'

"Astonished at what the woman said, I inquired what offence I had committed--or where. O God! what was my horror to learn that I was charged with murder!--that the bundle in my possession had been the property of the victim of some ruthless villain--and that I was taken for him! In vain I protested my innocence. The two men were present to whom I had said, when they inquired, that the bundle was my own. I was thus, by my own confession--if not a murderer--a convicted liar. No one, for a moment, thought me innocent. So strong was their conviction of my guilt, that had the laws not deterred them, they would have rejoiced to have put me to death on the spot. Even this would have been kindness, in a worldly sense, to what I was doomed to suffer.

"It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, but clear and bright; the moon was nearly full; the air a little sharp, but not cold, when I was placed, bound hand and foot, in a cart, and accompanied by the two men and two officers. I thought my heart would have burst. I opened not my mouth to speak in answer to their questions, cruel taunts, and upbraidings. I saw I was an object of horror and loathing to them--and deservedly so, had I been the guilty creature they had cause to think me. I passed the melancholy time we were upon the road in tears, and prayers that my innocence might be made manifest; but I knew not yet the extent of my misery. At length the cart stopped at the door of the public-house; my feet were loosened, and I was desired to come down, and enter the same room where I had been in the afternoon. A crowd of horrorstricken people were huddled round the fireplace. In the wooden bed lay an object, covered with a white sheet, resembling a human body. I had never seen a corpse laid out in my life; yet the idea rushed upon my mind that this was one; and my blood curdled in my veins, as the conviction came over me that it was one that had met its fate by violence. I trembled, while the large drops of sweat stood upon my brow. All eyes were turned to me; a grim smile of malicious satisfaction was on the faces of some, while horror and pity were equally strongly marked upon the countenances of others. My natural feelings were, to all present, a sure indication of my guilt. I would have sunk to the ground had not the two men supported me. My head fell upon my breast. I requested a little water, in a voice scarcely audible. It was given me, and the sickness went off. One of the officers then, taking a lamp, went to the bed, and removed the sheet from the body. My eyes involuntarily followed him; a cry of horror escaped my lips; and I felt my muscles become rigid. Before me lay the body of the female I had parted with in health early in the forenoon, at the shop-door of my relation, shockingly mangled, her long fair hair clotted with blood, and her mild blue eyes, that had smiled upon me, dulled by the shade of death. I could only groan. My sufferings at this sight were beyond utterance. All in the room moved to the bed, and placed their hands upon the bosom of the dead, and protested their innocence. I was ordered to do the same; but I could not summon resolution to touch the body. My whole nature revolted from the contact.

"'I am innocent!' I cried; 'God knows I am innocent! I know nothing of this foul murder. Ask me to cut off my hand, or place it in the burning fire, among the live coals; but ask me not to touch that bloody body, for pity's sake!'

"My appeals were vain; they only served to confirm the prepossessions of my hearers that I was guilty. As I stood, shrinking from the fearful object as far as those who held me would permit, a cry arose that I was the murderer beyond a doubt, and that I should be compelled to touch the body. One of the officers seized my hand; those who held me pushed me towards the bed; I struggled in vain; my hand was held fast as I was forced along; and the consequence was, that it came with force upon the chest of the murdered victim, when a gurgling sound issued from the gaping wound. I became insensible.

"When my faculties returned, it was the grey of the morning. We were entering the town of Dumfries; I in the cart, and the murdered body by my side. I was lodged in the jail--a criminal already condemned in the eyes of my fellow-men. Even the felons and debtors in prison avoided my society. At my examination before the sheriff, I trembled at the array of circumstantial evidence that was brought against me. My own relation admitted that he had seen us together at his shop-door. The young woman had gone from thence to her brother's, and staid only a short time--telling them she was on her way to Edinburgh, and was to meet a young man, who was to accompany her there. She had been seen by the two men lingering upon the Moffat road, near the planting, a short time before, with the same bundle in her hand that I had said was mine when they saw me in the public-house with it in my possession. They had thought it strange, but paid no attention until the body of the young woman was discovered in the wood a few hours after, and still warm. I had been pursued, and the property proved to belong to the victim of my cruelty. My terror at being apprehended, and my refusal to touch the dead body, all militated against me. I was fully committed as the murderer, without hope of escape, innocent as I was of the crime. To this damning evidence, all I had to advance was my unheeded assertion of my innocence.

"From the beginning of May until the month of September I lay in jail--a stranger to comfort of any kind. Every anguish was mine, except remorse. I was looked upon by all, except my parents, as the most hardened villain on earth. No one doubted my guilt, except my parents; and it was only their parental feelings that made them doubt and pray that, if innocent, the really guilty might be discovered. I will not attempt to describe the scenes between me and my parents. They both wished that the grave might hide their shame before the fatal day of the execution of their son; for all chance of proving my innocence seemed out of the question. The worthy minister that visited the jail firmly believed in my guilt; to all my solemn asseverations of innocence, he only replied by holding forth on the dangers of hardened crime, with earnest exhortations for me to confess and make atonement as far as was in my power. He would for hours lay before me the horrors of appearing before my Maker with a lie in my mouth. My pride was wounded by the good man's well-meant efforts. I began to avoid him as much as possible; and, when I could not, I was silent and sullen. This, also, was held to be a sure token of my guilt. Alas! I was not hardened; but I was heart-broken. My Bible was my only companion--my soother and support; for I found no threat there but against the wicked. Its Author was the searcher of hearts. In it I found I was really guilty of many crimes which my fellow-men thought nothing of; but there I also found a Saviour and Mediator. My mind became humbled and composed; and, while I still solemnly asserted my innocence of the murder, I did it with temper and meekness.

"'Worthy sir,' I said to the clergyman, 'appearances have deceived you. If it is the will of God that the innocent should suffer, for some wise purpose, his will be done. If it is not so, my guiltlessness of blood will be made evident in this world--at least I shall be declared innocent on that great day when all shall render their account--in this matter, innocent, save of the guilty falsehood I stated, that the unfortunate female's bundle was my own. Alas! I wished not to keep the property from the rightful owner. My thought at the time was, that, if I owned that I had found it, they would take it from me, or make a disturbance about it. Had they only said a few words more, I had told the truth; and thus, probably, have contributed to the proof of my innocence.'

"At length, the Lords of Justiciary entered the town. None but those who are within the walls of a jail, awaiting their arrival, can conceive the dread sensation of fear and hope awakened in the breasts of criminals by the clang of the trumpets and shouting of the mob, as the pageant proceeds through the streets. How bitter are the feelings produced by the joyous shouts of the thoughtless people! forgetful, or heedless, of the fates of their fellow-mortals. Next day I was led into the court, more dead than alive. My head became giddy. Everything before me--the crowded court, the judges, jury, and officers--became a confused mass; a murmur as if of horror sounded in my ears from the assembled multitude; the fatal bundle lay upon the table before me. At length all was ready; and, the indictment having been read aloud by the clerk, the judge, in a solemn voice, asked if I was guilty or not. After a gasp or two for breath--

"'O my lord!' I said, 'I am as guiltless of this crime as the unborn babe. Have mercy on me!' And I sank upon the table before me, overpowered.

"The public prosecutor then opened the case, and harrowed up my soul with the fearful account of the diabolical deed. He almost persuaded me I was the murderer; so clearly did he reason from appearances. The witnesses were called; a chain of circumstantial evidence was made out; all that was awanting in it was, that I had not been seen to do the deed. Witnesses I had not one. Those whom I could have called could have said nothing but what they had already said, and it was wrested to my disadvantage by my own story; for I was a self-convicted liar, and little better than a thief, in my attempt to appropriate what was not my own--even in the most favourable construction my able counsel could put upon my case. The jury, without leaving their box, pronounced me guilty, without a dissentient voice. The judge put on the fearful black hat upon his head; and, after a heart-harrowing speech upon my guilt, pronounced sentence of death upon me. I was to be taken back to the jail, and from thence to the spot where the murder had been committed, and hung in chains on the second market-day in October. How I was removed from the court I cannot tell; neither can I tell what intervened for some hours. The last thing strongly impressed upon my memory is a burst of satisfaction in the court, when the sentence was passed upon me, and the hooting of the crowd without; yet, strange to say, I slept soundly after the irons were riveted upon my ankles, and awoke to find my doom fixed, and my days on earth numbered. I became, in a manner, resigned to my fate. Indeed, save for my parents, I had no other regret in leaving the world; yet, at times, an anxious wish would steal upon my mind that I might be saved from my unmerited death. It was the shuddering of nature at entering upon eternity. The hope never left me that my innocence would, at one time or another, sooner or later, be made manifest to my fellow-men--for murder will not hide, nor innocent blood cry from the earth in vain. The hours flew past with fearful rapidity; the neighbouring clock seemed never to cease to strike the hour. Night followed day, and day night, as if there was no interval between; yet there was a heaviness upon me that bowed me down. My last Sabbath on earth arrived; the day was spent in devotion--my heart-broken parents, who now were convinced of my innocence, pouring out their souls with mine to the Throne of Grace. If ever there was on earth a foretaste of the joys of heaven, I felt it that day in the condemned cell, loaded with irons. We had taken farewell of each other, in the full assurance of soon meeting where there is no sorrow or shame. The bitterness of death was past. My thoughts were no longer of this world.

"The Monday passed on. There was but one whole day more for me on the earth. Wednesday was to be my last. On the morning of Tuesday, as soon as the jail was opened, my brother, who had always thought hardly of me, and visited me only twice, rushed into my cell, and, weeping, fell upon my bosom. After a few minutes, he sobbed--

"'My brother! Simon, my brother! can you forgive me for thinking so hardly of you?'

"'My brother,' I replied, 'I have ever thought of you in grief and pity, never in anger. My heart blesses you for this kindness.'

"'You are innocent, my own Simon! You are cleared of this crime. All is made manifest. The worthy minister is at present with the provost, who will write to the sheriff to delay the fatal day, until your pardon come.'

"I heard no more: a faintness came over me; my heart ceased to beat, and all consciousness left me for some time. When I recovered, we fell upon our knees, and poured out our souls in thanksgivings. At that time I dedicated the whole remainder of my days to the service of that merciful God who had made clear my innocence, and spared my parents and friends from shame.

"When we had become composed, I learned from him the wonderful manner in which my innocence had been discovered, and the guilty punished by the hand of the sufferer's own brother. She had resided in the parish of Caerlaverock, with a brother, a widower, as his housekeeper, for some years; and it had been understood that she was soon to marry a young man, a stranger, who had come some years before into the parish. He was on intimate terms with her brother; but her other friends did not approve of the connection, as his character was none of the best. Her brother was of a thoughtless, jovial disposition, and saw no harm in him, for he was an excellent boon-companion, and they were thus inseparable on all occasions of festivity. On the Saturday afternoon before the day appointed for my execution, they had gone out with their guns to shoot for amusement. Both had been drinking pretty hard; and it was observed that the stranger had for some time almost entirely given himself up to intoxication, especially since the death of Grace, his sweetheart. This was attributed to his grief, and begat pity for him, and no one was more assiduous in endeavouring to cheer his gloom than her brother. After their search for game, they were returning to the village, when, by some accident, the gun which Grace's brother carried went off, and lodged its contents in the body of his companion, who fell, dreadfully wounded. A surgeon was sent for, who gave little hopes of his recovery. No blame could be attached to his companion, as the accident was seen by several, and the grief of Grace's brother was excessive. On the Sabbath, the stranger was much worse. His mind seemed to suffer more than his body; and words of fearful import escaped from him at intervals, which harrowed up the souls of those who attended him. Cries of despair, mixed with horrid imprecations, burst from his lips. Yet death evidently was approaching fast to seize his victim. When they spoke of sending for the minister to pray with and console him, he blasphemed, and thus spent he his last Sabbath on earth. Through the night he fell into a troubled sleep, and began to mutter. Gradually his words became more distinct. He talked of Grace, and recounted her murder as he had perpetrated it; writhed in remorse, and called for mercy from my injured spirit, as if I had already suffered. As soon as the morning dawned, the minister was sent for, and what the guilty man had said in his sleep recounted to him. He was now very low; the hand of death was on him; and, for some time, he was deaf to the remonstrances of the divine. But at length he confessed all; told that they would find the knife with which he had done the fearful crime buried at the back of the cottage where he lay. All was written down by the minister. The knife was found, stained with the blood of his victim. I was now as much the object of pity as I had been of hatred and horror. That day my irons were struck off; I had the freedom of the jail until my pardon arrived, and was visited by numbers of the inhabitants, who loaded me with presents. But my feelings of gratitude were principally awakened on my parents' account, for the joy it imparted to them. Many, many years have passed since that event, but it is ever present with me, and spurs me on in my labours of love, in comforting and winning souls to God."

So deeply had I been interested in the narrative of the Pious Pedlar, that we had reached York, and stood at the door of the Duke of Marlborough public-house, before I was aware of the distance we had walked after he commenced. As this was the house where Bill and a number of others in his line were in the habit of staying during the time they were in the town, we entered, and found two or three, who, like ourselves, had come to purchase goods. I was astonished at the haughty manner in which they returned our salutation. The landlord, who seemed to know all his guests well, received William and Simon with a hearty welcome; and, shaking me by the hand, wished me success in my new calling, expressing his hope that I would find everything in the Marlborough to my liking. We were then ushered into a small room, where dinner was to be served to us. When we were comfortably seated, I remarked to Bill the impression the lofty bearing of the others had made upon me, and inquired if he knew the cause. He laughed--

"Quite well," said he; "there is an aristocracy among pedlars as well as other callings. They belong to the waggoners, and would think it a degradation to associate with us bearers. We are a grade beneath them; besides, the waggoners are, for the most part, gentlemen by birth--the younger cadets of decayed houses of long standing. With a little capital to commence with, they never dealt in small quantities, their line lying in supplying the retailers in distant towns, and many of them are very wealthy. Upon my return from London, when I have purchased my horse and waggon, I will be entitled to rank with them, but will never be treated as the equal of those who have both birth and waggons; nevertheless, I will be a waggoner until I commence business in my own shop, when I will be a grade higher than even waggoner; and, with economy and my usual perseverance, I may be a bailie, or even provost, of the town I settle in. Only think of that, John Square! Stick to your present occupation, and, without trusting the stormy ocean, you may, by following my counsel, succeed as well as I or any one."

"My young friend," said the pious Simon, "all these are good in subjection; but a higher aim ought to be your guide through life; for all these give not peace to the soul."

While he spoke, we were joined by other two of our own rank, to whom my two companions were barely civil, and very distant. Both were well advanced in years, with a forward cast of countenance and a look of low cunning strangely blended, which they endeavoured to make pass for frankness. Having settled our small bill, and left our packs in charge of the landlord, I walked out to see the minster, they to transact some business of their own.

I returned when the shades of evening fell, and found that Wilson and Simon had arrived some time before me, and were seated by themselves. There were several others in the room in general conversation, in which we took no part. The two whom I had left before I went out were still in the same position, evidently under the influence of liquor. They were clearly unwelcome; their conversation was only calculated to beget disgust in well-regulated minds, consisting of anecdotes of fraud and imposition, of which they seemed proud of being the heroes.

"These two," said Simon to me, "are a specimen of those who bring disrepute upon any callings, and much more so on ours. They are not without talents, but they cultivate them to unprofitable ends. I have known them for many years; and, with all their boasted cunning, they are, I believe, poorer at this moment than they were when I first knew them, and must still become poorer, for their character is gone. The public fear to deal with them, and will not do it, even when they would act honestly. They are forced to range far, to places where they are unknown; and even there they are every year circumscribing and planting thorns for others to walk over. They, besides, are ever under the fear of injury from some one or other whom they have defrauded. Such are the fruits of dishonest dealing."

All our business being transacted, it was agreed that we should continue our route for London, to purchase silks and light goods, and return by the same route to Scotland. William having purchased a small waggon and horse, together with a small assortment of woollens, my stock remained much the same, and was slung over my shoulder, save when, for ease, and there were no houses on the road, I placed it in the waggon; for I was weary of my pedlar's life, and only endured it until I should reach London. We arrived at Hatfield, about twenty-five miles from London, early in the afternoon, and resolved to stay for the night, as Wilson had hopes of doing some good in the neighbourhood. As for me, I had ceased, much to his chagrin, to attempt any sales, as my pack was now much reduced. While he was gone, I sat at the inn-door, amusing myself in the best manner I could--sometimes musing on my strange fate, at others gazing listlessly upon the passers-by--when a post-chaise drove up to the door at a furious rate. The horses were extremely blown, and covered with perspiration. A gentleman and lady descended from the chaise; she evidently was under restraint, and looked anxiously and fearfully around. Our eyes met; I thought she gave her hand that was disengaged a movement, as if she wished me to come to her. She was in tears. I rose, and moved to approach, but she was hurried into the house before I could advance; for I was in doubt--yet her look expressed what her hand signalled. I thought it strange, for a moment; but this feeling died away, for I might have been deceived. The gentleman came to the door, to hurry the people, as they were rather slow, as he thought, in procuring fresh horses. I good-naturedly went to assist the postilion. As I stood before the chaise, I looked up to one of the windows, and saw the female weeping at it. Our eyes again met; she clasped her hands imploringly, and, taking a small packet, placed it behind the window-shutter, and, raising her clasped hands to heaven, looked earnestly at me. I gave a nod of assent. She retired from the window. All this had passed quickly as a shadow. In a few minutes they were again in the chaise. As it passed off, I again gave a nod, and a languid smile passed over her face. I entered the house, and inquired of the landlord who they were; but got no information, as he said they were unknown to him. I requested to have a glass of brandy-and-water in the room where the lady had been. As soon as it was brought, and he had retired, I looked behind the window-shutter, and, taking out the parcel, found it to contain a sum of money and a sealed letter, upon the inside of the wrapper of which was written in pencil--"Benevolent stranger, whoever you are, for mercy's sake and all that is dear to you, deliver this as directed, with your utmost despatch, and snatch a fellow-creature from misery. Let this supply your immediate wants, and an ample reward shall follow. Use all despatch, I again implore you."

I was for a few minutes lost in amazement. The letter was addressed to Captain James H----, Strand, London. Could this be my old patron and captain? There was not one moment to lose. I descended to the bar, and told the landlord I must set off for London immediately, and requested his advice how I was to proceed. He told me I must make the journey on horseback, as he had not another pair of horses. I told him that was impossible, as I had never been on horseback in my life, and I could walk it faster and with more ease than I could ride. I would walk on to Barnet before dark, and get a chaise there if I could find none sooner. As I was on the eve of setting off, he found means to procure an old phaeton; and, while it was getting ready, I wrote to Wilson that circumstances forced me to London, but that I would perhaps see him in the morning. At all events, I made him heartily welcome to my pack, as I meant to carry it no more, wishing him health and prosperity if we should not meet.

I mounted the high-hung, crazy vehicle, with a lad to drive and bring it back, having satisfied mine host to his utmost wish. By half-past ten o'clock, I reached the jeweller's in the Strand, whose first floor Captain H----occupied, and found him at home. His lady was also present. His surprise was great at my entering. Our joy was mutual, and only damped by my relating the strange manner in which I had again had the pleasure of seeing him. He broke the letter open, and having hastily perused it, turned to his wife, who sat pale and anxiously looking at him--"My love, I must be off this instant, and endeavour to rescue Catherine from her unpleasant thraldom. Do not be alarmed--there is no danger. During the time I am getting all ready, you may peruse the letter." Saying this, he rung the bell, and ordered his servant to procure a post-chaise as quickly as he could, and send in refreshments for me. Mrs H---- was dissolved in tears, as she had read the letter to an end. When we were again alone, "James," said she, "this proceeding of Master Wilton is very cruel to my cousin; although he is her guardian, he has, I should think, no right to wound her feelings, and hurry her about the country in this mysterious manner. I am fearful he has some reason he is ashamed to confess. My dear James, be careful of yourself for my sake; I shall be miserable until your return."

"There is not the smallest occasion, my love; I shall write you as soon as I arrive at Mr Wilton's. In the morning, you must write a note to Mr Stenton, to call upon you. Show him your cousin's letter, and order him to take what steps he may judge necessary in this affair."

"Can it be possible," said she, "that my aunt approves of this proceeding? He could not have removed Catherine without her consent."

"I shall soon know, my love. The dear girl must not be allowed to suffer from their designs or caprice."

At this moment the chaise was announced to be at the door, and in a short time we were in it, and rattling along towards Barnet, where we changed horses, and were in Hatfield a little after daybreak. During our dark and comfortless ride, I told him all that had befallen me since we parted in Lisbon. He had only been in London a few months, where he had come upon business--an uncle of his wife's having died some time before, leaving the bulk of his fortune to his two nieces--Catherine, the young lady whose letter I had brought to London, and his wife. To Catherine, his favourite sister's daughter, he had left, besides an equal sum in cash, all his landed and other property. Mr Wilton's sister, the aunt of both, was a rich widow, but of a morose and finical temper. Catherine had been brought up by her some fifty miles from London, and Mr H---- had no idea until my arrival that she had not been still with her. "I hope there is no foolish love affair in this strange business," said he; "for Catherine is a warmhearted, susceptible girl. Her father was our countryman, and my intimate friend."

As Mr Wilton's property lay near Baldock, about eighteen miles distant, and no post-horses were to be got, the captain, on horseback, set off alone; I was to follow on foot, which I preferred, to Stevenage, where I was to wait until I heard from him. After a hasty parting from my fellow-traveller Wilson, which was not without regret on both sides, I set off for Stevenage; he saying, as he shook my hand--

"John Square, I hope you will never want, but you will never be rich. You are as unstable as water."

I had only been in the inn at Stevenage a short time, when a servant arrived with a note, informing me that Captain H---- had got all arranged to his satisfaction, and would return to London on the following day, requesting me to hasten thither with a letter for Mrs H----; which I did, and took lodgings for myself in Lower Thames Street. When the captain and I again met, I found present the young lady and another gentleman. I was most graciously received by all. The uncle of Catherine was likewise present, and, turning to his niece, said--

"So this is the messenger you contrived to engage, strictly as I watched you in this foolish affair. I see that a woman's invention, like her love, has no bounds"--saying which, he good-humouredly patted the happy and blushing Catherine under the chin.

The captain retired with me to a separate room, where he told me that the whole had arisen out of the anger of his wife's aunt, who had set her heart upon marrying her niece to a young clergyman of her neighbourhood, for whom she had not the smallest regard, and whose assiduities were hateful to her, as her heart was already engaged to Mr Stenton, a distant relation of her own; but, as his circumstances were not sufficiently prosperous to enable them to marry, she had concealed their love from all but Mrs H----.

"The death of her uncle, and my arrival in London, altered her views. She rebelled against her aunt's authority, and refused to see the clergyman as a lover. This threw the old lady into a paroxysm of rage. Poor Catherine was locked up, and, all her repositories being searched, Mr Stenton's letters were found. They were immediately sealed up, and a letter written to Mr Wilton, her brother, of the most alarming kind for the safety of his now wealthy niece, representing that she meant to throw herself and fortune away upon some peasant in the neighbourhood. He had posted, on receipt of the packet, to his sister, when his fears were further excited by the old lady's conjectures. Catherine was unconscious of what had passed, until she was summoned to the presence of her uncle, whom she had seldom before seen. He is a good-hearted, but a positive, irascible man. No explanation was asked. When all appeared so plain against the trembling girl, she was, by her uncle and aunt, hurried into a post-chaise, and was on her way to Mr Wilton's. She had contrived to write to me during the short time she was allowed to prepare for the journey, but had no opportunity until, struck by your manners, she resolved to shorten her confinement by trusting you, as her uncle's anger was so great that he had scarce spoken to her since they entered the chaise, but to threaten and abuse her. When I arrived, an explanation and reconciliation had taken place, and the marriage will follow in a few weeks. It only remains for you to consider in what manner we can serve you."

I returned him my thanks for their kind intentions; and said the young lady's purse, which I would not affront them by offering to return, was much more than sufficient reward for all I had done; and, begging I might not detain him longer from his friends, I bade him adieu, promising to call in a day or two.

CHARLES LAWSON.

"Tak a faither's advice, Betty, my woman," said Andrew Weir to his only daughter--"tak a faither's advice, and avoid gaun blindfolded to your ruin. Ye are sune aneugh to marry these seven years yet. Marry! preserve us! for I dinna ken what the generation is turning to, but I'll declare bits o' lasses now-a-days haena the dolls weel oot o' their arms, till they tak a guidman by the hand. But aboon everything earthly, I wad impress it upon ye, bairn, that ye canna be owre carefu o' your company; mind that a character is a' a woman has to carry her through the warld, and ye should guard it like the apple o' your e'e; and remember, that folk are aye judged o' frae the company they keep. Now, how often maun I warn ye no to be seen wi' Charles Lawson? He's a clever lad, nae doubt--naebody denies that; but, oh, Betty, Betty, woman! wad ye only reflect that a' gifts are no graces; and I am far mistaen if he hasna a serpent's heart as weel as his tongue. He has naething o' the fear o' God before his een--ye canna deny that. In ae word, he is a wild, thoughtless ne'er-do-weel; and I charge ye--I command ye--Betty, that ye ne'er speak to him again in your born days; or, if ye do, ye surely will hae but little satisfaction to break your faither's heart, and bring him to the grave wi' sorrow and wi' shame--for that, Betty, that wad be the end o't."

Elizabeth heard him, and bent her head upon her bosom to conceal her confusion. The parental homily was too late--she was already the wife of Charles Lawson.

Having thus begun our story in the middle, it is necessary that we go back, and inform the reader, in a few words, that Andrew Weir was a respectable farmer on the north side of the Tweed, and withal a decent and devout Presbyterian, and an elder in the kirk. Charles Lawson's parents were originally from Northumberland. They had known better days, and, at the period we have alluded to, were struggling with a hard farm in the neighbourhood of Andrew Weir's. Charles was not exactly what his father-in-law had described him; and, were we to express his portrait in a line, we should say, he had blue eyes and a broad brow, a goodly form and open heart. The ringlets which parted on Elizabeth's forehead were like the raven's wing, and loveliness, if not beauty, nestled around the dimples on her cheeks. Their affection for each other began in childhood, and grew with their years, till it became strong as their existence.

A few weeks after Andrew Weir had delivered the advice we have quoted to his daughter, Charles Lawson bade farewell to his parents, his wife, and his country, and proceeded to India, where a relative of his mother's had amassed a fortune, and who, while he refused to assist them in their distress, had promised to make provision for their son. As we are not writing a novel in three volumes, we shall not describe the scene of their parting, and tell with what agony, with what tears, and with what bitter words, Charles tore himself from his father, his mother, and his yet unacknowledged wife. The imagination of the reader may supply the blank. Hope urged him to go--necessity compelled him.

After his departure, Elizabeth drooped like an early lily beneath the influence of a returning frost. There were whisperings among the matrons and maidens of the neigbouring village. They who had formerly courted her society began to shun it; and even the rude clown, who lately stood abashed in her presence, approached her with indecent familiarity. The fatal whisper first reached Andrew's ear at a meeting of the kirk-session, of which he was a member. He returned home troubled in spirit, a miserable and a humbled man, for his daughter had been his pride. Poor Elizabeth confessed that she was married, and attempted to prove what she affirmed. But this afforded no palliation of her offence in the eyes of her rigid and offended father.

"Oh, what hae I been born to suffer ?" cried he, stamping his feet upon the ground. "O, you Witch o' Endor!--you Jezebel!--you disgrace o' kith and kin! Could naething--naething serve ye but breaking your puir auld faither's heart? Get out o' my sicht!--get out o' my sicht!"

He remained silent for a few moments--the parent arose in his heart--tears gathered in his eyes.

"But ye are still my bairn," he continued. "Oh, Betty, Betty, woman! what hae ye brocht us to?"

Again he was silent, and again proceeded--

"But I forgie ye, Betty! Yes, if naebody else will, your faither will forgie ye for your mother's sake, for ye are a' that I hae left o' her. But we canna haud up our heads again in this pairt o' the country--that's impossible. I've lang thocht o' gaun to America; and now I'm driven till't."

He parted with his farm, and in the ensuing spring proceeded with his daughter to Canada. We shall not enter upon his fortunes in the New World--he was still broken in spirit; and, after twelve years' residence, he was neither richer nor happier than when he left Scotland. Elizabeth was now a mother, and the smiles of her young son seemed to shorten the years of her exile; yet, ever as she returned his smile, the thought of the husband of her youth flashed back on her remembrance, and anguish and misery shot through her bosom as the eagle darteth on its prey. Her heart was not broken; but it fell like a proud citadel, burying the determined garrison.

Charles Lawson had not been in India many months, when a party of native troops attacking the property of his relative, Charles, who had fallen wounded amongst them, was carried by them in their retreat into the interior of the country, where, for several years, he was cut off from all intercourse or communication with his countrymen. On obtaining his liberty, he found that his kinsman had been for some time dead, and had left him his heir. His wife--his parents--doubt--anxiety--impatient affection--trembling hope--all hastened his return. At length the white cliffs of Albion appeared before him, like a fair cloud spread on the unruffled bosom of the ocean; and in a few days more the green hills of his childhood met his anxious eye.

It was the grey hour of a summer night as he again approached the roof that sheltered his childhood. His horse as if conscious of supporting an almost unconscious rider, stopped involuntarily at the threshold. He trembled upon the saddle as a leaf that rustles in the wind. He raised his hand to knock at the door, but again withdrew it. The inmates of the house, aroused by the sound of a horse stopping at the door, came out to inquire the cause. Charles gazed upon them for a moment--it was a look of agony and disappointment--his heart gave one convulsive throb, and the icy sweat burst from his temples.

"Does not--does not Mr Lawson live here?" he inquired, almost gasping for words to convey the question.

"Mr Lawson! Na, na, sir," replied the senior of the group, "it's lang since he gaed awa. Ye ken he gaed a' wrang, puir man, and he's no lived here since the hard winter, for they didna come upon this parish."

"Did not come upon this parish!" exclaimed Charles; "heaven and earth! what do you mean?"

"Mean! what wad I mean," answered the other, "but just that they were removed to their ain parish! Is there ony disgrace in that?"

"Oh, my father!--my poor mother!" cried Charles, wildly.

"Mercy, sir!" rejoined the astonished farmer, "are ye Maister Charles? Bairns! haste ye, tak the horse to the stable. Losh, Charles, man, and how hae ye been? But ye dinna ken me, man; I'm your auld schulefellow, Bob Graham, and this is my wife, Mysie Allan--ye mind o' Mysie! Haste ye, Mysie lass, kill twa ducks, and the bairns and me will hool the peas. Really, Charles, man, I'm sae glad to see ye!"

During this harangue, Charles, led by his warmhearted friend, had entered the dwelling of his nativity; where Mr Graham again continued--

"Ye aiblins dinna ken that auld Andrew Weir was sae sair in the dorts when ye gaed awa, that he set aff wi' Betty for America. But I hear they are comin hame again this back end. The bairn will be a stout callant noo, and faith ye maun marry Betty, for she was a mensefu lass."

Charles could only reply by exclaiming--

"America!--my wife!--my child!"

Having ascertained where he would find his parents, early on the following morning he departed, and about five in the afternoon approached the village where he had been told they resided. When near the little burying-ground, he stopped to look upon the most melancholy funeral procession he had ever witnessed. The humble coffin was scarce coloured, and they who bore it seemed tired of their burden. Three or four aged and poor-looking people walked behind it. Scarce was it lowered into the grave, ere all departed save one, meanly clothed in widow's weeds, and bent rather with the load of grief than of years. She alone lingered, weeping over the hastily-covered grave.

"She seems poor," said Charles, "and if I cannot comfort her, I may at least relieve her necessities;" and, fastening his horse to the gate, he entered the churchyard.

She held an old handkerchief before her face, only removing it at intervals to steal a hurried glance at the new-made grave.

"Good woman," said Charles, as he approached her, "your sorrows demand my sympathy--could I assist you?"

"No! no!" replied the poor widow, without raising her face; "but I thank you for your kindness. Can the grave give up its dead?"

"But why should you remain here?" said he, with emotion; "tell me, could not I assist you?" And he placed a piece of money in her hand.

"No! no!" cried the widow, bitterly, and raising her head; "oh, that Mary Lawson should have lived to be offered charity on her husband's grave!"

"My mother! Gracious heaven, my mother!" exclaimed Charles, casting his arms around her neck.