Chapter I: Canna Be Fashed! (1)

OR, WILLIE GRANT'S CONFESSIONS.

"Here's a bonny day, sir," said old Willie Grant, "and the Whitadder's in excellent trim--will ye get your gad and your creel, and we'll awa see what sort o' sport there is. If I'm no mistaen, the trouts will rise as fast as ye throw the line to-day."

"Oh, I canna be fashed," said the individual to whom he spoke.

"What's that I hear ye say?" added Willie, seriously. "Ye canna be fashed! can ye no? Do ye think ye could be fashed to read the 'Cottagers o' Glenburnie?' Ye would there see the meaning and the effects o' 'I canna be fashed' illustrated. But if ye can be fashed to hear, I'll gie ye an example in my ain case; and, I assure ye, that those four words, 'I--canna--be--fashed' (he spoke them very slowly, laying emphasis on each)--I say, sir, those four words hae cost me a thousand pounds twice told. I got them for naething; but, certes, they proved a dear bargain in the long run. They hae made me acquainted wi' a sair skin, a sair heart, and an empty pocket. I hae nae remembrance wha learned me the words, nor am I altogether certain but that they are words that just spring out o' the laziness and indolence o' our dispositions, like weeds out o' a neglected soil. But weel do I remember the first time when I was made to hae a feeling remembrance o' having used them. My faither was a bit sma' laird in East Lothian--no very far frae Dunglass--and the property consisted o' between thirty and forty acres, so that he managed to bring up a family o' five o' us very comfortably, and rather respectably--and the more especially as my mother was a very thrifty woman. I was the third o' the family; and, as I was gaun to say to ye, there was ae day that we were a' gilravishing about the floor, and wheeling ane anither in a little wheelbarrow that my faither had got a cartwright in Dunbar to mak for us (for he was a man that liked to see his bairns happy), when, says he to me--

"Willie, tie yer whings,[5] and dinna let yer shoon be shaughlin aff yer feet in that gate, or ye maun gang barefoot. Folk shouldna hae shoon that dinna ken hoo to wear them."

[Footnote 5: Shoe-ties.]

"I canna be fashed, faither," said I, and continued running after the wheelbarrow; but, before ever I wist, and before I thought that I had done ill, he gied me a cuff i' the haffits that made me birl half donnert by the cheek o' the lum.[6]

[Footnote 6: Chimney.]

"Ay, man!" says he, "what's that I hear ye say--'_ye canna be fashed_!' Let me hear the words come out o' your lips again if ye daur, and I'll knock the life out o' ye."

That was the first time that I particularly remember o' having made use o' the phrase, and I am only sorry that the clout which my faither gied me didna drive it out o' my head frae that day henceforth, and for ever; though, truly, it had nae such effect, as ye shall hear, and as I experienced to my sorrow. I sat down whinging till my faither gaed out o' the house, and, as soon as his back was turned, I dried my een, and began to drive about the barrow again wi' my brothers and sisters; but I hadna ran aboon ten minutes, till my mother, wha was tired wi' the noise we were making, cried--

"Willie, laddie, gie me aff your stockings instantly. Preserve us! the callant has holes in their heels ye micht put yer nieve through!--There's what ye've dune wi' your running about without yer whings tied."

"Hoot, mother," cried I, "I canna be fashed--darn them again' nicht."

"I'll '_canna be fashed_' ye--ye lazy monkey, ye. Did your faither no gie ye aneugh for that no ten minutes syne, and ye'll tell me ony siccan a story!"

She grippit me by the neck, and for my faither's ae clout she gied me ten, at every cuff saying, "I'll _canna be fashed_ ye!" And at last she threw aff my shoon, and pulled the stockings aff my legs, and pushed me awa frae her wi' a great drive, crying, "Now, only let me hear ye making use o' thae words again, and ye'll maybe see what I can be fashed to do."

"Oh dear me!" thought I, "what ill have I done?" And I sat down, and I grat and I roared most heartily, and I kicked my bare feet upon the floor.

"Kick awa there, my man," said my mother--for she was a woman that never got into what ye could call a passion in her family, as I have seen some mothers do--"kick awa there," says she; "and if ye drive a hole in the heels o' the stockings you've on now, ye'll darn them yoursel."

But this, sir, was only the first thrashing that I got for "I canna be fashed"--it wasna the last, by a score o' times. My faither was a man that never liked to lay out a shilling where it could be saved; and he always grudged to employ other people to do anything when he thought it could be done within his own house--that is, by the members o' his own family--therefore, about the back end o' spring, or the fore end o' summer, he would have said to us--

"Now, bairns, haud awa to your beds, and before school-time the morn, gang and howe the potatoes, or weed the corn."

I never durst say onything then, but slipped awa to bed very unwillingly--just feeling as if I felt it a trouble to put aff my claes. But before sunrise in the morning, when my brothers would have wakened me, I used to rub my een, and gaunt, and say--

"What!--what!--hoots!--I canna be fashed!"

And my father, frae the ben-a-house, would have cried out, wi' a voice that made the very nails on my fingers shake, "What's that he's saying?--I'll _be fashed_ him!"

Then up I would have got, shrugging my shoulders, and wriggling them frae side to side, and cried peevishly to one, "Where's my stockings?" and to another, "Where's my jacket?"

Then my faither would have cried out again, "_I'll seek_ it for ye!" Then I soon found it, and got out o' the house wi' the rest o' them.

It was precisely the same thing when my brothers used to shake me in a morning, and say--

"Get up, Willie--ye haena your task yet."

I had invariably the same answer for them on such occasions also. I appeared as if naething could drive it out o' me. I have heard auld wives say, if ye were taking infants to ony part o' the globe ye like, and keeping them where they never would hear a human voice, nor speech o' one kind nor anither, that they would speak Hebrew! Now, I verily believe that, if ye had done the same by me--if ye had taken me, when a week auld, into the deserts o' Arawbia, wi' naething but dummies round about me, and not a living soul nor a living thing endowed wi' the power o' speech allowed to see me or come near me--I say, that I verily believe the first words I would have spoken would have been, "_I canna be fashed_!" in guid braid Scotch. The words literally seemed born wi' me. And, as I was telling ye about getting up to learn my tasks in the morning, many, many is the time, in the cauldest day o' winter, that my favourite phrase has caused the tawse to warm my hands, when the fingers o' a' the rest o' the scholars were dinnlin wi' cauld, and they were holding them at their mouths, and blowing their hot breath on them to take out the frost. My faither should have paid no coal-money for me. And more than this, the four insignificant and carelessly-uttered words which I allude to, while I was at school, always kept me near the bottom o' the class; or, if I rose one or two towards the top, it was purely on account o' others having been awa from the school for a day, or half-a-day, and having to take the foot o' the class, on account o' their absence, as a matter o' course. Often and often I could have tripped their heels, and taken my place aboon them--and the teacher kenned it as weel, and many a weary time has he said to me, "Oh, ye stupid stirk! why do ye stand there? why didna ye trap him?"

And once, in particular, I remember I answered him, "I couldna be fashed, sir!"

"Fashed!" he cried, in a perfect fury, and he raised the tawse to his teeth--"fashed, sirrah!" he cried again; "then I'll learn ye to be fashed!"

But o' a' the belabourings I ever got frae either faither or mother, for the same cause, they were naething to the schoolmaster's. It's a miracle to me that there was a tail left on his tawse; for he loundered me round the school and round the school; and, aye as he loundered, he ground his teeth together, and he cried, "Heard ever onybody the like o' that! Canna be fashed, truly!--I'll fash ye, my man!--I'll learn ye to gie me an answer o' that kind again!"

But a' the thrashings that faither, and mother, and master could thrash at me, on every occasion the confounded words were aye uppermost--they were perpetually at my tongue end. I was just an easy, indolent being--one that seemed disposed to steal through the world wi' my hands in pocket, as smoothly as possible. When I grew to be a lad, I daresay those that kenned me best were surprised that I could be fashed to gang a-courting, like other youngsters. But even then, when others would brush themselves up, and put on their half-best coat, and the like o' that, in order that they might look as smart as possible, I have thought to mysel, I wonder if I should shave and wash my face, and gie mysel a redd-up before I gang to see _her_ the nicht; but perpetually I used to say to mysel--"Ou, I carena; I canna be fashed--I'll do very weel as I am." And there wasna less than three or four young lasses that I had a particular liking for--and each o' them, I daresay, would made an excellent wife, and I could been very happy wi' ony o' them--but they all broke off acquaintance wi' me, "just," as they said to their friends, "because I was o' such a slovenly disposition, that I couldna even be fashed to mak mysel purpose-like when I gaed to see a body."

The like o' this was very galling to me; but it hadna the effect o' making a better o' me. I couldna be fashed to be ony better, let come what might. "Losh-a-day," thought I, "I wonder what folk would hae me to be at, or how they can gie themsels sae meikle trouble, and be sae particular?"

But, beyond all others, there was one young woman that I had an affection for in a very extraordinary degree. She was as dear to me as the apple o' my ee; and I am sure she could hae done onything wi' me--save to break me o' my habit o' saying "I canna be fashed." That was beyond her power. It was my fixed intention to marry her; and, indeed, not only was the wedding-day set, but her wedding-gown and my coat were made, and the ring was bought, and she had spoken to her bridesmaid; and, besides buying a' sort o' things hersel, she had got her mother to have her providing packed up, and everything was in readiness just to be lifted to our new house--that is, the house we were to occupy. Now, when all this had taken place, there was one bonny starlight nicht that we were walking together, just as happy as twa wood-pigeons, and talking owre the settlements o' every thing, that she said to me--

"What did the joiner say last nicht, Willie?--will he be sure no to disappoint us wi' the furniture?--for I would like everything richt at the very first."

"Eh! weel-minded, my dear," says I; "I really forgot to gang and see him, for I was sae tired when I got hame last nicht, that--I couldna be fashed."

"That was silly o' ye, man," said she; "it was very thoughtless. But I hope ye didna forget to gie in the marriage lines to the minister?" (The session-clerk was ill at the time.)

"Save us a', hinny!" said I, "weel, I am sure that dings everything! But, as sure as death! as I told ye, I was sae tired, that I never minded a word about it till bed-time, when I had my waistcoat unbuttoned and my shoon off, and I couldna be fashed to put them on again, and, at ony rate, it was owre late."

"Very weel, Willie," says she, and apparently a good deal hurt, "I wouldna thought it o' ye--but no matter."

"No, love," said I, "it's no great matter, sure enough; for this is only Saturday nicht, and I'll just call in at the manse in the by-going, as I gang hame, and tell the minister a' about it. The thing can be done in a minute."

"Indeed, no," said she, "though I should never be cried,[7] ye are to go no such way. This is Saturday nicht--the morn is the Sabbath, and the minister will be at his studies, and ye are not to disturb him upon my account."

[Footnote 7: Cried--Publication of banns.]

"Very well, love," said I, "we'll just have to put off a week, then."

"Maybe sae," said she. But I thought there was something unco dry in her manner o' saying "maybe sae." However, as I couldna be fashed to call upon the minister that nicht, I took nae mair notice o' the subject.

I could hardly get a word out o' her after this, for above an hour that I remained in her company. However, she rather came to a little (for she was a kind-hearted lassie), when we were about to part; and we promised faithfully to meet one another at the usual trysting-place, on the Wednesday nicht following, at eight o'clock, within a minute; and I was to have everything arranged wi' the minister and the joiner in the meantime.

On the Sunday morning, the minister passed me between the manse and the kirk, and, says he, quite familiarly--for he was a man that had nae stiffness about him--

"Willie, I thought you was to have been cried to-day."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said I; "but it was all my neglect; for I couldna be fashed until last nicht, and then I thought ye would be at your studies, and it was owre late to trouble ye."

"You were very considerate," said he, wi' a smile; "but I'll save you the trouble next week."

"I'll be obliged to ye, sir," said I, taking off my hat.

In going home, I overtook the joiner--no, I'm wrong, the joiner overtook me--and, after he had observed that it was a fine day, and I had said it was, and he had asked me what I thought o' the sermon, and so on, I said to him--"Now, I expect that ye'll no disappoint me wi' the furniture."

"Ye needna be feared o' that, Mr Grant," said he; "ye ken ye proposed that it was to be a ready-money transaction. It's no every day that we meet wi' jobs o' that kind, and ye may tak my word on't, I'll no disappoint ye--both for your sake and mine."

"Weel," thought I, "that's twa things aff my head--Isabella will surely be pleased now (for they ca'd her Isabella). I've been fortunate in meeting wi' them baith--in killing twa birds wi' ae stane."

But the appointed Wednesday nicht came, and perfectly do I recollect, that a dark, dirty, gousty nicht it was. I had full three miles to go to see her, and about seven o'clock I pulled out my watch, and I went to the door. A sma' drizzling rain came battering on my face. I looked a' round about the heavens, and saw that there was nae appearance o' the nicht's clearing up, and, thinks I--"Weel, she'll ne'er think o' coming to meet me the nicht. She'll no be sae daft. It's o' nae use o' me gaun, and--I canna be fashed."

So I went into the house again, and sat down quite contented; and a nicht or twa after, the weather having settled, I went to see her at her faither's. The auld folk received me, as usual, very kindly; and the auld man got a seat for me next the fire, and inquired if there were any news--while his guidwife asked me if I wadna hae my stockings changed, as the roads were very wet, and my feet might be damp--and I thanked her, and said "No." But there sat _my intended_, plaiting at a cap-border, or frill, or something o' that sort, as stiff and as silent as a stucco image, never letting on that she either saw or heard me. I spoke to her twice or thrice, and she gied a sort o' low, half cough, half _hem!_ but not a syllable did I get out o' her. Never did she look to the side o' the house I was on. Her head seemed to be fixed in a blacksmith's vice in an opposite direction, and dear kens what sort o' cap or frill it was she keepit plait, plait, plaiting at; but her task was never like to come to an end, and she keepit pingle, pingling, and nip, nipping at it wi' a knife, until my patience was fairly worn out. In my opinion her fingers had discovered the perpetual motion; and when I had sat until vexation and anxiety were like to choke me, I felt a sort o' ha!--ha!--haing! in my throat, as though I could hae burst out into a fit o' passion, or greeting, or I dinna ken what--and wi' a great struggle I got up, and I managed to say--

"Will ye speak at the door, Isabella dear?"

"_I canna be fashed!_" said she.

O sir! sir! had ye experienced what I felt at that moment. The lounderings o' my faither, my mother, and my dominie, and the slights o' former sweethearts, were a mere naething to what her answer caused me to endure. I expected naething but that I would drop down upon the floor.

"Oh, ye foolish lassie, ye!" said her mother, who was sorry for me, "what do ye mean?"

"Get up!" said her faither.

"I canna be fashed!" said she again, more cuttingly than before, and half turned her een upon me, as she said it, in a manner that gaed through my breast as if ye had drawn a sharp knife across it.

Weel, sir, our names were ca'ed on the Sunday following; and between the first day o' their being published, and the day on which the marriage was to take place, I was three or four times back and forward at her faither's--but I got nae mair out o' her. I almost thought that I ought to stop the banns; but I thought, again, that that would be very unco like, and very contrary to what I wished; so I allowed them to go on, Sunday after Sunday.

I never imagined but that she was just in the pet at me having broken my tryst, and that, like everybody that was in the pet, she would come out o't when she found it necessary, and the sooner frae being left to hersel. But, on the very day we had fixed for the wedding, and when the best-man and I went to her faither's house, expecting to find her and the best-maid, and the whole o' them, in readiness to go before the minister--to my unutterable astonishment and dismay, there was she, sitting in her morning gown, as unconcerned as a judge, just as if naething had been to happen.

"Mercy me! Isabella!" says I, "are ye no ready?--where's the women?"

"Ready!" returned she--"what for?--what do ye mean?--what women?"

Oh! guid gracious! I'll never forget the sensation that I felt at that moment. I'm surprised that I didna drop dead on the floor. "Isabella," said I, "are ye no perfectly aware that this is our wedding-day, and that we were to be at the manse at twelve o'clock precisely?"

"Ay!" said she, "had ye keepit your tryst at such a time, and at such a place, nae doubt this would have been the day; but ye couldna be fashed to keep it then--and I canna be fashed now."

"Oh, confound it!" cried I; "Isabella, do ye want to drive me mad?"

"I dinna think there's ony danger o' that," replied she.

Vexation and surprise put me fairly beyont mysel--I was taken in a moment.

"Weel!" exclaimed I, "ye'll rue it, Isabella! ye'll rue it--there shall nae woman mak a fool o' me!"

"Nor man o' me," said she.

"Be it sae," said I; "yet, guidness me! you're no in earnest?"

"Earnest!" said she; "I tell you I canna be fashed."

At the sound o' the terrible words, I banged out o' the house. I never stopped till I came to Dunbar, and there, at the very moment I arrived, I took the coach for Edinburgh; and there I stopped but two days till I set off for London, for my heart was in such a terrible state o' perturbation, that I could have gone to the world's end, ay, and round it, and round it again, if I had had the means, in order that I might have found rest.

It seems that poor Isabella thought that I would come back--and the best-man persuaded her that I would--and she went to dress hersel, and sent for the best-maid. But little did she understand the character she had to deal wi'. I was either a' laziness, or a' desperation. I knew no medium; and I have no doubt that, before she got her hair dressed, and her gown fairly on, I was half-way to Edinburgh--for I flew to Dunbar as though furies had pursued me.

But, sir, the upshot was, that Isabella died a spinster, and I am a bachelor until this day, and will be, until the last day o' my existence; and thus did the four never-aneugh-to-be-detested words--"I canna be fashed"--place eternity, yea, an infinite chasm, between me and the only woman for whose sake I could have laid down my life, as cheaply as though it hadna been worth a sixpence.

Ye may think that the few instances I have related to ye, and their consequences, would have been aneugh to have cured me o' ever making use o' the words again--but ye shall see.

Now, you'll observe that, before the time I'm speaking o', my faither and mother were both dead, as well as two o' their family, so that there were but three o' us left, and we sold the property, and divided the money amongst us in equal shares. Therefore, when I got to London, I was not altogether bare-handed. Now, to my shame, I must confess that I had not been long there, till the remembrance o' Isabella, and the cause that had provoked me to come to desert her, were almost forgotten; for ye must remember that absence makes many changes--and there is many a bonny face in London. So, after I had looked about me for a week or two, I thought to mysel that I saw nobody doing better than the keepers o' wine and spirit vaults. It seemed a' ready-money; it was just nipper after nipper--that is, glass after glass, owre the counter--the money down, and done wi' it. I resolved to become a wine-vault keeper, and I looked around to see where such premises were to let. At length I pitched upon a shop that I thought would suit me exactly, on the north side of Clerkenwell Street, and nearly facing Jerusalem Passage.

There were a very great number o' compositors and pressmen, and bookbinders and gold-beaters, and other trades, in the immediate neighbourhood; and I understood that they were in the habit o' making the vaults which I was about to take their pay-house and house-o'-call. So I took the house, and entered upon the business, and, in a very short time, I thought very little about Isabella, or the grief she had caused me. I hadna long opened the house until the compositors and the pressmen, the bookbinders, gold-beaters, and others, a' came back to it. They were weel-spoken, civil lads. They spent a deal o' money, and I certainly tried to be as civil and obliging to them as I could; and, in short, they called me "a fine chap," and "the best Scotsman out of all _sorts_ they had ever met with."

Weel, in a week or two, some o' them began to get on to my slates--not by name, for I didna like to ask it; it was impudent; and, thought I, oh, it might spoil their custom at ony rate; and I canna be fashed; it would be an awfu trouble writing names upon a slate, especially the names o' so many. But I knew them a' by head-mark, and I thought there was no need for it.

However, one got into my books, and another got into my books; but, no, I am wrong there again, for they only got on to the slates--I couldna be fashed to carry them into the books; I thought there was nae need for it; they generally paid upon the Saturday nicht, and there was nae fear o' me forgettin.

But, in a short time, there never was a Saturday nicht but there was always some o' my debtor customers amissing; and when I inquired for any o' them, the reply was--

"Oh, you're one of his ghosts, are you? well, I wish you may get it--he's _got the bag_.[8]"

[Footnote 8: Got the bag--_i. e._, paid off, or discharged.]

"So, so," I would say; "and he is off with his finger in my bag too."

Well, in this way I lost more money than I can tell. But I lost it in another way also, and from the same cause. You know that in London every public-house has a porter-walk, or a beer-walk, as they call it, the same as the rounds of a milk-woman here, and they go round twice a-day, at dinner-time and supper-time. Well, to my surprise, in a few months I got the best beer-walk in all London. I couldna think how it was. I was almost rivalling the Alderney dairy which was at my very hand, for I had to engage two pot-boys to carry out my supply. But I gave credit; I trusted to the lads to keep an account of what they took out, and they trusted to me. I said "I couldna be fashed wi' the like o' that;" but they said they gave me the names and number o' the individuals with whom they had intrusted both porter and pewter-pots; and if I did not mark it down and see after it, it was my look-out, and not theirs. In this way, I believe, I lost five butts o' porter within twelve months. Yet, sir, these were not the only griefs and the only losses that the four words which are the subject of my story have brought upon me. Not only did I frequently neglect to insert in my own books what I had sent out on credit, but I as frequently delayed to mark down what had been sent to me by the brewer or distiller, and said, "Hoot, I haena time--I canna be fashed to enter it to-day, I will do it the morn, or the next day." But the next day and the next came, and I could be less fashed than ever, and the entry remained untouched. Many a heavy loss I am sensible this has caused me; and often has it made me appear as a rogue, when my intentions were honest.

Sir, what I have told ye is but a sample o' what "_I canna be fashed_" has cost me. I could relate to you a thousand o' its consequences; but half-a-dozen are as good, and perhaps better than a thousand, by way o' example.

I had been about fifteen years in business, when I became bond, for a friend that I thought I could have trusted as my own brother, to the extent o' three thousand pounds. I was certain he was perfectly solvent, and from the acquaintance I had had o' him, I could nae mair hae doubted him than I could hae doubted that I was the son o' my mother. But a few weeks after I had signed the bond, a mutual acquaintance called upon me, and, says he--

"Grant, you have acted like a fool."

"I dinna doubt," says I, for I was perfectly aware that I often had; "but what do ye mean to be at?"

"Why," says he, "So-and-so has taken you in. He is preparing to be off, bag and baggage, for America, and you will be left to pay the piper."

"Oh, ye are a suspicious wretch," says I; "man, I couldna believe the like o' that if ye were to swear it to me."

"Believe it or not," says he, "if you don't see after it instantly, your three thousand pounds are gone."

"Hoot! babbles!" said I, "the man's daft!--do ye think I dinna ken him better than that? The man is as sure as the bank. I would be the last man he would injure a farthing--I ken that weel aneugh. But, at ony rate, I am particularly busy, and I canna be fashed wi' ony nonsense o' the kind; so ye may keep yoursel easy, and I am only sorry that ye should hae such an opinion o' ony friend o' mine."

"Canna be fashed!" cried my acquaintance, hurrying from the shop; "what a deuced fool! Grant, you'll repent it."

I laughed at the man; for I had perfect confidence in my friend, and I knew that he had property worth three times the money that I was bond for him.

On the very next day, the same acquaintance came into my house very hastily, and says he--

"Grant, if you don't look after your money, and that very sharply, you will find your friend's property is no go, and you are in for paying the three thousand."

"Ye dinna mean to say the like o' that?" said I.

"Say that, you blockhead!" returned my acquaintance--"wherefore wouldn't you believe me yesterday?" And placing his arm through mine, he dragged me out o' the house. We reached the habitation o' the worthy gentleman for whom I was surety in the sum o' three thousand precious pounds sterling. But he was off--off like a bird whose nest has been robbed o' its eggs. Twelve hours before, he had sailed for America, or some other quarter o' the globe; but where I never knew.

"Come home, Grant," said my friend, "don't distress yourself now."

"Oh, dinna speak to me," says I--"I canna be fashed; my three thousand pounds!--my poor three thousand pounds!"

We went into a tavern, and I drank out o' pure desperation until I could hardly stand; and as we were going home I fell, and I dislocated my arm, or I broke it; at ony rate I did something to it, and it never was like to get better; and my friends advised me to send for a surgeon--but----

"What to do wi' a surgeon?" says I; "I canna be fashed wi' them. The arm will get better itsel."

But from that day until the present hour, I have never had the right use o' it. It made me useless, in a great measure, in the way o' business. Therefore I sold the goodwill o' my house, and wi' the other little remains o' what I had saved, I came down here, just to live as easy and as cheap as possible. And now, sir, as ye have seen what a _great gainer_ I have been by the words "_I canna be fashed_," I hope and implore ye will never use them again, but take a warning by the example o' Willie Grant.

TALES OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE.

THE CASTLE OF CRAIL; OR, KING DAVID AND MAUDE.

"Ev'n kings hae taen a queen out o' the plain,
And what has been before may be again."--ALLAN RAMSAY.

The reign of the illustrious Malcolm III., surnamed Canmore, King of Scotland, which began in the year 1057, was not more distinguished for heroism and literature than for love. He was both a religious and a valiant king, and was often victorious against the Danes, who frequently invaded Scotland. In his time, William, Duke of Normandy, conquered England, and in the great battle of Hastings, which took place in 1066, killed King Harold. Edgar, the lawful heir to the English crown, seeing the country conquered, and the nobles routed and dispersed, took shipping with his mother and sisters, and arrived in the Frith of Forth, and landed at Queensferry, which received its name from Margaret, the eldest sister of Edgar, whom King Malcolm afterwards married. King Malcolm was killed at the siege of Alnwick by Robert Moubray, who, unarmed, upon a light horse, came out of Alnwick Castle, with a lance in his hand, and bearing the keys of the castle upon its point.

King Malcolm, while earnestly regarding the keys, was stabbed by Moubray through the left eye to the brain, and died instantly. King William the Conqueror, in consequence of this achievement, changed the name of Moubray to that of Percy, of whom are descended the Dukes of Northumberland.

After sundry usurpations, Edgar and Alexander, the first and second sons of King Malcolm, severally reigned for a number of years, and died childless; and in 1124, David I., the hero of our tale, ascended the throne. He possessed a large share of his father's virtues, and during his reign cultivated those arts and sciences which Malcolm had encouraged. His heart was particularly susceptible of the tender passion, and of the power of beauty. It is a well-established historical fact, that King David occasionally resided at the Castle of Crail, which stood on a rock overhanging the harbour, and vestiges of this royal residence still remain. A summer-house now stands on the site, surrounded by a large garden; and the place is sometimes occupied by the owner, a landed gentleman in the neighbourhood, and his friends, for the purposes of good fellowship and social intercourse.

While residing at the Castle of Crail, the king and his younger nobles resolved on partaking of the wild sports of the neighbourhood; and with this view they proceeded one day, well mounted, and attended by the hounds, to Kingsbarns, a fine tract of land belonging to the crown, where the grain was stored in barns for payment of the king's rents; and from thence they passed on to an extensive and thickly-wooded district--in fact, a large forest, which now constitutes a considerable portion of the Parish of St Andrews and surrounding parishes. The ancient name of this district was _Cursus Apri_, or, the Boar-Chase, and hence is derived the present name of the village contiguous, "Boar-hills."

Having started a wild boar out of this forest, it took a westerly course towards Kingsmuir (which, as its name implies, also belonged to the crown), and the party set off in hot pursuit. This muir, now highly cultivated, was, at the time to which we refer, a waste or common of little value, and on which many of the neighbouring proprietors, in consequence, claimed a servitude right of pasturage; but it was under an officer of the crown, styled "Heritable Keeper of the Kingsmuir." Here, then, while engaged in the exciting sport of the chase of the boar (which, in the end, was killed at Kingscairn Mill), a deer, a fox, and a wild cat also broke cover, and the attention of the hunters and hounds being thus divided, the party separated, and the king found himself alone upon the muir.

David was in the prime of life--a very handsome man, and of princely bearing, and, while thus unattended and unknown, he met with a lovely young shepherdess in a lonely part of the muir, tending her father's sheep. The name of the young woman, he found, was Maude, or Matilda, and, having inquired of her where she abode, he departed, resolving to cultivate the acquaintance he had thus accidentally formed. He frequently visited the shepherdess after this (who was entirely ignorant of his rank), in the capacity of a private gentleman, and her conversation was his delight. There was something mysterious to him in her deportment and her accomplishments: she possessed the strictest innocence and the most dignified bearing without the slightest embarrassment. Though plainly attired, "grace was in all her steps," and every action exhibited courtly propriety and ease. Though her observations were chiefly confined to her flocks, and to rural affairs, yet she would occasionally surprise the king with her remarks upon astronomy, history, geography, morals, and agriculture, which bespoke a mind informed far above the common level. Being thus engaging in her mind and manners, it was not to be wondered at that every additional visit increased the love and affection of the astonished king, whose dignity was her torture. His passion grew stronger every day.

The king was captivated with her charms. Honour, however, governed his actions, and subjected his wishes to the control of virtue: he wished to raise her to an exalted situation, not to triumph over her innocence--in short, he wished to make her his royal bride; but this seemed impossible, and he returned dejected to his Castle of Crail. He regretted that high rank should now stand in the way of his happiness, and almost wished he had not been born a king. He consulted the Lord of Douglas, his prime minister, urged the beauty, the virtue, the genius of Matilda, but all in vain; the reply was, that policy and prudence required him to seek a union with some exalted character--an alliance with the daughter of a powerful and wealthy prince; and that, were he to place a shepherdess on the throne, his nobles would be disgusted, and quit his court, and in all probability proceed by open violence to resent the supposed insult to their dignity. The king admitted that what was said was too likely to be the fact, and at the same time reprobated that pride which deemed an alliance with obscure and untitled virtue disgraceful; but he knew the prejudices of his nobility were unconquerable, and he submitted with great reluctance to his fate. His friends--and amongst others the Lairds of Cambo, Anstruther, Grangemuir, and Balcombie, the Provost of Crail, and Prior of St Rufus, the remains of whose chapel may still be seen a little eastward of Crail, near Roome Bay, and whose well (called the Prior's Well) is yet resorted to occasionally by the good people of the Nethergate--those friends, we say, tried in vain to divert the king's thoughts, and alleviate his distress. They informed him of the great antiquity of the burgh--that it was a place of note in the ninth century. They conveyed him on horseback to the Dane's Dyke, the remains of a bulwark of stones thrown up by our Danish invaders in one night, where human bones, in great quantities, are yet cast up by the plough on the farm of Kilmining; and they then passed on to the Cave of Balcombie Sands, where they told him one of his majesty's predecessors, Constantine, the Scottish king, was beheaded by the Danes, in the year 871, he having been taken prisoner in a skirmish, while the enemy were retreating. The party then visited the Castle of Balcombie, a lofty and extensive pile of building, of immense strength and remote antiquity, where, in after years, Mary of Guise was hospitably entertained, on landing, after a tempestuous passage, at Fifeness-haven, in order to be married to King James V. From hence King David proceeded to Airdrie, or Ard-rhi--a name which in the Celtic language denotes "the king's height"--then a favourite royal hunting-station on the borders of Kingsmuir; and, returning to Crail, the Runic Cross was not forgotten.[9]

[Footnote 9: This is a singular monument, and of great antiquity. At the repair of the church of Crail, it was laid down in place of a piece of Arbroath pavement, to form one of the passages, and is thereby already somewhat mutilated, and had it been allowed to continue much longer in that situation, it must have been entirely obliterated; but it is gratifying to state that, while these lines are going to press, a gentleman from the Cape of Good Hope, on a visit to Crail, his native parish, has had the good taste to get the stone removed, and placed in the wall of the church, where it will be now preserved from further dilapidation.]

It were endless to tell of all the devices resorted to by his friends to alleviate the king's melancholy. The greatest beauties of the castle courted his smiles without effect. Their charms seemed but to remind him of the superior fascinations of his beloved Matilda. Nothing seemed to remain to him but the trying task of parting, perhaps for ever, from his captivating shepherdess.

The king often thought of asking Matilda for the story of her life, but dreaded that the narrative would but confirm his misery. Upon one of his visits, he missed her at the accustomed spot, but found a venerable old man attending the sheep in her place. The king anxiously inquired for Matilda, and was informed that she was visiting a family in the neighbourhood.

The family which she had gone to visit lived in an unpretending mansion beautifully situated on a ridge of rising ground, which stretches from east to west, nearly through the middle of what is now the Parish of Carnbee. This ridge rises in different places into hills of a beautiful conical form, and are green and verdant to the summit; these are Carnbee-law, Kellie-law. Gillingshill, and Cunner-law. It was to Gillingshill Matilda had directed her steps, and, occupying as it did an elevated position, the house commanded an extensive and splendid view.[10]

[Footnote 10: Among the objects which the eye now takes in by a short sweep are the noble mansion of Kellie Castle, belonging to the Right Honourable the Earl of Mar and Kellie; Grangemuir, the residence of the Right Honourable Lord William Douglas; Balcaskie, the seat of Sir Ralph Abercrombie Anstruther, Baronet; together with Elie House and village, with its commodious harbour; Kilconquhar House, with its beautiful loch; Balcarras, with its picturesque craig, its ivy-mantled chapel, and its many military, historical, and literary associations; Pitcorthie, with its magnificent mansion; Gibleston, with its fine woods and gardens, and many villas of lesser note.]

The maiden had acquainted her father that she often had a visiter when keeping her flocks in the muir, and, from her description of him, the old man conceived the individual present to be that person, and accordingly invited him to their habitation, which invitation David, throwing aside for awhile his usual courtly ceremony, accepted.

He went on with sorrowing steps, and yet would not have staid behind. The small and unpretending cottage before him damped him at first, but when he thought upon it as the home of his fair enchantress, his spirits were again cheered. He found in the place neatness and rural elegance. He would have been happy to have changed his sceptre for a shepherd's crook, and his noble Castle of Crail for this humble dwelling. He was invited to refresh himself, and Matilda soon joined them; but, although the table was spread with healthful rustic dainties, he could not do justice to the feast. Matilda's charming company and conversation was his regalement. The old man apologised for the homeliness of his fare, supposing _that_ to be the cause of his guest's abstinence, and said, "That once he could have entertained him better, but now he had little more to offer than a hearty welcome."

A knock was heard at the door, and a young farmer having entered who wished to buy some sheep, the old man retired with him with the view of making a bargain.

The young couple being left alone, David moved his chair nearer to that of Matilda, and began to renew his attentions to her; but, however much she was pleased with the courtly air and intellectual conversation of her visiter, she was resolved to act with prudence and circumspection. She therefore took this opportunity of stating to him, in a polite and kindly manner, that, as he had said his visits were paid for the purpose of making _her_ acquaintance, and that while she thanked him for the favourable opinion he had often expressed with regard to her, yet, as he was a stranger, and had never been regularly introduced, she should be obliged to decline his future visits. She further stated, that he must be well aware there can be no safe principle except this, that every man aiming at our acquaintance must be introduced to us by some person we already know, who becomes a guarantee, as it were, for the propriety of his behaviour and the honour of his views; that without this we can never be sure that the individual addressing us is not a designing adventurer, who would think nothing of making our happiness his sport; and that for a young female to admit the addresses of an unknown young man, however fascinating his manners or noble his air, would be to run a great risk of disappointment and unhappiness for life.

The old man now came into the room, and the subject of conversation being changed, King David shortly afterwards took leave of his entertainers, bowing respectfully as he retired.

Matilda's father had been her tutor, and he was well qualified for that office. To aid the development of her infant mind--to pour forth to her, as she grew in years and in reason, all the fruits of his own richly-cultivated intellect, was the solitary consolation of one over whose head was impending the misfortune of incompetence, or deficiency of means for the adequate support of himself and his daughter. Matilda was gifted with a mind which, even if her tutor had not been her father, would have rendered tuition a delight. Her lively imagination, which early unfolded itself; her dangerous but interesting vivacity; the keen delight, the swift enthusiasm with which she drank in knowledge, and then panted for more; her shrewd acuteness, and her innate passion for what was excellent and beautiful, filled her father with rapture, which he repressed, and made him feel conscious how much there was to check, to guide, and to form, as well as to cherish, to admire, and to applaud.

As she grew up, the bright parts of her character shone with increased lustre; but, in spite of the exertions of her instructor, some less admirable qualities had not yet disappeared. She was still too often the dupe of her imagination; and though perfectly inexperienced, her confidence in her theoretical knowledge of human nature was unbounded. She had an idea that she could penetrate the character of individuals at first meeting; and the consequence of this fatal axiom was, that she was always the slave of first impressions, and constantly the victim of prejudice; she was ever thinking individuals better or worse than they really were, and she believed it to be out of the power of any one to deceive her. Constant attendance during many years on a dying beloved mother, and her deep religious feelings, had first broken, and then controlled, a spirit which nature had intended to be arrogant and haughty. Her father she adored; and she seemed to devote to him all that consideration which, with more common characters, is generally distributed among their acquaintances.

We hint at her faults. How shall we describe her virtues? Her unbounded generosity, her dignified simplicity, her graceful frankness, her nobility of thought and feeling, her firmness, her courage, and her truth, her kindness to her inferiors, her constant charity, her devotion to her parents, her sympathy with sorrow, her detestation of oppression, her pure unsullied thoughts, her delicate taste, her deep religion--all these combined would have formed a delightful character, even if unaccompanied with such brilliant talents and such brilliant beauty as she possessed. Nature and art were the graces which had combined to form this girl. She was a jewel set in gold, and worthy of a king.

After the remarks made by Matilda on his last visit, the king resolved to make known to the old man and his daughter his rank and station with as little delay as possible; but, being wishful at the same time to ascertain previously what were the feelings of Matilda towards him as a private individual, irrespective of his kingly crown and dignity, he thought it best to postpone the communication until he should have learned the history of the old shepherd and his family. For this purpose he repaired on an early day to Kingsmuir, and bearing in mind the few words which formerly fell from the old man in reference to his having seen better days--words which had greatly raised the hopes of the king, and fixed his attention on the story of their fortunes--he entreated the sage to relate the same, which he agreed to do, and began as follows:--"I was formerly Earl of Northumberland, and husband of Juditha, grand-daughter of William the Conqueror. Our family were nearly connected with royalty, and my possessions in lands, flocks, and herds, exceedingly extensive and valuable. I lived in becoming splendour. I was beloved by my neighbours, and happy in my family. My estates are situated not far from the borders of Scotland, and were frequently invaded by the Scottish chiefs. For a long time my tenants and servants bravely repelled these attacks, but at length increasing in their numbers, we were overpowered. They spoiled and ravaged all our lands, and drove away our flocks and herds, save a small portion, with which I removed to the East of Fife, to find security and protection. Here have I since lived--suppressed my style and title, and passed myself off as a poor old shepherd, with this my humble but virtuous and affectionate daughter, the comfort and support of my declining years."

The king struggled to conceal the thrilling emotions which he felt at this narration, and asked the old man whether he had applied at court for succour in his distress. His question was answered thus:--"No; my family, consisting of but myself and young Matilda, and my desires being confined to narrow bounds, by the dictates of religion and philosophy, I thought it unjust to ask of this country that support which health and honest industry could procure, and thereby deprive more useful subjects of their just reward." The king admired the generous spirit of the venerable sage; told him he had interest at court; assured him that the king would be glad to see him, and insisted that he and his daughter should hasten thither; which journey, after considerable hesitation, they resolved to undertake.

It is impossible to describe the transports of the young king on this occasion. He came back to the castle, to inform his courtiers that two interesting strangers were shortly to visit them, and he made all due preparations for his expected and welcome guests. The scene was now changed from deep despondency to the most complete joy and felicity.

At the appointed time the old shepherd and his lovely daughter arrived at the good old town and Castle of Crail; and having recovered from their surprise, the king introduced them to the court in their rural habits, without disclosing their rank. As companions of the king, the courtiers were obliged to receive them with civility, but their affected politeness could ill conceal their absolute contempt. The court broke up, and the king again engaged in conversation with the Earl of Northumberland. He requested to know where his daughter derived so much knowledge? To which the earl replied, "From my own poor stock. She was my sole companion. I thought it my interest as well as my duty to teach her every science I knew. She had an apt and comprehensive intellect, and easily received instruction."

In a few days the king again assembled all his courtiers. He had previously advised with the prime minister and privy councillors on the propriety of a marriage with an earl's daughter of royal lineage, and obtained their unqualified consent and approval. He then introduced the old man as the Earl of Northumberland, and the beautiful shepherdess as his daughter Matilda. Shame seized the ungenerous nobility for their former conduct, but the offended parties soon removed their embarrassment; and a noble suite of apartments were soon set aside for the earl and Matilda in the house of the governor of the castle.[11]