Chapter I: Canna Be Fashed! (3)

Nor, indeed, could it be alleged that he spoke falsely; for, as soon as the proper time came, he set about a very vigorous search for a third helpmate in every direction where he thought he had any chance. He tried again Miss Jean Gibbs and Miss Isabella Gentle; but the children formed an objection which they could not get over.

"I will never marry a man with six children--no--nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two," said Miss Jean.

"I would far rather live and die an old maid, than become the slave of another woman's family," was the reply of Miss Isabella.

And then he tried Miss Julia Cross, who had something of a lying stock, though not much, and her answer was just as peremptory.

"I hold the woman to be mad, Mr Caleb Crabbin," said she, "who would undertake the charge of six children. One might as well become a schoolmistress at once."

And after this rebuff, he tried Miss Angelina Crabbe, who had an annuity of somewhere about seventy-five pounds, besides about three hundred of old savings; but Angelina said that she would not be a stepmother for the whole earth.

"I see it will not do," said he, after some farther rejections. "Unless I take a wife with nothing, I will never get another, where it is known that I am burdened with six children. But he who takes a wife with nothing is but a sorry trafficker; and the never a wife with nothing, were she as fair as Venus, will Caleb Crabbin marry in this world. I will pack off the whole crew, and try my fortune under other colours."

The resolution thus formed he put in execution, by getting the whole of his children boarded with friends who lived at a distance, upon the pretence that he was going to take a trip away somewhere abroad. Having achieved this preliminary, he set off for the nearest good watering-place, being no other than the noted Pitcaithly, where so many "wanters," have, with various success, been supplied; and he had not been a week there when he fell in with a buxom widow of five-and-thirty, who was reported as being worth not a jot less than one hundred and fifty pounds a-year, secured on the strong Atlas, by the providence of her deceased husband. The name she carried, Mrs Jemima Bowsie, was a mixture of her own maiden name and the surname of her husband, very well blended; and she carried herself with such an air of frankness, surrounded with the eclat of her fortune, which she had taken care to blaze pretty well, that Mr Caleb Crabbin was immediately struck.

"That is my mark," said he, "as sure as was Belinda Yellowlees; and, if I'm not worth the purchase at one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, on the life of Mrs Jemima Bowsie, I have lost all my saleable commodity."

One who had twice sold himself, and offered himself for sale a score of times over, had no difficulty in getting matters placed in a train for a new offer; and an hour had scarcely elapsed after the monologue we have mentioned, when Mr Caleb Crabbin and Mrs Jemima Bowsie were walking and talking together as if they had been acquainted from the period of conning the alphabet. Nor was their intimacy long limited to talking a-field; for he found his way to the house where she lodged, and she found her way to the house where he had taken up his quarters, and, in the course of these meetings, mutual hints and questions tended towards the expression of mutual wishes.

"By the way, Mr Crabbin," said Mrs Jemima, one evening when they were sitting together in her lodgings, "I have a question to put to you; and, as you respect a widow, left, as it were, alone in the world, you will answer me according to your conscience."

"That will I, Mrs Bowsie," answered Caleb, "as sincerely as if you were my wedded wife."

"That is tenderly and beautifully indited, Mr Crabbin," answered she. "Pray, sir, is the Atlas a strong company?"

"I believe it is a very strong concern, madam," replied he; "not much less so, I fancy, than the Royal, where I happen to have two thousand pounds deposited on an operating account. But might I have the great boldness, madam, to ask you why you put that question to me?"

"I am not sure," replied Mrs Jemima; "yet, let me see. Why, there can't be much harm in it either, only one does not like to trumpet forth her private affairs. But then it is to be remembered that I am a lonely creature in the world; and to whom can an unprotected widow speak, if it isn't to one who is just in her own situation?--for you hinted to me that your wife has gone, and left you also solitary."

"Too true," answered Caleb, affecting some ocular moisture. "My house is indeed empty enough. Indeed I have the key of it in my pocket; and one who has the never a one to speak to at home just wanders about where the fancy lists."

"How our positions and sentiments _do_ coincide!" replied she. "Well, as to the reason for my putting the question about the strength of the Atlas; this," she continued, as she opened a box, and took out a policy--"this may explain it." And she handed the policy to Mr Caleb Crabbin.

"An annuity policy for one hundred and fifty, for the natural life," said he, as he affected surprise at what he knew as well as he did the amount of the sums possessed by his two deceased wives. "A handsome thing, madam, of a certainty."

"Very well for two single people," rejoined she, sentimentally; "but believe me, sir, I would not have put the question, had it not been that a female is apt to get nervous where her all is laid out on the security of one concern."

"There need be never a tone of apology about the matter, madam; for, to be plain with you, I often make inquiries about the stability of the Royal, where, as I told you, I have two thousand pounds deposited on an operating account; and, to be plainer still, I do not hesitate to tell you, madam, that my house being, as I said, locked up in these gloomy days of my widowhood, I carry about with me my receipt. Here it is." (Opening his pocket-book.) "You may take a glance at it just as I have done at your policy. Giff-gaff, as we say, makes good friends."

"And you have just hit upon the very reason," replied she, "why I carry about my policy with me; for, where there is no one at home to take an interest in one's affairs, or a charge of their effects, one feels uneasy about a valuable document, such as these in our hands. Of course you do not tell any one of the question I put to you; because, you know, the Atlas might come on me for damages."

"No fear on't, madam," said Caleb; "but pray--hem! hem!--is it your intention, Mrs Bowsie, ever again to change your name?"

"And, pray, Mr Crabbin," replied she, holding away her head, "is it your intention ever to give yours to another woman?"

"The never a doubt on't, madam," rejoined Mr Caleb. "Loneliness is poor company; and I would marry to-morrow, were it for nothing else than to produce some stir of life in my deserted house."

"And, for society's sake, I would almost be tempted to change condition, too," rejoined she, rising to put past the policy and conceal her blushes.

Unluckily, at this interesting moment, an acquaintance entered, and put an end to a conversation that was clearly tending towards a crisis, to which the boldness of Mr Caleb would soon have brought it. But enough had been said to dream upon; and by the time that the two met next day in the woods, the matter had been arranged in the minds of both. The question was "popped," a gracious answer returned, and, as Caleb had clearly induced her to believe, without any direct statement, that he had not a single child to mar Mrs Jemima's happiness, he saw the necessity of getting the transaction concluded without the loss of a moment of time, lest discoveries might break it up. But the widow was just as anxious for quick despatch as he was; and he did not fail to take advantage of so favourable a circumstance. So to Perth he went, and got all things put in readiness for a proclamation of banns. This preliminary was gone through on the following Sunday; on the Monday after, Mr Caleb Crabbin and Mrs Jemima Bowsie were man and wife; and thus had Caleb disposed of himself, for the third time, on terms which he conceived to form the elements of a good bargain.

These matters we have run over rapidly, leaving it, of course, to be understood that several explanations--such as the localities of their locked-up houses, their connections, and so forth, were mutually made and mutually relied on; and it becomes us, in the same manner, to leave to the fancy all the pretty excursions and conversations that lasted for the legitimate period of the sweet moon, at the end of which the couple arrived in Edinburgh to take possession of the husband's deserted house. And, to be sure, the house was empty enough, in so far as regarded human beings; for there was no one in it, and Mrs Jemima Crabbin surveyed it as her future home with no small expression of satisfaction. A new servant was got. A week passed, and all was as it should be--not a word of the six children having, as yet, been uttered by Caleb, and no one of the neighbours having taken it upon them to supply the want of knowledge which Caleb conceived to be necessary to a continuation of his happiness. On the eighth day, they went out together to draw the quarterly annuity from the agent of the Atlas Company; and never was a man better pleased with himself than Caleb, when he pocketed the thirty-seven pounds ten shillings, the first earnest of many drawings, even so long as the life of his helpmate. This was clearly not fated to last; because it behoved Caleb to make the necessary disclosure, to prevent its being made, perhaps, in a manner fraught with more pain to her who apparently looked forward to a life of genteel ease. It was clear that the sooner the disclosure was made the better; and a stronger cup of tea than usual (brewed on the head of the quarter's annuity) having been served up, he sat ruminating on the best way of breaking the intelligence.

"What are you thinking of, Mr Crabbin?" said the lady, as she sat filling out the first cup of tea, and while the door stood open that the servant might bring in the toast.

"There he is, you little darlings," said Mrs Reddie of Pennicuick, as she entered; and at the same instant Master Caleb Reddie Crabbin, Master Andrew Reddie Crabbin, and Miss Maria Reddie Crabbin, rushed forward with a united cry of "Papa! papa! papa!" and hung round his neck, and jumped on his knee, with a demonstration of affection that a father, in ordinary circumstances, would have been delighted to see.

"I couldna keep them awa, sir," said the woman. "They would be in, reason or nane."

Mrs Crabbin sat with the teapot in her hand, held nearly as high as her mouth, and contemplated the affectionate scene, with open lips and wide staring eyes; but never a word had Mr Caleb said, though the dear little ones hugged him more fondly than ever.

"Are these your children, Mr Crabbin?" at last said the wife.

Caleb looked at her, and saw something like a smile playing round the corner of her lips, in the midst of sufficient indications of surprise; but the meaning thereof transcended all his powers of construction.

"The children, you hear, say I'm their father," replied he, still gazing in her face, to try if he could catch again the same symptom he had observed before; and, to be sure, he did catch it, and, with it, another symptom that astonished him more still; for Mrs Crabbin immediately ejaculated--

"Why did you not tell me of this, Mr Crabbin? What nice, dear, sweet creatures! I'm delighted to see them. Come to me, George; come to me, Andrew; and, Maria, you are the prettiest little girl in the world."

"What an amiable wife I have got!" ejaculated he, as he saw her take the little ones and fondle them as kindly as if they had been her own.

"When saw ye the others," said Mrs Reddie--"George, Amelia, and Augustus? Are they weel aneugh?"

"Three more!" ejaculated Mrs Crabbin.

And Caleb again searched her face, to see if there was not some irony lurking about the muscles; but the never a trace could he find but satisfaction. He was puzzled as never man was puzzled since the days of OEdipus.

"Have I been at all these pains," muttered he, "to conceal what yields her pleasure rather than chagrin?"

"Now, Mr Crabbin," said his wife, as she still fondled the children, "you must send to-morrow for the others, that I may see them; for I long to show them that I shall be as kind to them as would have been their own mother."

"The never such another woman is to be found in all Christendom!" muttered Caleb.

"Jenny," cried Mrs Crabbin, "bring cups here, that the children may have their tea."

And so the cups were brought; and the whole group, Mrs Reddie--whose mouth had been closed up by the effect of the extraordinary scene--included, sat down in the most perfect harmony.

On the very next day, a messenger was sent off for Master George Reddie Crabbin, Miss Amelia Reddie Crabbin, and Master Augustus Reddie Crabbin; and they were expected to arrive at the house of their father within three days afterwards. Meanwhile, Mrs Crabbin displayed still the same degree of kindness she had at first exhibited; and Caleb continued to wonder more and more at conduct that seemed to set at defiance all the matrimonial maxims he had got proved to him by the many women he had solicited to become his wife. Nor can there be a doubt that he was pleased--if, indeed, it might not be said that he was delighted; for it cannot be denied that the weight of the secret he had carried about had materially interfered with his connubial happiness; and even the light of the honeymoon had been dashed with streaks of shade, thrown up from the cavern where the dread fact had lain concealed.

On the day on which the additional children were expected, Mrs Crabbin was occupied in making preparations for their home-coming. A thousand little matters were gone about with maternal assiduity; and, everything having been arranged, the couple and the three children sat down to tea, much in the same spirit they had done on the previous occasion. It was about five o'clock; and the coach would arrive somewhere about that time.

"Here they come at last," said Caleb, as he listened to a tread of many steps on the stair, accompanied by the clear clack of the tongues of happy children.

And, to be sure, in they came; but there happened to be no fewer than five, accompanied by an old nurse; and they had no sooner entered, than they ran forward to Mrs Crabbin, crying out "Mamma! mamma! mamma!" all together, and hanging round her neck, and kissing her, and climbing on her knees, just in the same affectionate manner that had been exhibited by Mr Crabbin's children on the prior occasion.

Meanwhile, Mrs Jemima Crabbin was busy with the face of Mr Caleb, to see what she could find there; but the man, who never had any great sense of justice, showed no smile, as she had done when _his_ children came so unexpectedly in upon her. A sombre gloom covered his face, and he sat and looked as glum as he did on every occasion when Mrs Amelia Crabbin had brought him a child; and, probably, if there had been any deeper shade, or rather five times as deep as that expression, it would have found a place upon his face.

"Are all these your children, madam?" said Caleb, with a voice that expressed with the question a tendency to choke.

"Yes," answered Mrs Crabbin; "but you see, my dear sir, you beat me; for, while I have only five, you have six."

"Eleven of a family to support on two thousand pounds of principal, at four per cent., and one hundred and fifty per annum on the life of Mrs Jemima Crabbin!" groaned Mr Caleb. "A deuced poor trafficker I am proved to be! Would I not have been better as a hosier?"

"A hosier!" ejaculated Mrs Crabbin. "I took you for a gentleman, as Mr Frederick Bowsie was, every inch of him."

"And I took you for a solitary widow, as you led me to believe," responded he.

"And so, to be sure, I took you for a solitary widower, carrying the key of your house in your pocket, as you previously told me," was the just reply.

At this juncture the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the other three Crabbins, who acted over again the scene of their brothers and sister; and thus there were brought on the carpet no fewer than eleven of a family, one-half strangers to their half-brothers and sisters, and all talking, and laughing, and romping in a manner that might have afforded no small joy to well-conditioned parents. Yet Mr Caleb was not to be cajoled by their fun into anything like good humour, for no man likes to behold the evidence of the almost total defeat of a darling project, which he had held to be the pride and profit of his existence. Nor was the bringing of eight more tea-cups, instantly ordered by Mrs Crabbin, likely to effect what the romping of the "dear ones" had not been able to accomplish; and it is impossible to say how long he would have remained under the cloud of his gloom, had not Mrs Crabbin risen, and, going round to him by the backs of the circle of children, gently and playfully clapped him on the hanging clouded cheek.

"Come, now, Mr Crabbin," said she, "you see we are just in the position of the pot and kettle that fell into warfare, calling each other blackamores. You have cheated me, and I have cheated you, and therefore are we on a par. No good can come of complaining where each has so good a rejoinder; and, to be plain with you, if you gloom, I'll gloom, having just as good a right; whereas, if you are well pleased, and love my five, I shall be well pleased, and love your six; and thus we may make the best of a bad bargain. What say you, Mr Caleb Crabbin?"

Caleb threw his eye around the table, and groaned; but necessity is a strong monitor; and so he turned round--where there was a matrimonial kiss awaiting him--and, having taken the offering for better and for worse--

"I believe, Jemima, you are right, after all," said he; "but still it is a bad business; for, if we add five or six more children to that small army, we may come to starve."

"You can begin business again as a merchant (but not in the hosiery way) with your two thousand, and I shall be as frugal a wife as ever made the two ends of coming and going out meet."

Caleb meditated.

"You are right again, Jemima," said he; "for, after all, I have not been happy under the trade of wiving I have driven for so many years--always idle, and pointed out as one who lives on the means of his wives--so, to be sure, I'll immediately betake myself to an honourable calling, and before I die I may yet acquire the reputation of what is called a respectable member of society. For true it is," he added, "that a fortune-hunter, even if he has run down the game of thousands, is only a fortune-hunter to the end of the chapter. Out of my evil, you see, has come my good; and you, who a little ago seemed my bad angel, have turned out to be my good. So here be all our strife ended."

And another embrace settled the affair.

"Now," said Caleb, "you'll be kind enough to tell me the names of these children. By my faith, they are pretty ones--as pretty as my own!"

"This is William--this is George--this is Andrew--this is Mary--and this is Margaret."

"Well, we must fall upon some way of distinguishing those of mine and those of yours, who carry the same name. Let it be your George and my George, your Andrew and my Andrew. I see now no difficulty about the matter."

"Neither do I," answered Jemima. "All we have to provide against is to avoid calling our own _mutual_ children George or Andrew, for a third of the name wouldn't do."

"Neither it would," rejoined he.

According to these arrangements, Mr Crabbin commenced business again; and, having been taught experience by his former failure, did very well. We believe there were at least two or three additional children born afterwards; but that was of no consequence, because Mr Crabbin's means became, by his own industry, proportionate. A good lesson hangeth by the peg of our tale, or we are somewhat out.

THE SERJEANT'S TALES.

THE IMPRUDENT MARRIAGE.

Serjeant Square again resumed the narrative of his adventures:--

There is a strange feeling, that every reflecting person must have often been conscious of, accompanying the idea of time. We feel as if in contact with the past, as far back as our memory can reach. If our reading has been extensive, it requires reflection to disentangle the events of early ages, as well as those of a more recent date; and, even as regards the time to come, we feel as if it also were for us, until the melancholy certainty of the shortness of life forces us back upon the present moment, which, until passed, we cannot call our own. Neither is there a situation in which we can be placed, in which we do not feel some cause of uneasiness, from the faintest shade of unfulfilled anticipation, to the depth of real suffering.

Gloomy were the reflections that haunted my mind for the first three weeks after my arrival in London. Often and far as I had been from Scotland, never until now had I been home-sick--if it could be called so in one who had neither kindred nor home in the world. Destitute of kindred as I was, the feeling seemed to extend my relationship: every Scotchman being my relation, and his accents music to my ears. An unaccountable melancholy was upon me; and I felt a strange presentiment as if some evil were about to befall me. I felt no pleasure, as I was wont, in walking about. My time was spent at my lodgings, in Lower Thames Street, save when I went occasionally to the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, to visit Captain H----. Even these visits had become irksome, as no good seemed likely to arise to me from them. I was always received in the most friendly manner. Still there was a constraint upon me I could not overcome, arising from the relative situation in which we had formerly stood towards each other as private seaman and captain. I would have felt far more at my ease had he treated me in a more distant manner. Frugal as my mode of life was, my cash wore done apace, and I had fixed upon no mode of obtaining a new supply. Once or twice I had made inquiries among the shipping for a situation, without success. Perhaps the fault was my own, as I was rather nice to please, and not over anxious to go to sea if I could do better. I hoped that the captain or his friend would propose something for my advantage; and thus the time had run on, while my lowness of spirits increased upon me. The weather had become wet and foggy. I cared not to leave the house, and remained at home for several days, so depressed that I even wished I were dead, and away from a world in which I had suffered so much. The pleasures I had also enjoyed were entirely blotted out from my recollection. All my life appeared to have been a scene of suffering, with no prospect before me but further misery and endurance.

This was a state of mind that could not long endure without leading to a fatal result. I began to regard suicide as the only remedy for my misery; and even to look upon it as a crime of no very deep atrocity. Yet there was a feeling within me that made death as a remedy horrible. At length, by an effort that cost me more to accomplish than anything I had ever done before or since, I shook off this, the darkest moral incubus of the darkest period of my life, and, after an absence of ten days, waited upon Captain H---- to bid him farewell, as I was resolved to leave London, and enter on board the first vessel wherever bound for, and in any capacity I could obtain a berth. When I reached the house, I found it shut up, and could obtain no information whither he had gone. All I learned was, that they had left the house three days before, it was believed for the country. I felt indignant and hurt, although I had no reason, at this sudden departure. I had no claim upon him. I had ever been overpaid for any service I had rendered. Still, this was not my feeling at the time; and I bent my steps towards my lodgings in no enviable mood, either with myself or the world. A numbing sensation was upon me. I felt once more alone in the world; and passed through the busy crowds that thronged the streets, almost unconscious of the presence of a human being, until I had reached Tower Hill, when my attention was roused by a crowd of men and boys, who were hooting and jostling an old man of rather respectable appearance, whose impatient anger caused them only to increase their shouts and annoyance. They were calling to him, "Rebel Scot," and "Scottish traitor;" and crying, "Roll him in the kennel," "Duck him in the river." I was in a humour to quarrel with any one, or even dare a host. My blood was on fire in a moment, for the old man upbraided them in Scotch, although tinctured by a foreign accent. He was tall, and had once been a very powerful man. His hat had been knocked off, and his grey hairs were in disorder, save what were retained by a neat cue that bobbed from side to side, as he was pushed, or turned to aim a blow at his cowardly assailants, many of whom, I blush to say, had reached man's estate. In an instant I was by his side, and shouted, to overtop the noise--

"For shame, to use an old man and a stranger so! Is that like Englishmen?"

For a moment there was a pause; it was but for a moment. My Scottish accent turned them as much against me as him whom I wished to befriend.

"They are both rebel Scots--serve them alike!" shouted a stout young fellow, as he aimed a blow at me. The others joined in the cry. The blow took effect upon the side of my head. I was stunned a little; but returned it with so good effect that he staggered back a pace or two. The blood flowed from my cheek, which was cut, pretty fast. In a moment the shouting ceased, and "A ring! a ring!" was the cry. "Give the Scottish sailor fair play--he has pluck in him." "Go it, Joe!" cried others; and their attention was directed from the old man to me and my opponent. A ring was formed. I gave my jacket and hat to the old man to hold, and to it we went; but, tall as I was and stout, I was forced to give in after a severe contest; my enemy's science prevailed; but my object was attained. The old man and myself were no longer hated. "I was a bit of good stuff," they said, "and had stood well up to fighting Joe of Smithfield." Even Joe said he would give any one a beating who molested us. We were conducted to a public-house, where I got myself cleaned and my bruises dressed. The old gentleman gave me a thousand thanks for the part I had taken in his rescue, and seemed to feel much more for the injuries I had received than I did myself. As soon as we had had some slight refreshment, he caused a coach to be brought, and accompanied me to my lodgings. During our short drive, I learned that he had only arrived from Holland the evening before, and was a stranger in London. He said he had resided for the last ten years there; that he had not been in Scotland for many years; and that he was on his way to it to lay his bones in the graves of his fathers. There was a reservedness of manner that interested me much in the man; and every time I looked to him, I grew the more certain that his face had been familiar to me at some former period of my life. Even his voice fell on my ear like some well-known sound. Neither of us had inquired the name of the other. The coach stopped at the door of my lodging, into which he assisted me; and I immediately went to bed at his request, he promising to call upon me in the morning.

After passing a restless night, I was awoke in the morning by my landlady entering my room to inquire if I would see Lieutenant Speare, the old gentleman who had accompanied me home the evening before. Although I felt rather feverish, I replied that I would be glad to see him. In a few minutes I was astonished to see him enter in an undress, until he informed me that he had been so fortunate as to obtain a room from my landlady; and, if I was agreeable, he wished to breakfast along with me and spend the day, as I was not, he felt assured, in a state to leave my room. I did not conceal that I felt very unwell, and would be happy to have his company. After he was seated, I inquired by what accident he had become involved with the rabble upon Tower Hill. After a short pause--

"You and I," replied he, "are countrymen, but strangers to each other. From the disinterested manner in which you interfered in my behalf, I feel that I may trust you with my secret. Even if we differ in opinion, you will not betray me; I therefore shall make no reserve.

"I was born and bred an adherent of the exiled royal family of Great Britain; have bled in their cause; suffered exile from all I held dear; and even now I tread my native land with a halter about my neck, which one word from you might attach to the fatal tree that has ceased to have any horrors for me, were it not for a sacred duty I have to perform before death put a period to my long life of suffering. Yesterday afternoon I had only been a few hours in London, for the first time in my life; yet its gloomy Tower, and blood-drinking Tower Hill, had long been familiar to my mind, as scenes of cruelty and tyranny, where the best blood of Scotland was poured out like water to satisfy the thirst of a usurper. I had surveyed the scene for some time in silent agony, when my oppressed feelings called before me the heroes, as I had seen and admired them, in manly vigour, struggling in a righteous cause, with the sad termination they experienced, when their headless trunks were insulted by an unfeeling crowd. All caution left me, and I expressed my thoughts aloud. I was overheard and assailed. You delivered me. I acknowledge my imprudence; and, on your account, lament what I have done."

"On my account there is no cause of regret," said I. "I am happy your unguarded language had no more fatal result. Your secret is safe in my keeping. I myself have been a sufferer through that fatal affair, although too young to distinguish between parties; for the miseries of civil war fall heaviest upon the innocent, the females and children. By it I was deprived of both my parents, and thrown destitute upon the world, without friends or home. If the great will struggle, urged by ambition or party zeal, what have the poor to do with their strife, who can, at the best, only change their taskmasters? Had my father remained in Edinburgh, my mother had not broken her heart, and I had not been an outcast orphan boy."

"Edinburgh, did you say, young man?" replied he. "Few joined the Prince from that city." His voice faltered; his whole frame shook. He gazed fixedly upon me for a short time; then, starting to his feet, he staggered to my bedside, supporting himself by the bedpost. "What is your name?" he eagerly said.

"John Square," I replied.

Uttering a cry that resembled a heavy groan, he sunk upon the bed, and, grasping my hand, bathed it with tears; then, clasping me to his breast, kissed my forehead. His heart was too full to speak; he held me in his embrace, and gazed upon my face. I was so much amazed at the strange conduct of the old man, that it was some time before I recovered from my surprise, or could inquire the cause of his, to me, unaccountable proceeding. Still grasping my hand--

"Now, welcome death!" said he. "My mission is accomplished. I shall die in peace. I have found thee, my long-forsaken and injured boy."

It was now my turn to feel the utmost agitation. Did my father really stand before me? I feared to ask the question, yet burned to do so.

"Are you my father?" cried I.

"Alas! no! I am not your father," said he. "Yet I am all the father you ever knew; and you were, and are, dear to me as my own son. Ah, my poor Mary!--she was a kind mother to you. Told she not the secret of your birth before she died?"

"No," was my answer. "I was too young and thoughtless at the time. I recollect she called me to her bedside often, and wept over me; but she only prayed, and blessed me. She sent one of her neighbours, who was very attentive, for the minister to come to her, saying she had something important to intrust him with; but, before he arrived, her mind began to wander, and she remained in that condition until her death, two days after. She had even forgot she had sent for the good man, who, after offering up a prayer, departed." I paused, for the old man wept bitterly while I spake. I did respect his feelings; but my own were too impetuous to be restrained. "Who was my father, since you are not?" cried I. "Is he alive? If you ever loved me, pause not a moment. Nay, I shall tear the secret from you." And I started up in my bed, sore as I was, and looked wildly at him, as he appeared to hesitate.

"Be composed, my dear John," said he. "It is a melancholy tale. I would more willingly spare your feelings than wound them by the relation; but it were cruel now to withhold it from you. You will have no cause to blush for your relatives. My own history is so deeply interwoven with that of your parents, that I cannot disentangle them, and therefore must give them, connected as they are. It was upon the borders of the romantic Esk I first awoke to consciousness, in the hospitable house of your grandfather, to whom my father had been head servant for many years. I was within a few weeks of the same age as John, your father, his third son. I was his foster-brother and playfellow, unequal as was our rank. I loved him with more than a brother's love, and would have risked my life for him, had he been in danger. He was my young master; his comfort was all my duty and care; and swiftly the days and hours passed on, until the period arrived that he was to go to Edinburgh to attend the classes at the university, and whither I was to accompany him. We were both young and inexperienced. Your father was of a fearless, open, and generous temper; and his rank in life gave him access to the best society in the city. At one of the assemblies he became acquainted with a young lady, the orphan daughter of an officer who had fallen in the wars of Marlborough. She resided with two rich maiden aunts, upon whom she depended for her present support and future fortune. Their intimacy soon ripened, unfortunately, into love. As politics raged at this time with a force and bitterness that divided friends and relations, even the sacred mysteries of love were interrupted by the offerings to the stern genius of discord. Rose's aunts were stern Whigs, supporters of what were then styled by us the Hanoverian usurpers; and their only surviving brother was an officer high of rank in their armies; while your grandfather was faithful to his lawful king, and as true a Tory as ever lived or bled for the Stewarts. Neither your father nor myself had ever troubled ourselves about the rival factions; yet we were, as we had been bred, staunch adherents to the royal exiles; but Love is of no party, and we were both under his influence. From the cause I have mentioned, your father's visits were unacceptable at Rose's aunts; their interviews were stolen, and, of course, more sweet. She was at times allowed to walk out for exercise, and to visit, but never unaccompanied by her maid, who had been her servant before her mother's death. She was a bar in my master's way; and, if he dared to converse with his beloved, she would have been kept entirely from his sight. To aid him in his interviews, I became acquainted with Mary, the servant, and was soon as deep in love as my master. Little did our young and joyous hearts dream of the bitter dregs that lay in the cup of pleasure we quaffed in the hours of romance, as we walked, or sat scarce in sight of each other, among the cliffs and sheltered valleys of Arthur Seat. Nothing but my love for your father could have blinded me to the folly he was guilty of, and the ruin that awaited his future prospects in life. As for myself, I could not be other than I was. Mary was of my own rank, born to toil, and with little to lose; while they had a fearful height to fall from, if they wedded without consent of friends. But when, alas! did ever youthful love calculate consequences aright, until the calculation is useless?

"Thus intoxicated with love, the time ran on with unheeded speed; yet my master was unremitting in his studies. He had, with the consent of his father, fixed upon the law as his profession, as the political opinions of the latter gave his son small chance of rising in the army. Rose and he had often exchanged vows of mutual constancy, until more fortunate times for their love should arrive. Your father had pictured to himself speedy success at the bar; and the first use he was to make of his fame was to claim your mother from her aunts; and if they refused, as, from the vain efforts he had made to gain their good graces, he had every reason to expect, to wed her without their consent, or one farthing of fortune. His father's consent he knew he could not hope for before the marriage; but his forgiveness afterwards he had no doubt of obtaining. Thus had he lulled himself into a pleasant dream of security, from which he was soon awakened. It was in the beginning of the third session of college, that one of the two aunts was taken suddenly ill, and died in a few days, without making any will. Elizabeth, the younger sister, who had never been very kind to Rose, was now her sole protector; and she, sweet lady, was rendered very unhappy--a circumstance that gave great pain and uneasiness to your father, and was the cause of the imprudent step he took. Scarcely was the funeral over, when Mary her maid was discharged, as an unnecessary burden; and, with my master's consent, she and I were married. Aided by his bounty, I began housekeeping, still waiting upon him; and, meanwhile, our house was the scene of the meeting of the lovers. The penury and harshness of her aunt rendered the young lady's life miserable. Her secret was communicated to my wife, who again told my master. This precipitated the consummation of the long courtship. He prevailed upon his beloved to give her consent to a private marriage, that he might have the right to shelter her from suffering longer from her aunt's tyranny. They were privately married in my house, at the head of Mary King's Close.

"Your father had not yet passed as an advocate, and had no means of subsistence, save what he got from his father. It was imperative that his marriage should be kept secret from every one. Your mother resided with her aunt only until your father had furnished a small house, near the foot of our close, for his beloved wife--an achievement he could not get accomplished so quickly as he wished, without raising curiosity as to the cause of his repeated demands for money. Nearly four months passed on after the marriage, and your mother still resided with her aunt, who, since her sister's death, had become gay, and had many visiters--principally bachelors--all paying her court, old as she was, for the sake of her wealth; and several of them often paying more attention to the young wife than she wished. Among the visitants was one, a great favourite with the aunt, a retired officer, of an abandoned turn, but connected with some of the oldest families in Scotland. He was well received in most companies, and welcomed for his wit and jovial manner. I recollect I was waiting your father's return from a tavern party, principally young lawyers, before I went to my own house for the night, when he came home much sooner than I had expected, greatly agitated, and in high anger. Alarmed at his unwonted manner, I, with all the humble freedom I could ever use with him, implored him to tell me what had occurred to disturb him so much. After he had become more calm, he told me that Captain Ogilvie had been of the party; that they had drunk pretty freely, and were giving toasts; that the captain pledged Rose, your mother, and spoke more lightly of her than he could endure to hear; and that a quarrel had ensued, and blows had been struck. He then desired me to see that his rapier was sharp and in order, as he was to meet the captain by five the next morning in the Duke's Walk. My anger against the vile traducer was as great as that of my master. I wished I could meet him in his place; for I had a strong feeling that evil would come out of it; but this was impossible.

"Your father sat down to his writing-table, and began two letters--one for his young wife, the other to his father--and, while he was thus employed, I ran home, told Mary not to expect me home that night, and put on a suit of plain clothes. Before he was done, I had his sword and my own in excellent order; for I was as good at fencing as he was, in consequence of having practised with him all the manly exercises he had learned. As soon as he was ready, we began play at the swords; as the captain was an expert swordsman, while my master had had no practice for several years. Thus we passed the night until past four o'clock. When we sallied forth, we called at Blackford's Wynd upon his second, whom we found waiting upon him, and then proceeded by St Mary's Wynd Port and the South Back of the Canongate to the ground, which we reached a few minutes before the appointed time. The captain and his friend arrived almost as soon as we did. Since then, I have seen blood spilled as freely as water; but never did my heart quail as at this time. In fighting with the blood warm, there is a fierce pleasure; but to me nothing is, or can be, more distressing than to stand an idle spectator, and see your friend engaged, and hear the clash and rasp of the weapon aimed at his heart, as if it were your own, and your hands bound. Such were my feelings at this time. The seconds wished to reconcile them, but neither would hear of it. Each drew, and stood on his guard. A fearful pause of a few seconds ensued, while they eyed each other like hungry wolves. My eyes felt as if they would start from their sockets; my breath was suspended; all was still as death; a sudden clang rung on my ears; their swords gleamed in the rays of the rising sun; and so rapid were their movements, that my eye could not follow them. I saw that the captain, from his fence, was a complete master of his weapon, having practised abroad. My master had been foiled in his favourite assault--the one, indeed, on which I had placed my reliance. A moment's pause ensued; neither had drawn blood. Again they closed, and, after a few unsuccessful attacks, paused again for breath. I saw the blood upon my master's arm, from a slight cut. My hand grasped my sword; but, by a violent effort, I restrained myself. They had been engaged nearly half-an-hour; my master's hand was dyed in blood; but he was young and alert; while his antagonist was rather corpulent, and his constitution shaken by dissipation. His play became now more feeble and cautious, and my confidence began to revive. He was yet without a scratch; and, collecting all his energies, he made a desperate lunge, which your father only parried so far as to make it pass between his side and the sword-arm, piercing his vest; and the captain lay at his feet transfixed. My heart leaped for joy as I ran to your father's aid. I bound up his arm, while the two seconds attended to the captain. I found my master but slightly hurt. He despatched me for aid to his antagonist, with which I returned; and, as the captain's wound appeared to be mortal, we left them, and proceeded over the hill. We scarcely exchanged words. Passing up the valley, we stood upon the crest of the height that commanded a view of Craigmillar Castle, and the distant hills, with the level country between. Here we paused; and your father, clasping his hands in agony, gazed around for a few minutes in silence. My own heart was too full to speak, and I stood looking upon his mental suffering, which I knew no mode of soothing, and reverenced too much to interrupt. At length he said, as if unconscious of my presence, 'Farewell, sweet scenes of my happiness! my cruel destiny drives me from you, and her who is dearer to me than life. But that thought is distraction. Rose! my beloved Rose! in what a state am I forced to leave you! Alas! I dare not even bid you farewell. My hands are red with blood, and the avengers will soon be on my track; but in defence of your honour it was shed, and Heaven will justify the act. Who now--who will protect you when I am an outlaw?'

"He dashed his hands upon his forehead, and groaned. I could endure in silence no longer, and at length soothed him into something like composure. It was agreed that he should go to his father, inform him of his duel, and act by his counsel; while I should return to my own house, watch the progress of the captain's wound, and, happen what would, meet him at Roslin Chapel at ten o'clock in the evening, to consult what was farther to be done. We parted at St Leonard's Hill.

"In the forenoon nothing was talked of in the city but Captain Ogilvie's duel; and it had become a party question. The Whigs had one version of the cause of quarrel, the Tories another, I gave no ear to either; but was rejoiced to learn that the captain was not dead, although his life was despaired of.

"It was now past six o'clock--the quarter had chimed upon the clock of St Giles. I had my hand on the latch to go once more to the captain's, to know how he continued since my last inquiry, when the rasp was gently moved. I opened the door, and your mother staggered into my arms, pale as death, and swooned away. With difficulty Mary and I restored her to consciousness. I told her of your father's safety; and she replied that she was now, save for her husband, a destitute outcast; that her aunt, who only waited a pretext, had turned her out upon the world; and that the cause of her expulsion was her conduct in being the mean of her aunt's favourite, Captain Ogilvie's death. I told her that the captain was not yet dead, and would, I hoped, survive; and, leaving her in charge of Mary, I hurried to ascertain what ground there was for any hope. I found that the captain was still alive, but that his death was hourly expected.

"With a sorrowful heart I hurried out by Bristo Port, after getting the word for the night from the keeper, that I might be admitted, on my return, into the city. I was at the chapel some time before ten o'clock, and found my master waiting for me. When I told him that the captain was still in life, he took my hand--'Square,' he said, 'this has been a sad and dreary day to me. It is a fearful thing to have blood upon our hands, even in a just cause. I pray with my whole soul he may recover, both for his own sake and mine.'

"I then told him what had befallen your mother.

"'I am happy it is so,' he said, 'I shall leave her under the keeping of Mary and you with more confidence than I could in her aunt's. My mind is relieved of a burden; my greatest difficulty was how to dispose of my beloved until my return; for, by the command of my father, I set off for France to-morrow--to St Germains, where I will remain until this untoward affair blows over. If all go as we anticipate, you will, perhaps, see me here sooner than you expect--ay, with a gallant band of patriots, to redress Scotland's wrongs, and restore our rightful prince. My father is not displeased at my conduct--would that he knew the right I had to take my Rose's part! But the time will come. As I know not how soon the officers of justice may be in quest of me, I must depart to-morrow morning for England, on my way to France. I must therefore see Rose, to bid her good-by for a short season. I shall be waiting for her near St Anthony's Chapel, to weep our parting, where we have so often smiled at our meetings. O William, William! these thoughts unman me.'

"'My dear master,' said I, 'am I to accompany you?'

"'No, William,' replied he--'no; I leave my beloved wife to your care until my return, when I will requite you as she shall report of you.'