Chapter III: Part 3

Offended by the violence of Threshum, which resulted, however, from his wish to save his friend and her lover, Alice left the room suddenly, and had scarcely got to the door, when she heard the writer calling after her. At this moment she was seized by a sheriff-officer, and conducted before the sheriff to be examined. She told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The fatal words of the secret visiter--"I joined Mike in the robbery, and wish him to get off"--were formally recorded, and the deposition closed. Threshum, finding the necessity of exerting his best energies to overcome the weight of this overpowering evidence, called at the office of the fiscal, and demanded, on behalf of his client, to see the contents of the portmanteau. This was conceded to him; and the man of the law, having examined carefully the papers in presence of the fiscal, and taken notes of them, departed, to turn his information to the best account he could for his client. He discovered that the papers belonged to Mr William Anson, merchant in Bristol, the guardian of the runaway bride, Miss Julia Anson.

This done, Lewis got hold of Alice before she left Dumfries, and took her with him to the prisoner, to see if the efforts of Mike would have any effect upon making her depart from her intention of adhering to the truth on the day of trial--the examination she had already undergone being merely a step in the preparation of the evidence. When they entered, they found Mike enjoying himself over some brandy, which the friendship of the jailer had procured for him. Lewis told him, with a grave face, of the extraordinary circumstances attending the recovery of the portmanteau, and, in particular, the words uttered by the individual who handed it in at the window. Mike remained unmoved.

"And do ye believe the words o' the ruffian wha thus hounds me?" said he to Alice.

"I cannot disbelieve what accords so well with everything else I have seen," replied she. "Alas! would that I could disbelieve them!"

"But ye'll keep them at least to yersel, Alice?" said Mike.

"If I could keep my heart to mysel, Mike, I would," replied she. "But God does not allow that, and I must speak the truth. What would you have me to do?"

"To say naething," replied he.

"Fule, man!" rejoined Lewis; "say naething! That wad hang ye mair certainly than what she has already said to the fiscal (to whom she has tauld everything), and intends to repeat at the trial, unless we can, in some way, prevent it. Say naething, man! You and she are tryin, like the competin millspinners o' Dryden's mill, which o' ye is best at twistin hemp. If she said naething, wha wad be presumed to be the depositor o' the portmanteau in the hands o' Alice Parker, the weel-kenned lover o' Mike Maxwell? Wha but Mike Maxwell himsel? Could it come frae a mair likely hand than that on whase finger the owner's diamond ring was, or micht hae been? Ye're baith fules. The lassie should swear, and she _maun_ swear (unless, indeed, she wants to hang ye, which seems to be the case), that the portmanteau was handed in at the window by a man wha said ye were innocent, and had sent back the papers to try to save ye."

"Will ye say that, Alice?" said Mike.

"I cannot tell a lie, Mike," replied Alice. "I will speak the truth; and I would do that if Alice Parker's neck, in place of Mike Maxwell's, were in danger of the rope."

"Incomprehensible wench!" cried Mike. "Is this the last and strongest proof o' your affection? Does this agree wi' the sabbin heart and watery ee o' the greetin Alice, as she used to hang round my neck amang the green shaws o' Netherwood, and get me to promise that I never again wad see May Balfour? or does it agree wi' my promise, made on the condition that you wad renounce Giles Baldwin, wha, I fear, is at the bottom o' a' this affair? Is it common for women to agree to marry simple men, and then hang them?--to promise them a gowden ring for the finger, and gie them a hempen ane for the craig?"

"It is common for women to love," replied Alice, "and it is too common for women to lie for love; but the love that is leagued with the falsehood of the tongue, cannot be supported by the truth of the heart. No woman ever loved man as I loved you, Mike; but you are only a man, and there is a God" (looking upwards) "to be loved--ay, and to be feared. But you say you are innocent; and when did white-robed innocence require the piebald, ragged covering of falsehood, to show the purity which it covers? It were a mockery of the laws of God and man, to swear falsely to save an innocent man. And, alas! if you are guilty (and appearances are sadly against you), no falsehood ought to save you from the injured laws of your country."

"The plain Scotch o' a' this English, Mike," said Lewie, "is, that the lassie is determined to hang ye, as a repayment for a' the kisses ye were at the trouble to gie her in the holms o' Netherwood; and, after ye're dead, she'll sing 'Gilderoy' owre your grave. But, in sober seriousness, she's an idiot, like a' the rest o' her English freends. A Scotchwoman wad hae leed through fire and brimstone for her lover; and, after she swore the rope aff his neck, placed her saft arms round his craig, in place o' the hemp. Mercy on me, whar wad be a' my glory at _proofs_ if folk were to speak the truth? My pawkieness, slyness, cunnin, art, and triumph o' the cross-question, wad be o' nae mair avail than sae muckle ordinary fair rubbish o' straightforward judgments and honesty. Keep up your spirits, Mike; I'll no let her hang ye. The English man or woman's no born that will hang Mike Maxwell."

"Are ye resolved, Alice?" said Mike, approaching her, and holding out his arms to enfold her.

"I am," replied she, receding. "Clear yourself by the aid of truth, and there's no haven in this world that could be dearer to me than these arms. Till then, I am the bride of sorrow. Farewell!"

And she departed, leaving Lewis Threshum with Maxwell.

"Saw ye ever sic a stubborn fule?" said Lewie.

"I never saw sae noble a wench," replied Mike.

"Ha! ha!" cried the writer. "A pair o' fules! Ye're the first man, Mike, I ever heard praise the person that swears awa his life; but this nonsense will neither prove nor pay. We maun set aboot discoverin the mystery o' this adventure at Alice's window. Ae thing seems to me perfectly clear; and that is, that it wasna the robber that handed in that portmanteau."

"Hoo do ye mak oot that?" said Mike.

"You're as simple's the puir English fule," replied Lewie. "Wad the man wha took the portmanteau frae Captain Beachum hae admitted to Alice Parker that he was the robber? and, what's mair, wad he hae said that ye joined him in the robbery--a lee--at the very moment when he wanted to save ye by returnin the stolen article?"

"You astonish me, Lewie," said Mike; "thae things never occurred to me."

"A lawyer's ee has twa lenses," said Lewie. "The man, whaever he is, who handed in that portmanteau at Alice Parker's window is your enemy, and no the robber. How he got the portmanteau is a different thing; but maybe we may be able to discover that also."

"If my enemy," said Mike, "he maun be Giles Baldwin, the lover o' Alice."

"Ha!" cried Lewie, "there's light there, man. Why was the portmanteau no taen to yer mother's? The question's a curious ane. Baldwin was the likely man to tak it to Alice's, and the _only_ man wha wad hae tauld the lover o' his successfu rival that that rival was the robber. There's conies i' this hole; I see the marks o' their feet; and whar will ye find a better terrier than Lewie Threshum? Mair, man: wha sent the officers to Alice's house? That I'll sune discover. Keep up your spirits, Mike; and, while ye try to shake that fause English woman frae yer heart, I'll try and keep Hangie frae yer craig."

And away Lewie hastened; to continue his inquiries. He went first to the officers who searched for the portmanteau, and ascertained from them, through the influence of that heart-aperient whisky, that it was in fact Giles Baldwin who had told them to go and search the house of Widow Parker. Lewis next proceeded to Gretna, where he interrogated Alice more distinctly.

"If ye're determined to speak the truth," said he to the grieved girl, "ye should tell us the hail truth, as ye did te the shirra. Did the voice o' the man no strike ye as a kent ane?"

"It did," replied Alice; "but though I have been trying to discover whose it resembled, I have not been able to make anything of it."

"What say ye to Giles Baldwin's?" said Lewie.

"When you mention it," said Alice, "it does strike me that the resemblance between the two voices was very great. But a thought now strikes me: when the man said that Mike had joined him in the robbery, I let fall the window, which struck him over the knuckles a severe blow. The mark must be on his hand yet. For God's sake, fly to Giles' house, and see if his hand is hurt. If that is the case, I will believe that Mike Maxwell is an innocent man."

"Why," said Lewie, looking cunningly into her face.

"Because," said she, "Mike Maxwell never would have joined Giles Baldwin, his enemy, in a robbery; and, therefore, the statement made to me at the window was a lie; and one lie, like a fly in a box of ointment, corrupts the whole mass of evidence."

"My writing-chamber maun be like a charnel-house, then," said Lewie. "But, lassie, you're surely Scotch, wi' merely an English tongue."

"Sir," said Alice, "I would wish you would hasten to Giles Baldwin, rather than joke about this serious affair."

"A' my triumph in the law consists in jokin when I am serious," replied Lewie, with a grave face. "Ye wadna tak my advice when I wanted ye to save yer lover; and now I'll no tak yours when ye want me to save him" (leering); "I mean, Alice, just that I'll gang to Giles Baldwin at my ain time. Will ye swear to his voice and his hand?"

"If Giles Baldwin's hand," said she, "is cut in such a way as might have been done by the fall of that window, I will swear to my perfect belief of his being the man who handed in the portmanteau."

"Aneugh, aneugh," cried Lewie; "I kent ye were Scotch; and now I'll awa to Giles, and _shak hands_ wi' him."

Lewis departed, and went away direct to Baldwin's house. He found Giles at the door, and, holding out his hand, asked him, in a friendly manner, how he did. Giles intuitively extended his hand, which, as Lewie seized it, he observed, was clearly peeled along the back, a little above the knuckles.

"Ye hae a hard grip, Giles," said the writer. "Is this the arm that Mike Maxwell broke at the wrestlin match last year?" (Looking down at his hand.) "I declare, there's the marks o' Mike's fingers on yer hand yet! But I'm sorry ye hae fa'n into this new scrape, Giles. The craig's a mair kittle part than the arm or the hand, and aften does penance for the acts o' its restless freend. I'm sorry for you, Giles."

"What's the matter?" said Giles. "I need no man's sorrow, nor money either."

"A man that has been successful in the highway doesna need the last," said Lewie; "but he is in great need o' the first. It was strange that twa enemies should join thegither to commit robbery. It's now quite ascertained that you and Mike Maxwell were the robbers o' Captain Beachum."

"Wha dares say that?" replied Giles, looking alarmed.

"Alice Parker," said Lewie. "That nicht ye handed into her Captain Beachum's portmanteau at the window, and got your hand" (taking hold of it) "hurt by the fa' o' the sash (the mark is on't yet--Providence winna let thae marks heal), you told her very honestly--but I canna say, Giles, it was prudent o' ye--at least I wadna hae dune sae unguarded a trick--that Mike Maxwell joined you in the robbery. You then told Jem Anderson, the shirra-officer, to gae and search for the portmanteau in Widow Parker's hoose. What made ye do that, man? Couldna ye hae come to me, and gien me six and eightpence for an advice? The neck o' a sheep, wi' the head at ae end, and the harrigals at the ither, is worth eighteen-pence. Surely the craig o' a man is worth six and eightpence."

Giles was bewildered by this speech, and appeared like a man who gets the folds and meshes of a net thrown over him. He stood and stared at the writer. The great terror was the charge of robbery, of which he was quite innocent; and he was conscious that he had so far convicted himself, by an unwary statement to that effect made for a certain purpose to Alice Parker. His mind, occupied by this fear, let go the apprehension of a discovery of the mere act of handing in the portmanteau.

"I see no harm in handing in the portmanteau," he said, irresolutely, his mind still occupied by the major terror; "a person finding it on the road might take that way of returning it to the owner, and saving poor Mike. I committed no robbery."

"Giles Baldwin," said Lewie "this winna do; I can prove that ye hae _admitted being a robber_. Now, tak yer choice--admit the truth about the portmanteau, (for I dinna believe ye stole it), or run the risk o' a trial for yer life. If ye refuse me, I'll hae ye apprehended within an hour."

The scrape into which Giles had got was evident to himself. He saw no way of escaping; but he was still dogged and silent.

"Guid-day, Mr Baldwin!" said Lewis; "ye needna try to flee the country; I'll hae twa beagles after ye afore ye can even cut a stick frae that ash to help ye on. Twa hangins on ae wuddy maks twa pair o' shoon to the hangman, but only ae ploy to the people."

"Mr Threshum," cried Baldwin, as the writer was going out, "what do you want?"

"Explain to me a' ye ken about the portmanteau," said Lewis, "and I'll guarantee ye against the wuddy: that's fair."

"I found the portmanteau," said Giles, at last overcome with fear, "and gave it to Alice Parker to send to the owner, and save Mike."

"That's no a' true," said Lewis. "If ye wanted to save Mike, why did ye tell a lee, and say that he was ane o' the robbers, yoursel bein the ither?"

Giles was caught; he saw now that he had only one course, and agreed to sign a paper, setting forth all he knew and everything he did in relation to the transaction. Lewis sat down accordingly, and took down his declaration, which, after it was finished, he signed and authenticated. It bore that he had a grudge against Mike Maxwell, for having broken his arm, and taken from him his lover, Alice Parker. He had heard the suspicions which were afloat in regard to Mike's mode of living; and, having seen him that night sitting on Black Bess, and looking after the carriage, he suspected he was after prey. He insulted him in the way mentioned; and Mike having retaliated in the way also already set forth, Giles was wroth against him, and seeing, some time after, a carriage hastening after the other, he got up behind it, and rode on, with the view of watching the motions of Mike, and of being enabled to inform upon him, and thus revenge himself. After riding for some time, he heard the conversation between Mike and the gentleman in the carriage, which has been already detailed; and, having proceeded on some distance farther, to get some whisky at a house where he was acquainted, he noticed, as the carriage swerved to a side, a portmanteau lying on the ground. He jumped down, and, taking hold of the article, swung it behind a hedge, and covered it with leaves and twigs. Some time after, two men came up, and asked him if he had seen a portmanteau. He denied that he had, and they passed on. Then came two sheriff-officers, who told him that a robbery had been committed on a lady and gentleman going to Berwick, whereby a valuable portmanteau had been taken from the carriage. This made Giles prick up his ears: he suspected that Mike had been the robber; and his suspicion was confirmed by the fact, that he had heard him send the gentleman in the second coach to Newcastle, though he knew they were after the couple that were bound for Berwick--a device resorted to by Mike, no doubt, for preventing them from coming upon the robbed couple, and giving information against him when they had met. Filled with this suspicion, and his desire of revenge, Giles sent the officers to Mike's house, and afterwards gave as much evidence against him as he could, consistently with his wish to keep the contents of the portmanteau to himself. Having gone and examined it next day, he found nothing in it but papers; and therefore resolved upon committing it to the charge of Alice, and then informing the officers that it was in her custody. To prevent Alice from telling how it came into her possession, and of course to leave the presumption open that she had got it from Mike, he said that Mike had been one of the robbers; and the reason why he had said that he himself was the other, was, that he was personating one of the robbers at the time when he was speaking to Alice; and, as he knew that the report spoke of two robbers, he glided naturally into the statement he had made to Alice, whom he wished also to prejudice against his rival. This declaration Giles signed; and Lewis came away with it in his pocket very well pleased. He read it to Alice Parker as he passed along. She was delighted beyond adequate powers of expression, and only wanted an explanation of the ring to satisfy her entirely.

"That ye'll get too," said Lewie. "I hae a' that, cut and dry; but the time's no just come yet. Ye maun hae patience, and I wad recommend to ye to pay some attention in the meantime to puir Mike, and mak amends for yer cruelty, in refusin to tell a lee to save the life o' a fellow-cratur."

"If people were not cruel to themselves," said Alice, "they would not require any one to commit for them so heinous a sin."

Lewis left her, and returned to Dumfries, where he communicated his success to Mike. Some time afterwards, the former understood that Captain Beachum had written from Paris, wishing to avoid a personal appearance in Scotland; but the Lord Advocate wrote him back, to say that, if he did not appear, he would neither get the criminal prosecuted, nor receive up his portmanteau and papers. The captain (leaving his young wife on the Continent) accordingly came over to Dumfries, extremely anxious to have the trial over, and get possession of his papers. As soon as Threshum knew he was arrived at the Cross Keys, he waited upon him.

"Captain Beachum," said Lewis, "ye hae committed an honest man to prison, on a charge o' being the individual wha robbed ye o' your portmanteau, guineas, and ring. Wad ye ken him if ye saw him?"

"No," said the captain; "but there's proof enough against him; he had my ring in his possession, and the portmanteau was discovered in the house of his sweetheart."

"The last part o' the charge gaes for naething," said Lewis, "as I can prove to your satisfaction; and the first proves nae robbery, but only your munificence in giein a man a dimond ring, as a luck-penny to a bargain, whereby ye saved yersel and yer wife frae the vengeance o' Mr Anson, wha was that nicht followin you wi' a' the speed o' a guardian's flight after his ward."

"What mean you?" said the captain.

"Do ye no recollect," said Lewis, "o' giein a man on a black mare twenty guineas to mak a red-herrin drag across the nose o' Mr Anson?"

"I do," said the captain; "but I did not give him the ring."

"I can assure ye that ye did, though," said Lewis. "Recollect yoursel."

"I'm not inclined to try to recollect my own stupidity," said the captain. "It is impossible I could be so foolish as to give away my diamond ring, either as a present or by mistake."

"If you're no inclined to do that muckle justice to an injured man, maybe you'll gie me the papers that belang to Mr Anson, by virtue o' this letter o' authority" (taking out the letter). "Tak your choice."

"The papers, sir," said the captain, getting frightened, "are all I want. I care nothing for the prosecution of the man. It's certainly possible I may have given him the ring by mistake; but how do you account for the portmanteau being in his lover's house?"

Lewis read to him Giles Baldwin's deposition.

"Then," said the captain, "all the evidence against Maxwell is the ring?"

"Naething mair," said Lewis.

"He shall not be hanged for that," said the captain. "I shall go off to the authorities, and inform them that it is very probable I gave the man the ring in the way you mention. You say nothing of Mr Anson and the papers, you know."

"I canna interfere, luckily," said Lewis.

On the statement of Captain Beachum, Mike was liberated. He afterwards took a farm, married Alice Parker, whom he admired the more for her love of truth, and lived with happily for many years; but he ever lamented the course of life he had led. He ran a great risk of being hanged, from the curious combination of circumstances that conspired against him--lost reputation by it, and caused unspeakable grief to one of the best of women. Hence our moral: that one is not always safe from the effects of vice, though he act within the laws.

REUBEN PURVES; or, THE SPECULATOR.

Speculation is the soul of business; it is the mainspring of improvement; it is essential to prosperity. Burns has signified that he could not stoop to crawl into what he considered as the narrow holes of bargain-making; and nine out of every ten persons who consider themselves high-minded profess to sympathise with him, and say he was right. But our immortal bard, in so saying, looked only at the odds and ends--the corners and the disjointed extremities--of bargain-making, properly so called; and he suffered his pride and his prejudices to blind, in this instance, his mighty spirit, and contract his grasp, so that he saw not the all-powerful, the humanising, and civilising influence of the very bargain-making which he despised. True it is, that as a spirit of speculation or bargain-making contracts itself, and every day becomes more and more a thing of farthings and of fractions, it begets a grovelling spirit of meanness, that may eventually end in dishonesty; but as it expands, it exalts the man, imbues his mind with liberality, and benefits society. The spirit of commercial speculation will spread abroad, until it render useless the sword of the hero, cause it to rust in its scabbard, and to be regarded as the barbarous plaything of antiquity. It will go forth as a dove from the ark of society, bearing the olive-branch of peace and of mutual benefits unto all lands, until men shall learn war no more.

But at present I am not writing an essay on speculation or enterprise, but the history of Reuben Purves, the Speculator; and I shall therefore begin with it at once. Reuben was born in Galashiels, than which I do not know a more thriving town, or one more beautifully situated, on all the wide Borders. As you pass it, seated on the outside of the Chevy-Chase coach on a summer day (if perchance a sunny shower shall have fallen), it lies before you as a long and silvered line, the blue slates reflecting back the sunbeams. In its streets, cleanliness and prosperity join hands; while before it and behind it rise hills high enough to be called mountains, where the gorgeous heather purples in its season. Before it--I might say through it--wimples the Gala, almost laving its thresholds. There the spirit of speculation and of trade has taken up "a local habitation and a name," in the bosom of poetry. On the one hand is the magic of Abbotsford, on the other the memories of Melrose. But its description is best summed up in the condemnation of a Cockney traveller, who said, "Vy, certainly, Galashiels would be wery pretty, were it not its vood and vater!"

But I again digress from the history of Reuben Purves. I have said that he was born in Galashiels: his father was a weaver, and the father brought his son up to his own profession. But although Reuben

"Was a wabster guid,
Could stown a clue wi' onybody,"

his apprenticeship (if his instructions from his father could be called one) was scarce expired, when, like Othello, he found "his occupation gone," and the hand-loom was falling into disuse. Arkwright, who was long considered a mere bee-headed barber, had--though in a great measure by the aid of others--brought his mechanism to a degree of perfection that not only astonished the world, but held out a more inexhaustible and a richer source of wealth to Britain than its mines did to Peru. Deep and bitter were the imprecations of many against the power-loom; for it is difficult for any man to see good in that which dashes away his hard-earned morsel from the mouths of his family, and leaves them calling in vain for food. But there were a few spirits who could appreciate the vast discovery, and who in it perceived not only the benefits it would confer on the country, but on the human race. Arkwright, who, though a wonderful man, was not one of deep or accurate knowledge, with a vanity which in him is excusable, imagined that he could carry out the results of his improvements to an extent that would enable the country to pay off the national debt. It was a wild idea; but, extravagant as it was, it must be acknowledged that the fruits of his discoveries enabled Britain to bear up against its burdens, and maintain its faith, in times of severest trial and oppression.

Reuben's father was one of those who complained most bitterly against the modern innovation. He said, "the work could never be like a man's work. It was a ridiculous novelty, and would justly end in the ruin of all engaged in it." It had, indeed, not only reduced his wages the one-half, but he had not half his wonted employment, and he saw nothing but folly, ruin, and injustice in the speculation. Reuben, however, pondered more deeply; he entered somewhat into the spirit of the projector. He not only entertained the belief that it would enrich the nation, but he cherished the hope that it would enrich himself. How it was to accomplish his own advancement he did not exactly perceive, but he lived in the idea--he dreamed of it--nothing could make him divest himself of it; and he was encouraged by his mother saying--

"Weel, Reuben, I canna tell, things may be as ye say--only there is very little appearance o' them at present, when the wages o' you and your faither put thegither are hardly the half o' what ane o' ye could hae made. But ae thing is certain--_they who bode for a silk gown always get a sleeve o't_."

"Nonsense, woman! ye're as bad as him," was the reply of his father; "wherefore would ye encourage the callant in his havers? I wonder, seeing the distress we are a' brought to, he doesna think shame to speak o' such a thing. Mak a fortune by the newfangled system, indeed!--my truly! if it continue meikle langer, he winna be able to get brose without butter."

"Weel, faither," was the answer of Reuben, "we'll see; but you must perceive that there is no great improvement can take place, let it be what it will, without doing injury to somebody. And it is our duty to watch every opportunity to make the most of it."

"In my belief, the laddie is out o' his head," rejoined the father; "but want will bring him to his senses."

Reuben, however, soon found that it became almost impossible to keep soul and body together by the labours of the loom. He therefore began to speculate on what he ought to do; and, like my honoured namesake, the respectable poet, but immortal ornithologist, he took unto himself a PACK, and, with it upon his shoulders, he resolved to perambulate the Borders. There was no disgrace in the calling, for it is as ancient, perhaps more ancient, than nobility; and we are told that, even in the time of Solomon, "there were chapmen in the land in those days." Therefore Reuben Purves became a chapman. He, as his original trade might lead one to suppose, was purely a dealer in "_soft_" goods; and when he entered a farmhouse, among the bonny buxom girls, he would have flung his pack upon the table, and said--

"Here, now, my braw lassies; look ye here! Here's the real upright, downright, elegant, and irresistible muslin for frills, which no sweetheart upon this earth could have the power to withstand. And here's the gown-pieces--cheap, cheap--actually giein them awa--the newest, the most elegant patterns! Only look at them!--it is a sin to see them so cheap! Naething could be mair handsome! Now or never, lassies. Look at the ribands, too--blue, red, yellow, purple, green, plain, flowered, and gauze. Now is the time for buskin your cockernony--naething could withstand them wi' sic faces as yours--naething, naething, and that ye would find. It would be out o' the question to talk o't. Come, hinnies, only observe them, I'm sure ye canna but buy--or look at this lawn."

"O Reuben, man," they would have said, "they are very bonny; but we hae nae siller."

"Havers!" answered he; "young queans like you talking about siller! Sell your hair, dears, and buy lang lawn?"

Then did Reuben pull forth his scissors, and begin to exercise the functions of a hairdresser, in addition to his calling as a chapman--thinning, and sometimes almost cropping, the fair, the raven, the auburn, or the brown tresses of the serving-maids, and giving them his ribands and his cambrics in exchange for their shorn locks. The ringlets he disposed of to the hairdressers in Edinburgh, Newcastle, or Carlisle, and he confessed that he found it a very profitable speculation; and where the colour or texture of the hair was beautiful, he invariably preferred bartering for it, to receiving payment in money. This was a trait in Reuben's character, at the outset of his career as a speculator, which showed that he had a correct appreciation of the real principles of trade--that he knew the importance of barter, without which commerce could not exist; and it afforded an indication of the future merchant.

He was in the habit of visiting every town, village, and farm-stead within sixty miles of the Borders--to the north and to the south--and taking in the entire breadth of the island. His visits became as regular as clock-work. No merchant now-a-days knows more exactly the day and almost the hour when he may expect a visit from the traveller of the house with which he deals, accompanied with an invitation to drink a bottle of wine, and pay his account, than the people in the Border villages knew when Reuben would appear amongst them.

It was shrewdly suspected that Reuben did not confine himself solely to the sale of ribands, gown-pieces, and such-like ware, but that his goodly pack was in fact a magazine, in which was concealed tea, cognac, and tobacco. At all events, he prospered amazingly, and in the course of three years--though he lessened its weight at every village he came to--his pack overgrew his shoulders, and prosperity compelled him, first, to have recourse to a pack-horse, and, before he had had it long, to a covered cart or caravan. In short, on arriving at a village, instead of going round from house to house, with his stock upon his shoulders, as he was wont to do, he sent round the drummer or bellman: or, where no such functionaries are known, he employed some other individual, with a key and a trencher, to go round the village and make the proclamation--

"This is to give notice, that Mr Reuben Purves, with his grand and elegant assortment of the newest and most fashionable varieties of soft-ware goods, _and other commodities_, all bought by him for ready money, so that great bargains may be expected, has just arrived (at such an inn), and will remain for this day only; therefore those who wish the real superior articles, at most excellent bargains, will embrace the present opportunity."

Let not the reader despise Reuben because he practised and understood the mysteries of puffing. There is nothing done in this world without it. No gardener ever "lichtlied" his own leeks. All men practise it, from the maker of books to the maker of shoe-blacking, or the vender of matches. From the grandiloquent advertisement of a metropolitan auctioneer, down to the "_only_ true and particular account" of an execution, bawled by a flying-stationer on the streets, the spirit of puffing, in its various degrees, is to be found. Therefore we blame not Reuben; he only did what other people did, though perhaps after a different fashion, and with better success. It gave a promise of his success as a tradesman. He said he ventured on it as a speculation, and finding it to suit his purpose, he continued it. In truth, scarce had the herald made the proclamation which I have quoted, until Reuben's cart was literally besieged. His customers said, "it went like a cried fair--there was nae getting forward to it."

Moreover, he was always civil; he was always obliging. He had a smile and a pleasant and merry word for every one. Buy or not buy, his courtesy never failed him. In short, he would do anything to oblige his customers, save to give them credit; and that, as he said, was not because he had any doubt of their honesty, or that he was unwilling to serve them, but because he had laid it down as a rule never to trust a single penny, which rule he could not break. He was also possessed of a goodly person; was some five feet ten inches in height; he had fair hair, a ruddy, cheerful countenance, intelligent blue eyes; and his years but little exceeded thirty.

At this period of Reuben's history, there lived in the town of Moffat one Miss Priscilla Spottiswoode. Now, Priscilla was a portly, and withal a comely, personage, and though rather stout, she was tall in proportion to her stoutness. Nothing could surpass the smoothness of the clear red and white upon her goodly countenance. There was by no means too much red, and constitutional good-nature shed a sort of perpetual smile over her features, like a sunbeam irradiating a tranquil lake. In short, it was a reproach to every bachelor in the town and parish of Moffat, to have permitted forty-and-four summers to roll over the head of Priscilla, without one amongst them having the manliness to step forward and offer his hand to rescue her from a state of single solitariness. She had been for more than twenty years the maid, or rather I might say the nurse, of an old and rich lady, who at her death bequeathed to her five hundred pounds.

Reuben first saw Priscilla about three months after she had received the legacy. "Five hundred pounds," thought he, "would set a man on his feet." He also gazed on her kind, comely, smiling countenance, and he said within himself that "the men of Moffat were blind." And eventually he concluded, communing with himself, that the fair Priscilla was a speculation worthy the thinking of. She wished to purchase a few yards of lace for cap-borders, and such-like purposes; and as Reuben sold them to her, he said to her a hundred pleasant things, and he let drop some well-timed and well-turned compliments, and she blushed as his eulogy on the lace aptly ended in praise of her own fair features. Yet this was not all; for he not only sold to her fifty per cent. cheaper than he would have parted with his goods to any other purchaser, but he politely--by what appeared a wilful sort of accident--contrived to give her a full yard into her bargain. Priscilla looked upon Reuben with more than complacency; she acknowledged (that is, to herself) that he was the best-looking, polite, and most sensible young man she had ever seen. She resolved that in future she would deal with no one else; and, indeed, she had got such an excellent bargain of the lace, that she had come to the determination of again visiting his stock, and making a purchase of other articles. And, added she, to a particular friend, "It does a body good to buy from him, for he is always so pleasant."

But Reuben saved her the trouble; for early the next day he called at her house, with a silk dress under his arm. He said--

"It was the last piece of the kind he had--indeed it was a perfect beauty, equal to real India, and would become her exceedingly--and not to think about the price, for that was no object."

"What, then, am I to think about?" thought Priscilla; and she admired the silk much, but, peradventure, if the truth were told, she admired its owner more.

Reuben spent more than two hours beneath the roof of the too-long-neglected spinster. Often in those two hours she blushed, his tongue faltered, and when he rose to depart, he had neither the silk beneath his arm, nor the cash for it in his pocket; but he shook her hand long and fervently, and he would have saluted her fair cheek--but true love, like true genius, people say, is always modest. Priscilla, on being left alone, felt her heart in a very unusual tumult; and now she examined her face in a mirror, and again admired the silk which he had presented to her. She had always heard him spoken of as a steady, thriving, and deserving young man; and it became a settled point in her mind, that, if he directly popped the important question, she would be as candid with him, and at once answer, "_Yes_."

Reuben was frequently seen in Moffat after this, even when he brought no goods for sale; and within six months after her purchase of the lace, the sacred knot, which no man may unloose, was tied between them; and at the age of forty-and-four years and four months, but before time had "wrote a wrinkle" on her fair brow, Miss Priscilla Spottiswoode blushed into Mrs Purves.

While following his avocation as a chapman, Reuben had accumulated somewhat more than two hundred pounds, which, with the five hundred that his wife brought him, raised his capital to more than seven hundred. But he was not a man to look only at the needle point of things, or whose soul would be lost in a nut-shell. Onward! onward! was the ruling principle of Reuben--he had been fortunate in all his speculations, and he trusted to be fortunate still. Never, during all his wanderings, had he lost sight of the important discoveries of Arkwright, and of the improvements which were every day being made upon them; and, while he was convinced that they would become a source of inexhaustible wealth to the nation, he still cherished the hope and the belief that they would enrich himself. He said also--and Mrs Purves agreed with him--that travelling the country was a most uncomfortable life for a married man. He therefore sold his horse and his covered cart, disposed of his stock at prime cost, and, with his wife and capital, removed to Manchester.

He took a room and a cellar at the top of Dean Street, and near to the foot of Market Street,

"Where merchants most do congregate."

The upper room served them for bedchamber, parlour, kitchen, and all, while the cellar he converted into a wareroom. Perhaps, having more than seven hundred pounds to begin the world with, some may think that he might have taken more commodious premises; but rents were becoming high in Manchester--many a great merchant has begun business in a cellar--and Reuben, quoting the words of poor Richard, said:--

"Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore."

And he further said, "I am but serving my time yet; we must creep before we walk."

Never was any man who prospered in the affairs of this world more diligent in business than Reuben Purves, and in Priscilla he found an admirable helpmate. She soon learned the name, the price, and the quality of every description of goods; and when he was necessarily absent, she could attend to the orders of customers as promptly as himself. The reader unacquainted with the Manchester mode of business, is not to suppose that Reuben, although his stock was wedged up in a cellar, was a retail draper or haberdasher. Its magnitude considered, there are fewer such in Manchester than in any other town in the kingdom; but Reuben commenced as a wholesale merchant--one who supplies the country dealers. He always went to the markets to purchase with the money in his hand, as Joseph the patriarch's brethren came to him to buy corn--and pity it is that the good old custom has too much fallen into disuse. He made his purchases chiefly from the small manufacturers, to whom ready money was an object of importance, and consequently bought his goods to much advantage to himself. During his extensive perambulations on the Borders, also, he had become generally acquainted with the drapers in all the towns upon his circuit; and at the seasons when they generally visit Manchester, he might have been seen rapidly passing along what is now called Piccadilly, and passing the coach from the north, just as it drew up to the inn; and if one whose face he knew stepped off it or out of it, Reuben turned suddenly round as if by accident, took the north-country purchaser by the hand, and invited him home to "eat beef" with him, or to take supper, as the case might be. He was generally successful; for to resist his solicitations was a matter of difficulty, and after partaking of a frugal meal and a single glass, the stranger was invited to examine the stock in the wareroom, and seldom failed of becoming the purchaser of a part. By such means, and perseverance, his business in a few years increased exceedingly. He was of opinion that there is hardly anything too difficult for resolute perseverance to accomplish or overcome, at least he always found it so; and I confess I am very much of his mind.

Within three years he had taken extensive warerooms. He had a clerk, a salesman, four warehousemen, a traveller, and a porter. He had also taken his father from the loom. Reuben had seized fortune at the flood, and he floated down with the stream. He said he never undertook a speculation, but he was convinced in his own mind it would be successful. He also said, that fortune-making was like courtship; it was never venture never win--only to know what you were venturing upon.

I should have mentioned, that, previous to this, Priscilla had made Reuben the happy father of twin daughters, and the one they named Rachel, the other Elizabeth. The mother gloried in her children, and her husband looked on them with delight. He was a fortunate man and a happy one; and his cup of felicity, if it did not run over, was well filled.

In a short time, Reuben not only supplied with goods to a great extent the merchants on the Borders, but throughout the three kingdoms; and he also exported extensively to other countries, and even to some where the importation of British goods was prohibited.

"A fig for their tariffs," he was wont to say, snapping his fingers; "the profit will cover the risk. The principle of trade is like the principle of steam--there is no restraining it. Neither kings, emperors, congresses, nor laws, are a match for it. They canna cage it up like a bird. They might as well say to the waves of the sea, 'hitherto shalt thou come and no farther,' as to the spirit of trade--'_stop_!'"

In these speculations however, Reuben frequently experienced the common fate of the smuggler; and the goods which he sent into countries where they were prohibited were seized. He was of too ardent a temperament to be merely the purchaser and vender of other men's manufactures, and eventually he erected a cotton-mill of his own, a few miles out of Manchester.

And here it will, perhaps, be more acceptable to the reader, that I detail the remainder of Reuben's narrative in his own words, as he related it to an old schoolfellow in his native town, after an absence from it of more than thirty years. It was delivered with his unchanged Scottish accent, and with many Scottish phrases and modes of expression, which a residence of more than three times ten years in England had not destroyed:--

I was now (said he, alluding to the erection of the mill), at what I had always considered as the very pinnacle of my ambition--the proprietor of a cotton-mill, and of one, too, that had cost me several thousands in completing it. I had no manner of doubt, but that it would turn out the master-speculation of my existence; for, bless ye, at that period, to have a mill was to have a mine. A spinning-jenny was worth its weight in rubies. There was Arkwright, made a fortune like a nobleman's in a jiffy; and Robert Peel, greatly to his credit from being a weaver lad, I may say, in less than no time, made a fortune that could have bought up half the gentry in the country. Indeed, wealth just poured in upon the millowners; and, I must confess, they werna bad times for the like o' me, that bought their calicoes, and got them dressed and printed to sell them out, as you may judge from my having been able to erect a mill of my own before I had been many years in business. But, I must confess, that the mill ran between me and my wits. All the time it was building, I was out and in frae the town to see how the workmen were getting on, wet or dry; and, I dare to say, that if I dreamed about it once during the twelve months it was in hands, I dreamed about it a thousand times. Many a time Priscilla has said to me--

"Reuben, I doubt ye are thinking owre meikle about that mill, and really it's no richt--it is sinfu. I fear it is aneugh to mak the concern no prosper."

"My dear," I used to say, "do ye consider what an immense speculation it is?--it is like death or life to me; and, if I dinna think o't, and look after the workmen to see how they are gettin on wi' it, who, do ye suppose, would? There is naething like a man lookin after his own concerns; and, where there is sae meikle at stake, it is impossible but to think o't."

But, sir, I looked after the progress of the mill, and my thoughts were taken up concerning it, to the neglect of my more immediate business. After commencing in the wholesale line, I found it impossible to abide by my original rule of--no credit; and, during my frequent absence from my warehouse, my salesman had admitted the names of men into my books of whom I knew nothing, but whom I afterwards learned were not to be trusted. Their payments were not forthcoming in the proper season; and, in looking after them, I put off insuring the mill at the time I intended. Delay, sir, is a curse to a person in business; it is as dangerous as the blandishments of a harlot to the young--and so I found it. On the very night that the machinery and everything was completed, I allowed the spinners and others that I had engaged, to have a supper and dance in it wi' their wives and sweethearts. I keepit them company for an hour mysel, and very merry they were. But, after charging them all to keep sober and harmonious one with another, and to see that they locked the doors behind them when they broke up, and to leave everything right, I wished them good-night; and they drank my health, and gave me three cheers as I left them. I got into my gig, and drove home to Manchester. But I dinna think I had been three hours in bed, when Priscilla gied me a dunch with her elbow, and, says she--

"Waken, Reuben! waken!--there's an unco knocking at the street-door."

"Hoot! it will be some drunk body passing," says I, and turned round on my side to compose myself to sleep again.

But the knock, knocking, continued louder and louder.

"That is nae drunk body," said Priscilla; "something has happened."

I started owre the bed, and I was hardly half-dressed, when I heard the street-door open, and the servant lass come fleein up the stair.

"What is it?" cried I.

"Oh, sir--the mill!--the mill!" said she.

Had she shot me, she could not have rendered me more stupefied.

"What about the mill?" cries I, all shaking with agitation.

"Oh, it's on fire--it's on fire!" replied the lassie.

I heard Priscilla scream, "On fire!" and she also sprung to the floor.

I cannot tell ye how I threw on my coat--I know that I banged out without a napkin about my neck, and, rushing down the stairs, I couldna even stop to get the horse from the stable and saddled, but away I flew upon my feet. If ever a man ran as if for his life, it was me that night. It was six miles to the mill, but I never slacked for a single moment. I didna even discover, though the stones were cutting my feet, that I had come away without my shoes. The mill absorbed both thought and sense--I was dead to everything else. But oh, upon reaching it, what a sight presented itself to my view! There was the great red flames roaring and raging up the height of its five storeys; and the very wheels of the machinery, seen through the windows, glowing as bright as when in the hands of the smith that formed them. The great suffocating clouds of smoke came rolling about me, and even blinding me. Hundreds of women ran about screaming, some carrying water, and some running in the way of others, and drunken men staggered to and fro, like lost spirits in the midst of their tortures. Oh, sir, it was an awful sight for any one to behold; but for me to witness it was terrible! For some minutes I was bereft of both speech and reason; and, had the spectators not held me back, I would have rushed into the middle of the flames. Crash after crash, the newly-erected walls and the floors fell in, and I was a helpless spectator of the destruction of my own property. In one night, yea, in one hour, more than half of the fortune that I had struggled for years to gather together, was swept, as by a whirlwind, from off the face of the earth!

I stood till I beheld the edifice that had been the pride of my heart a mass of smoking ruins, with, I may say, scarce one stone left upon another. All the manufacturers round about sympathised with me very sincerely, and one of them drove me back to Manchester in his drosky. When I entered my own house, I believe I appeared like a person on whom sentence of death has been passed, as he is removed from the bar, and led back to his prison.

"Weel, Reuben," asked Priscilla, in her own calm and gentle way, "is the damage great?"