Mary tried to look sorrowful, to hide the smile that was dimpling her cheek.
"Come, let us have something to eat in the meantime, my dear."
"I'm sure you may eat the house, if you please, for me, Mr. Gawffaw!What would you take, Miss Douglas? But pull the bell—softly, Mr.Gawffaw! You do everything so violently."
A dirty maid-servant, with bare feet, answered the summons.
"Where's Tom?" demanded the lady, well knowing that Tom was afar off at some of the farm operations.
"I ken nae whar he's. He'll be aether at the patatees, or the horses,I'se warran. Div ye want him?"
"Bring some glasses," said her mistress, with an air of great dignity."Mr. Gawffaw, you must see about the wine yourself since you have sentTom out of the way."
Mr. Gawffaw and his handmaid were soon heard in an adjoining closet; the one wondering where the screw was, the other vociferating for a knife to cut the bread; while the mistress of this well-regulated mansion sought to divert her guests' attention from what was passing by entertaining them with complaints of Mr. Gawffaw's noise and her maid's insolence till the parties appeared to speak for themselves.
After being refreshed with some very bad wine and old baked bread, the gentlemen set off on a survey of the farm, and the ladies repaired to their toilets. Mary's simple dress was quickly adjusted; and upon descending she found her uncle alone in what Mrs. Gawffaw had shown to her as the drawing room. He guessed her curiosity to know something of her hosts, and therefore briefly informed her that Mrs. Gawffaw was the daughter of a trader in some manufacturing town, who had lived in opulence and died insolvent. During his life his daughter had eloped with Bob Gawffaw, then a gay lieutenant in a marching regiment, who had been esteemed a very lucky fellow in getting the pretty Miss Croaker, with the prospect of ten thousand pounds. None thought more highly of her husband's good fortune than the lady herself; and thoughherfortune never was realised, she gave herself all the airs of having been the making of his. At this time Mr. Gawffaw was a reduced lieutenant, living upon a small paternal property, which he pretended to farm; but the habits of a military life, joined to a naturally social disposition, were rather inimical to the pursuits of agriculture, and most of his time was spent in loitering about the village of G——-, where he generally continued either to pick up a guest or procure a dinner.
Mrs. Gawffaw despised her husband; had weak nerves and headaches—was above managing her house—read novels—dyed ribbons—and altered her gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of.
Such were Mr. and Mrs. Gawffaw—one of the many ill-assorted couples in this world—joined, not matched. A sensible man would have curbed her folly and peevishness; a good-tempered woman would have made his home comfortable, and rendered him more domestic.
The dinner was such as might have been expected from the previous specimens—bad of its kind, cold, ill-dressed, and slovenly set down; but Mrs. Gawtfaw seemed satisfied with herself and it.
"This is very fine mutton, Mr. Douglas, and not underdone to most people's tastes; and this fowl, I have no doubt will eat well, Miss Douglas, though it is not so white as some I have seen."
"The fowl, my dear, looks as if it had been the great-grandmother of this sheep, ha, ha, ha!"
"For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, make less noise, or my head will split in a thousand pieces!" putting her hands to it, as if to hold the frail tenement together. This was always her refuge when at a loss for a reply.
A very ill-concocted pudding next called forth her approbation.
"This pudding should be good; for it is the same I used to be so partial to in my poor father's lifetime, when I was used to every delicacy, Miss Douglas, that money could purchase."
"But you thought me the greatest delicacy of all, my dear, ha, ha, ha! for you left all your other delicacies for me, ha, ha, ha I—what do you say to that, May? ha, ha, ha!"
May's reply consisted in putting her hands to her head, with an air of inexpressible vexation; and finding all her endeavours to be elegant frustrated by the overpowering vulgarity of her husband, she remained silent during the remainder of the repast; solacing herself with complacent glances at her yellow silk gown, and adjusting the gold chains and necklaces that adorned her bosom.
Poor Mary was doomed to atete-a-tetewith her during the whole evening; for Mr. Gawffaw was too happywithhis friend, andwithouthis wife, to quit the dining-room till a late hour; and then he was so much exhilarated, that she could almost have joined Mrs. Gawffaw in her exclamation of "For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, have mercy on my head!"
The night, however, like all other nights, had a close; and Mrs. Gawffaw, having once more enjoyed the felicity of finding herself in company at twelve o'clock at night, at length withdraw; and having apologised, and hoped, and feared, for another hour in Mary's apartment, she finally left her to the blessings of solitude and repose.
As Mr. Douglas was desirous of reaching Edinburgh the following day, he had, in spite of the urgent remonstrances of his friendly host and the elegant importunities of his lady, ordered the carriage at an early hour; and Mary was too eager to quit Howffend to keep it waiting. Mr. Gawffaw was in readiness to hand her in, but fortunately Mrs. Gaffaw's head did not permit of her rising. With much the same hearty laugh that had welcomed their meeting, honest Gawffaw now saluted the departure of his friend; and as he went whistling over his gate, he ruminated sweet and bitter thoughts as to the destinies of the day—whether he should solace himself with a good dinner and the company of Bailie Merry thought at the Cross Keys in G——, or put up with cold mutton, and May, at home.
"Edina! Scotia's darling seat!All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,Where once, beneath a monarch's feet,Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!"
ALL Mary's sensations of admiration were faint compared to those she experienced as she viewed the Scottish metropolis. It was associated in her mind with all the local prepossessions to which youth and enthusiasm love to give "a local habitation and a name;" and visions of older times floated o'er her mind as she gazed on its rocky battlements, and traversed the lonely arcades of its deserted palace.
"And this was once a gay court!" thought she, as she listened to the dreary echo of her own footsteps; "and this very ground on which I now stand was trod by the hapless Mary Stuart! Her eye beheld the same objects that mine now rests upon; her hand has touched the draperies I now hold in mine. These frail memorials remain; but what remains of Scotland's Queen but a blighted name!"
Even the blood-stained chamber possessed a nameless charm for Mary's vivid imagination. She had not entirely escaped the superstitions of the country in which she had lived; and she readily yielded her assent to the asseverations of her guide as to its being thebona fideblood ofDavid Rizzio,which for nearly three hundred years had resisted all human efforts to efface.
"My credulity is so harmless," said she in answer to her uncle's attempt to laugh her out of her belief, "that I surely may be permitted to indulge it especially since I confess I feel a sort of indescribable pleasure in it."
"You take a pleasure in the sight of blood!" exclaimed Mr. Douglas in astonishment, "you who turn pale at sight of a cut finger, and shudder at a leg of mutton with the juice in it!"
"Oh! mere modern vulgar blood is very shocking," answered Mary, with a smile; "but observe how this is mellowed by time into a tint that could not offend the most fastidious fine lady; besides," added she in a graver tone, "I own I love to believe in things supernatural; it seems to connect us more with another world than when everything is seen to proceed in the mere ordinary course of nature, as it is called. I cannot bear to imagine a dreary chasm betwixt the inhabitants of this world and beings of a higher sphere; I love to fancy myself surrounded by——"
"I wish to heaven you would remember you are surrounded by rational beings, and not fall into such rhapsodies," said her uncle, glancing at a party who stood near them, jesting upon all the objects which Mary had been regarding with so much veneration. "But come, you have been long enough here. Let us try whether a breeze on the Calton Hill will not dispel these cobwebs from your brain."
The day, though cold, was clear and sunny; and the lovely spectacle before them shone forth in all its gay magnificence. The blue waters lay calm and motionless. The opposite shores glowed in a thousand varied tints of wood and plain, rock and mountain, cultured field and purple moor. Beneath, the old town reared its dark brow, and the new one stretched its golden lines; while all around the varied charms of nature lay scattered in that profusion which nature's hand alone can bestow.
"Oh! this is exquisite!" exclaimed Mary after along pause, in which she had been riveted in admiration of the scene before her. "And you are in the right, my dear uncle. The ideas which are inspired by the contemplation of such a spectacle as this are far—oh, how far!—superior to those excited by the mere works of art. There I can, at best, think but of the inferior agents of Providence; here the soul rises from nature up to nature's God."
"Upon my soul, you will be taken for a Methodist, Mary, if you talk in this manner," said Mr. Douglas, with some marks of disquiet, as he turned round at the salutation of a fat elderly gentleman, whom he presently recognised as Bailie Broadfoot.
The first salutations over, Mr. Douglas's fears of Mary having been overheard recurred, and he felt anxious to remove any unfavourable impression with regard to his own principles, at least, from the mind of the enlightened magistrate.
"Your fine views here have set my niece absolutely raving," said he, with a smile; "but I tell her it is only in romantic minds that fine scenery inspires romantic ideas. I daresay many of the worthy inhabitants of Edinburgh walk here with no other idea than that of sharpening their appetites for dinner."
"Nae doot," said the Bailie, "it's a most capital place for that. Were it no' for that I ken nae muckle use it would be of."
"You speak from experience of its virtues in that respect, I suppose?" said Mr. Douglas gravely.
"'Deed, as to that I canna compleen. At times, to be sure, I am troubled with a little kind of a squeamishness after our public interteenments; but three rounds o' the hill sets a' to rights."
Then observing Mary's eyes exploring, as he supposed, the town of Leith,"You see that prospeck to nae advantage the day, miss," said he. "Ifthe glasshouses had been workin', it would have looked as weel again.Ye hae nae glass-houses in the Highlands; na, na."
The Bailie had a share in the concern; and the volcanic clouds of smoke that issued from thence were far more interesting subjects of speculation to him than all the eruptions of Vesuvius or Etna. But there was nothing to charm the lingering view to-day; and he therefore proposed their taking a look at Bridewell, which, next to the smoke from the glass-houses, he reckoned the object most worthy of notice. It was indeed deserving of the praises bestowed upon it; and Mary was giving her whole attention to the details of it when she was suddenly startled by hearing her own name wailed in piteous accents from one of the lower cells, and, upon turning round, she discovered in the prisoner the son of one of the tenants of Glenfern. Duncan M'Free had been always looked upon as a very honest lad in the Highlands, but he had left home to push his fortune as a pedlar; and the temptations of the low country having proved too much for his virtue, poor Duncan as now expiating his offence in durance vile.
"I shall have a pretty account of you to carry to Glenfern," said Mr.Douglas, regarding the culprit with his sternest look.
"Oh 'deed, sir, it's no' my faut!" answered Duncan, blubbering bitterly; "but there's nae freedom at a' in this country. Lord, an' I war oot o't! Ane canna ca' their head their ain in't; for ye canna lift the bouk o' a prin but they're a' upon ye." And a fresh burst of sorrow ensued.
Finding thepeccadillowas of a venial nature, Mr. Douglas besought the Bailie to us his interest to procure the enfranchisement of this his vassal, which Mr. Broadfoot, happy to oblige a good customer, promised should be obtained on the following day; and Duncan's emotions being rather clamorous, the party found it necessary to withdraw.
"And noo," said the Bailie, as they emerged from his place of dole and durance, "will ye step up to the monument, and tak a rest and some refreshment?"
"Rest and refreshment in a monument!" exclaimed Mr. Douglas. "Excuse me, my good friend, but we are not inclined to bait there yet a while."
The Bailie did not comprehend the joke; and he proceeded in his own drawling humdrum accent to assure them that the monument was a most convenient place.
"It was erected in honour of Lord Neilson's memory," said he, "and is let aff to a pastrycook and confectioner, where you can always find some trifles to treat the ladies, such as pies and custards, and berries, and these sort of things; but we passed an order in the cooncil that there should be naething of a spirituous nature introduced; for if ance spirits got admittance there's no saying what might happen."
This was a fact which none of the party were disposed to dispute; and the Bailie, triumphing in his dominion over the spirits, shuffled on before to do the honours of this place, appropriated at one and the same time to the manes of a hero and the making of minced pies. The regale was admirable, and Mary could not help thinking times were improved, and that it was a better thing to eat tarts in Lord Nelson's Monument than to have been poisoned in Julius Caesar's.
"Having a tongue rough as a cat, and biting like an adder, and all their reproofs are direct scoldings, their common intercourse is open contumely."—JEREMY TAYLOR.
"THOUGH last, not least of nature's works, I must now introduce you to a friend of mine," said Mr. Douglas, as, the Bailie having made his bow, they bent their steps towards the Castle Hill. "Mrs. Violet Macshake is an aunt of my mother's, whom you must often have heard of, and the last remaining branch of the noble race of Girnachgowl."
"I am afraid she is rather a formidable person, then?" said Mary.
Her uncle hesitated. "No, not formidable—only rather particular, as all old people are; but she is very good-hearted."
"I understand, in other words, she is very disagreeable. All ill-tempered people, I observe, have the character of being good-hearted; or else all good people are ill-tempered, I can't tell which."
"It is more than reputation with her," said Mr. Douglas, somewhat angrily: "for she is, in reality, a very good-hearted woman, as I experienced when a boy at college. Many a crown piece and half-guinea I used to get from her. Many a scold, to be sure, went along with them; but that, I daresay, I deserved. Besides, she is very rich, and I am her reputed heir; therefore gratitude and self-interest combine to render her extremely amiable in my estimation."
They had now reached the airy dwelling where Mrs. Macshake resided, and having rung, the door was at length most deliberately opened by an ancient, sour-visaged, long-waisted female, who ushered them into an apartment, thecoup d'oeilof which struck a chill to Mary's heart. It was a good-sized room, with a bare sufficiency of small-legged dining-tables, and lank haircloth chairs, ranged in high order round the walls. Although the season was advanced, and the air piercing cold, the grate stood smiling in all the charms of polished steel; and the mistress of the mansion was seated by the side of it in an arm-chair, still in its summer position. She appeared to have no other occupation than what her own meditations afforded; for a single glance sufficed to show that not a vestige of book or work was harboured there. She was a tall, large-boned woman, whom even Time's iron hands scarcely bent, as she merely stooped at the shoulders. She had a drooping snuffy nose, a long turned-up chin, small quick gray eyes, and her face projected far beyond her figure, with an expression of shrewd restless curiosity. She wore a mode (notà-la-mode )bonnet, and cardinal of the same, a pair of clogs over her shoes, and black silk mittens on her arms.
As soon as she recognised Mr. Douglas she welcomed him with much cordiality, shook him long and heartily by the hand, patted him on the back, looked into his face with much seeming satisfaction; and, in short, gave all the demonstrations of gladness usual with gentlewomen of a certain age. Her pleasure, however, appeared to be rather animpromptuthan an habitual feeling; for as the surprise wore off her visage resumed its harsh and sarcastic expression, and she seemed eager to efface any agreeable impression her reception might have excited.
"An' wha thought o' seein ye enow?" said she, in a quick gabbling voice. "What brought you to the toon? Are ye come to spend our honest faither's siller ere he's weel cauld in his grave, puir man?"
Mr. Douglas explained that it was upon account of his niece's health.
"Health!" repeated she, with a sardonic smile; "it wad mak' an ool laugh to hear the wark that's made aboot young fowk's health noo-a-days. I wonder what ye're aw made o' "—grasping Mary's arm in her great bony hand—"a wheen puir feckless windlestraes; ye maun awa' to Ingland for ye're healths. Set ye up! I wonder what cam' o' the lasses i' my time, that bute to bide at hame? And whilk o' ye, I sude like to ken, 'II ere leive to see ninety-sax, like me? Health!—he, he !"
Mary, glad of a pretence to in indulge the mirth the old lady's manner and appearance had excited, joined most heartily in the laugh.
"Tak. aff ye're bannet, bairn, an' let me see ye're face. Wha can tell what like ye are wi' that snule o' a thing on ye're head?" Then after taking an accurate survey of her face, she pushed aside her pelisse." Weel, it's ae mercy, I see ye hae neither the red heed nor the muckle cuits o' the Douglases. I ken nae whuther ye're faither had them or no. I ne'er set een on him; neither him nor his braw leddie thought it worth their while to speer after me; but I was at nae loss, by aw accounts."
"You have not asked after any of your Glenfern friends," said Mr.Douglas, hoping to touch a more sympathetic chord.
"Time eneugh. Wull ye let me draw my breath, man? Fowk canna say awthing at ance. An' ye bute to hae an Inglish wife tu; a Scotch lass wad nae serr ye. An' ye're wean, I'se warran', it's ane o' the warld's wonders; it's been unco lang o' cummin—he, he!"
"He has begun life under very melancholy auspices, poor fellow!" saidMr. Douglas, in allusion to his father's death.
"An' wha's faut was that? I ne'er heard tell the like o't; to hae the bairn kirsened an' its grandfather deein! But fowk are naither born, nor kirsened, nor do they wad or dee as they used to du—-awthing's changed."
"You must, indeed, have witnessed many changes," observed Mr. Douglas, rather at a loss how to utter anything of a conciliatory nature.
"Changes!—weel a wat, I sometimes wonder if it's the same warld, an' if it's my ain heed that's upon my shoothers."
"But with these changes you must also have seen many improvements?" said Mary, in a tone of diffidence.
"Impruvements!" turning sharply round upon her; "what ken ye about impruvements, bairn? A bony impruvement or ens no, to see tyleyors and sclaters leavin whar I mind jewks an yerls. An' that great glowrin' new toon there"—pointing out of her windows—"whar I used to sit an' luck oot at bonny green parks, and see the coos milket, and the bits o' bairnies rowin' an' tummlin,' an' the lasses trampin i' their tubs—what see I noo, but stane an' lime, an' stoor' an' dirt, an' idle cheels, an' dinket-oot madams prancin'. Impruvements, indeed!"
Mary found she was not likely to advance her uncle's fortune by the judiciousness of her remarks, therefore prudently resolved to hazard no more. Mr. Douglas, who was moreau faitto the prejudices of old age, and who was always amused with her bitter remarks when they did not touch himself, encouraged her to continue the conversation by some observation on the prevailing manners.
"Mainers!" repeated she, with a contemptuous laugh, "what caw ye mainers noo, for I dinna ken? Ilk ane gangs bang in till their neebor's hoose, and bang oot o't as it war a chynge-hoose; an' as for the maister o't, he's no o' sae muckle vaalu as tho flunky ahynt his chyre. I' my grandfather's time, as I hae heard him tell, ilka maister o' a faamily had his ain sate in his ain hoose aye, an' sat wi' his hat on his heed afore the best o' the land, an' had his ain dish, an' was aye helpit first, an' keepit up his owthority as a man sude du. Paurents war paurents then; bairnes dardna set up their gabs afore them than as they du noo. They ne'er presumed to say their heeds war their ain i' thae days—wife an' servants, reteeners an' childer, aw trummelt i' the presence o' their heed."
Here a long pinch of snuff caused a pause in the old lady's harangue; but after having duly wiped her nose with her coloured handkerchief, and shook off all the particles that might be presumed to have lodged upon her cardinal, she resumed—
"An' nae word o' ony o' your sisters gaun to get husbands yet? They tell me they're but coorse lasses: an' wha'll tak ill-farred tocherless queans whan there's walth o' bonny faces an' lang purses i' the market—he, he!" Then resuming her scrutiny of Mary—"An' I'se warran' ye'll be lucken for an Inglish sweetheart tu that'll be what's takin' ye awa' to Ingland."
"On the contrary," said Mr. Douglas, seeing Mary was too much frightened to answer for herself—"on the contrary, Mary declares she will never marry any but a true Highlander—one who wears the dirk and plaid, and has the second-sight. And the nuptials are to be celebrated with all the pomp of feudal times; with bagpipes, and bonfires, and gatherings of clans, and roasted sheep, and barrels of whisky, and—"
"Weel a wat, an' she's i' the right there," interrupted Mrs. Macshake, with more complacency than she had yet shown. "They may caw them what they like, but there's nae waddins noo. Wha's the better o' them but innkeepers and chise-drivers? I wud nae count mysel' married i' the hiddlins way they gang aboot it noo."
"I daresay you remember these, things done in a very different style?" said Mr. Douglas.
"I dinna mind them whan the war at he best; but I hae heard my mither tell what a bonny ploy was at her waddin. I canna tell ye hoo mony was at it; mair nor the room wad haud, ye may be sure, for every relation an' freend o' baith sides war there, as well they sude; an' aw in full dress: the leddies in their hoops round them, an' some o' them had sutten up aw night till hae their heeds drest; for they hadnae thae pooket-like taps ye hae noo," looking with contempt at Mary's Grecian contour. "An' the bride's goon was aw shewed ow'r wi' favour, frae the tap doon to the tail, an' aw roond the neck, an' aboot the sleeves; and, as soon as the ceremony was ow'r, ilk ane ran till her, an' rugget an' rave at her for the favours till they hardly left the claise upon her back. Than they did nae run awa as they du noo, but sax an't hretty o' them sat doon till a graund denner, and there was a ball at night, an' ilka night till Sabbath cam' roond; an' than the bride an' the bridegroom, drest in their waddin suits, an' aw their freends 'n theirs, wi' their favours on their breests, walkit in procession till the kirk. An' was nae that something like a waddin? It was worth while to be married i' thae days-he, he!"
"The wedding seems to have been admirably conducted," said Mr. Douglas, with much solemnity. "The christening, I presume, would be the next distinguished event in the family?"
"Troth, Archie-an' ye sude keep your thoomb upon kirsnins as lang's ye leeve; yours was a bonnie kirsnin or ens no! I hae heard o' mony things, but a bairn kirsened whan its grandfaither was i' the deed-thraw, I ne'er heard tell o' before." Then observing the indignation that spread over Mr. Douglas's face, she quickly resumed, "An' so ye think the kirsnin was the neist ploy? He, he! Na; the cryin was a ploy, for the leddies did nae keep themsels up than as they do noo; but the day after the bairn was born, the leddy sat up i' her bed, wi' her fan intill her hand; an' aw her freends earn' an' stud roond her, an' drank her health an' the bairn's. Than at the leddy's recovery there was a graund supper gien that they caw'd thecummerfealls,an' there was a great pyramid o' hens at the tap o' the table, an' anither pyramid o' ducks at the fit, an' a muckle stoup fu' o' posset i' the middle, an' aw kinds o' sweeties doon the sides; an' as sune as ilk ane had eatin their fill they aw flew till the sweeties, an' fought, an' strave, an' wrastled for them, leddies an' gentlemen an' aw; for the brag was wha could pocket maist; an' whiles they wad hae the claith aff the table, an' aw thing i' the middle i' the floor, an' the chyres upside doon. Oo! muckle gude diversion, I'se warran,' was at thecummerfealls. Than whan they had drank the stoup dry, that ended the ploy. As for the kirsnin, that was aye whar it sude be—i' the hoose o' God, an' aw the kith an' kin bye in full dress, an' a band o' maiden cimmers aw in white; an' a bonny sight it was, as I've heard my mither tell."
Mr. Douglas, who was now rather tired of the old lady's reminiscences, availed himself of the opportunity of a fresh pinch to rise and take leave.
"Oo, what's takin' ye awa, Archie, in sic a hurry? Sit doon there," laying her hand upon his arm, "an' rest ye, an' tak a glass o' wine, an' a bit breed; or may be," turning to Mary, "ye wad rather hae a drap broth to warm ye. What gars ye luck sae blae, bairn? I'm sure it's no cauld; but ye're juste like the lave; ye gang aw skiltin aboot the streets half naked, an' than ye maun sit an' birsle yoursels afore the fire at hame."
She had now shuffled along to the farther end of the room, and opening a press, took out wine, and a plateful of various-shaped articles of bread, which she handed to Mary.
"Hae, bairn—tak a cookie; tak it up—what are you fear'd for? It'll no bite ye. Here's t'ye, Glenfern, an' your wife, an' your wean, puir tead; it's no had a very chancy ootset, weel a wat."
The wine being drunk, and the cookies discussed, Mr. Douglas made another attempt to withdraw, but in vain.
"Canna ye sit still a wee, man, an' let me spear after my auld freens at Glenfern? Hoo's Grizzy, an' Jacky, and Nicky? Aye workin awa at the pills an' the drogs?—-he, he! I ne'er swallowed a pill, nor gied a doit for drogs aw my days, an' see an ony of them'll rin a race wi' me whan they're naur five score."
Mr. Douglas here paid her some compliments upon her appearance, which were pretty graciously received; and added that he was the bearer of a letter from his Aunt Grizzy, which he would send along with a roebuck and brace of moor-game.
"Gin your roebuck's nae better than your last, at weel it's no worth the sendin'-poor dry fisinless dirt, no worth the chowing; weel a wat I begrudged my teeth on't. Your muirfowl was na that ill, but they're no worth the carryin; they're dong cheap i'the market enoo, so it's nae great compliment. Gin ye had brought me a leg o' gude mutton, or a cauler sawmont, there would hae been some sense in't; but ye're ane o' the fowk that'll ne'er harry yoursel' wi' your presents; it's but the pickle poother they cost you, an' I'se warran' ye're thinkin mail' o' your ain diversion than o' my stamick, when ye're at the shootin' o' them, puir beasts."
Mr. Douglas had borne the various indignities levelled against himself and his family with a philosophy that had no parallel in his life before; but to this attack upon his game he was not proof. His colour rose, his eyes flashed fire, and something resembling an oath burst from his lips as he strode indignantly towards the door.
His friend, however, was too nimble for him. She stepped before him, and, breaking into a discordant laugh, as she patted him on the back, "So I see ye're just the auld man, Archie,—aye ready to tak the strums, an' ye dinna get a' thing yer ain wye. Mony a time I had to fleech ye oot o' the dorts whan ye was a callant. Div ye mind hoo ye was affronted because I set ye doon to a cauld pigeon-pie, an' a tanker o' tippenny, ae night to ye're fowerhoors, afore some leddies—he, he, he! Weel a wat, yer wife maun hae her ain adoos to manage ye, for ye're a cumstairy chield, Archie."
Mr. Douglas still looked as if he was irresolute whether to laugh or be angry.
"Come, come, sit ye do on there till I speak to this bairn," said she, as she pulled Mary into an adjoining bedchamber, which wore the same aspect of chilly neatness as the one they had quitted. Then pulling a huge bunch of keys from her pocket she opened a drawer, out of which she took a pair of diamond earrings. "Hae, bairn," said she as she stuffed them into Mary's hand; "they belanged to your father's grandmother. She was a gude woman, an' had fouran'-twenty sons an' dochters, an' I wiss ye nae war fortin than just to hae as mony. But mind ye," with a shake of her bony finger, "they maun a be Scots. Gin I thought ye wad mairry ony pock-puddin', fient haed wad ye hae gotten frae me. Noo, had ye're tongue, and dinna deive me wi' thanks," almost pushing her into the parlour again; "and sin ye're gaun awa the morn, I'll see nae mair o' ye enoo—so fare ye weel. But, Archie, ye maun come an' tak your breakfast wi' me. I hae muckle to say to you; but ye manna be sae hard upon my baps as ye used to be," with a facetious grin to her mollified favourite, as they shook hands and parted.
"Well, how do you like Mrs. Macshake, Mary?" asked her uncle as they walked home.
"That is a cruel question, uncle," answered she, with a smile. "My gratitude and my taste are at such variance," displaying her splendid gift, "that I know not how to reconcile them."
"That is always the case with those whom Mrs. Macshake has obliged," returned Mr. Douglas. "She does many liberal things, but in so ungracious a manner that people are never sure whether they are obliged or insulted by her. But the way in which she receives kindness is still worse. Could anything equal her impertinence about my roebuck? Faith, I've a good mind never to enter her door again!"
Mary could scarcely preserve her gravity at her uncle's indignation, which seemed so disproportioned to the cause. But, to turn the current of his ideas, she remarked that he had certainly been at pains to select two admirable specimens of her countrywomen for her.
"I don't think I shall soon forget either Mrs. Gawffaw or Mrs Macshake," said she, laughing.
"I hope you won't carry away the impression that these twolusus naturaespecimens of Scotchwomen," said her uncle. "The former, indeed, is rather a sort of weed that infests every soil; the latter, to be sure, is an indigenous plant. I question if she would have arrived at such perfection in a more cultivated field or genial clime. She was born at a time when Scotland was very different from what it is now. Female education was little attended to, even in families of the highest rank; consequently, the ladies of those days possess aracinessin their manners and ideas that we should vainly seek for in this age of cultivation and refinement. Had your time permitted, you could have seen much good society here; superior, perhaps, to what is to be found anywhere else, as far as mental cultivation is concerned. But you will have leisure for that when you return."
Mary acquiesced with a sigh.Returnwas to her still a melancholy-sounding word. It reminded her of all she had left—of the anguish of separation—the dreariness of absence; and all these painful feelings were renewed in their utmost bitterness when the time approached for her to bid adieu to her uncle. Lord Courtland's carriage and two respectable-looking servants awaited her; and the following morning she commenced her journey in all the agony of a heart that fondly clings to its native home.
_Printed _by R. & R. CLARK,Edinburgh.
***
A Novel by Susan Ferrier
"Life consists not of a series of illustrious actions; the greater part of our time passes in compliance with necessities—in the performance of daily duties—in the removal of small inconveniences—in the procurement of petty pleasures; and we are well or ill at ease, as the main stream of life glides on smoothly, or is ruffled by small and frequent interruption."—JOHNSON.
Edinburgh Edition
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1881
_Printed _by R. & R. CLARK,Edinburgh
"Nor only by the warmthAnd soothing sunshine of delightful things,Do minds grow up and flourish."
AFTER parting with the last of her beloved relatives Mary tried to think only of the happiness that awaited her in a reunion with her mother and sister; and she gave herself up to the blissful reveries of a young and ardent imagination. Mrs. Douglas had sought to repress, rather than excite, her sanguine expectations; but vainly is the experience of others employed in moderating the enthusiasm of a glowing heart. Experiencecannotbe imparted. We may render the youthful mind prematurely cautious, or meanly suspicious; but the experience of a pure and enlightened mind is the result of observation, matured by time.
The journey, like most modern journeys, was performed in comfort and safety; and, late one evening, Mary found herself at the goal of her wishes—at the threshold of the house that contained her mother!
One idea filled her mind; but that idea called up a thousand emotions.
"I am now to meet my mother!" thought she; and, unconscious of everything else, she was assisted from the carriage, and conducted into the house. A door was thrown open; but shrinking from the glare of light and sound of voices that assailed her, he stood dazzled and dismayed, till she beheld a figure approaching that she guessed to be her mother. Her heart beat violently—a film was upon her eyes—she made an effort to reach her mother's arms, and sank lifeless on her bosom!
Lady Juliana, for such it was, doubted not but that her daughter was really dead; for though he talked of fainting every hour of the day herself, still what is emphatically called adead-faintwas a spectacle no less strange than shocking to her. She was therefore sufficiently alarmed and overcome to behave in a very interesting manner; and some yearnings of pity even possessed her heart as she beheld her daughter's lifeless form extended before her—her beautiful, though inanimate features, half hid by the profusion of golden ringlets that fell around her. But these kindly feelings were of short duration; for no sooner was the nature of her daughter's insensibility as ascertained, than all her former hostility returned, as she found everyone's attention directed to Mary, and she herself entirely overlooked in the general interest she had excited; and her displeasure was still further increased as Mary, at length slowly unclosing her eyes, stretched out her hands, and faintly articulated, "My mother!"
"Mother! What a hideous vulgar appellation!" thought the fashionable parent to herself; and, instead of answering her daughter's appeal, she hastily proposed that she should be conveyed to her own apartment; then, summoning her maid, she consigned her to her care, slightly touching her cheek as she wished her good-night, and returned to the card-table. Adelaide too resumed her station at the harp, as if nothing had happened; but Lady Emily attended her cousin to her room, embraced her again and again, as she assured her she loved her already, she was so like her dear Edward; then, after satisfying herself that everything was comfortable, affectionately kissed her, and withdrew.
Bodily fatigue got the better of mental agitation; and Mary slept soundly, and awoke refreshed.
"Can it be," thought she, as she tried to collect her bewildered thoughts, "can it be that I have really beheld my mother, that I have been pressed to her heart, that she has shed tears over me while I lay unconscious in her arms? Mother! What a delightful sound; and how beautiful she seemed! Yet I have no distinct idea of her, my head was so confused; but I have a vague recollection of something very fair, and beautiful, and seraph-like, covered with silver drapery, and flowers, and with the sweetest voice in the world. Yet that must be too young for my mother; perhaps it was my sister; and my mother was too much overcome to meet her stranger child. Oh, how happy must I be with such a mother and sister!"
In these delightful cogitations Mary remained till Lady Emily entered.
"How well you look this morning, my dear cousin," said she, flying to her; "you are much more like my Edward than you were last night. Ah! and you have got his smile too! You must let me see that very often."
"I am sure I shall have cause," said Mary, returning her cousin's affectionate embrace; "but at present I feel anxious about my mother and sister. The agitation of our meeting, and my weakness, I fear it has been too much for them;" and she looked earnest in Lady Emily's face for a confirmation of her fears.
"Indeed, you need be under no uneasiness on their account," returned her cousin, with her usual bluntness; "their feelings are not so easily disturbed; you will see them both at breakfast, so come along."
The room was empty; and again Mary's sensitive heart trembled for the welfare of those already so dear to her; but Lady Emily did not appear to understand the nature of her feelings.
"Have a little patience, my dear!" said she, with something of an impatient tone, as she rang for breakfast; "they will be here at their usual time. Nobody in this house is a slave to hours, or _gêné _with each other's society. Liberty is the motto here; everybody breakfasts when and where they please. Lady Juliana, I believe, frequently takes hers in her dressing-room; Papa never is visible till two or three o'clock; and Adelaide is always late."
"What a selfish cold-hearted thing is grandeur!" thought Mary, as Lady Emily and she sat like two specks in the splendid saloon, surrounded by all that wealth could purchase or luxury invent; and her thoughts reverted to the pious thanksgiving and affectionate meeting that graced their social meal in the sweet sunny parlour at Lochmarlie.
Some of those airy nothings, without a local habitation, who are always to be found flitting about the mansions of the great, now lounged into the room; and soon after Adelaide made herentrée.Mary, trembling violently, was ready to fall upon her sister's neck, but Adelaide seemed prepared to repel everything like a _scènce _for, with a cold, but sweet, "I hope you are better this morning?" she seated herself at the opposite side of the table. Mary's blood rushed back to her heart; her eyes filled with tears, she knew not why; for she could not analyse the feelings that swelled in her bosom. She would have shuddered tothinkher sister unkind, but shefeltshe was so.
"It can only be the difference of our manners," sighed she to herself; "I am sure my sister loves me, though she does not show it in the same way I should have done;" and she gazed with the purest admiration and tenderness on the matchless beauty of her face and form. Never had she beheld anything so exquisitely beautiful; and she longed to throw herself into her sister's arms and tell her how she loved her. But Adelaide seemed to think the present company wholly unworthy of her regard; for, after having received the adulation of the gentlemen, as they severally paid her a profusion of compliments upon her appearance, "Desire Tomkins," said she to a footman, "to ask Lady Juliana for the 'Morning Post,' and the second volume of 'Le——,' of the French novel I am reading; and say she shall have it again when I have finished it."
"In what different terms people may express the same meaning," thought Mary; "had I been sending a message to my mother, I should have expressed myself quite differently; but no doubt my sister's meaning is the same, though she may not use the same words."
The servant returned with the newspaper, and the novel would be sent when it could be found.
"Lady Juliana never reads like anybody else," said her daughter; "she is for ever mislaying books. She has lost the first volumes of the two last novels that came from town before I had even seen then."
This was uttered in the softest, sweetest tone imaginable, and as if she had been pronouncing a panegyric.
Mary was more and more puzzled.
"'What can be my sister's meaning here?" thought she. "The words seemed almost to imply censure; but that voice and smile speak the sweetest praise. How truly Mrs. Douglas warned me never to judge of people by their words."
At that moment the door opened, and three or four dogs rushed in, followed by Lady Juliana, with a volume of a novel in her hand. Again Mary found herself assailed by a variety of powerful emotions. She attempted to rise; but, pale and breathless, she sank back in her chair.
Her agitation was unmarked by her mother, who did not even appear to be sensible of her presence; for, with a graceful bend of her head to the company in general, she approached Adelaide, and putting her lips to her forehead, "How do you do, love? I'm afraid you are very angry with me about that teazing La—-I can't conceive where it can be; but here is the third volume, which is much prettier than the second."
"I certainly shall not read the third volume before the second," saidAdelaide with her usual serenity.
"Then I shall order another copy from town, my love; or I daresay I could tell you the story of the second volume: it is not at all interesting, I assure you. Hermilisde, you know—but I forget where the first volume left off."—Then directing her eyes to Mary, who had summoned strength to rise, and was slowly venturing to approach her, she extended a finger towards her. Mary eagerly seized her mother's hand, and pressed it with fervour to her lips; then hid her face on her shoulder to conceal the tears that burst from her eyes.
"Absurd, my dear!" said her Ladyship in a peevish tone, as she disengaged herself from her daughter; "you must really get the better of this foolish weakness; thesescènesare too much for me. I was most excessively shocked last night, I assure you, and you ought not to have quitted your room to-day."
Poor Mary's tears congealed in her eyes at this tender salutation, and she raised her head, as if to as certain whether it really proceeded from her mother; but instead of the angelic vision she had pictured to herself, she beheld a face which, though once handsome, now conveyed no pleasurable feeling to the heart.
Late hours, bad temper, and rouge had done much to impair Lady Juliana's beauty. There still remained enough to dazzle a superficial observer; but not to satisfy the eye used to the expression of all the best affections of the soul. Mary almost shrank from the peevish inanity portrayed on her mother's visage, as a glance of the mind contrasted it with the mild eloquence of Mrs. Douglas's countenance; and, abashed and disappointed, she remained mournfully silent.
"Where is Dr. Redgill?" demanded Lady Juliana of the company in general.
"He has got scent of a turtle at Admiral Yellowchops," answered Mr. P.
"How vastly provoking," rejoined her Ladyship, "that he should be out of the way the only time I have wished to see him since he came to the house!"
"Who is this favoured individual whose absence you are so pathetically lamenting, Julia?" asked Lord Courtland, as he indolently sauntered into the room.
"That disagreeable Dr. Redgill. He has gone somewhere to eat turtle at the very time I wished to consult him about—"
"The propriety of introducing a new niece to your Lordship," said Lady Emily, as, with affected solemnity, she introduced Mary to her uncle. Lady Juliana frowned—the Earl smiled—saluted his niece—hoped she had recovered the fatigue of the journey—remarked it was very cold; and then turned to a parrot, humming "Pretty Poll, say," etc.
Such was Mary's first introduction to her family; and those only who have felt what it was to have the genial current of their souls chilled by neglect or changed by unkindness can sympathise in the feelings of wounded affection—when the overflowings of a generous heart are confined within the narrow limits of its own bosom, and the offerings of love are rudely rejected by the hand most dear to us.
Mary was too much intimidated by her mother's manner towards her to give way, in her presence, to the emotions that agitated her; but she followed her sister's steps as she quitted the room, and, throwing her arms around her, sobbed in a voice almost choked with the excess of her feelings, "My sister, love me!-oh! love me!" But Adelaide's heart, seared by selfishness and vanity, was incapable of loving anything in which self had no share; and for the first time in her life she felt awkward and embarrassed. Her sister's streaming eyes and supplicating voice spoke a language to which she was a stranger; for art is ever averse to recognise the accents of nature. Still less is it capable of replying to them; and Adelaide could only wonder at her sister's agitation, and think how unpleasant it was; and say something about overcome, andeau-de-luce,and composure; which was all lost upon Mary as she hung upon her neck, every feeling wrought to its highest tone by the complicated nature of those emotions which swelled her heart. At length, making an effort to regain her composure, "Forgive me, my sister!" said she. "This is very foolish—to weep when I ought to rejoice—and I do rejoice—and I know I shall be so happy yet!" but in spite of the faint smile that accompanied her words, tears again burst from her eyes.
"I am sure I shall have infinite pleasure in your society," replied Adelaide, with her usual sweetness; and placidity, as she replaced a ringlet in its proper position; "but I have unluckily an engagement at this time. You will, however, be at no loss for amusement; you will find musical instruments there," pointing to an adjacent apartment; "and here are new publications, andportefeuillesof drawings you will perhaps like to look over;" and so saying she disappeared.
"Musical instruments and new publications!" repeated Mary mechanically to herself. "What have I to do with them? Oh for one kind word from my mother's lips!—one kind glance from my sister's eye!"
And she remained overwhelmed with the weight of those emotions, which, instead of pouring into the hearts of others, she was compelled to concentrate in her own. Her mournful reveries were interrupted by her kind friend Lady Emily; but Mary deemed her sorrow too sacred to be betrayed even to her, and therefore rallying her spirits, she strove to enter into those schemes of amusement suggested by her cousin for passing the day. But she found herself unable for such continued exertion; and, hearing a large party was expected to dinner, she retired, in spite of Lady Emily's remonstrance, to her own apartment, where she sought a refuge from her thoughts in writing to her friends at Glenfern.
Lady Juliana looked in upon her as she passed to dinner. She was in a better humour, for she had received a new dress which was particularly becoming, as both her maid and her glass had attested.
Again Mary's heart bounded towards the being to whom she owed her birth; yet afraid to give utterance to her feelings, she could only regard her with silent admiration, till a moment's consideration converted that into a less pleasing feeling, as she observed for the first time that her mother wore no mourning.
Lady Juliana saw her astonishment, and, little guessing the cause, was flattered by it. "Your style of dress is very obsolete, my dear," said she, as she contrasted the effect of her own figure and her daughter's in a large mirror; "and there's no occasion for you to wear black here. I shall desire my woman to order some things for you; though perhaps there won't be much occasion, as your stay here is to be short; and of course you won't think of going out at all.Apropos,you will find it dull here by yourself, won't you? I shall leave you my darling Blanche for companion," kissing a little French lap-dog as she laid it in Mary's lap; "only you must be very careful of her, and coax her, and be very, very good to her; for I would not have my sweetest Blanche vexed, not for the world!" And, with another long and tender salute to her dog, and a "Good-bye, my dear!" to her daughter, she quitted her to display her charms to a brilliant drawing-room, leaving Mary to solace herself in her solitary chamber with the whines of a discontented lap-dog.
"C'est un personnage illustre dans son genre, et qui a porté le talent de se bien nourrir jusques ou il pouvoit aller; . . . il ne semble né que pour la digestion."—LA BRUYERE.
IN every season of life grief brings its own peculiar antidote along with it. The buoyancy of youth soon repels its deadening weight, the firmness of manhood resists its weakening influence, the torpor of old age is insensible to its most acute pangs.
In spite of the disappointment she had experienced the preceding day, Mary arose the following morning with fresh hopes of happiness springing in her heart.
"What a fool I was," thought she, "to view so seriously what, after all, must be merely difference of manner; and how illiberal to expect every one's manners should accord exactly with my ideas; but now that I have got over the first impression, I daresay I shall find everybody quite amiable and delightful!"
And Mary quickly reasoned herself into the belief that she only could have been to blame. With renovated spirits she therefore joined her cousin, and accompanied her to the breakfasting saloon. The visitors had all departed, but Dr. Redgill had returned and seemed to be at the winding up of a solitary but voluminous meal. He was a very tall corpulent man, with a projecting front, large purple nose, and a profusion of chin.
"Good morning, ladies," mumbled he with a full mouth, as he made a feint of half-rising from his chair. "Lady Emily, your servant—Miss Douglas, I presume—hem! allow me to pull the bell for your Ladyship," as he sat without stirring hand or foot; then, after it was done—"'Pon my honour, Lady Emily, this is not using me well Why did you not desire me? And you are so nimble, I defy any man to get the start of you."
"I know you have been upon hard service, Doctor, and therefore I humanely wished to spare you any additional fatigue," replied Lady Emily.
"Fatigue, phoo! I'm sure I mind fatigue as little as any man; besides it's really nothing to speak of. I have merely rode from my friend Admiral Yellowchops' this morning."
"I hope you passed a pleasant day there yesterday?"
"So, so—very so, so," returned the Doctor drily.
"Only so, so, and a turtle in the case!" exclaimed Lady Emily.
"Phoo!—as to that, the turtle was neither here nor there. I value turtle as little as any man. You may be sure it wasn't for that I went to see my old friend Yellowchops. It happened, indeed, that therewasa turtle, and a very well dressed one too; but where five and thirty people (one half of them ladies, who, of course, are always helped first) sit down to dinner, there's an end of all rational happiness in my opinion."
"But at a turtle feast you have surely something much better. You know you may have rational happiness any day over a beef-steak."
"I beg your pardon—that's not such an easy matter. I can assure you it is a work of no small skill to dress a beef-steak handsomely; and, moreover, to eat it in perfection a man must eat it by himself. If once you come to exchange words over it, it is useless. I once saw the finest steak I ever clapped my eyes upon completely ruined by one silly scoundrel asking another if he liked fat. If he liked fat!—what a question for one rational being to ask another! The fact is, a beef-steak is like a woman's reputation, if once it is breathed upon it's good for nothing!"
"One of the stories with which my nurse used to amuse my childhood," said Mary, "was that of having seen an itinerant conjuror dress a beef-steak on his tongue."
The Doctor suspended the morsel he was carrying to his mouth, and for the first time regarded Mary with looks of unfeigned admiration.
"'Pon my honour, and that was as clever a trick as ever I heard of! You are a wonderful people, you Scotch—a very wonderful people—but, pray, was she at any pains to examine the fellow's tongue?"
"I imagine not," said Mary; "I suppose the love of science was not strong enough to make her run the risk of burning her fingers."
"It's a thousand pities," said the Doctor, as he dropped his chin with an air of disappointment. "I am surprised none of your Scotchscavansgot hold of the fellow and squeezed the secret out of him. It might have proved an important discovery—a very important discovery; and your Scotch are not apt to let anything escape them—a very searching, shrewd people as ever I knew—and that's the only way to arrive at knowledge. A man must be of a stirring mind if he expects to do good."
"A poor woman below wishes to se you, sir," said a servant.
"These poor women are perfect pests to society," said the Doctor, as his nose assumed a still darker hue; "there is no resting upon one's seat for them—always something the matter! The burn, and bruise, and hack themselves and their brats, one would really think, on purpose to give trouble."
"I have not the least doubt of it," said Lady Emily; "they must find your sympathy so soothing."
"As to that, Lady Emily, if you know as much about poor women as I do, you wouldn't think so much of them as you do. Take my word for it—they are one and all of them a very greedy, ungrateful set, and require to be kept at a distance."
"And also to be kept waiting. As poor people's time is their only wealth, I observe you generally make them pay a pretty large fee in that way."
"That is really not what I would have expected from you, Lady Emily. I must take the liberty to say your Ladyship does me the greatest injustice. You must be sensible how ready I am to fly," rising as if he had been glued to his chair, "when there is any real danger. I'm sure it was only last week I got up as soon as I had swallowed my dinner to see a man who had fallen down in a fit; and now I am going to this woman, who, I daresay, has nothing the matter with her, before my breakfast is well down my throat."
"Who is that gentleman?" asked Mary, as the Doctor at length, with much reluctance, shuffled out of the room.
"He is a sort of medical aid-de-camp of papa's," answered Lady Emily; "who, for the sake of good living, has got himself completely domesticated here. He is vulgar, selfish, andgourmand, as you must already have discovered; but these are accounted his greatest perfections, as papa, like all indolent people, must be diverted—andthathe never is by genteel, sensible people. He requires something more _piquant,_and nothing fatigues him so much as the conversation of a commonplace, sensible man—one who has the skill to keep his foibles out of sight. Now what delights him in Dr. Redgill, there is noretenu—any child who runs may read his character at a glance."
"It certainly does not require much penetration," said Mary, "to discover the Doctor's master-passion; love of ease and self-indulgence seem to be the pre-dominant features of his mind; and he looks as if, when he sat in an arm-chair, with his toes on the fender and his hands crossed, he would not have an idea beyond 'I wonder what we shall have for dinner to-day.'"
"I'm glad to hear you say so, Miss Douglas," said the Doctor, catching the last words as he entered the room, and taking them to be the spontaneous effusions of the speaker's own heart; "I rejoice to hear you say so. Suppose we send for the bill of fare,"—pulling the bell; and then to the servant, who answered the summons, "Desire Grillade to send up his bill—Miss Douglas wishes to see it."
"Young ladies are much more house wifely in Scotland than they are in this country," continued the Doctor, seating himself as close as possible to Mary,—"at least they were when I knew Scotland; but that's not yesterday, and it's much changed since then, I daresay. I studied physic in Edinburgh, and went upon a _tower _through the Highlands. 'I was very much pleased with what I saw, I assure you. Fine country in some respects—nature has been very liberal."
Mary's heart leapt within her at hearing her dear native land praised even by Dr. Redgill, and her conscience smote her for the harsh and hasty censure she had passed upon him. "One who can admire the scenery of the Highlands," thought she, "must have a mind. It has always been observed that only persons of taste were capable of appreciating the peculiar charms of mountain scenery. A London citizen, or a Lincolnshire grazier, sees nothing but deformity in the sublime works of nature,"ergo,reasoned Mary, "Dr. Redgill must be of a more elevated way of thinking than I had supposed." The entrance of Lady Juliana prevented her expressing the feelings that were upon her lips; but she thought what pleasure she would have in resuming the delightful theme at another opportunity.
After slightly noticing her daughter, and carefully adjusting her favourites, Lady Juliana began:—
"I am anxious to consult you, Dr. Redgill, upon the state of this young person's health.—You have been excessively ill, my dear, have you not? (My sweetest Blanche, do be quiet!) You had a cough, I think, and everything that was bad.—And as her friends in Scotland have sent her to me for a short time, entirely on account of her health (My charming, Frisk, your spirits are really too much!), I think it quite proper that she should be confined to her own apartment during the winter, that she may get quite well and strong against spring. As to visiting or going into company, that of course must be quite out of the question. You can tell Dr. Redgill, my dear, all about your complaints yourself."
Mary tried to articulate, but her feelings rose almost to suffocation, and the words died upon her lips.
"Your Ladyship confounds me," said the Doctor, pulling out his spectacles, which, after duly wiping, he adjusted on his nose, and turned their beams full on Mary's face—"I really never should have guessed there was anything the matter with the young lady. She does look aleettledelicate, to be sure-changing colour, too—but hand cool—eye clear—pulse steady, aleettleimpetuous, but that's nothing, and the appetite good. I own I was surprised to see you cut so good a figure after the delicious meals you have been accustomed to in the North: you must find it miserable picking here. An English breakfast," glancing with contempt at the eggs, muffins, toast, preserves, etc. etc., he had collected round him, "is really a most insipid meal. If I did not make a rule of rising early and taking regular exercise, I doubt very much if I should be able to swallow a mouthful-there's nothing to whet the appetite here; and it's the same everywhere; as Yellowchops says, our breakfasts are a disgrace to England. One would think the whole nation was upon a regimen of tea and toast—from the Land's End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, nothing but tea and toast. Your Ladyship must really acknowledge the prodigious advantage the Scotch possess over us in that respect."
"I thought the breakfasts, like everything else in Scotland, extremely disgusting," replied her Ladyship, with indignation.
"Ha! well, that really amazes me. The people I give up—they are dirty and greedy—the country, too, is a perfect mass of rubbish, and the dinners not fit for dogs—the cookery, I mean; as to the materials, they are admirable. But the breakfasts! That's what redeems the land; and every country has its own peculiar excellence. In Argyleshire you have the Lochfine herring, fat, luscious, and delicious, just out of the water, falling to pieces with its own richness—melting away like butter in your mouth. In Aberdeenshire you have the Finnan haddo' with a flavour all its own, vastly relishing—just salt enough to bepiquant,without parching you up with thirst. In Perthshire there is the Tay salmon, kippered, crisp, and juicy—a very magnificent morsel—aleettleheavy, but that's easily counteracted by a teaspoonful of the Athole whisky. In other places you have the exquisite mutton of the country made into hams of a most delicate flavour; flour scones, soft and white; oatcake, thin and crisp; marmalade and jams of every description; and—but I beg pardon—your Ladyship was upon the subject of this young lady's health. 'Pon my honour! I can see little the matter. We were just going to look over the bill together when your Ladyship entered. I see it begins with that eternalsoupesanté,and that paltrypotage-an-riz.This is the second day within a week Monsieur Grillade has thought fit to treat us with them; and it's a fortnight yesterday since I have seen either oyster or turtle soup upon the table. 'Pon my honour! such inattention is infamous. I know Lord Courtland detestssoupe_santé, _or, what's the same thing, he's quite indifferent to it; for I take indifference and dislike to be much the same. A man's indifference to his dinner-is a serious thing, and so I shall let Monsieur Grillade know." And the Doctor's chin rose and fell like the waves of the sea.
"What is the name of the physician at Bristol who is so celebrated for consumptive complaints?" asked Lady Juliana of Adelaide. "I shall send for him; he is the only person I have any reliance upon. I know he always recommends confinement for consumption."
Tears dropped from Mary's eyes. Lady Juliana regarded her with surprise and severity.
"How very tiresome! I really can't stand these perpetualscènes.Adelaide, my love, pull the bell for myeau-de-luce.Dr. Redgill, place the screen there. This room is insufferably hot. My dogs will literally be roasted alive;" and her Ladyship fretted about in all the perturbation of ill-humour.
"'Pon my honour! I don't think the room hot," said the Doctor, who, from a certain want of tact and capacity of intellect, never comprehended the feelings of others. "I declare I have felt it much hotter when your Ladyship has complained of the cold; but there's no accounting for people's feelings. If you would move your seat aleettlethis way, I think you would be cooler; and as to your daughter—"
"I have repeatedly desired, Dr. Redgill, that you will not use these familiar appellations when you address me or any of my family," interrupted Lady Juliana with haughty indignation.
"I beg pardon," said the Doctor, nowise discomposed at this rebuff. "Well, with regard to Miss—Miss—this young lady, I assure your Ladyship, you need be under no apprehensions on her account. She's aleettlenervous, that's all—take her about by all means—all young ladies love to go about and see sights. Show her the pump-room, and the ball-room, and the shops, and the rope-dancers, and the wild beasts, and there's no fear of her. I never recommend confinement to man, woman, or child. It destroys the appetite—and our appetite is the best part of us. What would we be without appetites? Miserable beings! worse than the beasts of the field!" And away shuffled the Doctor to admonish Monsieur Grillade on the iniquity of neglecting this the noblest attribute of man.
"It appears to me excessively extraordinary," said Lady Juliana, addressing Mary, "that Mrs. Douglas should have alarmed me so much about your health, when it seems there's nothing the matter with you. She certainly showed very little regard for my feelings. I can't understand it; and I must say, if you are not ill, I have been most excessively ill-used by your Scotch friends." And, with an air of great indignation, her Ladyship swept out of the room, regardless of the state into which she had thrown her daughter.
Poor Mary's feelings were now at their climax, and she gave way to all the repressed agony that swelled her heart. Lady Emily, who had been amusing herself at the other end of the saloon, and had heard nothing of what had passed, flew towards her at sight, of her suffering, and eagerly demanded of Adelaide the cause.
"I really don't know," answered Adelaide, lifting her beautiful eyes from her book with the greatest composure; "Lady Juliana is always cross of a morning."
"Oh no!" exclaimed Mary, trying to regain her composure, "the fault is mine. I—I have offended my mother, I know not how. Tell me, oh tell me, how I can obtain her forgiveness!"
"Obtain her forgiveness!" repeated Lady Emily indignantly, "for what?"
"Alas! I know not; but in some way I have displeased my mother; her looks—her words—her manner—all tell me how dissatisfied she is with me; while to my sister, and even to her very dogs——-Here Mary's agitation choked her utterance.
"If you expect to be treated like a dog, you will certainly be disappointed," said Lady Emily. "I wonder Mrs. Douglas did not warn you of what you had to expect. She must have known something of Lady Juliana's ways; and it would have been as well had you been better prepared to encounter them."
Mary looked hurt, and making an effort to conquer her emotion, she said, "Mrs. Douglas never spoke, of my mother with disrespect; but she did warn me against expecting too much from her affection. She said I had been too long estranged from her to have retained my place in her heart; but still—"
"You could not foresee the reception you have me with? Nor I neither.Did you, Adelaide?'
"Lady Juliana is sometimes so odd," answered her daughter in her sweetest tone, "that I really am seldom surprised at anything she does; but all this _fracas _appears to me perfectly absurd, as nobody minds anything she says."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mary; "my duty must ever be to reverence my mother. My study should be to please her, if I only knew how; and oh! would she but suffer me to love her!"
Adelaide regarded her sister for a moment with a look of surprise; then rose and left the room, humming an Italian air.
Lady Emily remained with her cousin, but she was a bad comforter. Her indignation against the oppressor was always much stronger than her sympathy with the oppressed; and she would have been more in her element scolding the mother than soothing the daughter.
But Mary had not been taught to trust to mortals weak as herself for support in the hour of trial. She knew her aid must come from a higher source; and in solitude she sought for consolation.
"This must be all for my good," sighed she, "else it would not be. I had drawn too bright a picture of happiness; already it is blotted out with my tears. I must set about replacing it with one of soberer colours."
Alas! Mary knew not how many a fair picture of human felicity had shared the same fate as hers!