As soon as the nature of the settlement which Claud had made of his property was known, Leddy Plealands removed Mrs. Charles and the children to her own house, and earnestly entreated her daughter the Leddy, who continued to reside at Grippy, managing the household cares there as usual, to exert her influence with Walter to make some provision for his unfortunate relations. Even George, who, engrossed by his business and his own family, cared almost as little as any man for the concerns of others, felt so ashamed of his father’s conduct, that, on the Sunday after the funeral, he went to pay a visit of condolence to his mother, and to join his exhortations to hers, in the hope that something might be done. But Walter was inexorable.
‘If my father,’ said he, ‘did sic a wicked thing to Charlie as ye a’ say, what for would ye hae me to do as ill and as wrang to my bairn? Is na wee Betty Bodle my first-born, and, by course o’ nature and law, she has a right to a’ I hae; what for then would ye hae me to mak away wi’ ony thing that pertains to her? I’ll no be guilty o’ ony sic sin.’
‘But you know, Walter,’ replied George, ‘that our father did intend to make some provision both for Mrs. Charles, her family, and our sister, and it’s really a disgrace to us all if nothing be done for them. It was but a chance that the bond of provision was na signed.’
‘Ye may say sae, Geordie, in your cracks at the Yarn Club, o’er the punch-bowl, but I think it was the will o’ Providence; for, had it been ordain’t that Bell Fatherlans and her weans were to get a part o’ father’s gear, they would hae gotten’t. But ye saw the Lord took him to Abraham’s bosom before the bond was signed, which was a clear proof and testimony to me, that it does na stand wi’ the pleasure o’ Heaven that she should get ony thing. She’ll get nothing frae me.’
‘But,’ again interposed George, ‘if you will do nothing in consideration of our father’s intention, you ought in charity to think of her distress.’
‘Charity begins at hame, Geordie, and wha kens but I may be brought to want if I dinna tak care?’
‘I’m sure,’ replied the merchant, sharply, ‘that many a one has who less deserved it.’
‘How do ye ken what I deserve?’ cried the natural, offended. ‘It’s speaking ill o’ the understanding o’ Providence, to say I dinna deserve what it has gi’en me. I’m thinking, Geordie, Providence kens my deserts muckle better than you.’
Leddy Grippy, who, during this conversation, was sitting at the table, in all the pomp of her new widow’s weeds, with the big Bible before her, in which she was trying to read that edifying chapter, the tenth of Nehemiah, here interposed.
‘Wheesht, wheesht, Watty, and dinna blaspheme,’ said she; ‘and no be overly condumacious. Ye ken your father was a good man, and nothing but the dart o’ death prevented him frae making a handsome provision for a’ his family, forbye you; and no doubt, when ye hae gotten the better o’ the sore stroke o’ the sudden removal of the golden candlestick o’ his life from among us, ye’ll do every thing in a rational and just manner.’
‘’Deed I’ll do nae sic things, mother,’ was the reply; ‘I’m mindit to haud the grip I hae gotten.’
‘But ye’re a Christian, Watty,’ resumed the Leddy, still preserving her well-put-on mourning equanimity, ‘and it behoves you to reflek, that a’ in your power is gi’en to you but as a steward.’
‘Ye need na tell me that; but wha’s steward am I? Is na the matter a trust for my bairn? I’m wee Betty Bodle’s steward, and no man shall upbraid me wi’ being unfaithfu’,’ replied Walter.
‘Aye, aye, Watty, that’s very true in a sense,’ said she, ‘but whosoever giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.’
‘That’s what I canna comprehend; for the Lord has no need to borrow; he can make a world o’ gold for the poor folk, if he likes, and if he keeps them in poortith, he has his ain reasons for’t.’
‘Ah, weel I wat!’ exclaimed the Leddy pathetically; ‘noo I fin’ to my cost, that my cousin, Ringan Gilhaise, the Mauchlin maltster, had the rights o’t when he plea’t my father’s will, on account of thy concos montis; and, but for auld pawky Keelevin, he would hae gotten the property that’s sae ill waur’t on thee.’
All this, however, made no impression; but George, in walking back to Glasgow, several times thought of what had fallen from his mother respecting the attempt which had been made to set aside her father’s settlement, on the score of Walter’s idiocy; and once or twice it occurred to him that the thing was still not impracticable, and that, being next heir of entail, and nearest male relative, it might be of advantage to his own family to get the management of the estate. Thus, by a conversation intended to benefit the disinherited heirs, the seed was sown of new plans and proceedings, worthy of the father’s son. From that period, George took no further interest in the affairs of his sister-in-law, but his visits became unusually frequent to Grippy, and he was generally always attended by some friend, whom he led into conversation with his brother,culated to call forth the least equivocal disclosures of the state of Walter’s mind.
But whatever were his motives for these visits, and this kind of conduct, he kept them close within his own breast. No one suspected him of any sinister design, but many applauded his filial attentions to his mother; for so his visits were construed, and they were deemed the more meritorious on account of the state of his own family, his wife, after the birth of her twin daughters, having fallen into ill health. Indeed, he was in general contemplated with sentiments of compassion and respect. Every body had heard of his anxiety, on the death of his father, to procure some provision for his deceased brother’s family, and sympathised with the regret which he expressed at finding Walter so niggardly and intractable; for not a word was breathed of his incapacity. The increased thoughtfulness and reserve of his manner which began, we may say, from the conversation quoted, was in consequence attributed to the effect of his comfortless domestic situation, and the public sympathy was considerably augmented, when, in the course of the same year in which his father died, he happened to lose one of his daughters.
There were, however, among his friends, as there are always about most men, certain shrewd and invidious characters, and some among them did not give him credit for so much sensibility as their mutual acquaintance in common parlance ascribed to him. On the contrary, they openly condemned his indelicacy, in so often exposing the fooleries of his brother; and those who had detected the well hidden sordid meanness of his disposition, wondered that he had so quietly acquiesced in Walter’s succession. But they had either forgotten, or had never heard of, the circumstance to which his mother alluded with respect to her relation, the Mauchlin maltster’s attempt to invalidate her father’s will, and, of course, were not aware of the address requisite to prove the incapacity of a man whose situation had been already investigated, and who, by a solemn adjudication, was declared in the fullpossession of all his faculties. Their wonderment was not, however, allowed to continue long, for an event, which took place within a little more than three months after the death of his daughter, ended all debates and controversies on the subject.
Death, it is said, rarely enters a house without making himself familiar to the inmates. Walter’s daughter, a premature child, had from her birth been always infirm and delicate. In the course of the spring after her grandfather’s death, she evidently grew worse, and towards the end of summer it was the opinion of all who saw her that she could not live long. The tenderness and solicitude of her father knew no bounds. She was, indeed, the sole object that interested him in life; he doated over her with the most single and entire affection; and when she died, he would not believe, nor allow himself to think, she had expired, but sat by the bedside, preserving silence, and preventing her from being touched, lest it should awaken her from a slumber which he fondly imagined was to establish her recovery. No inducement could be contrived to draw him from his vigilant watch, nor by any persuasion could permission be obtained to dress her corpse. George, in the meanwhile, called several times at the house, and took occasion, in going there one day, to ask the Reverend Doctor Denholm to accompany him, under the pretext that perhaps he might prevail with Walter to allow the body to be removed, as it was beginning to grow offensive. But, when they reached the house, Walter was missing—he had suddenly and unobserved quitted the room where the corpse lay, and his mother, availing herself of his absence, was busily preparing for the interment.
They waited some time in expectation of his return, believing he had only walked into the fields, in consequence of the air of the chamber having becomeintolerable; but, after conversing upwards of an hour on general topics, some anxiety began to be expressed for his appearance, and his mother grew so alarmed, that servants were dispatched in all directions in quest of him. They had not, however, proceeded far, when he was met on the Glasgow road, coming with his niece Mary in his arms, followed by Leddy Plealands’ maid-servant, loudly remonstrating with him for carrying off the child, and every now and then making an attempt to snatch it from his arms.
‘What hae ye been about?’ cried his mother, as she saw him approaching towards the house. He, however, made no answer; but, carrying the child into the nursery, he immediately stripped it naked, and dressed her in the clothes of his own daughter, caressing and pleasing her with a thousand fond assurances—calling her his third Betty Bodle, and betraying all the artless delight and satisfaction with which a child regards a new toy.
Dr. Denholm, happening to be among those who wondered that his brother had permitted him to succeed his father unmolested, and on seeing this indisputable proof of idiocy according to the notions of society,said,—
‘I canna refrain, Mr. George, from telling you that I think it’s no right to alloo such a fine property as your father left, to be exposed to wastrie and ruination in the possession of such a haverel. It’s neither doing justice to the world nor to your ain family; and I redde you look about you—for wha kens what he may do next?’
Such an admonition, the involuntary incitement of the moment, was not lost. George had, in fact, been long fishing for something of the kind, but nothing had occurred to provoke so explicit an opinion of Walter’s obvious incapacity. He, however, repliedcautiously,—
‘Some allowance, Doctor, must be made for the consternation of his sorrow; and ye should know that it’s a kittle point of law to determine when a man has or has not his sufficient senses.’
‘’Deed, Dr. Denholm,’ added Lady Grippy, who happened to be present,—‘what ye say is very true; for I can ne’er abide to think that Watty’s as he ought to be, since he refus’t to make good his honest father’s kind intents to the rest o’ the family. Here am I toiling and moiling frae morning to night for his advantage; and would ye believe me, Doctor, when I tell you, that he’ll no alloo a black bawbee for any needful outlay? and I’m obligated to tak frae my ain jointure money to pay the cost o’ every thing the house stands in need of.’
‘Not possible!’ said George, with every indication of the sincerest astonishment.
‘Whether it’s possible, or whether it’s probable, I ken best mysel,’ replied the Leddy;—‘and this I ken likewise, that what I say is the even-down truth; and nae farther gane than Mononday was eight days, I paid Deacon Paul, the Glasgow mason, thirteen shillings, a groat, and a bawbee, for the count o’ his sklater that pointed the skews o’ the house at Martinmas; and though I would supplicate, an it were on my knees, like Queen Esther, the doure Ahasuerus, that he is, has no mercy. Indeed, I’ll be nane surprised gin he leaves me to pay a’ the charge o’ his bairn’s burial, which will be a black shame if he does.’
‘This must not be endured,’ said George, gravely; ‘and I am surprised, mother, ye never spoke of such treatment before. I cannot sit patient and hear that ye’re used in such a cruel and unnatural manner.’
‘It would be a blot on your character, Mr. George,’ rejoined the minister, ‘if ye did. Your brother has been from his youth upward an evident idiot; and ever since the death of his wife, ony little wit he had has been daily growing less.’
‘What ye say, Doctor,’ resumed the Leddy, ‘is no to be controverted; for, poor lad, he certainly fell intil a sore melancholic at that time; and it’s my conceit he has ne’er rightly got the better o’t; for he was—hegh, sirs!—he was till that time the kindest o’ a’ my bairns; but, frae the day and hour that his wife took her departel in childbed, he has been a changed creature.Ye’ll mind how outstrapolous and constipated he was at her burial; and it’s wi’ a heavy heart that I maun say’t, when his kind father, soon after, wanted to mak a will and testament to keep us a’ right and comfortable, he was just like to burn the house aboon our heads wi’ his condumacity.’
‘I am well aware of the truth of much that you have said; but it’s a painful thing for a man to think of taking steps against the capacity of his brother,’ replied George. ‘For, in the event of not succeeding, he must suffer great obloquy in the opinion of the world; and you know that, with respect to Walter, the attempt was once made already.’
‘And every body said,’ cried the Leddy, ‘that, but for the devices of auld draughty Keelevin, he would hae been proven as mad as a March hare; and nae doubt, as he kens how he jookit the law afore, he might be o’ an instrumentality were the thing to gang to a revisidendo. No that I would like to see my bairn put into bedlam; at the same time, Dr. Denholm, I would na be doing a Christian and a parent’s part to the lave o’ my family, an I were to mak a mitigation against it.’
‘I do not think,’ replied George, looking inquiringly at the Reverend Doctor—‘that when a man is proved incapable of conducting his affairs, it is necessary to confine him.’
‘O, no; not at all, Mr. George,’ was the unsuspicious minister’s answer. ‘It would mak no odds to your brother; it would only oblige you to take the management of the estate.’
‘That,’ replied George, ‘would be far from convenient, for the business of the counting-house requires my whole attention. Ye can have no notion, Dr. Denholm, how much this rebellion in America has increased the anxieties of merchants. At the same time, I would be greatly wanting in duty and respect towards my mother, were I to allow her to remain any longer in such an unhappy state, to say nothing of the manifest injustice of obliging her to lay out her own proper jointure in repairs and other expenses of the house.’
Little more passed at that time on the subject; but, in the course of walking back to Glasgow, George was fortified in his intentions by the conversation of the Doctor—or, what is, perhaps, more correct, he appeared so doubtful and scrupulous, that the guileless pastor thought it necessary to argue with him against allowing his delicacy to carry him too far.
After the minister and George had left the house, the cares, we should say the enjoyments, of the Leddy were considerably increased, when she had leisure to reflect on the singular transaction by which Walter had supplied himself with another child. What with the requisite preparations for the funeral of his daughter next day, and ‘this new income’, as she called the adopted orphan, ‘that, in itself, was a handling little short o’ a birth,’ she had not, from the death of her husband, found herself half so earnestly occupied as on this sorrowful occasion. The house rang with her admonitions to the servants, and her short quick steps, in consequence of walking with old shoes down at the heel, clattered as cleverly as her tongue. But all this bustle and prodigality of anxieties suffered a sudden suspension, by the arrival of Mrs. Charles Walkinshaw, in quest of her child. The little girl, however, was by this time so delighted with the fondling and caresses of her uncle, that she was averse to return home with her mother.
‘I won’er,’ said Leddy Grippy, ‘how ane in your straitened circumstance, Bell Fatherlans, canna be thankfu’ for sic a gratus amous as this. Watty’s a kind-hearted creature, and ye may be sure that neither scaith nor scant will be alloo’t to come near the wean while it stays in this house. For my part, I think his kidnapping her has been nothing less than an instigation o’ Providence, since he would na be constrained, by any reason or understanding, to settle an aliment on you.’
‘I cannot, however, part with my child to him. You know there are many little peculiarities about Mr. Walter that do not exactly fit him for taking charge of children.’
‘But since he’s willing to bear the cost and charge o’ her,’ said the Leddy, ‘ye should mak no objek, but conform; for ye ken, I’ll hae the direction o’ her edication; and am sure ye would na wis to see her any better brought up than was our Meg, Mrs. Milrookit, who could once play seven tunes and a march on the spinet, and sewed a satin piece, at Embrough, of Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit under the tree of life;—the like of which had na before been seen in a’ this kintra side. In short, Bell, my dear, it’s my advice to you to let the lassie bide wi’ us; for, unless Watty is put out o’ the way, it may prove a great thing baith for her and you; for he’s a most ’conomical creature; and the siller he’ll save belyve will be just a portion.’
‘What do you mean,’ replied the young widow, eagerly, ‘about putting him out of the way?’
‘Ah! Bell Fatherlans,’ exclaimed the Leddy, in her most pathetic manner;—‘little ken ye yet what it is to hae a family. This has, indeed, been a house o’ mourning the day, even though we had na a body in it waiting for interment. The minister has been here wi’ Geordie, and it’s his solid opinion—we a’ ken what a man o’ lair and judgement Dr. Denholm is;—he thinks that Watty’s no o’ a faculty to maintain the salvation of the family property; and when your gude-brother heard how I hae been used, he said, that neither law nor justice should oblige him to let his mother live any longer in this house o’ bondage and land o’ Egypt; so that, when we get the wean put aneath the ground, there aiblins will be some terrogation as to the naturality of Watty’s capacity, which, ye may be sure, is a most sore heart to me, his mother, to hear tell o’. But if it’s the Lord’s will, I maun submit; for really, in some things, Watty’s no to be thol’t; yet, for a’ that, Bell, my dear, I would let him tak his own way wi’ your bairn, till we see what’s to be theupshot. For, and though I maun say it, who is his parent, that it canna be weel denied, that he’s a thought daft by course o’ nature; he may, nevertheless, be decreetit douce enough by course o’ law. Therefore, it’s neither for you nor me to mak or meddle in the matter; but gather the haws afore the snaws, betide whatever may betide.’
We cannot venture to say that Mrs. Charles Walkinshaw was exactly what we should call surprised at this information. She knew enough of the characters of her mother-in-law and of George, to hear even more extraordinary communications from the former unmoved. We need scarcely add, however, that the Leddy’s argument was not calculated with her to produce the effect intended; on the contrary, shesaid,—
‘What you tell me only serves to convince me of the impropriety I should be guilty of in leaving my child with Walter.’
But their conversation was interrupted at this juncture by the entrance of Walter, leading Mary.
‘I’m come,’ said he, ‘Bell Fatherlans, to tell you that ye’re to gang away hame, and bring Jamie here to stay wi’ us. The house is big enough to haud us a’, and it’ll be a grand ploy to my mother—for ye ken she has such a heart for a thrangerie butt and ben, that, rather than want wark, she’ll mak a baby o’ the beetle, and dance til’t, cracking her thumbs, and singing,
Dance to your deddie, my bonny leddie;Jink through the reelie; jook round and wheelie;Bob in the setting, my bonny lamb;And ye’s get a slicie o’ a dishie nicie—Red-cheekit apples and a mutton ham.
Dance to your deddie, my bonny leddie;Jink through the reelie; jook round and wheelie;Bob in the setting, my bonny lamb;And ye’s get a slicie o’ a dishie nicie—Red-cheekit apples and a mutton ham.
So just gang hame at ance, Bell, and bring your laddie, and we’ll a’ live thegither, and rookettycoo wi’ ane anither like doos in a doocot.’
But although Leddy Grippy certainly did like a bustle with all her heart and spirit, she had still thatinfirmity which ever belongs to human nature gifted with similar propensities,—namely, a throbbing apprehension at the idea of it, such as mankind in general suffer in the prospect of enjoying pleasure; and the expression of this feeling with her took commonly the form and language of repugnance and reluctance, yea sometimes it even amounted to refusal.
‘What say ye?’ cried she to Walter, under a strong impression of it at the moment,—‘are ye utterly bereav’t o’ your senses, to speak o’ bringing the lade o’ another family on my hands?’
‘I’m sure,’ was his answer, ‘if ye dinna like to tak the pleasure o’t, ye’re free to set up your jointure house, and live the life o’ dowager duchess, for me, mother. But Bell Fatherlans and her bairns are to come here,—for this is my house, ye ken—settlet on me and mine, past a’ power o’ law, by my father—and what’s my ain I’ll mak my ain.’
‘Wha would hae thought o’ sic outcoming o’ kindness as this!’ replied the Leddy. ‘I fancy, Bell, ye’ll hae to come and resident wi’ us?’
‘An she does na,’ said Walter, ‘I’ll gang away where never one kent me, and tak her wee Mary on my back in a basket, like Jenny Nettles—that’s what I will; so put the matter to your knee and straight it.’
‘I’ll mak a bargain, Mr. Walter,’ replied Mrs. Charles,—‘I’ll leave Mary to-night, and come, after the burial to-morrow, with James, and stay a few days.’
‘Ye’ll stay a’ your days,’ exclaimed Walter; ‘and as ye’re a leddy o’ mair genteelity than my mother, ye shall hae the full rule and power o’ the house, and mak jam and jelly;—a’ the cast o’ her grace and skill gangs nae farther than butter and cheese.’
His mother was confounded, and unable for some time to utter a word. At last, putting her hands firmly into her sides, shesaid,—
‘My word, but thou’s no blate. But it’s no worth my while to gang intil a passion for a born idiot. Your reign, my lad, ’s no ordaint to be lang, if there’s either law or gospel among the Fifteen at Embro’. Tomisliken his mother! to misuse me as I were nae better than an auld bachle, and, in a manner, to turn me out the house!’
‘O don’t disturb yourself,’ interposed Mrs. Charles; ‘they were but words of course. You know his humour, and need not be surprised at what he says.’
The indignant mother was not, however, soon appeased,—her wrath for some time burnt fiercely, and it required no little dexterity on the part of her daughter-in-law to allay the altercation which ensued; but in the end her endeavours proved successful, and the result was an arrangement that the child should be left for a day or two, to ascertain whether Walter’s attachment was dictated by caprice or a transfer of his affections. And in order to preserve quiet, and to prevent any extravagance that might be injurious to the little girl, it was also arranged that her mother and brother should likewise spend a few weeks at Grippy.
The news of the arrangement, when communicated to Doctor Denholm and George, at the funeral next day, produced on them very opposite effects. The minister, who was naturally of a warm and benevolent disposition, persuaded himself that the proposal of Walter, to receive his sister-in-law and her family, was dictated by a sense of duty and of religion, and regretted that he had so hastily expressed himself so strongly respecting his incapacity. Indeed, every one who heard the story put upon it nearly the same sort of construction, and applauded the uncouth kindness of the natural as brotherly and Christian.
George, however, saw it, perhaps, more correctly; but he was exceedingly disturbed by the favourable impression which it made on the minds of his acquaintance, and hesitated to indulge his desire to obtain the management of the estate. But still he continued his visits to Grippy, and took every opportunity of drawingthe attention of his friends to the imbecility of his brother. Nothing, however, occurred to further his wishes till the term of Martinmas after the incident mentioned in the foregoing chapter; when, on receiving his rents, he presented his sister-in-law with a ten-pound note, at the same time counting out, to the calculation of a halfpenny, the balance he owed his mother of her jointure, but absolutely refusing to repay her any of the money she had, in the meantime, disbursed for different little household concerns and repairs, saying, that all she had laid out was nothing in comparison to what she was due for bed and board. This was the unkindest cut of all; for she justly and truly estimated her services to him as of far more value. However, she said nothing; but next day, on the pretext of going to see her mother, who was now very infirm, and unable to quit her chamber, she went to Glasgow and called on George, to whom she made a loud and long complaint of the insults she had received, and of the total unfitness and unworthiness of his brother to continue uncontrolled in the possession of the estate.
George sympathized with her sorrows and her sufferings like a dutiful son, and comforted her with the assurance that he would lose no time in taking some steps for her relief, and the preservation of the property. And, as she consented to remain that day to dinner, it was thought, considering the disposition Walter had shown to squander his gifts on his sister-in-law, without any consideration for the rest of the family, it might be as well to consult Mr. Keelevin on the occasion. A message was, accordingly, dispatched to the honest lawyer, begging him to call after dinner; in short, every demonstration was made by George to convince his mother how much better her worth was appreciated by him than by his brother;—and she was not only consoled, but delighted with the sincerity of his attentions.
In due time Mr. Keelevin made his appearance; and the Leddy began a strong representation of all theindignities which she had endured, but her son softly and mildly interposed,saying,—
‘It is of no use, my dear mother, to trouble Mr. Keelevin with these things; he knows the infirmities of Walter as well as we do. No doubt,’ he added, turning to the lawyer, ‘you have heard of the very extraordinary manner in which my brother took Mrs. Charles and her family to Grippy.’
‘I really,’ replied the honest-hearted man, ‘had no idea that he possessed so muckle feeling and common sense, but I was very happy to hear’t. For, his own wean being no more, I’m sure he can do nothing better than make up to the disinherited orphans some portion of that which, but for your father’s sudden death, would hae been provided for them.’
George knew not what reply to make to this; but his mother, who, like the rest of her sex, had an answer for all subjects and occasions ever ready,said,—
‘It’s weel to ca’t sense and feeling, but if I were obligated to speak the truth, I would baptize it wi’ another name. It’s no to be rehearsed by the tongue o’ man, Mr. Keelevin, what I hae borne at the hands of the haverel idiot, since the death of him that’s awa—your auld friend, Mr. Keelevin;—he was a man of a capacity, and had he been spared a comfort to me, as he was, and ay sae couthy wi’ his kindness, I would na kent what it is to be a helpless widow. But surely there maun be some way o’ remeid for us a’ in thir straits? It’s no possible that Walter can be alloo’t to riot and ravage in sic a most rabiator-like manner; for I need na tell you, that he’s gane beyond all counsel and admonition. Noo, do ye think, Mr. Keelevin, by your knowledge and skill in law, that we can get him cognost, and the rents and rule o’ the property ta’en out of his hands? for, if he gangs on at the gait he’s going, I’ll be herri’t, and he’ll no leave himself ae bawbee to rub on anither.’
‘What has he done?’ inquired the lawyer, a little thoughtfully.
‘Done! what has he no done? He gied BellFatherlans a ten pound note, and was as dour as a smith’s vice in the grip, when I wantit him to refund me a pour o’ ready money that I was obligated to lay out for the house.’
George, who had watched the lawyer’s countenance in the meantime,said,—
‘I doubt, mother, few will agree in thinking of that in the way you do. My sister-in-law stands in need of his kindness, but your jointure is more than you require; for, after all your terrible outlays,’ and he smiled to Mr. Keelevin as he said the words, ‘you have already saved money.’
‘But what’s that to him?’ exclaimed the Leddy. ‘Is nae a just debt a just debt—was na he bound to pay what I paid for him—and is’t no like a daft man and an idiot, to say he’ll no do’t? I’m sure, Mr. Keelevin, I need na tell you that Watty was ne’er truly concos montes. How ye got him made sound in his intellectuals when the law plea was about my father’s will, ye ken best yoursel; but the straemash that was thereanent is a thing to be remembered.’
Mr. Keelevin gave a profound sigh, adding, in a sort of apologisticmanner,—
‘But Walter has maybe undergone some change since that time?’
‘Yes,’ said George, ‘the grief and consternation into which he was thrown by the sudden death of his wife had undoubtedly a great effect on his mind.’
‘He was clean dementit at that time,’ cried the Leddy; ‘he would neither buff nor stye for father nor mother, friend nor foe; a’ the King’s forces would na hae gart him carry his wife’s head in a wiselike manner to the kirk-yard. I’m sure, Mr. Keelevin, for ye were at the burial, ye may mind that her father, Kilmarkeckle, had to do’t, and lost his canary snuff by a twirl o’ the wind, when he was taking a pinch, as they said, after lowering her head intil the grave; which was thought, at the time, a most unparent-like action for any man to be about at his only dochter’s burial.’
Mr. Keelevin replied, ‘I will honestly confess to you,that I do think there has of late been signs of a want about Mr. Walter. But in his kindness to his poor brother’s widow and family, there’s great proof and evidence, both of a sound mind, reason, and a right heart. Ye’ll just, Mrs. Walkinshaw, hae to fight on wi’ him as well as ye can, for in the conscience o’ me I would, knowing what I know of the family, be wae and sorry to disturb such a consolatory manifestation of brotherly love.’
‘That’s just my opinion,’ said George, ‘and I would fain persuade my mother to put up with the slights and ill usage to which she is so distressingly subjected—at the same time, I cannot say, but I have my fears, that her situation is likely to be made worse rather than better, for Walter appears disposed, not only to treat her in a very mean and unworthy manner, but to give the whole dominion of the house to Mrs. Charles.’
‘Na,’ exclaimed the Leddy, kindling at this dexterous awakening of her wrongs. ‘He did far waur, he a’maist turn’t me out o’ the house by the shouthers.’
‘Did he lay hands on you, his mother?’ inquired Mr. Keelevin with his professional accent and earnestness. But George prevented her from replying, by saying that his mother naturally felt much molested in receiving so harsh a return for the particular partiality with which she had always treated his brother—and was proceeding in his wily and insidious manner to fan the flame he seemed so anxious to smother. Mr. Keelevin, however, of a sudden, appeared to detect his drift, and gave him such a rebuking look, that he became confused and embarrassed, during which the honest lawyer rose and wished them good afternoon—saying to George, who accompanied him to thedoor,—
‘The deil needs baith a syde cloak and a wary step to hide his cloven foot—I’ll say nae mair, Mr. George; but dinna mak your poor brother’s bairns waur than they are—and your mother should na be egget on in her anger, when she happens, poor body, to tak the dods now and then—for the most sensible of women hae their turns o’ tantrums, and need baith rein and bridle.’
‘I hope and trust,’ said Leddy Grippy, as George returned from conducting the lawyer to the door, ‘that ye’ll hae mair compassion for your mother than to be sway’t by the crooked counsels o’ yon quirkie bodie. I could see vera weel that he has a because o’ his ain for keeping his thumb on Watty’s unnaturality. But Geordie, he’s no surely the only lawyer in the town? I wat there are scores baith able and willing to tak the business by the hand; and if there shou’d be nane o’ a sufficient capacity in Glasgow, just tak a step in til Embro’, where, I hae often heard my honest father say, there are legions o’ a capacity to contest wi’ Belzebub himsel.’
‘I am very anxious, mother, to do every thing to promote your happiness,’ was the reply; ‘but the world will be apt to accuse me of being actuated by some sinister and selfish motive. It would be most disgraceful to me were I to fail.’
‘It will be a black burning shame to alloo a daft man any longer to rule and govern us like a tyrant wi’ a rod o’ iron, pooking and rooking me, his mother, o’ my ain lawful jointure and honest hainings, forbye skailing and scattering his inheritance in a manner as if ten pound notes were tree-leaves at Hallowe’en.’
‘I am quite sensible of the truth and justice of all you say; but you know the uncertainty of the law,’ said George, ‘and the consequences would be fatal to me were we not to succeed.’
‘And what will be the consequences if he were taking it in his head to marry again? He would mak nae scruple of sending me off frae Grippy at an hour’s warning.’
This touched the keenest nerve of her son’s anxieties; and he was immediately alarmed by a long visionary vista of unborn sons, rising between him and the succession to the estate;—but he only appeared to sympathize with his mother.
‘It’s not possible,’ said he, ‘even were he to marry again, that he could be so harsh. You have lived ever since your marriage with my father at Grippy. It’s your home, and endeared to you by many pleasing recollections. It would be extreme cruelty now, in your declining years, to force you to live in the close air, and up the dirty turnpike stairs o’ Glasgow.’
‘It would soon be the death o’ me,’ exclaimed the Leddy, with a sigh, wiping one of her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘In short, Geordie, if ye dinna step out and get him put past the power o’ marrying, I’ll regard you as little better than art and part in his idiocety. But it’s time I were taking the road, for they’ll a’ be marvelling what keeps me. There’s, however, ae thing I would advise you, and that is, to take gude care and no mint what we hae been speaking o’ to living creature, for nobody can tell what detriment the born idiot might do to us baith, were he to get an inkling before a’s ready to put the strait waistcoat o’ the law on him; so I redde you set about it in a wary and wily manner, that he may hae nae cause to jealouse your intent.’
There was, however, no great occasion for the latter part of this speech, George being perfectly aware of all the difficulties and delicacies of the case; but hesaid,—
‘Did he ever attempt actually to strike you?’
‘Oh, no,’ replied his mother; ‘to do the fool thing justice, it’s kindly enough in its manner; only it will neither be governed nor guided by me as it used to be; which is a sore trial.’
‘Because,’ rejoined George, ‘had he ever dared to do so, there would then have been less trouble or scruple in instituting proceedings against him.’
‘Na; an it’s ony way to commode the business, we might soon provoke him to lift his hand; but it’s a powerful creature, and I’m fear’t. However, Geordie, ye might lay yoursel out for a bit slaik o’ its paw; so just come o’er the morn’s morning and try; for it’ll no do to stand shilly-shallying, if we hope to mak a right legality o’t.’
Cowardice is the best auxiliary to the police, and George had discretion enough not to risk the danger of rousing the sleeping lion of his brother’s Herculean sinews. But, in other respects, he took his mother’s advice; and, avoiding the guilt of causing an offence, in order that he might be able to prosecute the offender, he applied to Gabriel Pitwinnoch, the writer, from whose character he expected to encounter fewer scruples and less scrutiny than with Mr. Keelevin.
In the meantime, the Leddy, who had returned home to Grippy, preserved the most entire reserve upon the subject to all the inmates of the family, and acted her part so well, that even a much more suspicious observer than her daughter-in-law would never have suspected her of double dealing. Indeed, any change that could be perceived in her manner was calculated to lull every suspicion,—for she appeared more than usually considerate and attentive towards Walter, and even condescended to wheedle and coax him on different occasions, when it would have been more consonant to her wonted behaviour had she employed commands and reproaches.
In the course of a week after the interview with Mr. Keelevin, George went to Edinburgh, and he was accompanied in his journey by the wary Gabriel Pitwinnoch. What passed between them on the road, and who they saw, and what advice they received in the intellectual city, we need not be particular in relating; but the result was, that, about a week after their return, Gabriel came to Grippy, accompanied by a stranger, of whose consequence and rank it would appear the Leddy had some previous knowledge, as she deported herself towards him with a degree of ceremonious deference very unusual to her habits. The stranger, indeed, was no less a personage than Mr. Threeper the advocate, a gentleman of long standing and great practice in the Parliament House, and much celebrated for his shrewd perception of technical flaws, and clever discrimination of those nicer points of the law that are so often at variance with justice.
It happened, that, when this learned doctor of the Caledonian Padua arrived with his worthy associate, Mrs. Charles Walkinshaw was in the fields; but, the moment her son James saw him, he was so struck with his appearance, that he ran to tell her. Walter also followed him, under the influence of the same feeling, andsaid,—
‘Come in, Bell Fatherlans, and see what a warld’s won’er Pitwinnoch the writer has brought to our house. My mother says it’s a haudthecat, and that it gangs about the town o’ Embro’, walking afore the Lords, in a black gown, wi’ a wig on’ts head. I marvel what the creature’s come here for. It has a silver snuffbox, that it’s ay pat-patting; and ye would think, to hear it speak, that King Solomon, wi’ a’ his hundreds o’ wives and concubines, was but a fool to him.’
Mrs. Charles was alarmed at hearing of such a visitor; for the journey of George and Pitwinnoch to Edinburgh immediately occurred to her, and a feeling of compassion, mingled with gratitude for the kindness which Walter had lately shown to herself and her children, suggested that she ought to put him on his guard.
‘Walter,’ said she, ‘I would not advise you to go near the house while the two lawyers are there,—for who knows what they may do to you? But go as fast as ye can to Glasgow, and tell Mr. Keelevin what has happened; and say that I have some reason to fear it’s a visit that bodes you no good, and therefore ye’ll stand in need of his advice and assistance.’
The natural, who had an instinctive horror of the law, made no reply, but, with a strong expression of terror in his countenance, immediately left her, and went straight to Glasgow.
During the journey of George and Pitwinnoch to Edinburgh, a Brief of Chancery had been quietly obtained, directing the Sheriff of the county to summon a jury, to examine into the alleged fatuity of Walter; and the visit of the latter with Mr. Threeper, the advocate, to Grippy, was to meet George, for the purpose of determining with respect to the evidence that it might be requisite to adduce before the inquest. All this was conducted, as it was intended to appear, in a spirit of the greatest delicacy towards the unfortunatefatuus, consistent with the administration of public justice.
‘I can assure you,’ said our friend Gabriel to Mr. Threeper, as they walked towards the house—the advocate perusing the ground as he poked his way along with his cane, and occasionally taking snuff; ‘I can assure you, that nothing but the most imperious necessity could have induced Mr. George Walkinshaw to institute these proceedings; for he is a gentleman of the utmost respectability; and to my knowledge has been long and often urged in vain to get his brother cognost; but, until the idiot’s conduct became so intolerable, that his mother could no longer endure it, he was quite inexorable.’
‘Is Mr. George in affluent circumstances?’ said the advocate, dryly.
‘He is but a young man; the house, however, in which he is a partner is one of the most flourishing in Glasgow,’ was the answer.
‘He has, perhaps, a large family?’
‘O dear no; only one daughter; and his wife,’ said Gabriel, ‘is, I understand, not likely to have any more.’
‘She may, however, have sons, Pitwinnoch,’ rejoined the advocate, wittily—at the same time taking snuff. ‘But you say it is the mother that has chiefly incited Mr. Walkinshaw to this action.’
‘So he told me,’ replied the writer.
‘Her evidence will be most important; for it is not natural that a mother would urge a process of such a nature, without very strong grounds indeed, unless she has some immediate or distinct prospective interest in the result. Have you any idea that such is the case?’
‘I should think not,’ said Gabriel.
‘Do you imagine that such allowance as the Court might grant for the custody of thefatuuswould have any influence with her?’ inquired Mr. Threeper, without raising his eyes from the road.
‘I have always understood,’ was the reply, ‘that she is in the possession, not only of a handsome jointure, but of a considerable provision, specially disponed to her by the will of old Plealands, her father.’
‘Ah! was she the daughter of old Plealands?’ said the advocate. ‘It was in a cause of his that I was first retained. He had the spirit of litigation in a very zealous degree.’
In this manner the two redressers of wrongs chattingly proceeded towards Grippy, by appointment, to meet George; and they arrived, as we have related in the foregoing chapter, a few minutes before he made his appearance.
In the meantime, Watty hastened with rapid steps, goaded by a mysterious apprehension of some impending danger, to the counting-house of Mr. Keelevin, whom he found at his desk.
‘Weel, Mr. Walter,’ said the honest writer, looking up from a deed he was perusing, somewhat surprised at seeing him—‘What’s the best o’ your news the day, and what’s brought you frae Grippy?’
‘Mr. Keelevin,’ replied Walter, going towards him on tiptoe, and whispering audibly in his ear, ‘I’ll tell you something, Mr. Keelevin:—twa gleds o’ the law hae lighted yonder; and ye ken, by your ain ways, that the likes o’ them dinna flee afield for naething.’
‘No possible!’ exclaimed Mr. Keelevin; and the recollection of his interview with George and the Leddy flashing upon him at the moment, he at once divined the object of their visit; and added, ‘It’s mostabominable;—but ken ye what they’re seeking, Mr. Walter?’
‘No,’ said he. ‘But Bell Fatherlans bade me come and tell you; for she thought I might need your counsel.’
‘She has acted a true friend’s part; and I’m glad ye’re come,’ replied the lawyer; ‘and for her and her bairns’ sake, I hope we’ll be able to defeat their plots and devices. But I would advise you, Mr. Walter, to keep out o’ harm’s way, and no gang in the gate o’ the gleds, as ye ca’ them.’
‘Hae ye ony ark or amrie, Mr. Keelevin, where a body might den himsel till they’re out o’ the gate and away?’ cried Walter timidly, and looking anxiously round the room.
‘Ye should na speak sic havers, Mr. Walter, but conduct yourself mair like a man,’ said his legal friend grievedly. ‘Indeed, Mr. Walter, as I hae some notion that they’re come to tak down your words—may be to spy your conduct, and mak nae gude report thereon to their superiors—tak my advice, and speak as little as possible.’
‘I’ll no say ae word—I’ll be a dumbie—I’ll sit as quiet as ony ane o’ the images afore Bailie Glasford’s house at the head o’ the Stockwell. King William himsel, on his bell-metal horse at the Cross, is a popular preacher, Mr. Keelevin, compared to what I’ll be.’
The simplicity and sincerity with which this was said moved the kind-hearted lawyer at once to smile and sigh.
‘There will, I hope, Mr. Walter,’ said he, ‘be no occasion to put any restraint like that upon yoursel; only it’s my advice to you as a friend, to enter into no conversation with any one you do not well know, and to dress in your best clothes, and shave yoursel,—and in a’ things demean and deport yoursel, like the laird o’ Kittlestonheugh, and the representative of an ancient and respected family.’
‘Oh, I can easily do that,’ replied the natural; ‘and I’ll tak my father’s ivory-headed cane, with the golden virl, and the silver e’e for a tassel, frae ahint thescrutoire, where it has ay stood since his death, and walk up and down the front of the house like a Glasgow magistrate.’
‘For the love o’ Heaven, Mr. Walter,’ exclaimed the lawyer, ‘do nae sic mad-like action! The like o’ that is a’ they want.’
‘In whatna other way, then,’ said Walter helplessly, ‘can I behave like a gentleman, or a laird o’ yird and stane, wi’ the retinue o’ an ancient pedigree like my father’s Walkinshaws o’ Kittlestonheugh?’
‘’Deed,’ said Mr. Keelevin compassionately, ‘I’m wae to say’t—but I doot, I doot, it’s past the compass o’ my power to advise you.’
‘I’m sure,’ exclaimed Walter despairingly, ‘thatthe Makerwas ill aff for a turn when he took to the creating o’ lawyers. The deils are but prentice work compared to them. I dinna ken what to do, Mr. Keelevin—I wish that I was dead, but I’m no like to dee, as Jenny says in her wally-wae about her father’s cow and auld Robin Gray.’
‘Mr. Walter,’ said his friend, after a pause of several minutes, ‘go you to Mrs. Hypel, your grandmother, for the present, and I’ll out to Grippy, and sift the meaning o’ this visitation. When I have gathered what it means, we’ll hae the better notion in what way we ought to fight with the foe.’
‘I’ll smash them like a forehammer,’ exclaimed Walter, proudly. ‘I’ll stand ahint a dike, and gie them a belter wi’ stanes, till I hae na left the souls in their bodies—that’s what I will,—if ye approve o’t, Mr. Keelevin.’
‘Weel, weel, Mr. Walter,’ was the chagrined and grieved reply, ‘we’ll see to that when I return; but it’s a terrible thing to think o’ proving a man non compos mentis for the only sensible action he ever did in all his life. Nevertheless, I will not let myself despond; and I have only for the present to exhort you to get yoursel in an order and fitness to appear as ye ought to be;—for really, Mr. Walter, ye alloo yoursel to gang sae like a divor, that I dinna wonder ye haebeen ta’en notice o’. So I counsel you to mak yoursel trig, and no to play ony antics.’
Walter assured him, that his advice would in every respect be followed; and, leaving the office, he went straight to the residence of his grandmother, while Mr. Keelevin, actuated at once by his humanity and professional duty, ordered his horse, and reached Grippy just as the advocate, Mr. Pitwinnoch, and George, were on the point of coming away, after waiting in vain for the return of Walter, whom Mr. Threeper was desirous of conversing with personally.
The triumvirate and Leddy Grippy were disconcerted at the appearance of Mr. Keelevin—for, at that moment, the result of Mr. Threeper’s inquiries among the servants had put them all in the most agreeable and unanimous opinion with respect to the undoubted certainty of poor Watty’s fatuity.—‘We have just to walk over the course,’ the advocate was saying; when George, happening to glance his eye towards the window, beheld the benevolent lawyer coming up the avenue.
‘Good Heavens!’ said he, ‘what can that old pest, Keelevin, want here?’
‘Keelevin!’ exclaimed the Leddy,—‘that’s a miracle to me. I think, gentlemen,’ she added, ‘ye had as weel gang away by the back door—for ye would na like, maybe, to be fashed wi’ his confabbles. He’s no a man, or I’m far mista’en, that kens muckle about the prejinketties o’ the law, though he got the poor daft creature harl’t through the difficulties o’ the plea wi’ my cousin Gilhaise, the Mauchlin maltster. I’m very sure, Mr. Threeper, he’s no an acquaintance ye would like to cultivate, for he has na the talons o’ an advocate versed in the devices o’ the courts, but is a quirkie bodie, capable o’ making law no law at a’, according to the best o’ my discernment, which, to besure, in matters o’ locutories and decreets, is but that o’ a hamely household woman, so I would advise you to eschew his company at this present time.’
Mr. Threeper, however, saw further into the lady’s bosom than she suspected; and as it is never contrary, either to the interest of advocate or agent, to avoid having causes contested, especially when there is, as was in this case, substance enough to support a long and zealous litigation, that gentlemansaid,—
‘Then Mr. Keelevin is the agent who was employed in the former action?’
‘Just sae,’ resumed the Leddy, ‘and ye ken he could na, wi’ ony regard to himsel, be art and part on this occasion.’
‘Ah, but, madam,’ replied the advocate, earnestly, ‘he may be agent for thefatuus. It is, therefore, highly proper we should set out with a right understanding respecting that point; for, if the allegations are to be controverted, it is impossible to foresee what obstacles may be raised, although, in my opinion, from the evidence I have heard, there is no doubt that the fatuity of your son is a fact which cannot fail to be in the end substantiated. Don’t you think, Mr. Pitwinnoch, that we had as well see Mr. Keelevin?’
‘Certainly,’ said Gabriel. ‘And, indeed, considering that, by the brief to the Sheriff, the Laird is a party, perhaps even though Mr. Keelevin should not have been employed, it would be but fair, and look well towards the world, were he instructed to take up this case on behalf of thefatuus. What say you, Mr. Walkinshaw?’
George did not well know what to say, but he replied, that, for many reasons, he was desirous the whole affair should be managed as privately as possible. ‘If, however, the forms of the procedure require that an agent should act for Walter, I have no objection; at the same time, I do not think Mr. Keelevin the fittest person.’
‘Heavens and earth!’ exclaimed the Leddy, ‘here’s a respondenting and a hearing, and the LordOrdinary and a’ the fifteen Lords frae Embro’ come to herry us out o’ house and hall. Gentlemen, an ye’ll tak my advice, who, in my worthy father’s time, had some inkling o’ what the cost o’ law pleas are, ye’ll hae naething to do wi’ either Keelevin, Gardevine, or ony other Vines in the shape o’ pro forma agents; but settle the business wi’ the Sheriff in a douce and discreet manner.’
Mr. Threeper, looking towards Mr. Pitwinnoch and George, rapped his ivory snuff-box, rimmed and garnished with gold, and smiling, took a pinch as Mr. Keelevin was shown into the room.
‘Mr. George,’ said Mr. Keelevin, sedately, after being seated; ‘I am not come here to ask needless questions, but as Man of Business for your brother, it will be necessary to serve me with the proper notices as to what you intend.’
Mr. Threeper again had recourse to his box, and Gabriel looked inquiringly at his client—who could with difficulty conceal his confusion, while the old lady, who had much more presence of mind,said,—
‘May I be sae bold, Mr. Keelevin, as to speer wha sent you here, at this time?’
‘I came at Mr. Walter’s own particular and personal request,’ was the reply; and he turned at the same time towards the advocate, and added, ‘That does not look very like fatuity.’
‘He never could hae done that o’ his own free will. I should na wonder if the interloper, Bell Fatherlans, sent him—but I’ll soon get to the bottom o’t,’ exclaimed the Leddy, and she immediately left the room in quest of Mrs. Charles, to inquire. During her absence, Mr. Keelevinresumed,—
‘It is not to be contested, Mr. Threeper,’ for he knew the person of the advocate, ‘that the Laird is a man o’ singularities and oddities—we a’ hae our foibles; but he got a gude education, and his schoolmaster bore testimony on a former occasion to his capacity; and if it can be shown that he does not manage his estate so advantageously as he might do,surely that can never be objected against him, when we every day see so many o’ the wisest o’ our lairds, and lords, and country gentry, falling to pigs and whistles, frae even-doun inattention or prodigality. I think it will be no easy thing to prove Mr. Walter incapable o’ managing his own affairs, with his mother’s assistance.’
‘Ah! Mr. Keelevin, with his mother’s assistance!’ exclaimed the acute Mr. Threeper. ‘It’s time that he were out of leading-strings, and able to take care of himself, without his mother’s assistance—if he’s ever likely to do so.’
At this crisis, the Leddy returned into the room flushed with anger. ‘It’s just as I jealoused,’ cried she; ‘it’s a’ the wark o’ my gude-dochter—it was her that sent him; black was the day she e’er came to stay here; many a sore heart in the watches o’ the night hae I had sin syne, for my poor weak misled lad; for if he were left to the freedom o’ his own will, he would na stand on stepping stanes, but, without scrupulosity, would send me, his mother, to crack sand, or mak my leaving where I could, after wastering a’ my jointure.’
This speech made a strong impression on the minds of all the lawyers present. Mr. Keelevin treasured it up, and said nothing. Our friend Gabriel glanced the tail of his eye at the advocate, who, without affecting to have noticed the interested motive which the Leddy had betrayed, said to Mr.Keelevin,—
‘The case, sir, cannot but go before a jury; for, although thefatuusbe of a capacity to repeat any injunction which he may have received, and which is not inconsistent with a high degree of fatuity—it does not therefore follow that he is able to originate such motions or volitions of the mind as are requisite to constitute what may be denominated a legal modicum of understanding, the possession of which in Mr. Walter Walkinshaw is the object of the proposed inquiry to determine.’
‘Very well, gentlemen, since such is the case,’replied Mr. Keelevin, rising, ‘as I have undertaken the cause, it is unnecessary for us to hold any further conversation on the subject. I shall be prepared to protect my client.’
With these words he left the room, in some hope that possibly they might induce George still to stay proceedings. But the cupidity of George’s own breast, the views and arguments of his counsel, and the animosity of his mother, all co-operated to weaken their effect; so that, in the course of as short a time as the forms of the judicature permitted, a jury was empannelled before the Sheriff, according to the tenor of the special brief of Chancery which had been procured for the purpose, and evidence as to the state of poor Watty’s understanding and capacity regularly examined;—some account of which we shall proceed to lay before our readers, premising that Mr. Threeper opened the business in a speech replete with eloquence and ingenuity, and all that metaphysical refinement for which the Scottish bar was then, as at present, so justly celebrated. Nothing, indeed, could be more subtile, or less applicable to the coarse and daily tear and wear of human concerns, than his definition of what constituted ‘the minimum of understanding, or of reason, or of mental faculty in general, which the law, in its wisdom, required to be enjoyed by every individual claiming to exercise the functions that belong to man, as a subject, a citizen, a husband, a father, a master, a servant,—in one word, to enable him to execute those different essential duties, which every gentleman of the jury so well knew, and so laudably, so respectably, and so meritoriously performed.’—But we regret that our limits do not allow us to enter upon the subject; and the more so, as it could not fail to prove highly interesting to our fair readers, in whose opinion the eloquence of the Parliament House of Edinburgh, no doubt, possesses many charming touches of sentiment, and amiable pathetic graces.
The first witness examined was Jenny Purdie, servant to Mr. George Walkinshaw. She had previously been several years in the service of his father, and is the same who, as our readers will perhaps recollect, contrived so femininely to seduce half-a-crown from the pocket of the old man, when she brought him the news of the birth of his son’s twin daughters.
‘What is your opinion of Mr. Walter Walkinshaw?’ inquired Mr. Threeper.
‘’Deed, sir,’ said Jenny, ‘I hae but a sma’ opinion o’ him—he’s a daft man, and has been sae a’ his days.’
‘But what do you mean by a daft man?’
‘I thought every body kent what a daft man is,’ replied Jenny; ‘he’s just silly, and tavert, and heedless, and o’ an inclination to swattle in the dirt like a grumphie.’
‘Well, but do you mean to say,’ interrupted the advocate, ‘that, to your knowledge, he has been daft all his days?’
‘I never kent him ony better.’
‘But you have not known him all his days—therefore, how can you say he has been daft all his days?—He might have been wise enough when you did not know him.’
‘I dinna think it,’ said Jenny;—‘I dinna think it was ever in him to be wise—he’s no o’ a nature to be wise.’
‘What do you mean by a nature?—Explain yourself.’
‘I canna explain mysel ony better,’ was the answer; ‘only I ken that a cat’s no a dog, nor o’ a nature to be,—and so the Laird could ne’er be a man o’ sense.’
‘Very ingenious, indeed,’ said Mr. Threeper; ‘and I am sure the gentlemen of the jury must be satisfied that it is not possible to give a clearer—a more distinctive impression of the deficiency of Mr. Walkinshaw’scapacity, than has been given by this simple and innocent country girl.—But, Jenny, can you tell us of any instance of his daftness?’
‘I can tell you o’ naething but the sic-like about him.’
‘Cannot you remember any thing he said or did on any particular day?’
‘O aye, atweel I wat I can do that—on the vera day when I gaed hame, frae my service at the Grippy to Mr. George’s, the sheep were sheared, and Mr. Watty said they were made sae naked, it was a shame to see them, and took one o’ his mother’s flannen polonies, to mak a hap to Mall Loup-the-Dike, the auld ewe, for decency.’
Jenny was then cross-questioned by Mr. Queerie, the able and intelligent advocate employed for the defence by Mr. Keelevin; but her evidence was none shaken, nor did it appear that her master had in any way influenced her. Before she left the box, the Sheriff saidjocularly,—
‘I’m sure, from your account, Jenny, that Mr. Walkinshaw’s no a man ye would like to marry?’
‘There’s no saying,’ replied Jenny,—‘the Kittlestonheugh’s a braw estate; and mony a better born than me has been blithe to put up wi’ houses and lan’s, though wit and worth were baith wanting.’
The first witness thus came off with considerable eclat, and indeed gained the love and affections, it is said, of one of the jurors, an old bien carle, a bonnet-laird, to whom she was, in the course of a short time after, married.
The next witness was Mr. Mordecai Saxheere, preses and founder of that renowned focus of sosherie the Yarn Club, which held its periodical libations of the vintage of the colonies in the buxom Widow Sheid’s tavern, in Sour-Milk John’s Land, a stately pile that still lifts its lofty head in the Trongate. He was an elderly, trim, smooth, Quaker-faced gentleman, dressed in drab, with spacious buckram-lined skirts, that came round on his knees, giving to the general outline of hisfigure the appearance of a cone supported on legs in white worsted hose. He wore a highly powdered horse-hair wig, with a long queue; buckles at the knees and in his shoes, presenting, in the collective attributes of his dress and appearance, a respect-bespeaking epitome of competency, good-eating, honesty, and self-conceit. He was one of several gentlemen whom the long-forecasting George had carried with him to Grippy on those occasions when he was desirous to provide witnesses, to be available when the era should arrive that had now come to pass.
‘Well, Mr. Saxheere,’ said the Edinburgh advocate, ‘what have you to say with respect to the state of Mr. Walter Walkinshaw?’
‘Sir,’ replied the preses of the Yarn Club, giving that sort of congratulatory smack with which he was in the practice of swallowing and sending round the dram that crowned the substantials, and was herald to what were called the liquidities of the club,—‘Sir,’ said Mordecai Saxheere, ‘I have been in no terms of intromission with Mr. Walkinshaw of Grippy, ’cept and except in the way of visitation; and on those occasions I always found him of a demeanour more sportive to others than congenial.’
‘You are a merchant, I believe, Mr. Saxheere,’ said Mr. Threeper; ‘you have your shop in the High Street, near the Cross. On the market day you keep a bottle of whisky and a glass on the counter, from which, as I understand, you are in the practice of giving your customers a dram—first preeing or smelling the liquor yourself, and then handing it to them.—Now, I would ask you, if Mr. Walkinshaw were to come to your shop on the market day, would you deal with him?—would you, on your oath, smell the glass, and then hand it across the counter, to be by him drunk off?’
The advocate intended this as a display of his intimate knowledge of the local habits and usages of Glasgow, though himself but an Edinburgh man,—in order to amaze the natives by his cleverness.
‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Saxheere, again repeating hishabitual congratulatory smack, ‘much would rely on the purpose for which he came to custom. If he offered me yarn for sale, there could be no opponency on my side to give him the fair price of the day; but, if he wanted to buy, I might undergo some constipation of thought before compliance.’
‘The doubtful credit of any wiser person might produce the same astringency,’ said the advocate, slyly.
‘No doubt it would,’ replied the preses of the Yarn Club; ‘but the predicament of the Laird of Grippy would na be under that denominator, but because I would have a suspection of him in the way of judgement and sensibility.’
‘Then he is not a man that you would think it safe to trade with as a customer?’ said the Sheriff, desirous of putting an end to his prosing.
‘Just so, sir,’ replied Mordecai; ‘for, though it might be safe in the way of advantage, I could not think myself, in the way of character, free from an imputation, were I to intromit with him.’
It was not deemed expedient to cross-question this witness; and another was called, a celebrated Professor of Mathematics in the University, the founder and preses of a club, called the ‘Anderson Summer Saturday’s.’ The scientific attainments and abstract genius of this distinguished person were undisputed; but his simplicity of character and absence of mind were no less remarkable. The object that George probably had in view in taking him, as an occasional visitor, to see his brother, was, perhaps, to qualify the Professor to bear testimony to the arithmetical incapacity of Walter; and certainly the Professor had always found him sufficiently incapable to have warranted him to give the most decisive evidence on that head; but a circumstance had occurred at the last visit, which came out in the course of the investigation, by which it would appear the opinion of the learned mathematician was greatly shaken.
‘I am informed, Professor, that you are acquaintedwith Mr. Walter Walkinshaw. Will you have the goodness to tell the Court what is your opinion of that gentleman?’ said the advocate.
‘My opinion is, that he is a very extraordinary man; for he put a question to me when I last saw him, which I have not yet been able to answer.’
The advocate thought the Professor said this in irony,—and inquired, with asimper,—
‘And, pray, what might that question be?’
‘I was trying if he could calculate the aliquot parts of a pound; and he said to me, could I tell him the reason that there were but four and twenty bawbees in a shilling?’
‘You may retire,’ said the advocate, disconcerted; and the Professor immediately withdrew; for still the counsel in behalf of Walter declined to cross-question.
‘The next witness that I shall produce,’ resumed Mr. Threeper, ‘is one whom I call with extreme reluctance. Every man must sympathize with the feelings of a mother on such an occasion as this,—and will easily comprehend, that, in the questions which my duty obliges me to put to Mrs. Walkinshaw, I am, as it were, obliged, out of that sacred respect which is due to her maternal sensibility, to address myself in more general terms than I should otherwise do.’