Part 10

"If that be a' your objections, Jeanie," replied her father, smiling, "we'll soon get the better o't. I'll undertake to procure ye Sir John's forgiveness for the cauld beef an' cheese--that's if ye think it necessary to ask a man's pardon for filling his pockets wi' most unexceptionable provender. I wish every honest man's pouches war as weel lined, lassie, as Sir John's was that nicht." Saying this, Mr Harrison returned to Sir John and informed him of the result of his mission, which was--but this he had rather made out than been told, for Jeanie could not be brought to give any rational answer at all--that his addresses would not, he believed, be disagreeable to his daughter, "which," he added, "is, I suppose, all that you desire in the meantime, Sir John."

"Nothing more, nothing more, Mr Harrison; she that's not worth wooing's not worth winning. I only desired your consent to my addresses, and a regular and honourable introduction to your daughter. The rest belongs to me. I will now fight my own battle, since you have cleared the way, and only desire that you may wish me success."

"That I do with all my heart," replied the farmer; "and, if I can lend you a hand, I will do it with right good will."

"Thank you, Mr Harrison, thank you," replied Sir John; "and now, my dear sir," he continued, "since you have so kindly assisted me thus far, will you be good enough to help me just one step further. Will you now introduce me in my new character to your daughter? Hitherto, she has known me only," he said, smiling as he spoke, "as an itinerant fiddler, and I long to meet her on a more serious footing--and on one," he added, again laughing, "I hope, a trifle more respectable."

"That I'll very willingly do, Sir John," replied Mr Harrison, smiling in his turn; "but I must tell you plainly, that I have some doubts of being able to prevail on Jane to meet you at this particular moment. She has one most serious objection to seeing you."

"Indeed," replied Sir John, with an earnestness that betokened some alarm. "Pray, what is that objection?"

"Why, sir," rejoined the latter, "allow me to reply to that question by asking you another. Have you any recollection of carrying away out of my house, on the last night you were here, a pocketful of cheese and cold beef?"

"Oh! perfectly, perfectly," said Sir John, laughing, yet somewhat perplexed. "Miss Harrison was kind enough to furnish me with the very liberal supply of the articles you allude to; cramming them into my pocket with her own fair hands."

"Just so," replied Mr Harrison, now laughing in his turn. "Well, then, to tell you a truth, Sir John, Jane is so dreadfully ashamed of that circumstance that she positively will not face you."

"Oh ho! is that the affair?" exclaimed the delighted baronet. "Why, then, if she won't come to us, we'll go to her; so lead the way, Mr Harrison, if you please." Mr Harrison did lead the way, and Jane was caught.

Beyond this point our story need not be prolonged, as here all its interest ceases. We have only now to add, then, that the winning manners, gentle dispositions, and very elegant person of Sir John Gowan, very soon completed the conquest he aimed at; and Jeanie Harrison, in due time, became LADY GOWAN.

THE AMATEUR LAWYERS.[3]

[Footnote 3: One of the characters of this tale may be easily recognised by some of the older Edinburgh agents. It has been said of him, that one day a travelling packman was seen to enter his farmhouse with a large book under his arm, and in about a quarter-of-an-hour afterwards to issue with a book of a very different appearance. The farmer had "swapt" his family Bible for Erskine's "Institute of the Law of Scotland." From that day he became litigious, and from that day he could date the commencement of his ruin.--ED.]

The profession of the law is one of the highest respectability; the study itself a sufficiently interesting one, nevertheless of its having been called dry by those whose genius it does not suit, or by those whose pockets have been made lighter by some of its technical behests; yet we cannot conceive what there is, either in its language, its technicalities, or its general practical operation, or its application, to captivate the fancy of any one not connected with it professionally. But, of a surety, the science has had many amateur attaches--men whose whole souls were wrapped up in multiplepoindings, who loved summonses, who were captivated by condescendences. Strange customers for the most part--original geniuses in some of the queerest senses of the word. Born with a natural propensity for litigation, possessed of a most unaccountable aptitude for everything that is complicated and involved, the law becomes with these persons, not only a favourite, but an engrossing study--engrossing almost to the exclusion of everything else. Law, in short, becomes their hobby. Of law they constantly speak; of law they constantly think; of law, we have no doubt, they constantly dream. The victims of this curious disease--for disease it is--are generally to be found amongst the lower and uneducated classes, and are, for the most part, men of confused intellect and large conceit, all of them, without any exception, imagining themselves astonishingly acute, shrewd, and clever fellows--sharp chaps, who know much more than the world is aware of, or will give them credit for--screws for bungs of any dimensions--dungeons of wit and wisdom. For these persons the jargon of the law has charms superior to the sweetest strains that music ever poured forth. They delight in its uncouthness and unintelligibility, employ it with a gravity, composure, and confidence which, when contrasted with their utter ignorance, or, at best, confused notions of its meaning, is at once highly edifying and impressive.

Yet, notwithstanding of the natural tendencies of such persons to legal pursuits and studies, they do not generally betake themselves to them spontaneously, or without some original influencing cause. They will be found, for the most part, to have been started in their legal career by some small lawsuit of their own, and, being previously predisposed, this at once inoculates them with the disease. From that moment to the end of their natural lives they are confirmed, incorrigible lawyers. They have imbibed a love for the science, a taste for litigation, which quits them only with life. All which remarks we have made with the view of introducing to the world, with the grandest effect possible, our very good friend, Mr John Goodale, or, as the name was more generally and more euphoniously pronounced by his acquaintances, Guidyill, who was precisely such a person and character as we have endeavoured to picture forth in this preliminary sketch with which our story opens.

Guidyill was a small laird or landed proprietor in the shire of Renfrew, or, as it was anciently spelled, Arranthrough. He was a man of grave, solemn demeanour, with a look of intense wisdom, which was hardly made good by either his speech or his actions. It was evident that he was desirous of palming himself on a simple world for a man of shining parts, of great penetration and discernment, and profound knowledge. All this he himself firmly believed he was, and this belief imparted to his somewhat saturnine countenance a degree of calm repose, confidence, and self-reliance particularly striking. In person, he was tall and thin, or rather gaunt, with that peculiar conformation of face which has obtained the fancy name of lantern-jawed. His age was about fifty-five. To descend to items: the laird _always_ wore knee-breeches, and _never_ wore braces; so that the natural tendency of the former downwards being thus unchecked, gave free egress to a quantity of linen, which, taking advantage of the liberty, always displayed itself in a voluminous semicircle of white across his midriff. A small, unnecessary exhibition of snuff about the nose completed the _tout ensemble_ of the Laird of Scouthercakes.

We have described Mr Guidyill (we prefer the colloquial to the classical pronunciation of his name) as a small laird, and such he was at the period we take up his history; but it had not been always so with him. He was at one time the owner of a very extensive property; but lawsuit after lawsuit had gradually circumscribed its dimensions, until he found no difficulty in accomplishing that in ten minutes which used to take him a good hour--that is, in walking round his possessions. Yet the laird had still a little left--as much as would carry him through two or three other suits of moderate cost; and this happiness he hoped to enjoy before he died; for, like a spaniel with its master, the more the law flogged him, the more attached he became to the said law.

Just at the particular moment at which we introduce Mr Guidyill to the notice of the reader, he had no legal business whatever on hand--not a single case in any one even of the petty local courts of the district, to say nothing of his great field of action, the Court of Session. It was a predicament he had not been in for twenty years before, and he found it exceedingly irksome and disagreeable; for a dispute with some one or other was necessary, if not to his existence absolutely, at least most certainly to his happiness. The laird's last lawsuit, which was with a neighbouring proprietor regarding the site of a midden or dung-stead, and which, as usual, had gone against him, to the tune of some hundred and eighty pounds, had been brought to a conclusion about a year and a-half before the period we allude to; and, during all that time, the laird had lived contrived to live, we should have said, without a single quarrel with any one on which any pretext for a law-plea could be grounded. Moreover, and what was still more distressing, he was not only without a case at the moment, but without the prospect of one; for he had exhausted all the pugnacity that was in his vicinity. There was not now one left who would "take him up." But better days were in store for the Laird of Scouthercakes--better than he had dared to hope for. One thumping plea, a thorough cleaner out before he died, was the secret wish of his heart, though unavowed even to himself; and in this wish it was permitted him to be gratified.

Now, about the period to which we refer, there came a new tenant to the farm of Skimclean, which farm marched with the remnant of Mr Guidyill's property. For some days after this person, whose name was Drumwhussle, had taken possession of his new farm, the laird kept a sharp look-out on his proceedings, in the hope that he would commit some trespass or other, or perpetrate some encroachment, which would afford standing-room for a quarrel; but, to the great disappointment of our amateur lawyer, no such occurrence took place. In no single thing did, or would, Skimclean offend. No; Skimclean would not throw even a stick on his neighbour's grounds, of whose exact lines of demarcation he seemed to have a most provokingly accurate knowledge. Losing all hope of his new neighbour's giving any offence spontaneously--that is, through ignorance, or involuntarily, or purposely, or in any way--Scouthercakes determined on visiting him, in the desperate expectation that an acquaintanceship might throw up something to quarrel with--that familiarity might breed, not contempt, but dislike--that friendship might give rise to enmity. This conduct of the laird's certainly seems at first sight paradoxical; but a little reflection, especially if accompanied also by a little experience of the world, will show that it was not quite so absurd or so contradictory as it seems. On the contrary, such reflections and experience would discover, in the laird's intended proceeding, a good deal of philosophy, and a very considerable knowledge of human nature. Be this as it may, Mr Guidyill determined on paying his new neighbour, Skimclean, a visit; and this determination he forthwith executed. The latter, whom he had never had the pleasure of seeing before, he found to be a little, lively, volatile person, of great volubility of speech; like himself, a prodigious snuffer; and like himself, too, possessed of a very comfortable opinion of his own knowledge and abilities. In another and still more remarkable point in character they resembled each other closely. This last resemblance involved a rather singular and certainly curious coincidence between the dispositions of the two worthies, and one which the laird, when he discovered it, viewed with a very strange mixture of feelings. What these were, and what was their cause, will be best left to appear in the progress of our narrative.

On Mr Guidyill's having introduced himself to his new neighbour, and after a little desultory conversation on various subjects had taken place, but chiefly on the merits and demerits of the lands of Skimclean--

"Mr Drumwhussle," said the laird, planting his stick in the ground before him, and looking with deep interest on some trees that grew in front of Skimclean's house, "it's my opinion that ye ocht to cut down thae sticks. They shut oot yer licht terribly, man, and tak up a great deal o' valuable grun."

"Ah, ha, laird, catch me there," replied Drumwhussle, with a knowing laugh. "The trees do a' the mischief ye say; but, do ye no ken, that, being but a tenant, I hae nae richt to cut them, my power being only owre the surface, and that, if I did cut them, I wad be liable to an action o' damages by the laird, wha wad inevitably recover accordin to law. A' tacks, ye ken, are granted, '_propter koorum et kultoorum_'[4] (ye'll perceive the Latin), an' the fellin o' trees, without consent o' the proprietor, wad be a direck violation. Na, na, I ken better how to keep my feet out o' thae law traps than that, laird."

[Footnote 4: Propter curam et culturam.]

We wish we could describe the look of amazement with which the laird listened to this extraordinary outpouring of law and Latin--this flourishing of his own weapons in his face. He was perfectly confounded with it. It was a thing so wholly unexpected and unlooked for, to meet with so accomplished a lawyer as Drumwhussle seemed to be in one of his own class and standing, that it was some time before he could say another word on any subject whatever. He was evidently struck with a feeling of mingled respect and awe for his learned neighbour, who, he perceived, had decidedly the advantage of him in the article, Latin--this being a language with which the laird was not at all conversant. Another consideration occurred to the laird, even in the moment of his first surprise. This was, that, should a difference arise between them, he had found in his new neighbour a foeman worthy of his steel; and that, should they remain friends, they might be of service to each other as legal advisers.

In the meantime, the "interlockitor," as the laird would have called the series of legal sentiments which Drumwhussle had just delivered, was far beyond the reach of his comprehension. He did not understand a word of it, and neither could anybody else, we suspect; but, careful of exposing his ignorance--

"Aweel, Skimclean," he said, looking very gravely, "I'm no sure but ye're richt, and it may be as weel, after a', to let the trees stan whar they are; but there's a bit land there," pointing to a patch of about an acre and a-half, which lay low on the side of a small stream, "that I wadna advise ye to crap; for there's no a year that it's no three months under water."

"Ah ha, laird, but that's a _pluskum_,"[5] replied the vivacious and acute Skimclean; "a case whar the owner o' the land is liable to the extent, at ony rate, o' remittin a year's rent. It's a _pluskum_, laird--that's Latin," added Skimclean, who always gave such intimation to his auditors when he employed that language; from a shrewd suspicion, probably, that it would not otherwise be readily recognised in the very peculiar shape in which he presented it.

[Footnote 5: Plusquam tolerabile.]

"Aweel, I daur say ye're no far wrang there either," replied the laird, now perfectly overwhelmed with the legal knowledge of his new neighbour. "I daur say ye're no far wrang there either, but it's best to be cowshous;" and, having delivered himself of this safe and general sentiment, the laird looked wiser than ever, and shook his head with an air of great intelligence. Hitherto, Scouthercakes, as the reader will have observed, had made no display of his legal acquirements. He had been too much taken aback by the sudden and unexpected effulgence of those of Skimclean; but it was by no means his intention to allow the latter to remain in ignorance of them. Availing himself of an early opportunity, he discharged a volley of law terms at Skimclean, in which the words Rejoinder, Multiplepoinding, Reclaimer, and, above all, the phrase, "Revise the Condescendence," sounded most audibly; the latter being an especial favourite of the laird's, who used it on all occasions, on all matters indifferently, and, as everybody but himself thought, almost always in the most absurdly inappropriate cases and circumstances.

The effect on Skimclean, again, of the discovery of the laird's legal knowledge was pretty similar to that which the latter had experienced in similar circumstances, only that there was in the case of Drumwhussle a secret feeling of superiority over the laird, in the matter of intimacy with the science of the law. He, in short, considered the laird's knowledge respectable, but his own considerably more so. Now, the laird also, after his first surprise at his neighbour's acquirements had worn off a little, began to think Skimclean fully more apt and ready than profound. He considered his own depth, on the whole, rather greater. Each, thus, while certainly honouring the legal knowledge of his neighbour, enjoyed, at the same time, the comfortable conviction that he was the superior man.

Having thus come to an understanding regarding each other's character, and this having given rise to a friendly feeling on both sides, their interview terminated in Drumwhussle inviting his new acquaintance into the house, to partake of a little refreshment--an invitation which the latter graciously accepted; looking forward to a feast of quiet, deliberate legal discussion with his learned friend.

On entering the house--indeed, previous to entering it--Mr Guidyill was struck with the singular neatness and good order which everywhere prevailed--a point on which his inviter prided himself, and so much pleased was he with it, that he could not refrain from openly expressing his approbation.

"A' accordin to law, Skimclean," he said, looking around him with a complimentary air of satisfaction; "a' accordin to law, I see."

"Ay, ay," replied his host, perfectly understanding the laird's metaphorical laudation, and smiling complacently; "we aye try to keep things in as guid order as possible. I look after everything mysel, and see that a's done as it should be. That's the true way, laird."

"Nae doot o't, nae doot o't," said the latter. "Naething like revisin the condescendence, Skimclean--eh!" he added, with an intelligent look.

"Right there, laird," replied Drumwhussle, "as honest Donald Quirkum, the writer, ance said to me whan I consulted him anent a point o' law, in the case o' Drumwhussle _versus_ Camlachie. 'Drumwhussle,' said he, 'Drumwhussle'----But I'll tell ye a' about it presently, laird," said Skimclean, suddenly interrupting himself, to perform the duties of hospitality towards his guest; "step ben, step ben." And he ushered the laird into a little sitting-room in the back part of the house.

"Now, laird, what wull ye drink?" inquired Drumwhussle. "Wull ye tak a drap o' cauld straik, or wad ye hae ony objection to a warm browst?"

"Weel, if equally convenient, I'll vote for the toddy," replied the laird.

"I second the motion," said Skimclean, now proceeding to a closet in a corner of the room, from which he shortly emerged with his arms and hands loaded with bottles, glasses, jugs, and decanters, and all the other paraphernalia requisite for the occasion. These arranged on the table, flanked by an enormous cheese, and hot water supplied from the kitchen, Drumwhussle commenced brewing _secundum artem_; and having produced the desiderated beverage, handed over half a glass to the laird, for his opinion as to its merits. The laird tasted, gave a short suffocating cough, and, speaking at such intervals as the stifling affection afforded--

"Re-revise the--the con-condescendence, Skimclean. Revise the--the condescendence. It's far owre strong."

"It micht hae a waur faut, laird," replied Drumwhussle, "an' it's ane that's easy mended," he added, filling up the jug with hot water. "Taste him now, laird."

"Accordin to law," replied the other, emphatically, after smacking off the half-glass submitted to him. "Accordin to law at a' points as accords. Just the thing now, Skimclean."

The liquor thus approved of was immediately subjected to the process of consumption, which its merits were so well calculated to insure for it, and this at such a rate that the consumers very soon began to exhibit, in their own persons, rather curious specimens of the effect of strong drink on the animal economy. They began to speak thick and fast, and both at the same time; their conversation chiefly turning on the various actions and law proceedings in which they had from time to time been engaged.

It was during this confabulation that Skimclean informed his guest of a certain law-plea in which he was at the moment involved, and in which he was ably supported by the astute Donald Quirkum, already alluded to.

"The case, ye see," said Skimclean, "the case, ye see, my frien, is jist this:--In the place whar I was last, Craignockan, ane o' my laddies had a bit gemm cock, a bit steeve fechtin wee beastie, yea, a deevil o' a cratur. Aweel, ye see, it happened that our neebor the schulemaster had anither, o' whilk he was sae proud that he seemed to think mair o't than o' his wife. It was beyond a' doot a wonderfu' bird. His son brought it--so at least he said--frae Sumatra, in the East Indies--something o' the jungle-cock, or Jago cock species, _gawlus giganteus_[6] ye ken--ye'll maybe no understand the Latin."

[Footnote 6: Gallus giganteus.]

"Deel an' it may choke ye, as the _gallows_ has dune mony a better man!" interrupted the laird. "Purge the record o' a' bad Latin! Ha! ha! Drumwhussle, I ken guid Latin frae dog-Latin or cock Latin, just as weel as ye do. Purge the record, man, I say."