Part 2

This was a sad blow to the poor hedgers and ditchers, and those that work with the spade. There was mourning that day in many a cottage--it was equal to taking a meal a-day off every family. But the change that was taking place in their condition did not end there. The divine, like another great and immortal member of the sacred profession--the illustrious Paley--was fond of angling; but there the resemblance between them stopped. I have said that he was fond of angling--but he was short-sighted, and one of the worst fishers that ever cracked off a hook, or raised a splash in the water. Once, when he might have preached upon the text, that he "had toiled all day, and caught nothing," he was fishing on the river, about a mile above where we now are, when he perceived the geese and ducks of a cottager swimming and diving their heads in the stream. It immediately occurred to the wise man that his want of success arose from the geese and ducks destroying all the fish!--and he forthwith prevailed upon his son-in-law to order his tenants to part with their poultry.[1] This was another sair blow to the poor cottagers, and was the cause of their bairns gaun barelegged in winter and hungry in summer. The gardens, the avenues, the lodge, everything about the place, was altered. But, to crown all, the lease of three or four of the laird's tenants was out at the following Martinmas, and their rents were doubled. Every person marvelled at the change in the conduct and character of the laird. Some thought he had gone out of his wits, and others that he was possessed by the evil one; but the greater part thought, like me, that he was a silly, hen-pecked man.

[Footnote 1: Absurd as this may seem, it is a FACT.]

A few months after her leddyship arrived, she gave birth to a son and heir, and there were great rejoicings about the Ha' on the occasion, but very little upon the estate; for already it had become a place that every one saw it would be desirable to leave as soon as possible. As the young birkie grew up, he soon gave evidence of being a sad scapegrace. Never a day passed but we heard of his being in some ploy or other; and his worthy mother said, that it showed a spirit becoming his station in life. Before he had reached man's estate, he was considered to be a great proficient in horse-racing, cock-fighting, fox-hunting, gambling, and other gentlemanly amusements; but as to learning, though he had been at both school and college, I dinna suppose that there is a trades lad connected wi' the Mechanics' Institution here that he was fit to hand the candle to. His grandfather, the divine, sometimes lectured him about the little attention which he paid to his learning, but the young hopeful answered, that "There was no necessity for a gentleman who was heir to five or six thousand a-year, and whose father was seventy years of age, boring over books."

They generally resided in London, and were never about the Ha', save during a month or two in the shooting season. We heard, however, that they had fine carryings on in the great city; that they kept up a perpetual course of routes parties, and assemblies--that the estate was deeply mortgaged; and the laird, from the course of dissipation into which he had been dragged, had sunk into premature dotage. It was even reported that Johnny Grippy, the miser, had advanced several thousand pounds upon the estate, at a very exorbitant interest.

At length their course of extravagance, like a lang tether, came to an end. Creditors grew numerous and clamorous; they would have their money, and nothing but their money would satisfy them. The infatuated auld laird sought refuge in the Abbey at Holyrood; and his son went on racing about and gambling as formerly, borrowing money from John Grippy when down here, and from Jews when in London, and giving them promises and securities that would make the estate disappear, when it came into his possession, like snow in summer. Her leddyship came down to the Ha', and, to my certain knowledge, was refused credit for twenty shillings in a shop in the village here, which was then kept by a son of one of the cottars that she and her father had caused to part wi' their kye and their poultry. This was what the young man called "seeing day about wi' her leddyship."

The auld laird hadna been twelve months in the Abbey, when, finding himself utterly deserted by his wife and son, he sank into despondency, and died in misery; rueing, I will make free to say, that ever he had set his foot in Tunbridge Wells. His young successor, in gratitude to his mother for her over indulgence, and the example she had set him, turned her from the Ha' on his taking possession of it, and left her to seek refuge in the house of her father, the divine; and we never heard of her in this part of the country again. The career and end of the young laird I will state to ye, as I notice the histories of the minister and Ne'er-do-weel Tam. And now for that of

THE MINISTER.

A more excellent, worthy, and sincere man than Mr Anderson never entered a pulpit, or preached words of hope and consolation to sinners. He was not a flowery orator or a fashionable preacher; but he was plain, simple, nervous, earnest. His homeliness and anxious sincerity riveted the attention of the most thoughtless; and, as a poet says,

"They who came to scoff remain'd to pray."

I remember when he was first placed amongst us as minister of the parish: he was a mere youngster, but as primitive in his manners as if he had just come from the plough instead of a college. His father was a farm-steward upon the estate of the then member for the county; and the patronage being in the crown--as it is called--it was through the interest of the member that he got the kirk. About twelve months after he was placed, he took a wife; and his marriage gave great satisfaction to the whole congregation--at least to the poor and middle classes, who of course were the great majority. And the reason why his marriage gave such satisfaction was, that his wife was the daughter of a poor hind, that he had taken a liking to when he was but a laddie and her a lassie; and he had promised her, when they came from the harvest-field together (for while he was at the college, he always wrought in the harvest-time), that, if he lived, and was spared to be a minister, she should be his wife. I am sorry to say that such promises are owre often neglected by young people, when either the one or the other of them happens to get their head up in the world. But our minister thereby showed that his heart was actuated by right principles, and that he preferred happiness to every mercenary consideration. It showed that he was desirous of domestic comfort, and not ambitious of worldly aggrandisement. She was a bonny, quiet, discreet creature; and, if she hadna what ye may call the manners of a leddy, yet her modesty and good-nature lent an air of politeness to everything she did. Her constant desire to please far more than counterbalanced for her want of being what is called weel-bred; and, if she had not gentility, she had what is of more importance in a preacher's wife--a pious mind, a cheerful and charitable disposition, and a meek spirit; and whatever she was ignorant of, there was one thing she was acquainted with--she

"Knew her Bible true."

But after their marriage, he took great pains in instructing her in various branches of learning; and in that she made great proficiency, I am qualified to give evidence; for, when I have been present at the dinners after the sacramental occasions, I have heard her dispute wi' the ministers upon points of divinity, history, and other matters, and maintain her ground very manfully, if I may say it.

I believe that a happier couple were not to be found in Great Britain. She bore unto him fourteen children, but of these, all save two, a boy and a girl, died in infancy; and in giving birth to the last, the mother perished. It was on a Sunday that she died; and I remember that, on the following Sabbath, her widowed husband entered the pulpit to preach her funeral sermon. His text was, "Why should we mourn as those who have no hope?" He proceeded with his discourse, but every few minutes he paused, he sobbed; the big tears ran down his cheeks; and all the congregation wept with him. At last he quoted the words, "In the morning I preached to the people, and in the evening my wife died!" His heart filled--the tears gushed from his eyes--he could say no more. He sank down on the seat, and covered his face with his hands. Two of the elders went up to the pulpit, and led him to the manse; and the precentor, of his own accord, giving out a psalm, the congregation sang it and dispersed.

I have mentioned to ye his two surviving bairns--the name of the laddie was Edward, and of the lassie, Esther. Edward was several years older than his sister; and, from his youth upwards, he was a bold, sprightly, fearless callant. Often have I observed him playing the part of a captain, and drilling the laddies of the village into squares and lines, like a little army; and as often have I heard him say, that he would be nothing but a sodger. His father (as every Christian ought to do) regarded war as a great wickedness, and as an abomination that disgraced the earth; he therefore was grieved to see the military bent of his son's inclination, and did everything in his power to break him from it. He believed, and correctly too, that Edward had too much pride to enter the army as a common soldier, where he would be little better than a slave, and have to lift his hat to every puppy that wore an epaulette on his shoulder or a sash round his waist. The minister, therefore, was resolved that he would not advance the money to buy his son a commission.

Here I must notice Johnny Grippy, who had never been kenned to perform a generous action in the whole course of his existence. He was a man that, if he had parted wi' a bawbee, to save a fellow-creature from starvation, wadna, through vexation, have slept again for a week. If ony body had pleaded poverty to him, he would have asked them--"What right they had to be poor?" It would have been more difficult for him to answer--"What right he had to be rich?" Johnny never forgave Mr Anderson for prohibiting him from being made an elder; and, in his own quiet, but cruel way, he said he would see that he got satisfaction, to the last plack, for the insult. Now, what do ye think the miser did? He absolutely offered young Maister Edward money to buy an ensign's commission, at the moderate interest of ten per cent., and on the understanding that he would gie him four years' credit for the interest, and that he wadna request the principal until he was made a captain. This proposal was made for the sole and individual purpose of grieving and afflicting Mr Anderson, and of being revenged on him. The silly laddie, dazzled wi' the bright sword and the gold-laced coat of an officer, and thinking it a grand thing to be a soldier--fancying himself a general, a hero, a conqueror in a hundred fights--swallowed the temptation, took the offered money on the conditions agreed to; and through the assistance of a college acquaintance, the son of a member of parliament, purchased a commission in a foot regiment. All this was done without his father's knowledge; and when Johnny Grippy witnessed the good man's tears as he parted with his son, his cold heart rejoiced that his revenge had been so far successful, and for once he regretted not having parted with his money without a sure bond being made doubly sure.

In a very few weeks after Edward Anderson joined his regiment, he accompanied it abroad; and twelve months had not passed when the public papers contained an account of his having been promoted to the rank of lieutenant on the field, on account of his bravery.

But listen, sir, to what follows.--It was on our fast-day, that the news arrived concerning a great victory in the Indies. We were all interested in the tidings, and the more particularly, as we knew that our minister's son was at the battle. His father and his sister were in a state of great anxiety concerning him, for whether he was dead or living, they could not tell. The weather was remarkably fine, and as a great preacher was to serve some of the tables, and preach during the afternoon's service, the kirk was crowded almost to suffocation, and it was found necessary to perform the ordinances in the open air. A green plot in front of the manse was chosen for the occasion, and which was capable of accommodating two or three thousand people. It was a grand sight to see such a multitude sitting on the green sward, singing the praises of their Maker, wi' the great heavens aboon them for a canopy! its very glory and immensity rendering them incapable of appreciating its unspeakable magnificence, and rendering as less than the dust in the balance the temples of men's hands. It reminded me of the days of the Covenant, when the pulpit was a mountain side, and its covering a cloud. Mr Anderson was a man whose very existence seemed linked wi' affection for his family. He had had great affection in it, and every death seemed to transfer the love that he had borne for the dead in a stronger degree towards those that were left. His soul was built up in them. All the congregation observed that he was greatly agitated various times during his discourse. It was evident to all that apprehensions for the fate of his son were forcing themselves upon his thoughts.

The postman at that time brought the letters from the next town every day about one o'clock. Mr Anderson was serving the first table, and his face was towards the manse, when the postman, approaching the door, waved his hand towards Miss Esther, who sat near it, as much as to say that he had a letter from her brother. The father's voice failed, through agitation and anxiety, as he saw the letter in the postman's hand, and abruptly concluding his exhortation, he sat down trembling, while his eyes remained as if fixed upon the letter. I myself observed, as the postman passed me wi' it in his hand, that it was sealed wi' black. I regarded it as a fatal omen, and I at first looked towards the minister, to see whether he had observed it; but I believe that his eyes were so blinded wi' tears that he could not perceive it; and I then turned round towards Miss Esther; who I observed hastening to take the letter in her hand. At the sight of the black seal, she almost fainted upon the ground; and I saw the poor thing shaking as a leaf that quivers in the wind. But when, wi' a hurried and trembling hand, she had broken the seal, she hadna read three lines until the letter dropped upon the ground, and, clasping her hands together, wi' a wild heart-piercing scream, that sounded wildly through the worship of the people, she exclaimed, "My brother!--my brother!" and fell wi' her face upon the ground. The spectators raised her in their arms. Her father's heart could hold no longer. He rushed through the multitude--he snatched up the fatal letter. It bore the post-mark of Bengal, but it was not the handwriting of his son. He, too, seemed to read but a line, when he smote his hand upon his forehead, and exclaimed, in agony, "My son! my son!--my poor Edward!"

His gallant boy was one of those who were slain and buried upon the field; and the letter, which was from his colonel, recorded his courage, his virtues, and his death! All the people rose, and sorrow and sympathy seemed on every countenance save one--and that was the face of the auld miser and hypocrite, Johnny Grippy. The body seemed actually to glut, wi' a malicious delight, over the misery and affliction of which he, in a measure, had been the cause; and, though he did try to screw his mouth into a form of pity or compassion, and squeezed his een together to make them water, I more than once observed the twittering streak of satisfaction and delight pass owre his cheeks, just as ye have seen the shadow of a swift cloud pass owre a field of waving grain. I hated the auld miser for his very looks and his attempted hypocrisy; and, forgive me for saying so, but I believe, if at that moment it had been in my power to have annihilated him, I would have done it. The man who does the work of iniquity openly or through error, I would pray for; but he that does it beneath the mask of virtue or religion, I would exterminate.

It was many weeks before Mr Anderson was able to resume his place in the pulpit again; and his daughter, also, took the death of her brother greatly to heart. The whole parish sought to condole wi' them, not even excepting young Laird Cochrane of the Ha', who had not then come to the estate. I firmly believe, sir, that he was a predestinated villain from his cradle, for he showed symptoms of the most disgusting depravity more early than ever laddie did. The aulder he grew, when he was in the country, he went the more about the manse, and Esther was nearly about his own age. She was a lassie that I would call the very perfection of loveliness--simple, artless, confiding, but not without a sprinkling o' woman's vanity. There was a laddie, the son of Thomas Elliot, or Ne'er-do-weel Tam, as he was commonly called, that was very fond of her; he was a fine, deserving callant, and all the town thought she was fond of him. But the young laird put himself forward as his rival, and the one was rich and the other poor. The laird of the Ha' sent daily presents of geese, turkeys, and all sorts of game in their season, to the manse; and he also presented rings, trinkets, and other fine things to Esther; while the other, who was considered a sort of poet in the neighbourhood, could only say, as a sang that I hear them singing now-a-days says--

"My heart and lute are all my store And these I bring to thee."

The laird was also an adept in flattery, in its most cunningly-devised forms. Now, sir, it is amazing what an effect the use of such means will ultimately produce upon the best-regulated minds. They are like the constant dropping that weareth away a stone. Though unconscious of it herself, Esther, who was but a young thing, began to listen with more patience to the addresses of the heir of the Ha'; and she occasionally exhibited something like dryness and petulance in the presence of poor Alexander Elliot--for such was his name. At the very first shadow of change upon her countenance, his spirit became bitter wi' jealousy, and he rashly charged her wi' deserting him for the sake of the young laird and the estate to which he was heir. This was a tearing asunder of the silken cords that for years had held their hearts together. He was proud, and so was she--they became distrustful of each other, and at length they quarrelled, and parted never to meet again. I have heard it said, that it was partly to be revenged on Alexander that Esther gave an ear to the addresses of the laird; but that is a subject on which I offer no opinion. All that I know is, that Alexander enlisted, and went out to join his regiment in the West Indies. The laird followed Esther like her shadow; and every one, save myself, said that there would be a marriage between them. Even her worthy father seemed to dream in the golden delusion; and, I am sorry to say, that I believe he was in no small degree the cause of finally breaking off the intimacy between her and Alexander Elliot. She was, as I have informed ye, a sensitive, confiding lassie; and the laird, who had a honeyed tongue, succeeded not only, in the long run, in gaining her affections, but in making her to believe in his very looks; for, being incapable of falsehood herself, she did not suspect it in others, and least of all in those who had obtained a place in her heart.

The young villain went so far as, in her presence, to ask her father's consent to their marriage; and the auld laird being then dead, the minister agreed. It was not long after this, that the scapegrace went to London, and Esther began to droop like a flower nipped wi' a frost. Half-a-dozen times in the day her father found her in tears, and he endeavoured to comfort and to cheer her; but his efforts were unavailing. It pained his heart, which had already been sorely chastened by affliction, to behold the youngling, and last of his flock, pining away before him. The young laird neither returned nor wrote, and he suspected not the cause of his daughter's grief. The first hint he got of it was from his elders assembled in session. The old man in agony fell back--he gasped, he smote his breast, and tore his grey hairs. In his agony he cried that his Maker had forsaken him! The elders sought to condole wi' him, but it was in vain; he was carried to the manse, and he never preached more. His heart was broken, and, before a month passed, the thread of life snapped also.

Wi' the weight of her own shame and sorrow, and her father's death, poor Esther became demented. About nine weeks after her father's funeral, she gave birth to a still-born child; and it was a happy thing that the infant and its mother were buried at the same time, in the same grave.

Such, sir, is all that it is necessary for me to inform ye concerning our late worthy minister; and of the young laird ye shall hear more presently, in the history of

NE'ER-DO-WEEL TAM.

I never kenned a lad that I entertained a higher regard for than Thomas Elliot. His father left him fifteen hundred pounds, laid out upon a mortgage at five per cent. interest, and bequeathed in such a way that he couldna lift the principal. There was a vast deal of real goodness about his heart--he was frank, liberal, sincere. Every person that kenned him liked him. His first and greatest fault was that he was owre open; he laid bare his breast, as it were, to the attack of every enemy that chose to hurl a shaft at it. He was a fool for his pains; and, I daresay, he saw it in the end. There was always some person taking the advantage of the frankness of his disposition. But the thing that ruined him, and fixed the by-name on him, was, that he became a sort of fixture in Luckie Riddle's parlour. His chief companion was a lad of the name of William Archbold--a blithe, singing chield, that was always happy, and ready at onything. Thomas and he were courting two sisters--Jenny and Peggy Lilly--the daughters of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, and both of them were bonny, weel-respected lasses. The folk in this quarter used to call William Archbold _Blithe Willie_. He was a blacksmith to his trade, but quite a youth; and come upon him by night or by day, Willie was sure to be found laughing, whistling, or singing. He hadna a yearly income like Thomas Elliot; and, strange to say, he got the blame of gieing him a howff at Luckie Riddle's. But that was a doctrine which I always protested against; and I said it was much more likely that, as Thomas was fu'-handed, while his neighbour had to work for his bread, the man of money led the blacksmith to their howff, and not the blacksmith the man of money. One thing is certain, that both of them were far oftener at Luckie's than was either good for their health, wealth, or reputation. One night, it seems, after having drunk until, if "they werena fu', they just had plenty," they reeled away to see the two sisters, their sweethearts. Jenny didna wish to quarrel wi' Thomas, because he had the siller; but Peggy turned away wi' scorn from Blithe Willie, and said, that she "never again would speak to one who was no better than a common blackguard, and who neither had regard for himself, nor for any one connected wi' him." What more passed between them I canna tell, but it is said he turned sober in an instant; and, certain it is, that night he left the town, and has never been more heard tell off.