UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022094074 G^ r:^. \^!4>/ P I RAB AND HIS FRIENDS AND OTHER SKETCHES ^ JOHN BROWN, M.D. ^ i THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY T& mf TWO FRIENDS ai Busby, KcnJ^'nuihi^t^ ,% MsPtembrance of a Journey fra>n C^*^UAf% Jkkiutijn to T'jiiido a/iU f^-4^A Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2011 witii funding from University of Nortii Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/rabhisfriendsbrownlupt RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. FouR-AND-THiRTY years ago, Bob Ainslie and I were coming up Infirmary Street from the High School, our heads together, and our arms intertwisted, as only lovers and boys know how, or why. When we got to the top of the street, and turned north, we espied a crowd at the Tron Church. "A dog-fight!" shouted Bob, and was off ; and so was I, both of us all but pray- ing that it might not be over before we got up ! And is not this boy-nature ? and humaij nature too ? and don't we all wish a house on fire not to be out before we see it ? Dogs like fighting ; old Isaac says they *' delight " in it, and for the best of all reasons ; and boys are not cruel because they like to see the fight They see three of the great cardinal virtues of dog or man — courage, endurance, and skill— in intense action. This is very different from % love of making dog$ figt^^ and enigying, and $ 1Rab and bf6 jfdenda. aggravating, and making gain by their plucfc A boy — ^be he ever so fond himself of fighting, if he be a good boy, hates and despises all this, but he would have run off with Bob and me fast enough : it is a natural, and a not wicked interest, that all boys and men have in witnessing intense energy in action. Does any curious and finely-ignorant woman wish to know how Bob's eye at a glance an- nounced a dog-fight to his brain ? He did not, he could not see the dogs fighting ; it was a flash of an inference, a rapid induction. The crowd round a couple of dogs fighting, is a crowd masculine mainly, with an occasional active, compassionate woman, fluttering wildly round the outside, and using her tongue and her hands freely upon the men, as so many ** brutes ; " it is a crowd annular, compact, and mobile ; a crowd centripetal, having its eyes and its heads all bent downwards and inwards, to one common focus. Well, Bob and I are up, and find it is not over : a small thoroughbred, white bull-terrier, is busy throttling a large shepherd's dog, unac- customed to war, but not to be trifled with. They are hard at it ; the scientific little fellow doing his work in great style, his pastoral TRab anD bis ^FrfcnDs. 7 enemy fighting wildly, but with the sharpest of teeth and a great courage. Science and breed" ing, however, soon had their own ; the Game Chicken, as the premature Bob called him, working his v/ay up, took his final grip of poor Yarrow's throat, — and he lay gasping and done for. His master, abrown, handsome, big young shepherd from Tweedsmuir, would have liked to have knocked down any man, would ** drink up Esil, or eat a crocodile," for that part, if he had a chance : it was no use kicking tha little dog ; that would only make him hold the closer. Many were the means shouted out in mouthfuls, of the best possible ways of ending it " Water I " but there was none near, and many cried for it who might have got it from the well at Blackfriars Wynd. " Bite the tail 1 " and a large, vague, benevolent, middle- aged man, more desirous than wise, with some struggle got the bushy end of Yarrow^s tail into his ample mouth, and bit it with all his might. This was more than enough for the much-enduring, much-perspiring shepherd, who, with a gleam of joy over his broad visage, delivered a terrific facer upon our large, vague, benevolent, middle-aged friend, — who wen| down like a shot S "Rab anD bts ^rienOs. Still the Chicken holds ; death not far oE " Snuff ! a pinch of snuff I " observed a calm, highly-dressed young buck, with an eyeglass in his eye. " Snuff, indeed I '* growled the angry crowd, affronted and glaring. " Snuff I a pinch of snuff I " again observes the buck, but with more urgency; whereon were pro duced several open boxes, and from a mull which may have been at Culloden, he took a pinch, knelt down, and presented it to the nose of the Chicken. The laws of physiology and of snuff take their course ; the Chicken sneezes, and Yarrow is free I The young pastoral giant stalks off with Yarrow in his arms, — comforting him. But the Bull Terrier's blood is up, and his Boul unsatisfied; he grips the first dog he meets, and discovering she is not a dog, in Homeric phrase, he makes a brief sort of amende^ and is off. The boys, with Bob and me at their head, are after him : down Niddry Street he goes, bent on mischief ; up the Cow gate like an arrow — Bob and I, and our small men, panting behind. There, under the single arch of the South Bridge, is a huge mastiff, sauntering down the middle of the causeway, as if with his hands lRa& an^ bis ifrlcnDs. 9 in his pockets : he is old, gray, brindled, aj big as a little Highland bull, and has the Shaksperian dewlaps shaking as he goes. The Chicken makes straight at him, and fastens on his throat. To our astonishment, the great creature does nothing but stand still, hold himself up, and roar — yes, roar ; a long, serious, remonstrative roar. How is this? Bob and I are up to them. He is muzzled} The bailies had proclaimed a general muz- xling, and his master, studying strength and economy mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in a home-made apparatus, constructed out of the leather of some ancient breechin^ His mouth was open as far as it could ; his lips curled up in rage — a sort of terrible grin ; his teeth gleaming, ready, from out the dark* ness ; the strap across his mouth tense as a bowstring ; his whole frame stiff with indig- nation and surprise : his roar asking us all round, " Did you ever see the like of this ? " He looked a statue of anger and astonishment, done in Aberdeen granite. We soon had a crowd : the Chicken held on, • A knife ! " cried Bob ; and a cobbler gave him his knife : you know the kind of knife, worn away obliquely to a pointt and «ilwaya to "Kab anO bia 3FcfenD0. keen. I put its edge to the tense leather ; it ran before it ; and then ! — one sudden jerk of that enormous head, a sort of dirty mist about his mouth, no noise, — and the bri^^ht and fierce little fellow is dropped, limp, and dead A solemn pause ; this was more than any oC us had bargained for. I turned the little fellow over, and saw he was quite dead : the mastiff had taken him by the small of the back like a rat, and broken it He looked down at his victim appeased, ashamed, and amazed ; snuffed him all over, stared at him, and taking a sudden thought, turned round and trotted off. Bob took the dead dog up, and said, " John, we'll bury him after tea." " Yes," said I, and was off after the mastiff. He made up the Cowgate at a rapid swing; he had forgotten some engagement. He turned up the Candlemaker Row, and Stopped at the Harrow Inn. There was a carrier's cart ready to starts and a keen, thin, impatient, black-a- vised little man, his hand at his gray horse's head, look- ing about angrily for something. " Rab, ye thief I " said he, aiming a kick at my great friend, who drew cringing up, and avoiding the heavy shoe v/ith more agility than dignity, and TRab anD bis ^ncn^e* n watching his master's eye, slunk dismayed under the cart, — his ears down, and as much as he had of tail down too. What a man this must be — thought I — to "whom my tremendous hero turns tail ! The carrier saw the muzzle hanging, cut and use- less, from his neck, and I eagerly told him the story, which Bob and I always thought, and still think, Homer, or Kmg David, or Sir Walter, alone were worthy to rehearse. The severe little m_an was mitigated, and conde- scended to say, " Rab, ma man, puir Rabble," — whereupon the stump of a tail rose up, the ears were cocked, the eyes filled, and were comforted ; the two friends were reconciled. ** Hupp ! " and a stroke of the whip were given to Jess ; and off went the three. Bob and I buried the Game Chicken that night (we had not much of a tea) in the back- green of his house, in Melville Street, No. 17, with considerable gravity and silence; and being at the time in the Iliad, and, like all boys, Trojans, we called him Hector ol course. la 'Baab anD bis fxicn^ Six years have passed, — a long time for t boy and a dog : Bob Ainslie is off to the wars ; I am a medical student, and cierk at Minto House Hospital. Rab I saw almost every week, on the Wed- nesday ; and we had much pleasant intimacy. I tound the way to his heart by frequent scratching of his huge head, and an occasional bone. When I did not notice him he would plant himself straight before me, and stand wagging that bud of a tail, and looking up, with his head a little to the one side. His master I occasionally saw; he used to call me " Maister John," but was laconic as any Spartan. One fine October afternoon, I was leaving the hospital, when I saw the large gate open, and in walked Rab, with that great and easy saunter of his. He looked as if taking general possession of the place ; like the Duke of Wellington entering a subdued city, satiated with victory and peace. After him came Jess, now white from age, with her cart ; and in it a woman, carefully wrapped up, — the canief Viub auD bis ifcicnDs. 13 leading the horse anxiously, and looking back. When he saw me, James (for his name was James Noble) made a curt and grotesque ** boo,*' and said, " Maister John, this is the mistress ; she^s got a trouble in her breest-— some kind o' an income we're thinkin'. '* By this time I saw the woman's face ; she was sitting on a sack filled with straw, her husband's plaid round her, and his big-coat, with its large white metal buttons, over her feet I never saw a more unforgetable face — pale, serious, lonely ^^ delicate, sweet, without being at all what we call fine. She looked sixty, and had on a mutch, white as snow, with its black ribbon; her silvery, smooth hair setting of! her dark-gray eyes — eyes such as one sees only twice or thrice in a lifetime, full of suffer* ing, full also of the overcoming of it : her eye- brows black and delicate, and her mouth firm, patient, and contented, which few mouths ever are. As I have said, I never saw a more beauti- ful countenance, or one more subdued to settled quiet. *' Ailie," said James, " this is ' It is not easy giving this look by one word ; it wa« e^ressive of her being so much of her life alone. 14 "KaO anD bis ifrienDs. Maister John, the young doctor ; Rab's friend, ye ken. We often speak aboot you, doctor." She smiled, and made a movement, but said nothing ; and prepared to come down, putting her plaid aside and rising. Had Solomon, in all his glory, been handing down the Queeo of Sbeba at his palace gate, he could not have done it more daintily, more tenderly, more like a gentleman, than did James the Howgatc carrier, when he lifted down Ailie his wifa The contrast of his small, swarthy, weather- beaten, keen, worldly face to hers — pale, sub* dued, and beautiful — was something wonder- ful Rab looked on concerned and puzzled, but ready for anything that might turn up,— were it to strangle the nurse, the porter, of even me, Ailie and he seemed great friends. I •* As I was sayin*, she's got a kind o* trouble In her breest, doctor : wull ye tak' a look at !t?** We walked into the consulting-room, all four ; Rab grim and comic, willing to be happy and confidential if cause could b© shown, willing also to be the reverse, on the same terms. Ailie sat down, undid her open gown and her lawn handkerchief round hef neck, and, without a word, showed me her light breast. I looked at and examined H IRab and bl6 jfrlenO^* it carefully, — she and James watching me, and Rab eyeing all three. What could I say? there it was, that had once been so soft, so shapely, so white, so gracious and bountiful so " full of all blessed conditions," — hard aj a stone, a center of horrid pain, making that pale face, with its gray, lucid, reasonable eyes, and its sweet resolved mouth, express the full measure of suffering overcome. Why was that gentle, modest, sweet woman, clean and lovably condemned by God to bear such a burden ? I got her away to bed. •* May Rab and ma bide ? " said James. " You may ; and Rab, if he will behave himself," " I'se warrant he*8 do that, doctor ; " and in slunk the faithful beast. I wish you could have seen him. There are no such dogs now. He belonged to a lost tribe. As I have said, he was brirdled, and gray like Rubislaw granite ; his hair short, hard, and close, like a lion's ; his body thick set, like a little bull — a sort of cora« pressed Hercules of a dog. He must have been ninety pounds' weight, at the least ; he had a large blunt head ; his muzzle black as night, his mouth blacker than any night, % tooth or two — bemg all he had — ^gleaming oul t6 Itl^v Awo bie SticnZ>9. of his jaws of darkness. His head was scarred with the records of old wounds, a sort of series of fields of battle all over it ; one eye out, one ear cropped as close as was Arch- bishop Leighton's father's ; the remaining eye had the power of two ; and above it, and ia constant communication with it, was a tattered rag of an ear, which was forever unfurling itself, like an old flag ; and then that bud of a tail, about one inch long, if it could in any sense be said to be long, being as broad as long — the mobility, the instantaneousness of that bud were very funny and surprising, and its expressive twinklings and winkings, the intercommunications between the eye, the ear and it, were of the oddest and swiftest. Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size ; and having fought his way all along the road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty in his own line as Julius Caesar or the Duke of Wellington, and had the gravity* of al! great fighters. • A Highland game-keeper, when asked by & certaia terrier, of smgular pluck, was so much iuore solemn than the other dogs, said, "Oh, sir, life's full & sauiousneiss to ium— ke ju&t oever caa g/st enufi ^ fecbtm*.** "Kab an^ bis tftienDa, 17 You must have often observed the likeness of certain men to certain animals, and of certain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at Rab without thinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller.^ The same large, heavy, menacing, combative, somber, honest counten- ance, the same deep inevitable eye, the same look, — as of thunder asleep, but ready, — neither a dog nor a man to be trifled with. Next da)^, my master, the surgeon, examined Ailie. There was no doubt it must kill her, and soon. It could be removed — it might never return — it would give her speedy relief — she should hare it done. She curtsied, 1 Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous as a boxer : not quarrelsome, but not without *the stern delight " a man of strength, and courage feels in their exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart, of Duneam, -whose rare gifts and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a gentleman, live only in the memory of those few >vho knew and survive him, liked to tell how JJLy. Fuller used to say, that when he was in the pulpit, and saw a btiirdly man come along the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up, measure his ima- ginary antagonist, and forecast how he would deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensmg into fists, and tending to " square." He must have been a hard hitter if he boxed as he preached— what " The Fancy " would Gall ** an ugly customet** 2 i8 TRab ano bis jfcfenos. looked at James, and said, " When ? " *' To morrow," said the kind surgeon — a man ol few words. She and James and Rab and I retired. I noticed that lie and she spoke little, but seemed to anticipate everything in each other. The following day, at noon, the students came in, hurrying up the great stair. At the first landing-place, on a small well- known black board, was a bit of paper fastened by wafers, and many remains of old wafers beside it On the paper were the words, — • ** An operation to-day. J. B. Clerk, ^* Up ran the youths, eager to secure good places : in they crowded, full of interest and talk. "What's the case?" "Which side is it ? " Don't think them heartless ; they are neither better nor worse than you or I : they get over their professional horrors, and into their proper work ; and ia them pity — as an emotion^ ending in itself or at best in tears and a long-drawn breath, lessens, while pity as a motive^ is quick- ened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor human nature that it is so. The operating theater is crowded; much talk and fun, and all the cordiality and stir ol youth. The surgeon with his staff of assistants b there. In comes Ailie : one look at hef quiets and abates the eager students. That beautiful old woman is too much for them ; they sit down, and are dumb, and gaze at her. These rough boys feel the power of her pres- ence. She walks in quickly, but without haste ; dressed in her mutch, her neckerchief, her white dimity short-gown, her black bom- bazeen petticoat, showing her white worsted Stockings and her carpet-shoes. Behind her was James with Rab. James sat down in the distance, and took that huge and noble head between his knees. Rab looked perplexed and dangerous ; forever cocking his ear and dropping it as fast Ailie stepped up on a seat, and laid herself on the table, as her friend the surgeon told her; arranged herself, gave a rapid look at James, shut her eyes, rested herself on me, and took my hand. The operation was at once begun; it was necessarily slow; and chloroform — one of God's best gifts to his suffering children — was then unknown. The surgeon did his work. The pale face showed its pain, but was still and silent Rab's soul was working within him ; he saw that some- thing strange was going on, — blood flowing trom his mistress, and she suffering; hti ragged ear was up, and importunate; he growled and gave now and then a sharp im- patient yelp; he would have liked to have done something to that man. But James had him firm, and gave him a glower from time to time, and an intimation of a possible kick ; — all the better for James, it kept his eye and his mind off Ailie. 11 is over : she is dressed, steps gently and decently down from the table, looks for James ; then, turning to the surgeon and the students she curtsies, — and in a low, clear voice, begs their pardon if she has behaved ill. The students — all of us — wept like children ; the surgeon happed her up carefully, — and, resting on James and me, Ailie went to her room, Rab following. We put her to bed. James took off his heavy shoes, crammed with tackets, heel- capt and toe-capt, and put them carefully under the table, saying, " Maister John, I'm for nane o' yer strynge nurse bodies for Ailie. I'll be her nurse, and I'll gang aboot on my stockin' soles as canny as pussy." And so he did ; and handy and clever, and swift and tender as any woman, was that horny-handed, «nelL peremptory little man. Everything she TRab anO bla 3Frlen06. n got he gave her : he seldom slept ; and oftea I saw his small shrewd eyes out of the dark- ness, fixed on her. As before, they spoke little. Rab behaved well, never moving, showing us how meek and gentle he could be, and occasionally, in his sleep, letting us know that he was demolishing some adversary. He took a walk with me every day generally to the Candlemaker P.ow; but he v/as somber and mild ; declined doing battle, though some fit cases offered, and indeed submitted to sundry indignities ; and Vv^as always very ready to turn, and came faster back, and trotted up the stair with much lightness, and went straight to that door. Jess, the mare, had been sent, with her weather-worn cart, to Howgate, and had doubt- less her own dim and placid meditations and confusions, on the absence of her master and ^ab, and her unnatural freedom from the road and her cart. For some days Ailie did well. The wound healed " by the first intention ; " for as James said, " Oor Ailie's skin's ower clean to beil.** The students came in quiet and anxious, and surrounded her bed. She said she liked to 22 "Kab anD bis fticn^s* see their young, honest faces. The surgeon dressed her, and spoke to her in his own short kind way, pitying her through his eyes, Rab and James outside the circle, — Rab being now reconciled, and even cordial, and having made up his mind that as yet nobody required worrying, but, as you may suppose, semper paratus. So far well t but , four days after the opera« tion, riiy patient had a sudden and long shiv- ering, a " groosin'," as she called it. I saw her soon after ; her eyes were too bright, her cheek colored ; she was restless, and ashamed of being so ; the balance was lost ; mischief had begun. On looking at the wound, a blush of red told the secret : her pulse was rapid, her breathing anxious and quick, she wasn't herself, as she said, and was vexed at her rest- lessness. We tried what we could. James did everything, was everywhere ; never in the way, never out of it ; Rab subsided under the table into a dark place, and was motionless, all but his eye, which followed every one. Ailie got worse , began to wander in her mind, gently ; was more demonstrative in her ways to James, rapid in her questions, and sharp at times. He was vexed, and said, "She was TRab anD bis S'ctenDs, n€ver that way afore ; no, never." For a time she knew her head was wrong, and was always asking our pardon — the dear, gentle old woman : then delirium set in strong, without pause. Her brain gave way, and then cam^ that terrible spectacle, " The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on its dim and perilous way ; " she sang bits of old songs and Psalms, stop- ping suddenly, mingling the Psalms of DaviJ, and the diviner words of his Son and Lord, with homely odds ^nd ends and scraps cl ballads. Nothing more tcuciung, or in a sense more strangely beautiful, did I ever witness. Her tren .ulous, rapid, affectionate, eager, Scotch voice, — the swift, aimless, bewildered mind, the baffled utterance, the bright and perilous eye ; some wild words, some household cares- something for James, the names of the dead, Rab called rapidly and in a " fremyt " voic , and he starting up, surprised, and slinking off as if he were to blame somehow, or had been dreaming he heard. Many eager questionj and beseechings which James and I could malsO nothing of, and on which she seeined to set her «4 IKab anD bis ^dcnDs. all, and then sink back ununderstood. It vraa very sad, but better than many things that are not called sad. James hovered about, put out and miserable, but active and exact as ever ; read to her, when there was a lull, short bits from the Psalms, prose and meter, chanting the latter in his own rude and serious way, showing great knowledge of the fit words, bearmg up like a man, and doating over her as his " ain Ailie." " Ailie, ma woman 1 " " Ma ain bonnio wee dawtie ! " The end was drawing on : the golden bowl was breaking ; the silver cord was fast being; loosed — that ani^nila blandula, vaguHa, hospes^ covtesqiie^ was about to flee. The body and the soul — companions for sixty years — were being sundered, and taking leave. She was v/alking, alone, through the valley of that shadow, into which one day we must all enter, — and yet she was not alone, for we know v/hose rod and staff were comforting her. One night she had fallen, quiet, and as we hoped, asleep; her eyes were shut. We put down the gas, and sat watching her. Suddenly she sat up in bed, and taking a bedgown which was lying on it rolled up, she held it eagerly to her breast, — to the right side. We could see 'Ra& and bla jfcienC>0« 2% her eyes bright with a surprising tenderness and joy, bending over this bundle of clothes. She held it as a woman holds her sucking child ; opening out her night-gown impatiently, and holding it close, and brooding over it, and murmuring foolish little words, as over one whom his mother comforteth, and who sucks and is satisfied. It was pitiful and strange to see her wasted dying look, keen and yet vague — her immense love. ** Preserve me 1 " groaned James, giving way. And then she rocked back and forward, as if to make it sleep, hushing it, and wasting on it her infinite fondness. "Wae's me, doctor ; I declare she's thinkin' it's that bairn.** **What bairn?" "The only bairn we ever had ; our wee Mysie, and she's in the King- dom, forty years and main" It was plainly true : the pain in the breast, telling its urgent story to a bewildered, ruined brain, was misread and mistaken ; it suggested to her the uneasiness of a breast full of milk, and then the child ; and so again once more they were together, and she had her ain wee Mysie ia her bosom. This was the close. She sank ripidly : tha delirium left her ; but, as she whispered, sha f6 Kab anD bis f iicuD», was " clean silly ; " it was the lightening befora the final darkness. After having for some time lain still — her eyes shut, she said ** James ! " He came close to her, and lifting up her calm, clear, beautiful eyes, she gave him a long look, turned to me kindly, but shortly, looked for Rab but could not see him, then turned to her husband again, as if she would never leave off looking, shut her eyes, and com- posed herself. She lay for some time breath- ing quick, and passed away so gently, that when we thought she was gone, James, in his old- fashioned way, held the mirror to her fuce. After a long pause, one small spot of dimness was breathed out ; it vanished away, and never returned, leaving the blank cleat darkness of the mirror without a stain. "What is our life ? '' it is even a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." Rab all this time had been full awake and motionless ; he cam forward beside us : Ailie's hand, which James had held, was hanging down ; it was soaked with his tears , Rab licked it all over carefully, looked at her^ and returned to his place under the table. James and I sat, I don't know how long, but for some time, — saying nothing : he starteway anu come again ; and I returned, thinking of that company going up Libberton Brae, .hen along Roslin Muir, the morning light touching the Pentlands and mak- ing them like on-looking ghosts ; then down the hill tLfough Auchindinny woods, past " haunted Woodhouselee ; " and as daybreak came sweeping up the bleak Lammermuirs, and fell on his own door, the company would stop, and *ames would take the key, and lift Ailie up again, laying her on her own bed. and, hav- JO 1Ra& atiD bis jfrtenDs. ing put Jess up, would return with Rab aid shut the door. James buried his wife, with his neighbors mourning, Rab inspecting the solemnity from a distance. It was snow, and that black ragged hole would look strange in the midst of the swelling spotless cushion of white. James looked after everything ; then rather suddenly fell ill, and took to bed ; was insensible when the doctor came, and soon died. A sort of low fever was prevailing in the village, and his want of sleep, his exhaustion, and his misery^ made him apt to take it. The grave was not difficult to re-open. A fresh fall of snow had again made all things white and smooth ; Rab once more looked on, and slunk home to the stable. And what of Rab ? I asked for him next week at the new carrier who got the goodwill of James's business, and was now master of Jess and her cart. " How's Rab ? " He put me off, and said rather rudely, " What's your business wi' the dowg ? " I was not to be so put off. " Where's Rab ? " He, getting con- fused and red, and intermeddling with his hair, said " 'Deed, sir, Rab's deid." " Dead I "Kab anD bis jfrienDs, ^i what did he die of ? " " Weel, sir," said he getting redder, " he didna exactly dee ; he was killed. I had to brain him wi' a rack-pin ; there was nae doin* wi' him. He lay in the treviss wi' the mear, and wadna come oot. I tempit him wi* kail and meat, but he wad tak naething, and keepit me frae feedin' the beast, and he was aye gur gurrin*, and grup gruppin* me by the legs. I was laith to make awa wi' the auld dowg, his like wasna atween this and Thornhill, — but, 'deed, sir, I could do naething else." I believed him. Fit end for Rab, quick and complete. His teeth and his friends gone, why should he keep the peace, and be civil ? He was buried in the braeface, near the bum, the children of the village, his compan- ions, who used to make very free with him and sit on his ample stomach, as he lay half asleep at the door in the sun^watching the solemnity. [Note.— The separate publication of this sketch wa« forced u|>on me by the " somewhat free use " made of it in a second and thereby enlarged edition of the • little book " to which I owe my introduction to Mar- jorie Fleming, — but nothing more, — a " use " so ex- ceedingly " free " as to extend almost to everything with which I had ventured perhaps to encumber the letters and journals of that dear child. To be called "^kind and genial " by the individual who devised this edition has, strange as he may think it, altogether failed to console me. Empty praise without the solid pudding is proverbially a thing of naught ; but what shall we say of praise the emptiness of which is aggra- vated not merely by the absence, but by the actual abstraction of the pudding ? This little act of conveyancing — this " engaging com- pilation," as he would have called it — puts me in mind of that pleasant joke Li the preface to " Essays by Mr. Goldsmith " : " I would desire in this case to imitate that fat man whom I have somewhere heard of in a shipwreck, who, when the sailors, pressed by famine, ■were taking slices from his body^ to satisfy their hunger, insisted, with great justice* on having the first cut for himftfilf.*' MAKJUKJE FLEMING. no MISS FLEMING, 7# catfiiw^z I am indebted for all its Maisfi^. THIS MEMORIAL IMT ««• DfiAS AND UNFO»OOTV«8« M AIDIF ^ grui£/7*lly insi.y-ibcd. MARJORIE FLEMING. One November afternoon in 1810 — the year in which Waverky was resumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two volumes in three weeks, and made immortal in 18 14, and when its author, by the death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a civil appointment in India — three men, evidently lawyers, might have been seen escaping like school-boys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm-in-arm down Bank Street and the Mound, in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet. The three friends sought the Meld of the low wall old Edinburgh boys remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout west wind. The three were curiously unlike each other. One, " a little man of feeble make, who would be unhappy if his pony got beyond a foot pace," slight, with "small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel eyes, the index of 1% |6 /JBarjorjc ificmmg. the quick, sensitive spirit within, as if he had the warm heart of a woman, her genuine en- thusiasm, and some of her weaknesses." An- other, as unlike a woman as a man can be; homely, almost common, in look and figure; his hat and his coat, and indeed his entire covering, worn to the quick, but all of the best material ; what redeemed him from vulgarity and meanness were his eyes, deep set, heavily thatched, keen, hungry, shrewd, with a slum- bering glow far in, as if they could be danger- ous ; a man to care nothing for at first glance, but somehow, to give a second and not-for- getting look at. The third was the biggest o! the three, and though lame, nimble, and all rough and alive with power; had you met him anywhere else, you would say he was a Lid- desdale store-farmer, come of gentle blood ; " a stout, blunt carle," as he says of himself, with the swing and stride and the eye of a man of the hills, — a large, sunny, out-of-door air all about him. On his broad and somewhat stoop- ing shoulders, was set that head which, with Shakesf>eare's and Bonaparte's is the best known in all the world. He was in high spirits, keeping his compan- ions and himself in roars of laughtera aadeveijf /IBarjode Fleming. 3^ now and then seizing them, and stopping, thai they might take their fill of the fun ; there they stood shaking with laughter, " not an inch of their body free " from its grip. At George Street they parted, one to Rose Court, behind St. Andrew's Church, one to Albany Street, the other, our big and limping friend, to Castle Street. We need hardly give their names. The first was William Erskine, afterwards Lord Kin- nedder, chased out of the world by a calumnyj killed by its foul breath, — " And at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slipped in a moment out of life." There is nothing in literature more beautifuj or more pathetic than Scott's love and sorro"w for this friend of his youth. The second was William Clerk, — the Darsit Latimer oi Redgau7itlet ; '■'' 2. man," as Scott says, " of the most acute intellects and power- ful apprehension," but of more powerful indo- lence, so as to leave the world with little more than the report of what he might have been, — a humorist as genuine, though not quite so savagely Swiftian ^s his brother, Lord Eldin, 38 flSarjocfe jfleminQ. neither of whom had much of that commonest and best of all the humors, called good. The third we all know. What has he not done for every one of us ? Who else ever, except Shakespeare, so diverted mankind, en- tertained and entertains a world so liberally, so wholesomely ? We are fain to say, not even Shakespeare, for his is something deeper than diversion, something higher than pleasure, and yet who would care to split this hair ? Had any one watched him closely before and after the parting, what a change he would see ! The bright, broad laugh, the shrewd, jovial word, the man of the Parliament House and of the world ; and next step, moody, the light of his eye withdrawn, as if seeing things that were invisible ; his shut mouth, like a child's, so impressionable, so innocent, so sad; he was now all within, as before he was all without; hence his brooding look. As the snow blattered in his face, he muttered, " How it raves and drifts ! On-ding o* snaw, — ay, that's the word, — on-ding — ". He was now at his own door, " Castle Street, No. 39." He opened the door, and went straight to his den ; tnat wondrous workshop, where, in one year, '^823, when he was fifty-two, he wrote FeverU /Bbatjorlc iflemlnfi. 39 of the Peak ^ Queniin Durward^zxA St, Ronan^s Welly besides much else. We once took the foremost of our novelists, the greatest, we would say, since Scott, into this room, and could not but mark the solemnizing effect of sitting where the great magician sat so often and so long, and looking out upon that little shabby bit of sky and that back green, where faithful Camp lies.* He sat down in his large green morocco el- bow-chair, drew himself close to his table, and glowered and gloomed at his writing apparatus, "a very handsome old box, richly carved, lined with crimson velvet, and containing ink- bottles, taper-stand, etc., in silver, the whole in such order, that it might have come from the silversmith's window half an hour before.** He took out his paper, then starting up angrily, * This favorite dog "died about January, 1809 and was buried in a fine moonlight night in the little garden behind the house in Castle Street. My wife tells me she remembers the whole family in tears about the grave as her father himself smoothed the turf above Camp, with the saddest face she had ever seen. He had been engaged to dine abroad that day, but apolo- gized, on account of the death of * a dear old friend.' * — LOCKHAB-T'S Life of Scott. 40 iliac jorte if lemma. said, " * Go spin, you jade, go spin/ No^ d— i^ it won't do, — * My spinnin' wheel is auld and stifE, The rock o't wunna stand, sir, To keep the temper-pin in tiff Employs ower aft my hand, sir.* I am off the fang.* I can make nothing of Waverley to-day ; I'll awa* to Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, you thief." The great creature rose slowly, and the pair were off, Scott taking a maud (a plaid) with him. " White as a frosted plum-cake, by jingo I " said he, when he got to the street. Maida gambolled and whisked among the snow, and her master strode across to Young Street, and through it to \ North Charlotte Street, to the house of \m dear friend, Mrs. William Keith, of Corstor phine Hill, niece of Mrs. Keith, of Ravelstoa of whom he said at her death, eight years after, " Much tradition, and that of the best, has died with this excellent old lady, one o£ the few persons whose spirits and cleanliness and freshness of mind and body made old a^ lovely and desirable," Sir Walter was in that house almost everjl' * Applied to a pump when it is dry, and its valve has fest its **fang *' ; from the German /an^cn, to bold. /fcaciocie sflemfng. 41 day, and had a key, so in he and the hound went, shaking themselves in the lobby. " Mar- jorie ! Marjorie I " shouted her friend, " where are ye, my bonnie wee croodlin doo? " In a moment a bright, eager child of seven was in his arms, and he was kissing her all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. " Come yer ways in, Wattie." " No, not now. I am going to take Marjorie wi' me, and you may come to your tea in Duncan Roy's sedan, and bring the bairn home in your lap." " Tak' Marjorie, and it on-ding d* sfiaw f " said Mrs. Keith. He said to himself, " On-ding, — that's odd, — that is the very word.'* " Hoot, awa ! look here,'' and he displayed the corner of his plaid, made to hold lambs (the true shepherd's plaid, consisting of two breadths sewed together, and uncut at one end, making a poke or ad 'de sac), "Tak' yer lamb," said she, laughing U the contrivance, and so the Pet was first well happit up, and then put, laughing silently, into the plaid neuk, and the shepherd strode oif with his lamb, — Maida gambolling through the snow, and running races in her mirth. Didn't he face the " angry airt," and make her bield his bosom, and into his own room with her, and lock the door, and out with tha 4t Aarjorie Fleming. warm, rosy, little wifie, who took it all with great composure! There the two remained for three or more hours, making the house ring with their laughter; you can fancy the big man's and Maidie's laugh. Having made the fire cheer}% he set her down in his ample chair, and standing sheepishly before her he began to say his lesson, which happened to be,— " Ziccotty diccotty, dock, the mouse ran op the clock, the clock struck wan, down the mouse ran, ziccotty, diccotty, dock." This done repeatedly till she was pleased, she gave bim his new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon her small fingers, — he saying it after her, — ** Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven ; Alibi, crackaby, ten, and eleven Pin, pan, musky, dan ; Tweedle-um, twoddle-um ; Twenty-wan ; eerie, orie, ourie, You, are, out.'* He pretended to great difficulty and she rebuked him with the most comical gravity, treating him as a child. He used to say that when he came to Alibi Crackaby he broke down, and Pin-Pan, Musky-Dan, Tweedle-um Twoddlfr-um made him roar with laughtei; /IBarjotie flcminQ, 43 fts "said Musky-Dan especially was beyond endurance, bringing up an Irishman and his hat fresh from the Spice Islands and odor- iferous Ind; she getting quite bitter in her displeasure at his ill-behavior and stupidness. Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious way, the two getting wild with excitement over Gil Morrice or the Baron of Smailholm ; and he would take her on his knee, and make her repeat Constance's speeches in King JoJm^ till he swayed to and fro, sobbing his fill. Fancy the gifted little creature, like one possessed, repeating, — ** For I am sick, and capable of fears, Oppressed with wrong, and therefore full of fearsi A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally bom to fears.'* * If thou that bidst me be content, wert griaib Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's woml»^ Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious — ■** Or, drawing herself up "to the height of her great argument," — " I will instruct my sorrows to be proud. For grief is proud, and makes his owner stooL Here I and sorrow sit." Scott used to say that he was amazed at her power over him, saying to Mrs. Keith, " She's (4 /E^arjortc Fleming. the most extraordinary creature I ever met with, and her repeating of Shakespeare over- powers me as nothing else does." Thanks to the unforgetting sister of this dear child, who has much of the sensibihty and fun of her who has been in her small grave these fifty and more years, we have now before us the letters and journals of Pet Marjorie, — before us lies and gleams her rich brown hair, bright and sunny as if yesterday's, with the words on the paper, " Cut out in her last illness," and two pictures of her by her beloved Isabella, whom she worshiped; there are the faded old scraps of paper, hoarded still, over which her warm, breath and her warm little heart had poured themselves; ^ere is the old water-mark, "Lingard, 1808." The two portraits are very like each other, but plainly done at different times ; it is a chubby, healthy face, deep-set, brooding eyes, as eager to tell what is going on within as to gather in all the glories from v/ithout; quick with the wonder and the pride of life ; they are eyes that would not be soon satisfied with seeing; eyes that would devour their object, and yet childlike and fearless ; and tlxat is a mouth that will not be sooa satisfied flRarjorte 3fleming. 45 with love ; it has a curious likeness to Scott's own, which has always appeared to us his sweetest, most mobile and speaking feature. There she is, looking straight at us as she did at him, — fearless and full of love, pas- sionate, wild, willful, fancy's child. One can- not look at it without thinking of Wordsworth's lines on poor Hartley Coleridge : — ** O blessed vision, happy child ! Thou art so exquisitely wild, I thought of thee with many fears, Of what might be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest. Lord of thy house and hospitality ; And Grief, uneasy lover ! ne'er at rest. But when she sat within the touch of thee. Oh, too industrious folly! Oh, vain and causeless melancholy I Nature will either end thee quite, Or, lengthening out thy season of delight Preserve for thee by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flock.** And we can imagine Scott, when holding his warm, plump little playfellow in his arms, repeating that stately friend's lines : — ** Loving she is, and tractable, though wild, And Innocence hath privilege in her, To dignify arch iQoks and laughing eyes. 46 iBbarjorie jfleming. And feats of cunning ; and the pretty round Of trespasses, affected to provoke Mock chastisement and partnership in play. And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth, Not less if unattended and alone, Than when both young and old sit gathered rounds And take delight in its activity, Even so this happy creature of herself Is all suflScient ; solitude to her Is blithe society ; she fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs." But we will let her disclose herself. We need hardly say that all this is true, and that these letters are as really Marjorie's as was this light brown hair ; indeed, you could as easily fabricate the one as the other. There was an old servant, Jeanie Robertson, who was forty years in her grandfather's family, Majorie Fleming, or, as she is called in the letters, and by Sir Walter, Maidie, was the last child she kept. Jeanie's wages never exceeded £2f a year, and, when she left service, she had saved £^o. She was devotedly attached to Maidie, rather despising and ill-using her sister Isabella, — a beautiful ar.d gentle child. This partiality made Maidie apt at times to domi- neer over Isabella. " I mention this " (writes her surviving sister) ** for the purpose of tell* flbarjorie Fleming. 49 Ing you an instance of Maidie's generous just- ice. When only five years old, when walking in Raith grounds, the two children had run on before, and old Jeanie remembered they might come too near a dangerous mill-lade. She called to them to turn back. Maidie heeded her not, rushed all the faster on, and fell, and would have been lost, had her sister not pulled her back, saving her life, but tearing her clothes. Jeanie flew on Isabella to ' give it her ' for spoiling her favorite's dress; Maidie rushed in between crying out, * Pay (whip) Maidjie as much as you like, and I'll not say one word" but touch Isy, and I'll roar like a bull 1 * Years after Maidie was resting in her grave, my mother used to take me to the place, and told the story always in the exact same words." This Jeanie must have been a character. F'-e took great pride in exhibiting Maidie's brother William's Calvinistic acquirements, when nine- teen months old, to the officers of a militia regiment then quartered in Kirkcaldy. This performance was so amusing that it was often repeated, and the little theologian was presented by them with a cap and fea^thers. Jeanie's glory was " putting him through the carritch " (catechism) in broad Scotch. be£;inning at tho 48 ^arjorle 3Flemfnfl, beginning with, " Wha made ye, ma bonnie man ? " For the correctness of this and the three next replies Jeanie had no anxiety, but the tone changed to menace, and the closed nieve (fist) was shaken in the child's face as she demanded, " Of what are you made ? ** ** Dirt," was the answer uniformly given. ** Wull ye never learn to say dust, ye thrawn deevil ? " with a cuff from the opened hand, was the as inevitable rejoinder. Here is Maidie's first letter before she was six. The spelling unaltered, and there are no " commoes." " My dear Isa, — I now sit down to answer all your kind and beloved letters which you was so good as to write to me. This is the first time I ever wrote a letter in my Life. There are a great many Girls in the Square and they cry just like a pig when we are under the pain- full necessity of putting it to Death. Miss Po- tune a Lady of my acquaintance praises me dreadfully. I repeated something out of Dean Swift, and she said I was fit for the stage, and you may think I v/as primmed up with majes- tick Pride, but upon my word I felt myselfe turn a little birsay — birsay is a word which is a word that William composed which is as you maj /Bartorle ficmirxQ, 49 suppose a little enraged. This horrid fat sim' pliton says that my Aunt is beautiful! which is intirely impossible for that is not her nat- ure." What a peppt'y little pen we wield ! What could that have been out of the Sardonic Dean? what other child of that age would have used " beloved " as she does ? This power of affection, this faculty of Moving, and wild hunger to be beloved, comes out more and more. She periled her all upon it, and it may have been as well — we know, indeed, that it was far better— for her that this wealth of love was so soon withdrawn to its one only infi- nite Giver and Receiver. This must have been the law of her earthly life. Love was indeed " her Lord and King " ; and it was perhaps well for her that she found so soon that her and our only Lord and King Himself is Love. Here are bits from her Diary at Braehead : — " The day of my existence here has beea delightful and enchanting. On Saturday I expected no less than three well made Bucks the names of whom is here advertised. Mr. Geo. Crakey (Craigie), and Wm. Keith and Jn. Keith — the first is the funniest of every one of them. Mr. Crakey and walked to Crakj* 4 5© ^arjocfe 3f lemlnfl, hall (Craigiehall) hand in hand in InnocenoQ and matitation (meditation) sweet thinking on the kind love which flows in our tendex hearted mind which is overflowing with ma- jestic pleasure no one was ever so polite to me in the hole state of my existence. Mr. Craky you must know is a great Buck and pretty good-looking. ** I am at Ravelston enjoying nature's fresh air. The birds are singing sweetly — the calf doth frisk and nature shows her glorious face.** Here is a confession : — " I confess I have been very more like a little young divil than 9 creature for when Isabella went up stairs to teach me religion and my multiplication and to be good and all my other lessons I stamped with my foot and threw my new hat which she had made on the ground and was sulky and was dreadfully passionate, but she never whiped me but said Marjory go into another room and think what a great crime you are committing letting your temper git the better of you. But I went so sulkily that the Devil got the better of me but she never never never whips me so that I think I would be the better of it and the next time that I behave iU I think she shouJjd do it for she aevtr does it ^arjorte ffUmtnfl. ji , ♦ , . Isabella has given me praise for check- ing my temper for I was sulky even when she was kneeling an hole hour teaching me to write." Our poor little wifie, she Las no doubts of the personality of the Devil ! " Yesterday I behave extremely ill in God's most holy church for I would never attend myself nor let Isa- bella attend which was a great crime for she often, often tells me that when to or three are geathered together God is in the midst of them, and it was the ver}' same Divil that tempted Job that tempted me I am sure ; but he resisted Satan though he had boils and many many other misfortunes which I have escaped I am now going to tell you thehorible and wretched plaege (plague) that my multiplication gives me you can't conceive it the most Devilish thing is 8 times 8 and 7 times 7 it is what nature itself cant endure." This is delicious ; and what harm is there in her " Devilish " ? it is strong language merely ? even old Rowland Hill used to say " he grudged the Devil those rough and ready words." " I walked to that delightful place Crakyhall with a delightful young man beloved by aU txis friends especially by me his loveresib 52 /Bbactorte I'lcmina. but I must not talk any more about hi a for Isa said it is not proper for to speak of ger.tal* men but I will never forget him !....! ai-a very very glad that satan has not given me boils and many other misfortunes — In the holy bible these words are written that the Devil goes like a roaring lyon in search of his pray but the lord lets us escape from him but we " \pauvre petite I) " do not strive with this aw- full Spirit. .... To-day I pronunced a wovd which should never come out of a lady*s lips it was that I called John a Impudent Bitch. I will tell you what I think made me in so bad a humor is I got one or two of that bad bad in a (senna) tea to-day," — a better excuse for bad humor and bad language than most. She has been reading the Book of Esther ! ** It was a dreadful thing that Haman was hanged on the very gallows which he had pre- pared for Mordeca to hang him and his ten sons thereon and it was very wrong and cruel to hang his sons for they did not commit the crime ; but then fcsu^ was not then come to teach us to be merciful'^ This is wise and beautiful. — has upon it the very dew of youth and of holiness. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings He perfects his praise. fflyarjorie Fleming, 53 ••This IS Saturday and I am very glad of it because I have play half the Day and I get money too but alas I owe Isabella 4 pence for I am finned 2 pence whenever I bite my nails. Isabella is teaching me to make simme colings nots of interrigations peorids coramoes, etc. . , As this is Sunday I will meditate upon Sen- ciable and Religious subjects. First I should be very thankful I am not a begger.'^ This amount of meditation and thankfulness seems to have been all she was able for, " I am going to-morrow to a delightfull place, Braehead by name, belonging to Mrs. Crraford, where there is ducks cocks hens bubblyjocks 2 dogs 2 cats and swine which is delightful. I think it is shocking to think that the dog and cat should bear them " (this is a meditation physiological), " and they are drowned after all. I would rather have a man dog than a woman-dog, because they do not bear like women -dogs ; it is a hai d case — it is shocking. I cam here to enjoy natures delightful breath it is svv'eeter than a fial (phial) of rose oil.'* Braehead is the farm the historical Jock Howison asked and got from our gay James Ibe Fifth, " the gudeman o' Ballengiech," as a 54 /ffiariorte ^icmtng. reward for the services of his flail when thm King had the worst of it at Cramond Brig with the gypsies. The farm is unchanged in size from that time, and still in the unbroken line of the ready and victorious thrasher. Brae- head is held on the condition of the possessor being ready to present the King with a ewer and basin to wash his hands, Jock having done this for his unknown king after the splore^ and when George the Fourth came to Edinburgh this ceremony was performed in silver at Holy- rood. It is a lovely neuk this Braehead, preserved almost as it was two hundred years ago. "Lot and his wife," mentioned by Maidie, — ^two quaintly cropped yew-trees,— = still thrive ; the burn runs as it did in her time, and sings the same quiet tune, — as much the same and as different as Now and Then, The house full of old family relics and pictures, the sun shining on them through the small deep windows with their plate glass ; and there, blinking at the sun, and chattering contentedly, Is a parrot, that might, for its looks of eld, have been in the ark, and domineered over and deaved the dove. Everything about the place is old and fresh. This is beautiful : — " I am very sorry to sa| flbarjorie jnemins. 55 that I forgot God — that is to say I forgot to pray to-day and Isabella told me that I should be thankful that God did not forget me — if he did, O what become of me if I was in danger and God not friends with me — I must go to unquenchable fire and if I was tempted to sin — how could I resist it O no I will never do it again — no no — if I can help it" (Canny wee wine ! " My religion is greatly falling off because I dont pray with so much attention when I am saying my prayers, and my char- ecter is lost among the Braehead people. I hope I will be religious again — but as for regaining my charecter I despare for iU** (Poor little " habit and repute I ") Her temper, her passion, and her " badness '* are almost daily confessed and deplored : — " I will never again trust to my own power, for I see that I cannot be good without God's assistance — I will not trust in my own selfe, and Isa*s health will be quite ruined by me— it will indeed.'* " Isa has giving me advice, which is, that when I feal Satan beginning to tempt me, that I fiea him and he would flea me." " Remorse is the worst thing to bear, and I am afraid that i will fall a martes to it** Aarlorfc Remind* Poor dear little sinner!— Here comes tha world again : " In my travels I met with a handsome lad named Charles Balfour Esq., and from him I got ofers of marage — offers of tnarage, did I say? Nay plenty heard me." A fine scent for " breach of promise ! " This is abrupt and strong : — " The Divil is curced and all works. *Tis a fine work Newton on the profecies, I wonder if there is another book of poems comes near the Bible, The Divil always girns at the sight of the Bible." "Miss Potune" (her "simpliton** friend) " is very fat ; she pretends to be very learned. She says she saw a stone that dropt from the skies ; but she is a good Christian.*' Here come her views on church government : — "An Annibabtist is a thing I am not a member of — I am a Pisplekan (Episcopalian) just now, and " (O you little Laodicean and Latitudinarian !) " a Prisbeteran at Kirk- caldy ! " — {Blandula / Vagula ! coilmn et ant- mum mutas quce trans mare (1. e. trans Bod<> triam)-curris !) — " my native town." " Senti- ment is not what I am acquainted with as yet, though I wish it, and should like to practise it " (!) " I wish I had a great, great deal oox^l