To me she had ever a strong dislike.  Even from my early
childhood she was jealous, strange as it may seem, of my interest
in my mother's affections.  She saw my foibles and vices with
abhorrence, and without a grain of allowance; nor did she pardon
the weakness of maternal affection even when, by the death of two
brothers, I came to be the only child of a widowed parent.  At
the time my disorderly conduct induced my mother to leave
Glentanner, and retreat to her jointure-house, I always blamed
Christie Steele for having influenced her resentment and
prevented her from listening to my vows of amendment, which at
times were real and serious, and might, perhaps, have accelerated
that change of disposition which has since, I trust, taken place.
But Christie regarded me as altogether a doomed and predestinated
child of perdition, who was sure to hold on my course, and drag
downwards whosoever might attempt to afford me support.

Still, though I knew such had been Christie's prejudices against
me in other days, yet I thought enough of time had since passed
away to destroy all of them.  I knew that when, through the
disorder of my affairs, my mother underwent some temporary
inconvenience about money matters, Christie, as a thing of
course, stood in the gap, and having sold a small inheritance
which had descended to her, brought the purchase money to her
mistress, with a sense of devotion as deep as that which inspired
the Christians of the first age, when they sold all they had, and
followed the apostles of the church.  I therefore thought that we
might, in old Scottish phrase, "let byganes be byganes," and
begin upon a new account.  Yet I resolved, like a skilful
general, to reconnoitre a little before laying down any precise
scheme of proceeding, and in the interim I determined to preserve
my incognito.



CHAPTER IV.

MR. CROFTANGRY BIDS ADIEU TO CLYDESDALE.

  Alas, how changed from what it once had been!
  'Twas now degraded to a common inn.    GAY.

An hour's brisk walking, or thereabouts, placed me in front of
Duntarkin, which had also, I found, undergone considerable
alterations, though it had not been altogether demolished like
the principal mansion.  An inn-yard extended before the door of
the decent little jointure-house, even amidst the remnants of the
holly hedges which had screened the lady's garden.  Then a broad,
raw-looking, new-made road intruded itself up the little glen,
instead of the old horseway, so seldom used that it was almost
entirely covered with grass.  It is a great enormity, of which
gentlemen trustees on the highways are sometimes guilty, in
adopting the breadth necessary for an avenue to the metropolis,
where all that is required is an access to some sequestered and
unpopulous district.  I do not say anything of the expense--that
the trustees and their constituents may settle as they please.
But the destruction of silvan beauty is great when the breadth of
the road is more than proportioned to the vale through which it
runs, and lowers, of course, the consequence of any objects of
wood or water, or broken and varied ground, which might otherwise
attract notice and give pleasure.  A bubbling runnel by the side
of one of those modern Appian or Flaminian highways is but like a
kennel; the little hill is diminished to a hillock--the romantic
hillock to a molehill, almost too small for sight.

Such an enormity, however, had destroyed the quiet loneliness of
Duntarkin, and intruded its breadth of dust and gravel, and its
associations of pochays and mail-coaches, upon one of the most
sequestered spots in the Middle Ward of Clydesdale.  The house
was old and dilapidated, and looked sorry for itself, as if
sensible of a derogation; but the sign was strong and new, and
brightly painted, displaying a heraldic shield (three shuttles in
a field diapre), a web partly unfolded for crest, and two stout
giants for supporters, each one holding a weaver's beam proper.
To have displayed this monstrous emblem on the front of the house
might have hazarded bringing down the wall, but for certain would
have blocked up one or two windows.  It was therefore established
independent of the mansion, being displayed in an iron framework,
and suspended upon two posts, with as much wood and iron about it
as would have builded a brig; and there it hung, creaking,
groaning, and screaming in every blast of wind, and frightening
for five miles' distance, for aught I know, the nests of thrushes
and linnets, the ancient denizens of the little glen.

When I entered the place I was received by Christie Steele
herself, who seemed uncertain whether to drop me in the kitchen,
or usher me into a separate apartment, as I called for tea, with
something rather more substantial than bread and butter, and
spoke of supping and sleeping, Christie at last inducted me into
the room where she herself had been sitting, probably the only
one which had a fire, though the month was October.  This
answered my plan; and as she was about to remove her spinning-
wheel, I begged she would have the goodness to remain and make my
tea, adding that I liked the sound of the wheel, and desired not
to disturb her housewife thrift in the least.

"I dinna ken, sir," she replied, in a dry, REVECHE tone, which
carried me back twenty years, "I am nane of thae heartsome
landleddies that can tell country cracks, and make themsel's
agreeable, and I was ganging to put on a fire for you in the Red
Room; but if it is your will to stay here, he that pays the
lawing maun choose the lodging."

I endeavoured to engage her in conversation; but though she
answered, with a kind of stiff civility, I could get her into no
freedom of discourse, and she began to look at her wheel and at
the door more than once, as if she meditated a retreat.  I was
obliged, therefore, to proceed to some special questions; that
might have interest for a person whose ideas were probably of a
very bounded description.

I looked round the apartment, being the same in which I had last
seen my poor mother.  The author of the family history, formerly
mentioned, had taken great credit to himself for the improvements
he had made in this same jointure-house of Duntarkin, and how,
upon his marriage, when his mother took possession of the same as
her jointure-house, "to his great charges and expenses he caused
box the walls of the great parlour" (in which I was now sitting),
"empanel the same, and plaster the roof, finishing the apartment
with ane concave chimney, and decorating the same with pictures,
and a barometer and thermometer."  And in particular, which his
good mother used to say she prized above all the rest, he had
caused his own portraiture be limned over the mantlepiece by a
skilful hand.  And, in good faith, there he remained still,
having much the visage which I was disposed to ascribe to him on
the evidence of his handwriting,--grim and austere, yet not
without a cast of shrewdness and determination; in armour, though
he never wore it, I fancy; one hand on an open book, and one
resting on the hilt of his sword, though I dare say his head
never ached with reading, nor his limbs with fencing.

"That picture is painted on the wood, madam," said I.

"Ay, sir, or it's like it would not have been left there; they
look a' they could."

"Mr. Treddles's creditors, you mean?"  said I.

"Na," replied she dryly, "the creditors of another family, that
sweepit cleaner than this poor man's, because I fancy there was
less to gather."

"An older family, perhaps, and probably more remembered and
regretted than later possessors?"

Christie here settled herself in her seat, and pulled her wheel
towards her.  I had given her something interesting for her
thoughts to dwell upon, and her wheel was a mechanical
accompaniment on such occasions, the revolutions of which
assisted her in the explanation of her ideas.

"Mair regretted--mair missed?  I liked ane of the auld family
very weel, but I winna say that for them a'.  How should they be
mair missed than the Treddleses?  The cotton mill was such a
thing for the country!  The mair bairns a cottar body had the
better; they would make their awn keep frae the time they were
five years auld, and a widow wi' three or four bairns was a
wealthy woman in the time of the Treddleses."

"But the health of these poor children, my good friend--their
education and religious instruction--"

"For health," said Christie, looking gloomily at me, "ye maun ken
little of the warld, sir, if ye dinna ken that the health of the
poor man's body, as well as his youth and his strength, are all
at the command of the rich man's purse.  There never was a trade
so unhealthy yet but men would fight to get wark at it for twa
pennies a day aboon the common wage.  But the bairns were
reasonably weel cared for in the way of air and exercise, and a
very responsible youth heard them their Carritch, and gied them
lessons in Reediemadeasy ["Reading made Easy," usually so
pronounced in Scotland.]  Now, what did they ever get before?
Maybe on a winter day they wad be called out to beat the wood for
cocks or siclike; and then the starving weans would maybe get a
bite of broken bread, and maybe no, just as the butler was in
humour--that was a' they got."

"They were not, then, a very kind family to the poor, these old
possessors?"  said I, somewhat bitterly; for I had expected to
hear my ancestors' praises recorded, though I certainly despaired
of being regaled with my own.

"They werena ill to them, sir, and that is aye something.  They
were just decent bien bodies; ony poor creature that had face to
beg got an awmous, and welcome--they that were shamefaced gaed
by, and twice as welcome.  But they keepit an honest walk before
God and man, the Croftangrys, and, as I said before, if they did
little good, they did as little ill.  They lifted their rents,
and spent them; called in their kain and ate them; gaed to the
kirk of a Sunday; bowed civilly if folk took aff their bannets as
they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at them that keepit them
on."

"These are their arms that you have on the sign?"

"What!  on the painted board that is skirling and groaning at the
door?  Na, these are Mr. Treddles's arms though they look as like
legs as arms.  Ill pleased I was at the fule thing, that cost as
muckle as would hae repaired the house from the wa' stane to the
rigging-tree.  But if I am to bide here, I'll hae a decent board
wi' a punch bowl on it."

"Is there a doubt of your staying here, Mrs. Steele?"

"Dinna Mistress me," said the cross old woman, whose fingers were
now plying their thrift in a manner which indicated nervous
irritation; "there was nae luck in the land since Luckie turned
Mistress, and Mistress my Leddy.  And as for staying here, if it
concerns you to ken, I may stay if I can pay a hundred pund
sterling for the lease, and I may flit if I canna, and so gude
e'en to you, Christie,"--and round went the wheel with much
activity.

"And you like the trade of keeping a public-house?"

"I can scarce say that," she replied.  "But worthy Mr.
Prendergast is clear of its lawfulness; and I hae gotten used to
it, and made a decent living, though I never make out a fause
reckoning, or give ony ane the means to disorder reason in my
house."

"Indeed!"  said I; "in that case, there is no wonder you have not
made up the hundred pounds to purchase the lease."

"How do you ken," said she sharply, "that I might not have had a
hundred punds of my ain fee?  If I have it not, I am sure it is
my ain faut.  And I wunna ca' it faut neither, for it gaed to her
wha was weel entitled to a' my service."  Again she pulled
stoutly at the flax, and the wheel went smartly round.

"This old gentleman," said I, fixing my eye on the painted panel,
"seems to have had HIS arms painted as well as Mr. Treddles--that
is, if that painting in the corner be a scutcheon."

"Ay, ay--cushion, just sae.  They maun a' hae their cushions--
there's sma' gentry without that--and so the arms, as they ca'
them, of the house of Glentanner may be seen on an auld stane in
the west end of the house.  But to do them justice; they didna
propale sae muckle about them as poor Mr. Treddles did--it's like
they were better used to them."

"Very likely.  Are there any of the old family in life,
goodwife?"

"No," she replied; then added; after a moment's hesitation, "Not
that I know of"--and the wheel, which had intermitted, began
again to revolve.

"Gone abroad, perhaps?"  I suggested.

She now looked up, and faced me.  "No, sir.  There were three
sons of the last laird of Glentanner, as he was then called.
John and William were hopeful young gentlemen, but they died
early--one of a decline brought on by the mizzles, the other lost
his life in a fever.  It would hae been lucky for mony ane that
Chrystal had gane the same gate."

"Oh, he must have been the young spendthrift that sold the
property?  Well, but you should you have such an ill-will against
him; remember necessity has no law.  And then, goodwife, he was
not more culpable than Mr. Treddles, whom you are so sorry for."

"I wish I could think sae, sir, for his mother's sake.  But Mr.
Treddles was in trade, and though he had no preceese right to do
so, yet there was some warrant for a man being expensive that
imagined he was making a mint of money.  But this unhappy lad
devoured his patrimony, when he kenned that he was living like a
ratten in a Dunlap cheese, and diminishing his means at a' hands.
I canna bide to think on't."  With this she broke out into a
snatch of a ballad, but little of mirth was there either in the
tone or the expression:--

  "For he did spend, and make an end
     Of gear that his forefathers wan;
   Of land and ware he made him bare,
     So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman."

"Come, dame," said I, "it is a long lane that has no turning.  I
will not keep from you that I have heard something of this poor
fellow, Chrystal Croftangry.  He has sown his wild oats, as they
say, and has settled into a steady, respectable man."

"And wha tell'd ye that tidings?"  said she, looking sharply at
me.

"Not, perhaps, the best judge in the world of his character, for
it was himself, dame."

"And if he tell'd you truth, it was a virtue he did not aye use
to practise," said Christie.

"The devil!"  said I, considerably nettled; "all the world held
him to be a man of honour."

"Ay, ay!  he would hae shot onybody wi' his pistols and his guns
that had evened him to be a liar.  But if he promised to pay an
honest tradesman the next term-day, did he keep his word then?
And if he promised a puir, silly lass to make gude her shame, did
he speak truth then?  And what is that but being a liar, and a
black-hearted, deceitful liar to boot?"

My indignation was rising, but I strove to suppress it; indeed, I
should only have afforded my tormentor a triumph by an angry
reply.  I partly suspected she began to recognize me, yet she
testified so little emotion that I could not think my suspicion
well founded.  I went on, therefore, to say, in a tone as
indifferent as I could command, "Well, goodwife, I see you will
believe no good of this Chrystal of yours, till he comes back and
buys a good farm on the estate, and makes you his housekeeper."

The old woman dropped her thread, folded her hands, as she looked
up to heaven with a face of apprehension.  "The Lord," she
exclaimed, "forbid!  The Lord in His mercy forbid!  O sir!  if
you really know this unlucky man, persuade him to settle where
folk ken the good that you say he has come to, and dinna ken the
evil of his former days.  He used to be proud enough--O dinna let
him come here, even for his own sake.  He used once to have some
pride."

Here she once more drew the wheel close to her, and began to pull
at the flax with both hands.  "Dinna let him come here, to be
looked down upon by ony that may be left of his auld reiving
companions, and to see the decent folk that he looked over his
nose at look over their noses at him, baith at kirk and market.
Dinna let him come to his ain country, to be made a tale about
when ony neighbour points him out to another, and tells what he
is, and what he was, and how he wrecked a dainty estate, and
brought harlots to the door-cheek of his father's house, till he
made it nae residence for his mother; and how it had been
foretauld by a servant of his ain house that he was a ne'er-do-
weel and a child of perdition, and how her words were made good,
and--"

"Stop there, goodwife, if you please," said I; "you have said as
much as I can well remember, and more than it may be safe to
repeat.  I can use a great deal of freedom with the gentleman we
speak of; but I think, were any other person to carry him half of
your message, I would scarce ensure his personal safety.  And
now, as I see the night is settled to be a fine one, I will walk
on to --, where I must meet a coach to-morrow as it passes to
Edinburgh."

So saying, I paid my moderate reckoning, and took my leave,
without being able to discover whether the prejudiced and hard-
hearted old woman did, or did not, suspect the identity of her
guest with the Chrystal Croftangry against whom she harboured so
much dislike.

The night was fine and frosty, though, when I pretended to see
what its character was, it might have rained like the deluge.  I
only made the excuse to escape from old Christie Steele.  The
horses which run races in the Corso at Rome without any riders,
in order to stimulate their exertion, carry each his own spurs
namely, small balls of steel, with sharp, projecting spikes,
which are attached to loose straps of leather, and, flying about
in the violence of the agitation, keep the horse to his speed by
pricking him as they strike against his flanks.  The old woman's
reproaches had the same effect on me, and urged me to a rapid
pace, as if it had been possible to escape from my own
recollections.  In the best days of my life, when I won one or
two hard walking matches, I doubt if I ever walked so fast as I
did betwixt the Treddles Arms and the borough town for which I
was bound.  Though the night was cold, I was warm enough by the
time I got to my inn; and it required a refreshing draught of
porter, with half an hour's repose, ere I could determine to give
no further thought to Christie and her opinions than those of any
other vulgar, prejudiced old woman.  I resolved at last to treat
the thing EN BAGATELLE, and calling for writing materials, I
folded up a cheque for L100, with these lines on the envelope:--

  "Chrystal, the ne'er-do-weel,
   Child destined to the deil,
   Sends this to Christie Steele."

And I was so much pleased with this new mode of viewing the
subject, that I regretted the lateness of the hour prevented my
finding a person to carry the letter express to its destination.

  "But with the morning cool reflection came."

I considered that the money, and probably more, was actually due
by me on my mother's account to Christie, who had lent it in a
moment of great necessity, and that the returning it in a light
or ludicrous manner was not unlikely to prevent so touchy and
punctilious a person from accepting a debt which was most justly
her due, and which it became me particularly to see satisfied.
Sacrificing, then, my triad with little regret (for it looked
better by candlelight, and through the medium of a pot of porter,
than it did by daylight, and with bohea for a menstruum), I
determined to employ Mr. Fairscribe's mediation in buying up the
lease of the little inn, and conferring it upon Christie in the
way which should make it most acceptable to her feelings.  It is
only necessary to add that my plan succeeded, and that Widow
Steele even yet keeps the Treddles Arms.  Do not say, therefore,
that I have been disingenuous with you, reader; since, if I have
not told all the ill of myself I might have done, I have
indicated to you a person able and willing to supply the blank,
by relating all my delinquencies as well as my misfortunes.

In the meantime I totally abandoned the idea of redeeming any
part of my paternal property, and resolved to take Christie
Steele's advice, as young Norval does Glenalvon's, "although it
sounded harshly."



CHAPTER V.

MR. CROFTANGRY SETTLES IN THE CANONGATE.

           If you will know my house,
  'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.    AS YOU LIKE IT.

By a revolution of humour which I am unable to account for, I
changed my mind entirely on my plans of life, in consequence of
the disappointment, the history of which fills the last chapter.
I began to discover that the country would not at all suit me;
for I had relinquished field-sports, and felt no inclination
whatever to farming, the ordinary vocation of country gentlemen.
Besides that, I had no talent for assisting either candidate in
case of an expected election, and saw no amusement in the duties
of a road trustee, a commissioner of supply, or even in the
magisterial functions of the bench.  I had begun to take some
taste for reading; and a domiciliation in the country must remove
me from the use of books, excepting the small subscription
library, in which the very book which you want is uniformly sure
to be engaged.

I resolved, therefore, to make the Scottish metropolis my regular
resting-place, reserving to myself to take occasionally those
excursions which, spite of all I have said against mail-coaches,
Mr. Piper has rendered so easy.  Friend of our life and of our
leisure, he secures by dispatch against loss of time, and by the
best of coaches, cattle, and steadiest of drivers, against hazard
of limb, and wafts us, as well as our letters, from Edinburgh to
Cape Wrath in the penning of a paragraph.

When my mind was quite made up to make Auld Reekie my
headquarters, reserving the privilege of EXPLORING in all
directions, I began to explore in good earnest for the purpose of
discovering a suitable habitation.  "And whare trew ye I gaed?"
as Sir Pertinax says.  Not to George's Square--nor to Charlotte
Square--nor to the old New Town--nor to the new New Town--nor to
the Calton Hill.  I went to the Canongate, and to the very
portion of the Canongate in which I had formerly been immured,
like the errant knight, prisoner in some enchanted castle, where
spells have made the ambient air impervious to the unhappy
captive, although the organs of sight encountered no obstacle to
his free passage.

Why I should have thought of pitching my tent here I cannot tell.
Perhaps it was to enjoy the pleasures of freedom where I had so
long endured the bitterness of restraint, on the principle of the
officer who, after he had retired from the army, ordered his
servant to continue to call him at the hour or parade, simply
that he might have the pleasure of saying, "D--n the parade!"
and turning to the other side to enjoy his slumbers.  Or perhaps
I expected to find in the vicinity some little old-fashioned
house, having somewhat of the RUS IN URBE which I was ambitious
of enjoying.  Enough:  I went, as aforesaid, to the Canongate.

I stood by the kennel, of which I have formerly spoken, and, my
mind being at ease, my bodily organs were more delicate.  I was
more sensible than heretofore, that, like the trade of Pompey in
MEASURE FOR MEASURE,--it did in some sort--pah an ounce of civet,
good apothecary!  Turning from thence, my steps naturally
directed themselves to my own humble apartment, where my little
Highland landlady, as dapper and as tight as ever, (for old women
wear a hundred times better than the hard-wrought seniors of the
masculine sex), stood at the door, TEEDLING to herself a Highland
song as she shook a table napkin over the fore-stair, and then
proceeded to fold it up neatly for future service.

"How do you, Janet?"

"Thank ye, good sir," answered my old friend, without looking at
me; "but ye might as weel say Mrs. MacEvoy, for she is na
a'body's Shanet--umph."

"You must be MY Janet, though, for all that.  Have you forgot me?
Do you not remember Chrystal Croftangry?"

The light, kind-hearted creature threw her napkin into the open
door, skipped down the stair like a fairy, three steps at once,
seized me by the hands--both hands--jumped up, and actually
kissed me.  I was a little ashamed; but what swain, of somewhere
inclining to sixty could resist the advances of a fair
contemporary?  So we allowed the full degree of kindness to the
meeting--HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE--and then Janet entered
instantly upon business.  "An ye'll gae in, man, and see your
auld lodgings, nae doubt and Shanet will pay ye the fifteen
shillings of change that ye ran away without, and without bidding
Shanet good day.  But never mind" (nodding good-humouredly),
"Shanet saw you were carried for the time."

By this time we were in my old quarters, and Janet, with her
bottle of cordial in one hand and the glass in the other, had
forced on me a dram of usquebaugh, distilled with saffron and
other herbs, after some old-fashioned Highland receipt.  Then was
unfolded, out of many a little scrap of paper, the reserved sum
of fifteen shillings, which Janet had treasured for twenty years
and upwards.

"Here they are," she said, in honest triumph, "just the same I
was holding out to ye when ye ran as if ye had been fey.  Shanet
has had siller, and Shanet has wanted siller, mony a time since
that.  And the gauger has come, and the factor has come, and the
butcher and baker--Cot bless us just like to tear poor auld
Shanet to pieces; but she took good care of Mr. Croftangry's
fifteen shillings."

"But what if I had never come back, Janet?"

"Och, if Shanet had heard you were dead, she would hae gien it to
the poor of the chapel, to pray for Mr. Croftangry," said Janet,
crossing herself, for she was a Catholic, "You maybe do not think
it would do you cood, but the blessing of the poor can never do
no harm,"

I agreed heartily in Janet's conclusion; and as to have desired
her to consider the hoard as her own property would have been an
indelicate return to her for the uprightness of her conduct, I
requested her to dispose of it as she had proposed to do in the
event of my death--that is, if she knew any poor people of merit
to whom it might be useful.

"Ower mony of them," raising the corner of her checked apron to
her eyes--"e'en ower mony of them, Mr. Croftangry.  Och, ay.
'There is the puir Highland creatures frae Glenshee, that cam
down for the harvest, and are lying wi' the fever--five shillings
to them; and half a crown to Bessie MacEvoy, whose coodman, puir
creature, died of the frost, being a shairman, for a' the whisky
he could drink to keep it out o' his stamoch; and--"

But she suddenly interrupted the bead-roll of her proposed
charities, and assuming a very sage look, and primming up her
little chattering mouth, she went on in a different tone--"But
och, Mr. Croftangry, bethink ye whether ye will not need a' this
siller yoursel', and maybe look back and think lang for ha'en
kiven it away, whilk is a creat sin to forthink a wark o'
charity, and also is unlucky, and moreover is not the thought of
a shentleman's son like yoursel', dear.  And I say this, that ye
may think a bit, for your mother's son kens that ye are no so
careful as you should be of the gear, and I hae tauld ye of it
before, jewel."

I assured her I could easily spare the money, without risk of
future repentance; and she went on to infer that in such a case
"Mr. Croftangry had grown a rich man in foreign parts, and was
free of his troubles with messengers and sheriff-officers, and
siclike scum of the earth, and Shanet MacEvoy's mother's daughter
be a blithe woman to hear it.  But if Mr. Croftangry was in
trouble, there was his room, and his ped, and Shanet to wait on
him, and tak payment when it was quite convenient."

I explained to Janet my situation, in which she expressed
unqualified delight.  I then proceeded to inquire into her own
circumstances, and though she spoke cheerfully and contentedly, I
could see they were precarious.  I had paid more than was due;
other lodgers fell into an opposite error, and forgot to pay
Janet at all.  Then, Janet being ignorant of all indirect modes
of screwing money out of her lodgers, others in the same line of
life, who were sharper than the poor, simple Highland woman, were
enabled to let their apartments cheaper in appearance, though the
inmates usually found them twice as dear in the long run.

As I had already destined my old landlady to be my house-keeper
and governante, knowing her honesty, good-nature, and, although a
Scotchwoman, her cleanliness and excellent temper (saving the
short and hasty expressions of anger which Highlanders call a
FUFF), I now proposed the plan to her in such a way as was likely
to make it most acceptable.  Very acceptable as the proposal was,
as I could plainly see, Janet, however, took a day to consider
upon it; and her reflections against our next meeting had
suggested only one objection, which was singular enough.

"My honour," so she now termed me, "would pe for biding in some
fine street apout the town.  Now Shanet wad ill like to live in a
place where polish, and sheriffs, and bailiffs, and sie thieves
and trash of the world, could tak puir shentlemen by the throat,
just because they wanted a wheen dollars in the sporran.  She had
lived in the bonny glen of Tomanthoulick.  Cot, an ony of the
vermint had come there, her father wad hae wared a shot on them,
and he could hit a buck within as mony measured yards as e'er a
man of his clan, And the place here was so quiet frae them, they
durst na put their nose ower the gutter.  Shanet owed nobody a
bodle, but she couldna pide to see honest folk and pretty
shentlemen forced away to prison whether they would or no; and
then, if Shanet was to lay her tangs ower ane of the ragamuffins'
heads, it would be, maybe, that the law would gi'ed a hard name."

One thing I have learned in life--never to speak sense when
nonsense will answer the purpose as well.  I should have had
great difficulty to convince this practical and disinterested
admirer and vindicator of liberty, that arrests seldom or never
were to be seen in the streets of Edinburgh; and to satisfy her
of their justice and necessity would have been as difficult as to
convert her to the Protestant faith.  I therefore assured her my
intention, if I could get a suitable habitation, was to remain in
the quarter where she at present dwelt.  Janet gave three skips
on the floor, and uttered as many short, shrill yells of joy.
Yet doubt almost instantly returned, and she insisted on knowing
what possible reason I could have for making my residence where
few lived, save those whose misfortunes drove them thither.  It
occurred to me to answer her by recounting the legend of the rise
of my family, and of our deriving our name from a particular
place near Holyrood Palace.  This, which would have appeared to
most people a very absurd reason for choosing a residence, was
entirely satisfactory to Janet MacEvoy.

"Och, nae doubt!  if it was the land of her fathers, there was
nae mair to be said.  Put it was queer that her family estate
should just lie at the town tail, and covered with houses, where
the King's cows--Cot bless them, hide and horn--used to craze
upon. It was strange changes."  She mused a little, and then
added:  "Put it is something better wi' Croftangry when the
changes is frae the field to the habited place, and not from the
place of habitation to the desert; for Shanet, her nainsell, kent
a glen where there were men as weel as there may be in
Croftangry, and if there werena altogether sae mony of them, they
were as good men in their tartan as the others in their
broadcloth.  And there were houses, too; and if they were not
biggit with stane and lime, and lofted like the houses at
Croftangry, yet they served the purpose of them that lived there,
and mony a braw bonnet, and mony a silk snood and comely white
curch, would come out to gang to kirk or chapel on the Lord's
day, and little bairns toddling after.  And now--Och, Och,
Ohellany, Ohonari!  the glen is desolate, and the braw snoods and
bonnets are gane, and the Saxon's house stands dull and lonely,
like the single bare-breasted rock that the falcon builds on--the
falcon that drives the heath-bird frae the glen."

Janet, like many Highlanders, was full of imagination, and, when
melancholy themes came upon her, expressed herself almost
poetically, owing to the genius of the Celtic language in which
she thought, and in which, doubtless, she would have spoken, had
I understood Gaelic.  In two minutes the shade of gloom and
regret had passed from her good-humoured features, and she was
again the little, busy, prating, important old woman, undisputed
owner of one flat of a small tenement in the Abbey Yard, and
about to be promoted to be housekeeper to an elderly bachelor
gentleman, Chrystal Croftangry, Esq.

It was not long before Janet's local researches found out exactly
the sort of place I wanted, and there we settled.  Janet was
afraid I would not be satisfied, because it is not exactly part
of Croftangry; but I stopped her doubts by assuring her it had
been part and pendicle thereof in my forefather' time, which
passed very well.

I do not intend to possess any one with an exact knowledge of my
lodging; though, as Bobadil says, "I care not who knows it, since
the cabin is convenient."  But I may state in general, that it is
a house "within itself," or, according to a newer phraseology in
advertisements, SELF-CONTAINED, has a garden of near half an
acre, and a patch of ground with trees in front.  It boasts five
rooms and servants' apartments--looks in front upon the palace,
and from behind towards the hill and crags of the King's Park.
Fortunately, the place had a name, which, with a little
improvement, served to countenance the legend which I had imposed
on Janet, and would not, perhaps have been sorry if I had been
able to impose on myself.  It was called Littlecroft; we have
dubbed it Little Croftangry, and the men of letters belonging to
the Post Office have sanctioned the change, and deliver letters
so addressed.  Thus I am to all intents and purposes Chrystal
Croftangry of that Ilk.

My establishment consists of Janet, an under maid-servant, and a
Highland wench for Janet to exercise her Gaelic upon, with a
handy lad who can lay the cloth, and take care, besides, of a
pony, on which I find my way to Portobello sands, especially when
the cavalry have a drill; for, like an old fool as I am, I have
not altogether become indifferent to the tramp of horses and the
flash of weapons, of which, though no professional soldier, it
has been my fate to see something in my youth.  For wet mornings
I have my book; is it fine weather?  I visit, or I wander on the
Crags, as the humour dictates.  My dinner is indeed solitary, yet
not quite so neither; for though Andrew waits, Janet--or, as she
is to all the world but her master and certain old Highland
gossips, Mrs. MacEvoy--attends, bustles about, and desires to see
everything is in first-rate order, and to tell me, Cot pless us,
the wonderful news of the palace for the day.  When the cloth is
removed, and I light my cigar, and begin to husband a pint of
port, or a glass of old whisky and water, it is the rule of the
house that Janet takes a chair at some distance, and nods or
works her stocking, as she may be disposed--ready to speak, if I
am in the talking humour, and sitting quiet as a mouse if I am
rather inclined to study a book or the newspaper.  At six
precisely she makes my tea, and leaves me to drink it; and then
occurs an interval of time which most old bachelors find heavy on
their hands.  The theatre is a good occasional resource,
especially if Will Murray acts, or a bright star of eminence
shines forth; but it is distant, and so are one or two public
societies to which I belong.  Besides, these evening walks are
all incompatible with the elbow-chair feeling, which desires some
employment that may divert the mind without fatiguing the body.

Under the influence of these impressions, I have sometimes
thought of this literary undertaking.  I must have been the
Bonassus himself to have mistaken myself for a genius; yet I have
leisure and reflections like my neighbours.  I am a borderer,
also, between two generations, and can point out more, perhaps,
than others of those fading traces of antiquity which are daily
vanishing; and I know many a modern instance and many an old
tradition, and therefore I ask--

  "What ails me, I may not as well as they
   Rake up some threadbare tales, that mouldering lay
   In chimney corners, wont by Christmas fires
   To read and rock to sleep our ancient sires?
   No man his threshold better knows, than I
   Brute's first arrival and first victory,
   Saint George's sorrel and his cross of blood,
   Arthur's round board and Caledonian wood."

No shop is so easily set up as an antiquary's.  Like those of the
lowest order of pawnbrokers, a commodity of rusty iron, a bay or
two of hobnails, a few odd shoe-buckles, cashiered kail-pots, and
fire-irons declared incapable of service, are quite sufficient to
set him up.  If he add a sheaf or two of penny ballads and
broadsides, he is a great man--an extensive trader.  And then,
like the pawnbrokers aforesaid, if the author understands a
little legerdemain, he may, by dint of a little picking and
stealing, make the inside of his shop a great deal richer than
the out, and be able to show you things which cause those who do
not understand the antiquarian trick of clean conveyance to
wonder how the devil he came by them.

It may be said that antiquarian articles interest but few
customers, and that we may bawl ourselves as rusty as the wares
we deal in without any one asking; the price of our merchandise.
But I do not rest my hopes upon this department of my labours
only.  I propose also to have a corresponding shop for Sentiment,
and Dialogues, and Disquisition, which may captivate the fancy of
those who have no relish, as the established phrase goes, for
pure antiquity--a sort of greengrocer's stall erected in front of
my ironmongery wares, garlanding the rusty memorials of ancient
times with cresses, cabbages, leeks, and water purpy.

As I have some idea that I am writing too well to be understood,
I humble myself to ordinary language, and aver, with becoming
modesty, that I do think myself capable of sustaining a
publication of a miscellaneous nature, as like to the Spectator
or the Guardian, the Mirror or the Lounger, as my poor abilities
may be able to accomplish.  Not that I have any purpose of
imitating Johnson, whose general learning and power of expression
I do not deny, but many of whose Ramblers are little better than
a sort of pageant, where trite and obvious maxims are made to
swagger in lofty and mystic language, and get some credit only
because they are not easily understood.  There are some of the
great moralist's papers which I cannot peruse without thinking on
a second-rate masquerade, where the best-known and least-esteemed
characters in town march in as heroes, and sultans, and so forth,
and, by dint of tawdry dresses, get some consideration until they
are found out.  It is not, however, prudent to commence with
throwing stones, just when I am striking out windows of my own.

I think even the local situation of Little Croftangry may be
considered as favourable to my undertaking.  A nobler contrast
there can hardly exist than that of the huge city, dark with the
smoke of ages, and groaning with the various sounds of active
industry or idle revel, and the lofty and craggy hill, silent and
solitary as the grave--one exhibiting the full tide of existence,
pressing and precipitating itself forward with the force of an
inundation; the other resembling some time-worn anchorite, whose
life passes as silent and unobserved as the slender rill which
escapes unheard, and scarce seen, from  the fountain of his
patron saint.  The city resembles the busy temple, where the
modern Comus and Mammon hold their court, and thousands sacrifice
ease, independence, and virtue itself at their shrine; the misty
and lonely mountain seems as a throne to the majestic but
terrible Genius of feudal times, when the same divinities
dispensed coronets and domains to those who had heads to devise
and arms to execute bold enterprises.

I have, as it were, the two extremities of the moral world at my
threshold.  From the front door a few minutes' walk brings me
into the heart of a wealthy and populous city; as many paces from
my opposite entrance place me in a solitude as complete as
Zimmerman could have desired.  Surely, with such aids to my
imagination, I may write better than if I were in a lodging in
the New Town or a garret in the old.  As the Spaniard says,
"VIAMOS--CARACCO!"

I have not chosen to publish periodically, my reason for which
was twofold.  In the first place, I don't like to be hurried, and
have had enough of duns in an early part of my life to make me
reluctant to hear of or see one, even in the less awful shape of
a printer's devil.  But, secondly, a periodical paper is not
easily extended in circulation beyond the quarter in which it is
published.  This work, if published in fugitive numbers, would
scarce, without a high pressure on the part of the bookseller, be
raised above the Netherbow, and never could be expected to ascend
to the level of Princes Street.  Now, I am ambitious that my
compositions, though having their origin in this Valley of
Holyrood, should not only be extended into those exalted regions
I have mentioned, but also that they should cross the Forth,
astonish the long town of Kirkcaldy, enchant the skippers and
colliers of the East of Fife, venture even into the classic
arcades of St. Andrews, and travel as much farther to the north
as the breath of applause will carry their sails.  As for a
southward direction, it is not to be hoped for in my fondest
dreams.  I am informed that Scottish literature, like Scottish
whisky, will be presently laid under a prohibitory duty.  But
enough of this.  If any reader is dull enough not to comprehend
the advantages which, in point of circulation, a compact book has
over a collection of fugitive numbers, let him try the range of a
gun loaded with hail-shot against that of the same piece charged
with an equal weight of lead consolidated in a single bullet.

Besides, it was of less consequence that I should have published
periodically, since I did not mean to solicit or accept of the
contributions of friends, or the criticisms of those who may be
less kindly disposed.  Notwithstanding the excellent examples
which might be quoted, I will establish no begging-box, either
under the name of a lion's head or an ass's.  What is good or ill
shall be mine own, or the contribution of friends to whom I may
have private access.  Many of my voluntary assistants might be
cleverer than myself, and then I should have a brilliant article
appear among my chiller effusions, like a patch of lace on a
Scottish cloak of Galashiels grey.  Some might be worse, and then
I must reject them, to the injury of the feelings of the writer,
or else insert them, to make my own darkness yet more opaque and
palpable.  "Let every herring," says our old-fashioned proverb,
"hang by his own head."

One person, however, I may distinguish, as she is now no more,
who, living to the utmost term of human life, honoured me with a
great share of her friendship--as, indeed, we were blood-
relatives in the Scottish sense--Heaven knows how many degrees
removed--and friends in the sense of Old England.  I mean the
late excellent and regretted Mrs. Bethune Baliol.  But as I
design this admirable picture of the olden time for a principal
character in my work, I will only say here that she knew and
approved of my present purpose; and though she declined to
contribute to it while she lived, from a sense of dignified
retirement, which she thought became her age, sex, and condition
in life, she left me some materials for carrying on my proposed
work which I coveted when I heard her detail them in
conversation, and which now, when I have their substance in her
own handwriting, I account far more valuable than anything I have
myself to offer.  I hope the mentioning her name in conjunction
with my own will give no offence to any of her numerous friends,
as it was her own express pleasure that I should employ the
manuscripts which she did me the honour to bequeath me in the
manner in which I have now used them.  It must be added, however,
that in most cases I have disguised names, and in some have added
shading and colouring to bring out the narrative.

Much of my materials, besides these, are derived from friends,
living or dead.  The accuracy of some of these may be doubtful,
in which case I shall be happy to receive, from sufficient
authority, the correction of the errors which must creep into
traditional documents.  The object of the whole publication is to
throw some light on the manners of Scotland as they were, and to
contrast them occasionally with those of the present day.  My own
opinions are in favour of our own times in many respects, but not
in so far as affords means for exercising the imagination or
exciting the interest which attaches to other times.  I am glad
to be a writer or a reader in 1826, but I would be most
interested in reading or relating what happened from half a
century to a century before.  We have the best of it.  Scenes in
which our ancestors thought deeply, acted fiercely, and died
desperately, are to us tales to divert the tedium of a winter's
evening, when we are engaged to no party, or beguile a summer's
morning, when it is too scorching to ride or walk.

Yet I do not mean that my essays and narratives should be limited
to Scotland.  I pledge myself to no particular line of subjects,
but, on the contrary, say with Burns--

  "Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
   Perhaps turn out a sermon."

I have only to add, by way of postscript to these preliminary
chapters, that I have had recourse to Moliere's recipe, and read
my manuscript over to my old woman, Janet MacEvoy.

The dignity of being consulted delighted Janet; and Wilkie, or
Allan, would have made a capital sketch of her, as she sat
upright in her chair, instead of her ordinary lounging posture,
knitting her stocking systematically, as if she meant every twist
of her thread and inclination of the wires to bear burden to the
cadence of my voice.  I am afraid, too, that I myself felt more
delight than I ought to have done in my own composition, and read
a little more oratorically than I should have ventured to do
before an auditor of whose applause I was not so secure.  And the
result did not entirely encourage my plan of censorship.  Janet
did indeed seriously incline to the account of my previous life,
and bestowed some Highland maledictions, more emphatic than
courteous, on Christie Steele's reception of a "shentlemans in
distress," and of her own mistress's house too.  I omitted for
certain reasons, or greatly abridged, what related to her-self.
But when I came to treat of my general views in publication, I
saw poor Janet was entirely thrown out, though, like a jaded
hunter, panting, puffing, and short of wind, she endeavoured at
least to keep up with the chase.  Or, rather, her perplexity made
her look all the while like a deaf person ashamed of his
infirmity, who does not understand a word you are saying, yet
desires you to believe that he does understand you, and who is
extremely jealous that you suspect his incapacity.  When she saw
that some remark was necessary, she resembled exactly in her
criticism the devotee who pitched on the "sweet word Mesopotamia"
as the most edifying note which she could bring away from a
sermon.  She indeed hastened to bestow general praise on what she
said was all "very fine;" but chiefly dwelt on what I, had said
about Mr. Timmerman, as she was pleased to call the German
philosopher, and supposed he must be of the same descent with the
Highland clan of M'Intyre, which signifies Son of the Carpenter.
"And a fery honourable name too--Shanet's own mither was a
M'Intyre."

In short, it was plain the latter part of my introduction was
altogether lost on poor Janet; and so, to have acted up to
Moliere's system, I should have cancelled the whole, and written
it anew.  But I do not know how it is.  I retained, I suppose,
some tolerable opinion of my own composition, though Janet did
not comprehend it, and felt loath to retrench those Delilahs of
the imagination, as Dryden calls them, the tropes and figures of
which are caviar to the multitude.  Besides, I hate rewriting as
much as Falstaff did paying back--it is a double labour.  So I
determined with myself to consult Janet, in future, only on such
things as were within the limits of her comprehension, and hazard
my arguments and my rhetoric on the public without her
imprimatur.  I am pretty sure she will "applaud it done."  and in
such narratives as come within her range of thought and feeling I
shall, as I first intended, take the benefit of her
unsophisticated judgment, and attend to it deferentially--that
is, when it happens not to be in peculiar opposition to my own;
for, after all, I say with Almanzor,--

  "Know that I alone am king of me."

The reader has now my who and my whereabout, the purpose of the
work, and the circumstances under which it is undertaken.  He has
also a specimen of the author's talents, and may judge for
himself, and proceed, or send back the volume to the bookseller,
as his own taste shall determine.



CHAPTER VI.

MR. CROFTANGRY'S ACCOUNT OF MRS. BETHUNE BALIOL.

   The moon, were she earthly, no nobler.   CORIOLANUS.

When we set out on the jolly voyage of life, what a brave fleet
there is around us, as, stretching our finest canvas to the
breeze, all "shipshape and Bristol fashion," pennons flying,
music playing, cheering each other as we pass, we are rather
amused than alarmed when some awkward comrade goes right ashore
for want of pilotage!  Alas!  when the voyage is well spent, and
we look about us, toil-worn mariners, how few of our ancient
consorts still remain in sight; and they, how torn and wasted,
and, like ourselves, struggling to keep as long as possible off
the fatal shore, against which we are all finally drifting!