'I am sure we are obliged to the gentleman, papa, and, to borrow a
ministerial mode of giving thanks, I shall never forget the extraordinary
countenance he has been pleased to show us. But, Miss Bertram,' continued
she hastily, for her father's brows began to darken, 'we have travelled a
good way; will you permit me to retire before dinner?'

This intimation dispersed all the company save the Dominie, who, having
no idea of dressing but when he was to rise, or of undressing but when he
meant to go to bed, remained by himself, chewing the cud of a
mathematical demonstration, until the company again assembled in the
drawing-room, and from thence adjourned to the dining-parlour.

When the day was concluded, Mannering took an opportunity to hold a
minute's conversation with his daughter in private.

'How do you like your guests, Julia?'

'O, Miss Bertram of all things; but this is a most original parson; why,
dear sir, no human being will be able to look at him without laughing.'

'While he is under my roof, Julia, every one must learn to do so.'

'Lord, papa, the very footmen could not keep their gravity!'

'Then let them strip off my livery,' said the Colonel, 'and laugh at
their leisure. Mr. Sampson is a man whom I esteem for his simplicity and
benevolence of character.'

'O, I am convinced of his generosity too,' said this lively lady; 'he
cannot lift a spoonful of soup to his mouth without bestowing a share on
everything round.'

'Julia, you are incorrigible; but remember I expect your mirth on this
subject to be under such restraint that it shall neither offend this
worthy man's feelings nor those of Miss Bertram, who may be more apt to
feel upon his account than he on his own. And so, goodnight, my dear; and
recollect that, though Mr. Sampson has certainly not sacrificed to the
graces, there are many things in this world more truly deserving of
ridicule than either awkwardness of manners or simplicity of character.'

In a day or two Mr. and Mrs. Mac-Morlan left Woodbourne, after taking an
affectionate farewell of their late guest. The household were now settled
in their new quarters. The young ladies followed their studies and
amusements together. Colonel Mannering was agreeably surprised to find
that Miss Bertram was well skilled in French and Italian, thanks to the
assiduity of Dominie Sampson, whose labour had silently made him
acquainted with most modern as well as ancient languages. Of music she
knew little or nothing, but her new friend undertook to give her lessons,
in exchange for which she was to learn from Lucy the habit of walking,
and the art of riding, and the courage necessary to defy the season.
Mannering was careful to substitute for their amusement in the evening
such books as might convey some solid instruction with entertainment,
and, as he read aloud with great skill and taste, the winter nights
passed pleasantly away.

Society was quickly formed where there were so many inducements. Most of
the families of the neighbourhood visited Colonel Mannering, and he was
soon able to select from among them such as best suited his taste and
habits. Charles Hazlewood held a distinguished place in his favour, and
was a frequent visitor, not without the consent and approbation of his
parents; for there was no knowing, they thought, what assiduous attention
might produce, and the beautiful Miss Mannering, of high family, with an
Indian fortune, was a prize worth looking after. Dazzled with such a
prospect, they never considered the risk which had once been some object
of their apprehension, that his boyish and inconsiderate fancy might form
an attachment to the penniless Lucy Bertram, who had nothing on earth to
recommend her but a pretty face, good birth, and a most amiable
disposition. Mannering was more prudent. He considered himself acting as
Miss Bertram's guardian, and, while he did not think it incumbent upon
him altogether to check her intercourse with a young gentleman for whom,
excepting in wealth, she was a match in every respect, he laid it under
such insensible restraints as might prevent any engagement or
ECLAIRCISSEMENT taking place until the young man should have seen a
little more of life and of the world, and have attained that age when he
might be considered as entitled to judge for himself in the matter in
which his happiness was chiefly interested.

While these matters engaged the attention of the other members of the
Woodbourne family, Dominie Sampson was occupied, body and soul, in the
arrangement of the late bishop's library, which had been sent from
Liverpool by sea, and conveyed by thirty or forty carts from the sea-port
at which it was landed. Sampson's joy at beholding the ponderous contents
of these chests arranged upon the floor of the large apartment, from
whence he was to transfer them to the shelves, baffles all description.
He grinned like an ogre, swung his arms like the sails of a wind-mill,
shouted 'Prodigious' till the roof rung to his raptures. 'He had never,'
he said, 'seen so many books together, except in the College Library';
and now his dignity and delight in being superintendent of the collection
raised him, in his own opinion, almost to the rank of the academical
librarian, whom he had always regarded as the greatest and happiest man
on earth. Neither were his transports diminished upon a hasty examination
of the contents of these volumes. Some, indeed, of BELLES LETTRES, poems,
plays, or memoirs he tossed indignantly aside, with the implied censure
of'psha,'or 'frivolous'; but the greater and bulkier part of the
collection bore a very different character. The deceased prelate, a
divine of the old and deeply-learned cast, had loaded his shelves with
volumes which displayed the antique and venerable attributes so happily
described by a modern poet:--

     That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid,
     Those ample clasps of solid metal made,
     The close-press'd leaves unoped for many an age,
     The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page,
     On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll'd,
     Where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold.

Books of theology and controversial divinity, commentaries, and
polyglots, sets of the Fathers, and sermons which might each furnish
forth ten brief discourses of modern date, books of science, ancient and
modern, classical authors in their best and rarest forms--such formed the
late bishop's venerable library, and over such the eye of Dominie Sampson
gloated with rapture. He entered them in the catalogue in his best
running hand, forming each letter with the accuracy of a lover writing a
valentine, and placed each individually on the destined shelf with all
the reverence which I have seen a lady pay to a jar of old china. With
all this zeal his labours advanced slowly. He often opened a volume when
halfway up the library steps, fell upon some interesting passage, and,
without shifting his inconvenient posture, continued immersed in the
fascinating perusal until the servant pulled him by the skirts to assure
him that dinner waited. He then repaired to the parlour, bolted his food
down his capacious throat in squares of three inches, answered ay and no
at random to whatever question was asked at him, and again hurried back
to the library, as soon as his napkin was removed, and sometimes with it
hanging round his neck like a pinafore;--

     How happily the days Of Thalaba went by!

And, having thus left the principal characters of our tale in a situation
which, being sufficiently comfortable to themselves, is, of course,
utterly uninteresting to the reader, we take up the history of a person
who has as yet only been named, and who has all the interest that
uncertainty and misfortune can give.






CHAPTER  XXI
     What say'st thou, Wise One? that all powerful Love
     Can fortune's strong impediments remove,
     Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
     The pride of genius with the pride of birth.

          CRABBE.


V. Brown--I will not give at full length his thrice unhappy name--had
been from infancy a ball for fortune to spurn at; but nature had given
him that elasticity of mind which rises higher from the rebound. His form
was tall, manly, and active, and his features corresponded with his
person; for, although far from regular, they had an expression of
intelligence and good-humour, and when he spoke, or was particularly
animated, might be decidedly pronounced interesting. His manner indicated
the military profession, which had been his choice, and in which he had
now attained the rank of captain, the person who succeeded Colonel
Mannering in his command having laboured to repair the injustice which
Brown had sustained by that gentleman's prejudice against him. But this,
as well as his liberation from captivity, had taken place after Mannering
left India. Brown followed at no distant period, his regiment being
recalled home. His first inquiry was after the family of Mannering, and,
easily learning their route northward, he followed it with the purpose of
resuming his addresses to Julia. With her father he deemed he had no
measures to keep; for, ignorant of the more venomous belief which had
been instilled into the Colonel's mind, he regarded him as an oppressive
aristocrat, who had used his power as a commanding officer to deprive him
of the preferment due to his behaviour, and who had forced upon him a
personal quarrel without any better reason than his attentions to a
pretty young woman, agreeable to herself, and permitted and countenanced
by her mother. He was determined, therefore, to take no rejection unless
from the young lady herself, believing that the heavy misfortunes of his
painful wound and imprisonment were direct injuries received from the
father, which might dispense with his using much ceremony towards him.
How far his scheme had succeeded when his nocturnal visit was discovered
by Mr. Mervyn, our readers are already informed.

Upon this unpleasant occurrence Captain Brown absented himself from the
inn in which he had resided under the name of Dawson, so that Colonel
Mannering's attempts to discover and trace him were unavailing. He
resolved, however, that no difficulties should prevent his continuing his
enterprise while Julia left him a ray of hope. The interest he had
secured in her bosom was such as she had been unable to conceal from him,
and with all the courage of romantic gallantry he determined upon
perseverance. But we believe the reader will be as well pleased to learn
his mode of thinking and intention from his own communication to his
special friend and confidant, Captain Delaserre, a Swiss gentleman who
had a company in his regiment.

EXTRACT

'Let me hear from you soon, dear Delaserre. Remember, I can learn nothing
about regimental affairs but through your friendly medium, and I long to
know what has become of Ayre's court-martial, and whether Elliot gets the
majority; also how recruiting comes on, and how the young officers like
the mess. Of our kind friend the Lieutenant-Colonel I need ask nothing; I
saw him as I passed through Nottingham, happy in the bosom of his family.
What a happiness it is, Philip, for us poor devils, that we have a little
resting-place between the camp and the grave, if we can manage to escape
disease, and steel, and lead, and the effects of hard living. A retired
old soldier is always a graceful and respected character. He grumbles a
little now and then, but then his is licensed murmuring; were a lawyer,
or a physician, or a clergyman to breathe a complaint of hard luck or
want of preferment, a hundred tongues would blame his own incapacity as
the cause. But the most stupid veteran that ever faltered out the
thrice-told tale of a siege and a battle, and a cock and a bottle, is
listened to with sympathy and reverence when he shakes his thin locks and
talks with indignation of the boys that are put over his head. And you
and I, Delaserre, foreigners both--for what am I the better that I was
originally a Scotchman, since, could I prove my descent, the English
would hardly acknowledge me a countryman?--we may boast that we have
fought out our preferment, and gained that by the sword which we had not
money to compass otherwise. The English are a wise people. While they
praise themselves, and affect to undervalue all other nations, they leave
us, luckily, trap-doors and back-doors open, by which we strangers, less
favoured by nature, may arrive at a share of their advantages. And thus
they are in some respects like a boastful landlord, who exalts the value
and flavour of his six-years-old mutton, while he is delighted to
dispense a share of it to all the company. In short, you, whose proud
family, and I, whose hard fate, made us soldiers of fortune, have the
pleasant recollection that in the British service, stop where we may upon
our career, it is only for want of money to pay the turnpike, and not
from our being prohibited to travel the road. If, therefore, you can
persuade little Weischel to come into OURS, for God's sake let him buy
the ensigncy, live prudently, mind his duty, and trust to the fates for
promotion.

'And now, I hope you are expiring with curiosity to learn the end of my
romance. I told you I had deemed it convenient to make a few days' tour
on foot among the mountains of Westmoreland with Dudley, a young English
artist with whom I have formed some acquaintance. A fine fellow this, you
must know, Delaserre: he paints tolerably, draws beautifully, converses
well, and plays charmingly on the flute; and, though thus well entitled
to be a coxcomb of talent, is, in fact, a modest unpretending young man.
On our return from our little tour I learned that the enemy had been
reconnoitring. Mr. Mervyn's barge had crossed the lake, I was informed by
my landlord, with the squire himself and a visitor.

'"What sort of person, landlord?"

'"Why, he was a dark officer-looking mon, at they called Colonel. Squoire
Mervyn questioned me as close as I had been at 'sizes. I had guess, Mr.
Dawson" (I told you that was my feigned name), "but I tould him nought of
your vagaries, and going out a-laking in the mere a-noights, not I; an I
can make no sport, I'se spoil none; and Squoire Mervyn's as cross as
poy-crust too, mon; he's aye maundering an my guests but land beneath his
house, though it be marked for the fourth station in the survey. Noa,
noa, e'en let un smell things out o' themselves for Joe Hodges."

'You will allow there was nothing for it after this but paying honest Joe
Hodges's bill and departing, unless I had preferred making him my
confidant, for which I felt in no way inclined. Besides, I learned that
our ci-devant Colonel was on full retreat for Scotland, carrying off poor
Julia along with him. I understand from those who conduct the heavy
baggage that he takes his winter quarters at a place called Woodbourne,
in ---shire in Scotland. He will be all on the alert just now, so I must
let him enter his entrenchments without any new alarm. And then, my good
Colonel, to whom I owe so many grateful thanks, pray look to your
defence.

'I protest to you, Delaserre, I often think there is a little
contradiction enters into the ardour of my pursuit. I think I would
rather bring this haughty insulting man to the necessity of calling his
daughter Mrs. Brown than I would wed her with his full consent, and with
the King's permission to change my name for the style and arms of
Mannering, though his whole fortune went with them. There is only one
circumstance that chills me a little: Julia is young and romantic. I
would not willingly hurry her into a step which her riper years might
disapprove; no--nor would I like to have her upbraid me, were it but with
a glance of her eye, with having ruined her fortunes, far less give her
reason to say, as some have not been slow to tell their lords, that, had
I left her time for consideration, she would have been wiser and done
better. No, Delaserre, this must not be. The picture presses close upon
me, because I am aware a girl in Julia's situation has no distinct and
precise idea of the value of the sacrifice she makes. She knows
difficulties only by name; and, if she thinks of love and a farm, it is a
ferme ornee, such as is only to be found in poetic description or in the
park of a gentleman of twelve thousand a year. She would be ill prepared
for the privations of that real Swiss cottage we have so often talked of,
and for the difficulties which must necessarily surround us even before
we attained that haven. This must be a point clearly ascertained.
Although Julia's beauty and playful tenderness have made an impression on
my heart never to be erased, I must be satisfied that she perfectly
understands the advantages she foregoes before she sacrifices them for my
sake.

'Am I too proud, Delaserre, when I trust that even this trial may
terminate favourably to my wishes? Am I too vain when I suppose that the
few personal qualities which I possess, with means of competence, however
moderate, and the determination of consecrating my life to her happiness,
may make amends for all I must call upon her to forego? Or will a
difference of dress, of attendance, of style, as it is called, of the
power of shifting at pleasure the scenes in which she seeks
amusement--will these outweigh in her estimation the prospect of domestic
happiness and the interchange of unabating affection? I say nothing of
her father: his good and evil qualities are so strangely mingled that the
former are neutralised by the latter; and that which she must regret as a
daughter is so much blended with what she would gladly escape from, that
I place the separation of the father and child as a circumstance which
weighs little in her remarkable case. Meantime I keep up my spirits as I
may. I have incurred too many hardships and difficulties to be
presumptuous or confident in success, and I have been too often and too
wonderfully extricated from them to be despondent.

'I wish you saw this country. I think the scenery would delight you. At
least it often brings to my recollection your glowing descriptions of
your native country. To me it has in a great measure the charm of
novelty. Of the Scottish hills, though born among them, as I have always
been assured, I have but an indistinct recollection. Indeed, my memory
rather dwells upon the blank which my youthful mind experienced in gazing
on the levels of the isle of Zealand, than on anything which preceded
that feeling; but I am confident, from that sensation as well as from the
recollections which preceded it, that hills and rocks have been familiar
to me at an early period, and that, though now only remembered by
contrast, and by the blank which I felt while gazing around for them in
vain, they must have made an indelible impression on my infant
imagination. I remember, when we first mounted that celebrated pass in
the Mysore country, while most of the others felt only awe and
astonishment at the height and grandeur of the scenery, I rather shared
your feelings and those of Cameron, whose admiration of such wild rocks
was blended with familiar love, derived from early association. Despite
my Dutch education, a blue hill to me is as a friend, and a roaring
torrent like the sound of a domestic song that hath soothed my infancy. I
never felt the impulse so strongly as in this land of lakes and
mountains, and nothing grieves me so much as that duty prevents your
being with me in my numerous excursions among recesses. Some drawings I
have attempted, but I succeed vilely. Dudley, on the contrary, draws
delightfully, with that rapid touch which seems like magic; while I
labour and botch, and make this too heavy and that too light, and produce
at last a base caricature. I must stick to the flageolet, for music is
the only one of the fine arts which deigns to acknowledge me.

'Did you know that Colonel Mannering was a draughtsman? I believe not,
for he scorned to display his accomplishments to the view of a subaltern.
He draws beautifully, however. Since he and Julia left Mervyn Hall,
Dudley was sent for there. The squire, it seems, wanted a set of drawings
made up, of which Mannering had done the first four, but was interrupted
by his hasty departure in his purpose of completing them. Dudley says he
has seldom seen anything so masterly, though slight; and each had
attached to it a short poetical description. Is Saul, you will say, among
the prophets? Colonel Mannering write poetry! Why, surely this man must
have taken all the pains to conceal his accomplishments that others do to
display theirs. How reserved and unsociable he appeared among us! how
little disposed to enter into any conversation which could become
generally interesting! And then his attachment to that unworthy Archer,
so much below him in every respect; and all this because he was the
brother of Viscount Archerfield, a poor Scottish peer! I think, if Archer
had longer survived the wounds in the affair of Cuddyboram, he would have
told something that might have thrown light upon the inconsistencies of
this singular man's character. He repeated to me more than once, "I have
that to say which will alter your hard opinion of our late Colonel." But
death pressed him too hard; and if he owed me any atonement, which some
of his expressions seemed to imply, he died before it could be made.

'I propose to make a further excursion through this country while this
fine frosty weather serves, and Dudley, almost as good a walker as
myself, goes with me for some part of the way. We part on the borders of
Cumberland, when he must return to his lodgings in Marybone, up three
pair of stairs, and labour at what he calls the commercial part of his
profession. There cannot, he says, be such a difference betwixt any two
portions of existence as between that in which the artist, if an
enthusiast, collects the subjects of his drawings and that which must
necessarily be dedicated to turning over his portfolio and exhibiting
them to the provoking indifference, or more provoking criticism, of
fashionable amateurs. "During the summer of my year," says Dudley, "I am
as free as a wild Indian, enjoying myself at liberty amid the grandest
scenes of nature; while during my winters and springs I am not only
cabined, cribbed, and confined in a miserable garret, but condemned to as
intolerable subservience to the humour of others, and to as indifferent
company, as if I were a literal galley slave." I have promised him your
acquaintance, Delaserre; you will be delighted with his specimens of art,
and he with your Swiss fanaticism for mountains and torrents.

'When I lose Dudley's company, I am informed that I can easily enter
Scotland by stretching across a wild country in the upper part of
Cumberland; and that route I shall follow, to give the Colonel time to
pitch his camp ere I reconnoitre his position. Adieu! Delaserre. I shall
hardly find another opportunity of writing till I reach Scotland.'






CHAPTER  XXII
     Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
     And merrily bend the stile-a,
     A merry heart goes all the day,
     A sad one tires in a mile-a.

          --Winter's Tale.


Let the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November morning, the
scene an open heath, having for the background that huge chain of
mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are preeminent; let him look
along that BLIND ROAD, by which I mean the track so slightly marked by
the passengers' footsteps that it can but be traced by a slight shade of
verdure from the darker heath around it, and, being only visible to the
eye when at some distance, ceases to be distinguished while the foot is
actually treading it; along this faintly-traced path advances the object
of our present narrative. His firm step, his erect and free carriage,
have a military air which corresponds well with his well-proportioned
limbs and stature of six feet high. His dress is so plain and simple that
it indicates nothing as to rank; it may be that of a gentleman who
travels in this manner for his pleasure, or of an inferior person of whom
it is the proper and usual garb. Nothing can be on a more reduced scale
than his travelling equipment. A volume of Shakspeare in each pocket, a
small bundle with a change of linen slung across his shoulders, an oaken
cudgel in his hand, complete our pedestrian's accommodations, and in this
equipage we present him to our readers.

Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, and begun his
solitary walk towards Scotland.

The first two or three miles were rather melancholy, from want of the
society to which he had of late been accustomed. But this unusual mood of
mind soon gave way to the influence of his natural good spirits, excited
by the exercise and the bracing effects of the frosty air. He whistled as
he went along, not 'from want of thought,' but to give vent to those
buoyant feelings which he had no other mode of expressing. For each
peasant whom he chanced to meet he had a kind greeting or a good-humoured
jest; the hardy Cumbrians grinned as they passed, and said, 'That's a
kind heart, God bless un!' and the market-girl looked more than once over
her shoulder at the athletic form, which corresponded so well with the
frank and blythe address of the stranger. A rough terrier dog, his
constant companion, who rivalled his master in glee, scampered at large
in a thousand wheels round the heath, and came back to jump up on him and
assure him that he participated in the pleasure of the journey. Dr.
Johnson thought life had few things better than the excitation produced
by being whirled rapidly along in a post-chaise; but he who has in youth
experienced the confident and independent feeling of a stout pedestrian
in an interesting country, and during fine weather, will hold the taste
of the great moralist cheap in comparison.

Part of Brown's view in choosing that unusual track which leads through
the eastern wilds of Cumberland into Scotland, had been a desire to view
the remains of the celebrated Roman Wall, which are more visible in that
direction than in any other part of its extent. His education had been
imperfect and desultory; but neither the busy scenes in which he had been
engaged, nor the pleasures of youth, nor the precarious state of his own
circumstances, had diverted him from the task of mental improvement. 'And
this then is the Roman Wall,' he said, scrambling up to a height which
commanded the course of that celebrated work of antiquity. 'What a
people! whose labours, even at this extremity of their empire,
comprehended such space, and were executed upon a scale of such grandeur!
In future ages, when the science of war shall have changed, how few
traces will exist of the labours of Vauban and Coehorn, while this
wonderful people's remains will even then continue to interest and
astonish posterity! Their fortifications, their aqueducts, their
theatres, their fountains, all their public works, bear the grave, solid,
and majestic character of their language; while our modern labours, like
our modern tongues, seem but constructed out of their fragments.' Having
thus moralised, he remembered that he was hungry, and pursued his walk to
a small public-house, at which he proposed to get some refreshment.

The alehouse, for it was no better, was situated in the bottom of a
little dell, through which trilled a small rivulet. It was shaded by a
large ash tree, against which the clay-built shed that served the purpose
of a stable was erected, and upon which it seemed partly to recline. In
this shed stood a saddled horse, employed in eating his corn. The
cottages in this part of Cumberland partake of the rudeness which
characterises those of Scotland. The outside of the house promised little
for the interior, notwithstanding the vaunt of a sign, where a tankard of
ale voluntarily decanted itself into a tumbler, and a hieroglyphical
scrawl below attempted to express a promise of 'good entertainment for
man and horse.' Brown was no fastidious traveller: he stopped and entered
the cabaret. [Footnote: See Note 2.]

The first object which caught his eye in the kitchen was a tall, stout,
country-looking man in a large jockey great-coat, the owner of the horse
which stood in the shed, who was busy discussing huge slices of cold
boiled beef, and casting from time to time an eye through the window to
see how his steed sped with his provender. A large tankard of ale flanked
his plate of victuals, to which he applied himself by intervals. The good
woman of the house was employed in baking. The fire, as is usual in that
country, was on a stone hearth, in the midst of an immensely large
chimney, which had two seats extended beneath the vent. On one of these
sat a remarkably tall woman, in a red cloak and slouched bonnet, having
the appearance of a tinker or beggar. She was busily engaged with a short
black tobacco-pipe.

At the request of Brown for some food, the landlady wiped with her mealy
apron one corner of the deal table, placed a wooden trencher and knife
and fork before the traveller, pointed to the round of beef, recommended
Mr. Dinmont's good example, and finally filled a brown pitcher with her
home-brewed. Brown lost no time in doing ample credit to both. For a
while his opposite neighbour and he were too busy to take much notice of
each other, except by a good-humoured nod as each in turn raised the
tankard to his head. At length, when our pedestrian began to supply the
wants of little Wasp, the Scotch store-farmer, for such was Mr. Dinmont,
found himself at leisure to enter into conversation.

'A bonny terrier that, sir, and a fell chield at the vermin, I warrant
him; that is, if he's been weel entered, for it a' lies in that.'

'Really, sir,' said Brown, 'his education has been somewhat neglected,
and his chief property is being a pleasant companion.'

'Ay, sir? that's a pity, begging your pardon, it's a great pity that;
beast or body, education should aye be minded. I have six terriers at
hame, forbye twa couple of slow-hunds, five grews, and a wheen other
dogs. There's auld Pepper and auld Mustard, and young Pepper and young
Mustard, and little Pepper and little Mustard. I had them a' regularly
entered, first wi' rottens, then wi' stots or weasels, and then wi' the
tods and brocks, and now they fear naething that ever cam wi' a hairy
skin on't.'

'I have no doubt, sir, they are thoroughbred; but, to have so many dogs,
you seem to have a very limited variety of names for them?'

'O, that's a fancy of my ain to mark the breed, sir. The Deuke himsell
has sent as far as Charlie's Hope to get ane o' Dandy Dinmont's Pepper
and Mustard terriers. Lord, man, he sent Tam Hudson [Footnote: The real
name of this veteran sportsman is now restored.] the keeper, and sicken a
day as we had wi' the foumarts and the tods, and sicken a blythe gae-down
as we had again e'en! Faith, that was a night!'

'I suppose game is very plenty with you?'

'Plenty, man! I believe there's mair hares than sheep on my farm; and for
the moor-fowl or the grey-fowl, they lie as thick as doos in a dookit.
Did ye ever shoot a blackcock, man?'

'Really I had never even the pleasure to see one, except in the museum at
Keswick.'

'There now! I could guess that by your Southland tongue. It's very odd of
these English folk that come here, how few of them has seen a blackcock!
I'll tell you what--ye seem to be an honest lad, and if you'll call on
me, on Dandy Dinmont, at Charlie's Hope, ye shall see a blackcock, and
shoot a blackcock, and eat a blackcock too, man.'

'Why, the proof of the matter is the eating, to be sure, sir; and I shall
be happy if I can find time to accept your invitation.'

'Time, man? what ails ye to gae hame wi' me the now? How d' ye travel?'

'On foot, sir; and if that handsome pony be yours, I should find it
impossible to keep up with you.'

'No, unless ye can walk up to fourteen mile an hour. But ye can come ower
the night as far as Riccarton, where there is a public; or if ye like to
stop at Jockey Grieve's at the Heuch, they would be blythe to see ye, and
I am just gaun to stop and drink a dram at the door wi' him, and I would
tell him you're coming up. Or stay--gudewife, could ye lend this
gentleman the gudeman's galloway, and I'll send it ower the Waste in the
morning wi' the callant?'

The galloway was turned out upon the fell, and was swear to
catch.--'Aweel, aweel, there's nae help for't, but come up the morn at
ony rate. And now, gudewife, I maun ride, to get to the Liddel or it be
dark, for your Waste has but a kittle character, ye ken yoursell.'

'Hout fie, Mr. Dinmont, that's no like you, to gie the country an ill
name. I wot, there has been nane stirred in the Waste since Sawney
Culloch, the travelling-merchant, that Rowley Overdees and Jock Penny
suffered for at Carlisle twa years since. There's no ane in Bewcastle
would do the like o' that now; we be a' true folk now.'

'Ay, Tib, that will be when the deil's blind; and his een's no sair yet.
But hear ye, gudewife, I have been through maist feck o' Galloway and
Dumfries-shire, and I have been round by Carlisle, and I was at the
Staneshiebank Fair the day, and I would like ill to be rubbit sae near
hame, so I'll take the gate.'

'Hae ye been in Dumfries and Galloway?' said the old dame who sate
smoking by the fireside, and who had not yet spoken a word.

'Troth have I, gudewife, and a weary round I've had o't.'

'Then ye'll maybe ken a place they ca' Ellangowan?'

'Ellangowan, that was Mr. Bertram's? I ken the place weel eneugh. The
Laird died about a fortnight since, as I heard.'

'Died!' said the old woman, dropping her pipe, and rising and coming
forward upon the floor--'died? are you sure of that?'

'Troth, am I,' said Dinmont, 'for it made nae sma' noise in the
country-side. He died just at the roup of the stocking and furniture; it
stoppit the roup, and mony folk were disappointed. They said he was the
last of an auld family too, and mony were sorry; for gude blude's scarcer
in Scotland than it has been.'

'Dead!' replied the old woman, whom our readers have already recognised
as their acquaintance Meg Merrilies--'dead! that quits a' scores. And did
ye say he died without an heir?'

'Ay did he, gudewife, and the estate's sell'd by the same token; for they
said they couldna have sell'd it if there had been an heir-male.'

'Sell'd!' echoed the gipsy, with something like a scream; 'and wha durst
buy Ellangowan that was not of Bertram's blude? and wha could tell
whether the bonny knave-bairn may not come back to claim his ain? wha
durst buy the estate and the castle of Ellangowan?'

'Troth, gudewife, just ane o' thae writer chields that buys a' thing;
they ca' him Glossin, I think.'

'Glossin! Gibbie Glossin! that I have carried in my creels a hundred
times, for his mother wasna muckle better than mysell--he to presume to
buy the barony of Ellangowan! Gude be wi' us; it is an awfu' warld! I
wished him ill; but no sic a downfa' as a' that neither. Wae's me! wae's
me to think o't!' She remained a moment silent but still opposing with
her hand the farmer's retreat, who betwixt every question was about to
turn his back, but good-humouredly stopped on observing the deep interest
his answers appeared to excite.

'It will be seen and heard of--earth and sea will not hold their peace
langer! Can ye say if the same man be now the sheriff of the county that
has been sae for some years past?'

'Na, he's got some other birth in Edinburgh, they say; but gude day,
gudewife, I maun ride.' She followed him to his horse, and, while he drew
the girths of his saddle, adjusted the walise, and put on the bridle,
still plied him with questions concerning Mr. Bertram's death and the
fate of his daughter; on which, however, she could obtain little
information from the honest farmer.

'Did ye ever see a place they ca' Derncleugh, about a mile frae the Place
of Ellangowan?'

'I wot weel have I, gudewife. A wild-looking den it is, wi' a whin auld
wa's o' shealings yonder; I saw it when I gaed ower the ground wi' ane
that wanted to take the farm.'

'It was a blythe bit ance!' said Meg, speaking to herself. 'Did ye notice
if there was an auld saugh tree that's maist blawn down, but yet its
roots are in the earth, and it hangs ower the bit burn? Mony a day hae I
wrought my stocking and sat on my sunkie under that saugh.'

'Hout, deil's i' the wife, wi' her saughs, and her sunkies, and
Ellangowans. Godsake, woman, let me away; there's saxpence t' ye to buy
half a mutchkin, instead o' clavering about thae auld-warld stories.'

'Thanks to ye, gudeman; and now ye hae answered a' my questions, and
never speired wherefore I asked them, I'll gie you a bit canny advice,
and ye maunna speir what for neither. Tib Mumps will be out wi' the
stirrup-dram in a gliffing. She'll ask ye whether ye gang ower Willie's
Brae or through Conscowthart Moss; tell her ony ane ye like, but be sure
(speaking low and emphatically) to tak the ane ye dinna tell her.' The
farmer laughed and promised, and the gipsy retreated.

'Will you take her advice?' said Brown, who had been an attentive
listener to this conversation.

'That will I no, the randy quean! Na, I had far rather Tib Mumps kenn'd
which way I was gaun than her, though Tib's no muckle to lippen to
neither, and I would advise ye on no account to stay in the house a'
night.'

In a moment after Tib, the landlady, appeared with her stirrup-cup, which
was taken off. She then, as Meg had predicted, inquired whether he went
the hill or the moss road. He answered, the latter; and, having bid Brown
good-bye, and again told him, 'he depended on seeing him at Charlie's
Hope, the morn at latest,' he rode off at a round pace.






CHAPTER  XXIII
     Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway

        --Winter's Tale.








The hint of the hospitable farmer was not lost on Brown. But while he
paid his reckoning he could not avoid repeatedly fixing his eyes on Meg
Merrilies. She was in all respects the same witch-like figure as when we
first introduced her at Ellangowan Place. Time had grizzled her raven
locks and added wrinkles to her wild features, but her height remained
erect, and her activity was unimpaired. It was remarked of this woman, as
of others of the same description, that a life of action, though not of
labour, gave her the perfect command of her limbs and figure, so that the
attitudes into which she most naturally threw herself were free,
unconstrained, and picturesque. At present she stood by the window of the
cottage, her person drawn up so as to show to full advantage her
masculine stature, and her head somewhat thrown back, that the large
bonnet with which her face was shrouded might not interrupt her steady
gaze at Brown. At every gesture he made and every tone he uttered she
seemed to give an almost imperceptible start. On his part, he was
surprised to find that he could not look upon this singular figure
without some emotion. 'Have I dreamed of such a figure?' he said to
himself, 'or does this wild and singular-looking woman recall to my
recollection some of the strange figures I have seen in our Indian
pagodas?'

While he embarrassed himself with these discussions, and the hostess was
engaged in rummaging out silver in change of half-a-guinea, the gipsy
suddenly made two strides and seized Brown's hand. He expected, of
course, a display of her skill in palmistry, but she seemed agitated by
other feelings.

'Tell me,' she said, 'tell me, in the name of God, young man, what is
your name, and whence you came?'

'My name is Brown, mother, and I come from the East Indies.'

'From the East Indies!' dropping his hand with a sigh; 'it cannot be
then. I am such an auld fool, that everything I look on seems the thing I
want maist to see. But the East Indies! that cannot be. Weel, be what ye
will, ye hae a face and a tongue that puts me in mind of auld times. Good
day; make haste on your road, and if ye see ony of our folk, meddle not
and make not, and they'll do you nae harm.'

Brown, who had by this time received his change, put a shilling into her
hand, bade his hostess farewell, and, taking the route which the farmer
had gone before, walked briskly on, with the advantage of being guided by
the fresh hoof-prints of his horse. Meg Merrilies looked after him for
some time, and then muttered to herself, 'I maun see that lad again; and
I maun gang back to Ellangowan too. The Laird's dead! aweel, death pays
a' scores; he was a kind man ance. The Sheriff's flitted, and I can keep
canny in the bush; so there's no muckle hazard o' scouring the
cramp-ring. I would like to see bonny Ellangowan again or I die.'

Brown meanwhile proceeded northward at a round pace along the moorish
tract called the Waste of Cumberland. He passed a solitary house, towards
which the horseman who preceded him had apparently turned up, for his
horse's tread was evident in that direction. A little farther, he seemed
to have returned again into the road. Mr. Dinmont had probably made a
visit there either of business or pleasure. 'I wish,' thought Brown, 'the
good farmer had staid till I came up; I should not have been sorry to ask
him a few questions about the road, which seems to grow wilder and
wilder.'

In truth, nature, as if she had designed this tract of country to be the
barrier between two hostile nations, has stamped upon it a character of
wildness and desolation. The hills are neither high nor rocky, but the
land is all heath and morass; the huts poor and mean, and at a great
distance from each other. Immediately around them there is generally some
little attempt at cultivation; but a half-bred foal or two, straggling
about with shackles on their hind legs, to save the trouble of
inclosures, intimate the farmer's chief resource to be the breeding of
horses. The people, too, are of a ruder and more inhospitable class than
are elsewhere to be found in Cumberland, arising partly from their own
habits, partly from their intermixture with vagrants and criminals, who
make this wild country a refuge from justice. So much were the men of
these districts in early times the objects of suspicion and dislike to
their more polished neighbours, that there was, and perhaps still exists,
a by-law of the corporation of Newcastle prohibiting any freeman of that
city to take for apprentice a native of certain of these dales. It is
pithily said, 'Give a dog an ill name and hang him'; and it may be added,
if you give a man, or race of men, an ill name they are very likely to do
something that deserves hanging. Of this Brown had heard something, and
suspected more, from the discourse between the landlady, Dinmont, and the
gipsy; but he was naturally of a fearless disposition, had nothing about
him that could tempt the spoiler, and trusted to get through the Waste
with daylight. In this last particular, however, he was likely to be
disappointed. The way proved longer than he had anticipated, and the
horizon began to grow gloomy just as he entered upon an extensive morass.

Choosing his steps with care and deliberation, the young officer
proceeded along a path that sometimes sunk between two broken black banks
of moss earth, sometimes crossed narrow but deep ravines filled with a
consistence between mud and water, and sometimes along heaps of gravel
and stones, which had been swept together when some torrent or waterspout
from the neighbouring hills overflowed the marshy ground below. He began
to ponder how a horseman could make his way through such broken ground;
the traces of hoofs, however, were still visible; he even thought he
heard their sound at some distance, and, convinced that Mr. Dinmont's
progress through the morass must be still slower than his own, he
resolved to push on, in hopes to overtake him and have the benefit of his
knowledge of the country. At this moment his little terrier sprung
forward, barking most furiously.

Brown quickened his pace, and, attaining the summit of a small rising
ground, saw the subject of the dog's alarm. In a hollow about a gunshot
below him a man whom he easily recognised to be Dinmont was engaged with
two others in a desperate struggle. He was dismounted, and defending
himself as he best could with the butt of his heavy whip. Our traveller
hastened on to his assistance; but ere he could get up a stroke had
levelled the farmer with the earth, and one of the robbers, improving his
victory, struck him some merciless blows on the head. The other villain,
hastening to meet Brown, called to his companion to come along, 'for that
one's CONTENT,' meaning, probably, past resistance or complaint. One
ruffian was armed with a cutlass, the other with a bludgeon; but as the
road was pretty narrow, 'bar fire-arms,' thought Brown, 'and I may manage
them well enough.' They met accordingly, with the most murderous threats
on the part of the ruffians. They soon found, however, that their new
opponent was equally stout and resolute; and, after exchanging two or
three blows, one of them told him to 'follow his nose over the heath, in
the devil's name, for they had nothing to say to him.'

Brown rejected this composition as leaving to their mercy the unfortunate
man whom they were about to pillage, if not to murder outright; and the
skirmish had just recommenced when Dinmont unexpectedly recovered his
senses, his feet, and his weapon, and hastened to the scene of action. As
he had been no easy antagonist, even when surprised and alone, the
villains did not choose to wait his joining forces with a man who had
singly proved a match for them both, but fled across the bog as fast as
their feet could carry them, pursued by Wasp, who had acted gloriously
during the skirmish, annoying the heels of the enemy, and repeatedly
effecting a moment's diversion in his master's favour.

'Deil, but your dog's weel entered wi' the vermin now, sir!' were the
first words uttered by the jolly farmer as he came up, his head streaming
with blood, and recognised his deliverer and his little attendant.

'I hope, sir, you are not hurt dangerously?'

'O, deil a bit, my head can stand a gay clour; nae thanks to them,
though, and mony to you. But now, hinney, ye maun help me to catch the
beast, and ye maun get on behind me, for we maun off like whittrets
before the whole clanjamfray be doun upon us; the rest o' them will no be
far off.' The galloway was, by good fortune, easily caught, and Brown
made some apology for overloading the animal.

'Deil a fear, man,' answered the proprietor; 'Dumple could carry six
folk, if his back was lang eneugh; but God's sake, haste ye, get on, for
I see some folk coming through the slack yonder that it may be just as
weel no to wait for.'

Brown was of opinion that this apparition of five or six men, with whom
the other villains seemed to join company, coming across the moss towards
them, should abridge ceremony; he therefore mounted Dumple en croupe, and
the little spirited nag cantered away with two men of great size and
strength as if they had been children of six years old. The rider, to
whom the paths of these wilds seemed intimately known, pushed on at a
rapid pace, managing with much dexterity to choose the safest route, in
which he was aided by the sagacity of the galloway, who never failed to
take the difficult passes exactly at the particular spot, and in the
special manner, by which they could be most safely crossed. Yet, even
with these advantages, the road was so broken, and they were so often
thrown out of the direct course by various impediments, that they did not
gain much on their pursuers. 'Never mind,' said the undaunted Scotchman
to his companion, 'if we were ance by Withershins' Latch, the road's no
near sae soft, and we'll show them fair play for't.'

They soon came to the place he named, a narrow channel, through which
soaked, rather than flowed, a small stagnant stream, mantled over with
bright green mosses. Dinmont directed his steed towards a pass where the
water appeared to flow with more freedom over a harder bottom; but Dumple
backed from the proposed crossing-place, put his head down as if to
reconnoitre the swamp more nearly, stretching forward his fore-feet, and
stood as fast as if he had been cut out of stone.

'Had we not better,' said Brown, 'dismount, and leave him to his fate; or
can you not urge him through the swamp?'

'Na, na,' said his pilot, 'we maun cross Dumple at no rate, he has mair
sense than mony a Christian.' So saying, he relaxed the reins, and shook
them loosely. 'Come now, lad, take your ain way o't, let's see where
ye'll take us through.'

Dumple, left to the freedom of his own will, trotted briskly to another
part of the latch, less promising, as Brown thought, in appearance, but
which the animal's sagacity or experience recommended as the safer of the
two, and where, plunging in, he attained the other side with little
difficulty.

'I'm glad we're out o' that moss,' said Dinmont, 'where there's mair
stables for horses than change-houses for men; we have the Maiden-way to
help us now, at ony rate.' Accordingly, they speedily gained a sort of
rugged causeway so called, being the remains of an old Roman road which
traverses these wild regions in a due northerly direction. Here they got
on at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour, Dumple seeking no other
respite than what arose from changing his pace from canter to trot. 'I
could gar him show mair action,' said his master, 'but we are twa
lang-legged chields after a', and it would be a pity to stress Dumple;
there wasna the like o' him at Staneshiebank Fair the day.'

Brown readily assented to the propriety of sparing the horse, and added
that, as they were now far out of the reach of the rogues, he thought Mr.
Dintnont had better tie a handkerchief round his head, for fear of the
cold frosty air aggravating the wound.

'What would I do that for?' answered the hardy farmer; 'the best way's to
let the blood barken upon the cut; that saves plasters, hinney.'