And so much rancour remained on the spirits of the gracious Duncan upon
this occasion, that various "picqueerings," as David called them, took
place upon the same and similar topics and it was only in consequence of
an accidental visit of the Duke to his Lodge at Roseneath, that they were
put a stop to. But upon that occasion his Grace showed such particular
respect to Mr. and Mrs. Butler, and such favour even to old David, that
Knockdunder held it prudent to change his course towards the latter. He,
in future, used to express himself among friends, concerning the minister
and his wife, as "very worthy decent folk, just a little over strict in
their notions; put it was pest for thae plack cattle to err on the safe
side." And respecting David, he allowed that "he was an excellent judge
of nowte and sheep, and a sensible eneugh carle, an it werena for his
tamn'd Cameronian nonsense, whilk it is not worth while of a shentleman
to knock out of an auld silly head, either by force of reason or
otherwise." So that, by avoiding topics of dispute, the personages of our
tale lived in great good habits with the gracious Duncan, only that he
still grieved David's soul, and set a perilous example to the
congregation, by sometimes bringing his pipe to the church during a cold
winter day, and almost always sleeping during sermon in the summer time.
Mrs. Butler, whom we must no longer, if we can help it, term by the
familiar name of Jeanie, brought into the married state the same firm
mind and affectionate disposition--the same natural and homely good
sense, and spirit of useful exertion--in a word, all the domestic good
qualities of which she had given proof during her maiden life. She did
not indeed rival Butler in learning; but then no woman more devoutly
venerated the extent of her husband's erudition. She did not pretend to
understand his expositions of divinity; but no minister of the Presbytery
had his humble dinner so well arranged, his clothes and linen in equal
good order, his fireside so neatly swept, his parlour so clean, and his
books so well dusted.
If he talked to Jeanie of what she did not understand--and (for the man
was mortal, and had been a schoolmaster) he sometimes did harangue more
scholarly and wisely than was necessary--she listened in placid silence;
and whenever the point referred to common life, and was such as came
under the grasp of a strong natural understanding, her views were more
forcible, and her observations more acute, than his own. In acquired
politeness of manners, when it happened that she mingled a little in
society, Mrs. Butler was, of course, judged deficient. But then she had
that obvious wish to oblige, and that real and natural good-breeding
depending on, good sense and good humour, which, joined to a considerable
degree of archness and liveliness of manner, rendered her behaviour
acceptable to all with whom she was called upon to associate.
Notwithstanding her strict attention to all domestic affairs, she always
appeared the clean well-dressed mistress of the house, never the sordid
household drudge. When complimented on this occasion by Duncan Knock, who
swore "that he thought the fairies must help her, since her house was
always clean, and nobody ever saw anybody sweeping it," she modestly
replied, "That much might be dune by timing ane's turns."
Duncan replied, "He heartily wished she could teach that art to the
huzzies at the Lodge, for he could never discover that the house was
washed at a', except now and then by breaking his shins over the pail--
Cot tamn the jauds!"
Of lesser matters there is not occasion to speak much. It may easily be
believed that the Duke's cheese was carefully made, and so graciously
accepted, that the offering became annual. Remembrances and
acknowledgments of past favours were sent to Mrs. Bickerton and Mrs.
Glass, and an amicable intercourse maintained from time to time with
these two respectable and benevolent persons.
It is especially necessary to mention that, in the course of five years,
Mrs. Butler had three children, two boys and a girl, all stout healthy
babes of grace, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and strong-limbed. The boys were
named David and Reuben, an order of nomenclature which was much to the
satisfaction of the old hero of the Covenant, and the girl, by her
mother's special desire, was christened Euphemia, rather contrary to the
wish both of her father and husband, who nevertheless loved Mrs. Butler
too well, and were too much indebted to her for their hours of happiness,
to withstand any request which she made with earnestness, and as a
gratification to herself. But from some feeling, I know not of what kind,
the child was never distinguished by the name of Effie, but by the
abbreviation of Femie, which in Scotland is equally commonly applied to
persons called Euphemia.
In this state of quiet and unostentatious enjoyment, there were, besides
the ordinary rubs and ruffles which disturb even the most uniform life,
two things which particularly chequered Mrs. Butler's happiness. "Without
these," she said to our informer, "her life would have been but too
happy; and perhaps," she added, "she had need of some crosses in this
world to remind her that there was a better to come behind it."
The first of these related to certain polemical skirmishes betwixt her
father and her husband, which, notwithstanding the mutual respect and
affection they entertained for each other, and their great love for
her--notwithstanding, also, their general agreement in strictness, and
even severity, of Presbyterian principle--often threatened unpleasant
weather between them. David Deans, as our readers must be aware, was
sufficiently opinionative and intractable, and having prevailed on
himself to become a member of a kirk-session under the Established
Church, he felt doubly obliged to evince that, in so doing, he had not
compromised any whit of his former professions, either in practice or
principle. Now Mr. Butler, doing all credit to his father-in-law's
motives, was frequently of opinion that it were better to drop out of
memory points of division and separation, and to act in the manner most
likely to attract and unite all parties who were serious in religion.
Moreover, he was not pleased, as a man and a scholar, to be always
dictated to by his unlettered father-in-law; and as a clergyman, he did
not think it fit to seem for ever under the thumb of an elder of his own
kirk-session. A proud but honest thought carried his opposition now and
then a little farther than it would otherwise have gone. "My brethren,"
he said, "will suppose I am flattering and conciliating the old man for
the sake of his succession, if I defer and give way to him on every
occasion; and, besides, there are many on which I neither can nor will
conscientiously yield to his notions. I cannot be persecuting old women
for witches, or ferreting out matter of scandal among the young ones,
which might otherwise have remained concealed."
From this difference of opinion it happened that, in many cases of
nicety, such as in owning certain defections, and failing to testify
against certain backslidings of the time, in not always severely tracing
forth little matters of scandal and _fama clamosa,_ which David called a
loosening of the reins of discipline, and in failing to demand clear
testimonies in other points of controversy which had, as it were, drifted
to leeward with the change of times, Butler incurred the censure of his
father-in-law; and sometimes the disputes betwixt them became eager and
almost unfriendly. In all such cases Mrs Butler was a mediating spirit,
who endeavoured, by the alkaline smoothness of her own disposition, to
neutralise the acidity of theological controversy. To the complaints of
both she lent an unprejudiced and attentive ear, and sought always rather
to excuse than absolutely to defend the other party.
She reminded her father that Butler had not "his experience of the auld
and wrastling times, when folk were gifted wi' a far look into eternity,
to make up for the oppressions whilk they suffered here below in time.
She freely allowed that many devout ministers and professors in times
past had enjoyed downright revelation, like the blessed Peden, and
Lundie, and Cameron, and Renwick, and John Caird the tinkler, wha entered
into the secrets, and Elizabeth Melvil, Lady Culross, wha prayed in her
bed, surrounded by a great many Christians in a large room, in whilk it
was placed on purpose, and that for three hours' time, with wonderful
assistance; and Lady Robertland, whilk got six sure outgates of grace,
and mony other in times past; and of a specially, Mr. John Scrimgeour,
minister of Kinghorn, who, having a beloved child sick to death of the
crewels, was free to expostulate with his Maker with such impatience of
displeasure, and complaining so bitterly, that at length it was said unto
him, that he was heard for this time, but that he was requested to use no
such boldness in time coming; so that when he returned he found the child
sitting up in the bed hale and fair, with all its wounds closed, and
supping its parritch, whilk babe he had left at the time of death. But
though these things might be true in these needful times, she contended
that those ministers who had not seen such vouchsafed and especial
mercies, were to seek their rule in the records of ancient times; and
therefore Reuben was carefu' both to search the Scriptures and the books
written by wise and good men of old; and sometimes in this way it wad
happen that twa precious saints might pu' sundry wise, like twa cows
riving at the same hayband."
To this David used to reply, with a sigh, "Ah, hinny, thou kenn'st little
o't; but that saam John Scrimgeour, that blew open the gates of heaven as
an it had been wi' a sax-pund cannonball, used devoutly to wish that most
part of books were burnt, except the Bible. Reuben's a gude lad and a
kind--I have aye allowed that; but as to his not allowing inquiry anent
the scandal of Marjory Kittlesides and Rory MacRand, under pretence that
they have southered sin wi' marriage, it's clear agane the Christian
discipline o' the kirk. And then there's Aily MacClure of Deepheugh, that
practises her abominations, spacing folks' fortunes wi' egg-shells, and
mutton-banes, and dreams and divinations, whilk is a scandal to ony
Christian land to suffer sic a wretch to live; and I'll uphaud that, in
a' judicatures, civil or ecclesiastical."
"I daresay ye are very right, father," was the general style of Jeanie's
answer; "but ye maun come down to the Manse to your dinner the day. The
bits o' bairns, puir things, are wearying to see their luckie dad; and
Reuben never sleeps weel, nor I neither, when you and he hae had ony bit
outcast."
"Nae outcast, Jeanie; God forbid I suld cast out wi' thee, or aught that
is dear to thee!" And he put on his Sundays coat, and came to the Manse
accordingly.
With her husband, Mrs. Butler had a more direct conciliatory process.
Reuben had the utmost respect for the old man's motives, and affection
for his person, as well as gratitude for his early friendship. So that,
upon any such occasion of accidental irritation, it was only necessary to
remind him with delicacy of his father-in-law's age, of his scanty
education, strong prejudices, and family distresses. The least of these
considerations always inclined Butler to measures of conciliation, in so
far as he could accede to them without compromising principle; and thus
our simple and unpretending heroine had the merit of those peacemakers,
to whom it is pronounced as a benediction, that they shall inherit the
earth.
The second crook in Mrs. Butler's lot, to use the language of her father,
was the distressing circumstance, that she had never heard of her
sister's safety, or of the circumstances in which she found herself,
though betwixt four and five years had elapsed since they had parted on
the beach of the island of Roseneath. Frequent intercourse was not to be
expected--not to be desired, perhaps, in their relative situations; but
Effie had promised, that, if she lived and prospered, her sister should
hear from her. She must then be no more, or sunk into some abyss of
misery, since she had never redeemed her pledge. Her silence seemed
strange and portentous, and wrung from Jeanie, who could never forget the
early years of their intimacy, the most painful anticipation concerning
her fate. At length, however, the veil was drawn aside.
One day, as the Captain of Knockdunder had called in at the Manse, on his
return from some business in the Highland part of the parish, and had
been accommodated, according to his special request, with a mixture of
milk, brandy, honey, and water, which he said Mrs. Butler compounded
"potter than ever a woman in Scotland,"--for, in all innocent matters,
she studied the taste of every one around her,--he said to Butler, "Py
the py, minister, I have a letter here either for your canny pody of a
wife or you, which I got when I was last at Glasco; the postage comes to
fourpence, which you may either pay me forthwith, or give me tooble or
quits in a hit at packcammon."
The playing at backgammon and draughts had been a frequent amusement of
Mr. Whackbairn, Butler's principal, when at Liberton school. The
minister, therefore, still piqued himself on his skill at both games, and
occasionally practised them, as strictly canonical, although David Deans,
whose notions of every kind were more rigorous, used to shake his head,
and groan grievously, when he espied the tables lying in the parlour, or
the children playing with the dice boxes or backgammon men. Indeed, Mrs.
Butler was sometimes chidden for removing these implements of pastime
into some closet or corner out of sight. "Let them be where they are,
Jeanie," would Butler say upon such occasions; "I am not conscious of
following this, or any other trifling relaxation, to the interruption of
my more serious studies, and still more serious duties. I will not,
therefore, have it supposed that I am indulging by stealth, and against
my conscience, in an amusement which, using it so little as I do, I may
well practise openly, and without any check of mind--_Nil conscire sibi,_
Jeanie, that is my motto; which signifies, my love, the honest and open
confidence which a man ought to entertain when he is acting openly, and
without any sense of doing wrong."
Such being Butler's humour, he accepted the Captain's defiance to a
twopenny hit at backgammon, and handed the letter to his wife, observing
the post-mark was York, but, if it came from her friend Mrs. Bickerton,
she had considerably improved her handwriting, which was uncommon at her
years.
Leaving the gentlemen to their game, Mrs. Butler went to order something
for supper, for Captain Duncan had proposed kindly to stay the night with
them, and then carelessly broke open her letter. It was not from Mrs.
Bickerton; and, after glancing over the first few lines, she soon found
it necessary to retire to her own bedroom, to read the document at
leisure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
Happy thou art! then happy be,
Nor envy me my lot;
Thy happy state I envy thee,
And peaceful cot.
Lady Charlotte Campbell.
The letter, which Mrs. Butler, when retired into her own apartment,
perused with anxious wonder, was certainly from Effie, although it had no
other signature than the letter E.; and although the orthography, style,
and penmanship, were very far superior not only to anything which Effie
could produce, who, though a lively girl, had been a remarkably careless
scholar, but even to her more considerate sister's own powers of
composition and expression. The manuscript was a fair Italian hand,
though something stiff and constrained--the spelling and the diction that
of a person who had been accustomed to read good composition, and mix in
good society.
The tenor of the letter was as follows:--
"My Dearest Sister,--At many risks I venture to write to you, to inform
you that I am still alive, and, as to worldly situation, that I rank
higher than I could expect or merit. If wealth, and distinction, and an
honourable rank, could make a woman happy, I have them all; but you,
Jeanie, whom the world might think placed far beneath me in all these
respects, are far happier than I am. I have had means of hearing of your
welfare, my dearest Jeanie, from time to time--I think I should have
broken my heart otherwise. I have learned with great pleasure of your
increasing family. We have not been worthy of such a blessing; two
infants have been successively removed, and we are now childless--God's
will be done! But, if we had a child, it would perhaps divert him from
the gloomy thoughts which make him terrible to himself and others. Yet do
not let me frighten you, Jeanie; he continues to be kind, and I am far
better off than I deserve. You will wonder at my better scholarship; but
when I was abroad, I had the best teachers, and I worked hard, because my
progress pleased him. He is kind, Jeanie, only he has much to distress
him, especially when he looks backward. When I look backward myself, I
have always a ray of comfort: it is in the generous conduct of a sister,
who forsook me not when I was forsaken by every one. You have had your
reward. You live happy in the esteem and love of all who know you, and I
drag on the life of a miserable impostor, indebted for the marks of
regard I receive to a tissue of deceit and lies, which the slightest
accident may unravel. He has produced me to his friends, since the estate
opened to him, as a daughter of a Scotchman of rank, banished on account
of the Viscount of Dundee's wars--that is, our Fr's old friend Clavers,
you know--and he says I was educated in a Scotch convent; indeed, I lived
in such a place long enough to enable me to support the character. But
when a countryman approaches me, and begins to talk, as they all do, of
the various families engaged in Dundee's affair, and to make inquiries
into my connections, and when I see his eye bent on mine with such an
expression of agony, my terror brings me to the very risk of detection.
Good-nature and politeness have hitherto saved me, as they prevented
people from pressing on me with distressing questions. But how long--O
how long, will this be the case!--And if I bring this disgrace on him, he
will hate me--he will kill me, for as much as he loves me; he is as
jealous of his family honour now, as ever he was careless about it. I
have been in England four months, and have often thought of writing to
you; and yet, such are the dangers that might arise from an intercepted
letter, that I have hitherto forborne. But now I am obliged to run the
risk. Last week I saw your great friend, the D. of A. He came to my box,
and sate by me; and something in the play put him in mind of
you--Gracious Heaven! he told over your whole London journey to all who
were in the box, but particularly to the wretched creature who was the
occasion of it all. If he had known--if he could have conceived, beside
whom he was sitting, and to whom the story was told!--I suffered with
courage, like an Indian at the stake, while they are rending his fibres
and boring his eyes, and while he smiles applause at each well-imagined
contrivance of his torturers. It was too much for me at last, Jeanie--I
fainted; and my agony was imputed partly to the heat of the place, and
partly to my extreme sensibility; and, hypocrite all over, I encouraged
both opinions--anything but discovery! Luckily, _he_ was not there. But
the incident has more alarms. I am obliged to meet your great man often;
and he seldom sees me without talking of E. D. and J. D., and R. B. and
D. D., as persons in whom my amiable sensibility is interested. My
amiable sensibility!!!--And then the cruel tone of light indifference
with which persons in the fashionable world speak together on the most
affecting subjects! To hear my guilt, my folly, my agony, the foibles and
weaknesses of my friends--even your heroic exertions, Jeanie, spoken of
in the drolling style which is the present tone in fashionable
life--Scarce all that I formerly endured is equal to this state of
irritation--then it was blows and stabs--now it is pricking to death
with needles and pins.--He--I mean the D.--goes down next month to spend
the shooting-season in Scotland--he says, he makes a point of always
dining one day at the Manse--be on your guard, and do not betray
yourself, should he mention me--Yourself, alas! _you_ have nothing to
betray--nothing to fear; you, the pure, the virtuous, the heroine of
unstained faith, unblemished purity, what can you have to fear from the
world or its proudest minions? It is E. whose life is once more in your
hands--it is E. whom you are to save from being plucked of her borrowed
plumes, discovered, branded, and trodden down, first by him, perhaps,
who has raised her to this dizzy pinnacle!--The enclosure will reach you
twice a-year--do not refuse it--it is out of my own allowance, and may
be twice as much when you want it. With you it may do good--with me it
never can.
"Write to me soon, Jeanie, or I shall remain in the agonising
apprehension that this has fallen into wrong hands--Address simply to L.
S., under cover, to the Reverend George Whiterose, in the Minster-Close,
York. He thinks I correspond with some of my noble Jacobite relations who
are in Scotland. How high-church and jacobitical zeal would burn in his
checks, if he knew he was the agent, not of Euphemia Setoun, of the
honourable house of Winton, but of E. D., daughter of a Cameronian
cowfeeder!--Jeanie, I can laugh yet sometimes--but God protect you from
such mirth.--My father--I mean your father, would say it was like the
idle crackling of thorns; but the thorns keep their poignancy, they
remain unconsumed. Farewell, my dearest Jeanie--Do not show this even to
Mr. Butler, much less to any one else. I have every respect for him, but
his principles are over strict, and my case will not endure severe
handling.--I rest your affectionate sister, E."
In this long letter there was much to surprise as well as to distress
Mrs. Butler. That Effie--her sister Effie, should be mingling freely in
society, and apparently on not unequal terms, with the Duke of Argyle,
sounded like something so extraordinary, that she even doubted if she
read truly. Not was it less marvellous, that, in the space of four years,
her education should have made such progress. Jeanie's humility readily
allowed that Effie had always, when she chose it, been smarter at her
book than she herself was, but then she was very idle, and, upon the
whole, had made much less proficiency. Love, or fear, or necessity,
however, had proved an able school-mistress, and completely supplied all
her deficiencies.
What Jeanie least liked in the tone of the letter, was a smothered degree
of egotism. "We should have heard little about her," said Jeanie to
herself, "but that she was feared the Duke might come to learn wha she
was, and a' about her puir friends here; but Effie, puir thing, aye looks
her ain way, and folk that do that think mair o' themselves than of their
neighbours.--I am no clear about keeping her siller," she added, taking
up a L50 note which had fallen out of the paper to the floor. "We hae
eneugh, and it looks unco like theftboot, or hushmoney, as they ca' it;
she might hae been sure that I wad say naething wad harm her, for a' the
gowd in Lunnon. And I maun tell the minister about it. I dinna see that
she suld be sae feared for her ain bonny bargain o' a gudeman, and that I
shouldna reverence Mr. Butler just as much; and sae I'll e'en tell him,
when that tippling body the Captain has ta'en boat in the morning.--But I
wonder at my ain state of mind," she added, turning back, after she had
made a step or two to the door to join the gentlemen; "surely I am no sic
a fule as to be angry that Effie's a braw lady, while I am only a
minister's wife?--and yet I am as petted as a bairn, when I should bless
God, that has redeemed her from shame, and poverty, and guilt, as ower
likely she might hae been plunged into."
Sitting down upon a stool at the foot of the bed, she folded her arms
upon her bosom, saying within herself, "From this place will I not rise
till I am in a better frame of mind;" and so placed, by dint of tearing
the veil from the motives of her little temporary spleen against her
sister, she compelled herself to be ashamed of them, and to view as
blessings the advantages of her sister's lot, while its embarrassments
were the necessary consequences of errors long since committed. And thus
she fairly vanquished the feeling of pique which she naturally enough
entertained, at seeing Effie, so long the object of her care and her
pity, soar suddenly so high above her in life, as to reckon amongst the
chief objects of her apprehension the risk of their relationship being
discovered.
When this unwonted burst of _amour propre_ was thoroughly subdued, she
walked down to the little parlour where the gentlemen were finishing
their game, and heard from the Captain a confirmation of the news
intimated in her letter, that the Duke of Argyle was shortly expected at
Roseneath.
"He'll find plenty of moor-fowls and plack-cock on the moors of
Auchingower, and he'll pe nae doubt for taking a late dinner, and a ped
at the Manse, as he has done pefore now."
"He has a gude right, Captain," said Jeanie.
"Teil ane potter to ony ped in the kintra," answered the Captain. "And ye
had potter tell your father, puir body, to get his beasts a' in order,
and put his tamn'd Cameronian nonsense out o' his head for twa or three
days, if he can pe so opliging; for fan I speak to him apout prute
pestil, he answers me out o' the Pible, whilk is not using a shentleman
weel, unless it be a person of your cloth, Mr. Putler."
No one understood better than Jeanie the merit of the soft answer, which
turneth away wrath; and she only smiled, and hoped that his Grace would
find everything that was under her father's care to his entire
satisfaction.
But the Captain, who had lost the whole postage of the letter at
backgammon, was in the pouting mood not unusual to losers, and which,
says the proverb, must be allowed to them.
"And, Master Putler, though you know I never meddle with the things of
your kirk-sessions, yet I must pe allowed to say that I will not be
pleased to allow Ailie MacClure of Deepheugh to be poonished as a witch,
in respect she only spaes fortunes, and does not lame, or plind, or
pedevil any persons, or coup cadger's carts, or ony sort of mischief; put
only tells people good fortunes, as anent our poats killing so many seals
and doug-fishes, whilk is very pleasant to hear."
"The woman," said Butler, "is, I believe, no witch, but a cheat: and it
is only on that head that she is summoned to the kirk-session, to cause
her to desist in future from practising her impostures upon ignorant
persons."
"I do not know," replied the gracious Duncan, "what her practices or
postures are, but I pelieve that if the poys take hould on her to duck
her in the Clachan purn, it will be a very sorry practice--and I pelieve,
moreover, that if I come in thirdsman among you at the kirk-sessions, you
will be all in a tamn'd pad posture indeed."
Without noticing this threat, Mr. Butler replied, "That he had not
attended to the risk of ill-usage which the poor woman might undergo at
the hands of the rabble, and that he would give her the necessary
admonition in private, instead of bringing her before the assembled
session."
"This," Duncan said, "was speaking like a reasonable shentleman;" and so
the evening passed peaceably off.
Next morning, after the Captain had swallowed his morning draught of
Athole brose, and departed in his coach and six, Mrs. Butler anew
deliberated upon communicating to her husband her sister's letter. But
she was deterred by the recollection, that, in doing so, she would unveil
to him the whole of a dreadful secret, of which, perhaps, his public
character might render him an unfit depositary. Butler already had reason
to believe that Effie had eloped with that same Robertson who had been a
leader in the Porteous mob, and who lay under sentence of death for the
robbery at Kirkcaldy. But he did not know his identity with George
Staunton, a man of birth and fortune, who had now apparently reassumed
his natural rank in society. Jeanie had respected Staunton's own
confession as sacred, and upon reflection she considered the letter of
her sisteras equally so, and resolved to mention the contents to no one.
On reperusing the letter, she could not help observing the staggering and
unsatisfactory condition of those who have risen to distinction by undue
paths, and the outworks and bulwarks of fiction and falsehood, by which
they are under the necessity of surrounding and defending their
precarious advantages. But she was not called upon, she thought, to
unveil her sister's original history--it would restore no right to any
one, for she was usurping none--it would only destroy her happiness, and
degrade her in the public estimation. Had she been wise, Jeanie thought
she would have chosen seclusion and privacy, in place of public life and
gaiety; but the power of choice might not be hers. The money, she
thought, could not be returned without her seeming haughty and unkind.
She resolved, therefore, upon reconsidering this point, to employ it as
occasion should serve, either in educating her children better than her
own means could compass, or for their future portion. Her sister had
enough, was strongly bound to assist Jeanie by any means in her power,
and the arrangement was so natural and proper, that it ought not to be
declined out of fastidious or romantic delicacy. Jeanie accordingly wrote
to her sister, acknowledging her letter, and requesting to hear from her
as often as she could. In entering into her own little details of news,
chiefly respecting domestic affairs, she experienced a singular
vacillation of ideas; for sometimes she apologised for mentioning things
unworthy the notice of a lady of rank, and then recollected that
everything which concerned her should be interesting to Effie. Her
letter, under the cover of Mr. Whiterose, she committed to the
post-office at Glasgow, by the intervention of a parishioner who had
business at that city.
The next week brought the Duke to Roseneath, and shortly afterwards he
intimated his intention of sporting in their neighbourhood, and taking
his bed at the Manse; an honour which he had once or twice done to its
inmates on former occasions.
Effie proved to be perfectly right in her auticipations. The Duke had
hardly set himself down at Mrs. Butler's right hand, and taken upon
himself the task of carving the excellent "barn-door chucky," which had
been selected as the high dishes upon this honourable occasion, before he
began to speak of Lady Staunton of Willingham, in Lincolnshire, and the
great noise which her wit and beauty made in London. For much of this
Jeanie was, in some measure, prepared--but Effie's wit! that would never
have entered into her imagination, being ignorant how exactly raillery in
the higher rank resembles flippancy among their inferiors.
"She has been the ruling belle--the blazing star--the universal toast of
the winter," said the Duke; "and is really the most beautiful creature
that was seen at court upon the birth-day."
The birthday! and at court!--Jeanie was annihilated, remembering well her
own presentation, all its extraordinary circumstances, and particularly
the cause of it.
"I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. Butler," said the Duke,
"because she has something in the sound of her voice, and cast of her
countenance, that reminded me of you--not when you look so pale
though--you have over-fatigued yourself--you must pledge me in a glass
of wine."
She did so, and Butler observed, "It was dangerous flattery in his Grace
to tell a poor minister's wife that she was like a court-beauty."
"Oho, Mr. Butler," said the Duke, "I find you are growing jealous; but
it's rather too late in the day, for you know how long I have admired
your wife. But seriously, there is betwixt them one of those inexplicable
likenesses which we see in countenances, that do not otherwise resemble
each other."
"The perilous part of the compliment has flown off," thought Mr. Butler.
His wife, feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced herself to say,
"That, perhaps, the lady might be her countrywoman, and the language
might have made some resemblance."
"You are quite right," replied the Duke. "She is a Scotch-woman, and
speaks with a Scotch accent, and now and then a provincial word drops out
so prettily, that it is quite Doric, Mr. Butler."
"I should have thought," said the clergyman, "that would have sounded
vulgar in the great city."
"Not at all," replied the Duke; "you must suppose it is not the broad
coarse Scotch that is spoken in the Cowgate of Edinburgh, or in the
Gorbals. This lady has been very little in Scotland, in fact she was
educated in a convent abroad, and speaks that pure court-Scotch, which
was common in my younger days; but it is so generally disused now, that
it sounds like a different dialect, entirely distinct from our modern
_patois._"
Notwithstanding her anxiety, Jeanie could not help admiring within
herself, how the most correct judges of life and manners can be imposed
on by their own preconceptions, while the Duke proceeded thus: "She is of
the unfortunate house of Winton, I believe; but, being bred abroad, she
had missed the opportunity of learning her own pedigree, and was obliged
to me for informing her, that she must certainly come of the Setons of
Windygoul. I wish you could have seen how prettily she blushed at her own
ignorance. Amidst her noble and elegant manners, there is now and then a
little touch of bashfulness and conventual rusticity, if I may call it
so, that makes her quite enchanting. You see at once the rose that had
bloomed untouched amid the chaste precincts of the cloister, Mr. Butler."
True to the hint, Mr. Butler failed not to start with his
"Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis," etc.,
while his wife could hardly persuade herself that all this was spoken of
Effie Deans, and by so competent a judge as the Duke of Argyle; and had
she been acquainted with Catullus, would have thought the fortunes of her
sister had reversed the whole passage.
She was, however, determined to obtain some indemnification for the
anxious feelings of the moment, by gaining all the intelligence she
could; and therefore ventured to make some inquiry about the husband of
the lady his Grace admired so much.
"He is very rich," replied the Duke; "of an ancient family, and has good
manners: but he is far from being such a general favourite as his wife.
Some people say he can be very pleasant--I never saw him so; but should
rather judge him reserved, and gloomy, and capricious. He was very wild
in his youth, they say, and has bad health; yet he is a good-looking man
enough--a great friend of your Lord High Commissioner of the Kirk, Mr.
Butler."
"Then he is the friend of a very worthy and honourable nobleman," said
Butler.
"Does he admire his lady as much as other people do?" said Jeanie, in a
low voice.
"Who--Sir George? They say he is very fond of her," said the Duke; "but I
observe she trembles a little when he fixes his eye on her, and that is
no good sign--But it is strange how I am haunted by this resemblance of
yours to Lady Staunton, in look and tone of voice. One would almost swear
you were sisters."
Jeanie's distress became uncontrollable, and beyond concealment. The Duke
of Argyle was much disturbed, good-naturedly ascribing it to his having
unwittingly recalled, to her remembrance her family misfortunes. He was
too well-bred to attempt to apologise; but hastened to change the
subject, and arrange certain points of dispute which had occurred betwixt
Duncan of Knock and the minister, acknowledging that his worthy
substitute was sometimes a little too obstinate, as well as too
energetic, in his executive measures.
Mr. Butler admitted his general merits; but said, "He would presume to
apply to the worthy gentleman the words of the poet to Marrucinus
Asinius,
Manu
Non belle uteris in joco atque vino."
The discourse being thus turned on parish business, nothing farther
occurred that can interest the reader.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH.
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd by an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.
Macbeth.
After this period, but under the most strict precautions against
discovery, the sisters corresponded occasionally, exchanging letters
about twice every year. Those of Lady Staunton spoke of her husband's
health and spirits as being deplorably uncertain; her own seemed also to
be sinking, and one of the topics on which she most frequently dwelt was
their want of family. Sir George Staunton, always violent, had taken some
aversion at the next heir, whom he suspected of having irritated his
friends against him during his absence; and he declared, he would
bequeath Willingham and all its lands to an hospital, ere that
fetch-and-carry tell-tale should inherit an acre of it.
"Had he but a child," said the unfortunate wife, "or had that luckless
infant survived, it would be some motive for living and for exertion. But
Heaven has denied us a blessing which we have not deserved."
Such complaints, in varied form, but turning frequently on the same
topic, filled the letters which passed from the spacious but melancholy
halls of Willingham, to the quiet and happy parsonage at Knocktarlitie.
Years meanwhile rolled on amid these fruitless repinings. John, Duke of
Argyle and Greenwich, died in the year 1743, universally lamented, but by
none more than by the Butlers, to whom his benevolence had been so
distinguished. He was succeeded by his brother Duke Archibald, with whom
they had not the same intimacy; but who continued the protection which
his brother had extended towards them. This, indeed, became more
necessary than ever; for, after the breaking out and suppression of the
rebellion in 1745, the peace of the country, adjacent to the Highlands,
was considerably disturbed. Marauders, or men that had been driven to
that desperate mode of life, quartered themselves in the fastnesses
nearest to the Lowlands, which were their scene of plunder; and there is
scarce a glen in the romantic and now peaceable Highlands of Perth,
Stirling, and Dumbartonshire, where one or more did not take up their
residence.
The prime pest of the parish of Knocktarlitie was a certain Donacha dhu
na Dunaigh, or Black Duncan the Mischievous, whom we have already
casually mentioned. This fellow had been originally a tinkler, or
_caird,_ many of whom stroll about these districts; but when all police
was disorganised by the civil war, he threw up his profession, and from
half thief became whole robber; and being generally at the head of three
or four active young fellows, and he himself artful, bold, and well
acquainted with the passes, he plied his new profession with emolument to
himself, and infinite plague to the country.
All were convinced that Duncan of Knock could have put down his namesake
Donacha any morning he had a mind; for there were in the parish a set of
stout young men, who had joined Argyle's banner in the war under his old
friend, and behaved very well on several occasions. And as for their
leader, as no one doubted his courage, it was generally supposed that
Donacha had found out the mode of conciliating his favour, a thing not
very uncommon in that age and country. This was the more readily
believed, as David Deans's cattle (being the property of the Duke) were
left untouched, when the minister's cows were carried off by the thieves.
Another attempt was made to renew the same act of rapine, and the cattle
were in the act of being driven off, when Butler, laying his profession
aside in a case of such necessity, put himself at the head of some of his
neighbours, and rescued the creagh, an exploit at which Deans attended in
person, notwithstanding his extreme old age, mounted on a Highland pony,
and girded with an old broadsword, likening himself (for he failed not to
arrogate the whole merit of the expedition) to David, the son of Jesse,
when he recovered the spoil of Ziklag from the Amalekites. This spirited
behaviour had so far a good effect, that Donacha dhu na Dunaigh kept his
distance for some time to come; and, though his distant exploits were
frequently spoken of, he did not exercise any depredations in that part
of the country. He continued to flourish, and to be heard of
occasionally, until the year 1751, when, if the fear of the second David
had kept him in check, fate released him from that restraint, for the
venerable patriarch of St. Leonard's was that year gathered to his
fathers.
David Deans died full of years and of honour. He is believed, for the
exact time of his birth is not known, to have lived upwards of ninety
years; for he used to speak of events as falling under his own knowledge,
which happened about the time of the battle of Bothwell Bridge. It was
said that he even bore arms there; for once, when a drunken Jacobite
laird wished for a Bothwell Brigg whig, that "he might stow the lugs out
of his head," David informed him with a peculiar austerity of
countenance, that, if he liked to try such a prank, there was one at his
elbow; and it required the interference of Butler to preserve the peace.
He expired in the arms of his beloved daughter, thankful for all the
blessings which Providence had vouchsafed to him while in this valley of
strife and toil--and thankful also for the trials he had been visited
with; having found them, he said, needful to mortify that spiritual pride
and confidence in his own gifts, which was the side on which the wily
Enemy did most sorely beset him. He prayed in the most affecting manner
for Jeanie, her husband, and her family, and that her affectionate duty
to the puir auld man might purchase her length of days here, and
happiness hereafter; then, in a pathetic petition, too well understood by
those who knew his family circumstances, he besought the Shepherd of
souls, while gathering his flock, not to forget the little one that had
strayed from the fold, and even then might be in the hands of the
ravening wolf.--He prayed for the national Jerusalem, that peace might be
in her land, and prosperity in her palaces--for the welfare of the
honourable House of Argyle, and for the conversion of Duncan of
Knockdunder. After this he was silent, being exhausted, nor did he again
utter anything distinctly. He was heard, indeed, to mutter something
about national defections, right-hand extremes, and left-hand failings
off; but, as May Hettly observed, his head was carried at the time; and
it is probable that these expressions occurred to him merely out of
general habit, and that he died in the full spirit of charity with all
men. About an hour afterwards he slept in the Lord.
Notwithstanding her father's advanced age, his death was a severe shock
to Mrs. Butler. Much of her time had been dedicated to attending to his
health and his wishes, and she felt as if part of her business in the
world was ended, when the good old man was no more. His wealth, which
came nearly to fifteen hundred pounds, in disposable capital, served to
raise the fortunes of the family at the Manse. How to dispose of this sum
for the best advantage of his family, was matter of anxious consideration
to Butler. "If we put it on heritable bond, we shall maybe lose the
interest; for there's that bond over Lounsbeck's land, your father could
neither get principal nor interest for it--If we bring it into the funds,
we shall maybe lose the principal and all, as many did in the South Sea
scheme. The little estate of Craigsture is in the market--it lies within
two miles of the Manse, and Knock says his Grace has no thought to buy
it. But they ask L2500, and they may, for it is worth the money; and were
I to borrow the balance, the creditor might call it up suddenly, or in
case of my death my family might be distressed."
"And so if we had mair siller, we might buy that bonny pasture-ground,
where the grass comes so early?" asked Jeanie.
"Certainly, my dear; and Knockdunder, who is a good judge, is strongly
advising me to it. To be sure it is his nephew that is selling it."
"Aweel, Reuben," said Jeanie, "ye maun just look up a text in Scripture,
as ye did when ye wanted siller before--just look up a text in the
Bible."
"Ah, Jeanie," said Butler, laughing and pressing her hand at the same
time, "the best people in these times can only work miracles once."
"We will see," said Jeanie composedly; and going to the closet in which
she kept her honey, her sugar, her pots of jelly, her vials of the more
ordinary medicines, and which served her, in short, as a sort of
store-room, she jangled vials and gallipots, till, from out the darkest
nook, well flanked by a triple row of bottles and jars, which she was
under the necessity of displacing, she brought a cracked brown cann, with
a piece of leather tied over the top. Its contents seemed to be written
papers, thrust in disorder into this uncommon _secre'taire._ But from
among these Jeanie brought an old clasped Bible, which had been David
Deans's companion in his earlier wanderings, and which he had given to
his daughter when the failure of his eyes had compelled him to use one of
a larger print. This she gave to Butler, who had been looking at her
motions with some surprise, and desired him to see what that book could
do for him. He opened the clasps, and to his astonishment a parcel of L50
bank-notes dropped out from betwixt the leaves, where they had been
separately lodged, and fluttered upon the floor. "I didna think to hae
tauld you o' my wealth, Reuben," said his wife, smiling at his surprise,
"till on my deathbed, or maybe on some family pinch; but it wad be better
laid out on yon bonny grass-holms, than lying useless here in this auld
pigg."
"How on earth came ye by that siller, Jeanie?--Why, here is more than a
thousand pounds," said Butler, lifting up and counting the notes.
"If it were ten thousand, it's a' honestly come by," said Jeanie; "and
troth I kenna how muckle there is o't, but it's a' there that ever I
got.--And as for how I came by it, Reuben--it's weel come by, and
honestly, as I said before--And it's mair folk's secret than mine, or ye
wad hae kend about it lang syne; and as for onything else, I am not free
to answer mair questions about it, and ye maun just ask me nane."
"Answer me but one," said Butler. "Is it all freely and indisputably your
own property, to dispose of it as you think fit?--Is it possible no one
has a claim in so large a sum except you?"
"It _was_ mine, free to dispose of it as I like," answered Jeanie; "and I
have disposed of it already, for now it is yours, Reuben--You are Bible
Butler now, as well as your forbear, that my puir father had sic an ill
will at. Only, if ye like, I wad wish Femie to get a gude share o't when
we are gane."
"Certainly, it shall be as you choose--But who on earth ever pitched on
such a hiding-place for temporal treasures?"
"That is just ane o' my auld-fashioned gates, as you ca' them, Reuben. I
thought if Donacha Dhu was to make an outbreak upon us, the Bible was the
last thing in the house he wad meddle wi'--but an ony mair siller should
drap in, as it is not unlikely, I shall e'en pay it ower to you, and ye
may lay it out your ain way."
"And I positively must not ask you how you have come by all this money?"
said the clergyman.
"Indeed, Reuben, you must not; for if you were asking me very sair I wad
maybe tell you, and then I am sure I would do wrong."
"But tell me," said Butler, "is it anything that distresses your own
mind?"
"There is baith weal and woe come aye wi' world's gear, Reuben; but ye
maun ask me naething mair--This siller binds me to naething, and can
never be speered back again."
"Surely," said Mr. Butler, when he had again counted over the money, as
if to assure himself that the notes were real, "there was never man in
the world had a wife like mine--a blessing seems to follow her."
"Never," said Jeanie, "since the enchanted princess in the bairn's fairy
tale, that kamed gold nobles out o' the tae side of her haffit locks, and
Dutch dollars out o' the tother. But gang away now, minister, and put by
the siller, and dinna keep the notes wampishing in your hand that gate,
or I shall wish them in the brown pigg again, for fear we get a black
cast about them--we're ower near the hills in these times to be thought
to hae siller in the house. And, besides, ye maun gree wi' Knockdunder,
that has the selling o' the lands; and dinna you be simple and let him
ken o' this windfa', but keep him to the very lowest penny, as if ye had
to borrow siller to make the price up."
In the last admonition, Jeanie showed distinctly, that, although she did
not understand how to secure the money which came into her hands
otherwise than by saving and hoarding it, yet she had some part of her
father David's shrewdness, even upon worldly subjects. And Reuben Butler
was a prudent man, and went and did even as his wife had advised him. The
news quickly went abroad into the parish that the minister had bought
Craigsture; and some wished him joy, and some "were sorry it had gane out
of the auld name." However, his clerical brethren, understanding that he
was under the necessity of going to Edinburgh about the ensuing
Whitsunday, to get together David Deans's cash to make up the
purchase-money of his new acquisition, took the opportunity to name him
their delegate to the General Assembly, or Convocation of the Scottish
Church, which takes place usually in the latter end of the month of May.
