Friend Mac Donald Part 17

How can two affianced people know each other, even if for years they try ever so hard?

Love easily lives on trifles, flirtation, sentimental walks, _billets doux_, and so on. The sky is serene, the lovers sail on a smooth sea.

How can they know if they are really good sailors before they have encountered a storm?

When cares or misfortunes come, to say nothing of the price of b.u.t.ter and the length of the butcher's bill, then they make acquaintance. True love resists these shocks and comes out triumphant, but the _other_ kind succ.u.mbs.

Let lovers see each other every week, every day, if you will, their main pastime is the repet.i.tion of their vows: they learn nothing of married life. The apprenticeship has to begin all over again the day after the wedding. Lovers may see each other every day, it is true, but _every day_ is not _all day_. Lovers are always on their guard; they put a bridle on their tongues; before they meet, they are careful to look in the gla.s.s and see that nothing is amiss with their toilet; but when they are one each side of the bedroom fireplace, he in slippers and smoking-cap and she in curl-papers, then comes the test.

Familiarity breeds contempt, says the English proverb. The love that is not based on deep-rooted friendship, on solid virtues, on an amiable philosophy, and careful diplomacy, will not survive two years of matrimonial life. Scarcely any of these things are called into requisition during the courtship, and this is how _mariages de convenance_ often turn out better than love-matches. Matrimony is a huge lottery in both cases.

I prefer the love-making and matrimonial processes of England and Scotland to our own French ones; but if I had a marriageable daughter, I should be sorry to see her give her heart to a man who could not marry her for several years.

The danger with long engagements is that they often do not end in matrimony, and in such a case a young girl's future is blighted.

I do not know if you are of my opinion, dear Reader, but, according to my taste, making love to a girl who has been engaged five or six years, is like sitting down to a dish of _rechauffe_. Seeing the liberty that British usage accords to engaged couples, I maintain that pure as the lady may be and is, she is none the less a flower that has been breathed upon and has lost some of its value. For my part, I should always be afraid to give her a kiss, for fear she should pout and seem to say:

"Jack's kisses were far nicer than that!"

I extract the following anecdote from the Memoirs of Doctor John Brown, a well-known Scotch divine.

The doctor, it appears, had for six years and a half been engaged to be married to a certain lady, when it occurred to him that matters were no further advanced than on the day when he had asked her for her heart and its dependencies. The position became intolerable: the doctor had not yet ventured on anything less ceremonious than shaking hands with his lady-love. To touch her hand was something, and perhaps the reverend gentleman thought, with our French poet:

_Ce gage d'amitie plus qu'un autre me touche: Un serrement de main vaut dix serments de bouche._

However, one day, he summoned up all his courage, and, as they sat in solemn silence, said suddenly:

"Janet, we've been acquainted noo six years an' mair, and I've ne'er gotten a kiss yet. D' ye think I might take one, my bonnie la.s.s?"

"What, noo, at once?" cried Janet rather taken by surprise.

"Yes, noo."

"Just as you like, John; only be becoming and proper wi' it."

"Surely, Janet, and we'll ask a blessing first," said the young doctor.

The blessing was asked, the kiss was taken, and the worthy divine, perfectly overcome with the blissful sensation, rapturously exclaimed:

"Eh, la.s.s, but it is guid. We'll return thanks."

This they did, and the biographer adds that, six months later, this pious couple were made one flesh and lived a long life of happy usefulness.

The following little scene, of which a friend was witness in Scotland, will show that if Scotch people in general can see through a joke, there are also a few who belong to the type described by Sydney Smith, and for whom the _surgical operation_ is a sad necessity.

Several persons had met together in a Scotch drawing-room, and were pa.s.sing the evening in playing at simple games. One of these games consisted in each person going out of the room in turn, while the company agreed upon a word to be guessed at by the absent member on his or her return.

A young lady had just gone out of the room.

During her absence the word _pa.s.sionately_ was chosen.

The young lady having been recalled, each member of the party in turn went through a little performance that should lead her to guess the word, addressing her in pa.s.sionate language, while expressing with the features as much love, despair, or anger, as possible.

A Scotchman, who looked ill at ease, whispered in my friend's ear:

"What must I do?"

"Try to look madly in love," said my friend, ready to burst out laughing at the sight of the long serious face of his neighbour.

"Couldn't you suggest me something to say?"

"Why, make the young lady a declaration of love. Say: 'It is useless to hide my feelings from you any longer; I love you, I adore you,' and then throw yourself at her feet and----"

"Excuse me," said the poor fellow quite upset, "but I'm married."

When the young lady came to him, he begged her politely to excuse him, and thought himself safe; unhappily he was not at the end of his troubles yet.

My friend, whose turn came next, threw himself on his knees, and, with haggard eyes and ruffled hair, thus addressed her:

"Dear young lady, this gentleman, whom you see at my side, is nervous and shy; he loves you and dares not to tell his love."

"But, excuse me," cried the Scotchman.

"Listen not to him, he is dying of love. If you do not return his flame, I know him, he will do something desperate. Have pity on him, dear lady, have pity."

"_Pa.s.sionately!_" cried the young girl.

The worthy Scot, who had not been able to screw up his courage to play the part of a pa.s.sionate lover, was soon after missed from the company.

CHAPTER XVII.

Donald is not easily knocked down. -- He calmly contemplates Death, especially other People's. -- A thoughtful Wife. -- A very natural Request. -- A Consolable Father. -- "Job," 1st Chapter, 21st Verse. -- Merry Funerals. -- They manage Things better in Ireland. -- Gone just in Time. -- Touching Funeral Orations.

If folks do not laugh much at a wedding in Scotland, they make up for it at a funeral.

Let me hasten to say, that I am sure it would be insulting the reader's intelligence to tell him that this applies only to the lower cla.s.ses.

As a good Christian and a man who has led a busy and useful life, Donald calmly contemplates the approach of death--especially other people's.

Death is always near, he says to himself, and a wise man should not be alarmed at its approach.

Thus fortified with wisdom, he calmly looks the evil in the face, and lets it not disturb his little jog-trot existence. This does not imply that he is wanting in affection, it only means that he accepts the inevitable without murmuring, and that in him reason has the mastery over sentiment.

A _guid_ wife would say to her husband in the most natural way in the world: