Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume X Part 10

or "ashes from the burning mountains." But, on the occasion to which we refer, there was an exhibition in the shape of a theatrical booth, which presented extraordinary attractions for May Darling; and, accordingly, after deliberately balancing the gratification which she antic.i.p.ated with the expense which it would cost (her exchequer was, of course, not very rich), she at length found herself comfortably seated near the front of the stage. The tragedy of "George Barnwell" was going off with prodigious _eclat_; and the performers had arrived at that scene where the hero is about to a.s.sa.s.sinate his uncle, when the insecure props that supported the gallery began to indicate a disposition to disenc.u.mber themselves of their burden, and at last finally gave way. The confusion which now ensued, not to mention the shrieks and other vocal notes of terror and dismay, it is needless to describe--these have nothing to do with our tale. Barnwell, instead of imbruing his hands in innocent blood, even "in jest," became the most active agent in rescuing his hapless audience from their perilous situation. He was a tall, handsome young man, of a very prepossessing exterior, and appeared to great advantage in his showy stage habiliments. The general rush was towards the door, the most likely avenue of escape which presented itself to the astonished rustics; but a few, amongst whom was our heroine, with more collected judgment and presence of mind, found a place of security on the stage. May was slightly bruised in her endeavours to shelter her young charge; and, although not much injured, her forlorn yet interesting appearance drew the attention of the histrionic Samaritan, and he kindly conducted her into the back settlements of the theatre.

The affair was not of such a serious nature as might have been antic.i.p.ated. A few dilapidated seats, and a score or two of trifling contusions, made up the sum total of the damage. A hat or two might have changed owners in the confusion; but these are things beneath the dignity of a tragedian to look after; and, as soon as matters were adjusted on the grand theatre of commotion, he returned to the object of his first solicitude. She was seated on a stool in what was dignified with the sounding appellation of a green-room--looking paler, and lovelier, and more loveable than ever. He quieted her apprehensions with respect to the catastrophe; for he was an adept in the art of imitation, and politely requested the honour of conducting her to her place of residence. It is not difficult to conceive what was the first impression which the request made upon the mind of May Darling; but the scruples of modest, virgin innocence yielded at last to the importunities of the actor, and they left the scene of mirth and confusion together.

On their journey homewards, the conversation naturally turned upon the drama; and many a fine pa.s.sage, which May admired, was recited to her with all the eloquence and stage artifice which the actor was master of.

And he would speak feelingly of "the gentle lady married to the Moor"--her love--the love of Desdemona, pure, exalted, all-enduring, such as death alone could quench--her wo and her fate, so replete with all that can agonise the human soul, and awaken its profoundest sympathies;--of Ophelia--"the fair Ophelia," the young, the beautiful, and the gentle--her devoted, child-like affection, her mournful distraction, and her untimely doom;--of Miranda, the island bride--the being of enchantment--half-earthly, half-heavenly--around whom the spirits of the air hovered, and ministered unto as va.s.sals;--of Imogen, the fair and faithful--the patient, long-suffering, and finally fortunate Imogen;--of Cordelia--she of the seraph-spirit, pure and peaceful--whose love for a father surpa.s.sed that of the Roman daughter;--of Perdita, "the prettiest low-born la.s.s that ever ran on the greensward"--the shepherdess and the princess;--of Juliet--the martyr of pa.s.sion--she who drew poison from earth's sweetest flower, love, and died thereby; by love's own flame "kindled she was and blasted." These, and many other creations of fancy, which omnipotent genius has rendered almost real historical personages--not shadow, but substance--were the topics of discourse which were handled by our hero of the buskin, until the cottage of John Darling was reached. From the description which has been given of May's character, it need be no matter of surprise that the impression made upon her gentle bosom was profound; and, on taking leave of her, a request on the part of Mr Henry Wilkinson (such was the tragedian's name) to be permitted to visit her on some future occasion, made under cover of a pretext to inquire after the state of her health, was acceded to. Again and again Mr Wilkinson visited the cottage, and poured into the ear of the humble, unsuspecting, and happy inmate many a story of love, and hope, and joy--such as his knowledge of the drama, which was great, supplied him with.

"These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline; But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up his discourse."

Subst.i.tute the name of May Darling for that of Desdemona, and the description becomes perfect of our heroine's situation, whilst the result was similar: in a short time, the happiness of our village maiden was entirely at the disposal of Mr Wilkinson. Hitherto her heart had slept, like some untroubled lake, reflecting only heaven, and nature grand and beautiful around; but now its waters were darkened and disturbed by one single image--and that was her lover's. Her ears were no longer open to the murmurs of her native stream, or the gush of song of the fairy-winged and fairy-plumaged birds, whom she almost knew one from another: she only heard the music of her lover's voice. Her secluded dell was no longer visited alone: her walks were no longer solitary, or, if they were, it was only to meet him whom her heart loved, and to see if his speed "kept pace with her expectancy."

Everything was beheld through one all-hallowing atmosphere--and that was love. It lay upon her soul like the shadow on the sundial, and time was measured by it. How, it will be asked, was all this looked upon by her father? With no favourable eye--nay, with many suspicious forebodings and prophetic fears.

It was about three months after the catastrophe which took place in the provincial theatre, that Mr Wilkinson made proposals of a union to May, which, being accepted, the consent of her parent was next applied for.

The advances of the actor were for a time checked by an uncompromising refusal; but May's father gradually became less peremptory, until there remained only one objection, but that was insurmountable--namely, the profession of Mr Wilkinson--one, in general, very obnoxious to a Scottish peasant. It was, however, finally obviated, by the actor's promising to abandon it, and become a teacher of elocution in the town of H----. The father's consent was obtained at last, though with reluctance, and the day of their nuptials was fixed.

It was a beautiful evening, that which preceded the day when May Darling was to give her hand to the man for whom her heart cherished a love as deep, intense, and concentrated, as ever was awakened and nursed in woman's gentle bosom. The sun--just sinking through those vast ma.s.ses of clouds which usually attend his exit, and a.s.sume, as he descends, various wild and fantastical shapes, and catch every hue, from the intense purple to the scarcely perceptible yellow--showered on the face of nature a stream of rich but mellowed radiance, which softened without obliterating the outlines of objects, and produced that "clear obscure, so softly dark, so darkly pure," which is so favourable to indulgence in tender emotions.

"Sweet hour that wakes the wish and melts the heart!"--

sweet hour, when reflection is deepest and feeling most profound--when the mind, abroad all day, busied with the concerns of this work-a-day world, comes home to itself, and broods, and sleeps, and dreams golden dreams--sunny, hope-illumined dreams!--sweet hour, when the ties of social being which the day had severed are reunited, and around the household hearth the "old familiar faces" are a.s.sembled!--sweet hour, when the shades of evening, gradually deepening, are sufficient to conceal the blush which might mantle beauty's cheek, too warmly, fondly pressed, as, in a voice half-sighs, half-whispers, she confesses the secret of her love; and when, in the arms which gently enfold her yielding form, she seems, in the fine language of Rogers, to become less and less earthly,

"And fades at last into a spirit from heaven!"

'Twas at this enchanting hour that Wilkinson and his betrothed set out on one of those charming walks during which they had so often exchanged vows of mutual and eternal love. The road which they at first took was sufficiently retired to admit of their conversing aloud with unreserved confidence; but, continuing their journey, unconscious where they were going, they found themselves at last in the vicinity of the high road which leads to the town of H----. Turning to strike down a narrow hedgerow path, a moving spectacle presented itself to their observation.

Upon a gra.s.sy knoll lay a female fast asleep, with a child at her breast, vainly attempting to force its little fingers within the folds of the handkerchief which concealed the bosom of its mother. May uttered a faint exclamation, somewhat between pity and fear; for she was taken by surprise. But her lover's astonishment was still greater than hers; for, after he had contemplated the careworn features of the wayfarer, he started, and, had not the increasing gloom of evening prevented any change of countenance from being perceptible, May might have seen his face turn ashy pale; but she felt the arm in which hers was fondly locked tremble distinctly.

"This touches your feelings, Henry," said May; "but can we not, love, do something to alleviate the sufferings of this, no doubt, unfortunate female? Had I not better awake her, and conduct her to my father's, where refreshment and rest can be procured?"

"Nay, dearest love," said Wilkinson; "sleep is to the wretched the greatest boon that can be bestowed: let us leave her alone, nor deprive her of the only comfort which, possibly, she is capable of enjoying."

So saying, he hastily retired, bearing May, somewhat reluctantly, homewards; for her sympathy was much excited, and she would fain have carried her generous purpose into effect; but gave way to the entreaties of her lover, who had some miles to walk ere he could reach his place of residence. After seeing May safely beneath the domestic roof, Wilkinson bade farewell for the night to his betrothed bride, and took his departure, with the intention, he said, of immediately returning to H----. He did not proceed directly home, however; but, making a retrograde movement, he fell back upon the place where the fatigued traveller had been seen. She was gone when he arrived; and whether the circ.u.mstance gave him pleasure or the reverse, we have never been able to ascertain; but, at all events, he now set out in good earnest for H----. What should have interested Wilkinson so much in this apparently wandering mendicant?--_Pacienza_.

On the evening which we have described, let the reader picture to himself two aged crones, comfortably seated upon a rough slab of wood, elevated two feet or so above the ground, by a ma.s.sive block of granite which supported either end. This, together with the cottage wall against which their backs reclined, might, even with individuals more fastidious than its present occupants, have appeared a luxury little inferior to a sofa, especially in that bland and beautiful hour when daylight dies along the hills, and our feelings, partaking of the softness of the scene and hour, dispose us to be pleased, we ask not why, and care not wherefore. On either hand was situated a door, over which hung suspended a very homely signboard. From one of these the wayfarer might learn that good entertainment for man and beast could be supplied within, by Janet Baird, who, it appeared, was, by special permission of government, permitted to retail spirits, porter, ale, and other items. Lest any mistake should occur as to the nature of the invitation (or perhaps it was a ruse to provoke the alimentary faculties), there was a painting of the interior, representing a table, which seemed to groan under the weight of bottles, gla.s.ses, porter and ale cans, bread, cheese, and what not; whilst two jolly companions, with rubicund faces, where an infinity of good-nature predominated, sat round it, each with a cup in hand, and both evidently sublimed by their potations far above this "dirty planet, the earth." At the entrance to the apartment was seen the landlady, who with one hand pushed open the door, whilst the other, projecting forwards, supported a huge tankard, charged with the favourite beverage, which mantled or effloresced at the top like a cauliflower. The neighbouring sign had fewer attractions for the weary traveller or the droughty villager, throwing out merely hints as to the condition of the reader's linen, by intimating that clothes might here undergo purification, and be mangled by the hour or _peace_ (such was the orthography) by Nelly Gray.

The two neighbours lived on terms of the utmost harmony; for there was no rivalry of interests. Their callings were antipodes to each other--one being devoted to the decoration and comfortable appearance of the human exterior, whilst the other took special cognisance of the internal condition of the animal economy. They, of course, carried on a mutual traffic; but it was on the primitive principle of barter--the weekly account for washing and dressing which Janet owed being duly balanced by her accommodating Nelly with a certain potent nostrum, which we shall not name, but merely describe as a sovereign remedy for aching bones and pains, and other complaints of the stomach, to which this petticoat Diogenes (for she likewise practised in a tub) was very subject, especially after washing a whole day, or impelling her crazy, creaking machine for the same s.p.a.ce of time. It was their invariable practice to spend an hour or two every evening in what is termed in the vernacular a "twa-handed crack," either seated out-doors, or snugly immured in Janet's back parlour--a small dark room, enc.u.mbered with sundry articles of retail. The subject of their conversation, on the present occasion, will immediately become apparent.

"They say he's gaun to learn folk ellykeashun," said Janet, in reference to May's lover.

"And what's that, Janet?" asked the other.

"Ne'er a bit o' me kens very weel," rejoined Janet; "but I'm thinkin it's the way the gentry speak, eghin and owin, and sichin and sabbin, and makin yer voice gang up and doun, like daft Jock playin on the fife."

"Ay! ay! that's an idle kind o' way o' makin ane's bread," sighed Nelly.

"It's naething else than beggin. He'd better pit a nappin-hammer in his hand, and tak the roadside for an honest livelihood."

"'Deed, Nelly, it's my opinion he's been on the road before, followin anither trade," said Janet. "I'm sair mistaen if he's no a hempie; and we'll maybe hear mair aboot him yet than some folks wad like to ken o'.

I never liked your land-loupers and spoutin gentry a' my days. They're nae better than tinklers, that carry aff whatever they lay their hands on, nae matter whether it's beast or body. It cowes the gowan hoo sae sensible a man as John Darling wad e'er hae looten his dochter tak up wi' sic-like clam-jamphrey. But he was aye owre easy wi' his family, and gied them owre muckle o' their ain wull frae the first. But the mother was sair to blame in pittin sic daft-like notions intil a bairn's head as to read playactorin books and novels. Wae am I to say sae, noo that she's whar the Lord wull."

"Is't true, Janet, that they're to be coupled i' the kirk?" asked Nelly.

"They say the minister's taen an unco likin to the lad; and, to mak things look as genteel as possible, he's offered the use o' the kirk for marryin them in; and's to gie them a ploy forbye, after it's a' owre."

"Guid faith, it's a true sayin, 'The fat sow gets a' the draff,'"

rejoined Janet. "It wad be lang or he did a turn like that for ony puir body like oorsels. The birkie doesna stand in need o' cash; for he gies saxpence to this ane, and a shillin to the t.i.ther ane, for gangin errans. He micht hae provided something for the waddin folks doun at Michael Crummie's, whase tred's no sae brisk noo, sin' that kick-up wi'

him and the mason-lodge folk, wha swore he gied them up ill whusky--and that was maybe nae lee. He ne'er, since ever I mind, keepit the real stuff, like that o' mine. But see, Nelly, whatna puir, waebegone-lookin cratur's that comin alang the road, scarcely able to trail ae leg after anither? and a bairn, too, help us a'!"

The object which drew the attention of the honest ale-wife was, as the reader may have already sagaciously conjectured, the same forlorn being whom May Darling and her lover had accidentally encountered. With a slow and faltering step she approached the village dames, and inquired of them how far it was from the town of H----.

"Five miles guid," said Janet Baird, and continued--"But ye'll no think o' gaun there the nicht; it's gettin dark, and ye've mair need o' a while's rest; and maybe ye wadna be the waur o' something to support nature; for, wae's me! ye do look thin and hungert like! Tak her in by, Nelly, and I'll fetch her some cordial, as weel as a morsel to eat."

So saying, she proceeded to her shop, for the purpose of making good her word, whilst Nelly followed up that part of the duty of relieving the stranger which devolved upon her, and conducted the "wearied one" into the interior of her humble domicile.

"Ye'll hae travelled a gey bit the day, na, I sudna wonder?" said Nelly.

"Yes," said the stranger, whom we shall now designate as Mrs B----.

"Since morning I have prosecuted my journey with all the speed which want and weariness would permit of. But these were nothing, did I only know how it was to terminate."

Meantime Janet had returned, bearing in her ap.r.o.n an ample stock of provisions; and, having heard the latter part of Mrs B----'s reply to Nelly, her curiosity was not a little excited to know something of her history. This she set about with the characteristic _pawkiness_ (there is no purely English word sufficiently expressive) of the Scotch--that style of speaking which is half-asking, half-answering a question; and she was successful in her endeavours.

"It'll be the guidman that ye're gaun to meet at H----?" said Janet.

"He'll be in the manufacturing line, nae doot; for there's little else dune there; and, indeed, that itsel has faun sair aff sin' that dirt o'

machinery was brocht in to tak the bread oot o' the puir man's mou."

"Yes--no; he is not in that line, nor do I know, indeed, if he is to be found there at all. But--but--excuse me, kind friends, for showing a little reserve touching one who----"

Here, however, her feelings overcame her; and, turning round to gaze on the helpless being that clung to her bosom, tears from her suffused eyes began to find a ready pa.s.sage down her pale emaciated cheek--a channel with which they appeared to be familiar.

"He never saw thee, my little Henry, my sweet boy! Methinks, that cherub smile of innocence which lies upon that countenance would be powerful enough to melt the icy feelings of his soul, and recall ----. Pardon me, kind friends," she continued; "but the name of husband is a.s.sociated in my mind with all that human nature can suffer of unmitigated, hopeless wretchedness. You see before you the victim of ----. But you shall hear all."

She then commenced her history, recounting every circ.u.mstance of a tale of misery but too common. As it is in some measure connected with that of May Darling, we shall give a few of its leading facts.

She was the daughter of a respectable farmer in the north of England, and, being an only child, received an accomplished education; and, from her engaging manners, personal attractions, and skill in music, she was much courted, even by those who moved in the higher circles. At the house of a neighbouring clergyman, Mr G----, she was a very frequent visiter; and her charms captivated the heart of Dr G----, a young medical gentleman, and the nephew of the clergyman. On her part, however, there was no attachment, although the ardour with which Dr G---- pressed his suit might have captivated a bosom less stubborn than hers. But another idol was shrined and secretly worshipped there. This was a Mr Henry Bolton, a fellow-student of Dr G----'s, who, in calling at the house of Mr G---- to see his friend the doctor, was induced to spend a few days with him. His stay was protracted to weeks, months--in short, till the farmer's daughter and he, having come to an understanding with respect to the all-important matter of love, agreed to join hands for better, for worse. The marriage took place at a neighbouring town, where the couple remained for several months, living in a state of great privacy, for no one was in the secret of their union, not even the lady's father. The finances of Mr Bolton became exhausted; and a letter from his father having shut out all hope of succour from that quarter, he was thrown into a state of extreme dejection. His temper soured, and harshness towards his wife soon followed; for an application on her part to her father, to whom she was compelled by necessity to reveal her situation, met with a reception similar to the other. One day, he dressed himself with more than usual care, packed up in a small parcel the princ.i.p.al part of his body-clothes, and having told his wife that he meant to go as far as ----, naming a considerable town, which was situated at some miles distance, parted from her, like Ajut in "The Rambler," never to return.

The sun arose and set, and arose again and again, and week after week, but still he came not; nor was she ever able to obtain the faintest trace of him. Her health began to droop, and, in the depth of her humiliation and misery, like the prodigal of old, she was compelled to seek for shelter under the paternal roof. Her father received her even with kindness; for time, the softener of affliction, the soother of wrath, had not pa.s.sed over his head without exercising its due influence upon his feelings. Here she gave birth to a child, the baby which now lay at her breast. Time pa.s.sed away, and still no intelligence of her runaway husband reached her, till, "about a week back," she said, "communication was made me by letter, that, if I would repair to the town of H----, I would hear something of my lost husband. Without the knowledge of my father, I have undertaken the journey; and G.o.d alone knows whether the information, so mysteriously conveyed to me, be true or false--whether my hopes will be disappointed or realised. A few hours, however, will be sufficient to set my mind at rest. I have wearied you, I fear; but my present wretched appearance required some explanation on my part--for, oh, it is difficult to lie under the suspicion of being a vagrant or vagabond, as Heaven knows I am neither."

And, clasping her hands and raising her eyes, she remained for a few minutes in that reverential but death-like att.i.tude which is a.s.sumed when a human soul prays in agony.

Her painful narrative had its due influence upon the minds of those to whom it was addressed; and, although both admitted the propriety of proceeding to the town of H----, yet they earnestly exhorted her to remain with them for a night; and to this proposal she acceded. After breakfast next morning, Mrs B---- (who must now be looked upon as one of the princ.i.p.al of our _dramatis personae_) set out for the town of H----.

What the nature of her reflections were, as she drew near the termination of her journey, may be readily conceived; but of their intensity, no idea can be formed by any one except by the brokenhearted female who has pa.s.sed through the same fiery ordeal of desertion and despair. She had arrived within a short distance of the town, when a chaise, driving rapidly down the princ.i.p.al entrance to it, attracted her attention. It approached, and from the favours which profusely adorned the driver, his team, and his vehicle, it was evident that some happy pair were destined soon to become its occupants. The blinds were all drawn up; but, as the chaise pa.s.sed her, one of them was partially let down, and she heard some one from within instruct the driver to proceed to the manse by a road more retired than that usually taken. There was something in the tone of the voice (though indistinctly heard from the rattling of the wheels) which startled Mrs B---- from a reverie in which she had been indulging, and made every fibre of her body to thrill, as if an electric discharge had shot through it. In mute astonishment, not unmingled with thick-coming fancies, horrible forebodings, which, without a.s.suming any definite form, were prophetic of wo, she fixed her eyes upon the retiring vehicle, and, rooted to the spot where she stood, motionless as a Niobe of stone, gazed and gazed till her eyeb.a.l.l.s ached.

"Can it be?" she at last exclaimed, with wild emotion--"can it be?--No--no--'tis but fancy; yet the place!--gracious powers!" Her eyes continued to follow the retiring wheels, fixed upon them she knew not by what mysterious power; and long she might have remained in this position, had not some person from behind softly addressed her. She turned round, and her eyes fell upon her former suitor, Dr G----. Let her astonishment be imagined--we will not attempt to give words to her feelings.

"It is to you, then," she said, after recovering from her surprise--"it is to you, Dr G----, that I am indebted for information regarding my lost husband."

"It is," he replied; "but not a moment is to be lost. Things are in a worse condition than they were when I despatched my letter to you. But let us proceed instantly to Gra.s.syvale. On the way I will inform you of all that has come to my knowledge regarding that monster--it were a profanation of language to call him husband."

So saying, they commenced their journey, which we shall leave them to prosecute whilst we bring up some parts of our narrative which have been necessarily left in the rear.

We need hardly say that the morning of her marriage was an anxious and a busy one to May Darling. It is true that she had plenty of a.s.sistance afforded her by the village matrons, and by a few youthful a.s.sociates, whom she had singled out as especial favourites, from amongst many who were regarded by her with affection. But still a fastidiousness of taste always seizes people on those occasions when they are desirous of appearing to the best advantage. Besides, when there are a number of lady's-maids, all busily engaged in decorating a single individual, a difference of opinion relative to the various items of dress always takes place, and occasions much delay. One of them is clear that such and such a colour of riband will best suit the complexion of the wearer; another holds out strongly for an opposite hue; and a third silences them both by a.s.serting that neither answer the colour of the bonnet.

What sort of flowers would most fittingly ornament the hair was also a subject of protracted debate; and half-an-hour was wasted in determining whether the riband which was to circle her waist like a zone should hang down or not. Matters, however, were at last adjusted--the bride was arrayed, the hour of twelve was struck by a small wooden clock which ticked behind the door; and with the hour there arrived at the cottage a sort of rude palanquin, fashioned of birch-tree boughs, which intertwisted with each other, and were interwoven with branches of flowering shrubs; and upon this some of the kindest and blithest-hearted of the villagers had agreed to bear May to the kirk. Some modest scruples required to be overcome before she would be induced to avail herself of this mode of conveyance; and, after being seated, with the bridesmaid walking on one side, and John Darling on the other, the cavalcade began to move. Many hearty good wishes for the happiness of the bride from the elder people, and many joyous shouts from the younger part of the villagers, greeted the ears of the marriage party; whilst a pretty long train which drew itself out in the rear, sent up its rejoicings on the wind from a distance. But one step must bring us to the altar of Hymen. Side by side stood the bridegroom and the bride; and a more interesting, handsome, and apparently well-matched pair, never were seen in the same situation, as we are informed by the clergyman who officiated on the occasion. The ceremony proceeded with due formality--one moment more would have joined their hands, when a person who had just entered the church called to the clergyman to stay the nuptials; and, at the same moment, a shriek from a female who had entered along with him, rose so wild, thrilling, and distracted, that every bosom shook beneath its glittering attire.

"Base, inhuman miscreant!" shouted Dr G----, addressing himself to Wilkinson (which name must now be supplanted by his real one, Bolton), at the same time rushing forward to seize the bridegroom.

He, however, had ere this dropped the hand of May Darling--that hand which, till now, like Desdemona's, had "felt no age, nor known no sorrow"--and, unsheathing a dagger which was concealed about his person (doubtless one of his theatrical weapons), he threatened to make a ghost of any one who disputed his retreat from the church. His menacing att.i.tude and wild gesticulations terrified every beholder, and even Dr G---- gave way, allowing him unmolested to quit the sacred place which he was about to profane, and possibly might have stained with blood.

Only one attempted to arrest him, and for a short time succeeded. It was his wife--she who the night previously had kindled up in his soul the fires of conscience, as she lay asleep, unsheltered save by heaven's blue canopy, and apparently an abandoned outcast.