Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XVII Part 13

Thrice a hundred tapers burned suspended from the roof, and on each side of the hall stood twenty men with branches of blazing pine. Now came the morris dance, with the antique dress and strange att.i.tudes of the performers, which was succeeded by a dance of warriors in their coats of mail, and with their swords drawn. After these a masque, prepared by Thomas the Rymer, who sat on the right hand of the King, followed; and the company laughed, wept, and wondered, as the actors performed their parts before them.

But now came the royal dance; the music burst into a bolder strain, and lord and lady rose, treading the strange measure down the hall, after the King and his fair Queen. Louder, and yet more loud the music pealed; and, though it was midnight, the mult.i.tude without shouted at its enlivening strains. Blithely the dance went on, and the King well nigh forgot the measure as he looked enraptured in the fair face of his beauteous bride.

He turned to take her hand in the dance, and in its stead the bony fingers of a skeleton were extended to him. He shrank back aghast; for royalty shuddereth at the sight of Death as doth a beggar, and, in its presence, feeleth his power to be as the power of him who vainly commanded the waves of the sea to go back. Still the skeleton kept true measure before him--still it extended to him its bony hand. He fell back, in horror, against a pillar where a torch-bearer stood. The lovely Queen shrieked aloud, and fell as dead upon the ground. The music ceased--silence fell on the mult.i.tude--they stood still--they gazed on each other. Dismay caused the cold damp of terror to burst from every brow, and timid maidens sought refuge and hid their faces on the bosom of strangers. But still, visible to all, the spectre stood before the king, its bare ribs rattling as it moved, and its finger pointed towards him. The music, the dancers, became noiseless, as if Death had whispered--"_Hush_!--_be still_!" For the figure of death stood in the midst of them, as though it mocked them, and no sound was heard save the rattling of the bones, the moving of its teeth, and the motion of its fingers before the king.

The lord abbot gathered courage, he raised his crucifix from his breast, he was about to exorcise the strange spectre, when it bent its grim head before him, and vanished as it came--no man knew whither.

"Let the revels cease!" gasped the terror-stricken king; and they did cease. The day had begun in joy, it was ended in terror. Fear spread over the land, and while the strange tale of the marriage spectre was yet in the mouths of all men, yea before six months had pa.s.sed, the tidings spread that the good King Alexander, at whom the figure of Death had pointed its finger, was with the dead, and his young queen a widow in a strange land.

The appearance of the spectre became a tale of wonder amongst all men, descending from generation to generation, and unto this day it remains a mystery. But, on the day after the royal festival at Jedburgh, Patrick Douglas, the learned soldier, took the vows, and became a monastic brother at Melrose; and, though he spoke of Jolande in his dreams, he smiled, as if in secret triumph, when the spectre that had appeared to King Alexander was mentioned in his hearing.

THE SIMPLE MAN IS THE BEGGAR'S BROTHER.

"Many a time," said Nicholas Middlemiss, as he turned round the skirts and the sleeve of his threadbare coat to examine them, "many a time have I heard my mother say to my faither--'Roger, Roger (for that was my faither's name,) _the simple man is the beggar's brother_.' But, notwithstanding my mother's admonitions, my faither certainly was a very simple man. He allowed people to take him in, even while they were laughing in his face at his simplicity. I dinna think that ever there was a week but that somebody or other owrereached him, in some transaction or other; for every knave, kennin' him to be a simpleton, (a nosey-wax, as my mother said,) always laid their snares to entrap Roger Middlemiss--and his family were the sufferers. He had been a manufacturer in Langholm for many a long year, and at his death he left four brothers, a sister and mysel', four hundred pounds each. Be it remembered, however, that his faither before him left him near to three thousand, and that was an uncommon fortune in those days, a fortune I may say that my faither might have made his bairns dukes by.

Had he no been a simple man, his family might have said that they wouldna ca' the Duke o' Buccleuch their cousin. But he was simple--simplicity's sel'--(as my mother told him weel about it)--and he didna leave his bairns sae meikle to divide among them, as he had inherited from their grandfaither. Yet, if, notwithstanding his opportunities to make a fortune, he did not even leave us even what he had got, he at least left us his simpleness unimpaired. My brothers were honest men--owre honest, I am sorry to say, for the every-day transactions of this world--but they always followed the _obliging_ path, and kept their face in a direction, which, if they had had foresight enough to see it, was sure to land them _in_, or _on_,(just as ye like to take the expression,) their _native parish_. Now, this is a longing after the place o' one's birth for which I have no ambition; but on the parish it did land my brothers. My sister, too, was a poor simple thing, that married a man who had a wife living when he married her; and, after he had got every shilling that she had into his possession, he decamped and left her.

"But it is not the history of my brothers and sisters that I would tell you about, but my own. With the four hundred pounds which my faither left me, I began business as a linen manufacturer--that is, as a maister weaver, on what might be called a respectable scale. The year after I had commenced business upon my own account, and before I was two and twenty, I was taking a walk one Sunday afternoon on the Hawick road, along by Sorbie, and there I met the bonniest la.s.sie, I think, that I had ever seen. I was so struck wi' her appearance, that I actually turned round and followed her. She was dressed in a duffel coat or pelisse, which I think country folk call a _Joseph_; but I followed her at a distance, through fields and owre stiles, till I saw her enter a sma' farm-house. There were some bits o' bairns, apparently hinds' bairns, sitting round a sort o' duck-dub near the stackyard.

"'Wha lives there, dearies?' says I to them, pointing wi' my finger to the farm-house.

"'Ned Thomson,' says they.

"'And wha was that bonny la.s.sie,' asked I, 'that gaed in just the now?'

"'He! he! he!' the bairns laughed, and gaed me nae answer. So I put my question to them again, and ane o' the auldest o' them, a la.s.sie about thirteen, said--'It was the maister's daughter, sir, the laird's bonny Jenny--if ye like, I'll gang in and tell her that a gentleman wishes to speak to her.'

"I certainly was very proud o' the bairn taking me to be a gentleman; but I couldna think o' meeting Miss Thompson, even if she should come out to see me, wi' such an introduction, for I was sure I would make a fool o' mysel'; and I said to the bit la.s.sie--'No I thank ye, hinny; I'm obliged to ye'"

and a' her little companions 'he! he! he'd!' and laughed the louder at my expense; which, had I not been a simple man, I never would have placed it in their power to do.

"So I went away, thinking on her face as if I had been looking at it in a gla.s.s a' the time; and to make a long story short, within three months, Miss Jenny Thompson and me became particularly weel acquaint. But my mother, who had none o' the simpleness that came by my faither's side o'

the house, was then living; and when Jenny and I were on the eve o' being publicly cried in the kirk, she clapped her affidavit against it.

"'Nicol,' said she, 'son as ye are o' mine, ye're a poor simple goniel.

There isna a bairn that I have among ye to mend another. Ye are your faither owre again, every one o' ye--each one more simple than another.

Will ye marry a taupie that has nae recommendation but a doll's face, and bring shame and sorrow to your door?'

"I flew into a rampaging pa.s.sion wi' my mother, for levelling Jenny to either shame or sorrow: but she maintained that married we should not be, if she could prevent it; and she certainly said and did everything that lay in her power to render me jealous. She might as weel have lectured to a whinstane rock. I believed Jenny to be as pure as the dew that falleth upon a lily before sunrise in May. But on the very night before we were to be married, and when I went to fit on the gloves and the ring--to my horror and inexpressible surprise, who should I see in the farm-yard, (for it was a fine star-light night,) but my Jenny--my thrice cried bride--wi' her hand upon the shouther o' the auldest son o' her faither's laird, and his arm round her waist. My first impulse was to run into the stackyard where they were, and to knock him down; but he was a strong lad, and, thinks I, 'second thoughts are best.' I was resolved, however, that my mother should find I wasna such a simpleton as she gied me out to be--so I turned round upon my heel and went home saying to mysel, as the song says--

'If this be the way of courting a wife, I'll never look after another; But I'll away hame and live single my lane, And I'll away hame to my mother.'

When I went hame, and informed her o' what I had seen, and o' what I had dune, the auld woman clapped me upon the shouther, and says she--'Nicholas, my man, I am glad that yer ain een have been made a witness in the matter of which your mother forewarned ye. Ye was about to bring disgrace upon your family; but I trust ye have seen enough to be a warning to ye. O Nicholas! they that marry a wife merely for the sake o' a bonny face, or for being a smart dancer, or onything o' that kind, never repent it but once, and that is for ever. Marriage lad, lifts the veil from the face o'

beauty, and causes it to be looked upon as an every-day thing; and even if ye were short-sighted before, marriage will make ye see through spectacles that will suit your sight, whither ye will or no. Dinna think that I am against ye taking a wife; for I ken it is the best thing that a young man can do. Had your faither not married me when he did, he would hae died a beggar, instead o' leaving ye what he did. And especially a simple creature like you, Nicholas, needs one to take care o' him. But you must not expect to meet wi' such a one in every bonny face, handsome waist, or smart ancle that ye meet wi'. Na, na, lad; ye maun look to the heart, and the disposition or temper, and the affection for you. They are the grand points that ye are to study; and not the beauty o' the face, the shape o' the waist, (which a mantua-maker has a princ.i.p.al hand in making,) the colour o'

the een, or the texture o' the hair. Thae are things that are forgotten before ye hae been married a twalmonth; but the feelings o' the heart, and the sentiments o' the soul, aye rin pure, Nicholas, and grow stronger and stronger, just like a bit burn oozing frae a hill, and wimpling down its side, waxing larger and larger, and gathering strength on strength as it runs, until it meets the sea, like a great river; and even so it is wi' the affections o' the heart between man and wife, where they really love and understand each other; for they begin wi' the bit spring o' courtship, following the same course, gathering strength, and flowing side by side, until they fall into the ocean o' eternity, as a united river that cannot be divided! Na, son, if ye will take a wife, I hope ye hae seen enough to convince ye that she ought never to be the bonny Miss Thompson. But if I might advise ye in the matter, there is our own servant, Nancy Bowmaker, a young la.s.s, a weel-faured la.s.s, and as weel behaved as she is good-looking.

She has lived wi' us, now, for four years, and from term to term I never have had to quarrel her. I never saw her encouraging lads about the house--I never missed the value o' a prin since she came to it--I never even saw her light a candle at the fire, or keep the cruisy burning when she had naething to do but to spin, or to knit. Now, Nicholas, if ye will be looking after a wife, I say that ye canna do better than just draw up wi' Nancy Bowmaker.'

"So my mother ended her long-winded harangue; which I had hardly patience to listen to. In the course o' the week, the faither and brothers o' Miss Jenny Thompson called upon me, to see why I had not fulfilled my engagement, by taking her before the minister, and declaring her to be my wife. I stood before them like a man touched wi' a flash o' lightning--pale as death and trembling like a leaf. But, when they began to talk big owre me, and to threaten me wi' bringing the terrors o' the law upon my head--(and be it remembered I have an exceeding horror o' the law, and would rather lose a pound ony day, than spend six and eightpence, which is the least ye can spend on it)--as good luck would have it, while they were stamping their feet, and shaking their nieves in my face, my mother came forward to where we were standing, and says she to me--'Nicholas, what is a' this about? What does Mr Thompson and his sons want?'

"The very sound o' her voice inspired me; I regained my strength and my courage, as the eagle renews its age. And, simple man as I was--'Sir,' said I, 'what is it that ye mean? Gae ask your daughter wha it was that had his arm round her waist on Thursday night last, and her hand upon his shouther!

Go to _him_ to marry her!--but dinna hae the audacity to look me in the face.'

"'Weel said, Nicol,' whispered my mother, coming behint me, and clapping me on the back; 'aye act in that manner, my man.'

"And both her faithers and her brothers stood looking one to another for an answer, and slunk away without saying another word either about the law or our marriage. I found I had gotten the whip hand o' them most completely.

So, there never was another word between me and bonny Jenny Thompson, who, within a month, ran away wi' the son o' her faither's laird--and, poor hizzy, I am sorry to say, her end wasna a good one.

"My mother, however, always kept teasing me about Nancy Bowmaker, and saying what a notable wife she would make. Now, some folk are foolish enough to say that they couldna like onybody that was in a manner forced upon them. And, nae doubt, if either a faither or a mother, or onybody else that has power owre ye, says--'_Like_ such a one,' it is not in your power to comply, and actually love the person in obedience to a command. Yet this I will say, that my mother's sermons to me about Nancy Bowmaker, and my being always _evened_ to her upon that account, caused me to think more about her than I did concerning ony other woman under the sun. And ye canna think lang about ony la.s.s in particular, without beginning to have a sort o' regard for her, as it were. In short, I began to find that I liked Nancy just as weel as I had done Jenny; we, therefore, were married, and a most excellent and affectionate wife she has been to me, even to this day.

"It was now that I began the world in good earnest. But though my wife was an active woman, I was still the same simple, easy-imposed-upon sort o'

being that I had always been. Every rogue in the country-side very soon became acquainted wi' my disposition. I had no reason to complain of my business; for orders poured in upon me faster than I was able to supply them. Only, somehow or other--and I thought it very strange--money didna come in so fast as the orders. My wife said to me--'This trade will never do, Nicholas--ye will gang on trust, trusting, until ye trust yoursel' to the door. Therefore, do as I advise ye, and look after the siller.'

"'O my dear,' said I, 'they are good customers, and I canna offend them for the sake o' a few pounds. I have no doubt but they are safe enough.

"'Safe or no safe,' quoth she, 'get ye your accounts settled. Their siller will do as meikle for ye as their custom. Take a woman's advice for once, and remember, that, 'short accounts make long friends.' Look ye after your money.'

"I couldna but confess that there was a great deal o' truth in what Mrs Middlemiss (that is my wife) said to me. But I had not her turn for doing things. I could not be so sharp wi' folk, had it been to save my life. I never could affront onybody in my days. Yet I often wished that I could take her advice; for I saw people getting deeper and deeper into my books, without the prospect o' payment being made more manifest. Under such circ.u.mstances I began to think wi' her, that their siller would be as good as their custom--the one was not much worth without the other.

"But, just to give ye a few instances o' my simplicity:--I was walking, on a summer evening, as my custom was, about a mile out o' the town, when I overtook a Mr Swanston, a very respectable sort o' man, a neighbour, and an auld acquaintance, who appeared to be in very great tribulation. I think, indeed, that I never saw a fellow-creature in such visible distress. His countenance was perfectly wofu', and he was wringing his hands like a body dement.i.t.

"'Preserve us, Mr Swanston!' says I, 'what's the matter wi' ye?--has onything happened?'

"'Oh! happened!' said he; 'I'm a ruined man!--I wish that I had never been born!--that I had never drawn breath in this world o' villany! I believe I'll do some ill to mysel'.'

"'Dear me, Mr Swanston!' quoth I, 'I'm sorry to hear ye talk so. It is very unchristian-like to hear a body talking o' doing harm to theirsels. There is a poet, (Dr Young, if I mistake not,) that says--

'Self-murder! name it not, our island's shame!'

Now, I dinna like to hear ye talking in such a way; and though I have no wish to be inquisitive, I would just beg to ask what it is upon your mind that is making ye unhappy?'

"'Oh, Mr Middlemiss,' said he, 'it is o' no use telling ye o't, for I believe that sympathy has left this world, as weel as honesty.'

"'Ye're no very sure o' that, neighbour,' says I; 'and I dinna think that ye do mysel' and other people justice.'

"'Maybe not, sir,' said he; 'but is it not a hard case, that, after I have carried on business for more than twenty years, honestly and in credit wi'

all the world, that I should have to stop my business to-morrow, for the want o' three hundred pounds?'

"'It certainly is,' said I, 'a very hard case; but, dear me, Mr Swanston, I always thought that ye would be worth twenty shillings in the pound.'

"'So I am,' said he; 'I am worth twice twenty, if my things should be put up at their real value; but at present I canna command the ready money--and there is where the rock lies that I am to be wrecked upon.'

"'a.s.suredly,' returned I, 'three hundred pounds are no bauble. It requires a person to turn owre a number o' shillings to make them up. But I would think that, you having been so long in business, and always having borne an irreproachable character, it would be quite a possible thing for you to raise the money amongst your friends.'

"'Sir,' said he, 'I wouldna require them to raise the money, nor ever to advance or pay a farthing upon my account; all that I require is, that some sponsible person, such as yourself, would put their name to a bill for six months. There would be nothing but the signing o' the name required o'

them; and if you, sir, would so far oblige me, ye will save a neighbour from ruin.'

"I thought there was something very reasonable in what he said, and that it would be a grand thing if by the mere signing o' my name, I could save a fellow-creature and auld acquaintance from ruin, or from raising his hand against his own life. Indeed, I always felt a particular pleasure in doing a good turn to onybody. I therefore said to him--