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Georg Ebers - "The Story of My Life, Volume 4."

Samuel Pepys - "Diary of Samuel Pepys, December 1667"

Unknown - "The Bible, King James version, Book 32: Jonah"

Georg Ebers - "A Thorny Path, Volume 4."

Guy Mannering, Vol. I

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Guy Mannering, Vol. I




Mac-Morlan, in the transports of his wrath, flung the power of
attorney at the head of the innocent maidservant, and was only
forcibly withheld from horse-whipping the rascally messenger by
whose sloth and drunkenness the disappointment had taken place.




CHAPTER XV

My gold is gone, my money is spent,
My land now take it unto thee.
Give me thy gold, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my land shall be.

Then John he did him to record draw.
And John he caste him a gods-pennie;
But for every pounde that John agreed,
The land, I wis, was well worth three.

HEIR OF LINNE.


The Galwegian John o' the Scales was a more clever fellow than his
prototype. He contrived to make himself heir of Linne without the
disagreeable ceremony of 'telling down the good red gold.' Miss
Bertram no sooner heard this painful, and of late unexpected,
intelligence than she proceeded in the preparations she had
already made for leaving the mansion-house immediately. Mr. Mac-
Morlan assisted her in these arrangements, and pressed upon her so
kindly the hospitality and protection of his roof, until she
should receive an answer from her cousin, or be enabled to adopt
some settled plan of life, that she felt there would be unkindness
in refusing an invitation urged with such earnestness. Mrs. Mac-
Morlan was a ladylike person, and well qualified by birth and
manners to receive the visit, and to make her house agreeable to
Miss Bertram. A home, therefore, and an hospitable reception were
secured to her, and she went on with better heart to pay the wages
and receive the adieus of the few domestics of her father's
family.

Where there are estimable qualities on either side, this task is
always affecting; the present circumstances rendered it doubly so.
All received their due, and even a trifle more, and with thanks
and good wishes, to which some added tears, took farewell of their
young mistress. There remained in the parlour only Mr. Mac-Morlan,
who came to attend his guest to his house, Dominie Sampson, and
Miss Bertram. 'And now,' said the poor girl, 'I must bid farewell
to one of my oldest and kindest friends. God bless you, Mr.
Sampson, and requite to you all the kindness of your instructions
to your poor pupil, and your friendship to him that is gone. I
hope I shall often hear from you.' She slid into his hand a paper
containing some pieces of gold, and rose, as if to leave the room.

Dominie Sampson also rose; but it was to stand aghast with utter
astonishment. The idea of parting from Miss Lucy, go where she
might, had never once occurred to the simplicity of his
understanding. He laid the money on the table. 'It is certainly
inadequate,' said Mac-Morlan, mistaking his meaning, 'but the
circumstances--'

Mr. Sampson waved his hand impatiently.--'It is not the lucre, it
is not the lucre; but that I, that have ate of her father's loaf,
and drank of his cup, for twenty years and more--to think that I
am going to leave her, and to leave her in distress and dolour!
No, Miss Lucy, you need never think it! You would not consent to
put forth your father's poor dog, and would you use me waur than a
messan? No, Miss Lucy Bertram, while I live I will not separate
from you. I'll be no burden; I have thought how to prevent that.
But, as Ruth said unto Naomi, "Entreat me not to leave thee, nor
to depart from thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and where
thou dwellest I will dwell; thy people shall be my people, and thy
God shall be my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I
be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death
do part thee and me."'

During this speech, the longest ever Dominie Sampson was known to
utter, the affectionate creature's eyes streamed with tears, and
neither Lucy nor Mac-Morlan could refrain from sympathising with
this unexpected burst of feeling and attachment. 'Mr. Sampson,'
said Mac-Morlan, after having had recourse to his snuff-box and
handkerchief alternately, 'my house is large enough, and if you
will accept of a bed there while Miss Bertram honours us with her
residence, I shall think myself very happy, and my roof much
favoured, by receiving a man of your worth and fidelity.' And
then, with a delicacy which was meant to remove any objection on
Miss Bertram's part to bringing with her this unexpected
satellite, he added, 'My business requires my frequently having
occasion for a better accountant than any of my present clerks,
and I should be glad to have recourse to your assistance in that
way now and then.'

'Of a surety, of a surety,' said Sampson eagerly; 'I understand
book-keeping by double entry and the Italian method.'

Our postilion had thrust himself into the room to announce his
chaise and horses; he tarried, unobserved, during this
extraordinary scene, and assured Mrs. Mac-Candlish it was the most
moving thing he ever saw; 'the death of the grey mare, puir
hizzie, was naething till't.' This trifling circumstance
afterwards had consequences of greater moment to the Dominie.

The visitors were hospitably welcomed by Mrs. Mac-Morlan, to whom,
as well as to others, her husband intimated that he had engaged
Dominie Sampson's assistance to disentangle some perplexed
accounts, during which occupation he would, for convenience sake,
reside with the family. Mr. Mac-Morlan's knowledge of the world
induced him to put this colour upon the matter, aware that,
however honourable the fidelity of the Dominie's attachment might
be both to his own heart and to the family of Ellangowan, his
exterior ill qualified him to be a'squire of dames,' and rendered
him, upon the whole, rather a ridiculous appendage to a beautiful
young woman of seventeen.

Dominie Sampson achieved with great zeal such tasks as Mr. Mac-
Morlan chose to entrust him with; but it was speedily observed
that at a certain hour after breakfast he regularly disappeared,
and returned again about dinner-time. The evening he occupied in
the labour of the office. On Saturday he appeared before Mac-
Morlan with a look of great triumph, and laid on the table two
pieces of gold. 'What is this for, Dominie?' said Mac-Morlan.

'First to indemnify you of your charges in my behalf, worthy sir;
and the balance for the use of Miss Lucy Bertram.'

'But, Mr. Sampson, your labour in the office much more than
recompenses me; I am your debtor, my good friend.'

'Then be it all,' said the Dominie, waving his hand, 'for Miss
Lucy Bertram's behoof.'

'Well, but, Dominie, this money-'

'It is honestly come by, Mr. Mac-Morlan; it is the bountiful
reward of a young gentleman to whom I am teaching the tongues;
reading with him three hours daily.'

A few more questions extracted from the Dominie that this liberal
pupil was young Hazlewood, and that he met his preceptor daily at
the house of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, whose proclamation of Sampson's
disinterested attachment to the young lady had procured him this
indefatigable and bounteous scholar.

Mac-Morlan was much struck with what he heard. Dominie Sampson was
doubtless a very good scholar, and an excellent man, and the
classics were unquestionably very well worth reading; yet that a
young man of twenty should ride seven miles and back again each
day in the week, to hold this sort of TETE-A-TETE of three hours,
was a zeal for literature to which he was not prepared to give
entire credit. Little art was necessary to sift the Dominie, for
the honest man's head never admitted any but the most direct and
simple ideas. 'Does Miss Bertram know how your time is engaged, my
good friend?'

'Surely not as yet. Mr. Charles recommended it should be concealed
from her, lest she should scruple to accept of the small
assistance arising from it; but,' he added, 'it would not be
possible to conceal it long, since Mr. Charles proposed taking his
lessons occasionally in this house.'

'O, he does!' said Mac-Morlan.' Yes, yes, I can understand that
better. And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three hours entirely
spent inconstruing and translating?'

'Doubtless, no; we have also colloquial intercourse to sweeten
study: neque semper arcum tendit apollo.'

The querist proceeded to elicit from this Galloway Phoebus what
their discourse chiefly turned upon.

'Upon our past meetings at Ellangowan; and, truly, I think very
often we discourse concerning Miss Lucy, for Mr. Charles Hazlewood
in that particular resembleth me, Mr. Mac-Morlan. When I begin to
speak of her I never know when to stop; and, as I say (jocularly),
she cheats us out of half our lessons.'

'O ho!' thought Mac-Morlan, 'sits the wind in that quarter? I've
heard something like this before.'

He then began to consider what conduct was safest for his
protegee, and even for himself; for the senior Mr. Hazlewood was
powerful, wealthy, ambitious, and vindictive, and looked for both
fortune and title in any connexion which his son might form. At
length, having the highest opinion of his guest's good sense and
penetration, he determined to take an opportunity, when they
should happen to be alone, to communicate the matter to her as a
simple piece of intelligence. He did so in as natural a manner as
he could. 'I wish you joy of your friend Mr. Sampson's good
fortune, Miss Bertram; he has got a pupil who pays him two guineas
for twelve lessons of Greek and Latin.'

'Indeed! I am equally happy and surprised. Who can be so liberal?
is Colonel Mannering returned?'

'No, no, not Colonel Mannering; but what do you think of your
acquaintance, Mr. Charles Hazlewood? He talks of taking his
lessons here; I wish we may have accommodation for him.'

Lucy blushed deeply. 'For Heaven's sake, no, Mr. Mac-Morlan, do
not let that be; Charles Hazlewood has had enough of mischief
about that already.'

'About the classics, my dear young lady?' wilfully seeming to
misunderstand her; 'most young gentlemen have so at one period or
another, sure enough; but his present studies are voluntary.'

Miss Bertram let the conversation drop, and her host made no
effort to renew it, as she seemed to pause upon the intelligence
in order to form some internal resolution.

The next day Miss Bertram took an opportunity of conversing with
Mr. Sampson. Expressing in the kindest manner her grateful thanks
for his disinterested attachment, and her joy that he had got such
a provision, she hinted to him that his present mode of
superintending Charles Hazlewood's studies must be so inconvenient
to his pupil that, while that engagement lasted, he had better
consent to a temporary separation, and reside either with his
scholar or as near him as might be. Sampson refused, as indeed she
had expected, to listen a moment to this proposition; he would not
quit her to be made preceptor to the Prince of Wales. 'But I see,'
he added, 'you are too proud to share my pittance; and
peradventure I grow wearisome unto you.'

'No indeed; you were my father's ancient, almost his only, friend.
I am not proud; God knows, I have no reason to be so. You shall do
what you judge best in other matters; but oblige me by telling Mr.
Charles Hazlewood that you had some conversation with me
concerning his studies, and that I was of opinion that his
carrying them on in this house was altogether impracticable, and
not to be thought of.'

Dominie Sampson left her presence altogether crest-fallen, and, as
he shut the door, could not help muttering the 'varium et
mutabile' of Virgil. Next day he appeared with a very rueful
visage, and tendered Miss Bertram a letter. 'Mr. Hazlewood,' he
said, 'was to discontinue his lessons, though he had generously
made up the pecuniary loss. But how will he make up the loss to
himself of the knowledge he might have acquired under my
instruction? Even in that one article of writing,--he was an hour
before he could write that brief note, and destroyed many scrolls,
four quills, and some good white paper. I would have taught him in
three weeks a firm, current, clear, and legible hand; he should
have been a calligrapher,--but God's will be done.'

The letter contained but a few lines, deeply regretting and
murmuring against Miss Bertram's cruelty, who not only refused to
see him, but to permit him in the most indirect manner to hear of
her health and contribute to her service. But it concluded with
assurances that her severity was vain, and that nothing could
shake the attachment of Charles Hazlewood.

Under the active patronage of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, Sampson picked up
some other scholars--very different indeed from Charles Hazlewood
in rank, and whose lessons were proportionally unproductive.
Still, however, he gained something, and it was the glory of his
heart to carry it to Mr. Mac-Morlan weekly, a slight peculium only
subtracted to supply his snuff-box and tobacco-pouch.

And here we must leave Kippletringan to look after our hero, lest
our readers should fear they are to lose sight of him for another
quarter of a century.




CHAPTER XVI

Our Polly is a sad slut, nor heeds what we have taught her,
I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter,
For when she's drest with care and cost, all tempting, fine,
and gay,
As men should serve a cucumber, she flings herself away.

Beggar's Opera.


After the death of Mr. Bertram, Mannering had set out upon a short
tour, proposing to return to the neighbourhood of Ellangowan
before the sale of that property should take place. He went,
accordingly, to Edinburgh and elsewhere, and it was in his return
towards the south-western district of Scotland, in which our scene
lies, that, at a post-town about a hundred miles from
Kippletringan, to which he had requested his friend, Mr. Mervyn,
to address his letters, he received one from that gentleman which
contained rather unpleasing intelligence. We have assumed already
the privilege of acting a secretis to this gentleman, and
therefore shall present the reader with an extract from this
epistle.

'I beg your pardon, my dearest friend, for the pain I have given
you in forcing you to open wounds so festering as those your
letter referred to. I have always heard, though erroneously
perhaps, that the attentions of Mr. Brown were intended for Miss
Mannering. But, however that were, it could not be supposed that
in your situation his boldness should escape notice and
chastisement. Wise men say that we resign to civil society our
natural rights of self-defence only on condition that the
ordinances of law should protect us. Where the price cannot be
paid, the resignation becomes void. For instance, no one supposes
that I am not entitled to defend my purse and person against a
highwayman, as much as if I were a wild Indian, who owns neither
law nor magistracy. The question of resistance or submission must
be determined by my means and situation. But if, armed and equal
in force, I submit to injustice and violence from any man, high or
low, I presume it will hardly be attributed to religious or moral
feeling in me, or in any one but a Quaker. An aggression on my
honour seems to me much the same. The insult, however trifling in
itself, is one of much deeper consequence to all views in life
than any wrong which can be inflicted by a depredator on the
highway, and to redress the injured party is much less in the
power of public jurisprudence, or rather it is entirely beyond its
reach. If any man chooses to rob Arthur Mervyn of the contents of
his purse, supposing the said Arthur has not means of defence, or
the skill and courage to use them, the assizes at Lancaster or
Carlisle will do him justice by tucking up the robber; yet who
will say I am bound to wait for this justice, and submit to being
plundered in the first instance, if I have myself the means and
spirit to protect my own property? But if an affront is offered to
me, submission under which is to tarnish my character for ever
with men of honour, and for which the twelve judges of England,
with the chancellor to boot, can afford me no redress, by what
rule of law or reason am I to be deterred from protecting what
ought to be, and is, so infinitely dearer to every man of honour
than his whole fortune? Of the religious views of the matter I
shall say nothing, until I find a reverend divine who shall
condemn self-defence in the article of life and property. If its
propriety in that case be generally admitted, I suppose little
distinction can be drawn between defence of person and goods and
protection of reputation. That the latter is liable to be assailed
by persons of a different rank in life, untainted perhaps in
morals, and fair in character, cannot affect my legal right of
self-defence. I may be sorry that circumstances have engaged me in
personal strife with such an individual; but I should feel the
same sorrow for a generous enemy who fell under my sword in a
national quarrel. I shall leave the question with the casuists,
however; only observing, that what I have written will not avail
either the professed duellist or him who is the aggressor in a
dispute of honour. I only presume to exculpate him who is dragged
into the field by such an offence as, submitted to in patience,
would forfeit for ever his rank and estimation in society.

'I am sorry you have thoughts of settling in Scotland, and yet
glad that you will still be at no immeasurable distance, and that
the latitude is all in our favour. To move to Westmoreland from
Devonshire might make an East-Indian shudder; but to come to us
from Galloway or Dumfries-shire is a step, though a short one,
nearer the sun. Besides, if, as I suspect, the estate in view be
connected with the old haunted castle in which you played the
astrologer in your northern tour some twenty years since, I have
heard you too often describe the scene with comic unction to hope
you will be deterred from making the purchase. I trust, however,
the hospitable gossiping Laird has not run himself upon the
shallows, and that his chaplain, whom you so often made us laugh
at, is still in rerum natura.

'And here, dear Mannering, I wish I could stop, for I have
incredible pain in telling the rest of my story; although I am
sure I can warn you against any intentional impropriety on the
part of my temporary ward, Julia Mannering. But I must still earn
my college nickname of Downright Dunstable. In one word, then,
here is the matter.

'Your daughter has much of the romantic turn of your disposition,
with a little of that love of admiration which all pretty women
share less or more. She will besides, apparently, be your heiress;
a trifling circumstance to those who view Julia with my eyes, but
a prevailing bait to the specious, artful, and worthless. You know
how I have jested with her about her soft melancholy, and lonely
walks at morning before any one is up, and in the moonlight when
all should be gone to bed, or set down to cards, which is the same
thing. The incident which follows may not be beyond the bounds of
a joke, but I had rather the jest upon it came from you than me.

'Two or three times during the last fortnight I heard, at a late
hour in the night or very early in the morning, a flageolet play
the little Hindu tune to which your daughter is so partial. I
thought for some time that some tuneful domestic, whose taste for
music was laid under constraint during the day, chose that silent
hour to imitate the strains which he had caught up by the ear
during his attendance in the drawing-room. But last night I sat
late in my study, which is immediately under Miss Mannering's
apartment, and to my surprise I not only heard the flageolet
distinctly, but satisfied myself that it came from the lake under
the window. Curious to know who serenaded us at that unusual hour,
I stole softly to the window of my apartment. But there were other
watchers than me. You may remember, Miss Mannering preferred that
apartment on account of a balcony which opened from her window
upon the lake. Well, sir, I heard the sash of her window thrown
up, the shutters opened, and her own voice in conversation with
some person who answered from below. This is not "Much ado about
nothing"; I could not be mistaken in her voice, and such tones, so
soft, so insinuating; and, to say the truth, the accents from
below were in passion's tenderest cadence too,--but of the sense
I can say nothing. I raised the sash of my own window that I might
hear something more than the mere murmur of this Spanish
rendezvous; but, though I used every precaution, the noise alarmed
the speakers; down slid the young lady's casement, and the
shutters were barred in an instant. The dash of a pair of oars in
the water announced the retreat of the male person of the
dialogue. Indeed, I saw his boat, which he rowed with great
swiftness and dexterity, fly across the lake like a twelve-oared
barge. Next morning I examined some of my domestics, as if by
accident, and I found the gamekeeper, when making his rounds, had
twice seen that boat beneath the house, with a single person, and
had heard the flageolet. I did not care to press any farther
questions, for fear of implicating Julia in the opinions of those
of whom they might be asked. Next morning, at breakfast, I dropped
a casual hint about the serenade of the evening before, and I
promise you Miss Mannering looked red and pale alternately. I
immediately gave the circumstance such a turn as might lead her to
suppose that my observation was merely casual. I have since caused
a watch-light to be burnt in my library, and have left the
shutters open, to deter the approach of our nocturnal guest; and I
have stated the severity of approaching winter, and the rawness of
the fogs, as an objection to solitary walks. Miss Mannering
acquiesced with a passiveness which is no part of her character,
and which, to tell you the plain truth, is a feature about the
business which I like least of all. Julia has too much of her own
dear papa's disposition to be curbed in any of her humours, were
there not some little lurking consciousness that it may be as
prudent to avoid debate.

'Now my story is told, and you will judge what you ought to do. I
have not mentioned the matter to my good woman, who, a faithful
secretary to her sex's foibles, would certainly remonstrate
against your being made acquainted with these particulars, and
might, instead, take it into her head to exercise her own
eloquence on Miss Mannering; a faculty which, however powerful
when directed against me, its legitimate object, might, I fear, do
more harm than good in the case supposed. Perhaps even you
yourself will find it most prudent to act without remonstrating,
or appearing to be aware of this little anecdote. Julia is very
like a certain friend of mine; she has a quick and lively
imagination, and keen feelings, which are apt to exaggerate both
the good and evil they find in life. She is a charming girl,
however, as generous and spirited as she is lovely. I paid her the
kiss you sent her with all my heart, and she rapped my fingers for
my reward with all hers. Pray return as soon as you can. Meantime
rely upon the care of, yours faithfully, 'ARTHUR MERVYN.

'P.S.--You will naturally wish to know if I have the least guess
concerning the person of the serenader. In truth, I have none.
There is no young gentleman of these parts, who might be in rank
or fortune a match for Miss Julia, that I think at all likely to
play such a character. But on the other side of the lake, nearly
opposite to Mervyn Hall, is a d--d cake-house, the resort of
walking gentlemen of all descriptions--poets, players, painters,
musicians--who come to rave, and recite, and madden about this
picturesque land of ours. It is paying some penalty for its
beauties, that they are the means of drawing this swarm of
coxcombs together. But were Julia my daughter, it is one of those
sort of fellows that I should fear on her account. She is generous
and romantic, and writes six sheets a week to a female
correspondent; and it's a sad thing to lack a subject in such a
case, either for exercise of the feelings or of the pen. Adieu,
once more. Were I to treat this matter more seriously than I have
done, I should do injustice to your feelings; were I altogether to
overlook it, I should discredit my own.'

The consequence of this letter was, that, having first despatched
the faithless messenger with the necessary powers to Mr. Mac-
Morlan for purchasing the estate of Ellangowan, Colonel Mannering
turned his horse's head in a more southerly direction, and neither
'stinted nor staid' until he arrived at the mansion of his friend
Mr. Mervyn, upon the banks of one of the lakes of Westmoreland.




CHAPTER XVII

Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters,
For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters,
Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye,
Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story.

POPE, imitated.


When Mannering returned to England, his first object had been to
place his daughter in a seminary for female education, of
established character. Not, however, finding her progress in the
accomplishments which he wished her to acquire so rapid as his
impatience expected, he had withdrawn Miss Mannering from the
school at the end of the first quarter. So she had only time to
form an eternal friendship with Miss Matilda Marchmont, a young
lady about her own age, which was nearly eighteen. To her faithful
eye were addressed those formidable quires which issued forth from
Mervyn Hall on the wings of the post while Miss Mannering was a
guest there. The perusal of a few short extracts from these may be
necessary to render our story intelligible.

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