M'Dow, as he ushered her into his kail-yard by a narrow
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted.
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v10 - Emp to Fro
The
multitude adores deities of flesh and blood; from them it hopes
to obtain a so-called fortune. The hearts of men are enchained
by the demon of avarice, which St. Paul calls an idolatry. It is
true indeed, with St. Chrysostom, that they no longer adore gods
of gold and silver,- they adore the gold and silver themselves,
and in them set all their hope; very far from selling all things,
like the primitive Christians, they never cease from buying;
nay, they acquire by ceaseless rapacity, by endless artifice,
and by the forceful use of authority. Look upon those Christians
who rend one another, who lacerate one another, who sharpen
their poison-dripping tongues, and fit weapons to their hands
that they may imbue them in the blood of their brethren! Be-
hold how they are lost to all sense of shame, sunk in their own
vile pleasures, brutalized by their monstrous passions! From
them God has withdrawn himself, and in his anger he has
given them over to the desires of their own hearts. They be-
lieve that they see and hear all things, yet in reality they see
and hear nothing. They walk as men who tremblingly feel their
way along the edge of an abyss. They are like tottering men
overpowered by drunkenness, and they will die ignorant of who
they are and whence they came.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature, by Rev. Thomas
J. Shahan.
## p. 5649 (#227) ###########################################
5649
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
(1782-1854)
F THE sprightly Edinburgh novelist Susan Edmonstone Fer-
rier, it is often said, more affectionately than accurately,
that she was a novelist who did for Scotland in her fiction
what her contemporaries Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth accom-
plished in their novels of English and Irish social life and character.
It should not be disputed, however, that Miss Ferrier merits a supe-
rior place in the circle of British novelists of the first half of the nine-
teenth century. She wrote only three novels,-Marriage' (1818),
'The Inheritance' (1824), and 'Destiny' (1831). They are all of the
old-fashioned length and minuteness of treatment: but they have the
quality of sincerity in every page; and in their ambitious titles and
elaborate detail they show that each work was broadly conceived and
was meant to illustrate some abstract central thought. Like Miss
Burney when giving 'Evelina' to the world, Miss Ferrier's first story
was published anonymously; but going further than Miss Burney in
her preference for being unrecognized as an author, it was not until
a very few years before Miss Ferrier's death that she allowed her
name to appear on the title-page of any of her tales. Professional
writing was distasteful to her; and it was only at the entreaty of a
friend that she made public her literary gift. Marriage' had been
shown only to intimate friends during eight years before she allowed
it to be published. But the success of her stories from the first was
complete. They were attributed to authors of high distinction,-
Professor John Wilson supposing that the first two at least were by
Scott, until it was admitted that a woman had written them.
Miss Ferrier was born in 1782, the youngest of ten children of
James Ferrier, a factor and friend of the fifth Duke of Argyll, and
for a time associated in a city office with Scott. Susan was an
amiable, quiet, and quick-witted girl, who received a careful educa-
tion. She had much natural vivacity, and in social life the same
shrewd humor and tendency toward satire that appears in her books.
A French quality suggesting La Bruyère (a special favorite with her)
was a note in her conversation as in her pages. But her intellect-
uality was matched with delightful tact, a warm heart, and delicacy
of feeling. She early had access to much of the distinguished society
of the Scotch capital, which included such literary men as Scott, Jef-
frey, Sir James Mackintosh, Professor Wilson, Joanna Baillie, Sydney
X-354
## p. 5650 (#228) ###########################################
5650
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Smith, and Macaulay. She also saw a good deal of merely fash-
ionable and wealthy social circles, English and Scotch, at home and
in London; making large use of their types in particular in her
fictions. Scott took a special interest in her, and she was one of his
last visitors at Abbotsford. To him she dedicated her last and per-
haps best tale, 'Destiny. ' Miss Ferrier's life grew more and more
retired as she advanced in years, and a failing eyesight which pres-
ently became nearly complete blindness secluded her from all except
an intimate group of friends. She died in Edinburgh in 1854.
Aside from her qualities as a literary woman, Miss Ferrier was an
amiable, unaffected lady, of high principle and simple and domestic
tastes. It is unfortunate that her correspondence, covering the letters
of many years, was almost entirely destroyed at her own request.
Miss Ferrier's novels are classed among "Scotch novels"; and as
to many passages, they deal with Scotch types. But they are not in
close touch with the Scotch novel as we understand it through Scott
and Galt. They offer no remarkable descriptions of Scotch scenery;
they have but moderate local color; they are almost entirely lacking
in romance; and there is none of the picturesqueness suggesting the
stage, which belongs to her contemporaries. She wrote very consid-
erably from the English point of view, describing Scottish family life.
of the period largely under modish South-British influences. Most
of her personages are rich English gentility, or pretentious Scotch.
persons of quality. She has relatively little to do with distinctive
Highland nobility or peasantry; and indeed where the authoress con-
cerns herself humorously with Scotch human nature and life she is
satirical. Relatively few of her characters speak in dialect,—even
among the middle-class types, where we can suppose that there
would have been propriety in Scotch words and phrases. There is
seldom opportunity for pathos, though in certain episodes she shows
due feeling. She strongly emphasizes religion and the "practice of
piety," in contrast to an irreligious and fashionable use of one's time,
-so much so that she makes in one of her prefaces an almost apolo-
getic reference to this element. As a novelist of plot, Miss Ferrier
is little more interesting than Miss Austen. But even in her stiffly
didactic analyses we find great clearness of thought as to human
nature, and a nice expression of it. Her readers will not be apt to
confuse with any other novelist's delineations such little portraits
as the pompous Lord Rossville, the impertinent Miss Pratt, the kindly
and devoted Mrs. Macaulay, the coarse and vulgar Rev. Mr. M'Dow,
the gossiping good-natured Mr. Ribley and the dictatorial wife of
his bosom, the two Misses Douglas, Jacky and Nicky, Mrs. Pullens,
strong in domestic economy, or bluff Uncle Adam. There is real
force in the longer studies, such as Glenroy, Lady Juliana Douglas,
## p. 5651 (#229) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5651
or the frivolous Lady Florinda Waldegrave and her even more friv-
olous mother, who in some sense anticipates Dickens's Mrs. Skewton.
Of her heroes and heroines it may be remarked that they are sensi-
ble and attractive young people, of the sort that even the modern
young man or young woman would be glad to marry, though one
would not be apt to fall into a frenzy of romantic fire and despair
for their sakes. Perhaps the most striking trait in her books is her
sharp vignettes of personages, the study sometimes only a half-page
long, in which she hits out a whole character. She has left behind
her in her three books a unique gallery of much variety and of em-
phatic truth.
-
A HIGHLAND BETTER HALF
From The Inheritance>
IN
THE Course of her domiciliary visits, Gertrude found herself
at the door of the cottage she had visited the memorable
morning after her arrival at Rossville; and somewhat curious
to know the state of affairs there, she was about to enter when
at that moment Uncle Adam was descried approaching. They
waited till he came up, and then invited him to join in the
visit; which after a little humming and hawing he agreed to do.
The door was hard-and-fast shut, but upon knocking it was
banged open by our ci-devant friend the dame of the stoups,
who immediately recognized and most cordially welcomed her
former visitor.
"Eh! my leddy, is this you? I ax your pardon, my leddy,
but I really didna ken weel wha you was the first time you was
here; just come foret, my leddy; jest stap in ower, sir; dinna be
feared, my leddy; just gang in bye," etc. , etc. , etc. ; and care-
fully closing the door against the breath of heaven, she ush-
ered her guests into the dark precincts of her foul-aired, smoky
cabin. A press-bed, with a bit of blue checked stuff hang-
ing down, denoted that the poor sufferer had now exchanged
his seat by the fire for his bed, and the chair which he had for、
merly occupied stood with its back to the fire, covered with
clothes apparently drying.
"How does your husband do? " inquired Lady Rossville.
"Oo,' deed, my leddy, he's just quite silly-wise," responded
the dame in a whining, melancholy key; "he just lies there
snottering awa'," pointing to the bed.
## p. 5652 (#230) ###########################################
5652
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Is he confined to bed? " asked Mr. Lyndsay.
"No-no, sir, he's no confined ony ways, he gets up whiles;
but 'deed it's no aye convenient for me to ha'e him up; for as
I tell him, what can he do when he is up? for he's no fit to put
his hand to onything; and he's mair oot o' the way there than
he wad be ony place else. "
"More out of the way of regaining health, certainly," said
Mr. Lyndsay.
"Health, sir! " interrupted the hostess; "'deed he'll ne'er ha'e
health as lang as he lives; he's just been draggle-dragglen on,
these twunty month by Marti'mas; I'm sure I've had a weary
time o't wi' him, and noo I canna get a hand's turn maist done
for him, the hoose an' awthing's just gawin' to destruction; and
I'm sure I really think shame o' mysel'," surveying two large
dirty arms from top to toe; "an' there's the weans, puir things,
gawin' in perfect rags, for I ne'er can get a steek put in either
to their duds or my ain. "
Here the voice of the sick man was heard in a faint accent,
calling the gudewife.
"That's just the way he gangs on, my leddy; he just lies
there and yelps, yelps, yelps even on for me. What is't noo? "
in her loudest, sharpest key, as she banged up to the bed. "A
drink? I wonder ye ha'e nae mair sense, man, than to ask for
a drink the noo, when her leddyship's here, an' Maister Lyndsay
an' aw, speerin' for you. "
Mr. Lyndsay here took up a jug of water which was standing
on the top of a chest by the bedside, and held it to the sick
man's lips; but the reproof was thrown away, or rather miscon-
strued by his soothing helpmate.
"Oh, sir, I think shame o' your takin' sae muckle trouble,
for he's just like a bairn; he's aye wantin' something or anither,
and he's just lost aw discretion thegither. I wonder you dinna
think shame o' yoursel'," to her husband, "when you see the
fashery you mak'. "
Mr. Lyndsay, meanwhile, having felt the invalid's pulse, be-
gan to put a few queries to him touching his complaint.
"Have you much thirst? " asked he.
"Oh, sir, he wad drink the very ocean an let him. ”
<< Pray let him speak for himself," said Lyndsay, again putting
the question to the patient, who seemed so unused to the privi
lege that he was evidently at a loss how to make use of it.
## p. 5653 (#231) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5653
"Have you any pain in your head? "
"'Deed, sir, I dinna think he has muckle pain in his heed,
though he compleens o't whiles; but as I often tell him, I wiss
he had my back. I'm sure I've a pain whiles atween my shou-
thers, sir" rolling a huge, fat, strong-looking back as she spoke.
"I shall attend to your pains some other time, if you will be
so good as keep them quiet for the present," said Lyndsay; then
once more turning to the sick man, he asked whether he had
pain or weakness in his limbs that prevented him from rising.
"I'm sure I dinna ken what it is," again interposed the incor-
rigible matron. "He canna be sair, I'm positive o' that, for
there's naething like an income aboot him-oo no-no, no, sir;
he's aye keepit a hale skin, and that's a great mercy.
He's very
silly, to be sure, but that canna be helpit, ye ken. "
"Do you never allow your husband to answer for himself?
asked Mr. Lyndsay, at a loss whether to laugh or be provoked
at this intolerable woman.
-
>>>
"Oo, sir, I'm sure he's walcome to speak for me; but, 'tweel
I dinna think he kens very weel what till say, or what it is that
ails him. Tam," shouting into his ear,-"the leddy wants to
hear an you can speak ony. Canna ye thank her for the braw
claise and the siller she gied you? "
"Should not you like to be up out of bed? " asked Gertrude,
now trying her skill to extract an answer; but before he had
time to reply his mouthpiece again took up the word.
"Up, my leddy! 'Deed he just craik, craiks to be up, and than
whan he's up he craik, craiks to be doun; an' it wad be very dis-
convenient for to ha'e him up the day, for you see," pointing to
the clothes that were spread over the chairs, "the fire's aw tane
up wi' his dead-claise that I was gi'en an air to, for they had got
unco dampish-wise wi' the wat wather; an' I'm thinkin' he'll no
be lang o' wantin' them noo; and this is siccan a bonny day, I
thought what atween the fire and the sun they wad be sure to
get a gude toast. "
Uncle Adam had hitherto practiced a degree of forbearance
which had scarcely a parallel in his whole life and conversation;
but indeed, from the moment the dame had first opened her lips.
he had felt that words would be weak weapons to have recourse
to, and that nothing less than smiting could at all satisfy his out-
raged feelings. Luckily at this moment she was not within reach
of his arm, otherwise it is to be feared his wrath would have
## p. 5654 (#232) ###########################################
5654
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
vented itself not in thin air but in solid blows. As it was, he at
length burst forth like a volcano, with-
"Airing the honest man's dead-claise when the breath's in his
body yet! Ye're bauld to treat a living man as ye would a
sweel'd corpse, and turn his very hoose into a kirk-yard! How
daur ye set up your face to keep him frae his ain fireside for
ony o' your dead duds? »
And snatching up the paraphernalia so ostentatiously displayed,
he thrust the whole into the fire. "There, that'll gie them a
gude toast for you! " said he; and as they broke into a blaze he
quitted the cabin.
"Eh, sirs! the bonny claise that cost sae muckle siller! "
sobbed the mistress in a hysterical tone, as she made an ineffect-
ual effort to save them; "the ill-faur'd carle that he is, to tak’
upon him for to set low to ony honest man's wundin'-sheet! "
Lady Rossville was confounded; for as she but imperfectly
comprehended the pith of the parley that had taken place, the
action appeared to her, as indeed it was,-perfectly outrageous,
and her purse was instantly open to repair this breach of law
and justice. But Lyndsay could scarcely keep from laughing at
the tragi-comic scene that had just taken place. From his knowl-
edge of the character and modes of thinking of the Scottish peas-
antry he was not at all surprised at the gudewife's preparations;
but while she was engrossed with her attempts to redeem some
bits of the linen from the flames, he took the opportunity of
carrying on his colloquy with the husband.
―
"So I see your wife does not attempt to conceal from you the
danger you are in," said he.
"Na, na," said the invalid, perking up; "what for wad she
do that? they wadna be a true freend that wad hide a man's
danger frae him; we're aw ready enough to hide it frae oursel's,
and forget the care o' our ain immortal sowls. "
"You have seen your minister, then, I suppose? "
"Oo ay, honest man! he ca's in nows and thans, and muckle
edification I get frae him; " then, calling to his dame, he began
to comfort her for the loss she had sustained as though it had
been her own holiday suit.
"What a shocking woman! " exclaimed Gertrude, as they quit-
ted the cottage; "how worse than unfeeling to have prepared
her husband's dead-clothes, and have them even displayed before
his eyes in that manner! "
## p. 5655 (#233) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5655
"She certainly is not a favorable specimen of a Scotch gude-
wife," answered Mr. Lyndsay; "but I have seen the most af-
fectionate wife talk of the death of her husband, even while
administering to his wants with the greatest solicitude: but they
are much less sophisticated in their ideas upon these subjects
than we are; they would think it highly wrong to use any decep-
tion at such a time. "
"But how shocking to hear one's death talked of as inevi-
table! "
"But they do not talk of it in that manner; they believe that
all things are possible with God. They send for the doctor as
they do for the minister, and pray for a blessing on the means
used; they leave all in the hand of God. I have seen many on
their death-beds in various circumstances, and I have always
found that they who were in the habit of hearing of death and
eternity, of conversing with their ministers and religious people,
have, generally speaking, looked forward to death with resigna-
tion and composure. "
"I can indeed easily imagine," said Lady Rossville, "that the
poor man we have just left must look forward to heaven with
great complacency, were it only to be rid of that tormenting
creature, and out of that vile smoky cabin. "
"A smoky house and a scolding wife have indeed always
been looked upon as the ne plus ultra of human misery; but
that is only amongst the rich. When you have seen more of
the poor you will be satisfied there are still greater evils; you
are still a novice in the miseries of life, Gertrude. "
"Perhaps so, and yet" She stopped and sighed, and they
proceeded homeward in silence.
THE REVEREND MR. M'DOW: AND HIS COURTSHIP
From 'Destiny'
THE
HE Reverend Duncan M'Dow was a large, loud-spoken, splay-
footed man, whose chief characteristics were his bad preach-
ing, his love of eating, his rapacity for augmentations (or
as he termed it, owgmentations), and a want of tact in all the
bienséances of life which would have driven Lord Chesterfield
frantic. His hands and feet were in everybody's way: the
## p. 5656 (#234) ###########################################
5656
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
former, indeed, like huge grappling-irons, seized upon everything
they could possibly lay hold of; while the latter were commonly
to be seen sprawling at an immeasurable distance from his body,
and projecting into the very middle of the room like two pro-
digious moles or bastions. He dealt much in stale jokes and bad
puns; he had an immense horse-laugh which nothing ever re-
strained, and an enormous appetite which nothing seemed to
damp, and which he took care always to supply with the best
things at table. He used a great quantity of snuff, and was for-
ever handing about his mull,—an ugly cow's-horn, with a foul
dingy cairngorm set in silver on the top. To sum up his per-
sonal enormities, when he spoke he had a practice of always
advancing his face as close as possible to the person he was
addressing. Although a strong-bodied sturdy man, he was ex-
tremely careful of his health; and even in a fine summer's day
was to be seen in a huge wooly greatcoat that reached to his
heels, trotting along on a stout dun pony just high enough to
keep its master's feet off the ground.
Such were the outward man and beast; the inward man was
very much of the same stamp. Mr. M'Dow's principal object in
this world was self, and his constant and habitual thoughts had
naturally operated on his outward manners to such a degree as
to blunt all the nicer perceptions of human nature, and render
him in very truth his own microcosm. He was no dissembler;
for a selfish dissembler is aware that in order to please, one must
appear to think of others and forget self. This fictitious polite-
ness he had neither the tact to acquire nor the cunning to feign;
consequently he was devoid of all the means of pleasing. Not
that we mean to recommend dissimulation, or to insinuate that
Mr. M'Dow would in reality have been a better man had he been
able and willing to form himself on the model of the Chesterfield
school. He would merely have been less offensive in the ordi-
nary intercourse of life, and would have sinned less against the
common observances of society. But had he been earnest in
his calling, had he sought to have his mind enlightened by the
knowledge of those Divine truths which he professed to teach,
their unction would have softened and refined even the rugged-
ness of his nature, and have rendered him an object of respect
instead of a subject of ridicule.
The day arrived for the long-promised visit to the manse.
It was a thin tenement, built of rough gray stone of the
## p. 5657 (#235) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5657
usual pattern, a window on each side of the door and three above.
At one side was the garden, with cabbages and marigolds growing
pell-mell, and in the rear was the set of condemned offices, partly
thatched and partly slated. There were no attempts at neatness
in the approach to the house, which was merely a rough jog-trot
road, flanked on each side by a dike. Presently Mr. M'Dow was
seen hurrying to the door to meet his guests, and there, as they
alighted, he was ready to receive them with open hands.
Great was the joy expressed at this honor, as Mr. M'Dow led
the way to the interior of his mansion, which was just such as
might have been expected from its outward aspect. There was a
narrow stone passage with a door on each side, and there was a
perpendicular wooden stair, and that was all that was to be seen
at the first coup d'œil. But if little was revealed to the eye, the
secrets of the house were yielded with less coy reserve to the
other senses: for there was to be heard the sound of a jack, now
beginning with that low, slow, mournful whine which jacks of
sensibility are sure to have; then gradually rising to a louder and
more grating pitch; till at length one mighty crash, succeeded as
all mighty crashes are, by a momentary silence. Then comes
the winding-up, which, contrary to all the rules of the drama, is
in fact only a new beginning; and so on ad infinitum till the
deed is done. With all these progressive sounds were mingled
the sharp, shrill, loud voice and Gaelic accents of the chef de
cuisine, with an occasional clash or clang, at least equal to the
fall of the armor in the Castle of Otranto.
Then there issued forth with resistless might a smell which
defied all human control, and to which doors and windows were
but feeble barriers or outlets; till like the smoke in the 'Arabian
Nights,' which resolved itself into a genie, it seemed as if about
to quit its aerial form and assume a living and tangible substance.
Lucy would fain have drawn back as she crossed the thresh-
old, and quitting the pure precincts of sunshine and fresh air,
found herself in the power of this unseen monster,- this com-
pound of fish, fat, peats, burnt grease, kail, leeks, and onions,
reveling, too, amid such scenes and beneath such a sky!
"You see I have brought my sketch-book, Mr. M'Dow," said
she; "so I must make the most of my time, and be busy out of
doors.
. A noted sketcher, as papa calls me, minds neither
heat nor cold, and I shall easily find either a shady spot or a cool
breeze. "
## p. 5658 (#236) ###########################################
5658
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Well, then, since you will go out, trust yourself to me, and
I'll take you where you'll find both, and the most beautiful pros-
pect into the bargain. "
At that moment the door opened, and a thick yellow man,
with no particular features, dressed in a short coat, tartan
trews, and a very large ill-colored neckcloth, entered the room
and was introduced by the minister as his cousin and brother-
in-law, Mr. Dugald M'Dow, from Glasgow, then on a visit at the
manse.
"We're just going to take a turn in the garden, Mr. Dugald,”
said his host: "will you get your hat and join us? "
"With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Dugald with a
strong accent and a stiff conceited bow; then, popping down a
sealskin cap from a peg in the passage, he was instantly accou-
tred, and the party set forth.
"I wish it had been earlier in the season, Miss Lucy," said
Mr.
M'Dow, as he ushered her into his kail-yard by a narrow
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted. They were uncommonly large and jisey, and at the same
time extremely high-flavored. I have a little red hairy berry
that's very deleeshus; and there's the honey-blobs, an uncommon
fine berry - a great deal of jise in it. I was rather unlucky in
my rasps this season; they were small and wormy, and a very
poor crop: but my currins were amazingly prolific and uncom-
monly jisey. In fact, I couldn't use the half of them, and it
was really vexatious to see them absolutely rotting on the bushes.
The want of a lady at the berry season is a great want, and one
that's sorely felt; for though my lass is an exceeding good plain
cook, yet she's not mistress of the higher branches of cookery,
such as the making of jams and jeellies, and these things; but I
would fain flatter myself, by the time the berry season comes
round again, I may have a fair lady to manage them for me.
Do you think I may venture to hope so, Miss Lucy? ”
Again she attempted to rid herself of the assiduities of Mr.
M'Dow, and was gliding away, as she hoped unperceived, when,
striding after her like a seven-league ogre, he called:- "Miss
Lucy-Miss Lucy! you're not running away from us, I hope?
This is just about the time I ordered a slight refreshment to be
ready," pulling out his watch: "you'll do me the honor to par-
take of it, I hope? "
## p. 5659 (#237) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5659
Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had ample
refreshment, and being much more inclined to sketch than to
eat; but Lucy must have been made of stone and lime to have
been able to withstand the importunities of Mr. M'Dow: he was
as urgent as though his very existence had depended upon her
partaking of his "slight refreshment," and she was at length
compelled, much against her inclination, to return to the salle à
manger.
During their absence a table had been covered; but the ar-
rangements were not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellow-
haired damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks as
though she had been turning over so many down feathers.
"I expected to have found everything ready by this time,"
said Mr. M'Dow: "what have you been about, Jess? " But Jess
continued to stamp and clatter away without making any reply.
"I'll just show you the way to my study, till the refreshment's
put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; and finding all remon-
strance in vain, his guests submitted with a good grace, and
were conducted to a very tolerable room up-stairs, where were a
few shelves of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and
a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered about. There
was also a sofa with a dirty crumpled cover, where Mr. Dugald
seemed to have been lounging with a flute and a music-book. In
one corner stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in
bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture.
"Allow me in the mean time to lead the way to something
more substantial, Miss Lucy," cried Mr. M'Dow, seizing her
hand, as Jess put her head in at the door; and having given a
glare with her eyes, and wide opened her mouth, emitting a sort
of guttural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped down-
stairs again as hard and fast as she could.
"Give me leave, Miss Lucy; but the stair's rather narrow for
two; you know the way; turn to the left hand of my trance.
It's very easy for these poets to preach; but it's not so easy
always for us preachers to practice - hoch, ho! "
This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over; and the
company seated themselves at table, which was literally covered
- with dishes, all close huddled together. In the middle was a
tureen of leek soup, alias cocky-leeky, with prunes; at one end,
a large dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts; at
the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the throat with
## p. 5660 (#238) ###########################################
5660
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
onions, and decorated with onion rings round their legs and
pinions. At the corners were minced collops and tripe, con-
fronted with a dish of large old pease, drowned (for they could
not swim) in butter; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored
and rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife a weapon
which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length from one
to three feet, and in uncivilized lands used indiscriminately to
cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, and butter. Saucers filled
with ill-colored pickles filled up the interstices.
"I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. M'Dow, sur-
veying his banquet with great complacency; "I think it prefer-
able to a more solid mail in this weather. Of all good Scotch
dishes, in my opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky; as a
friend of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll find
that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just try it; for it's
made by a receipt of my mother's, and she was always famous
for cocky-leeky: the prunes are a great improvement; they give
a great delicacy to the flavor: my leeks are not come to their
full strength yet, but they are extremely sweet; you may help
me to a few more of the broth, captain, and don't spare the
leeks. I never see cocky-leeky without thinking of the honest
man who found a snail in his: Tak ye that snack, my man,' says
he, 'for looking sae like a plum-damy;' hoch, hoch, ho! There's
a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and I believe you see
your refreshment; there's merely a few trifles coming. "
Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little muddy trouts,
as the least objectionable article of the repast; and while Mr.
M'Dow's mouth was stuffed with prunes and leeks, silence ensued.
But having dispatched a second plateful and taken a bumper of
wine, he began again:-"I can answer for the ducks, Miss Lucy,
if you'll do me the favor to try them. A clean knife and fork,
Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut them. I prefer ducks to a goose; a
goose is an inconvenient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one
person, and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess!
what is the meaning of this? the ducks are perfectly raw! " in
an accent of utter despair. "What is the meaning of it? You
must take it to the brander, and get it done as fast as you can.
How came Eppy to go so far wrong, I wonder! "
Jess here emitted some of her guttural sounds, which being
translated amounted to this: that the jack had run down and
Eppy couldn't get it set going again.
## p. 5661 (#239) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5661
"That's most ridiculous! " exclaimed Mr. M'Dow indignantly;
"when I was at the pains to show her myself how to manage
her. She's the Auchnagoil jack, which I bought, and a most
famous goer.
But you see how it is, Miss Lucy; you must make
allowance for a bachelor's house: there's a roasted hare coming.
Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare to me. " The hare
was herewith introduced, and flung, rather than placed, before her
master. "Oh, this is quite intolerable! There's really no bear-
ing this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The whole jise is
out of its body! "
"Your cook's not a good hare-dresser; that's all that can be
said," quoth Mr. Dugald.
"Very well said-extremely good," said Mr. M'Dow, trying
to laugh off his indignation; "and after all, I believe, it's only a
little scowthered. Do me the favor to try a morsel of it, Miss
Lucy, with a little jeelly. Jess, put down the jeelly. Oh, have
you nothing but a pig to put it in? " demanded he, in a most
wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a large native jelly-pot
upon the table.
"Where's the handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish I
bought at the Auchnagoil roup? "
Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of conscious
guilt told that the "handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish" was no
more.
"This is really most provoking! But if you'll not taste the
hare, Miss Lucy, will you do me the kindness to try the minced
collops? or a morsel of tripe? It's a sweet, simple dish-a great
favorite of my mother's; both you and the captain are really
poor eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each
other in countenance. "
And another pause ensued, till at last an order was given, to
take everything away. "And bring the few trifles-but will you
make less noise? there's no hearing ourselves speak for you;"
but Jess rattled away, nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the
door wide open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared,
with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, standing on the
threshold with her hands full.
"Now take the pigeon pie to Mr. Dugald; bring the puddin'
to me; put the puffs and cheesecakes at the sides, and the cream
in the middle. I'm sorry I've no jeellies and blaw mangys for
Miss Lucy. If you won't taste the pie, do me the favor to take
a bit of this puddin'; it's quite a simple puddin', made from a
recipe of my mother's. "
## p. 5662 (#240) ###########################################
5662
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which, as its
name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, flavored with peat-
reek whisky.
"I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste, Miss Lucy; you're
making no hand of it; will you try a jam puff? I'm sure you'll
find them good; they come from Glasgow, sent by my good
mother; I must really taste them, if it were only out of respect
to her. Oh! Miss Lucy, will you not halve a puff with me? "
The minister and his friend having now ate and drank copi-
ously of all that was upon the table, Captain Malcolm said: -"My
daughter has not yet accomplished the object of her visit here,
and we must soon be returning home; so you have no time to
lose, my dear," to Lucy, who started up from the table like a
bird from its cage; "if indeed it is not lost already," he added,
as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright blue sky
had now changed to one of misty whiteness, showers were seen
drifting along over the scattered isles, and even while they
spoke, a sudden gust of wind and rain came sweeping along, and
all the beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the sight.
Captain Malcolm was not a person to be disconcerted by
trifles; but on the present occasion he could not refrain from
expressing his regret, as he every moment felt an increasing
repugnance to the company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and
still more on Lucy's account than his own,-it seemed like con-
tamination for so fair and pure a creature to be seated between
two such coarse barbarians. Mr. M'Dow affected to sympathize
in the disappointment; but it was evident he was exulting in the
delay.
Shower after shower followed in such quick succession that
Lucy found the object of her visit completely defeated. At
length the clouds rolled away, but the day was too far advanced
to admit of further tarriance; and besides, both the father and
daughter were impatient to extricate themselves from the over-
powering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow.
"I hope you will have many opportunities of taking drawings
here," said he, with a significant tenderness of look and manner,
as he assisted Lucy to mount her pony; «< and when the manse
is harled, and I get my new offices, the view will be much im-
proved. "
Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her own hands,
and gladly turned her back on the manse and the minister.
## p. 5663 (#241) ###########################################
5663
OCTAVE FEUILLET
(1821-1890)
CTAVE FEUILLET was the darling of the Second Empire. In
the days when realistic fiction was beginning its struggle
for a hearing, he treated court circles to romantic tales of
the Faubourg Saint-Germain. To himself and to his audience, lovers
of social elegance, the sordid commonplace world of tradespeople was
uninteresting. He contributed to the aristocratic spirit which main-
tains that rich and well-born men and women have an exclusive pos-
session of mental and moral refinement. His pleasure-seeking readers
were not interested in broad social prob-
lems, but the mental struggles of spoiled
beauties and the sentimental hair-splitting
of chivalric young noblemen supplied just
the sugar-plums they craved. Perhaps a
touch of effeminacy in his own nature es-
pecially fitted Feuillet to understand the
women of his world, and to portray the
vagaries of idle ardent girls, who have been
his most admiring readers.
Moreover, he was an avowed moralist
of a conventional morality, such as is suit-
able for discussion in the salon. While scru-
pulously respecting prejudices, he managed,
almost unobserved as it were, to offer stim-
ulating expositions of unorthodox subjects. But unquestionably he
always aims to inculcate respect for nobility of mind and action.
Perhaps the reproach oftenest brought against him touches this
evident didacticism. But he points his moral so delicately that the
indirect sermonizing is never aggressive. Although severely criti-
cized by Sainte-Beuve, George Sand, Lemaître, Zola, and other critics
who sometimes treated him with contemptuous mockery, Feuillet was
always a popular novelist. For more than forty years he pursued his
own ideals with courage and success, meeting distinguished consid-
eration, being made member of the Legion of Honor; and in 1862
accepted into the French Academy as the successor of Scribe.
Feuillet obtained his early education in his native town, Saint Lô,
where his father was secretary of the prefecture. Then he was sent
to Paris; where first at the Collège Louis le Grand, and later at the
-
OCTAVE FEUILLET
## p. 5664 (#242) ###########################################
5664
OCTAVE FEUILLET
University, he proved himself both studious and talented. Unlike
most student habitués of the Quartier Latin, he found no pleasure in
Bohemian dissipations. His calm, refined nature shunned low asso-
ciations and coarse jollity. He was reserved and exclusive like his
favorite heroes, and absorbed in imaginative ideals.
At twenty-four he began to write, and in collaboration with Borage
and Aubert composed 'Le Grand Vieillard,' a novel which appeared
as a serial in Le Nationel. A devoted disciple of Dumas fils, and
stimulated by the example of Scribe, he next tried the theatre; and
with Vavin and Xazier wrote 'Une Nuit Terrible,' played at the
Gymnase in 1845. All his early plays (and they were many), though
sometimes clever, are so crude and experimental that Feuillet did
not include them among his complete works. After he became
devoted to Alfred de Musset, he wrote the 'Scènes et Proverbes,'
which, published in the Revue des Deux Mondes, made his first
assured success. Of these, 'La Fée,' 'Alix,' 'La Clef d'Or,' and
others, are dainty dramatic tales, showing his vigor of characteriza-
tion and delicacy of style. In 1848 his first long story, 'Onesta,' an
Italian tale of passion, delighted the readers of the Nouvelle Revue,
and was followed by many tales so successfully dramatized that his
name became equally familiar to readers and theatre-goers.
His well-known 'Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre' (Romance of
a Poor Young Man) is a characteristic piece of work. Its Musset-
like delight in emotion, its striking situations, stamped it as a prod-
uct of the aging romantic school. Of course it incurred the disfavor
of his more progressive fellow-craftsmen, although, as Lanson says,
Feuillet is far more a realist than is commonly supposed. His char-
acters do not experience exaggerated rewards or punishments, and
their fate seems the natural outcome of their qualities. In spite of
the optimistic spirit which maintained his faith in innate human
nobility, Feuillet thoroughly appreciated the tragedy of life. Nearly
all his stories are sad, and sometimes dramatically tragic.
The pov-
erty-stricken young nobleman of the 'Romance,' with his lofty ideals
and sensitive self-respect, ruled his life with the pride which actuated
Feuillet himself. There were critics to deride as well as critics to
honor the antique virtue of the novelist, when upon the downfall of
the Empire he resigned his lucrative position as librarian of the
Château of Fontainebleau when the catastrophe had made that posi-
tion a sinecure merely. For this sentimental "Family Musset" was
sincere. One of his characters somewhere remarks that ideality glo-
rifies ugly prose duty and acts as a stimulus to endeavor. So Feuillet
wishes to picture a world in which men and women find in self-
respect and religion compensation for suffering and self-sacrifice.
## p. 5665 (#243) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5665
A LEAP IN THE DARK
From the Romance of a Poor Young Man ›
YES
ESTERDAY I set out on horseback early in the morning to over-
see the felling of some timber in the neighborhood. I was
returning toward four o'clock in the direction of the château,
when at a sharp turn of the road I found myself face to face
with Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was alone. I bowed, and
-
was about to pass, but she stopped her horse.
་
"A beautiful autumn day, monsieur," said she.
"Yes, mademoiselle. You are going to ride? »
"As you see, I am using my last moments of independence,
and even abusing them; for I feel a little troubled by my soli-
tude. But Alain was wanted down there- my poor Mervyn is
lame. You do not wish to replace him, by chance ? »
"With pleasure. Where are you going? "
"Why I had the idea of pushing my ride as far as the
Tower of Elven. " She pointed with the end of her riding-
whip to a dark summit which rose within sight of the road. "I
think," she added, "that you have never made such a pilgrim-
age. "
"It is true. It has often tempted me, but I have put it off
till now, I hardly know why. "
"Well, the Tower is easily found; but it is already late; we
must make a little haste, if you please. "
I turned my horse's head and we set out at a gallop.
As we rode I sought to explain to myself this unexpected
whim, which I could not but think premeditated. I concluded
that time and reflection had weakened in Mademoiselle Mar-
guerite's mind the first impressions made by the calumnies which
had been poured into her ear. She had apparently ended by
doubting Mademoiselle Helouin's veracity, and contrived to offer
me, by chance, under a disguised form, a kind of reparation
which might possibly be due me.
In the midst of the thoughts that besieged me, I attached
slight importance to the particular end we proposed to ourselves
in this strange ride. I had often heard this Tower of Elven
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
X-355
## p. 5666 (#244) ###########################################
5666
OCTAVE FEUILLET
towering upward in the middle of distant heaths like an enor-
mous stone bank; but time and occasion had been wanting to me.
The village of Elven that we traversed, slackening our pace a
little, gave a striking representation of a town of the Middle
Ages. The form of the low dark houses has not changed for
five or six centuries. One thinks himself dreaming when he
sees, through the large gaps, arched and without sashes, which
take the place of windows in the houses, groups of women with
wild eyes, spinning from distaffs in the shadow, and conversing
in low voices in an unknown language. It seemed now as if all
these gray spectres had quitted their monumental slabs to enact
some scene of another age, of which we were to be the sole
living witnesses. The little life that was visible in the single
street of the village bore the same character of antiquity and
faithful representation of a vanished world.
A little distance beyond Elven we took a cross-road, which
led us up a barren hill; we saw from its summit, although at
some distance from us, the feudal ruin overlooking a wooded
height in front of us. The heath where we were, descended
sharply toward marshy meadows surrounded with thick young
woods. We descended the slope and were soon in the woods.
There we took a narrow road, the rough unbroken pavement of
which resounded loudly under our horses' feet. I had ceased for
some time to see the Tower, the locality of which I could not
even conjecture; when it rose out of the foliage a few steps
before us, with the suddenness of an apparition. This Tower is
not decayed; it has preserved its original height, which exceeds
a hundred feet, and the regular layers of granite which compose
its magnificent octagonal structure give it the aspect of a formida-
ble block, cut yesterday by the keenest chisel. Nothing more
imposing, more proud and sombre, can be imagined than this old
donjon, impervious to the effects of time, and alone in these
thick woods. The trees have grown close to its walls, and their
tops reach to the openings for the lower windows. This growth
of vegetation conceals the base of the edifice, and increases its
appearance of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, surrounded by
forests, with this mass of extraordinary architecture in front of
us, it was impossible not to think of enchanted castles where beau-
tiful princesses sleep a hundred years.
"Up to this time," said Mademoiselle Marguerite, to whom I
tried to communicate this idea, "I have seen no more than what
## p. 5667 (#245) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5667
we now see; but if you wish to wake the fairy princess, we can
enter. For all I know, there may be in the neighborhood a
shepherd or shepherdess who is furnished with a key.
Let us
fasten our horses and seek for them-you for the shepherd and
I for the shepherdess. "
The horses were accordingly fastened in a little inclosure near
the ruin, and we separated for a moment to search around the
Tower. But we had the vexation to meet neither shepherd nor
shepherdess. Our desire to see the interior naturally increased.
with all the force of attraction of forbidden fruit, and we crossed
a bridge thrown over the moat, at a venture. To our great satis-
faction, the massive door of the donjon was not shut; we needed
only to push it open in order to enter a corner, dark and incum-
bered with rubbish, which was probably the place for the body-
guard in former times. From thence we passed into a vast
circular hall, the chimney-piece of which still showed, on its
coat of arms, the besants of the crusade; a large open window,
traversed by the symbolic cross, plainly cut in the stone, lighted
distinctly the lower part of this room, and the
eye failed to
pierce the uncertain shadows of the lofty broken roof. At the
sound of our steps an invisible flock of birds flew out from the
darkness, shaking down upon us the dust of centuries.
On mounting up the granite steps ranged one above the
other round the hall, into the embrasure of the window, we
could overlook the deep moat and the ruined parts of the for-
tress; but we had noticed on our entrance a flight of steps cut in
the thick wall, and we felt a childish impatience to push our
discoveries further. We therefore undertook to ascend this rude
staircase. I led the way, and Mademoiselle Marguerite followed
bravely, holding up her long skirts as well as she could. From
the top of the flat roof the view was vast and delicious. The
soft tints of twilight were creeping over the ocean of half-golden
autumn foliage, the dark marshes, and the green mossy ground
near us, and the distant ranges of hills mingling with and cross-
ing each other.
other. As we gazed down upon this melancholy land-
scape, infinite in extent, we felt the peace of solitude, the silence
of evening, the sadness of the past, descend into our hearts.
multitude adores deities of flesh and blood; from them it hopes
to obtain a so-called fortune. The hearts of men are enchained
by the demon of avarice, which St. Paul calls an idolatry. It is
true indeed, with St. Chrysostom, that they no longer adore gods
of gold and silver,- they adore the gold and silver themselves,
and in them set all their hope; very far from selling all things,
like the primitive Christians, they never cease from buying;
nay, they acquire by ceaseless rapacity, by endless artifice,
and by the forceful use of authority. Look upon those Christians
who rend one another, who lacerate one another, who sharpen
their poison-dripping tongues, and fit weapons to their hands
that they may imbue them in the blood of their brethren! Be-
hold how they are lost to all sense of shame, sunk in their own
vile pleasures, brutalized by their monstrous passions! From
them God has withdrawn himself, and in his anger he has
given them over to the desires of their own hearts. They be-
lieve that they see and hear all things, yet in reality they see
and hear nothing. They walk as men who tremblingly feel their
way along the edge of an abyss. They are like tottering men
overpowered by drunkenness, and they will die ignorant of who
they are and whence they came.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature, by Rev. Thomas
J. Shahan.
## p. 5649 (#227) ###########################################
5649
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
(1782-1854)
F THE sprightly Edinburgh novelist Susan Edmonstone Fer-
rier, it is often said, more affectionately than accurately,
that she was a novelist who did for Scotland in her fiction
what her contemporaries Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth accom-
plished in their novels of English and Irish social life and character.
It should not be disputed, however, that Miss Ferrier merits a supe-
rior place in the circle of British novelists of the first half of the nine-
teenth century. She wrote only three novels,-Marriage' (1818),
'The Inheritance' (1824), and 'Destiny' (1831). They are all of the
old-fashioned length and minuteness of treatment: but they have the
quality of sincerity in every page; and in their ambitious titles and
elaborate detail they show that each work was broadly conceived and
was meant to illustrate some abstract central thought. Like Miss
Burney when giving 'Evelina' to the world, Miss Ferrier's first story
was published anonymously; but going further than Miss Burney in
her preference for being unrecognized as an author, it was not until
a very few years before Miss Ferrier's death that she allowed her
name to appear on the title-page of any of her tales. Professional
writing was distasteful to her; and it was only at the entreaty of a
friend that she made public her literary gift. Marriage' had been
shown only to intimate friends during eight years before she allowed
it to be published. But the success of her stories from the first was
complete. They were attributed to authors of high distinction,-
Professor John Wilson supposing that the first two at least were by
Scott, until it was admitted that a woman had written them.
Miss Ferrier was born in 1782, the youngest of ten children of
James Ferrier, a factor and friend of the fifth Duke of Argyll, and
for a time associated in a city office with Scott. Susan was an
amiable, quiet, and quick-witted girl, who received a careful educa-
tion. She had much natural vivacity, and in social life the same
shrewd humor and tendency toward satire that appears in her books.
A French quality suggesting La Bruyère (a special favorite with her)
was a note in her conversation as in her pages. But her intellect-
uality was matched with delightful tact, a warm heart, and delicacy
of feeling. She early had access to much of the distinguished society
of the Scotch capital, which included such literary men as Scott, Jef-
frey, Sir James Mackintosh, Professor Wilson, Joanna Baillie, Sydney
X-354
## p. 5650 (#228) ###########################################
5650
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Smith, and Macaulay. She also saw a good deal of merely fash-
ionable and wealthy social circles, English and Scotch, at home and
in London; making large use of their types in particular in her
fictions. Scott took a special interest in her, and she was one of his
last visitors at Abbotsford. To him she dedicated her last and per-
haps best tale, 'Destiny. ' Miss Ferrier's life grew more and more
retired as she advanced in years, and a failing eyesight which pres-
ently became nearly complete blindness secluded her from all except
an intimate group of friends. She died in Edinburgh in 1854.
Aside from her qualities as a literary woman, Miss Ferrier was an
amiable, unaffected lady, of high principle and simple and domestic
tastes. It is unfortunate that her correspondence, covering the letters
of many years, was almost entirely destroyed at her own request.
Miss Ferrier's novels are classed among "Scotch novels"; and as
to many passages, they deal with Scotch types. But they are not in
close touch with the Scotch novel as we understand it through Scott
and Galt. They offer no remarkable descriptions of Scotch scenery;
they have but moderate local color; they are almost entirely lacking
in romance; and there is none of the picturesqueness suggesting the
stage, which belongs to her contemporaries. She wrote very consid-
erably from the English point of view, describing Scottish family life.
of the period largely under modish South-British influences. Most
of her personages are rich English gentility, or pretentious Scotch.
persons of quality. She has relatively little to do with distinctive
Highland nobility or peasantry; and indeed where the authoress con-
cerns herself humorously with Scotch human nature and life she is
satirical. Relatively few of her characters speak in dialect,—even
among the middle-class types, where we can suppose that there
would have been propriety in Scotch words and phrases. There is
seldom opportunity for pathos, though in certain episodes she shows
due feeling. She strongly emphasizes religion and the "practice of
piety," in contrast to an irreligious and fashionable use of one's time,
-so much so that she makes in one of her prefaces an almost apolo-
getic reference to this element. As a novelist of plot, Miss Ferrier
is little more interesting than Miss Austen. But even in her stiffly
didactic analyses we find great clearness of thought as to human
nature, and a nice expression of it. Her readers will not be apt to
confuse with any other novelist's delineations such little portraits
as the pompous Lord Rossville, the impertinent Miss Pratt, the kindly
and devoted Mrs. Macaulay, the coarse and vulgar Rev. Mr. M'Dow,
the gossiping good-natured Mr. Ribley and the dictatorial wife of
his bosom, the two Misses Douglas, Jacky and Nicky, Mrs. Pullens,
strong in domestic economy, or bluff Uncle Adam. There is real
force in the longer studies, such as Glenroy, Lady Juliana Douglas,
## p. 5651 (#229) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5651
or the frivolous Lady Florinda Waldegrave and her even more friv-
olous mother, who in some sense anticipates Dickens's Mrs. Skewton.
Of her heroes and heroines it may be remarked that they are sensi-
ble and attractive young people, of the sort that even the modern
young man or young woman would be glad to marry, though one
would not be apt to fall into a frenzy of romantic fire and despair
for their sakes. Perhaps the most striking trait in her books is her
sharp vignettes of personages, the study sometimes only a half-page
long, in which she hits out a whole character. She has left behind
her in her three books a unique gallery of much variety and of em-
phatic truth.
-
A HIGHLAND BETTER HALF
From The Inheritance>
IN
THE Course of her domiciliary visits, Gertrude found herself
at the door of the cottage she had visited the memorable
morning after her arrival at Rossville; and somewhat curious
to know the state of affairs there, she was about to enter when
at that moment Uncle Adam was descried approaching. They
waited till he came up, and then invited him to join in the
visit; which after a little humming and hawing he agreed to do.
The door was hard-and-fast shut, but upon knocking it was
banged open by our ci-devant friend the dame of the stoups,
who immediately recognized and most cordially welcomed her
former visitor.
"Eh! my leddy, is this you? I ax your pardon, my leddy,
but I really didna ken weel wha you was the first time you was
here; just come foret, my leddy; jest stap in ower, sir; dinna be
feared, my leddy; just gang in bye," etc. , etc. , etc. ; and care-
fully closing the door against the breath of heaven, she ush-
ered her guests into the dark precincts of her foul-aired, smoky
cabin. A press-bed, with a bit of blue checked stuff hang-
ing down, denoted that the poor sufferer had now exchanged
his seat by the fire for his bed, and the chair which he had for、
merly occupied stood with its back to the fire, covered with
clothes apparently drying.
"How does your husband do? " inquired Lady Rossville.
"Oo,' deed, my leddy, he's just quite silly-wise," responded
the dame in a whining, melancholy key; "he just lies there
snottering awa'," pointing to the bed.
## p. 5652 (#230) ###########################################
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SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Is he confined to bed? " asked Mr. Lyndsay.
"No-no, sir, he's no confined ony ways, he gets up whiles;
but 'deed it's no aye convenient for me to ha'e him up; for as
I tell him, what can he do when he is up? for he's no fit to put
his hand to onything; and he's mair oot o' the way there than
he wad be ony place else. "
"More out of the way of regaining health, certainly," said
Mr. Lyndsay.
"Health, sir! " interrupted the hostess; "'deed he'll ne'er ha'e
health as lang as he lives; he's just been draggle-dragglen on,
these twunty month by Marti'mas; I'm sure I've had a weary
time o't wi' him, and noo I canna get a hand's turn maist done
for him, the hoose an' awthing's just gawin' to destruction; and
I'm sure I really think shame o' mysel'," surveying two large
dirty arms from top to toe; "an' there's the weans, puir things,
gawin' in perfect rags, for I ne'er can get a steek put in either
to their duds or my ain. "
Here the voice of the sick man was heard in a faint accent,
calling the gudewife.
"That's just the way he gangs on, my leddy; he just lies
there and yelps, yelps, yelps even on for me. What is't noo? "
in her loudest, sharpest key, as she banged up to the bed. "A
drink? I wonder ye ha'e nae mair sense, man, than to ask for
a drink the noo, when her leddyship's here, an' Maister Lyndsay
an' aw, speerin' for you. "
Mr. Lyndsay here took up a jug of water which was standing
on the top of a chest by the bedside, and held it to the sick
man's lips; but the reproof was thrown away, or rather miscon-
strued by his soothing helpmate.
"Oh, sir, I think shame o' your takin' sae muckle trouble,
for he's just like a bairn; he's aye wantin' something or anither,
and he's just lost aw discretion thegither. I wonder you dinna
think shame o' yoursel'," to her husband, "when you see the
fashery you mak'. "
Mr. Lyndsay, meanwhile, having felt the invalid's pulse, be-
gan to put a few queries to him touching his complaint.
"Have you much thirst? " asked he.
"Oh, sir, he wad drink the very ocean an let him. ”
<< Pray let him speak for himself," said Lyndsay, again putting
the question to the patient, who seemed so unused to the privi
lege that he was evidently at a loss how to make use of it.
## p. 5653 (#231) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5653
"Have you any pain in your head? "
"'Deed, sir, I dinna think he has muckle pain in his heed,
though he compleens o't whiles; but as I often tell him, I wiss
he had my back. I'm sure I've a pain whiles atween my shou-
thers, sir" rolling a huge, fat, strong-looking back as she spoke.
"I shall attend to your pains some other time, if you will be
so good as keep them quiet for the present," said Lyndsay; then
once more turning to the sick man, he asked whether he had
pain or weakness in his limbs that prevented him from rising.
"I'm sure I dinna ken what it is," again interposed the incor-
rigible matron. "He canna be sair, I'm positive o' that, for
there's naething like an income aboot him-oo no-no, no, sir;
he's aye keepit a hale skin, and that's a great mercy.
He's very
silly, to be sure, but that canna be helpit, ye ken. "
"Do you never allow your husband to answer for himself?
asked Mr. Lyndsay, at a loss whether to laugh or be provoked
at this intolerable woman.
-
>>>
"Oo, sir, I'm sure he's walcome to speak for me; but, 'tweel
I dinna think he kens very weel what till say, or what it is that
ails him. Tam," shouting into his ear,-"the leddy wants to
hear an you can speak ony. Canna ye thank her for the braw
claise and the siller she gied you? "
"Should not you like to be up out of bed? " asked Gertrude,
now trying her skill to extract an answer; but before he had
time to reply his mouthpiece again took up the word.
"Up, my leddy! 'Deed he just craik, craiks to be up, and than
whan he's up he craik, craiks to be doun; an' it wad be very dis-
convenient for to ha'e him up the day, for you see," pointing to
the clothes that were spread over the chairs, "the fire's aw tane
up wi' his dead-claise that I was gi'en an air to, for they had got
unco dampish-wise wi' the wat wather; an' I'm thinkin' he'll no
be lang o' wantin' them noo; and this is siccan a bonny day, I
thought what atween the fire and the sun they wad be sure to
get a gude toast. "
Uncle Adam had hitherto practiced a degree of forbearance
which had scarcely a parallel in his whole life and conversation;
but indeed, from the moment the dame had first opened her lips.
he had felt that words would be weak weapons to have recourse
to, and that nothing less than smiting could at all satisfy his out-
raged feelings. Luckily at this moment she was not within reach
of his arm, otherwise it is to be feared his wrath would have
## p. 5654 (#232) ###########################################
5654
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
vented itself not in thin air but in solid blows. As it was, he at
length burst forth like a volcano, with-
"Airing the honest man's dead-claise when the breath's in his
body yet! Ye're bauld to treat a living man as ye would a
sweel'd corpse, and turn his very hoose into a kirk-yard! How
daur ye set up your face to keep him frae his ain fireside for
ony o' your dead duds? »
And snatching up the paraphernalia so ostentatiously displayed,
he thrust the whole into the fire. "There, that'll gie them a
gude toast for you! " said he; and as they broke into a blaze he
quitted the cabin.
"Eh, sirs! the bonny claise that cost sae muckle siller! "
sobbed the mistress in a hysterical tone, as she made an ineffect-
ual effort to save them; "the ill-faur'd carle that he is, to tak’
upon him for to set low to ony honest man's wundin'-sheet! "
Lady Rossville was confounded; for as she but imperfectly
comprehended the pith of the parley that had taken place, the
action appeared to her, as indeed it was,-perfectly outrageous,
and her purse was instantly open to repair this breach of law
and justice. But Lyndsay could scarcely keep from laughing at
the tragi-comic scene that had just taken place. From his knowl-
edge of the character and modes of thinking of the Scottish peas-
antry he was not at all surprised at the gudewife's preparations;
but while she was engrossed with her attempts to redeem some
bits of the linen from the flames, he took the opportunity of
carrying on his colloquy with the husband.
―
"So I see your wife does not attempt to conceal from you the
danger you are in," said he.
"Na, na," said the invalid, perking up; "what for wad she
do that? they wadna be a true freend that wad hide a man's
danger frae him; we're aw ready enough to hide it frae oursel's,
and forget the care o' our ain immortal sowls. "
"You have seen your minister, then, I suppose? "
"Oo ay, honest man! he ca's in nows and thans, and muckle
edification I get frae him; " then, calling to his dame, he began
to comfort her for the loss she had sustained as though it had
been her own holiday suit.
"What a shocking woman! " exclaimed Gertrude, as they quit-
ted the cottage; "how worse than unfeeling to have prepared
her husband's dead-clothes, and have them even displayed before
his eyes in that manner! "
## p. 5655 (#233) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5655
"She certainly is not a favorable specimen of a Scotch gude-
wife," answered Mr. Lyndsay; "but I have seen the most af-
fectionate wife talk of the death of her husband, even while
administering to his wants with the greatest solicitude: but they
are much less sophisticated in their ideas upon these subjects
than we are; they would think it highly wrong to use any decep-
tion at such a time. "
"But how shocking to hear one's death talked of as inevi-
table! "
"But they do not talk of it in that manner; they believe that
all things are possible with God. They send for the doctor as
they do for the minister, and pray for a blessing on the means
used; they leave all in the hand of God. I have seen many on
their death-beds in various circumstances, and I have always
found that they who were in the habit of hearing of death and
eternity, of conversing with their ministers and religious people,
have, generally speaking, looked forward to death with resigna-
tion and composure. "
"I can indeed easily imagine," said Lady Rossville, "that the
poor man we have just left must look forward to heaven with
great complacency, were it only to be rid of that tormenting
creature, and out of that vile smoky cabin. "
"A smoky house and a scolding wife have indeed always
been looked upon as the ne plus ultra of human misery; but
that is only amongst the rich. When you have seen more of
the poor you will be satisfied there are still greater evils; you
are still a novice in the miseries of life, Gertrude. "
"Perhaps so, and yet" She stopped and sighed, and they
proceeded homeward in silence.
THE REVEREND MR. M'DOW: AND HIS COURTSHIP
From 'Destiny'
THE
HE Reverend Duncan M'Dow was a large, loud-spoken, splay-
footed man, whose chief characteristics were his bad preach-
ing, his love of eating, his rapacity for augmentations (or
as he termed it, owgmentations), and a want of tact in all the
bienséances of life which would have driven Lord Chesterfield
frantic. His hands and feet were in everybody's way: the
## p. 5656 (#234) ###########################################
5656
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
former, indeed, like huge grappling-irons, seized upon everything
they could possibly lay hold of; while the latter were commonly
to be seen sprawling at an immeasurable distance from his body,
and projecting into the very middle of the room like two pro-
digious moles or bastions. He dealt much in stale jokes and bad
puns; he had an immense horse-laugh which nothing ever re-
strained, and an enormous appetite which nothing seemed to
damp, and which he took care always to supply with the best
things at table. He used a great quantity of snuff, and was for-
ever handing about his mull,—an ugly cow's-horn, with a foul
dingy cairngorm set in silver on the top. To sum up his per-
sonal enormities, when he spoke he had a practice of always
advancing his face as close as possible to the person he was
addressing. Although a strong-bodied sturdy man, he was ex-
tremely careful of his health; and even in a fine summer's day
was to be seen in a huge wooly greatcoat that reached to his
heels, trotting along on a stout dun pony just high enough to
keep its master's feet off the ground.
Such were the outward man and beast; the inward man was
very much of the same stamp. Mr. M'Dow's principal object in
this world was self, and his constant and habitual thoughts had
naturally operated on his outward manners to such a degree as
to blunt all the nicer perceptions of human nature, and render
him in very truth his own microcosm. He was no dissembler;
for a selfish dissembler is aware that in order to please, one must
appear to think of others and forget self. This fictitious polite-
ness he had neither the tact to acquire nor the cunning to feign;
consequently he was devoid of all the means of pleasing. Not
that we mean to recommend dissimulation, or to insinuate that
Mr. M'Dow would in reality have been a better man had he been
able and willing to form himself on the model of the Chesterfield
school. He would merely have been less offensive in the ordi-
nary intercourse of life, and would have sinned less against the
common observances of society. But had he been earnest in
his calling, had he sought to have his mind enlightened by the
knowledge of those Divine truths which he professed to teach,
their unction would have softened and refined even the rugged-
ness of his nature, and have rendered him an object of respect
instead of a subject of ridicule.
The day arrived for the long-promised visit to the manse.
It was a thin tenement, built of rough gray stone of the
## p. 5657 (#235) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5657
usual pattern, a window on each side of the door and three above.
At one side was the garden, with cabbages and marigolds growing
pell-mell, and in the rear was the set of condemned offices, partly
thatched and partly slated. There were no attempts at neatness
in the approach to the house, which was merely a rough jog-trot
road, flanked on each side by a dike. Presently Mr. M'Dow was
seen hurrying to the door to meet his guests, and there, as they
alighted, he was ready to receive them with open hands.
Great was the joy expressed at this honor, as Mr. M'Dow led
the way to the interior of his mansion, which was just such as
might have been expected from its outward aspect. There was a
narrow stone passage with a door on each side, and there was a
perpendicular wooden stair, and that was all that was to be seen
at the first coup d'œil. But if little was revealed to the eye, the
secrets of the house were yielded with less coy reserve to the
other senses: for there was to be heard the sound of a jack, now
beginning with that low, slow, mournful whine which jacks of
sensibility are sure to have; then gradually rising to a louder and
more grating pitch; till at length one mighty crash, succeeded as
all mighty crashes are, by a momentary silence. Then comes
the winding-up, which, contrary to all the rules of the drama, is
in fact only a new beginning; and so on ad infinitum till the
deed is done. With all these progressive sounds were mingled
the sharp, shrill, loud voice and Gaelic accents of the chef de
cuisine, with an occasional clash or clang, at least equal to the
fall of the armor in the Castle of Otranto.
Then there issued forth with resistless might a smell which
defied all human control, and to which doors and windows were
but feeble barriers or outlets; till like the smoke in the 'Arabian
Nights,' which resolved itself into a genie, it seemed as if about
to quit its aerial form and assume a living and tangible substance.
Lucy would fain have drawn back as she crossed the thresh-
old, and quitting the pure precincts of sunshine and fresh air,
found herself in the power of this unseen monster,- this com-
pound of fish, fat, peats, burnt grease, kail, leeks, and onions,
reveling, too, amid such scenes and beneath such a sky!
"You see I have brought my sketch-book, Mr. M'Dow," said
she; "so I must make the most of my time, and be busy out of
doors.
. A noted sketcher, as papa calls me, minds neither
heat nor cold, and I shall easily find either a shady spot or a cool
breeze. "
## p. 5658 (#236) ###########################################
5658
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Well, then, since you will go out, trust yourself to me, and
I'll take you where you'll find both, and the most beautiful pros-
pect into the bargain. "
At that moment the door opened, and a thick yellow man,
with no particular features, dressed in a short coat, tartan
trews, and a very large ill-colored neckcloth, entered the room
and was introduced by the minister as his cousin and brother-
in-law, Mr. Dugald M'Dow, from Glasgow, then on a visit at the
manse.
"We're just going to take a turn in the garden, Mr. Dugald,”
said his host: "will you get your hat and join us? "
"With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Dugald with a
strong accent and a stiff conceited bow; then, popping down a
sealskin cap from a peg in the passage, he was instantly accou-
tred, and the party set forth.
"I wish it had been earlier in the season, Miss Lucy," said
Mr.
M'Dow, as he ushered her into his kail-yard by a narrow
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted. They were uncommonly large and jisey, and at the same
time extremely high-flavored. I have a little red hairy berry
that's very deleeshus; and there's the honey-blobs, an uncommon
fine berry - a great deal of jise in it. I was rather unlucky in
my rasps this season; they were small and wormy, and a very
poor crop: but my currins were amazingly prolific and uncom-
monly jisey. In fact, I couldn't use the half of them, and it
was really vexatious to see them absolutely rotting on the bushes.
The want of a lady at the berry season is a great want, and one
that's sorely felt; for though my lass is an exceeding good plain
cook, yet she's not mistress of the higher branches of cookery,
such as the making of jams and jeellies, and these things; but I
would fain flatter myself, by the time the berry season comes
round again, I may have a fair lady to manage them for me.
Do you think I may venture to hope so, Miss Lucy? ”
Again she attempted to rid herself of the assiduities of Mr.
M'Dow, and was gliding away, as she hoped unperceived, when,
striding after her like a seven-league ogre, he called:- "Miss
Lucy-Miss Lucy! you're not running away from us, I hope?
This is just about the time I ordered a slight refreshment to be
ready," pulling out his watch: "you'll do me the honor to par-
take of it, I hope? "
## p. 5659 (#237) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5659
Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had ample
refreshment, and being much more inclined to sketch than to
eat; but Lucy must have been made of stone and lime to have
been able to withstand the importunities of Mr. M'Dow: he was
as urgent as though his very existence had depended upon her
partaking of his "slight refreshment," and she was at length
compelled, much against her inclination, to return to the salle à
manger.
During their absence a table had been covered; but the ar-
rangements were not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellow-
haired damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks as
though she had been turning over so many down feathers.
"I expected to have found everything ready by this time,"
said Mr. M'Dow: "what have you been about, Jess? " But Jess
continued to stamp and clatter away without making any reply.
"I'll just show you the way to my study, till the refreshment's
put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; and finding all remon-
strance in vain, his guests submitted with a good grace, and
were conducted to a very tolerable room up-stairs, where were a
few shelves of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and
a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered about. There
was also a sofa with a dirty crumpled cover, where Mr. Dugald
seemed to have been lounging with a flute and a music-book. In
one corner stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in
bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture.
"Allow me in the mean time to lead the way to something
more substantial, Miss Lucy," cried Mr. M'Dow, seizing her
hand, as Jess put her head in at the door; and having given a
glare with her eyes, and wide opened her mouth, emitting a sort
of guttural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped down-
stairs again as hard and fast as she could.
"Give me leave, Miss Lucy; but the stair's rather narrow for
two; you know the way; turn to the left hand of my trance.
It's very easy for these poets to preach; but it's not so easy
always for us preachers to practice - hoch, ho! "
This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over; and the
company seated themselves at table, which was literally covered
- with dishes, all close huddled together. In the middle was a
tureen of leek soup, alias cocky-leeky, with prunes; at one end,
a large dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts; at
the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the throat with
## p. 5660 (#238) ###########################################
5660
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
onions, and decorated with onion rings round their legs and
pinions. At the corners were minced collops and tripe, con-
fronted with a dish of large old pease, drowned (for they could
not swim) in butter; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored
and rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife a weapon
which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length from one
to three feet, and in uncivilized lands used indiscriminately to
cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, and butter. Saucers filled
with ill-colored pickles filled up the interstices.
"I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. M'Dow, sur-
veying his banquet with great complacency; "I think it prefer-
able to a more solid mail in this weather. Of all good Scotch
dishes, in my opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky; as a
friend of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll find
that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just try it; for it's
made by a receipt of my mother's, and she was always famous
for cocky-leeky: the prunes are a great improvement; they give
a great delicacy to the flavor: my leeks are not come to their
full strength yet, but they are extremely sweet; you may help
me to a few more of the broth, captain, and don't spare the
leeks. I never see cocky-leeky without thinking of the honest
man who found a snail in his: Tak ye that snack, my man,' says
he, 'for looking sae like a plum-damy;' hoch, hoch, ho! There's
a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and I believe you see
your refreshment; there's merely a few trifles coming. "
Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little muddy trouts,
as the least objectionable article of the repast; and while Mr.
M'Dow's mouth was stuffed with prunes and leeks, silence ensued.
But having dispatched a second plateful and taken a bumper of
wine, he began again:-"I can answer for the ducks, Miss Lucy,
if you'll do me the favor to try them. A clean knife and fork,
Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut them. I prefer ducks to a goose; a
goose is an inconvenient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one
person, and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess!
what is the meaning of this? the ducks are perfectly raw! " in
an accent of utter despair. "What is the meaning of it? You
must take it to the brander, and get it done as fast as you can.
How came Eppy to go so far wrong, I wonder! "
Jess here emitted some of her guttural sounds, which being
translated amounted to this: that the jack had run down and
Eppy couldn't get it set going again.
## p. 5661 (#239) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5661
"That's most ridiculous! " exclaimed Mr. M'Dow indignantly;
"when I was at the pains to show her myself how to manage
her. She's the Auchnagoil jack, which I bought, and a most
famous goer.
But you see how it is, Miss Lucy; you must make
allowance for a bachelor's house: there's a roasted hare coming.
Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare to me. " The hare
was herewith introduced, and flung, rather than placed, before her
master. "Oh, this is quite intolerable! There's really no bear-
ing this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The whole jise is
out of its body! "
"Your cook's not a good hare-dresser; that's all that can be
said," quoth Mr. Dugald.
"Very well said-extremely good," said Mr. M'Dow, trying
to laugh off his indignation; "and after all, I believe, it's only a
little scowthered. Do me the favor to try a morsel of it, Miss
Lucy, with a little jeelly. Jess, put down the jeelly. Oh, have
you nothing but a pig to put it in? " demanded he, in a most
wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a large native jelly-pot
upon the table.
"Where's the handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish I
bought at the Auchnagoil roup? "
Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of conscious
guilt told that the "handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish" was no
more.
"This is really most provoking! But if you'll not taste the
hare, Miss Lucy, will you do me the kindness to try the minced
collops? or a morsel of tripe? It's a sweet, simple dish-a great
favorite of my mother's; both you and the captain are really
poor eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each
other in countenance. "
And another pause ensued, till at last an order was given, to
take everything away. "And bring the few trifles-but will you
make less noise? there's no hearing ourselves speak for you;"
but Jess rattled away, nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the
door wide open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared,
with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, standing on the
threshold with her hands full.
"Now take the pigeon pie to Mr. Dugald; bring the puddin'
to me; put the puffs and cheesecakes at the sides, and the cream
in the middle. I'm sorry I've no jeellies and blaw mangys for
Miss Lucy. If you won't taste the pie, do me the favor to take
a bit of this puddin'; it's quite a simple puddin', made from a
recipe of my mother's. "
## p. 5662 (#240) ###########################################
5662
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which, as its
name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, flavored with peat-
reek whisky.
"I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste, Miss Lucy; you're
making no hand of it; will you try a jam puff? I'm sure you'll
find them good; they come from Glasgow, sent by my good
mother; I must really taste them, if it were only out of respect
to her. Oh! Miss Lucy, will you not halve a puff with me? "
The minister and his friend having now ate and drank copi-
ously of all that was upon the table, Captain Malcolm said: -"My
daughter has not yet accomplished the object of her visit here,
and we must soon be returning home; so you have no time to
lose, my dear," to Lucy, who started up from the table like a
bird from its cage; "if indeed it is not lost already," he added,
as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright blue sky
had now changed to one of misty whiteness, showers were seen
drifting along over the scattered isles, and even while they
spoke, a sudden gust of wind and rain came sweeping along, and
all the beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the sight.
Captain Malcolm was not a person to be disconcerted by
trifles; but on the present occasion he could not refrain from
expressing his regret, as he every moment felt an increasing
repugnance to the company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and
still more on Lucy's account than his own,-it seemed like con-
tamination for so fair and pure a creature to be seated between
two such coarse barbarians. Mr. M'Dow affected to sympathize
in the disappointment; but it was evident he was exulting in the
delay.
Shower after shower followed in such quick succession that
Lucy found the object of her visit completely defeated. At
length the clouds rolled away, but the day was too far advanced
to admit of further tarriance; and besides, both the father and
daughter were impatient to extricate themselves from the over-
powering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow.
"I hope you will have many opportunities of taking drawings
here," said he, with a significant tenderness of look and manner,
as he assisted Lucy to mount her pony; «< and when the manse
is harled, and I get my new offices, the view will be much im-
proved. "
Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her own hands,
and gladly turned her back on the manse and the minister.
## p. 5663 (#241) ###########################################
5663
OCTAVE FEUILLET
(1821-1890)
CTAVE FEUILLET was the darling of the Second Empire. In
the days when realistic fiction was beginning its struggle
for a hearing, he treated court circles to romantic tales of
the Faubourg Saint-Germain. To himself and to his audience, lovers
of social elegance, the sordid commonplace world of tradespeople was
uninteresting. He contributed to the aristocratic spirit which main-
tains that rich and well-born men and women have an exclusive pos-
session of mental and moral refinement. His pleasure-seeking readers
were not interested in broad social prob-
lems, but the mental struggles of spoiled
beauties and the sentimental hair-splitting
of chivalric young noblemen supplied just
the sugar-plums they craved. Perhaps a
touch of effeminacy in his own nature es-
pecially fitted Feuillet to understand the
women of his world, and to portray the
vagaries of idle ardent girls, who have been
his most admiring readers.
Moreover, he was an avowed moralist
of a conventional morality, such as is suit-
able for discussion in the salon. While scru-
pulously respecting prejudices, he managed,
almost unobserved as it were, to offer stim-
ulating expositions of unorthodox subjects. But unquestionably he
always aims to inculcate respect for nobility of mind and action.
Perhaps the reproach oftenest brought against him touches this
evident didacticism. But he points his moral so delicately that the
indirect sermonizing is never aggressive. Although severely criti-
cized by Sainte-Beuve, George Sand, Lemaître, Zola, and other critics
who sometimes treated him with contemptuous mockery, Feuillet was
always a popular novelist. For more than forty years he pursued his
own ideals with courage and success, meeting distinguished consid-
eration, being made member of the Legion of Honor; and in 1862
accepted into the French Academy as the successor of Scribe.
Feuillet obtained his early education in his native town, Saint Lô,
where his father was secretary of the prefecture. Then he was sent
to Paris; where first at the Collège Louis le Grand, and later at the
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OCTAVE FEUILLET
University, he proved himself both studious and talented. Unlike
most student habitués of the Quartier Latin, he found no pleasure in
Bohemian dissipations. His calm, refined nature shunned low asso-
ciations and coarse jollity. He was reserved and exclusive like his
favorite heroes, and absorbed in imaginative ideals.
At twenty-four he began to write, and in collaboration with Borage
and Aubert composed 'Le Grand Vieillard,' a novel which appeared
as a serial in Le Nationel. A devoted disciple of Dumas fils, and
stimulated by the example of Scribe, he next tried the theatre; and
with Vavin and Xazier wrote 'Une Nuit Terrible,' played at the
Gymnase in 1845. All his early plays (and they were many), though
sometimes clever, are so crude and experimental that Feuillet did
not include them among his complete works. After he became
devoted to Alfred de Musset, he wrote the 'Scènes et Proverbes,'
which, published in the Revue des Deux Mondes, made his first
assured success. Of these, 'La Fée,' 'Alix,' 'La Clef d'Or,' and
others, are dainty dramatic tales, showing his vigor of characteriza-
tion and delicacy of style. In 1848 his first long story, 'Onesta,' an
Italian tale of passion, delighted the readers of the Nouvelle Revue,
and was followed by many tales so successfully dramatized that his
name became equally familiar to readers and theatre-goers.
His well-known 'Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre' (Romance of
a Poor Young Man) is a characteristic piece of work. Its Musset-
like delight in emotion, its striking situations, stamped it as a prod-
uct of the aging romantic school. Of course it incurred the disfavor
of his more progressive fellow-craftsmen, although, as Lanson says,
Feuillet is far more a realist than is commonly supposed. His char-
acters do not experience exaggerated rewards or punishments, and
their fate seems the natural outcome of their qualities. In spite of
the optimistic spirit which maintained his faith in innate human
nobility, Feuillet thoroughly appreciated the tragedy of life. Nearly
all his stories are sad, and sometimes dramatically tragic.
The pov-
erty-stricken young nobleman of the 'Romance,' with his lofty ideals
and sensitive self-respect, ruled his life with the pride which actuated
Feuillet himself. There were critics to deride as well as critics to
honor the antique virtue of the novelist, when upon the downfall of
the Empire he resigned his lucrative position as librarian of the
Château of Fontainebleau when the catastrophe had made that posi-
tion a sinecure merely. For this sentimental "Family Musset" was
sincere. One of his characters somewhere remarks that ideality glo-
rifies ugly prose duty and acts as a stimulus to endeavor. So Feuillet
wishes to picture a world in which men and women find in self-
respect and religion compensation for suffering and self-sacrifice.
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5665
A LEAP IN THE DARK
From the Romance of a Poor Young Man ›
YES
ESTERDAY I set out on horseback early in the morning to over-
see the felling of some timber in the neighborhood. I was
returning toward four o'clock in the direction of the château,
when at a sharp turn of the road I found myself face to face
with Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was alone. I bowed, and
-
was about to pass, but she stopped her horse.
་
"A beautiful autumn day, monsieur," said she.
"Yes, mademoiselle. You are going to ride? »
"As you see, I am using my last moments of independence,
and even abusing them; for I feel a little troubled by my soli-
tude. But Alain was wanted down there- my poor Mervyn is
lame. You do not wish to replace him, by chance ? »
"With pleasure. Where are you going? "
"Why I had the idea of pushing my ride as far as the
Tower of Elven. " She pointed with the end of her riding-
whip to a dark summit which rose within sight of the road. "I
think," she added, "that you have never made such a pilgrim-
age. "
"It is true. It has often tempted me, but I have put it off
till now, I hardly know why. "
"Well, the Tower is easily found; but it is already late; we
must make a little haste, if you please. "
I turned my horse's head and we set out at a gallop.
As we rode I sought to explain to myself this unexpected
whim, which I could not but think premeditated. I concluded
that time and reflection had weakened in Mademoiselle Mar-
guerite's mind the first impressions made by the calumnies which
had been poured into her ear. She had apparently ended by
doubting Mademoiselle Helouin's veracity, and contrived to offer
me, by chance, under a disguised form, a kind of reparation
which might possibly be due me.
In the midst of the thoughts that besieged me, I attached
slight importance to the particular end we proposed to ourselves
in this strange ride. I had often heard this Tower of Elven
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
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towering upward in the middle of distant heaths like an enor-
mous stone bank; but time and occasion had been wanting to me.
The village of Elven that we traversed, slackening our pace a
little, gave a striking representation of a town of the Middle
Ages. The form of the low dark houses has not changed for
five or six centuries. One thinks himself dreaming when he
sees, through the large gaps, arched and without sashes, which
take the place of windows in the houses, groups of women with
wild eyes, spinning from distaffs in the shadow, and conversing
in low voices in an unknown language. It seemed now as if all
these gray spectres had quitted their monumental slabs to enact
some scene of another age, of which we were to be the sole
living witnesses. The little life that was visible in the single
street of the village bore the same character of antiquity and
faithful representation of a vanished world.
A little distance beyond Elven we took a cross-road, which
led us up a barren hill; we saw from its summit, although at
some distance from us, the feudal ruin overlooking a wooded
height in front of us. The heath where we were, descended
sharply toward marshy meadows surrounded with thick young
woods. We descended the slope and were soon in the woods.
There we took a narrow road, the rough unbroken pavement of
which resounded loudly under our horses' feet. I had ceased for
some time to see the Tower, the locality of which I could not
even conjecture; when it rose out of the foliage a few steps
before us, with the suddenness of an apparition. This Tower is
not decayed; it has preserved its original height, which exceeds
a hundred feet, and the regular layers of granite which compose
its magnificent octagonal structure give it the aspect of a formida-
ble block, cut yesterday by the keenest chisel. Nothing more
imposing, more proud and sombre, can be imagined than this old
donjon, impervious to the effects of time, and alone in these
thick woods. The trees have grown close to its walls, and their
tops reach to the openings for the lower windows. This growth
of vegetation conceals the base of the edifice, and increases its
appearance of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, surrounded by
forests, with this mass of extraordinary architecture in front of
us, it was impossible not to think of enchanted castles where beau-
tiful princesses sleep a hundred years.
"Up to this time," said Mademoiselle Marguerite, to whom I
tried to communicate this idea, "I have seen no more than what
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5667
we now see; but if you wish to wake the fairy princess, we can
enter. For all I know, there may be in the neighborhood a
shepherd or shepherdess who is furnished with a key.
Let us
fasten our horses and seek for them-you for the shepherd and
I for the shepherdess. "
The horses were accordingly fastened in a little inclosure near
the ruin, and we separated for a moment to search around the
Tower. But we had the vexation to meet neither shepherd nor
shepherdess. Our desire to see the interior naturally increased.
with all the force of attraction of forbidden fruit, and we crossed
a bridge thrown over the moat, at a venture. To our great satis-
faction, the massive door of the donjon was not shut; we needed
only to push it open in order to enter a corner, dark and incum-
bered with rubbish, which was probably the place for the body-
guard in former times. From thence we passed into a vast
circular hall, the chimney-piece of which still showed, on its
coat of arms, the besants of the crusade; a large open window,
traversed by the symbolic cross, plainly cut in the stone, lighted
distinctly the lower part of this room, and the
eye failed to
pierce the uncertain shadows of the lofty broken roof. At the
sound of our steps an invisible flock of birds flew out from the
darkness, shaking down upon us the dust of centuries.
On mounting up the granite steps ranged one above the
other round the hall, into the embrasure of the window, we
could overlook the deep moat and the ruined parts of the for-
tress; but we had noticed on our entrance a flight of steps cut in
the thick wall, and we felt a childish impatience to push our
discoveries further. We therefore undertook to ascend this rude
staircase. I led the way, and Mademoiselle Marguerite followed
bravely, holding up her long skirts as well as she could. From
the top of the flat roof the view was vast and delicious. The
soft tints of twilight were creeping over the ocean of half-golden
autumn foliage, the dark marshes, and the green mossy ground
near us, and the distant ranges of hills mingling with and cross-
ing each other.
other. As we gazed down upon this melancholy land-
scape, infinite in extent, we felt the peace of solitude, the silence
of evening, the sadness of the past, descend into our hearts.
