Page images
PDF
EPUB

fort her," said his mother suddenly; "for | who shrinks from a great blow; Euphie wept she has her prop and her staff left to her, and and lamented passionately and aloud- she has never heard the foot of deadly sorrow a' felt the stroke so much the least of all. her days. The auld man and Patie baith a' gane -I ken it 's true gane I'm assured in my ain mind it 's true; but I've nae feeling o't, man nae feeling o't-nae mair than cauld iron or stane."

CHAPTER VII.

That day the Firth was scoured up and down, from Inverkeithing to St. Andrews, and anxious scouts despatched along the whole And, with a pitiful smile quivering upon line of coast to search at least for other eviher lip, and her eye gleaming dry and tear-dence of the wreck. Other evidence there less, Kirstin turned to pace up and down the was none to be found nothing, save this little apartment. Strangely different in the solitary fragment, had found its way to the first effort of her scarcely less intense grief, home-shores of Fife, and the sea closed hopeAilie Rintoul turned now fiercely upon John - lessly over all trace and token of the lost ves"Have ye nae mair proof but this? A wave sel and her crew. The weather continued might wrench away a companion-door that brilliant and glowing, full of sunshine and wouldna founder a sloop- are ye gaun to be fresh winds; but not even the strong high content with this, John Rintoul? He's gane tides, which covered Elie shore with wreaths through as mony storms as there's gray hairs of tangle and glistening seaweed, and scaton his head-and ilka ane of them is num-tered driftwood on the braes, brought any bered. Am I to believe the Lord would forsake his ain? I tell ye ye 're wrang-ye 're a' wrang - I'll never believe it. He may be driven out a hundred mile, or stranded on a desolate place, or ta'en refuge, or fechting on the sea; but ye needna tell me I ken I ken I'll believe ye the Judgment 's to be the morn, afore I believe my brother 's lost."

Hot tears blinded Ailie's eyes, and all the stiff sedateness of her mien had vanished in the wild gestures with which these words hurried from her lips; she paused, at length, worn out and trembling with feverish excitement, and turned to the window to look out on the sea. John, still more completely exhausted, and lost in the deep, hopeless despondency which had now succeeded to the first impatience of grief, stood at the table silent and unresponsive still; and the slow, heavy footsteps of Kirstin Beatoun sounded through the room like a knell.

[ocr errors]

second messenger ashore, to confirm the record of the first. In a little empty chamber, in the roof of John Rintoul's house, this tragie token was itself preserved; and Euphie, when he disappeared sometimes, knew, with an impatient, half-displeased sympathy, that he was there there, turning over the senseless fragment in his hand, carefully pondering its marks, and feeling his heart beat when he discovered a new jagged point in its outline, yet never drawing forth from it further tidings of the mystery which it alone could tell.

And by and by a stupefying calm fell over all their excitement. The loss of the "Euphemia" came to be a matter of history in the district, of which people told with heads sympathetically shaken, and exclamations of grave pity, just as Kirstin Beatoun herself spoke last year of the boats lost at “the drave." There were circumstances connected with the story, remarkable, and claiming special notice; as, for instance, the total disappearance of the wreck-all but the one singular token which John Rintoul himself had found; but the story itself was not reNa, markable-nothing more noteworthy or la mentable than the fall of a knight in harness, or a soldier in the field of battle, was the loss of a sailor in the wild element which he lived but to struggle with; and only another story of shipwreck, distinguished by a special mystery, was added to the far too abundant store of such calamities known to the dwellers of the east coast.

"And it was for this ye minded of the bairns!-oh, John, my man, my man! and it was for this the Lord warned ye with a sight of them, and put dark words into your mouth, that I kent nae meaning to! Ailie; no lost; blessings on him where he is, where nae blessings fail! I never had dread nor doubt before, but put him freely in the Lord's hand to come and gang at His good pleasure and he came like the day, and gaed like the night, as constant, serving his Maker. He's won hame at last and the Lord help me for a puir desolate creature, that am past kenning what my trouble is. Patie, too; bairns — bairns, ye needna think me hard-hearted because I canna greet-but it's a' cauld, cauld, like the blast that cast our boat away."

And the poor widow leaned upon the wall, and struggled with some hard, dry, gasping sobs; but no tears came to soften the misery in her eyes.

[ocr errors]

Agnes was cowering in a corner, like one

And "the Elie," with its quiet monotony of life-the bustle of leave-taking with which its few small vessels sailed, its fishing-boats went and came, and its little commotion of country business-the market of its small province of farms - went on without a change. A visible outward gravity and solemness fell upon two or three households, who made no moan of their affliction-no small repining and complaint on the part of Samuel Raeburn

and his wife, now suddenly fallen into comparative poverty; but all the widening outer circles had died out of the placid water, and only a single spot remained to tell where so many hopes had gone down into the sea.

of golden sand. But there comes no sunshine here, to throw a passing radiance upon this still figure, with its drooping head and widow's cap, the wheel moving rapidly before her, and the monotonous continual motion of foot and hand. There is something strangely impressive in this combination of perfect stillness and constant mechanical motion a mystie mesmeric effect binding the spectator as by a spell. The wheel moves on, and so does the hand that sways it; but not by so much as the lifting of an eyelid does Kirstin show any sign of animation except this.

Yet she has visitors to-day. By the side of the fire, just opposite that great wooden arm-chair which no one ventures to sit down in, Mrs. Plenderleath, with a black gown heavily trimmed with crape, and ghastly black ribbons about her cap, sits solemnly silent too. Kirstin has no mourning except the widow's cap which surrounds her unmoving

And looking into Kirstin Beatoun's sole apartment, with all its minute regularity of order-its well-swept earthen floor and shining fireplace, with the great empty "kettle," which she once needed in the old family times, standing upon the side of the grate, even when the little vessel she used herself hung from the crook, a speck in the large, hospitable chimney-you scarcely could have fancied that the house was desolate. There were one or two signs noticeable enough, if you had crossed the threshold before, ere this blow fell on Kirstin's life. No sound in the hushed house but the constant voice of the eight-day clock, telling hours and minutes, of which none were spent idly even now. No bits of tunes hummed out of the house-moth-face her everyday petticoat and shortgown er's contented heart- no little communication made to herself or to a passing neighbor, and even no passing neighbor throwing in a word of daily news from the threshold, as they used to do every hour; for the door itself stood no longer open, inviting chance visitants or voices. Like a veil over a widow's face, this closed door chilled all voluble sympathizers round, and impressed the neighborhood with a deeper sense of widowhood and desolation than almost any other visible token could have done. The very children paused and grew silent, wondering with wistful eyes before the closed door; and solemn was the greenish light within, coming solely, as it never came before, through the thick, small windowpanes and half-drawn curtains, upon Kirstin herself, sitting before the fire in the profound silence, working nets or knitting stockings, spinning wool or hemp- no longer for the kindly household needs which it was such joy to supply - -no longer for the winter fishing, or the herring drave, in which she herself had all the personal interest which a fisherman's wife takes in the success of our boat" but for the bare and meagre daily bread which she had now to win with her own hands.

remain the same, and she can only afford to wear her new mournings on Sabbath-days · but there is a satisfaction to the richer Ailie in bearing constantly the memorials of their woe. Cold and gray, and sharply drawn, the thin lines of Ailie's face bear something like a high strain of irritation and impatience in their grief. Her eyes are excited and wandering deeply hollowed, too, within these few painful weeks and her lips have got a fashion of strange, rapid motion, quivering, and framing words as it seems, though the words are never said.

Just behind Kirstin, sitting on a low wooden stool, and half leaning against the elbow of the vacant arm-chair, is Agnes Raeburn. Samuel, her father, has taken the loss of the sloop as a personal offence, and has no commiseration to spare for the sailors who lost his property along with their lives; nor has he ever professed to mourn for them; yes Agnes has a homely black-and-white cotton gown, as cheap as cotton print can be procured, whereby she silently testifies her "respect" for the dead. And something more significant than her mourning speaks in those dark shadows under her eyes, in the pallor of her thin cheek, and in the lines which begin She is sitting there now, with the fire to grow far more clearly marked and distinet throwing some ruddy shade upon her-sit- than they should have been for years, around ting in the full daylight, in the middle of the the grave mouth, which never relaxes now to floor. There is a significance even in the anything but a pathetic smile. But it is place where she chooses to put her chair and here only, or in the solitude of her own chamwheel, for Kirstin is in no one's way now, and ber at home, that Agnes permits herself the does not need to leave the "clear floor," for indulgence of this grief. Out of doors, and which she would once have contended. With-among strangers, her pride sustains her. out, it is a May day, fresh and fragrant, and She will not have any one say that she is the clear water on Elie shore has forgotten breaking, for Patie Rintoul, the heart which the boisterous mirth of early spring, and out he never sought in words. of its schoolboy din has gone back into an infant's sweet composure, and breaks in sunny ripples, soft and quiet, upon the narrow rim

Though now Agnes is solemnly assured that he would have sought it, and that Patie, whose dawning devotion she had scorned

[ocr errors]

far as appearance went, bore for her that [ "A'body's very kind," said Kirstin steadily,
high love at which her heart trembles, and "but I 've had a house o' my ain for five-and-
which none may scorn. She knows it. How? forty year, and I canna live in anither woman's
But Agnes thrills over all her frame, and
shrinks back and shudders. She cannot tell.
A dark figure crossing the street through the
world of white unshadowed moonlight-a
distant step echoing over the stones when all
the peaceful housekeepers of Elie had been for
hours asleep something at her window
shaking the casement like a hand that fain
would open it, but might not- and stealthy
sounds, as of subdued footsteps, stealing all
night long through the silent house. She
thinks that thus he came to warn her he,
Patie-now the one perpetual unnamed He
on whom her heart dwells; she thinks the
passing yearning spirit took this only means
in his power to let her know his love, as he
parted with his mortal life; and the thought
wraps heart and soul of her in a dim dreamy

now. Na, na, Nannie—my guid-daughter
is very weel of hersel, and pleases John, and
I'm aye glad to see her and you're a fine
simple hearted creatur, and I like to have you
near me; but I maun bide in my ain house,
Nancy, and be thankful that I have to work
to keep a roof over my head; it's aye some-
thing to thole thae lang days for. If I had.
plenty, and ease, and naething to do but to
sit with my hands before me, I would either
gang daft or dee."

awe.

-

[ocr errors]

But there's an odds between gaun to a strange woman's house-though I'm meaning nae ill to John's wife and coming to mine," said Mrs. Plenderleath; " and ye could aye hae plenty to do, Kirstin, and I wouldns be against ye working, for I kin it's a grand divert to folk's ain thoughts."

[ocr errors]

"Na, Ailie, na," answered Kirstin BeaAt present Agnes is knitting. It is toun; "I have lost a'thing that made hame Kirstin's work work that she does at night cheerie, man and weans, goods and gear; but to preserve her eyes from the more remunera- I maun keep the four wa's a' my days- it's tive labor; and so they sit together in per- what was hame ance, and it's everything I fect silence, Ailie Rintoul now and then hae. When my time comes, and I'm done rustling the sleeves of her black silk gown, as with earthly dwellings the Lord send it she lifts her large brown bony hand to wipe was this day! the plenishing can be sellt, the continual moisture which overflows, as out and the siller laid by for little Johnnie when of a cup, from the hollow rim under her he comes to be a man; but I maun keep my eyes Agnes moving her fingers quickly, and ain house a' my days.' making a sharp, rapid sound with her wires This was by no means the first time Kirstin -Kirstin, like a weird woman, with rapt had declared her determination; and not head and look of perfect abstraction, spinning even the faintest lingering hope that some on, with that constant monotonous movement one might still come back out of the mysteriof foot and hand; - but no one of them ous sea, which had swallowed up her treasures, stirring, except with this involuntary gesture, to make this once more a home worth living und none saying a word to the other. in, inspired her in her purpose. It was simply as she said. Her own house, and the desire to retain it, was all she had now remaining in this life; and her daily work was her daily strength, and kept her heart alive.

After a long time spent in this silence, Ailie rises slowly to go to the window. The children without think her something like a spirit as they see her long, colorless face, surrounded with borders of narrow net and bits of black ribbon, looking out over the curtain. Slowly returning and resuming her seat, Ailie speaks:

66

You said John was to be down from Leith the day?"

"Euphie was looking for him," said Agnes. "The owner of the brig was to let him ken whether he would do for mate this morning, and Euphie was busy at a' his claes, for he thought he would get the place."

Ailie shook her head bitterly. Kirstin made no sign; but the humiliation, and loss, and poverty, were an aggravation of the misfortune of her sister-in-law.

"And Euphie said, if you would gang there -if you would only gang hame!" said Agnes, rising to lay her hand hurriedly on Kirstin Beatoun's shoulder; "for it breaks everybody's heart to see you living your lane, and working this way night and day.”

For no one dreamt of the little Dutch smuggling brig storm-driven up the Firth on yon tempestuous March night - no one knew of the young, pallid, half-drowned man whom the Dutch skipper could not choose but turn aside to save; and least of all could any one have imagined the strange, pitiful scene on board the "Drei Bruderen," where the poor young Scotch sailor, with that hardening cut upon his brow, lay wild in the delirium of brain fever, raving fiercely in the unknown tongue, which made his kindly, rude deliverers, grouped round his bed, shake their heads, and look doubtfully at one another, unable to distinguish a single word intelligible to them of all his lengthened groanings. They were on the high seas still, slowly drawing near their haven; and even now, while Kirstin Beatoun sat immovable under the shadow of her great hopeless sorrow, hope, and health, and a new life began to dawn again upon Patie Rintoul.

From the Gentleman's Magazine.

DR. YOUNG

DR. AKENSIDE
BOSWELL.

DR. YOUNG.

power to furnish Mr. Croft with any important circumstances in Dr. Young's life; but he was JAMES sunk into the vale of years and quiet retreat,

before she had the honor and happiness of his acquaintance, and his contemplation being then chiefly intent on things above the visible diurnal JOHNSON got lazy towards the conclusion of sphere, he rarely talked of the earlier and more his Lives of the Poets, and was glad to accept heard many things greatly to his credit; particactive part of his life. From others she has the offer of a life of Young from Mr. Herbert ularly an act of uncommon liberality to his lady's Croft, then a barrister of Lincoln's Inn, after-daughter by her first husband; but as they wards a clergyman, and still remembered as Sir Herbert Croft, and as the author of "Love and Madness," a kind of novel founded on the story of Mr. Hackman and Miss Ray. Croft was the friend of Dr. Young's son, but, judging from the Life, he would not appear to have known much of Young; while he has fallen into some curious blunders that deserve to be corrected in any future edition of Johnson's Lives. Croft, however, was diligent in his inquiries about Young, and made ap, plications for information about him to several of his friends, among others to Mrs. Montagu, whose letter in reply I was allowed to copy from the original, then in the possession of the late "Tom Hill." As this letter merits publication, and has never been in print, I send it for preservation and public use to the pages of Sylvanus.

were delivered to her in the vague relations of common discourse, she cannot speak of them with such certainty and precision as Mr. Croft's purpose requires. This deficiency she greatly laments, not only on account of the honor they would have done to the memory of her departed friend, but likewise for the sake of the world, to whom they would have held forth patterns of right and noble conduct. Though right and wrong are declared and made known to us by the perverseness of mankind they are more apt higher wisdom than human wisdom, yet such is to be influenced by the example of persons celebrated for their parts than by pure precept; for the same reason, in an unbelieving age, the interests of religion are connected with the charaoter of a man so distinguished for piety as Dr. Young. Though unable to assist Mr. Croft, she must ever respect him for endeavoring to get information from Dr. Young's friends concerning him, instead of collecting from the whispers of ΤΟ HERBERT CROFT, ESQ., SOUTHAMPTON ROW, calumny idle tales by which to blast the memory of a good man, and prevent the edification of a good example.

LONDON.

Sandleford, Sept. 17, 1782.

Mrs. Montagu presents her compliments to Mr. Croft, and would have returned an answer to his letter sooner, but being in the country it was delayed on its way to her. In regard to "Resignation," the matter which gave occasion to that poem was simply this; Mrs. Montagu having observed that Mrs. Boscawen, in her great and just grief for the loss of the admiral, seemed to find some consolation in reading Dr. Young's Night Thoughts, she wished to give her an opportunity of conversing with him, having herself always thought his unbounded genius appeared to greater advantage in the companion than the author. The Christian was in him a character more inspired, more enraptured, more sublime, than the poet; and in his ordinary conversation

letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky. Mrs. M. therefore proposed to Mrs. Boscawen and Mrs. Carter to go with her to Welwyn. It is unnecessary to add that the visit answered every expectation.

Mrs. Montagu is very sorry it is not in her

Let me observe here that I commenced my now largely and curiously annotated copy of Johnson's Lives in the year 1839, and that I have nearly ready for publication a new edition of the Lives, with such corrections and new matter inserted as my own unceasing love for the work has enabled me to supply.-P. C.

DR. AKENSIDE.

Akenside's share in "Dodsley's Museum," and the remuneration he received from Dodsley for his services in that work, have escaped his biographer. All that Mr. Dyce says on the subject, in his able and otherwise amplo life of the poet, is as follows: "He also contributed to Dodsley's excellent periodical publication, The Museum, or Literary and Historical Register, several prose papers which deserve to be reprinted." The following document, from the original in my possession, new to the biography of the poet :

is

[blocks in formation]

To prepare and have ready for the press once a fortnight, one Essay, whenever necessary, for carrying on a work to be called The Museum. And also,

To prepare and have ready for the press, once a fortnight, an account of the most considerable books in English, Latin, French, or which Mr. Dodsley shall furnish; and the said Italian, which have been lately published, and Account of Books shall be so much in quantity as, along with the Essay above mentioned, may fill a sheet and a half in small pica, whenever so much is necessary for carrying on the said design.

[blocks in formation]

It is not known that Sir Alexander Boswell inherited his love of poetry from his father, and that the biographer of Johnson, like his son, was occasionally a poet. The following song, now first printed, and from the original in Boswell's own handwriting, was written by the charming biographer of Johnson, in commemoration of a tour he made with the famous Mrs. Rudd whilst she was under his protection, and for living with whom he was nearly disinherited by his father. Boswell occasionally sung the song on the Home Cir

euit.

LURGAN CLANBRASSIL.

A SUPPOSED IRISH SONG.

Tune - Drunk at night and dry in the morning.

O Lurgan Clanbrassil! how sweet is thy sound
To my tender remembrance as Love's sacred
ground;

For there gentle Fainelagh first charmed
sight,
And filled my young heart with a fluttering
light.

my

When I thought her my own, O! too short scemed the day

In a jaunt to Down Patrick, or a trip on the

sea;

To describe what I felt then all language were vain,

[merged small][ocr errors]

То

I talked a good deal to him (Johnson) of the celebrated Margaret Caroline Rudd, whom I had visited, induced by the fame of her talents, address, and irresistible power of fascination. a lady who disapproved of my visiting her, he said, on a former occasion, Nay, Madame, Boswell is in the right; I should have visited her myself, were it not that they have now a trick of putting everything into the newspapers." evening he exclaimed, "I envy him his acquaintance with Mrs. Rudd."

This

Would Johnson have envied him his song!
PETER CUNNINGHAM.
Kensington, 15th January, 1853.

- A

THE NEW PRESIDENT LEAVING HOME. painful sensation was created in our quiet town by the departure of Gen. Pierce on Monday of last week for Washington. Few men have been so universally honored and beloted by their neighbors and townsmen, or carried with them, when they changed their residence, more fervent good wishes. All feel that they have lost an ornament of our society, a centre of attraction, and a personal friend; and long will be the time before the void will be filled which his removal has made. While his generous nature and courteous bearing, uniting a graceful dignity with an artless frankness and unsuspecting familiarity, secured the devoted affections of all who approached him, his talents and public services procured for him confidence, respect and honor, as far as he was known. Since his nomination not one false step has he taken; since his election to the highest position in the gift of mortals, not one indiscreet act has he done.

In

the excitement, and in some instances, the violence and virulence of electioneering strife, he de-bore himself with an exact propriety, and since his election his political opponents confess to their admiration of his indomitable independence and matchless power of keeping his own secrets. The most crushing calamity has saddened his brow and his heart, but it has secured for him the sympathies and prayers of all good men, and will, as we doubt not, lift up his thoughts to a Higher Power in the midst of the honors, the flatteries, the intrigues, the fawning, and the responsibilities before him. He goes to the White House with a patriotic heart, and with the solde-emn purpose, we are persuaded, to do his whole duty, knowing no north, no south, no east, no west, the president of the country and not of a section. Ignoring politics and parties, we confess to our gratification at the honor bestowed upon our little New Hampshire, and the honorable style in which the honor will be sustained. - Concord Congregational Journal.

'Twas in truth what the poets have studied to feign.

But I found, oh! alas! that e'en she could ceive,

Then nothing was left but to sigh, weep,

rave;

Distracted I fled from my dear native shore,
Resolved to see Lurgan Clanbrassil no more.

Yet still in some moments enchanted I find

and

A warm ray of her fondness beam soft on my
mind:

While thus in bright fancy my Angel I see,
All the world is a Lurgan Clanbrassil to me.

THERE are countenances far more indecent than the naked form of the Medicean Venus.

« PreviousContinue »