queesting him to alight. And I'll to bed, I dare say, for I feel disjesket ways wi' the ride, and somewhat sleepy, whilk may be owing to Sir Richard's potation, as you observed just now." While this scene was enacting in the burgh of Thrawntrappel, Sir Richard was no less actively employed at Shieldhall. However successful he had been in inducing Charles to protract his intended tour, he felt that he could not calculate on detaining him much longer; and the only alternative, to which he had been for some time back directing his attention, for effectually putting a stop to the proposed journey, lay, as he thought, in getting Charles respectably married and settled in life. This alternative would not, of itself, have been desirable to Sir Richard; but his fears of being parted from his nephew for any indefinite period, now that he was in the afternoon of life, were extreme, and he was ready to make any sacrifice to prevent such an occurrence. The provost's daughter might not be, in point of rank, an equal match; but she was, as he said himself, a favourite of his own, worthy in every other respect of Charles' hand, and her tocher was a matter of no inconsiderable moment to one who had the prospect of a title to support. With this mind Sir Richard readily seized on old Mr. Pennycroft's proposal; and being one of those who enter with prodigious activity into whatever they undertake, and, while the fit lasts, prosecute it with unabating vigour, he allowed no time to pass, after parting with the provost, in putting his plot into execution. The line of conduct, however, upon which he had determined to act was so bold, involving in its result not only his character as a man of shrewdness, but the fortunes and affections of his nephew, that it was not without hesitation that he entered the library, where he found his unsuspecting relative busied among his books." Charles," said he, "old Provost Pennycroft has been here. You may have seen him from the window on his shelty?" "He is renewing his youth, uncle." "His wig only-ha, ha! You've seen him. Old fools-you know the proverb, Charles. But, in truth, it is no laughing matter that brought him.' "Has he been outvoted in the council, or has Diana Fair-trader gone to the bottom?" "Something worse, and something more interesting to you." "Don't ask me to explain. All I have to say is, that I am most happy that you are not involved." "I do not understand you." "So much the better, and let us drop the subject. A-hem! There is a matter, Charles, of more moment, upon which I wish to speak to you at present, and which has been, perhaps, too long neglected. I mean your intended journey to the Continent. I need not remind you, Charles, how often I have insisted upon the absolute necessity that you should see something of the world, now that you are major" "Sir Richard!" "Eh? And particularly that you should visit foreign parts; for, let me tell you, sir, nothing tends more to improve a young man to wear off his rust, or rather his rusticity, and to fit him for general society-than a practical acquaintance with the various manners and customs of❞— "Not to interrupt you, uncle. There is some mistake here. I have all along expressed a wish to travel, but I do not recollect of you having ever given an opinion on the subject before. On the contrary” "The boy's in a creel! Was it not my own suggestion? Or think you it was ever otherwise likely to go farther? Have I not again and again told you how much I regretted that I myself did not, in my youth, take advantage of those opportunities which you now possess? And I must say, Charles, since you will forceme to it, that I have been astonished and displeased at your procrastination. I do not see why the approach of winter should be a bug. bear to a young man in good health and spirits. It argues an effeminacy, methinks, unworthy of one of my blood." "Sir Richard Shield, who am I?" "Who are you? None of your theatrical airs, sir? Am I not your natural guardian "Me! What have I to do with the old and adviser?" fellow?" "Sir, I will not be insulted. I am not-I never shall be your dependent. I despise what and action; and the manner in which he had you say, sir. "Sir, you're a fool, and an ungrateful, rebellious dog, sir. And I know it, sir. And Margaret Pennycroft is a fool also for caring a farthing about you, sir. She may break her heart if she please, sir; she deserves to do so for setting her affection on such as you, sir. You wish to thwart me, sir, by staying at home; but I will cut you off, sir, as my heir, sir, this very night, sir." "Sir, you are in a passion. I know not what you allude to, sir. But I understand your threat. I beseech you to execute it. Think not to frighten me into your measure, sir, by such a despicable consideration." "Sir, it is you, sir, who are in a passion, sir. I am cool as a cucumber, sir. And let me tell you, once for all, sir, that unless you pack off to the Continent immediately, sir, and promise never to see Margaret Pennycroft, or in the slightest measure to countenance her foolish attachment to you, sir, you are no longer my heir, sir, nor my nephew, sir -and I have nothing farther to say, sir." "The man does not breathe, he never breathed -who could force me to move one step, sir, beyond my inclination. What you have told of Miss Pennycroft, sir-which I now see you would have hid but for your passion, sir-is new to me, sir"— "I am in no passion, sir. But I will not be browbeat, sir, in my own house, sir, by you, sir" "Hear me out, sir. Another day shall not pass over my head under this roof. I have but few arrangements to make; and before the sun rises, sir, you shall be quit of me for ever." Then go, sir-and unless you do, sir, as I have stated, sir, may I never see your face again. I would have you to understand, sir, that I will not be thwarted-I will not-I will not." So saying, Sir Richard, with well dissembled rage, flung himself out of the room, banging the door behind him with a violence which might (to borrow a happy phrase) have raised the ghost of Lord Chesterfield, had such existed, and, rushing to his own apartment, sunk down upon a chair in a fit of immoderate laughter. "If that does not send him directly to Margaret Pennycroft," he said, "I know not what will." Meantime poor Charles paced his room in rage and wonder. Young, ardent, and sensitive, as well as proud and self-willed, he felt keenly the slightest encroachment upon his own dignity, or upon his own liberty of thought just been treated was so extraordinarily gross, that his astonishment at his uncle's conduct was equal to his indignation. "There is— there must be," he said, "something in all this. I dream? My ears deceive me? Sir Richard Shield is mad? My mother's brother raving? Pshaw! No such thing. I have only been a fool-a dotard-from the beginning. That is all. And he would keep me so! Something has alarmed him-some fear that I would marry old Pennycroft's daughter that is evident, clear, plain-and he would pack me off, forsooth, to the Continent at a day's notice! By heavens, it makes me dizzy. Am I his scullion that he should order me thus -or his grayhound? But he shall find himself in error! He has taken a clumsy way (rather) of accomplishing his purpose-if he knew it! The Continent! I shall go travel the Arabian desert first-I shall explore the Mountains of the Moon. I shall sooner wear off my 'rust' (that is it) among the Hottentots, and study the fine arts in an orangoutang academy. I could at this moment marry a hedge-side trull, were it but to 'thwart' him! That is his word. He shall feel its meaning by-and-by. And poor Margaret-it is strange what she sees in me. She was always a sweet girl-that must be admitted. But I shall not think of her-it cannot be-it cannot" The night had been bleak and stormy; but the sun was shining with peculiar richness and brilliancy, high in the heavens, as Charles Maitland, mounted on horseback, bade adieu to the mansion of his uncle, as he thought, for ever. He had employed himself to a late hour in arranging and packing up his papers, books, and other articles, and when he lay down to sleep, a variety of conflicting thoughts and passions kept him awake till daybreak, and he only fell into a slumber at the time he intended to get up. It was therefore with chagrin that he observed, when he rose, the morning far advanced; for he was anxious that he should not in any manner evince a want of promptness in resenting the insult which he considered himself to have received. At the same time, while he inwardly determined to be the last to indicate a wish of reconciliation, it did occur to him that his uncle might, in all probability, with the cool thoughts of the morning, endeavour to soothe and detain him; and it was not without surprise that he was told by one of the domestics that Sir Richard had been mounted and away long before him. "It has been faced leering little rogue. "Is your master within, sirrah?" Charles felt pleased on being answered in the negative; but it was not with Margaret." Margaret had barely contemplated the possibility of her father being right in his surmise regarding a visit from Charles; and was greatly agitated when Peter announced that the young laird of Kittlemeadows was at the door wanting her. Her father's story was no longer matter of doubt and speculation. The fact was now incontrovertible. Trembling all over, she hurriedly threw a veil over her head, and proceeded to the door. "Mr. Pennycroft is not within, madam?" said Charles, taking off his hat, and bowing. "He is gone to the council, sir. -I am sorry". 66 There was a pause; and while Charles remarked an unusual trepidation in Margaret, Margaret did not fail to remark an unusual trepidation in Charles. "My uncle told the truth," thought the one. My father told the truth," thought the other. "Poor dear girl!" inwardly ejaculated the one. "Poor dear gentleman!" inwardly ejaculated the other. 66 no hasty ebullition, then," he thought. "Hevost's man, Peter, as he was called, a chubbyhas allowed the sun to go down and rise upon his wrath. I needed but this conviction to make me renounce him for ever." Charles had spent little of his time at Kittle-out hesitation that he requested to see "Miss meadows since the death of his aunt; for after that event it had been undergoing a thorough repair, and his uncle's library and company were stronger inducements to reside at Shieldhall than Kittlemeadows afforded. To the latter place, however, he was now bound, without any definite determination as to his future proceeding; and as the road to it lay through the burgh of Thrawntrappel, he could not approach that celebrated place without thinking of her who, he was led to believe, had thrown away her affections upon him. Nothing engenders love sooner than the conviction that we are beloved: and our readers will not, therefore, be surprised to learn, that the unjustifiable falsehoods of Sir Richard Shield and Mr. Pennycroft were speedily becoming absolute truths, both as regarded the provost's daughter and the knight's nephew. Margaret Pennycroft had spent an anxious and sleepless night, thinking of what her father had said, and of all the rare qualities of the young laird of Kittlemeadows and heir of Shieldhall. Charles' thoughts had been less bent on one subject, but he failed not to see the beautiful Margaret in his dreams, and his passion was increased by the pride of indulging it in the teeth, as he thought, of his uncle's desire. "I begin to wonder at myself," he said, "how I should have remained so long indifferent to such an interesting girl. The last time I saw her when was it?-ay-she surely was fluttered somewhat, though I took no notice of it at the time, thinking, in my own ignorance, it arose from seeing at the moment a drunken slater fall from the roof of a house, as if that were a sufficient reason to discompose her! Well, I have been a blind ass-an imperturbable dolt -that is clear. Who knows but by this time she may be far gone in a consumption? Dear girl! I cannot do less than call on her. It would be savage to pass the house. She cannot possibly suspect my motive. I can pretend some trifling business with her father. I shall call on her, were it only that Sir Richard may know how little I respect his commands." The provost's house-a substantial old mansion-stood at one extremity of the town. Charles approached it with considerable uneasiness; but, summoning fortitude, he reined in his horse, and rattling the risp, which in these days served for knocker and bell, waited the event. The door was opened by the pro "I am on my way to Kittlemeadows," said Charles, "and have taken the liberty of calling." "You may feel fatigued, sir," said Margaret, getting more and more confused, and in her confusion remembering vaguely her father's instructions:-"I shall, if you please, bring you a glass of wine." And without waiting Charles' answer she disappeared, and returned with a glass and a silver tassie of rich Burgundy. Meanwhile (it can be hid no longer) Sir Richard Shield and Provost Pennycroft were perched at the garret window of Widow Waters' tenement, which commanded a full view of all that was going on. This had been concerted on the previous night; and (so confident was Sir Richard of the success of his plot) they had watched there that morning with patience for two hours the appearance of Charles. When he did appear, so intently were the old gentlemen in marking every movement, that there was some danger of this meeting of Charles and Margaret being signalized, like the former one, by a "melancholy accident," similar to that which befell the poor slater alluded to above. "Provost, provost," said Sir Richard, "take care of yourself: you'll be over headlong. Do you expect to hear as well as see?" "Look, look, Sir Richard," said the provost: "she brings him the tassie of wine, as I instructed her. Isna that a dutiful bairn?" "With what a graceful modesty she pours it out! But back, back, for the love of heaven. That fat rogue of yours, who holds the bridle, has descried us. If he breathes a word we are ruined." "Never fear. I'll horsewhip Peter if he opens his mouth. But, see! Charles is dismounting, I protest, and gaun into the house -clean against orders! That beats a'!" "Well-isn't it a stubborn dog! The blood of the Shields, I vow, is in his veins. This is all to thwart old uncle, as he thinks. But we must be down and interrupt them. Matters must not flow on so smooth at first.' "The deil's in Sir Richard!" said Widow Waters, coming from another window, where she had been enjoying a scene interesting to her as a gossip, but particularly so as the affianced wife of the provost. "Leave the puir things to their chit-chat a-wee. I would sooner advise you to enter the lion's den than gang bullying towards young mad-cap at this present. I ken frae my ain dear Thomas Waters, that's dead and gone." "What," said Sir Richard, "do you think Charles durst kick the provost in his own house?" “And you too, maybe," answered the widow. "Nane o' ye's that young. And it would be a fine sight for the folk o' Thrawntrappel to see Provost Pennycroft and Sir Richard Shield of Shieldhall tumbling out at the fore-door there on the point o' the young laird's shoe! Come, come, since he's entered the house, and out o' sight, here's a drap cordial for you baith. I declare, provost, it may be your dead o' cauld raxing your neck at an open window sae lang. You look as blae's a bullister." "Let us take a glass, then," said Sir Richard, "and give them time enough, after all, to make a declaration." What length of time Sir Richard considered necessary to make a declaration cannot be correctly ascertained; but it was with great difficulty Widow Waters could persuade him ("kenning frae her ain dear Thomas Waters, now, alack! in the mools") to remain where he was a full half hour. "Young folks are unco shy at first," she said. "You should ken that, Sir Richard: you were ance young yoursell' "And am not so old yet, Lucky, as you may imagine," said Sir Richard; for many men of sense even, as well as women, dislike allusions to their age. "Hoot!" answered the widow, "" wasna that just what I was going to say?"—(a notorious lie)" Na, I was just remarking to mysell, that baith you and the provost were looking particularly hale and hearty the day”—(another)-"naebody would tak' ye to be beyond the forty"-(another)-" for my part I think thirty's liker it"—(another)—“deed, to speak the truth, I've seen mony a ane at twenty look aulder like"-(another)-"and, to give you my candid opinion, I canna bear your owre young men" (another)—"they're perfectly disgusting," &c. &c. "Stuff, stuff!" cried Sir Richard, laughing. "Forty, thirty, twenty! Sixty, seventy, eighty would be nearer the mark. But old as I may be, I should not care to be half an hour older; for I am all impatience to know the result of our present adventure." Slowly as the minutes seemed to move in the estimation of Sir Richard, how fleetly did they glide in the estimation of (what we may now call) the two young lovers! Charles was naturally bold, generous, and confiding; and when he found himself in the presence of a beautiful and interesting girl, rendered still more so by her agitation, and its apparent cause when he considered the harsh treatment he had received from his uncle, and that she, who stood before him, was now the only individual in the world who cared for him, or for whom he cared-he could not long refrain from avowing his passion, and laying before her, with candour and fervour, his situation and feelings. He told her-but we shall not (we need not) attempt to describe the eloquence of that hour in which two young and affectionate hearts confess, for the first time, a mutual attachment, and, in " thoughts that breathe and words that burn," pour out the fulness of souls entranced and elevated by the feeling and conviction of loving and of being beloved. It was while Charles was kissing with rapture the fair hand of Margaret, that the parlour-door suddenly burst open, and, accompanied by the provost, in stalked Sir Richard Shield, apparently fuming with rage! Margaret gave a faint shriek, and hid her head in her lap. Charles started to his feet: the blood rushed to his face, but in a moment left it pale as ashes. "So, sirrah," said Sir Richard, striking the floor violently with his staff,-"Is this the manner you obey my orders? Have you so soon forgot my commands, that you dare enter this house in my very teeth, and you, Miss" Charles gasped-reeled - and waved his hands; but his tongue refused utterance. "You, Miss," continued the knight, "what sort of conduct is this, I ask?" "Go-go-go away," said Charles at length, in a suffocating voice. "Speak not to this dear girl. She is mine by heaven and earth!" Yours, sirrah? Dare you say that to my face?" "Go-go away, Sir Richard Shield: I beseech, I implore you, go! Tempt me no further. A desperate madness is in my brain. Yet I would not, for worlds, lay hands on you; for-were there nothing else you are the brother of my sainted mother." Sir Richard's muscles relaxed. He appeared not to have been prepared for this. He hesitated for a moment-then, flinging his staff from him, held out his hand; but, in his turn, it was some time before he could speak. "And so and so, Charles-and so I am!" he cried. "Elizabeth Shield was your mother! That is the truth. I can no longer oppose you -nor even attempt to oppose you. Pardon me, it was with good intention I did so." Charles looked doubtfully at his uncle; but saw that he was considerably affected. "Here, Margaret, my love," continued the good knight, "give him your hand. Take it, Charles-she refuses not.. Bless you both!" 66 Thanks, dearest Margaret!" said Charles, seizing her hand, and putting it to his lips with fervour. "Ten thousand thanks!-And you, Sir Richard, are still my old uncle?" "Still, dear Charles, still-while Margaret Pennycroft is your wife," said Sir Richard. "And Widow Waters mine," whispered the provost. ALEXANDER WHITELAW. SONNET. Where lies the land to which yon ship must go? What boots the inquiry?-Neither friend nor foe AN APOLOGUE. "Twas eight o'clock, and near the fire My ruddy little boy was seated, And with the titles of a sire My ears expected to be greeted. But vain the thought! by sleep oppressed, No father there the child descried; His head reclined upon his breast, Or nodding rolled from side to side. "Let this young rogue be sent to bed," More I had scarce had time to say, When the poor urchin raised his head, To beg that he might longer stay. Refused; away his steps he bent With tearful eye and aching heart, But claimed his playthings ere he went, And took up stairs his horse and cart. Still for delay, though oft denied, He pleaded,-wildly craved the boon;Though past his usual hour, he cried At being sent to bed so soon! If stern to him, his grief I shared, (Unmoved who sees his offspring weep?) Of soothing him I half despaired; When all his cares were lost in sleep. "Alas, poor infant!" I exclaimed, Thy father blushes now to scan, In all that he so lately blamed, The follies and the fears of man. The vain regret-the anguish brief, Which thou hast known, sent up to bed, Portrayed of man the idle grief, When doom'd to slumber with the dead. And more I thought, when up the stairs With longing, lingering looks he crept, To mark of man the childish cares, His playthings carefully he kept. Thus mortals on life's later stage, When nature claims their perfect breath, Still grasp at wealth, in pain and age, And cling to golden toys in death. "Tis morn, and see my smiling boy And, renovated, burst the tomb? T. GASPET. |