LETTER V
ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER
I have thy two last epistles, my dear Darsie, and expecting the third,have been in no hurry to answer them. Do not think my silence ought tobe ascribed to my failing to take interest in them, for, truly, theyexcel (though the task was difficult) thy usual excellings. Sincethe moon-calf who earliest discovered the Pandemonium of Milton in anexpiring wood-fire--since the first ingenious urchin who blew bubblesout of soap and water, thou, my best of friends, hast the highest knackat making histories out of nothing. Wert thou to plant the bean in thenursery-tale, thou wouldst make out, so soon as it began to germinate,that the castle of the giant was about to elevate its battlements on thetop of it. All that happens to thee gets a touch of the wonderful andthe sublime from thy own rich imagination. Didst ever see what artistscall a Claude Lorraine glass, which spreads its own particular hue overthe whole landscape which you see through it?--thou beholdest ordinaryevents just through such a medium.
I have looked carefully at the facts of thy last long letter, and theyare just such as might have befallen any little truant of the HighSchool, who had got down to Leith Sands, gone beyond the PRAWN-DUB, wethis hose and shoon, and, finally, had been carried home, in compassion,by some high-kilted fishwife, cursing all the while the trouble whichthe brat occasioned her.
I admire the figure which thou must have made, clinging for dear lifebehind the old fellow's back--thy jaws chattering with fear, thy musclescramped with anxiety. Thy execrable supper of broiled salmon, which wasenough to ensure the nightmare's regular visits for a twelvemonth,may be termed a real affliction; but as for the storm of Thursdaylast (such, I observe, was the date), it roared, whistled, howled, andbellowed, as fearfully amongst the old chimney-heads in the CandlemakerRow, as it could on the Solway shore, for the very wind of it--TESTE MEPER TOTAM NOCTEM VIGILANTE. And then in the morning again, when--Lordhelp you--in your sentimental delicacy you bid the poor man adieu,without even tendering him half a crown for supper and lodging!
You laugh at me for giving a penny (to be accurate, though, thoushouldst have said sixpence) to an old fellow, whom thou, in thy highflight, wouldst have sent home supperless, because he was like Solon orBelisarius. But you forget that the affront descended like a benedictioninto the pouch of the old gaberlunzie, who overflowed in blessings uponthe generous donor--long ere he would have thanked thee, Darsie, forthy barren veneration of his beard and his bearing. Then you laugh atmy good father's retreat from Falkirk, just as if it were not time for aman to trudge when three or four mountain knaves, with naked claymores,and heels as light as their fingers, were scampering after him, cryingFURINISH. You remember what he said himself when the Laird of Bucklivattold him that FURINISH signified 'stay a while'. 'What the devil,'he said, surprised out of his Presbyterian correctness by theunreasonableness of such a request under the circumstances, 'would thescoundrels have had me stop to have my head cut off?'
Imagine such a train at your own heels, Darsie, and ask yourself whetheryou would not exert your legs as fast as you did in flying from theSolway tide. And yet you impeach my father's courage. I tell you he hascourage enough to do what is right, and to spurn what is wrong--courageenough to defend a righteous cause with hand and purse, and to takethe part of the poor man against his oppressor, without fear of theconsequences to himself. This is civil courage, Darsie; and it is oflittle consequence to most men in this age and country whether they everpossess military courage or no.
Do not think I am angry with you, though I thus attempt to rectify youropinions on my father's account. I am well aware that, upon the whole,he is scarce regarded with more respect by me than by thee. And, whileI am in a serious humour, which it is difficult to preserve with one whois perpetually tempting me to laugh at him, pray, dearest Darsie, letnot thy ardour for adventure carry thee into more such scrapes as thatof the Solway Sands. The rest of the story is a mere imagination; butthat stormy evening might have proved, as the clown says to Lear, 'anaughty night to swim in.'
As for the rest, if you can work mysterious and romantic heroes out ofold cross-grained fishermen, why, I for one will reap some amusement bythe metamorphosis. Yet hold! even there, there is some need of caution.This same female chaplain--thou sayest so little of her, and so much ofevery one else, that it excites some doubt in my mind. VERY PRETTY sheis, it seems--and that is all thy discretion informs me of. There arecases in which silence implies other things than consent. Wert thouashamed or afraid, Darsie, to trust thyself with the praises of the verypretty grace-sayer?--As I live, thou blushest! Why, do I not know theean inveterate squire of dames? and have I not been in thy confidence?An elegant elbow, displayed when the rest of the figure was muffled in acardinal, or a neat well-turned ankle and instep, seen by chance as itsowner tripped up the Old Assembly Close, [Of old this almost desertedalley formed the most common access betwixt the High Street and thesouthern suburbs.] turned thy brain for eight days. Thou wert oncecaught if I remember rightly, with a single glance of a single matchlesseye, which, when the fair owner withdrew her veil, proved to be singlein the literal sense of the word. And, besides, were you not anothertime enamoured of a voice--a mere voice, that mingled in the psalmody atthe Old Greyfriars' Church--until you discovered the proprietor of thatdulcet organ to be Miss Dolly MacIzzard, who is both 'back and breast',as our saying goes?
All these things considered, and contrasted with thy artful silence onthe subject of this grace-saying Nereid of thine, I must beg thee to bemore explicit upon that subject in thy next, unless thou wouldst have meform the conclusion that thou thinkest more of her than thou carest totalk of.
You will not expect much news from this quarter, as you know themonotony of my life, and are aware it must at present be devoted touninterrupted study. You have said a thousand times that I am onlyqualified to make my way by dint of plodding, and therefore plod I must.
My father seems to be more impatient of your absence than he was afteryour first departure. He is sensible, I believe, that our solitary mealswant the light which your gay humour was wont to throw over them, andfeels melancholy as men do when the light of the sun is no longer uponthe landscape. If it is thus with him, thou mayst imagine it is muchmore so with me, and canst conceive how heartily I wish that thy frolicwere ended, and thou once more our inmate.----
I resume my pen, after a few hours' interval, to say that an incidenthas occurred on which you will yourself be building a hundred castlesin the air, and which even I, jealous as I am of such baseless fabrics,cannot but own affords ground for singular conjecture.
My father has of late taken me frequently along with him when heattends the courts, in his anxiety to see me properly initiated into thepractical forms of business. I own I feel something on his accountand my own from this over-anxiety, which, I dare say, renders us bothridiculous. But what signifies my repugnance? my father drags me up tohis counsel learned in the law,--'Are you quite ready to come on to-day,Mr. Crossbite?--This is my son, designed for the bar--I take the libertyto bring him with me to-day to the consultation, merely that he may seehow these things are managed.'
Mr. Crossbite smiles and bows; as a lawyer smiles on the solicitor whoemploys him, and I dare say, thrusts his tongue into his cheek, andwhispers into the first great wig that passes him, 'What the d--l doesold Fairford mean by letting loose his whelp on me?'
As I stood beside them, too much vexed at the childish part I was madeto play to derive much information from the valuable arguments of Mr.Crossbite, I observed a rather elderly man, who stood with his eyesfirmly bent on my father, as if he only waited an end of the business inwhich he was engaged, to address him. There was something, I thought, inthe gentleman's appearance which commanded attention. Yet his dress wasnot in the present taste, and though it had once been magnificent, wasnow antiquated and unfashionable. His coat was of branched velvet, witha satin lining, a waistcoat of violet-coloured silk, much embroidered;his breeches the same stuff as the coat. He wore square-toed shoes
, withforetops, as they are called; and his silk stockings were rolled up overhis knee, as you may have seen in pictures, and here and there on someof those originals who seem to pique themselves on dressing after themode of Methuselah. A CHAPEAU BRAS and sword necessarily completed hisequipment, which, though out of date, showed that it belonged to a manof distinction.
The instant Mr. Crossbite had ended what he had to say, this gentlemanwalked up to my father, with, 'Your servant, Mr. Fairford--it is longsince you and I met.'
My father, whose politeness, you know, is exact and formal, bowed, andhemmed, and was confused, and at length professed that the distancesince they had met was so great, that though he remembered the faceperfectly, the name, he was sorry to any, had--really--somehow--escapedhis memory.
'Have you forgot Herries of Birrenswork?' said the gentleman, andmy father bowed even more profoundly than before; though I think hisreception of his old friend seemed to lose some of the respectfulcivility which he bestowed on him while his name was yet unknown. It nowseemed to be something like the lip-courtesy which the heart would havedenied had ceremony permitted.
My father, however, again bowed low, and hoped he saw him well.
'So well, my good Mr. Fairford, that I come hither determined to renewmy acquaintance with one or two old friends, and with you in the firstplace. I halt at my old resting place--you must dine with me to-day,at Paterson's, at the head of the Horse Wynd--it is near your newfashionable dwelling, and I have business with you.'
My father excused himself respectfully, and not withoutembarrassment--'he was particularly engaged at home.'
'Then I will dine with you, man,' said Mr. Herries of Birrenswork; 'thefew minutes you can spare me after dinner will suffice for my business;and I will not prevent you a moment from minding your own--I am nobottle-man.'
You have often remarked that my father, though a scrupulous ohserver ofthe rites of hospitality, seems to exercise them rather as a duty thanas a pleasure; indeed, but for a conscientious wish to feed the hungryand receive the stranger, his doors would open to guests much seldomerthan is the case. I never saw so strong an example of this peculiarity(which I should otherwise have said is caricatured in your description)as in his mode of homologating the self-given invitation of Mr. Herries.The embarsassed brow, and the attempt at a smile which accompaniedhis 'We will expect the honour of seeing you in Brown Square at threeo'clock,' could not deceive any one, and did not impose upon the oldlaird. It was with a look of scorn that he replied, 'I will relieve youthen till that hour, Mr. Fairford;' and his whole manner seemed to say,'It is my pleasure to dine with you, and I care not whether I am welcomeor no.'
When he turned away, I asked my father who he was.
'An unfortunate gentleman,' was the reply.
'He looks pretty well on his misfortunes,' replied I. 'I should not havesuspected that so gay an outside was lacking a dinner.'
'Who told you that he does?' replied my father; 'he is OMNI SUSPICIONEMAJOR, so far as worldly circumstances are concerned. It is to be hopedhe makes a good use of them; though, if he does, it will be for thefirst time in his life.'
'He has then been an irregular liver?' insinuated I.
My father replied by that famous brocard with which he silences allunacceptable queries turning in the slightest degree upon the failingsof our neighbours,--'If we mend our own faults, Alan, we shall all of ushave enough to do, without sitting in judgement upon other folks.'
Here I was again at fault; but rallying once more, I observed, he hadthe air of a man of high rank and family.
'He is well entitled,' said my father, 'representing Herries ofBirrenswork; a branch of that great and once powerful family of Herries,the elder branch whereof merged in the house of Nithesdale at thedeath of Lord Robin the Philosopher, Anno Domini sixteen hundred andsixty-seven.'
'Has he still,' said I, 'his patrimonial estate of Birrenswork?'
'No,' replied my father; 'so far back as his father's time, it wasa mere designation--the property being forfeited by Herbert Herriesfollowing his kinsman the Earl of Derwentwater to the Preston affair in1715. But they keep up the designation, thinking, doubtless, that theirclaims may be revived in more favourable times for Jacobites and forpopery; and folks who in no way partake of their fantastic capricciosdo yet allow it to pass unchallenged, EX COMITATE, if not EXMISERICORDIA.--But were he the Pope and the Pretender both, we must getsome dinner ready for him, since he has thought fit to offer himself. Sohasten home, my lad, and tell Hannah, Cook Epps, and James Wilkinson, todo their best; and do thou look out a pint or two of Maxwell's best--itis in the fifth bin--there are the keys of the wine-cellar. Do not leavethem in the lock--you know poor James's failing, though he is an honestcreature under all other temptations--and I have but two bottles of theold brandy left--we must keep it for medicine, Alan.'
Away went I--made my preparations--the hour of dinner came, and so didMr. Herries of Birrenswork.
If I had thy power of imagination and description, Darsie, I could makeout a fine, dark, mysterious, Rembrandt-looking portrait of this samestranger, which should be as far superior to thy fisherman as a shirtof chain-mail is to a herring-net. I can assure you there is some matterfor description about him; but knowing my own imperfections, I can onlysay, I thought him eminently disagreeable and ill-bred.--No, ILL-BREDis not the proper word on the contrary, he appeared to know the rules ofgood-breeding perfectly, and only to think that the rank of the companydid not require that he should attend to them--a view of the matterinfinitely more offensive than if his behaviour had been that ofuneducated and proper rudeness. While my father said grace, the lairddid all but whistle aloud; and when I, at my father's desire, returnedthanks, he used his toothpick, as if he had waited that moment for itsexercise.
So much for Kirk--with King, matters went even worse. My father, thouknowest, is particularly full of deference to his guests; and in thepresent care, he seemed more than usually desirous to escape every causeof dispute. He so far compromised his loyalty as to announce merely 'TheKing' as his first toast after dinner, instead of the emphatic 'KingGeorge', which is his usual formula. Our guest made a motion with hisglass, so as to pass it over the water-decanter which stood beside him,and added, 'Over the water.'
My father coloured, but would not seem to hear this. Much more therewas of careless and disrespectful in the stranger's manner and tone ofconversation; so that, though I know my father's prejudices in favourof rank and birth, and though I am aware his otherwise masculineunderstanding has never entirely shaken off the slavish awe of the greatwhich in his earlier days they had so many modes of commanding, still Icould hardly excuse him for enduring so much insolence--such it seemedto be as this self-invited guest was disposed to offer to him at his owntable.
One can endure a traveller in the same carriage, if he treads upon yourtoes by accident, or even through negligence; but it is very differentwhen, knowing that they are rather of a tender description, he continuesto pound away at them with his hoofs. In my poor opinion--and I am a manof peace--you can, in that case, hardly avoid a declaration of war.
I believe my father read my thoughts in my eye; for, pulling out hiswatch, he said; 'Half-past four, Alan--you should be in your own room bythis time--Birrenswork will excuse you.'
Our visitor nodded carelessly, and I had no longer any pretence toremain. But as I left the room, I heard this magnate of Nithesdaledistinctly mention the name of Latimer. I lingered; but at length adirect hint from my father obliged me to withdraw; and when, an hourafterwards, I was summoned to partake of a cup of tea, our guest haddeparted. He had business that evening in the High Street, and could notspare time even to drink tea. I could not help saying, I considered hisdeparture as a relief from incivility. 'What business has he to upbraidus,' I said, 'with the change of our dwelling from a more inconvenientto a better quarter of the town? What was it to him if we choseto imitate some of the conveniences or luxuries of an Englishdwelling-house, instead of living piled up above each o
ther in flats?Have his patrician birth and aristocratic fortunes given him any rightto censure those who dispose of the fruits of their own industry,according to their own pleasure?'
My father took a long pinch of snuff, and replied, 'Very well, Alan;very well indeed. I wish Mr. Crossbite or Counsellor Pest had heardyou; they must have acknowledged that you have a talent for forensicelocution; and it may not be amiss to try a little declamation athome now and then, to gather audacity and keep yourself in breath. Buttouching the subject of this paraffle of words, it's not worth a pinchof tobacco. D'ye think that I care for Mr. Herries of Birrenswork morethan any other gentleman who comes here about business, although I donot care to go tilting at his throat, because he speaks like a greygoose, as he is? But to say no more about him, I want to have DarsieLatimer's present direction; for it is possible I may have to write thelad a line with my own hand--and yet I do not well know--but give me thedirection at all events.'
I did so, and if you have heard from my father accordingly, you knowmore, probably, about the subject of this letter than I who write it.But if you have not, then shall I have discharged a friend's duty, inletting you know that there certainly is something afloat betweenthis disagreeable laird and my father, in which you are considerablyinterested.
Adieu! and although I have given thee a subject for waking dreams,beware of building a castle too heavy for the foundation; which, in thepresent instance, is barely the word Latimer occurring in a conversationbetwixt a gentleman of Dumfriesshire and a W.S. of Edinburgh--CAETERAPRORSUS IGNORO.