scandalised. I fear, indeed, that the good old soul is a bit of a heathen at heart. She feels, at least-and sometimes sharply expresses-an immense contempt for sons and grandsons (though she loves "the lads," too, in her way) who want to elevate the lower classes and to teach them sobriety and continence; who do not swear like troopers, and who cannot take their claret like the men of her rosy youth.' True, every word of it; but it is right to remind those who do not know her, that her directness of speech, and somewhat easy morals, are things that belong to the outside, and that there is a sound heart and high principle behind. That she is 'the soul of honour,' every one knows (and one comes unconsciously to measure her by a masculine standard), though she would venture a good deal, I can believe, for the reputation of the house to which she belongs. There was a sublimity of self-sacrifice in the view of the old gentlewoman who proposed to hide the disgrace of a kinsman by a pious fraud—' But you will lose your soul, madam!' Tush! what signifies my poor silly soul, compared with the honour of the family?' -to which, on a pinch, Lady Grisel could rise. She is perfectly fearless; to her own moral code she owes religious obedience: that of any other authority, natural or supernatural, she treats with tacit disrespect. She is in these, and certain other respects, not without democratic leanings; but, upon the whole, her religious and political persuasion may be defined by the German epigram: Depend upon it, sir, God thinks twice before damning a man of that quality.' It is curious to notice with what composure, I had almost said complacency, these elderly people contemplate the approach of death. We have all heard the story of the old lady dying during a tempestuous night: 'Ech, sirs! what a nicht for me to be fleein' through the air!' And only the other day I heard of a wellknown north-countryman, who, on his death-bed, after being told that he had only a few hours to live, asked, with perfect composure, and a twinkle of the old humour in his eye, 'Whar think you, Betty, will I be this time the morn?' 'I'll be off my perch to-night,' were the last words of a great thinker who died the other day,-looking out calmly into the darkness. Lady Grisel is always looking forward to her decease, in which she takes the interest of a survivor. 'Be sure you ask Sandy,' she said, on the occasion of her last severe illness, when arranging the details of her funeral; 'it'll be a fine ploy for Sandy-he likes a ploy.' While I was walking through our churchyard with her, one day last year, she stopped before three mounds, that formed, as it were, three sides of a square, and seemed to be engaged in inward prayer, for her lips moved and there was moisture in her eyes. The graves were those of the late doctor and parson of the parish, and of an old East Indian-noted whist-players in their day. 'There they are,' she remarked, placidly, after a long pause, the auld rubber-just waitin' for me to cut in.' 6 The old ladies descended from their rather primitive conveyance, which, with 'Tinker,' was consigned to the charge of their grand-niece Bell '-a pretty girl who accompanied them, and of whom (as one of my two heroines) more anon. Lady Betty took possession of Letty, to whom she confided her anxieties about the candlesticks; I lingered behind with Lady Grisel. She is one of the best talkers I know; and in these emasculated days, her strong sense and keen tongue, with its lingering touch of Doric-for, like one or two of her contemporaries in this remote district, she maintains the old tongue with a certain old-fashioned pride—are as effective as a tonic. And Lettice has Well, she's verra 'Betty wants Horace to marry our Bell,' she began. 'But I love not the law, and my nephew, Lord Dunbog, tell't me at last circuit that Horace had not paid for his wig yet-out of his savin's, I mean. been settin' her cap at him, they say. welcome-I wish her joy o' the lad.' is reasonably jealous of our Letty. folk waiting to marry till they're doited. I was jimp eighteen when I took the laird, and a braw couple we were, sir, when we left the kirk; though you may pit it down to the pride and vanity o' threescore years and ten. But the young men noo are uncommin' canny: they keep to their clubs, and read their papers, and they tak' up wi' ballet girls and sic like, and they'll no drink claret except at a ransom, and it follows that they canna afford to marry, and so they turn nice honest girls into dreech auld maids like Betty, and fa' themselves, year after year, into graceless, heartless, toothless sinnersat odds baith wi' God and man. Dinna suppose I'm speakin' at you-doubtless you would ha' married lang I syne if ony decent lass had gaen you the chance. Ye'll ha' heard,' she continued, 'o' the mischeef we’e had at the Castle, wi' our table-maid Kirsty Henderson? It's clean upset Betty. Kirsty's had a misfortune, as it's caed, and a bonny mess she's made of it. She came to me yestreen wi' her head in her apron. I could not believe my ears, for she's a downright fright. "Kirsty Henderson," I said, "It's not possible. An ill-fa'ured limmer like you! Wha in the name of mercy's the father o' the wean?" "Indeed, my leddy," quoth the impudent hussy, in a bleeze at the notion, "I could hae got plenty o' feythers." The tone of the narrative reminded me of another in which (with what justice I know not) Lady Grisel is made sometimes to figure. In the Manse of the parish where her husband's property was situated, the clergyman had a fine engraving from a picture of Joseph and Potiphar's wife. Lady Grisel called at the Manse one day, and after a look at the picture, with which she was greatly pleased, for the fair Egyptian was represented as very beautiful, she turned to the minister, and, with naïve simplicity and a touch of adorable astonishment, inquired-What ailed the fallow at her?' Here we were joined by Lady Betty, who had left Lettice to discuss a new bonnet with Bell. 'Grisel has told you of our trouble,' said Lady Betty, rushing into the conversation, and holding up her hands in devout reprobation. 'I never thought much of the lass; but it's a warning to each of us. Satan goes about like a roaring lion; and who can say which of us may be the next?' 'Dinna lippen to him, Betty,' the elder sister sarcastically replied, though neither you nor me is like to be tried. A pair o' daft auld wives we would be, Betty,'Lady Betty tried to interpose ineffectually. Of course, of course, I ken what you wad say. But I whiles fancy that the deil is not so black as he's painted. If MacWhirter is clear that there is a deil, I canna presume to interfere -he kens best. But I ha' thocht at odd times that the deil is at worst but a feckless sort of body-a queer notion o' the auld Papish idolaters. What's the good o' laying the mischeef at his door! There's sma' need o' a deil in a world where there are deceitfu' hearts and leein' tongues—except to gie MacWhirter a handle. Leastwise it's cowardly to pit a' doon to the account o' an unfortunate, but, it may be, inoffensive speerit.' |