Book: Marriage

S >> Susan Edmonstone Ferrier >> Marriage




Mary, glad of a pretence to in indulge the mirth the old lady's manner
and appearance had excited, joined most heartily in the laugh.

"Tak. aff ye're bannet, bairn, an' let me see ye're face. Wha can tell
what like ye are wi' that snule o' a thing on ye're head?" Then after
taking an accurate survey of her face, she pushed aside her pelisse."
Weel, it's ae mercy, I see ye hae neither the red heed nor the muckle
cuits o' the Douglases. I ken nae whuther ye're faither had them or no.
I ne'er set een on him; neither him nor his braw leddie thought it worth
their while to speer after me; but I was at nae loss, by aw accounts."

"You have not asked after any of your Glenfern friends," said Mr.
Douglas, hoping to touch a more sympathetic chord.

"Time eneugh. Wull ye let me draw my breath, man? Fowk canna say awthing
at ance. An' ye bute to hae an Inglish wife tu; a Scotch lass wad nae
serr ye. An' ye're wean, I'se warran', it's ane o' the warld's wonders;
it's been unco lang o' cummin--he, he!"

"He has begun life under very melancholy auspices, poor fellow!" said
Mr. Douglas, in allusion to his father's death.

"An' wha's faut was that? I ne'er heard tell the like o't; to hae the
bairn kirsened an' its grandfather deein! But fowk are naither born,
nor kirsened, nor do they wad or dee as they used to du---awthing's
changed."

"You must, indeed, have witnessed many changes," observed Mr. Douglas,
rather at a loss how to utter anything of a conciliatory nature.

"Changes!--weel a wat, I sometimes wonder if it's the same warld,
an' if it's my ain heed that's upon my shoothers."

"But with these changes you must also have seen many improvements?"
said Mary, in a tone of diffidence.

"Impruvements!" turning sharply round upon her; "what ken ye about
impruvements, bairn? A bony impruvement or ens no, to see tyleyors and
sclaters leavin whar I mind jewks an yerls. An' that great glowrin' new
toon there"--pointing out of her windows--"whar I used to sit an' luck
oot at bonny green parks, and see the coos milket, and the bits o'
bairnies rowin' an' tummlin,' an' the lasses trampin i' their tubs--what
see I noo, but stane an' lime, an' stoor' an' dirt, an' idle cheels, an'
dinket-oot madams prancin'. Impruvements, indeed!"

Mary found she was not likely to advance her uncle's fortune by the
judiciousness of her remarks, therefore prudently resolved to hazard no
more. Mr. Douglas, who was more _au fait_ to the prejudices of old age,
and who was always amused with her bitter remarks when they did not
touch himself, encouraged her to continue the conversation by some
observation on the prevailing manners.

"Mainers!" repeated she, with a contemptuous laugh, "what caw ye
mainers noo, for I dinna ken? Ilk ane gangs bang in till their neebor's
hoose, and bang oot o't as it war a chynge-hoose; an' as for the maister
o't, he's no o' sae muckle vaalu as tho flunky ahynt his chyre. I' my
grandfather's time, as I hae heard him tell, ilka maister o' a faamily
had his ain sate in his ain hoose aye, an' sat wi' his hat on his heed
afore the best o' the land, an' had his ain dish, an' was aye helpit
first, an' keepit up his owthority as a man sude du. Paurents war
paurents then; bairnes dardna set up their gabs afore them than as they
du noo. They ne'er presumed to say their heeds war their ain i' thae
days--wife an' servants, reteeners an' childer, aw trummelt i' the
presence o' their heed."

Here a long pinch of snuff caused a pause in the old lady's harangue;
but after having duly wiped her nose with her coloured handkerchief, and
shook off all the particles that might be presumed to have lodged upon
her cardinal, she resumed--

"An' nae word o' ony o' your sisters gaun to get husbands yet? They
tell me they're but coorse lasses: an' wha'll tak ill-farred tocherless
queans whan there's walth o' bonny faces an' lang purses i' the
market--he, he!" Then resuming her scrutiny of Mary--"An' I'se warran'
ye'll be lucken for an Inglish sweetheart tu that'll be what's takin' ye
awa' to Ingland."

"On the contrary," said Mr. Douglas, seeing Mary was too much
frightened to answer for herself--"on the contrary, Mary declares she
will never marry any but a true Highlander--one who wears the dirk and
plaid, and has the second-sight. And the nuptials are to be celebrated
with all the pomp of feudal times; with bagpipes, and bonfires, and
gatherings of clans, and roasted sheep, and barrels of whisky, and--"

"Weel a wat, an' she's i' the right there," interrupted Mrs. Macshake,
with more complacency than she had yet shown. "They may caw them what
they like, but there's nae waddins noo. Wha's the better o' them but
innkeepers and chise-drivers? I wud nae count mysel' married i' the
hiddlins way they gang aboot it noo."

"I daresay you remember these, things done in a very different style?"
said Mr. Douglas.

"I dinna mind them whan the war at he best; but I hae heard my mither
tell what a bonny ploy was at her waddin. I canna tell ye hoo mony was
at it; mair nor the room wad haud, ye may be sure, for every relation
an' freend o' baith sides war there, as well they sude; an' aw in full
dress: the leddies in their hoops round them, an' some o' them had
sutten up aw night till hae their heeds drest; for they hadnae thae
pooket-like taps ye hae noo," looking with contempt at Mary's Grecian
contour. "An' the bride's goon was aw shewed ow'r wi' favour, frae the
tap doon to the tail, an' aw roond the neck, an' aboot the sleeves; and,
as soon as the ceremony was ow'r, ilk ane ran till her, an' rugget an'
rave at her for the favours till they hardly left the claise upon her
back. Than they did nae run awa as they du noo, but sax an't hretty o'
them sat doon till a graund denner, and there was a ball at night, an'
ilka night till Sabbath cam' roond; an' than the bride an' the
bridegroom, drest in their waddin suits, an' aw their freends 'n theirs,
wi' their favours on their breests, walkit in procession till the kirk.
An' was nae that something like a waddin? It was worth while to be
married i' thae days-he, he!"

"The wedding seems to have been admirably conducted," said Mr. Douglas,
with much solemnity. "The christening, I presume, would be the next
distinguished event in the family?"

"Troth, Archie-an' ye sude keep your thoomb upon kirsnins as lang's ye
leeve; yours was a bonnie kirsnin or ens no! I hae heard o' mony things,
but a bairn kirsened whan its grandfaither was i' the deed-thraw, I
ne'er heard tell o' before." Then observing the indignation that spread
over Mr. Douglas's face, she quickly resumed, "An' so ye think the
kirsnin was the neist ploy? He, he! Na; the cryin was a ploy, for the
leddies did nae keep themsels up than as they do noo; but the day after
the bairn was born, the leddy sat up i' her bed, wi' her fan intill her
hand; an' aw her freends earn' an' stud roond her, an' drank her health
an' the bairn's. Than at the leddy's recovery there was a graund supper
gien that they caw'd the _cummerfealls,_ an' there was a great pyramid
o' hens at the tap o' the table, an' anither pyramid o' ducks at the
fit, an' a muckle stoup fu' o' posset i' the middle, an' aw kinds o'
sweeties doon the sides; an' as sune as ilk ane had eatin their fill
they aw flew till the sweeties, an' fought, an' strave, an' wrastled for
them, leddies an' gentlemen an' aw; for the brag was wha could pocket
maist; an' whiles they wad hae the claith aff the table, an' aw thing i'
the middle i' the floor, an' the chyres upside doon. Oo! muckle gude
diversion, I'se warran,' was at the _cummerfealls_. Than whan they had
drank the stoup dry, that ended the ploy. As for the kirsnin, that was
aye whar it sude be--i' the hoose o' God, an' aw the kith an' kin bye in
full dress, an' a band o' maiden cimmers aw in white; an' a bonny sight
it was, as I've heard my mither tell."

Mr. Douglas, who was now rather tired of the old lady's reminiscences,
availed himself of the opportunity of a fresh pinch to rise and take
leave.

"Oo, what's takin' ye awa, Archie, in sic a hurry? Sit doon there,"
laying her hand upon his arm, "an' rest ye, an' tak a glass o' wine, an'
a bit breed; or may be," turning to Mary, "ye wad rather hae a drap
broth to warm ye. What gars ye luck sae blae, bairn? I'm sure it's no
cauld; but ye're juste like the lave; ye gang aw skiltin aboot the
streets half naked, an' than ye maun sit an' birsle yoursels afore the
fire at hame."

She had now shuffled along to the farther end of the room, and opening a
press, took out wine, and a plateful of various-shaped articles of
bread, which she handed to Mary.

"Hae, bairn--tak a cookie; tak it up--what are you fear'd for? It'll no
bite ye. Here's t'ye, Glenfern, an' your wife, an' your wean, puir tead;
it's no had a very chancy ootset, weel a wat."

The wine being drunk, and the cookies discussed, Mr. Douglas made
another attempt to withdraw, but in vain.

"Canna ye sit still a wee, man, an' let me spear after my auld freens at
Glenfern? Hoo's Grizzy, an' Jacky, and Nicky? Aye workin awa at the
pills an' the drogs?---he, he! I ne'er swallowed a pill, nor gied a doit
for drogs aw my days, an' see an ony of them'll rin a race wi' me whan
they're naur five score."

Mr. Douglas here paid her some compliments upon her appearance, which
were pretty graciously received; and added that he was the bearer of a
letter from his Aunt Grizzy, which he would send along with a roebuck
and brace of moor-game.

"Gin your roebuck's nae better than your last, at weel it's no worth the
sendin'-poor dry fisinless dirt, no worth the chowing; weel a wat I
begrudged my teeth on't. Your muirfowl was na that ill, but they're no
worth the carryin; they're dong cheap i'the market enoo, so it's nae
great compliment. Gin ye had brought me a leg o' gude mutton, or a
cauler sawmont, there would hae been some sense in't; but ye're ane o'
the fowk that'll ne'er harry yoursel' wi' your presents; it's but the
pickle poother they cost you, an' I'se warran' ye're thinkin mail' o'
your ain diversion than o' my stamick, when ye're at the shootin' o'
them, puir beasts."

Mr. Douglas had borne the various indignities levelled against himself
and his family with a philosophy that had no parallel in his life
before; but to this attack upon his game he was not proof. His colour
rose, his eyes flashed fire, and something resembling an oath burst from
his lips as he strode indignantly towards the door.

His friend, however, was too nimble for him. She stepped before him,
and, breaking into a discordant laugh, as she patted him on the back,
"So I see ye're just the auld man, Archie,--aye ready to tak the strums,
an' ye dinna get a' thing yer ain wye. Mony a time I had to fleech ye
oot o' the dorts whan ye was a callant. Div ye mind hoo ye was affronted
because I set ye doon to a cauld pigeon-pie, an' a tanker o' tippenny,
ae night to ye're fowerhoors, afore some leddies--he, he, he! Weel a wat,
yer wife maun hae her ain adoos to manage ye, for ye're a cumstairy
chield, Archie."

Mr. Douglas still looked as if he was irresolute whether to laugh or be
angry.

"Come, come, sit ye do on there till I speak to this bairn," said she,
as she pulled Mary into an adjoining bedchamber, which wore the same
aspect of chilly neatness as the one they had quitted. Then pulling a
huge bunch of keys from her pocket she opened a drawer, out of which she
took a pair of diamond earrings. "Hae, bairn," said she as she stuffed
them into Mary's hand; "they belanged to your father's grandmother. She
was a gude woman, an' had fouran'-twenty sons an' dochters, an' I wiss
ye nae war fortin than just to hae as mony. But mind ye," with a shake
of her bony finger, "they maun a be Scots. Gin I thought ye wad mairry
ony pock-puddin', fient haed wad ye hae gotten frae me. Noo, had ye're
tongue, and dinna deive me wi' thanks," almost pushing her into the
parlour again; "and sin ye're gaun awa the morn, I'll see nae mair o' ye
enoo--so fare ye weel. But, Archie, ye maun come an' tak your breakfast
wi' me. I hae muckle to say to you; but ye manna be sae hard upon my
baps as ye used to be," with a facetious grin to her mollified
favourite, as they shook hands and parted.

"Well, how do you like Mrs. Macshake, Mary?" asked her uncle as they
walked home.

"That is a cruel question, uncle," answered she, with a smile. "My
gratitude and my taste are at such variance," displaying her splendid
gift, "that I know not how to reconcile them."

"That is always the case with those whom Mrs. Macshake has obliged,"
returned Mr. Douglas. "She does many liberal things, but in so
ungracious a manner that people are never sure whether they are obliged
or insulted by her. But the way in which she receives kindness is still
worse. Could anything equal her impertinence about my roebuck? Faith,
I've a good mind never to enter her door again!"

Mary could scarcely preserve her gravity at her uncle's indignation,
which seemed so disproportioned to the cause. But, to turn the current
of his ideas, she remarked that he had certainly been at pains to select
two admirable specimens of her countrywomen for her.

"I don't think I shall soon forget either Mrs. Gawffaw or Mrs Macshake,"
said she, laughing.

"I hope you won't carry away the impression that these two _lusus
naturae_ specimens of Scotchwomen," said her uncle. "The former, indeed,
is rather a sort of weed that infests every soil; the latter, to be
sure, is an indigenous plant. I question if she would have arrived at
such perfection in a more cultivated field or genial clime. She was born
at a time when Scotland was very different from what it is now. Female
education was little attended to, even in families of the highest rank;
consequently, the ladies of those days possess a _raciness_ in their
manners and ideas that we should vainly seek for in this age of
cultivation and refinement. Had your time permitted, you could have seen
much good society here; superior, perhaps, to what is to be found
anywhere else, as far as mental cultivation is concerned. But you will
have leisure for that when you return."

Mary acquiesced with a sigh. _Return_ was to her still a
melancholy-sounding word. It reminded her of all she had left--of the
anguish of separation--the dreariness of absence; and all these painful
feelings were renewed in their utmost bitterness when the time
approached for her to bid adieu to her uncle. Lord Courtland's carriage
and two respectable-looking servants awaited her; and the following
morning she commenced her journey in all the agony of a heart that
fondly clings to its native home.

END OF VOL. I.

_Printed _by R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._

_***_






MARRIAGE (VOL II)

A Novel by Susan Ferrier

"Life consists not of a series of illustrious actions; the greater part
of our time passes in compliance with necessities--in the performance of
daily duties--in the removal of small inconveniences--in the procurement
of petty pleasures; and we are well or ill at ease, as the main stream
of life glides on smoothly, or is ruffled by small and frequent
interruption."--JOHNSON.

Edinburgh Edition

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOLUME II.

LONDON

RICHARD BENTLEY & SON

Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen

1881

_Printed _by R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_





MARRIAGE.




CHAPTER I.

"Nor only by the warmth
And soothing sunshine of delightful things,
Do minds grow up and flourish."

AKENSIDE.

AFTER parting with the last of her beloved relatives Mary tried to think
only of the happiness that awaited her in a reunion with her mother and
sister; and she gave herself up to the blissful reveries of a young
and ardent imagination. Mrs. Douglas had sought to repress, rather than
excite, her sanguine expectations; but vainly is the experience of
others employed in moderating the enthusiasm of a glowing heart.
Experience _cannot_ be imparted. We may render the youthful mind
prematurely cautious, or meanly suspicious; but the experience of a pure
and enlightened mind is the result of observation, matured by time.

The journey, like most modern journeys, was performed in comfort and
safety; and, late one evening, Mary found herself at the goal of her
wishes--at the threshold of the house that contained her mother!

One idea filled her mind; but that idea called up a thousand emotions.

"I am now to meet my mother!" thought she; and, unconscious of
everything else, she was assisted from the carriage, and conducted into
the house. A door was thrown open; but shrinking from the glare of light
and sound of voices that assailed her, he stood dazzled and dismayed,
till she beheld a figure approaching that she guessed to be her mother.
Her heart beat violently--a film was upon her eyes--she made an effort
to reach her mother's arms, and sank lifeless on her bosom!

Lady Juliana, for such it was, doubted not but that her daughter was
really dead; for though he talked of fainting every hour of the day
herself, still what is emphatically called a _dead-faint_ was a
spectacle no less strange than shocking to her. She was therefore
sufficiently alarmed and overcome to behave in a very interesting
manner; and some yearnings of pity even possessed her heart as she
beheld her daughter's lifeless form extended before her--her beautiful,
though inanimate features, half hid by the profusion of golden ringlets
that fell around her. But these kindly feelings were of short duration;
for no sooner was the nature of her daughter's insensibility as
ascertained, than all her former hostility returned, as she found
everyone's attention directed to Mary, and she herself entirely
overlooked in the general interest she had excited; and her displeasure
was still further increased as Mary, at length slowly unclosing her
eyes, stretched out her hands, and faintly articulated, "My mother!"

"Mother! What a hideous vulgar appellation!" thought the fashionable
parent to herself; and, instead of answering her daughter's appeal, she
hastily proposed that she should be conveyed to her own apartment; then,
summoning her maid, she consigned her to her care, slightly touching her
cheek as she wished her good-night, and returned to the card-table.
Adelaide too resumed her station at the harp, as if nothing had happened;
but Lady Emily attended her cousin to her room, embraced her again and
again, as she assured her she loved her already, she was so like her
dear Edward; then, after satisfying herself that everything was
comfortable, affectionately kissed her, and withdrew.

Bodily fatigue got the better of mental agitation; and Mary slept
soundly, and awoke refreshed.

"Can it be," thought she, as she tried to collect her bewildered
thoughts, "can it be that I have really beheld my mother, that I have
been pressed to her heart, that she has shed tears over me while I lay
unconscious in her arms? Mother! What a delightful sound; and how
beautiful she seemed! Yet I have no distinct idea of her, my head was
so confused; but I have a vague recollection of something very fair, and
beautiful, and seraph-like, covered with silver drapery, and flowers,
and with the sweetest voice in the world. Yet that must be too young for
my mother; perhaps it was my sister; and my mother was too much overcome
to meet her stranger child. Oh, how happy must I be with such a mother
and sister!"

In these delightful cogitations Mary remained till Lady Emily entered.

"How well you look this morning, my dear cousin," said she, flying to
her; "you are much more like my Edward than you were last night. Ah! and
you have got his smile too! You must let me see that very often."

"I am sure I shall have cause," said Mary, returning her cousin's
affectionate embrace; "but at present I feel anxious about my mother and
sister. The agitation of our meeting, and my weakness, I fear it has
been too much for them;" and she looked earnest in Lady Emily's face for
a confirmation of her fears.

"Indeed, you need be under no uneasiness on their account," returned her
cousin, with her usual bluntness; "their feelings are not so easily
disturbed; you will see them both at breakfast, so come along."

The room was empty; and again Mary's sensitive heart trembled for the
welfare of those already so dear to her; but Lady Emily did not appear
to understand the nature of her feelings.

"Have a little patience, my dear!" said she, with something of an
impatient tone, as she rang for breakfast; "they will be here at their
usual time. Nobody in this house is a slave to hours, or _gene _with
each other's society. Liberty is the motto here; everybody breakfasts
when and where they please. Lady Juliana, I believe, frequently takes
hers in her dressing-room; Papa never is visible till two or three
o'clock; and Adelaide is always late."

"What a selfish cold-hearted thing is grandeur!" thought Mary, as Lady
Emily and she sat like two specks in the splendid saloon, surrounded by
all that wealth could purchase or luxury invent; and her thoughts
reverted to the pious thanksgiving and affectionate meeting that graced
their social meal in the sweet sunny parlour at Lochmarlie.

Some of those airy nothings, without a local habitation, who are always
to be found flitting about the mansions of the great, now lounged into
the room; and soon after Adelaide made her _entree._ Mary,
trembling violently, was ready to fall upon her sister's neck, but
Adelaide seemed prepared to repel everything like a _scence _for,
with a cold, but sweet, "I hope you are better this morning?" she seated
herself at the opposite side of the table. Mary's blood rushed back to
her heart; her eyes filled with tears, she knew not why; for she could
not analyse the feelings that swelled in her bosom. She would have
shuddered to _think_ her sister unkind, but she _felt_ she was so.

"It can only be the difference of our manners," sighed she to herself;
"I am sure my sister loves me, though she does not show it in the same
way I should have done;" and she gazed with the purest admiration and
tenderness on the matchless beauty of her face and form. Never had she
beheld anything so exquisitely beautiful; and she longed to throw
herself into her sister's arms and tell her how she loved her. But
Adelaide seemed to think the present company wholly unworthy of her
regard; for, after having received the adulation of the gentlemen, as
they severally paid her a profusion of compliments upon her appearance,
"Desire Tomkins," said she to a footman, "to ask Lady Juliana for the
'Morning Post,' and the second volume of 'Le----,' of the French novel I
am reading; and say she shall have it again when I have finished it."

"In what different terms people may express the same meaning," thought
Mary; "had I been sending a message to my mother, I should have expressed
myself quite differently; but no doubt my sister's meaning is the same,
though she may not use the same words."

The servant returned with the newspaper, and the novel would be sent
when it could be found.

"Lady Juliana never reads like anybody else," said her daughter; "she is
for ever mislaying books. She has lost the first volumes of the two last
novels that came from town before I had even seen then."

This was uttered in the softest, sweetest tone imaginable, and as if she
had been pronouncing a panegyric.

Mary was more and more puzzled.

"'What can be my sister's meaning here?" thought she. "The words seemed
almost to imply censure; but that voice and smile speak the sweetest
praise. How truly Mrs. Douglas warned me never to judge of people by
their words."

At that moment the door opened, and three or four dogs rushed in,
followed by Lady Juliana, with a volume of a novel in her hand. Again
Mary found herself assailed by a variety of powerful emotions. She
attempted to rise; but, pale and breathless, she sank back in her chair.

Her agitation was unmarked by her mother, who did not even appear to be
sensible of her presence; for, with a graceful bend of her head to the
company in general, she approached Adelaide, and putting her lips to her
forehead, "How do you do, love? I'm afraid you are very angry with me
about that teazing La---I can't conceive where it can be; but here is
the third volume, which is much prettier than the second."

"I certainly shall not read the third volume before the second," said
Adelaide with her usual serenity.

"Then I shall order another copy from town, my love; or I daresay I
could tell you the story of the second volume: it is not at all
interesting, I assure you. Hermilisde, you know--but I forget where the
first volume left off."--Then directing her eyes to Mary, who had
summoned strength to rise, and was slowly venturing to approach her, she
extended a finger towards her. Mary eagerly seized her mother's hand,
and pressed it with fervour to her lips; then hid her face on her
shoulder to conceal the tears that burst from her eyes.

"Absurd, my dear!" said her Ladyship in a peevish tone, as she
disengaged herself from her daughter; "you must really get the better of
this foolish weakness; these _scenes_ are too much for me. I was
most excessively shocked last night, I assure you, and you ought not to
have quitted your room to-day."

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