THE STONE-BREAKER.
If any of our readers had had occasion to go out, for a couple of miles or so, on the road leading from Edinburgh to the village of Carlops, any time during the summer of the year 1836, they would have seen a little old man—very old—employed in breaking metal for the roads. The exact spot where we saw him, was at the turn of the eastern shoulder of the Pentland Hills; but the nature of his employment rendering him somewhat migratory, he may have been seen by others in a different locality. In the appearance of the old stone-breaker, there was nothing particularly interesting—nothing to attract the attention of the passer-by—unless it might be his great age. This, however, certainly was calculated to do so; and when it did, it must have been accompanied by a painful feeling at seeing one so old and feeble still toiling for the day that was passing over him; and toiling, too, at one of the most dreary, laborious, and miserable occupations which can well be conceived. Had the old man no children who could provide for the little wants of their aged parent, without the necessity of his still labouring for them—who could secure him in that ease which exhausted nature demanded? It appeared not. Perhaps it was a spirit of independence that nerved his weak arm, and kept him toiling so far beyond the usual term of human capability. Probably the proud-spirited old man would break no bread but that which he had earned by the sweat of his brow and the labour of his hands. Perhaps it was so. At any rate, this we know, that, at the early hour of five in the morning, as regularly as the morning came, the old stone-breaker had already commenced his monotonous labour. But this was not all. He had also, by this early hour, walked upwards of four miles—for so far distant was the scene of his occupation from the place of his residence, Edinburgh. He must, therefore, have left home between three and four o'clock, and this was his daily round, without intermission, without variation, and without relaxation. A bottle of butter-milk and a penny loaf formed each day's sustenance. His daily earnings, labouring from five in the morning till six at night, averaged about ninepence! Hear ye this, ye who ride in emblazoned carriages! Hear ye this, ye loungers on the well-stuffed couch!—and hear it, ye revellers at the festive board, who have never toiled for the luxuries ye enjoy! Hear it, and think of it! But of this person we have other things to tell; and to these we proceed.
One morning, just after he had commenced the labours of the day, a young man, of about four or five and twenty years of age, accosted him, wished him a good morning, and seated himself on the heap of broken metal on which the old man was at work, and did so seemingly with the intention of entering into conversation with him. This was a proceeding to which the latter was much accustomed, it being a frequent practice with the humbler class of wayfarers. The advances of the stranger, therefore, in the present instance, did not for a moment interrupt his labours, or slacken his assiduity. He hammered on without raising his head, even while returning the greetings that were made him.
"A delightful view from this spot," said the young man, breaking in upon a silence which had continued for some time after the first salutations had passed between them.
"Yes," said the old man, drily; and, continuing his operations, he again relapsed into his usual taciturnity; for, in truth, he was naturally of a morose and uncommunicative disposition. Undeterred by his cold, repulsive manner, the stranger again broke silence, and said, with a deep-drawn sigh—
"How I envy these little birds that hop so joyously from spray to spray! Their life is a happy one. Would to God I were one of them!"
The oddness of the expressions, and the earnestness with which they were pronounced, had an effect on the labourer which few things had. They induced him to pause in his work, to raise his head, and to look in the face of the speaker, which he did with a smile of undefinable meaning. It was the first full look he had taken of him, and it discovered to him a countenance open and pleasing in its expression, but marked with deep melancholy, and telling, in language not to be misunderstood, a tale of heart-sickness of the most racking and depressing kind.
"Has your lot been ill cast, young man, that ye envy the bits o' burds o' the air the freedom and the liberty that God has gien them?" said the old man, eyeing the stranger scrutinizingly, with a keen, penetrating grey eye, that had not even yet lost all its fire.
"It has," replied the latter. "I have been unfortunate in the world. I have struggled hard with my fate, but it has at length overwhelmed me."
The old man muttered something unintelligibly, and, without vouchsafing any other reply, resumed his labours. After another pause of some duration, which, however, he had evidently employed in thinking on the declaration of unhappiness which had just been made him—
"Some folly o' your ain, young man, very likely," said he, carelessly, and still knapping the stones, whose bulk it was his employment to reduce.
"No," replied the young man, blushing; but it was a blush which he who caused it did not see. "I cannot blame myself."
"Nae man does," interposed the stone-breaker; "he aye blames his neighbours."
"Perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but you will allow that it is perfectly possible for a man to be unfortunate without any fault on his own part."
"I hae seldom seen't," replied the ungracious and unaccommodating old man; and he hammered on.
"Well, perhaps so," said the youth; "but I hope you will not deny that such things may be."
"Canna say," was the brief, but sufficiently discouraging rejoinder.
"Then let us drop the subject," said the stranger, smilingly. "Each will still judge of the world by his own experience. But, methinks, your own case, my friend, is a hard enough one. To see a man of your years labouring at this miserable employment, is a painful sight. Your debt to fortune is also light, I should believe."
"I hae aye trusted mair to my ain industry than to fortune, young man. I never pat it in her power to jilt me. I never trusted her, and therefore, she has never deceived me; so her and me are quits." And the old man plied away with his long, light hammer.
"Yet your earnings must be scanty?"
"I dinna compleen o' them."
"I daresay not; but will you not take it amiss my offering this small addition to them?" And he tendered him a half-crown piece. "I have but little to spare, and that must be my apology for offering you so trifling a gift."
The man here again paused in his operations, and again looked full in the face of the stranger, but without making any motion towards accepting the proffered donation.
"I thocht ye said ye war in straits, young man," he said, and now resting his elbow on the end of his hammer.
"And I said truly," replied the former, again colouring.
"Then hoo come ye to be sportin yer siller sae freely? I wad hae thocht ye wad hae as muckle need o' a half-croon as I hae?"
"Perhaps I may," replied the stranger; "but that's not to hinder me from feeling for others, nor from relieving their distresses so far as I can."
"Foolish doctrine, young man, an' no' for this warl. It's nae wunner that ye're in difficulties. I guessed the faut was yer ain, and noo I'm sure o't. Put up yer half-croon, sir. I dinna tak charity."
"I hope, however, I have not offended you by the offer? It was well meant."
"Ou, I daresay—I'm no the least offended; but tak an auld man's advice, an' dinna let yer feelins hae the command o' yer purse-strings, otherwise ye'll never hae muckle in't."
And the churlish old stone-breaker resumed his labours, and again relapsed into taciturnity. Silent as he was, however, it was evident that he was busily thinking, although none but himself could possibly tell what was the subject of his thoughts; but this soon discovered itself. After a short time, he again spoke—
"What may the nature an' cause o' yer defeeculties be, young man, an' I may speer?" he said—"and I fancy I may, since ye hae been sae far free on the subject o yer ain accord."
"That's soon told," replied the stranger. "Three years ago, an aunt, with whom I was an especial favourite, left me two hundred and fifty pounds. "With this sum I set up in business in Edinburgh in the ironmongery line, to which I was bred. My little trade prospered, and gradually attained such an extent that I found I could not do without an efficient assistant, who should look after the shop while I was out on the necessary calls of business. In this predicament I bethought me of my brother, who was a year older than myself, and accordingly sent for him to Selkirkshire, where he resided with our father, assisting him in his small farming operations; this being the business of the latter. My brother came; and, for some time, was everything I could have wished—sober, regular, and attentive; and we thus got on swimmingly. This, however, was a state of matters which was not long to continue. When my brother had about completed a year with me, I began to perceive a gradual falling off in his anxiety about the interests of our little business. I remonstrated with him on one or two occasions of palpable neglect; but this, instead of inducing him to greater vigilance, had the effect only of rendering him more and more careless. But I did not then know the worst. I did not then know that, in place of aiding, he was robbing me. This was the truth, however. He had formed an infamous connection with a woman of disreputable character, and the consequence was the adoption of a regular system of plunder on my little property, to answer the calls which she was constantly making on my unfortunate relative.
"About this time I took ill, and, not suspecting the integrity of my brother, although aware of his carelessness, I did not hesitate to trust him with the entire conduct of my affairs. Indeed, I could not help myself in this particular; he best knowing my business, and being, besides, the natural substitute for myself in such a case. For three months was I confined, unable to leave my own room; and, when I did come out, I found myself a ruined man. In this time, my brother had appropriated almost every farthing that had been drawn to his own purposes; and had, moreover, done the same by some of my largest and best outstanding accounts; and, to sum up all, he had fled, I knew not whither, on the day previous to that on which I made my first appearance in my shop after my recovery. That is about ten days since."
"Did the rascal harry ye oot an' oot?" here interposed the old stone-breaker, knapping away with great earnestness.
"No; there was a little on which he could not lay his hands—some considerable accounts which are payable only yearly; there was also some stock in the shop; but these, of course, are now the property of my creditors."
"But could ye no get a settlement wi' them, an' go on?" inquired the other, still knapping away assiduously. "I'm sure if you stated your case, your creditors wadna be owre hard on ye."
"Perhaps they might not; but there is one circumstance that puts it out of my power to make any attempt at arrangement. There is one bill of fifty pounds, due to a Sheffield house, on which diligence has been raised, and on which I am threatened with instant incarceration. In truth, it is this proceeding that has brought me here so early this morning. I expected to have been taken in my bed, as the charge was out yesterday, and I am here to keep out of the way of the messengers. I am thus deprived of the power of helping myself—of taking any steps towards the adjustment of my affairs."
"An' could ye do any guid, think ye, if that debt wur paid, or in some way arranged?" inquired the other.
"I think I could;" said the party questioned. "My good outstanding debts are yet considerable, and so is the stock in the shop; so that, had a little time been allowed me, I could have got round. But all that is knocked on the head, by the impending diligence against me. That settles the matter at once, by depriving me of the necessary liberty to go about my affairs."
"It's a pity," said the man, drily. "Wha's the man o' business in Edinburgh that thae Sheffield folk hae employed to prosecute ye? What ca' ye him?"
"Mr Langridge."
"Ou ay, I hae heard o' him. An will he no gie ye ony indulgence?"
"He cannot. His instructions are imperative, otherwise he would, I am convinced; for he is an excellent sort of man, and knows all about me and my affairs. Indeed, so willing was he to have assisted me, that, when the bill was first put into his hands, he wrote to his clients, strongly recommending lenient measures and bearing testimony, on his own knowledge, to the hardship of my case; but their reply was brief and peremptory. It was to proceed against me instantly, and threatening him with the loss of their business if he did not. For this uncompromising severity they assigned as a reason, their having been lately 'taken in,' as they expressed it, to a large extent, by a number of their Scotch customers. So Mr. Langridge had no alternative but to do his duty, and let matters take their course."
"True," replied the monosyllabic stone-breaker. It was all he said, or, if he had intended to say more, which, however, is not probable, no opportunity was afforded him; for at this moment three labouring men of his acquaintance, who were on their way to their work, came up and began conversing. On this interruption taking place, the young man rose, wished him a good morning, which was merely replied to by a slight nod, and went his way.
At this point in our story, we change the scene to the writing chambers of Mr. Langridge, and the time we advance to the evening of the day on which our tale opens.
It will surprise the reader to find our old stone-breaker, still wearing the patched and threadbare clothes, the battered and torn hat, and the coarse, strong shoes, which had never rejoiced in the contact of blacking brush, in which he prosecuted his daily labours, ringing the door-bell of Mr Langridge's house, about eight o'clock in the evening. It will still more surprise him, perhaps, to find this man received, notwithstanding the homeliness, we might have said wretchedness, of his appearance, by Mr Langridge himself with great courtesy, and even with a slight air of deference.
On his entering the apartment in which that gentleman was, the latter immediately rose from his seat, and advanced, with extended hand, towards him.
"Ah, Mr Lumsden," he exclaimed, "how do you do? I hope I see you well. Come, my dear sir, take a chair." And he ran with eager civility for the convenience he named, and placed it for the accommodation of his visiter.
When the old man was seated—
"Well, my dear sir," said Mr Langridge, "I am sorry to say that your rents have not come so well in this last half-year as usual. We are considerably short." And the man of business hurried to a large green painted tin box, that stood amongst some others on a shelf, and bore on its front the name of Lumsden, and from this drew forth what appeared to be a list or rent roll, which he spread out on the table. "We are considerably short," he said. "There's six or eight of your folks who have paid nothing yet, and as many more who have made only partial payments."
"Ay," said the man, crustily, "what's the meanin' o that? Ye maun just screw them up, Mr Langridge; for I canna want my siller, and I winna want it. Hae thae folk Thamsons, paid yet?"
"Not a shilling more than you know of," replied Mr Langridge.
"Weel, then, Mr Langridge, ye maun just tak the necessary steps to recover; for I'm determined to hae my rent. I'm no gaun to aloo mysel' to be ruined this way. They wadna leave me a sark to my back, if I wad let them. Ye maun just sequestrate, Mr Langridge—ye maun just sequestrate, an' we'll help oorsels to payment, since they winna help us."
"Oh, surely, surely, my dear sir. All fair and right. But I would just mention to you, that though, latterly, they have been dilatory payers—I would say, shamefully so—they are yet decent, honest, well-meaning people, these Thomsons; and that, moreover, there is some reason for their having been so remiss of late, although it is, certainly, none whatever why you should want your rent."
"No, I fancy no," here interposed the other, with a triumphant chuckle.
"No, certainly not," went on Mr Langridge, who seemed to know well how to manage his eccentric client; "but only, I would just mention to you, that the reason of the dilatoriness of the Thomsons, is the husband's having been unable, from illness, to work for the last three months, and that, in that time, they have also lost no less than two children. It is rather a piteous case."
"An' what hae I to do wi' a' that?" exclaimed the other, impatiently. "What hae I to do wi' a' that, I wad like to ken? Am I to be ca'ed on to relieve a' the distress in the world? That wad be a bonny set o't. Am I to be robbed o' my richts that others may be at ease? That I winna, I warrant you. See that ye recover me thae folk's arrears, Mr Langridge, by hook or by crook, and that immediately, though ye shouldna leave them a stool to sit upon. That's my instructions to you."
"And they shall be obeyed, Mr Lumsden," replied the man of business—"obeyed to the letter. I merely mentioned the circumstance to you, in order that you might be fully apprized of everything relating to your tenants, which it is proper you should know."
"Weel, weel, but there's nae use in troublin' me wi' thae stories. I dinna want to be plagued wi' folk makin' puir mouths. There's aye a design on ane's pouch below't. By the bye, Mr Langridge," continued he, after a momentary pause, "hae ye a young chield o' an airnmonger in your hauns enow about some bill or anither that he canna pay."
"The name?" inquired Mr Langridge, musingly.
"Troth that I cannot tell you; for I never heard it, and forgot to speer."
"Let me see—oh, ay—you will mean, I dare say, a young man of the name of John Reid, poor fellow?"
"Very likely," said the client; "Is he a young man, an airnmonger to business, and hae ye diligence against him enow on a fifty pound bill, due to a Sheffield hoose?"
"The same," replied Mr Longridge. "These are exactly the circumstances. How came you, Mr Lumsden," he added, smilingly, "to be so well informed of them?"
"I'll maybe explain that afterwards; but, in the meantime, will ye tell me what sort o' a lad this Mr Reid is? Is he a decent, weel-doin' young man?"
"Remarkably so," replied Mr Langridge, "remarkably so, Mr Lumsden. I can answer for that; for I have known him now for a good while, and have had many opportunities of estimating his character."
"Then hoo cam he into his present difficulties?"
"Through the misconduct of a brother—entirely through the misconduct of a brother." And Mr Langridge proceeded to give precisely the same account of the young man's misfortunes, and of the present state of his affairs, that he himself had given to the old stone-breaker, as already detailed to the reader. When he had concluded—
"It seems to me rather a hard sort o' case," said the client. "But could you no help him a wee on the score o' lenity?"
"I would willingly do it if I could; but it's not in my power. My instructions are peremptory. I dare not do it but with a certainty of losing the business of the pursuers, the best clients I have."
"Naething, then, 'll do but payin' the siller, I suppose?" said the other.
"Nothing, nothing, I fear. My clients seem quite determined. They are enraged at some smart losses which they have lately sustained in Scotland, and will give no quarter."
"Then I suppose if they war paid, they would be satisfied," said the stone-breaker.
"Ha, ha, ha! Mr Lumsden, no doubt of that," exclaimed Mr Langridge, laughing. "That would settle the business at once."
"I fancy sae," said the other, musingly. Then, after a pause—"An' think ye the lad wad get on if this stane were taen frae aboot his neck?"
"I have no doubt of it—not the least," replied Mr Langridge, "for I have every confidence in the young man's industry and uprightness of principle. But he has no friend to back him, poor fellow: no one to help him out of the scrape."
"Ye canna be quite sure o' that, Mr Langridge," said the old man. "What if I hae taen a fancy to help him mysel?"
"You, Mr Lumsden!—you!" exclaimed Mr Langridge in great surprise. "What motive on earth can you have for assisting him?"
"I didna say that I meant to assist him—I only asked ye, what if I took a fancy to do't?"
"Why, to that I can only say that, if you have, he is all right, and will get his head above water yet. But you surprise me, Mr Lumsden, by this interest in Reid. May I ask how it comes about?"
"I'll tell you a' that presently, but I'll first tell you that I do mean to assist the young man in his straits. I'll advance the money to pay that bill for him. Will ye see to that, then, Mr Langridge? Put me doon for the amount oot o' the funds in your hauns, and stay further proceedins."
Mr Langridge could not express the surprise he felt on this extraordinary intimation from a man who, although there were some good points in his character, notwithstanding of the outward crust of churlishness in which it was encased, he never believed capable of any very striking act of generosity. Mr Langridge, we say, could not express the surprise which this unlooked-for instance of that quality in Mr Lumsden inspired, nor did he attempt it; for he justly considered that such expression would be offensive to the old man, as implying a belief that he had been deemed incapable of doing a benevolent thing. Mr Langridge, therefore, kept his feelings, on the occasion, to himself, and contented himself with promising compliance, and venturing a muttered compliment or two, which, however, were ungraciously enough received, on the old man's generosity.
"But whar's the young man to be fand?" inquired the latter.
"Why, that I cannot well tell you," replied Mr Langridge; "for I was informed, in the course of the day, by the messengers whom I employed to apprehend him, that he had left his lodging early in the morning, no doubt in order to avoid them, and they could not ascertain where he had gone to."
"Humph, that's awkward," replied the client. "I wad like to find him."
"I fear that will be difficult," replied Mr Langridge; "but I will call off the bloodhounds in the meantime, and terminate proceedings."
"Ay, do sae, do sae. But can we no get haud o' the lad ony way?"
At this moment, a rap at the door of the apartment in which was Mr Langridge and his client, interrupted further conversation on the subject.
"Come in," exclaimed the former.
The door opened, and in walked two messengers, with Reid a prisoner between them. We leave it to the reader to conceive the latter's surprise, on beholding his acquaintance of the morning, the old stone-breaker, seated in an arm-chair in Mr Langridge's writing-chamber. But while he looked this surprise, he also seemed to feel acutely the humiliation of his position. After a nod of recognition, he said, with an attempt at a smile, and addressing himself to the old man—
"You see they have got me after all, my friend. But it was my own doing. On reflection, I saw no use in endeavouring to avoid them, and gave myself up, at least, threw myself in their way, in order to encounter the worst at once, and be done with it."
"I daresay ye was richt, after a'," replied the stone-breaker; "it was the best way. Mr Langridge," he added, and now rising from his seat, "wad ye speak wi' me for a minnit, in another room?"
"Certainly, Mr Lumsden," replied Mr Langridge.
"Will we proceed with the prisoner?" inquired one of the messengers.
"No, remain where you are a moment, till I return;" and Mr Langridge led the way out of the apartment, followed by the old stone-breaker. When they had reached another room, and the door had been secured—
"Noo, Mr Langridge, anent what I was speaking to ye about regarding this young man wha has come in sae curiously upon us, juist whan we were wanting him—I dinna care to be seen in the matter, sae ye maun juist manag't for me yersel."
"Had ye no better enjoy the satisfaction of your own good deed in person, Mr Lumsden, by telling Mr Reid of the important service you intend doing him?"
"I'll do naething o' the kind," replied the old stone-breaker, testily. "I dinna want to be bothered wi't. Sae juist pay ye his bill and charges, Mr Langridge, an' keep an e'e on his proceedins afterwards, an' let me ken frae time to time hoo he's gettin on."
With these instructions Mr Langridge promised compliance; and, on his having done so, the stone-breaker proposed to depart; but, just as he was about doing so, he turned suddenly round to his man of business, and said—
"About the Tamsons, Mr Langridge, ye needna, for a wee while, tak thae staps again them that I was speakin aboot. Let them alane a wee till they get roun a bit."
"I'll do so, Mr Lumsden," replied the worthy writer, who, the reader will observe, had accomplished his generous purpose dexterously. He knew his man, and acted accordingly.
"What's their arrears, again?" inquired the other.
"Half-a-year's rent—£3, 17s.," replied Mr Langridge.
"Ay, it's a heap o' siller—no to be fan at every dyke side. An' then, there's this half-year rinning on, an' very near due. That'll mak—hoo much?"
"Just £7, 14s. exactly, Mr Lumsden."
"Ay, exactly," replied the latter, who had been making a mental calculation of the amount, and had arrived, although more slowly than his experienced lawyer, at the same result. "A serious soom," added the client.
"No trifle, indeed, Mr Lumsden," said Mr Langridge; "but it's safe enough. They're honest people."
"Ye'r aye harpin on that string," replied the stone-breaker, surlily; "but what signifies their honesty to me, if they'll no pay me my rent?"
"True, very true," said the law agent. "That's the only practical honesty."
"See you an' get thae arrears, at ony rate, oot o' them, if ye can, Mr Langridge; an', if ye canna, I suppose we maun juist want them. Ye needna push owre hard for them either, since they're in the state ye say. But ye'll surely mak the present half-year oot o' them. That maun be paid. Mind that, at ony rate, maun be paid, Mr Langridge." And saying this, he placed his old tattered hat, which he had hitherto held in his hand, on his head, and left the house.
On his departure, Mr Langridge hastily entered the apartment in which, he had left the messengers with their prisoner.
"We're just waiting marching orders, Mr Langridge," said the latter, on his entering, and making an attempt at playfulness, with which his spirit but ill accorded. "My friends here are getting tired of their charge, and anxious to be relieved of him."
"Are they so, Mr Reid?" replied Mr Langridge, smiling.
"Why, then, we had best relieve them at once." Then turning to the principal officer—"Quit your prisoner, Maxwell—the debt is settled. Mr Reid, you are at liberty."
The blood rushed to poor Reid's face, and then withdrew, leaving it as pale as death, and yet he could express no part of the feelings which caused these violent alternations. At length—
"Mr Langridge," he said, "what is the meaning of this? How do I come to be liberated?"
"By the simplest and most effectual of all processes, Mr Reid," replied the worthy writer, smiling; "by the payment of the debt."
"But I have not paid the debt, Mr Langridge. I could not pay the debt."
"No; but somebody else might. The short and the long of it is, Mr Reid, that a friend has come forward, and settled the claim on which diligence was raised against you. The bill, with interest and all expenses, is paid, and you are again a free man."
Again overwhelmed by his feelings, which were a thousand times more eloquently expressed by a flood of silent tears than they could have been by the most carefully rounded periods, it was some time before the young man could pursue the conversation, or ask for the further information which he yet intensely longed to possess. On recovering from the burst of emotion which had, for the moment, deprived him of the power of utterance—
"And who, pray, Mr Langridge, is this friend—this friend indeed?
"Why, I do not know exactly whether I am at liberty to tell you, Mr Reid," replied Mr Langridge. "The friend you allude to declined transacting this matter personally with you, which seems to imply that he did not care that you should know who he was; yet, as he certainly did not expressly forbid me to disclose him, and as I think it but right that you should know to whom you are indebted, I will venture to tell you. Had you some conversation, at an early hour this morning, with an old stone-breaker, on the highway side, about three or four miles from town?"
"I had. The old man that was sitting here when I came in."
"The same. Well, what would you think if he should have been the friend in question? Would you expect from his manner, that he would do such a thing? or, from his appearance and occupation, that he could?"
"Certainly not—certainly not. The old man—the poor old man, to whom I offered half-a-crown—who works for ninepence a-day—who never saw me in his life before this morning—who knows nothing of me! Impossible, Mr Langridge—impossible; he cannot be the man. You do not say that he is?"
"But I do though, Mr Reid, and that most distinctly. It is he, and no other, I assure you, who has done you this friendly service."
"Then, if it be so, I know not what to say to it, Mr Langridge. I can say nothing. I trust, however, I shall not be found wanting on the score of gratitude. I can say no more. But will you be so good as inform me, if you can, how the good man has come to do me so friendly a service? Who on earth, or what is he?"
"Sit down, sit down, Mr Reid, and I'll answer all your questions—I'll tell you all about him," replied Mr Langridge.
Mr Reid having complied with this invitation, the latter began:—
"The history of the old stone-breaker, my good sir, is a very short and a very simple one. It contains no vicissitude, and to few, besides ourselves, would be found possessing any particular interest. Your friend was, in his youth, a soldier, and served, I believe, in the American war. At his return home on the conclusion of that war, he was discharged, still a young man, and shortly after married a woman with a fortune" (smilingly) "of some five-and-twenty or thirty pounds. With this sum the thrifty pair purchased two or three cows, and commenced the business of cowfeeders. They prospered; for they were both saving and industrious, and, in time, realized a considerable sum of money, which they went on increasing. This they invested in house property from time to time, till their possessions of this kind became very valuable.
"For upwards of forty years they continued in this way, when Mrs Lumsden died, leaving her husband a lonely widower; for they had no children. On the death of the former, the latter, who was now an old man, and unequal to conducting, alone, the business in which his wife's activity and industry had hitherto aided him, sold off his cows, and proposed to live in retirement on the rents of his property; and this he did for some time. Accustomed, however, to a life of constant labour and exertion, the old man soon found the idleness on which he had thrown himself, intolerably irksome. He became miserable from a mere want of having something to do. While in this state of ennui, chancing one day to stroll into the country, (this is what he told me himself,) he saw some labouring men knapping stones by the way-side; and strange as the fancy may seem, he was instantly struck with a desire of taking to this occupation. He did so, and has, from that day to the present, now upwards of ten years, pursued it with as much assiduity as if it was his only resource for a subsistence. He has, as I already told you, no family of his own; neither has he, I believe, any relation living; or, if there be, they must be very remote; and, as he strictly confines his expenditure to his daily earnings as a stone-breaker—some ninepence a-day, I believe—his wealth is rapidly increasing, and is, at this moment, no trifle, I assure you. Now, my good sir, when I tell you that I am the law agent of this strange, eccentric person, and that I manage all his business for him, I have told you everything about him that is worth mentioning."
"There is just one thing, Mr Langridge," said Mr Reid, who had been an attentive listener to the tale just told him, "that wants explanation: can you give me the smallest shadow of a reason for the part he has acted towards me?"
"Nay, there you puzzle me; I cannot. It appears as unaccountable to me as to you, although I have known Mr Lumsden now for upwards of fifteen years."
"Did you ever know him do a thing of this kind before?"
"Never! and I must say candidly, that, although he is by no means deficient in kindness of heart, notwithstanding his rough exterior, I did not believe him capable of such an act of generosity."
"It is an extraordinary matter," said Mr Reid; "and although I can have but little right to inquire into the motives for an act by which I am so largely benefited—it seems ungracious to do so—yet would I give a good round sum, if I had it to spare, to know the real cause of this good man's friendship towards me."
"Why, that I suspect neither you nor I shall ever know. I question much, indeed, if the principal actor in this affair himself could give a reason for what he has done. It seems to me just one of those odd and unaccountable things which eccentric men, like Mr Lumsden, will sometimes do; and with this solution of the mystery, and the benefit it has produced to you, I rather think, Mr Reid, you must be content. I would, however, add, in order to redeem Mr Lumsden's act of generosity from the character of a mere whim, that your case was one eminently calculated to excite any latent feeling of benevolence which he might possess; and that your manner and appearance—no flattery—are equally well calculated to second a claim so established. Yourself, and your peculiar circumstances, in short, had chanced to touch the right chord in a right man's breast, and hence the response on which we are speculating."
Having thus discussed the knotty point of the old stonebreaker's sudden act of generosity, Mr Langridge invited Mr Reid to put his affairs into his hands, promising that they should have the advantage, on his part, of something more than mere professional zeal. This friendly invitation the latter gladly accepted, and shortly after consigned all his business matters to the care of the worthy writer, who exerted himself in behalf of his client with an efficiency that soon placed the latter once more in the way of well-doing. And well he did; having subsequently realised a very handsome independency. In the success of the young man, no one rejoiced more than the old stone-breaker, who frequently visited him in his shop; sometimes merely for the purpose of seeing him; at others, to purchase some of those little articles of ironmongery which the due preservation of his dwelling-house property demanded. Let us state, too, that, amongst his purchases, were, at different times, the hammer-heads which he used in his occupation of stone-breaking.
In their first transaction in this way, there was something curiously characteristic of the old man's peculiarities of temper. Mr Reid, not yet perfectly aware of these peculiarities, declined, for some time, putting any price on a couple of hammer-heads which his friend had picked out. He would have made him a present of them; and, to the latter's inquiry as to their price, replied, evasively, and laughing while he spoke, that he would tell him that afterwards.
"I tak nae credit, young man," said the stone-breaker, crustily, "tell me enow their cost." And he pulled out a small greasy leathern purse, and was undoing its strings, when Mr Reid laid his hand on his arm to prevent him, at the same time telling him that he would do him a favour by accepting the hammer-heads in a present. "What is such a trifle between you and me, Mr Lumsden—you to whom I owe everything?"
"You owe me a great deal mair than ye're ever likely to pay me, at ony rate, young man, if this be the way ye transact business," replied the other, with evident signs of displeasure. "Tell me the price o' thae hammer-heads at ance, an' be dune wi't. I hae nae broo o' folk that fling awa their guids as ye seem inclined to do."
Mr Reid blushed at the reproof, but, seeing at once how the land lay, with regard to his customer's temper, he now plumply named the price of the hammers, sevenpence each.
"Sevenpence!" exclaimed the old man. "I'll gie ye nae such price. Doonricht robbery! I can get them as guid in ony shop in the toon for saxpence ha'penny. If ye like to tak that price for them, ye may hae't. If no, ye can keep them."
Mr Reid, now knowing his man somewhat better than he did at first, demurred, but at length agreed to the abatement, and the transaction was thus brought to a close.
We need hardly add, that the £50 advanced by the old man to Mr Reid were subsequently repaid; but the call is more imperative on us to state, that, on the former's death, which took place about two years after, the latter found himself named in his will for a very considerable sum. One, somewhat larger, was bequeathed by the same document to Mr Langridge. The remainder was appropriated to various charities. And here, good reader, ends the story of the Stone-Breaker.