Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 15

by Unknown

"Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

We cannot forget the place where our eyes first looked upon the glorious sun; where the moon was a thing of wonder, the evening companion of our childish gambols, joining with us in the race, and flying through the heavens as we ran! where we first listened to the song of the lark, received the outpourings of a mother's love upon our neck, or saw a father's eyes sparkle with joy as he beheld his happy children around him; where we first breathed affection's tale or heard its vows, and perchance were happy, wretched, blessed, or distracted, within a short hour. There is a magic influence about nativity that the soul loves to cherish. Its woods, its rivers, its hills, its old memories, fling their shadows and associations after us, and over us, even to the ends of the earth; and while these whisper of our early joys, or of what we fancied to be care ere we knew what care was—its churchyard tells us we have a portion there—that there our brethren and our kindred sleep. We may be absent from it until our very name is forgotten; yet we love it not the less. The man who loves it not hath his affections "dark as Erebus." It is a common wish, and it hath patriotism in it, too, that where we drew our first breath, there also we should breathe our last. Yet, in this world of changes and vicissitudes, such is not the lot of many. While I thus moralise, however, I detain the reader from the Recollections of the Village Patriarch; and as some of the individuals mentioned in his reminiscences may be yet living, I shall speak of the place in which he dwelt as the village of A——.

The name of the patriarch was Roger Rutherford. He was in many respects a singular old man. He was the proprietor of three or four cottages, and of some thirty acres of arable land adjoining to them. He was a man of considerable reading, of some education, and much shrewdness. His years, at the period we speak of, were fourscore and four. By general consent, he was a sort of home-made magistrate in the village, and the umpire in all the disputes which arose amongst his neighbours. It was common with them to say, instead of going to law, "We will leave the matter to old Roger;" and the patriarch so managed or balanced his opinions, that he generally succeeded in pleasing both parties. He was also the living or walking history or chronicle of the village. He could record all the changes that had taken place in it for more than seventy years; and he could speak of all the ups and downs of its inhabitants. What Byron beautifully says of the ocean—

"Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow"—

might have been said of the memory and intellect of the patriarch. He had also a happy art in telling his village tales, which rendered it pleasant to listen to the old man.

It was in the month of August, 1830, and just before the crops were ready for the sickle, old Roger was sitting, as his custom was (when the weather permitted), enjoying his afternoon pipe on a stone seat at the door, when a genteel-looking stranger, who might be about fifty years of age, approached him, and entered into conversation with him. The stranger asked many questions concerning the village and its old inhabitants, and Roger, eyeing him attentively for the space of a minute, said, "Weel, ye seem to ken something about the town, but I cannot charge my memory with having the smallest recollection o' ye; however, sit down, and I shall inform ye concerning whatever ye wish to hear."

So the stranger sat down beside the patriarch on the stone seat by the door, and he mentioned to him the circumstances respecting which he wished to be informed, and the individuals concerning whom he wished to learn tidings. And thus did the old man narrate his recollections, and the tales of

THE VILLAGE.

I have often thought, sir (he began), that A—— is one of the bonniest towns on all the Borders—indeed I may say in all broad Scotland. I dinna suppose ye will find its marrow in England; and I dinna say this through any prejudice in its favour, or partiality towards it, because I was born in it, and have lived in it now for the better part o' fourscore and four years; but I will leave your own eyes to be the judge. It is as clean as the hearth-stane of a tidy wife—and there certainly is a great improvement in it, in this respect, since I first knew it. There is the bit garden before almost every door, wi' vegetables in the middle, flowers alang the edges, a pear or cherry tree running up the side o' the house, and the sweet, bonny brier mixing wi' the hedges round about. It lies just in the bosom of woods, too, in the centre of a lovely haugh, where the river soughs along, like the echo of the cooing of the cushats in the plantations. The population is four times what it was when I remember it first, and there are but few of the old original residenters left. There have been a great many alterations, changes, and improvements in it, since I first kenned it; but young folk will have young fashions, and it is of no use talking to them. The first inroad upon our ancient and primitive habits was made by one Lucky Riddle taking out a license to sell whisky, and tippenny, and other liquors. She hadna carried on the trade for six months, until a great alteration was observable in the morals o' several in the parish. It was a sad heart-sore to our worthy minister. He once spoke to me o' having Lucky Riddle summoned before the session. But says I to him—"Sir, I am afraid it is a case in which the session canna interfere. Ye see she has out a king's license, and she is contributing to what they call the revenue o' the country; therefore, if she be only acting up to her regulations, I doubt we canna interfere, and that we would only bring ourselves into trouble if we did."

"But, Roger," quoth he, "her strong drink is making weak vessels of some of my parishioners. There is Thomas Elliot, and William Archbold, or Blithe Willie, as some call him for a by-word; those lads, and a dozen o' others, I am creditably informed, are there, drinking, singing, swearing, fighting, or dancing, night after night; and even Johnny Grippy, the miser, that I would have made an elder last year, but on account o' his penuriousness, is said to slip in on the edge o' his foot every morning, to swallow his dram before breakfast! I tell ye, Roger, she is bringing them to ruin faster than I can bring them to a sense o' sin—or whatever impression I may make, her liquor is washing away. She has brought a plague amongst us, and it is entering our habitations—it is thinning the sanctuary, striking down our strong men, and making mothers miserable. Therefore, unless Lucky Riddle will, in the meantime, relinquish her traffic, I think we ought, in duty, to prohibit her from coming forward on the next half-yearly occasion."