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

by Unknown

It was many weeks before Mr Anderson was able to resume his place in the pulpit again; and his daughter, also, took the death of her brother greatly to heart. The whole parish sought to condole wi' them, not even excepting young Laird Cochrane of the Ha', who had not then come to the estate. I firmly believe, sir, that he was a predestinated villain from his cradle, for he showed symptoms of the most disgusting depravity more early than ever laddie did. The aulder he grew, when he was in the country, he went the more about the manse, and Esther was nearly about his own age. She was a lassie that I would call the very perfection of loveliness—simple, artless, confiding, but not without a sprinkling o' woman's vanity. There was a laddie, the son of Thomas Elliot, or Ne'er-do-weel Tam, as he was commonly called, that was very fond of her; he was a fine, deserving callant, and all the town thought she was fond of him. But the young laird put himself forward as his rival, and the one was rich and the other poor. The laird of the Ha' sent daily presents of geese, turkeys, and all sorts of game in their season, to the manse; and he also presented rings, trinkets, and other fine things to Esther; while the other, who was considered a sort of poet in the neighbourhood, could only say, as a sang that I hear them singing now-a-days says—

"My heart and lute are all my store
And these I bring to thee."

The laird was also an adept in flattery, in its most cunningly-devised forms. Now, sir, it is amazing what an effect the use of such means will ultimately produce upon the best-regulated minds. They are like the constant dropping that weareth away a stone. Though unconscious of it herself, Esther, who was but a young thing, began to listen with more patience to the addresses of the heir of the Ha'; and she occasionally exhibited something like dryness and petulance in the presence of poor Alexander Elliot—for such was his name. At the very first shadow of change upon her countenance, his spirit became bitter wi' jealousy, and he rashly charged her wi' deserting him for the sake of the young laird and the estate to which he was heir. This was a tearing asunder of the silken cords that for years had held their hearts together. He was proud, and so was she—they became distrustful of each other, and at length they quarrelled, and parted never to meet again. I have heard it said, that it was partly to be revenged on Alexander that Esther gave an ear to the addresses of the laird; but that is a subject on which I offer no opinion. All that I know is, that Alexander enlisted, and went out to join his regiment in the West Indies. The laird followed Esther like her shadow; and every one, save myself, said that there would be a marriage between them. Even her worthy father seemed to dream in the golden delusion; and, I am sorry to say, that I believe he was in no small degree the cause of finally breaking off the intimacy between her and Alexander Elliot. She was, as I have informed ye, a sensitive, confiding lassie; and the laird, who had a honeyed tongue, succeeded not only, in the long run, in gaining her affections, but in making her to believe in his very looks; for, being incapable of falsehood herself, she did not suspect it in others, and least of all in those who had obtained a place in her heart.

The young villain went so far as, in her presence, to ask her father's consent to their marriage; and the auld laird being then dead, the minister agreed. It was not long after this, that the scapegrace went to London, and Esther began to droop like a flower nipped wi' a frost. Half-a-dozen times in the day her father found her in tears, and he endeavoured to comfort and to cheer her; but his efforts were unavailing. It pained his heart, which had already been sorely chastened by affliction, to behold the youngling, and last of his flock, pining away before him. The young laird neither returned nor wrote, and he suspected not the cause of his daughter's grief. The first hint he got of it was from his elders assembled in session. The old man in agony fell back—he gasped, he smote his breast, and tore his grey hairs. In his agony he cried that his Maker had forsaken him! The elders sought to condole wi' him, but it was in vain; he was carried to the manse, and he never preached more. His heart was broken, and, before a month passed, the thread of life snapped also.

Wi' the weight of her own shame and sorrow, and her father's death, poor Esther became demented. About nine weeks after her father's funeral, she gave birth to a still-born child; and it was a happy thing that the infant and its mother were buried at the same time, in the same grave.

Such, sir, is all that it is necessary for me to inform ye concerning our late worthy minister; and of the young laird ye shall hear more presently, in the history of

NE'ER-DO-WEEL TAM.

I never kenned a lad that I entertained a higher regard for than Thomas Elliot. His father left him fifteen hundred pounds, laid out upon a mortgage at five per cent. interest, and bequeathed in such a way that he couldna lift the principal. There was a vast deal of real goodness about his heart—he was frank, liberal, sincere. Every person that kenned him liked him. His first and greatest fault was that he was owre open; he laid bare his breast, as it were, to the attack of every enemy that chose to hurl a shaft at it. He was a fool for his pains; and, I daresay, he saw it in the end. There was always some person taking the advantage of the frankness of his disposition. But the thing that ruined him, and fixed the by-name on him, was, that he became a sort of fixture in Luckie Riddle's parlour. His chief companion was a lad of the name of William Archbold—a blithe, singing chield, that was always happy, and ready at onything. Thomas and he were courting two sisters—Jenny and Peggy Lilly—the daughters of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, and both of them were bonny, weel-respected lasses. The folk in this quarter used to call William Archbold Blithe Willie. He was a blacksmith to his trade, but quite a youth; and come upon him by night or by day, Willie was sure to be found laughing, whistling, or singing. He hadna a yearly income like Thomas Elliot; and, strange to say, he got the blame of gieing him a howff at Luckie Riddle's. But that was a doctrine which I always protested against; and I said it was much more likely that, as Thomas was fu'-handed, while his neighbour had to work for his bread, the man of money led the blacksmith to their howff, and not the blacksmith the man of money. One thing is certain, that both of them were far oftener at Luckie's than was either good for their health, wealth, or reputation. One night, it seems, after having drunk until, if "they werena fu', they just had plenty," they reeled away to see the two sisters, their sweethearts. Jenny didna wish to quarrel wi' Thomas, because he had the siller; but Peggy turned away wi' scorn from Blithe Willie, and said, that she "never again would speak to one who was no better than a common blackguard, and who neither had regard for himself, nor for any one connected wi' him." What more passed between them I canna tell, but it is said he turned sober in an instant; and, certain it is, that night he left the town, and has never been more heard tell off.

Thomas Elliot and Jenny were married, but she died the second year after their marriage, leaving to his charge an infant son, who was kirsened by the name of Alexander. Thomas, after his wife's death, tried many things (for while she lived she keepit him to rights), but he neglected them all. He began twenty things, and ended nothing. He was to be found in Luckie Riddle's in the morning, and he was to be seen sitting there at night. Before he was forty, he became a perfect sot; and I used to ask, "Wha leads him away now." The fact was, he was miserable save when he was in company; and, for the sake of company, he would have sat sipping and drinking from sunrise to sunset, without ever perceiving that in that time he had been sitting wi' twenty different companies, each of whom had remained maybe half-an-hour, and left him bibbing there to make a crony of the customer that last came in. But this course of life could not last long. He had mortgaged the mortgage that his father left him, until, although he could not lift it, he had almost swallowed it up; and at the age of forty-four he fell into the grave like a lump of diseased flesh—a thing without a soul!

I have informed ye that he left a son, named Alexander, behind him. He was a laddie that was beloved by the whole town; and it was him that frae bairnhood was set down as the future husband of Esther Anderson, our minister's daughter. I have already told ye how he enlisted, when he fancied that she was drawing up wi' the young laird, and slighting him.