'I wadna gie a button for her,'
auld, I say, as she is, and wi' a' her faults, I would gie a' the buttons upon my coat for her still, and a' the siller that ever was in my pouch into the bargain."
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!"