The first story which I shall relate in outline to the readers of this column was written a quarter of a century ago by Dr. John Brown, of Edinburgh. A physician with a large practice, he has found time for literary pursuits, and his occasional essays, collected into two volumes of Spare Hours, have been the delight of a host of thoughtful and cultivated people. As in the sketches I shall give you now and then I must study brevity, I hope those who may have time and opportunity will go from me to the original story-writers, and read for themselves.
RAB AND HIS FRIENDS.
Rab was a huge mastiff, "old, gray, brindled, as big as a little Highland bull," fierce, kind-hearted, and faithful. He belonged to a carrier, or what we would call an expressman—a thin, impatient, dark-haired little man, to whom Rab was entirely submissive. Dr. Brown being fond of dogs, had formed quite a friendship with this one, which dated back to the doctor's boyhood, when, seeing Rab attacked by a savage little bull-terrier, which was madly trying to fight whatever came in its way, he stepped up to Rab and cut the muzzle which prevented the great creature from defending himself. Six years after this, when the doctor was a young medical student, there came a procession to the hospital one afternoon in October. In at the large gate walked Rab, with "that great and easy saunter of his. He looked as if taking general possession of the place, like the Duke of Wellington entering a subdued city, satiated with victory and peace." After him came the old white mare Jess, drawing the carrier's cart, in which Ailee, the carrier's wife, was seated, her husband not driving, but walking at the mare's head, and leading her carefully along.
There is no genre sketch in the English language which is finer than the description of Ailee Noble and her husband James. His plaid was about her. His big coat was carefully tucked around her feet. She had a sweet pale face, with silvery hair, and dark gray eyes, "eyes full of suffering, and full of the overcoming of it." He had a swarthy, weather-beaten countenance, shrewd and keen. She was like a delicate snow-drop in her unworldliness and purity. She was the victim of a dreadful malady, a cancer in her breast, and only the surgeon's knife could cure it. In those days—nearly sixty years ago—chloroform was unknown as a blessed relief from pain. Ailee was put to bed for that night, and the faithful husband and dog watched by her side. The dog reminded Dr. Brown, oddly enough, in his size and dignity, of a famous Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller, with his look of sombre command, as "of thunder asleep, but ready." Next day the operation was performed. The beautiful old woman bore it with perfect patience and silence; and when it was over, the surrounding students, though accustomed to see people suffer, wept like children. The husband "happed" her up, and carried her to her room again, Rab following.
"I'll hae nane o' yer strynge nurse bodies for Ailee, Maister John," said James. "I'll be her nurse, an' I'll gang aboot on my stockin' soles as canny as pussy."
For several days she seemed to do well under his kind care. Then she grew worse, wandered in her mind, thought she had in her arms her "wee Mysie, forty years and mair" in heaven; at last came to herself, said "James," and with a long loving look for him, a glance for the kind young doctor, and one for Rab, then another satisfied gaze into her husband's face, she shut her eyes, and fell asleep in death.
There is little more to tell. Poor James did not long survive his wife. By the fall of the first snow, the two were in the same grave. Rab was taken by the carrier who succeeded to the business, but he would not eat, he would not leave the stable where old Jess was kept, nor would he let his new master come near him. At last that master had to kill him.
"I was laith to mak awa wi' th' auld dowg," said this man, "but I could doe naething else."
And says our author: "I believed him. Fit end for Rab. His teeth and his friends gone, why should he keep the peace and be civil?"