“Ye’re a pretty ane indeed, to play sic antics afore ony body’s house! Hae ye naebody to learn ye better manners that to rin up and down a ladder like a squirrel, twisting and turning yoursel till my banes are sair to look at you? Muckle fitter gin ye would read your Bible, if as much grace be left to ye; or maybe a religious tract, to begin wi’, for I doubt ye wad need preparation afore ye could drink at the spring-head wi’ ony special profit.”
The last part was conveyed with a kind of smile of self-approbation; for of all tasks, to reclaim a sinner is the most pleasing and soothing to religious vanity;—so comfortable it is to be allowed to scold on any terms, but doubly delightful, because it always implies superiority. But the ladder-dancer and her attendant were aware of no part of what was passing in the mind of the female lecturer, and fully as ignorant of the eloquent address I have just repeated; she only saw, in the gracious looks in which her feats were condemned, an approval of her labours, for it passed her philosophy to comprehend the ungodly qualities of standing on the head, or whirling like a top. Again the ladder-dancer cringed and bowed to her of the stair-head; and her male supporter, who acted as a kind of pedestal to her elevation, bowed and grinned a little more grimly, while the boy held out his plate to receive the results of all this assiduity. But they could not command a single word of broad English among them. Theirs only was the eloquence of nods and grimaces; a monkey could have done as much, and in the present humour of the old lady, would have been as much approved. The ladder-dancer grew impatient, and seemed determined on an effort to close her labours.
“Ah, Madame!” she exclaimed; “Madame” was repeated by the man, and “Madame” was re-echoed by the boy.
“Nane o’ your nonsense wi’ me,” was the response from the stair-head; “your madam’ing, and I dinna ken what mair havers. Ye needna fash your head to stand there a’ day girning at me, and making sic outlandish sport. I’m mair fule than you, that bides to look at you; a fine tale they’d hae to tell that could say they saw me here, idling my precious time on the like o’ you.”
She now whispered to one of the girls, who retired, and soon after returned, giving her a small parcel, which she examined, and seemed to say all was right. She beckoned the ladder-dancer, who slid down with cat-like agility, and was instantly with her, standing a step lower, in deference to the doughty dame.
“Here,” said she, with a gruff air, which was rather affected than real, “tak these precious gifts,” handing her a bunch of religious tracts. “See if ye canna find out your spiritual wants, and learn to seek for the ‘Pearl of Price.’ My certie, but ye’re a weel-faured hussie,” examining her more narrowly, “but your gaits are no that commendable; but for a’ that, a mair broken ship has reached the land.”
I could observe that she slipped a half-crown into the hand of the Piedmontoise; and as she turned away to avoid thanks, an elderly gentleman (perhaps her husband), who stood by, said in a low voice,—
“That’s like yoursel, Darsie; your bark was aye waur than your bite, ony day!”—Blackwood’s Magazine, 1826.
THE ELDER’S DEATH-BED.
By Professor Wilson.