Chapter I.
There is an old story which I have often heard related, about a great Laird of Cassway, in an outer corner of Dumfriesshire, of the name of Beattie, and his two sons. The incidents of the story are of a very extraordinary nature. This Beattie had occasion to be almost constantly in England, because, as my informant said, he took a great hand in government affairs, from which I conclude that the tradition had its rise about the time of the civil wars; for about the close of that time the Scotts took advantage of the times to put the Beatties down, who for some previous ages had maintained the superiority of that district.
Be that as it may, the Laird of Cassway’s second son, Francis, fell desperately in love with a remarkably beautiful girl, the eldest daughter of Henry Scott of Drumfielding, a gentleman, but still only a retainer, and far beneath Beattie of Cassway, both in point of wealth and influence. Francis was a scholar newly returned from the university; was tall, handsome, of a pale complexion, and gentlemanly appearance, while Thomas, the eldest son, was fair, ruddy, and stout made, a perfect picture of health and good humour,—a sportsman, a warrior, and a jovial blade; one who would not suffer a fox to get rest in the whole moor district. He rode the best horse, kept the best hounds, played the best fiddle, danced the best country bumpkin, and took the stoutest draught of mountain dew, of any man between Erick Brae and Teviot Stone, and was altogether the sort of young man, that whenever he cast his eyes on a pretty girl, either at chapel or at weapon-shaw, she would hide her face, and giggle as if tickled by some unseen hand.
Now, though Thomas, or the Young Laird, as he was called, had only spoken once to Ellen Scott in his life, at which time he chucked her below the chin, and bid the deil take him if ever he saw as bonny a face in his whole born days; yet for all that, Ellen loved him. It could not be said that she was “in love” with him, for a maiden’s heart must be won before it is given absolutely away; but hers gave him the preference to any other young man. She loved to see him, to hear of him, and to laugh at him; and it was even observed by the domestics, that Tam Beattie o’ the Cassway’s name came oftener into her conversation than there was any good reason for.
Such was the state of affairs when Francis came home, and fell desperately in love with Ellen Scott; and his father being in England, and he under no restraint, he went frequently to visit her. She received him with a kindness and affability that pleased him to the heart; but he little wist that this was only a spontaneous and natural glow of kindness towards him because of his connections, and rather because he was the young laird of Cassway’s only brother, than the poor but accomplished Francis Beattie, the scholar from Oxford.
He was, however, so much delighted with her, that he asked her father’s permission to pay his addresses to her. Her father, who was a prudent and sensible man, answered him in this wise:—“That nothing would give him greater delight than to see his beloved Ellen joined with so accomplished and amiable a young gentleman in the bonds of holy wedlock, provided his father’s assent was previously obtained. But as he himself was subordinate to another house, not on the best terms with the house of Cassway, he would not take it on him to sanction any such connection without the old Laird’s full consent. That, moreover, as he, Francis Beattie, was just setting out in life as a lawyer, there was but too much reason to doubt that a matrimonial connection with Ellen at that time would be highly imprudent; therefore it was not to be thought further of till the old laird was consulted. In the meantime, he should always be welcome to his house, and to his daughter’s company, as he had the same confidence in his honour and integrity as if he had been a son of his own.”
The young man thanked him affectionately, and could not help acquiescing in the truth of his remarks, promised not to mention matrimony farther till he had consulted his father, and added,—“But indeed you must excuse me, if I avail myself of your permission to visit here often, as I am sensible that it will be impossible for me to live for any space of time out of my dear Ellen’s sight.” He was again assured of welcome, and the two parted mutually pleased.
Henry Scott of Drumfielding was a widower, with six daughters, over whom presided Mrs Jane Jerdan, their maternal aunt, an old maid, with fashions and ideas even more antiquated than herself. No sooner had the young wooer taken his leave than she bounced into the room, the only sitting apartment in the house, and said, in a loud, important whisper, “What’s that young swankey of a lawyer wanting, that he’s aye hankering sae muckle about our town? I’ll tell you what, brother Harry, it strikes me that he wants to make a wheelwright o’ your daughter Nell. Now, gin he axes your consent to ony siccan thing, dinna ye grant it. That’s a.’ Tak an auld fool’s advice gin ye wad prosper. Folk are a’ wise ahint the hand, and sae will ye be.”
“Dear Mrs Jane, what objections can you have to Mr Francis Beattie, the most accomplished young gentleman of the whole country?”
“’Complished gentleman! ’Complished kirn-milk! I’ll tell ye what, brother Harry,—afore I were a landless lady, I wad rather be a tailor’s lay-board. What has he to maintain a lady spouse with? The wind o’ his lungs, forsooth!—thinks to sell that for goud in goupins. Hech me! Crazy wad they be wha wad buy it; and they wha trust to crazy people for their living will live but crazily. Tak an auld fool’s advice gin ye wad prosper, else ye’ll be wise ahint the hand. Have nae mair to do with him—Nell’s bread for his betters; tell him that. Or, by my certie, gin I meet wi’ him face to face, I’ll tell him!”