Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume IX Part 16

"But why should you remain here?" said he, with emotion; "tell me, could not I a.s.sist you?" And he placed a piece of money in her hand.

"No! no!" cried the widow, bitterly, and raising her head; "oh, that Mary Lawson should have lived to be offered charity on her husband's grave!"

"My mother! Gracious heaven, my mother!" exclaimed Charles, casting his arms around her neck.

Shall we describe the scene that followed? We will not--we cannot. He had seen his father laid in the dust, he had met his mother on his father's grave----But we will not go on.

It was some weeks after this that he proceeded with his widowed mother to his native village, to wait the return of Elizabeth. Nor had he to wait; for, on the day previous to his return, Elizabeth, her son, and her father, had arrived. Charles and his parent had reached Mr Graham's--the honest farmer rushed to the door, and, hurrying both towards the house, exclaimed--

"Now, see if you can find onybody that ye ken here!"

His Elizabeth--his wife--his son--were there to meet him; the next moment she was upon his bosom, and her child clinging by her side, and gazing on his face. He alternately held both to his heart--the mother and her son. Andrew Weir took his hand--his mother wept with joy, and blessed her children. Bob Graham and his Mysie were as happy as their guests. Charles Lawson bought the farm which Andrew Weir had formerly tenanted; and, our informant adds, they live on it still.

BON GAULTIER'S TALES.

MRS HUMPHREY GREENWOOD'S TEA-PARTY.

Mrs Humphrey Greenwood was a stirring, lively, good-natured sort of person; had touched the meridian of her years; was mistress of a comfortable income; and possessed, withal, the privileged vivacity of a widow. n.o.body gave nicer tea-parties than she; n.o.body managed to keep such a number of eligible bachelors on her visiting-list, and possessing, as she did, the nicest discrimination in drafting these in among the young ladies under her patronage, what wonder if no inconsiderable proportion of the matrimonial arrangements of her friends deduced their origin from these dangerously-seductive sofas in her snug little drawing-room?

It was in that snug little drawing-room that Mr Simon Silky first saw the future Mrs Simon; it was on one of those dangerously-seductive sofas that he found courage to put that question which procured him a better half, and a comfortable settlement for life for Miss Jemima Linton.

Miss Jemima Linton was still in that fluctuating period, between girl and womanhood, at which young ladies giggle a great deal, and seem to be always in a flutter, when Mr Simon Silky first met her. She was fair in complexion, with light hair and blue eyes; her face, in short, had all the delicacy of a wax doll, and nearly as much expression. She could say "yes, sir!" and "no, sir!" at the proper intervals in the course of a _tete-a-tete_ conversation, and, when warmed a little into familiarity and ease, could even hazard an observation with reference to the weather, without changing colour above twice in the course of it. In a word, she was one of those excessively bashful and retiring young ladies, who always look as if they thought a man was going to make violent love to them, and who, if your conversation happen to diverge from the beaten track of the smallest of small talk, take fright, and are off as fast as possible to whisper to some of their companions, "La!

what a strange man that is!"

This was the very kind of person for Mr Simon Silky, who was a bit of a sentimentalist in his way. When he met Miss Jemima Linton, the fair ideal on whom his fancy had often dwelt seemed to be realised. He came, he saw, and was conquered.

On entering Mrs Greenwood's drawing-room, one evening that he had been invited there to meet "a few friends in an easy way," having arrived rather late, he found the party already a.s.sembled. The fire blazed cheerfully out upon a bevy of t.i.ttering misses, who were seated on either side of it, whispering to each other in a timid and confidential tone, with here and there a young man amongst them making convulsive efforts to render himself amusing, while two or three putty-faced juniors, with very white s.h.i.+rt-collars, and very brightly-polished pumps--who had been called in to stop gaps in quadrilles, and render themselves otherwise useful--sat in the background, for the most part two on a chair, and speculating how many of the cakes that glistened on the table they might appropriate to themselves with any degree of decency. Mrs Humphrey Greenwood, the presiding divinity of this motley gathering, vulgarly yclept a "cookie-s.h.i.+ne," was planted behind a brightly-burnished bra.s.s urn of liberal dimension, that hissed loudly on the table.

"Mr Simon," she exclaimed, advancing from her post of honour--" Mr Simon Silky, I'm so glad to see you; I really thought you had been going to desert us."

Our hero bl.u.s.tered out some inarticulate apology, to which his hostess of course paid no attention, but hurried on into the work of introduction.

"Mr Silky, Miss Silliman, Miss Gingerly, Miss Barbara Silliman, Miss Eggemon, Miss Jemima Linton; I think you know all the rest. Mr Scratcherd, you know Mr Silky." Mr Scratcherd grinned an a.s.sent. "Mr Silky, Mr Slap'emup. You'll find a seat for yourself somewhere. Try if some of the ladies will have pity, and take you in among them."

All this time, Mr Silky was engaged in distributing a comprehensive bow to everybody about him--an ordeal which, in any circ.u.mstances, to a nervous man like him, was no joke. But his agitation had the finis.h.i.+ng touch given it by Mrs Greenwood's facetious observation as to the ladies _taking him_ IN _among them_. The blood rushed to his temples, and he subsided into a vacant chair, with a remark, directed to n.o.body in particular, as to how very warm the room was. Attention having been once drawn to this interesting fact, it became the topic of conversation for some five minutes, which gave Mr Simon Silky time to cool down, and to look about him a little. In the course of his survey, his eyes alighted on Miss Jemima Linton, who just at that moment happened to be scrutinising his outward man. Their eyes met; a glance of quick intelligence pa.s.sed between them. The lady lowered hers, blus.h.i.+ng up to them as she did so; and the enraptured Simon muttered to himself, "What charming confusion!" He felt a novel sensation gathering about his heart. Could it be love? At first sight, too. Many deny it, but we say that all genuine love is at first sight.

"He never loved, who loved not at first sight."

Mr Simon Silky was a reader of the Beauties of Shakspere. This line took possession of his head, and he mused and looked, looked and mused, till he was roused from his reverie by Mrs Greenwood calling upon him to a.s.sist in handing round the "cups which cheer but not inebriate." He started up, with a very vague notion of what he was to be about, and grasping a tea-cup, which his hostess informed him was Miss Jemima Linton's, in one hand, and a plate of cheesecakes in the other, he stumbled up to the lady, and consigning the cakes to her outstretched hand, held out the tea-cup to Miss Eggemon, who sat next, inquiring if she would please to be helped to a little cake. Miss Eggemon t.i.ttered, and exclaimed,

"Well, I never!"

"Gracious! the like of that, you know!" simpered Miss Silliman, burying her face in Miss Eggemon's neck.

"How very absurd!" sneered Miss Gingerly, who was verging to old-maidishness, and had a temper in which vinegar was the princ.i.p.al ingredient.

"Bless me, Mr Silky! what _are_ you about?" cried Mrs Greenwood.

"Oh--why--yes--no--I see--beg pardon--dear me!" stammered poor Silky, reddening like an enraged turkey-c.o.c.k, as he handed Miss Linton the cup, out of which the greater part of its contents had by this time been shaken and seizing the dish of cakes with a sudden jerk, deposited one-half of them in the lady's lap, and the other half on the carpet.

"Tell me, where is fancy bre_a_d?" said Mr Horatio Slap'emup, who was a wit in his own small way, pointing to the cakes, which our hero was endeavouring to bring together again from the different corners into which they had wandered. A general laugh greeted him on every side as he rose from his knees covered with confusion. He looked at the fair Jemima as he did so. There was not the vestige of a smile on her face. "Good kind soul! _she_ does not join in the vulgar mirth of these unfeeling creatures!" thought the unhappy Silky. "She pities me, and pity is akin to love." It did not strike him that there might be another reason for her gravity. The spilled tea and greasy cheesecake had spoiled her white muslin dress irremediably, for that night at least--a circ.u.mstance calculated certainly to make any young lady melancholy enough; but this never entered the brain of Mr Simon Silky. Happy man!

"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."

With some difficulty he regained his chair, after stumbling over a footstool, and crus.h.i.+ng the tail of a King Charles c.o.c.ker, that was snorting on the hearthrug in all the offensiveness of canine obesity.

His distress was at its climax.

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions,"

thought he, recurring once more to the Beauties of Shakspere. His ears felt as if they had been newly scalded, and objects floated in hazy confusion before his eyes. He commenced sipping his tea with desperate energy, wis.h.i.+ng for a moment that it had been so much prussic acid. The patter of many voices sounded in his ears. They must be talking of him, "for they laughed consumedly;" and that confounded Slap'emup was obviously getting up a reputation for wit by cutting minute jokes at his expense.

"You've been at the Exhibition, Mr Silky," said Mrs Greenwood, recalling him from the state of mental imbecility into which he was fast sinking.

"The Exhibition, you said, ma'am! Yes, yes, certainly, the Exhibition.

Oh yes!" rejoined Mr Silky, struggling to concentrate his scattered faculties.

"Well, what is your opinion about the portrait?" continued his hostess.

"Portrait, really--which of them--there's so many?"

"Why, Mr Silky, what _has_ come over you to-night? The ladies have been like to pull each other to pieces, for the last five minutes, about the portrait of an officer a little to the left of the door of the first room; and, I declare, you have not heard a word that has been going.

Pretty doings, Mr Simon; and who, may I ask, is the happy lady that so engrosses your thoughts?"

"Oh, Mrs. Greenwood!"

"Well, well, then, if it's a secret, I won't press it! But what is your opinion of the portrait? Miss Barbara Silliman here maintains it is beauty in the abstract."

"Oh he's quite a love of a man!" broke in Miss Barbara, in a rapture of affectation; whereat Miss Gingerly appeared mightily shocked, and pursed up her mouth till it looked like a parched apple.

"But Miss Linton, on the contrary, says she thinks it rather plain for a military man. Now, we want your decision on this knotty point."

"Oh, why, really--a portrait of an officer, I think you said. Fair complexion, flaxen ringlets, and light blue eyes--beautiful, indeed!

That is to say--I don't know; but"--and here poor Silky looked hopelessly about for an idea--"upon the whole, I think I declare for Miss Linton."

"Well, really, Mr Simon, that _is_ coming to the point. Jemima, my dear, do you hear what Mr Silky says? Declares for you already! Upon my word, a fair proposal!" said Mrs Greenwood, catching up the allusion, and looking excessively matronly and significant.

"Fair complexion, flaxen ringlets, light blue eyes!" broke in Miss Barbara Silliman, with that delicate spitefulness to which young ladies are subject, when they suspect any of their rivals of having produced an impression on one of the male creatures. "A pretty officer, indeed! It's you, Miss Linton, that Mr Silky means. Quite a conquest, I declare."

Having said this for the benefit of the company, she murmured to herself, "I wonder at the man's taste. A gawky minx!"

If Mr Silky felt uncomfortable before, he was now reduced to the lowest pitch of personal misery. He tried to smile, as if he took the thing as a good joke; but the contortions of his visage were galvanic. Everybody, he was sure, was looking at him, and he stammered out some inarticulate words, by way of extricating himself from his awkward position. What they were he knew not; but they only seemed to have made matters worse; for another t.i.tter ran round the circle, and showers of badinage a.s.sailed him on every side. Mr Simon Silky began to speculate whether sitting on the points of a score of red-hot toasting-forks could be worse than his present torment.

He was pursuing this agreeable train of reflection, when the removal of the table to a corner of the room, and a general commotion, occasioned by the pus.h.i.+ng back of sofas, and the laying away of chairs, made him aware that dancing was about to commence. The men, as they always do on these occasions, cl.u.s.tered together near the door, pulling on gloves--such of them as had them--and talking very thick and fast about nothing at all.

"Miss Gingerly, may I ask you to give the young folks a set of quadrilles?" inquired Mrs Greenwood.