Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume IV Part 3

'Ye talk in vain--as I have said, so it is and shall be,' added he. 'And now, farewell, dear Catherine.'

'Stay! stay!--leave me not thus!' she exclaimed, and grasped his arm. At that moment her husband returned and entered the room--and you know the rest. But, Sir Peter Blakely was not mortally wounded, as the Solitary believed. In a few months he recovered, and what he had promised to do he accomplished.

"That is something new," said the fisherman who had found the ma.n.u.script; "and who told ye, or how do ye know?--if it be a fair question."

"I," replied he who had spoken, "am the Lewis to whom the paper was addressed."

"You! you!" exclaimed the fisherman; "well, that beats a'--the like o'

that I never heard before."

"And I," said another, "am Sir Peter Blakely--the grey-haired dreamer--who expected the April lily to bloom beneath an October sun."

And he put a crown into the hand of the fisherman.

"And I," added the third, "am the Solitary himself--this my Catherine, and these my children. He whom I thought dead--dead by my own hand--the man whom I had wronged--sought for me for years, and in this my hermitage that was, he at length found me. It was the grey dawn when I beheld him, and I thought that the ghost of the murdered stood before me. But he spoke--he uttered words that entered my soul. I trembled in his presence. The load of my guiltiness fell as a weight upon me. I was unable to speak, almost to move. He took my hand and led me forth as a child. In my confusion the papers which you found were left behind me.

And now, when happiness has shed its light around me, I have come with my benefactor, my friend, my Catherine, and my children, to view the cell of my penitence."

THE MAIDEN FEAST OF CAIRNKIBBIE.

He who has been present at a real Maiden, or Scotch feast of harvest-home, if it should happen that he belongs to the caste that makes the light fantastic toe the fulcrum of the elegant motions of the quadrille, and Hogarth's line of beauty the test of the evolutions of modern grace, might wish that the three sisters had long ago resigned their patronage of the art of dancing, and left the limbs of man, and their motions, to the sole power of the spirit of fun and good humour.

Centuries have pa.s.sed away since first the Maiden called forth the salient energies of the harvest-weary hinds and rosy-cheeked damsels of Scotland. We have only now amongst us the ghost of the old spirit-stirring genius of "the farmer's ha'." The modern vintage feast is only a shadow of the old _Cerealia_--the festival of festivals, as it has been called--at which the young and the old of ancient Greece and Rome resigned themselves to the power of the rosy G.o.d, and the _nil placet sine fructu_ was seen in every bright eye, heard in every glad voice, and listened to in every tripping measure. The Scotch Maiden was once what the vintage feasts of the Continent were, and still are. The hinds and maids of one "town" were present at the harvest-home of another; reciprocal visits kept up the spirit of the enjoyment; the fields and farmers' ha's resounded with the merry pipe; the whirling reel mixed up the dancers in its "uniform confusion," the flowing bicker was "filled and kept fou;" kisses, "long and loud," vindicated a place in the world of musical sound; and the Genius of Pleasure ran away with heart and soul to her happy regions--declaring that, for one solitary night in the year, the power of sorrow should have no authority over mournful man. The Maiden of Cairnkibbie, a farm on the property of Faulden--too long ago for the mention of a specific period, but while Maidens (to descend to a pun) were still in the height of their beauty and bloom--was one of the most joyous scenes that ever graced the green, or made the rafters of the barn ring with "hey and how rohumbelow." The farmer, William Hume--some far-off friend of the Paxton family--was rich, as things went in those days; and a gaucy dame, and a fair daughter, Lilly, blessed him with affection and duty. No la.s.s ever graced a Maiden like Lilly Hume; and no free farmer's wife ever extended so hearty a patronage to the feast of fun as did the sleek and comfortable guidwife of Cairnkibbie. The pretty "damysell" was as jimp as "gillie"--

"As ony rose her rude was red, Her lire was like the lillie."

and far and near she defied all manner of bold compet.i.tion in those charms that go to deck the blooming maids of Scotland. Natural affection made her the pride of her parents; and a simplicity that did not seem to have art enough to tell her of her own beauty, endeared her to those who might have been expected to have been smitten with envy, or crossed with a hopeless pa.s.sion.

There was many a la.s.s "as myld as meid" at the Maiden of Cairnkibbie, and many a Jock, and Steenie, and Robyne, as braw as yellow locks brushed bolt upright in the face of heaven could make any of G.o.d's creatures. But many of the merry-makers did not trust to such ornaments of nature: for Steenie Thornton, from the town of Kelton, the gay lover of Jess Swan from the same town, had his locks tied behind with a yellow ribbon got from her fair hand, and his "pumps" boasted the same decoration; the sprightly Will Aitken, the best hand at a morris-dance in all the Merse, had his jacket "browden" with "fowth o' roses" stuck into the b.u.t.ton-holes by Jean Gillies from Westertown; the fiercest wrestler of the Borders, Jock Hedderick, who cherished Bess Gibson, pushed forward his bold breast, to exhibit to the goggle eyes of wondering admiration a vest sewed by her delicate fingers at intervals stolen from cheese-making; and Pat Birrel, the noted scaumer, who was accounted more than "twa hen clokkis" by Kirsty Glen the henwife's daughter of Earlston, lifted his feet high in mid-air, to shew the gushets in his hose wrought by her lily hands. Nor did the screechin gilpies lack ornaments to set off their fair persons. Some had bright yellow gloves of "raffal right;" and many, with kirtles of "Lincome light, weel prest wi' mony plaits," pulled the trains in most menacing bundles through the pocket-holes, to shew at once how bright were their colours, and how many a "breid" was wasted in their amplitude. Many had ornaments that tongue could not describe--because they were the first of their kind, and required a new vocabulary to do justice to their beauties. But, ornamented or plain, the revellers were all alike filled with the spirit of the Maiden; and, if their "Tam Lutar," the piper, did not skirl them up to the point of enjoyment to which they all struggled, and danced, and drank, and screamed to get, sure it was that no fault was attributable to the merry-makers themselves: nor was the guidman's daughter, Lilly Hume, less joyous than the merriest. Although at her father's harvest-feast she was accounted a lady, she was the humblest of the "hail menyie;" and never refused to draw up through her pocket-holes the ends of her falling yellow kirtle, as a preparation for another reel, at the supplicatory bend or bow of the humblest hind, albeit he was adorned with neither bright crimson nor ochre yellow.

The "Tam Lutar" of the feast--a blind piper, who began to play when he first felt the incipient effects of the first bicker, blew stronger as the fumes of the potations rose higher, declined as the liquid impulse fell, and even stopped when the drink entirely sunk--was well supplied with the "piper's coig," a girded vessel of jolly good ale, that lay beside him, and was ever and anon filled, as the dancers felt the music beginning to lag in spirit. Away they flew, to the airs of "Gillquhisker," "Brum on tul," "Tortee Solee Lemendow," and other good old tunes, now forgotten, though their names are mentioned by Sir James Ingles; the resilent heels spurned the earth; the fore part of the foot, where the spring lies, dealt out those tremendous thuds on the suffering floor which heretofore were reckoned the true and legitimate soul of dancing, and now, alas! displaced by the sickly _slip_ of the French grace; the "dancing whoop" rung around, inspired every soul, and lightened every heel; Jock Splaefut "bobbit up wi' bends;" and Jenny set to him, and "beckit," and set again, and turned, and away glided through the mazes of the reel--

"For reeling there micht nae wench rest;"

and came back, and set and "beckit" again; till, "forfochtin faynt" with pure dancing toil, the reelers gave place to the country dancers, who toiled and _swat_ in the same degree for the period of their sweet labours. Then was the breathing time in the far corners appropriated to the cooling tankard, the dew of which left on the panting lips ran a considerable risk of being dried up by the heat of love, elicited from the kiss that smacked of love and ale.

At a corner in the end of the room, a crowd had collected; and some high words were pa.s.sing between Will Aitken and Jock Hedderick, on a question that seemed to interest the dancers. Those standing about were was.h.i.+ng down large mouthfuls of bannocks by draughts of strong beer, while they wiped the sweat from their brows, and listened to the subject in dispute. At intervals some one was heard at the door, playing and singing.

"He played sae schill, an' sang sae sweet,"

that Lilly Hume felt interested in the musician. He was a beggar, who boldly claimed admittance to the Maiden, by what he called the "auld rights o' the gaberlunzies of Scotland," who were declared ent.i.tled to enter into the feast of the harvest home, to dance thereat, and drink thereat, and kiss the "damysells" thereat, with as much freedom as the gayest guest. This demand was resisted by Jock Hedderick, who besides disputed the authority of the ancient custom; which, on the other hand, was upheld by Will Aitken, whose supple tongue was so powerful over his opponents that

"He muddelt them down like ony mice;"

and, notwithstanding the terror of the scaumer's arm, prevailed upon the guidman and the company to hold sacred the rights of hospitality of the land, and admit the "pauky auld carle," with his pipes and his wallets.

As soon as the decision was given, Lilly ran to the door, and, taking the gaberlunzie by the hand, brought him in. A loud laugh resounded throughout the room, to the profit of the proud and merry dancers, and at the expense of the jolly beggar, who, young and stalwart, and borne down by sundry appendages, containing doubtless meal and bread, "cauk and keil," "spindles and quhorles," and all the et-ceteras of the wallet, stood before them, and raised in return such a ranting, roaring laugh, as well apparently at himself as his company, that, by that one effort of his lungs, he made more friends than many a laughter-loving pot companion might make in a year. Then in an instant he struck this merry-maker on the back, and slapped that on the shoulder, and kissed the skirling kitties with such a jolly and hearty spirit of free salutation, that he even added flame to the already burning pa.s.sion of frolic, and raised again the rafter-shaking laugh, till it drowned all the energies of Lutar himself, albeit his coig had that instant been filled.

But this was only vanity, while the stomach of the jolly gaberlunzie was as yet empty. A large stoup was brought to him by Will Carr, a good-looking young man of gentle demeanour, the only person who in that pairing a.s.sembly seemed to want his "dow." A shade of melancholy was on his cheek, and, as he offered the gaberlunzie the stoup, he cast an eye on Lilly, the meaning of which seemed to be read in an instant by the beggar.

"Ha! ha!" cried the latter; "ye are the true welcomer, my braw youth.

Thae wild chiels an' their glaiket hizzies wad fill the beggar wi' the sound o' his ain laugh, as if he were a pair o' walking bagpipes. But, ho, man, this is sour yill.

The bridegroom brought a pint of ale, And bade the piper drink it.

'Drink it?' quoth he, 'and it so staile; Ashrew me, if I think it!'

Ye've anither barrel in the corner yonder--awa!--the beggar maun hae the best.

This Maiden nicht it is his right, And, faith he winna blink it."

And so he cadgily ranted and sang, swearing that the best ale and the prettiest lips in the whole house should that night be at his command.

While Will Carr brought him ale out of another cask, Lilly Hume took away his wallets, and laid them in a window-sole at his back. Having taken a waught of the ale so long that the bystanders looked on with fear, lest he might never recover his breath again, he returned the stoup empty to Will, telling him to fill it again, as he intended to a.s.sist the legitimate Lutar in blowing up the spirits of the company--a work which would require "fowth o' yill." Without farther preface, he blew up his bags with a skirl that seemed to shake the house, and, das.h.i.+ng fearlessly into the time, poured so much joyous sound into the thick air of the heated apartment, that the weary-limbed dancers threw off their languor, and fell to it again with a spirit that equalled that of their first off-set. But his musical occupation did not prevent his attention to the looks and actions of Lilly Hume and Will Carr.

"How dinna ye dance, hinny?" said he, in a low voice to Lilly. "How dinna ye dance, man?" he repeated, as he turned his head to Will. "Think ye yer sittin there's a compliment to me, wha am blawing awa my lungs here, for the very purpose o' makin ye dance?"

The two young people looked at each other, and then at the guidman, who sat at a little distance.

"Tell me the reason, my bonny hinny," he added; and, as he blew again, leant his ear to hear the answer. "Eh! come now, my white lily," he persisted. "I'm a safe carle, and can spae fortunes as well as blaw up thae green bags wi' thriftless wind. I may tell ye o' a braw lot, if ye'll only open yer lips and gie me some o' yer secrets."

"My faither winna let me dance wi' Will Carr," at last replied Lilly, blus.h.i.+ng from ear to ear.

"How! how!" answered the gaberlunzie, taking the pipes suddenly frae his mouth--"no let ye dance wi' a decent callant, the bonniest hensure o'

the hail menyie! What crime has he committed, hinny? Eh?"

"He's puir," answered Lilly, innocently.

"Ha! a red crime that, Lilly," answered he; "if he had killed a score o'

G.o.d's creatures in a Border raid, he micht hae been forgi'en; but wha forgies poverty? But do ye like Will Carr, hinny?"

"My faither and mither say sae," answered Lilly.

"Ay, ay,--I see whar the wind blaws," said the gaberlunzie. "But ye _will_ dance wi' him. I, as a beggar, hae a richt to the fairest hand o'

the maiden--yer faither daurna refuse ye to me; an' let Will tak yon quean wi' the yellow ribbons in her wimple, an' we'll a' mix in ae reel. Will, man, awa an' ask yon bloomin hizzy wi' the rose rude to dance wi' ye."

Will obeyed; and the beggar, having brought the tune to a termination, stepped boldly up into the middle of the floor, holding by the hand the fair Lilly Hume; while Will, with his blus.h.i.+ng quean, Bess Gordon, took their stations opposite.

"Up wi' the 'Hunts o' Cheviot,' Tam," cried the beggar; "an blaw as if ye wad blaw yer last. Gie him yill there, an' I'll play for him a hail hour, if he gars the roof-tree o' Cairnkibbie dirl to the gaberlunzie's dance."

The expectation of a merry bout brought others to the floor, and even the guidman and guidwife of Cairnkibbie, themselves, rose and "buckled to the wark," as cleverly as the youngest gipsy of the whole a.s.sembly.

Then up blew the "Hunts o' Cheviot," in the quickest of Tam's ale-inspired manner, and away banged the jolly gaberlunzie, as if the spirit of Cybele's priests had seized his heart; "and like a lyon lap,"

as if he would have foreleeted Lightfute himself, and "counterfeited Frans." He clapped his hands, till the echoes came back from the roof; and the exhilarating hoogh! hoogh! which can only be given forth by the throat of a Scotchman, when good liquor has wet it and fired the brain that moves it, was heard by every ear, and felt by every heart. The very piper was delighted with the ranting chield, and ever, as his clap and hoogh! hoogh! resounded through the barn, the yells of the pipes seemed to rise higher and higher, and echoes of the same sounds came from the imitative spirits of the dancers.

"Hurra for the gaberlunzie!" shouted Will Aitken.

"The jolly beggar, for ever!" cried Steenie Thornton; and the smiles of the hizzies, and occasional slaps on the back, administered to the jolly roisterer, as they met and pa.s.sed him in the midst of the reel, testified their most perfect satisfaction with the king of his tribe.