Spare Hours Part 26

Another expression in this paragraph seems to me still further to discriminate the nature of the complaint under which St. Paul suffered.

I mean the words, "and have given them to me." Admitting that the Galatians might, under other circ.u.mstances than diseased vision in the apostle, have thought of such a way of demonstrating their affection to him as plucking out their own eyes, I cannot imagine how the notion of "giving them to him" could ever have occurred to them, unless his organs of sight were in such a state of disease as in the natural a.s.sociation of ideas to give rise to this vain and fanciful wish. For the very fact of its being thus vain, fanciful, and far-fetched, makes it necessary to a.s.sume that there were some peculiar circ.u.mstances in the case to occasion a thought so odd and out of the way. If the language had really been what it has so generally been supposed to be-figurative or proverbial-I can conceive the apostle putting it in this way, "Ye would have plucked out your own eyes _for me_," or, "_to show the strength of your affection for me_;" but it seems to me that it is absurd and unmeaning to say, "_and have given them to me_", unless under the idea of such giving being of some service to the apostle, as a kindly fancy would naturally dwell upon the thought of its being, if St. Paul's own eyes were injured or destroyed. And, further, we are compelled, I think, to conclude that the idea of _subst.i.tution_ is conveyed by the word "given," from this fact, that the clause, "if it had been possible," has actually no meaning at all, unless it is to be understood as referring to the supposed attempt of the apostle to make use of the Galatians'

eyes. It is clear that the writer could not have used the words, "if it had been possible" in reference to the "plucking out," because _there_ the obstacle of impossibility did not present itself; there was nothing to hinder the Galatians from plucking out their eyes if they had been so disposed. Neither could the reference have been to "giving" in the simple sense of that word; if they could pluck out their eyes there was no impossibility in merely _giving_ them to the apostle. The only thing about the possibility of which there could be any question was their being _so_ given-_so_ made over to him as to be of any service as subst.i.tutes for his own.

One other expression in the paragraph still requires to be noticed, but I must defer alluding to it until I have referred to some other points which seem to me to have a bearing upon the question. In the mean time, having thus shown how exactly the whole of the language of this pa.s.sage tallies with the idea of the apostle having been affected with some distressing complaint in his eyes, it is surely very remarkable to learn, from a totally different source, that St. Paul actually had at one period of his life lost the power of vision. I allude, of course, to what is recorded, in the ninth chapter of Acts, of the strange occurrence which took place when he was on his way to Damascus. And although we are informed that he shortly afterwards recovered his sight, it is obvious that this is quite compatible with the existence of much remaining disease and imperfection of vision. Indeed, I am not sure but his own language in giving an account of the extraordinary event actually favors the idea that the miraculous cure effected by Ananias went barely to the restoration of sight, and did not amount to a complete removal of the injury which his eyes had sustained. In his address to the Jews at Jerusalem, when he stood upon the stairs of the castle (Acts xxii. 13), all that he says is, "Ananias came unto me and stood and said unto me, Brother Saul, receive thy sight. And the same hour _I looked up upon him_." In Acts ix. 18, the words are, "Immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales, and he received sight forthwith." In neither pa.s.sage at least is there anything inconsistent with the idea that his eyes, though they had not lost the power of vision, may yet have been seriously and perhaps permanently injured. And although it is perhaps scarcely legitimate to bring it forward as an argument for the view which I have adopted, yet it is impossible to overlook the fact that a most important end was served by the apostle's eyes being permitted to retain the marks of disease and severe injury, for a standing proof was thus afforded to the Church and to the world that the extraordinary vision, so confirmatory of the truth of our holy religion, was not, as some might otherwise have been inclined to think it, a vain fancy of the apostle's own mind. Often, no doubt, when St. Paul told of that remarkable meeting with the Lord Jesus, he was met by the reply, "'Paul, thou art beside thyself;'

delusion, a heated imagination, has deceived and betrayed you." But he had only to point to his branded, half-quenched orbs, and to ask the objectors if mental hallucinations were accustomed to produce such effects on the bodily frame. To such a question there could obviously be no answer And if the objectors were satisfied of the apostle's veracity in alleging the one thing to be the effect of the other, it was hardly possible for them to gainsay the claim of a Divine origin for Christianity.

This hypothesis as to the _cause_ and _occasion_ of St. Paul's infirmity, receives from another part of Scripture, where allusion is made to it, a somewhat remarkable confirmation. In the 12th chapter of Second Corinthians, it cannot, I think, after what I have just stated, but be regarded as very singular that the "thorn in the flesh" is mentioned in immediate connection with "visions and revelations of the Lord." The ordinary idea, indeed, has been that this connection is merely incidental; but a little consideration, I think, will show that this cannot be the case. In the 7th verse he says, "And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh," &c. Now, I contend that unless there was some such intimate relation between the thorn in the flesh and the revelations in question, as that of the one being immediately occasioned by the other, the humbling effect here attributed to the bodily infirmity could not have been produced on the apostle's mind, because the cause a.s.signed would have been unsuitable and inadequate to such an effect. It is true that every affliction, bodily or otherwise, has a tendency to produce a feeling of humiliation, but it does so only in so far as it cuts away the ground on which we are disposed to build up matter of pride or boasting. If a man is proud of his strength or personal beauty, it would humble him to lose a limb, or to have his features disfigured by loathsome disease. But these afflictions would not produce the same effect if they befell another person who valued himself exclusively upon his learning and mental endowments. The pride of learning and of intellect would, in such a case, remain as strong as ever. Accordingly we find that deformed persons, so far from being distinguished by the grace of humility, are very frequently rather remarkable for the opposite characteristics of vanity and self-conceit; so natural is it for the mind to take refuge from what tends to produce a sense of degradation, in something that the humbling stroke does not directly smite. It does not, therefore, distinctly appear, in any explanation of St. Paul's affliction which would refer it to disease of an ordinary kind, how it should have had the effect which he attributes to it,-that of preventing him from being unduly exalted by the abundance of the revelations made to him. But when it is pointed out that his affliction was the immediate consequence of his close intercourse with Deity, the relation of the two things a.s.sumes an entirely different aspect, and a sufficient cause of humiliation appears. For, if at any time the apostle was disposed to glorify himself on his superiority to his fellow-men, and on being the peculiar favorite and friend of G.o.d, his real insignificance, and the infinite distance that lay between him and the Divine Being, must have been sent home with irresistible power to his mind, by the recollection that the mere sight of that terrible majesty had struck him to the ground, and had left an ever-during brand of pain and disfigurement on his person. I shall just add, that in Second Corinthians xii. 7, the words, t? ?pe???? t??

?p??a?????? may with quite as much propriety be construed with ?d??? ??

s????? t? sa???, as with ??a ? ?pe?a???a?; the meaning being thus given,-"and that I might not be exalted, a thorn in the flesh [caused]

by the exceeding greatness (for this rather than 'abundance' seems to me the proper translation of ?pe????) of the revelations, was given me."

If the account I have thus given of the connection between St. Paul's "thorn in the flesh," and the visions or revelations with which he was favored, be the correct one, we are now furnished with the means of explaining a somewhat obscure expression in the 14th verse of the fourth chapter of Galatians, to which I promised to return: "And my trial which was in my flesh, ye despised not, nor _rejected_." If we are compelled to abide by the belief, that St. Paul's "trial" was merely some bodily affliction of the ordinary kind, we can understand the meaning of his saying that the Galatians did not "despise" it (although, by the way, it seems rather a microscopic basis on which to found a laudation of a body of Christian men and women, to say that they were so good as not to despise him on account of a natural bodily infirmity), but it is impossible, on this a.s.sumption, to attach any consistent sense to the word "_rejected_." It has, therefore, been taken as simply synonymous with "despise," an interpretation which is objectionable, both because it is at variance with the well-ascertained meaning of the Greek word ??ept?sate (spit _out_, not spit _at_), and also because it involves the imputation of needless tautology to St. Paul's language, from which, almost more than from any other fault of style, the whole of his writings prove him to be singularly free. But if my explanation of the nature of the apostle's trial be the true one, every word of the sentence has a clear and intelligible meaning. St. Paul came among the Galatians proclaiming to them the glad truth, that Jesus Christ was risen from the dead. How did he know it? Because he himself had seen him alive after his pa.s.sion, "when he came near to Damascus." Was he quite sure that the vision was not a dream, or a delusion? He pointed to his eyes in proof that it was a great certainty, a terrible as well as joyous reality. And this evidence the Galatians "despised not, nor rejected."

This explanation of the reference of "rejected," has also the advantage of removing a difficulty which has. .h.i.therto been felt in the translation of the preceding verse. It is there said, "Ye know how through infirmity of the flesh I preached," &c. Now, it so happens, that the Greek words d?' ?s???e?a?, cannot, in accordance with the common usage of the language, be translated "through" (in the sense of _during_) "infirmity." Had this been the meaning which the apostle intended to convey, he would have used the genitive d? ?s???e?a?. With the accusative, the reference of d?? is generally found to be to the instrument, ground, or cause of anything, and its meaning is-by, on account of, by means of, on the ground of, &c.[53] The literal and strictly correct translation of St. Paul's words, therefore, is: "By the infirmity of my flesh, I proclaimed to you the good news," _i. e._, I adduced the fact of my bodily affliction, as giving indisputable evidence of the truth which I told you about the resurrection and exaltation of Jesus Christ, and this evidence "ye despised not, nor rejected." Thus, not only a specific meaning is attached to the word "rejected," but a much more close, distinct, and consistent sense is given to the whole pa.s.sage, than upon any other understanding of the reference it could possess.

[53] See Robinson's _Lexicon to the New Testament_, _sub voce_ d??.

There are one or two other pa.s.sages in St. Paul's Epistles, in which reference, I think, is implied to this subject of his bodily affliction, and all of them seem to me to afford incidentally some confirmation of the particular view of the matter which I have endeavored to establish.

At the close of the Epistle to the Galatians (chap. vi. verse 11), we find him saying, "Ye see how large a letter I have written to you with my own hand." Now, the letter is not a very large one; on the contrary, it is one of the shorter of the apostle's productions. And, then, why should he take credit for having written it with his own hand? Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, it would scarcely occur to any one in the habit of writing at all, to speak of this as any remarkable achievement. But, if the Galatians knew him to be laboring under impaired vision, and perhaps severe pain in his eyes, the words are peculiarly significant, and could not fail to make a touching impression on the quick, impulsive temperament, so vividly alive to anything outward, of the Celtic tribe to which they were addressed. And thus too, we obtain an explanation of what would otherwise be rather unaccountable, how a man of St. Paul's active habits, and whom we have difficulty in conceiving of as accustomed in anything to have recourse to superfluous ministrations, seems to have almost uniformly employed an amanuensis in writing to the various churches.[54]

[54] It has been suggested to me that the state of St. Paul's eyesight might also furnish an explanation of his mistake in not recognizing the High Priest, which is recorded in Acts xxiii. 5, and about which some difficulty has been felt by commentators. One can picture the great apostle, who was a thorough gentleman, stretching forward, and shading his eyes, to see better, and saying, "Pardon me, I did not see it was the High Priest." "I wist not."

Again, at the very conclusion of the Epistle, we have what I cannot help regarding as another allusion to his affliction: "From henceforth let no man trouble me; for I bear in my body the _marks of the Lord Jesus_." It has been customary to regard these words as referring to the marks of scourging, stoning, &c., which had been imprinted on the apostle's body by the enemies of the gospel, in the course of the persecutions to which he had been subjected in consequence of his firm adherence to the faith.

But though the fact of his having undergone severe persecution was a strong proof of his _sincerity_, it was no proof at all of his bearing any _authority_ over the Galatians. Yet this is what he must be understood as a.s.serting here. And I cannot help thinking, that the words, "marks of the Lord Jesus," are chosen with a reference to that relations.h.i.+p which was established between St. Paul and his Master and Lord, on the occasion of that extraordinary meeting on the way to Damascus, for it was then he received his commission to bear Christ's name to the Gentiles. St??ata were the brands with which slaves were marked in order to prove their owners.h.i.+p. So, if I am right in my understanding of the meaning of the word here, the apostle intends to intimate that the blasting effect produced on his eyes by the glory of that light, const.i.tuted the _brand_ which attested his being the servant (d?????) of Jesus Christ, and of his being commissioned by him to communicate to others the truth of the gospel. This gives a force and fulness of meaning which corresponds exactly with the peculiar energy of the expression, while, according to any ordinary explanation of the pa.s.sage, it seems rather to be strong language used without any adequate occasion for it.[55]

[55] It may be worth mentioning here, that an opinion prevails in the Roman Catholic Church, that persons who have been favored with Divine visions, or to whom G.o.d wishes to give a token of his peculiar love, are frequently marked by what are specifically called _stigmas_. I have not met with any account of the grounds on which this opinion is founded: but the _stigmas_ are explained to be the marks of the Saviour's five wounds. It is very likely that the notion is nothing more than a fantastic and superst.i.tious explanation of the pa.s.sage in Galatians vi. 17. But it is not altogether impossible that it may be the faint and imperfect echo of some early tradition in the Church as to the physical effect produced upon St. Paul by Christ's miraculous appearance to him near Damascus. Whatever be its origin, the existence of such an opinion is not without a certain degree of curiosity and interest.

I think the circ.u.mstance of the expression, "marks of the Lord Jesus,"

occurring just where it does, at the close of the Epistle, is worthy of remark. From what he says at the 11th verse of the same chapter ("Ye see how large a letter I have written to you with my own hand") it is obvious that, to whatever cause it is to be attributed, the act of writing was one of considerable effort to the apostle. His zeal, and anxiety, and Christian affection, however, had borne him up, and carried him through with his task. But just as he was concluding, I imagine that he began to feel that the effort he had made was greater than his infirmity was well able to bear. If my idea as to the nature of that infirmity be correct, his weak, diseased eyes were burning and smarting more than ordinarily, from the unusual exertion that had been demanded from them; and this, at once leading his mind to what had been the cause of that exertion, the misconduct of the Galatians and their teachers, naturally wrung from him an a.s.sertion of his authority, in the impetuous and reproachful, but at the same time deeply pathetic exclamation: "From henceforth let no man trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." And so he concludes his Epistle.

In pursuing the above inquiry, certain further conclusions, naturally flowing out of what I have attempted to establish, and yet involving results considerably remote from it, have presented themselves to my thoughts. I am inclined to regard them as calculated in some degree to simplify the mode of presenting the Christian scheme to the mind, and to impart to its claims upon the understanding and belief more of logical directness, and less of the liability to evasion, than appear to me to characterize some of the more ordinary modes of its presentation. But I must leave the development of this, the most interesting, as I think, and important part of my subject, to some future opportunity, should it be granted me.

_THE BLACK DWARF'S BONES._

... "_If thou wert grim, Lame, ugly, crooked, swart, prodigious._"

KING JOHN.

These gnarled, stunted, useless old bones, were all that David Ritchie, the original of the Black Dwarf, had for left _femur_ and _tibia_, and we have merely to look at them and add poverty, to know the misery summed up in their possession. They seem to have been blighted and rickety. The thigh-bone is very short and slight, and singularly loose in texture; the leg-bone is dwarfed, but dense and stout. They were given to me many years ago by the late Andrew Ballantyne, Esq. of Woodhouse (the Wudess, as they call it on Tweedside), and their genuineness is unquestionable.

As anything must be interesting about one once so forlorn and miserable, and whom our great wizard has made immortal, I make no apology for printing the following letters from my old friend Mr. Craig, long surgeon in Peebles, and who is now spending his evening, after a long, hard, and useful day's work, in the quiet vale of Manor, within a mile or two of "Cannie Els.h.i.+e's" cottage. The picture he gives is very affecting, and should make us all thankful that we are "wiselike." There is much that is additional to Sir Walter's account, in his "Author's Edition" of the Waverley Novels.

"HALL MANOR, _Thursday, May 20, 1858._

"MY DEAR SIR,-David Ritchie, _alias_ Bowed Davie, was born at Easter Happrew, in the parish of Stobo, in the year 1741. He was brought to Woodhouse, in the parish of Manor, when very young.

His father was a laborer, and occupied a cottage on that farm; his mother, Anabel Niven, was a delicate woman, severely afflicted with rheumatism, and could not take care of him when an infant. To this cause he attributed his deformity, and this, if added to imperfect clothing, and bad food, and poverty, will account for the grotesque figure which he became. He never was at school, but could read tolerably; had many books; was fond of poetry, especially Allan Ramsay; he hated Burns. His father and mother both died early, and poor Davie became a homeless wanderer; he was two years at Broughton Mill, employed in stirring the husks of oats, which were used for drying the corn on the kiln, and required to be kept constantly in motion; he boasted, with a sort of rapture, of his doings there. From thence he went to Lyne's Mill, near his birth-place, where he continued one year at the same employment, and from thence he was sent to Edinburgh to learn brush-making, but made no progress in his education there; was annoyed by the wicked boys, or _keelies_, as he called them, and found his way back to Manor and Woodhouse. The farm now possessed by Mr. Ballantyne, was then occupied by four tenants, among whom he lived; but his house was at Old Woodhouse, where the late Sir James Nasmyth built him a house with two apartments, and separate outer doors, one for himself exactly his own height when standing upright in it; and this stands as it was built, exactly four feet. A Mr.

Ritchie, the father of the late minister of Athelstaneford, was then tenant; his wife and Davie could not agree, and she repeatedly asked her husband to put him away, by making the highest stone of his house the lowest. Ritchie left, his house was pulled down, and Davie triumphed in having the stones of his chimney-top made a step to his door, when this new house was built. He was not a little vindictive at times when irritated, especially when any allusion was made to his deformity. On one occasion, he and some other boys were stealing pease in Mr.

Gibson's field, who then occupied Woodhouse; all the others took _leg-bail_, but Davie's locomotion being tardy, he was caught, shaken, and scolded by Gibson for all the rest. This he never forgot, and vowed to be avenged on the "auld sinner and deevil;"

and one day when Gibson was working about his own door, Davie crept up to the top of the house, which was low, and threw a large stone down on his head, which brought the old man to the ground. Davie crept down the other side of the house, got into bed beside his mother, and it was never known where the stone came from, till he boasted of it long afterwards. He only prayed that it might sink down through his "_harn-pan_" (his skull).

His personal appearance seems to have been almost indescribable, not bearing any likeness to anything in this upper world. But as near as I can learn, his forehead was very narrow and low, sloping upwards and backward, something of the hatchet shape; his eyes deep set, small, and piercing; his nose straight, thin as the end of a cut of cheese, sharp at the point, nearly touching his fearfully projecting chin; and his mouth formed nearly a straight line; his shoulders rather high, but his body otherwise the size of ordinary men; his arms were remarkably strong. With very little aid he built a high garden wall, which still stands, many of the stones of huge size; these the shepherds laid to his directions. His legs beat all power of description; they were bent in every direction, so that Mungo Park, then a surgeon at Peebles, who was called to operate on him for strangulated hernia, said he could compare them to nothing but a pair of corkscrews; but the princ.i.p.al turn they took was from the knee outwards, so that he rested on his inner ankles, and the lower part of his tibias.

'An' his knotted knees play'd aye knoit between.'

"He had never a shoe on his feet; the parts on which he walked were rolled in rags, old stockings, &c., but the toes always bare, even in the most severe weather. His mode of progressing was as extraordinary as his shape. He carried a long pole, or 'kent,' like the Alpenstock, tolerably polished, with a turned top on it, on which he rested, placed it before him, he then lifted one leg, something in the manner that the oar of a boat is worked, and then the other, next advanced his staff, and repeated the operation, by diligently doing which he was able to make not very slow progress. He frequently walked to Peebles, four miles, and back again, in one day. His arms had no motion at the elbow-joints, but were active enough otherwise. He was not generally ill-tempered, but furious when roused.

"ROBERT CRAIG."

"HALL MANOR, _June 15, 1858._

"MY DEAR SIR,-I have delayed till now to finish Bowed Davie, in the hope of getting more information, and to very little purpose. His contemporaries are now so few, old, and widely scattered, that they are difficult to be got at, and when come at, their memories are failed, like their bodies. I have forgotten at what stage of his history I left off; but if I repeat, you can omit the repet.i.tions. Sir James Nasmyth, late of Posso, took compa.s.sion on the houseless, homeless _lusus naturae_, and had a house built for him to his own directions; the door, window, and everything to suit his diminished, grotesque form; the door four feet high, the window twelve by eighteen inches, without gla.s.s, closed by a wooden board, hung on leathern hinges, which he used to keep shut. Through it he reconnoitred all visitors, and only admitted ladies and particular favorites; he was very superst.i.tious; ghosts, fairies, and robbers he dreaded most. I have forgotten if I mentioned how he contrived to be fed and warmed. He had a small allowance from the parish poor-box, about fifty s.h.i.+llings; this was eked out by an annual peregrination through the parish, when some gave him food, others money, wool, &c., which he h.o.a.rded most miserly. How he cooked his food I have not been able to learn, for his sister, who lived in the same cottage with him, was separated by a stone and lime wall, and had a separate door of the usual size, and window to match, and was never allowed to enter his dwelling; but he brought home such loads, that the shepherds had to be on the lookout for him, when on his annual eleemosynary expeditions, to carry home part of his spoil. On one occasion a servant was ordered to give him some salt, for containing which he carried a long stocking; he thought the damsel had scrimped him in quant.i.ty, and he sat and distended the stocking till it appeared less than half full, by pressing down the salt, and then called for the gudewife, showed it her, and asked if she had ordered Jenny only to give him that wee pickle saut; the maid was scolded, and the stocking filled. He spent all his evenings at the back of the Woodhouse kitchen fire, and got at least one meal every day, where he used to make the rustics gape and stare at the many ghost, fairy, and robber stories which he had either heard of or invented, and poured out with unceasing volubility, and so often that he believed them all true. But the Ballantyne family had no great faith in his veracity, when it suited his convenience to fib, exaggerate, or prevaricate, particularly when excited by his own lucubrations, or the waggery of his more intellectual neighbors and companions. He had a seat in the centre, which he always occupied, and a stool for his deformed feet and legs; they all rose at times, asking Davie to do likewise, and when he got upon his pins, he was shorter than when sitting, his body being of the ordinary length, and the deficiency all in his legs. On one occasion, a wag named Elder put up a log of wood opposite his loophole, made a noise, and told Davie that the robbers he dreaded so much were now at his house, and would not go away; he peeped out, and saw the log, exclaimed, 'So he is, by the Lord G.o.d and my soul; Willie Elder, gi'e me the gun, and see that she is weel charged.' Elder put in a very large supply of powder without shot, rammed it hard, got a stool, which Davie mounted, Elder handing him the gun, charging him to take time, and aim fair, for if he missed him, he would be mad at being shot at, be sure to come in, take everything in the house, cut their throats, and burn the house after. Davie tremblingly obeyed, presented the gun slowly and cautiously, drew the trigger; off went the shot, the musket rebounded, and back went Davie with a rattle on the floor. Some accomplice tumbled the log; Davie at length was encouraged to look out, and actually believed that he had shot the robber; said he had done for him now, 'that ane wad plague him nae mair at ony rate.' He took it into his head at one time that he ought to be married, and having got the consent of a haverel wench to yoke with him in the silken bonds of matrimony, went to the minister several times, and asked him to perform the ceremony. At length the minister sent him away, saying that he could not and would not accommodate him in the matter. Davie swung himself out at the door on his kent, much crestfallen, and in great wrath, shutting the door with a bang behind him, but opening it again, he shook his clenched fist in the parson's face, and said, 'Weel, weel, ye'll no let decent, honest folk marry; but, 'od, lad, I'se plenish your parish wi'

b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, to see what ye'll mak o' that,' and away he went. He read Hooke's _Pantheon_, and made great use of the heathen deities. He railed sadly at the taxes; some one observed that he need not grumble at them as he had none to pay. 'Hae I no'?' he replied, 'I can neither get a pickle snuff to my neb, nor a pickle tea to my mouth, but they maun tax 't.' His sister and he were on very unfriendly terms. She was ill on one occasion; Miss Ballantyne asked how she was to-day. He replied, 'I dinna ken, I ha'na been in, for I hate folk that are aye gaun to dee and never do't,' In 1811 he was seized with obstruction of the bowels and consequent inflammation; blisters and various remedies were applied for three days without effect. Some one came to Mrs. Ballantyne and said that it was 'just about a' owre wi' Davie noo.' She went, and he breathed his last almost immediately. His sister without any delay, got his keys, and went to his secret repository, Mrs. Ballantyne thought to get dead-clothes, but instead, to the amazement of all present, she threw three money-bags, one after another, into Mrs.

Ballantyne's lap, telling her to count that, and that, and that.

Mrs. B. was annoyed and astonished at the mult.i.tude of half-crowns and s.h.i.+llings, all arranged according to value. He hated sixpences, and had none, but the third contained four guineas in gold. Mrs. B. was disgusted with the woman's greed, and put them all up, saying, what would anybody think if they came in and found them counting the man's money and his breath scarcely out,-took it all home to her husband, who made out 4 2_s._ in gold, 10 in a bank receipt, and 7 18_s._ in s.h.i.+llings and half-crowns, in all 22. How did he get this? He had many visitors, the better cla.s.s of whom gave him half-crowns, others s.h.i.+llings and sixpences; the latter he never kept, but converted them into s.h.i.+llings and half-crowns whenever he got an opportunity. I asked the wright how he got him into a coffin. He replied, 'Easily; they made it deeper than ordinary, and wider, so as to let in his distorted legs, as it was impossible to streek him like others.' He often expressed a resolve to be buried on the Woodhill top, three miles up the water from the church-yard, as he could never 'lie amang the common trash;' however, this was not accomplished, as his friend, Sir James Nasmyth, who had promised to carry this wish into effect, was on the Continent at the time. When Sir James returned, he spoke of having his remains lifted and buried where he had wished; but this was never done, and the expense of a railing and plantation of rowan-trees (mountain ash), his favorite prophylactic against the spells of witches and fairies, was abandoned. The Woodhill is a romantic, green little mount, situated at the west side of the Manor, which washes its base on the east, and separates it from Langhaugh heights, part of a lofty, rocky, and heathery mountain range, and on the west is the ruin of the ancient peel-house of old Posso, long the residence of the Nasmyth family. And now that we have the Dwarf dead and buried, comes the history of his resurrection in 1821.

His sister died exactly ten years after him. A report had been spread that he had been lifted and taken to dissecting-rooms in Glasgow, which at that period was the fate of many a more seemly corpse than Davie's; and the young men-for Manor had no s.e.xton-who dug the sister's grave in the vicinity of her brother's, stimulated by curiosity to see if his body had really been carried off, and if still there what his bones were like, lifted them up, and carried them to Woodhouse, where they lay a considerable time, till they were sent to Mr. Ballantyne, then in Glasgow. Miss Ballantyne thinks the skull was taken away with the other bones, but put back again. I have thus given you all the information I can gather about the Black Dwarf that I think worth narrating. It is reported that he sometimes sold a gill, but if this is true the Ballantynes never knew it. Miss Ballantyne says that he was not ill-tempered, but on the contrary, kind, especially to children. She and her brother were very young when she went to Woodhouse, and her father objected to resetting the farm from Sir James, on account of the fearful accounts of his horrid temper and barbarous deeds, and Sir James said if he ever troubled them that he would immediately put him away; but he was very fond of the younger ones, played with them, and amused them, though when roused and provoked by grown-up people, he raged, stormed, swore terrifically, and struck with anything that was near him, in short, he had an irritable but not a sulky, sour, misanthropic temper. The Messrs. Chambers wrote a book about him and his doings at a very early period of their literary history. Did I tell you of a female relative, Niven (whom he would never see), saying that she would come and streek him after he died? He sent word, 'that if she offered to touch his corpse he would rive the thrapple oot o' her-he would raither be streekit by Auld Clootie's ain red-het hands.'-Yours, truly obliged, R. C."

This poor, vindictive, solitary, and powerful creature, was a philocalist: he had a singular love of flowers and of beautiful women.

He was a sort of Paris, to whom the blus.h.i.+ng Aphrodites of the glen used to come, and his judgment is said to have been as good, as the world generally thinks that of Oenone's handsome and faithless mate. His garden was full of the finest flowers, and it was his pleasure, when the young beauties

"Who bore the blue sky intermixed with flame In their fair eyes,"

came to him for their compet.i.tive examination, to scan them well, and then, without one word, present each with a flower, which was of a certain fixed and well-known value in Davie's standard _calimeter_.

I have heard that there was one kind of rose, his ?a???ste???, which he was known to have given only to three, and I remember seeing one of the three, when she was past seventy. Margaret Murray, or Morra, was her maiden name, and this fine old lady, whom an Oxonian would call a Double First, grave and silent, and bent with "the pains," when asked by us children, would, with some reluctance, and a curious grave smile, produce out of her Bible, Bowed Davie's withered and flattened rose; and from her looks, even then, I was inclined to affirm the decision of the connoisseur of Manor Water. One can fancy the scene in that sweet solitary valley, informed like its sister Yarrow with pastoral melancholy, with a young May, bashful and eager, presenting herself for honors, encountering from under that penthouse of eyebrows the steady gaze of the strange eldritch creature; and then his making up his mind, and proceeding to pluck his award and present it to her, "herself a fairer flower," and then turning with a scowl, crossed with a look of tenderness, crawl into his den. Poor "gloomy Dis," slinking in alone.

They say, that when the candidate came, he surveyed her from his window, his eyes gleaming out of the darkness, and if he liked her not he disappeared; if he would entertain her, he beckoned her into the garden.

I have often thought that the _Brownie_, of whom the south country legends are so full, must have been some such misshapen creature, strong, willing, and forlorn, conscious of his hideous forbidding looks, and ready to purchase affection at any cost of labor, with a kindly heart, and a longing for human sympathy and intercourse. Such a being looks like the prototype of the Aiken-Drum of our infancy, and of that "drudging goblin," of whom we all know how he

"... Sweat To earn his cream-bowl daily set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn, That ten day lab'rers could not end; Then lies him down, the lubber[56] fiend, And stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And cropful out of doors he flings, Ere the first c.o.c.k his matin rings."

[56] Lob-lye-by-the-fire.

My readers will, I am sure, more than pardon me for giving them the following poem on Aiken-Drum, for the pleasure of first reading which, many years ago, I am indebted to Mr. R. Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_, where its "extraordinary merit" is generously acknowledged.

THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.

There cam' a strange wicht to our town-en', An' the fient a body did him ken; He tirl'd na lang, but he glided ben Wi' a dreary, dreary hum.

His face did glow like the glow o' the west, When the drumlie cloud has it half o'ercast; Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest, O sirs! 'twas Aiken-drum.

I trow the bauldest stood aback, Wi' a gape an' a glow'r till their lugs did crack, As the shapeless phantom mum'ling spak, Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum!

O! had ye seen the bairns' fricht, As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wicht, As they skulkit in 'tween the dark an' the licht, An' graned out, Aiken-drum!