St. Ronan's Well

A friendship, a companionship at least, was therefore struck up hastily betwixt these two originals; and to the astonishment of the whole parish of St. Ronan's, the minister thereof was seen once more leagued and united with an individual of his species, generally called among them the Cleikum Nabob. Their intercourse sometimes consisted in long walks, which they took in company, traversing, however, as limited a space of ground, as if it had been actually roped in for their pedestrian exercise. Their parade was, according to circumstances, a low haugh at the nether end of the ruinous hamlet, or the esplanade in the front of the old castle; and, in either case, the direct longitude of their promenade never exceeded a hundred yards. Sometimes, but rarely, the divine took share of Mr. Touchwood's meal, though less splendidly set forth than when he was first invited to partake of it; for, like the owner of the gold cup in Parnell's Hermit, when cured of his ostentation,

– “Still he welcomed, but with less of cost.”

On these occasions, the conversation was not of the regular and compacted nature, which passes betwixt men, as they are ordinarily termed, of this world. On the contrary, the one party was often thinking of Saladin and Cœur de Lion, when the other was haranguing on Hyder Ali and Sir Eyre Coote. Still, however, the one spoke, and the other seemed to listen; and, perhaps, the lighter intercourse of society, where amusement is the sole object, can scarcely rest on a safer and more secure basis.

It was on one of the evenings when the learned divine had taken his place at Mr. Touchwood's social board, or rather at Mrs. Dods's, – for a cup of excellent tea, the only luxury which Mr. Cargill continued to partake of with some complacence, was the regale before them, – that a card was delivered to the Nabob.

“Mr. and Miss Mowbray see company at Shaws-Castle on the twentieth current, at two o'clock – a déjeûner– dresses in character admitted – A dramatic picture.”

“See company? the more fools they,” he continued by way of comment. “See company? – choice phrases are ever commendable – and this piece of pasteboard is to intimate that one may go and meet all the fools of the parish, if they have a mind – in my time they asked the honour, or the pleasure, of a stranger's company. I suppose, by and by, we shall have in this country the ceremonial of a Bedouin's tent, where every ragged Hadgi, with his green turban, comes in slap without leave asked, and has his black paw among the rice, with no other apology than Salam Alicum. – ‘Dresses in character – Dramatic picture’ – what new tomfoolery can that be? – but it does not signify. – Doctor! I say Doctor! – but he is in the seventh heaven – I say, Mother Dods, you who know all the news – Is this the feast that was put off until Miss Mowbray should be better?”

“Troth is it, Maister Touchwood – they are no in the way of giving twa entertainments in one season – no very wise to gie ane maybe – but they ken best.”

“I say, Doctor, Doctor! – Bless his five wits, he is charging the Moslemah with stout King Richard – I say, Doctor, do you know any thing of these Mowbrays?”

“Nothing extremely particular,” answered Mr. Cargill, after a pause; “it is an ordinary tale of greatness, which blazes in one century, and is extinguished in the next. I think Camden says, that Thomas Mowbray, who was Grand-Marshal of England, succeeded to that high office, as well as to the Dukedom of Norfolk, as grandson of Roger Bigot, in 1301.”

“Pshaw, man, you are back into the 14th century – I mean these Mowbrays of St. Ronan's – now, don't fall asleep again until you have answered my question – and don't look so like a startled hare – I am speaking no treason.”

The clergyman floundered a moment, as is usual with an absent man who is recovering the train of his ideas, or a somnambulist when he is suddenly awakened, and then answered, still with hesitation, —

“Mowbray of St. Ronan's? – ha – eh – I know – that is – I did know the family.”

“Here they are going to give a masquerade, a bal paré, private theatricals, I think, and what not,” handing him the card.

“I saw something of this a fortnight ago,” said Mr. Cargill; “indeed, I either had a ticket myself, or I saw such a one as that.”

“Are you sure you did not attend the party, Doctor?” said the Nabob.

“Who attend? I? you are jesting, Mr. Touchwood.”

“But are you quite positive?” demanded Mr. Touchwood, who had observed, to his infinite amusement, that the learned and abstracted scholar was so conscious of his own peculiarities, as never to be very sure on any such subject.

“Positive!” he repeated with embarrassment; “my memory is so wretched that I never like to be positive – but had I done any thing so far out of my usual way, I must have remembered it, one would think – and – I am positive I was not there.”

“Neither could you, Doctor,” said the Nabob, laughing at the process by which his friend reasoned himself into confidence, “for it did not take place – it was adjourned, and this is the second invitation – there will be one for you, as you had a card to the former. – Come, Doctor, you must go – you and I will go together – I as an Imaum – I can say my Bismillah with any Hadgi of them all – You as a cardinal, or what you like best.”

“Who, I? – it is unbecoming my station, Mr. Touchwood,” said the clergyman – “a folly altogether inconsistent with my habits.”

“All the better – you shall change your habits.”

“You had better gang up and see them, Mr. Cargill,” said Mrs. Dods; “for it's maybe the last sight ye may see of Miss Mowbray – they say she is to be married and off to England ane of thae odd-come-shortlies, wi' some of the gowks about the Waal down-by.”

“Married!” said the clergyman; “it is impossible!”

“But where's the impossibility, Mr. Cargill, when ye see folk marry every day, and buckle them yoursell into the bargain? – Maybe ye think the puir lassie has a bee in her bannet; but ye ken yoursell if naebody but wise folk were to marry, the warld wad be ill peopled. I think it's the wise folk that keep single, like yoursell and me, Mr. Cargill. – Gude guide us! – are ye weel? – will ye taste a drap o' something?”

“Sniff at my ottar of roses,” said Mr. Touchwood; “the scent would revive the dead – why, what in the devil's name is the meaning of this? – you were quite well just now.”

“A sudden qualm,” said Mr. Cargill, recovering himself.

“Oh! Mr. Cargill,” said Dame Dods, “this comes of your lang fasts.”

“Right, dame,” subjoined Mr. Touchwood; “and of breaking them with sour milk and pease bannock – the least morsel of Christian food is rejected by stomach, just as a small gentleman refuses the visit of a creditable neighbour, lest he see the nakedness of the land – ha! ha!”

“And there is really a talk of Miss Mowbray of St Ronan's being married?” said the clergyman.

“Troth is there,” said the dame; “it's Trotting Nelly's news; and though she likes a drappie, I dinna think she would invent a lee or carry ane – at least to me, that am a gude customer.”

“This must be looked to,” said Mr. Cargill, as if speaking to himself.

“In troth, and so it should,” said Dame Dods; “it's a sin and a shame if they should employ the tinkling cymbal they ca' Chatterly, and sic a Presbyterian trumpet as yoursell in the land, Mr. Cargill; and if ye will take a fule's advice, ye winna let the multure be ta'en by your ain mill, Mr. Cargill.”

“True, true, good Mother Dods,” said the Nabob; “gloves and hatbands are things to be looked after, and Mr. Cargill had better go down to this cursed festivity with me, in order to see after his own interest.”

“I must speak with the young lady,” said the clergyman, still in a brown study.

“Right, right, my boy of black-letter,” said the Nabob; “with me you shall go, and we'll bring them to submission to mother-church, I warrant you – Why, the idea of being cheated in such a way, would scare a Santon out of his trance. – What dress will you wear?”

“My own, to be sure,” said the divine, starting from his reverie.

“True, thou art right again – they may want to knit the knot on the spot, and who would be married by a parson in masquerade? – We go to the entertainment though – it is a done thing.”

The clergyman assented, provided he should receive an invitation; and as that was found at the Manse, he had no excuse for retracting, even if he had seemed to desire one.

CHAPTER XVIII.

FORTUNE'S FROLICS

Count Basset. We gentlemen, whose carriages run on the four aces, are apt to have a wheel out of order.

    The Provoked Husband.

Our history must now look a little backwards; and although it is rather foreign to our natural style of composition, it must speak more in narrative, and less in dialogue, rather telling what happened, than its effects upon the actors. Our purpose, however, is only conditional, for we foresee temptations which may render it difficult for us exactly to keep it.

The arrival of the young Earl of Etherington at the salutiferous fountain of St. Ronan's had produced the strongest sensation; especially, as it was joined with the singular accident of the attempt upon his lordship's person, as he took a short cut through the woods on foot, at a distance from his equipage and servants. The gallantry with which he beat off the highwayman, was only equal to his generosity; for he declined making any researches after the poor devil, although his lordship had received a severe wound in the scuffle.

Of the “three black Graces,” as they have been termed by one of the most pleasant companions of our time, Law and Physic hastened to do homage to Lord Etherington, represented by Mr. Meiklewham and Dr. Quackleben; while Divinity, as favourable, though more coy, in the person of the Reverend Mr. Simon Chatterly, stood on tiptoe to offer any service in her power.

For the honourable reason already assigned, his lordship, after thanking Mr. Meiklewham, and hinting, that he might have different occasion for his services, declined his offer to search out the delinquent by whom he had been wounded; while to the care of the Doctor he subjected the cure of a smart flesh-wound in the arm, together with a slight scratch on the temple; and so very genteel was his behaviour on the occasion, that the Doctor, in his anxiety for his safety, enjoined him a month's course of the waters, if he would enjoy the comfort of a complete and perfect recovery. Nothing so frequent, he could assure his lordship, as the opening of cicatrized wounds; and the waters of St. Ronan's spring being, according to Dr. Quackleben, a remedy for all the troubles which flesh is heir to, could not fail to equal those of Barege, in facilitating the discharge of all splinters or extraneous matter, which a bullet may chance to incorporate with the human frame, to its great annoyance. For he was wont to say, that although he could not declare the waters which he patronised to be an absolute panpharmacon, yet he would with word and pen maintain, that they possessed the principal virtues of the most celebrated medicinal springs in the known world. In short, the love of Alpheus for Arethusa was a mere jest, compared to that which the Doctor entertained for his favourite fountain.

The new and noble guest, whose arrival so much illustrated these scenes of convalescence and of gaiety, was not at first seen so much at the ordinary, and other places of public resort, as had been the hope of the worthy company assembled. His health and his wound proved an excuse for making his visits to the society few and far between.

But when he did appear, his manners and person were infinitely captivating; and even the carnation-coloured silk handkerchief, which suspended his wounded arm, together with the paleness and languor which loss of blood had left on his handsome and open countenance, gave a grace to the whole person which many of the ladies declared irresistible. All contended for his notice, attracted at once by his affability, and piqued by the calm and easy nonchalance with which it seemed to be blended. The scheming and selfish Mowbray, the coarse-minded and brutal Sir Bingo, accustomed to consider themselves, and to be considered, as the first men of the party, sunk into comparative insignificance. But chiefly Lady Penelope threw out the captivations of her wit and her literature; while Lady Binks, trusting to her natural charms, endeavoured equally to attract his notice. The other nymphs of the Spa held a little back, upon the principle of that politeness, which, at continental hunting parties, affords the first shot at a fine piece of game, to the person of the highest rank present; but the thought throbbed in many a fair bosom, that their ladyships might miss their aim, in spite of the advantages thus allowed them, and that there might then be room for less exalted, but perhaps not less skilful, markswomen, to try their chance.

But while the Earl thus withdrew from public society, it was necessary, at least natural, that he should choose some one with whom to share the solitude of his own apartment; and Mowbray, superior in rank to the half-pay whisky-drinking Captain MacTurk; in dash to Winterblossom, who was broken down, and turned twaddler; and in tact and sense to Sir Bingo Binks, easily manœuvred himself into his lordship's more intimate society; and internally thanking the honest footpad, whose bullet had been the indirect means of secluding his intended victim from all society but his own, he gradually began to feel the way, and prove the strength of his antagonist, at the various games of skill and hazard which he introduced, apparently with the sole purpose of relieving the tedium of a sick-chamber.

Meiklewham, who felt, or affected, the greatest possible interest in his patron's success, and who watched every opportunity to enquire how his schemes advanced, received at first such favourable accounts as made him grin from ear to ear, rub his hands, and chuckle forth such bursts of glee as only the success of triumphant roguery could have extorted from him. Mowbray looked grave, however, and checked his mirth.