Unsegmented source body · Part 12

His conduct upon this occasion, as, indeed, that of all the Scottish members of the legislature, with one or two unworthy exceptions, had been in the highest degree spirited. The popular tradition, concerning his reply to Queen Caroline, has been given already, and some fragments of his speech against the Porteous Bill are still remembered. He retorted upon the Chancellor, Lord Hardwicke, the insinuation that he had stated himself in this case rather as a party than as a judge:--“I appeal,” said Argyle, “to the House--to the nation, if I can be justly branded with the infamy of being a jobber or a partisan. Have I been a briber of votes?--a buyer of boroughs?--the agent of corruption for any purpose, or on behalf of any party?--Consider my life; examine my actions in the field and in the cabinet, and see where there lies a blot that can attach to my honour. I have shown myself the friend of my country--the loyal subject of my king. I am ready to do so again, without an instantís regard to the frowns or smiles of a court.

I have experienced both, and am prepared with indifference for either. I have given my reasons for opposing this bill, and have made it appear that it is repugnant to the international treaty of union, to the liberty of Scotland, and, reflectively, to that of England, to common justice, to common sense, and to the public interest. Shall the metropolis of Scotland, the capital of an independent nation, the residence of a long line of monarchs, by whom that noble city was graced and dignified--shall such a city, for the fault of an obscure and unknown body of rioters, be deprived of its honours and its privileges--its gates and its guards?--and shall a native Scotsman tamely behold the havoc? I glory, my Lords, in opposing such unjust rigour, and reckon it my dearest pride and honour to stand up in defence of my native country while thus laid open to undeserved shame, and unjust spoliation.”

Other statesmen and orators, both Scottish and English, used the same arguments, the bill was gradually stripped of its most oppressive and obnoxious clauses, and at length ended in a fine upon the city of Edinburgh in favour of Porteousís widow. So that, as somebody observed at the time, the whole of these fierce debates ended in making the fortune of an old cook-maid, such having been the good womanís original capacity.

The court, however, did not forget the baffle they had received in this affair, and the Duke of Argyle, who had contributed so much to it, was thereafter considered as a person in disgrace. It is necessary to place these circumstances under the readerís observation, both because they are connected with the preceding and subsequent part of our narrative.

The Duke was alone in his study, when one of his gentlemen acquainted him, that a country-girl, from Scotland, was desirous of speaking with his Grace.

“A country-girl, and from Scotland!” said the Duke; “what can have brought the silly fool to London?--Some lover pressed and sent to sea, or some stock sank in the South-Sea funds, or some such hopeful concern, I suppose, and then nobody to manage the matter but MacCallummore,--Well, this same popularity has its inconveniences.--However, show our countrywoman up, Archibald--it is ill manners to keep her in attendance.”

A young woman of rather low stature, and whose countenance might be termed very modest and pleasing in expression, though sun-burnt, somewhat freckled, and not possessing regular features, was ushered into the splendid library. She wore the tartan plaid of her country, adjusted so as partly to cover her head, and partly to fall back over her shoulders. A quantity of fair hair, disposed with great simplicity and neatness, appeared in front of her round and good-humoured face, to which the solemnity of her errand, and her sense of the Dukeís rank and importance, gave an appearance of deep awe, but not of slavish fear, or fluttered bashfulness. The rest of Jeanieís dress was in the style of Scottish maidens of her own class; but arranged with that scrupulous attention to neatness and cleanliness, which we often find united with that purity of mind, of which it is a natural emblem.

She stopped near the entrance of the room, made her deepest reverence, and crossed her hands upon her bosom, without uttering a syllable. The Duke of Argyle advanced towards her; and, if she admired his graceful deportment and rich dress, decorated with the orders which had been deservedly bestowed on him, his courteous manner, and quick and intelligent cast of countenance, he on his part was not less, or less deservedly, struck with the quiet simplicity and modesty expressed in the dress, manners, and countenance of his humble countrywoman.

“Did you wish to speak with me, my bonny lass?” said the Duke, using the encouraging epithet which at once acknowledged the connection betwixt them as country-folk; “or did you wish to see the Duchess?”

“My business is with your honour, my Lord--I mean your Lordshipís Grace.”

“And what is it, my good girl?” said the Duke, in the same mild and encouraging tone of voice. Jeanie looked at the attendant. “Leave us, Archibald,” said the Duke, “and wait in the anteroom.” The domestic retired. “And now sit down, my good lass,” said the Duke; “take your breath--take your time, and tell me what you have got to say. I guess by your dress, you are just come up from poor Scotland--Did you come through the streets in your tartan plaid?”

“No, sir,” said Jeanie; “a friend brought me in ane oí their street coaches--a very decent woman,” she added, her courage increasing as she became familiar with the sound of her own voice in such a presence; “your Lordshipís Grace kens her--itís Mrs. Glass, at the sign oí the Thistle.”

“O, my worthy snuff-merchant--I have always a chat with Mrs. Glass when I purchase my Scots high-dried. Well, but your business, my bonny woman--time and tide, you know, wait for no one.”

“Your honour--I beg your Lordshipís pardon--I mean your Grace,”--for it must be noticed, that this matter of addressing the Duke by his appropriate title had been anxiously inculcated upon Jeanie by her friend Mrs. Glass, in whose eyes it was a matter of such importance, that her last words, as Jeanie left the coach, were, “Mind to say your Grace;” and Jeanie, who had scarce ever in her life spoke to a person of higher quality than the Laird of Dumbiedikes, found great difficulty in arranging her language according to the rules of ceremony.

The Duke, who saw her embarrassment, said, with his usual affability, “Never mind my grace, lassie; just speak out a plain tale, and show you have a Scots tongue in your head.”

“Sir, I am muckle obliged--Sir, I am the sister of that poor unfortunate criminal, Effie Deans, who is ordered for execution at Edinburgh.”í

“Ah!” said the Duke, “I have heard of that unhappy story, I think--a case of child-murder, under a special act of parliament--Duncan Forbes mentioned it at dinner the other day.”

“And I was come up frae the north, sir, to see what could be done for her in the way of getting a reprieve or pardon, sir, or the like of that.”

“Alas! my poor girl,” said the Duke; “you have made a long and a sad journey to very little purpose--Your sister is ordered for execution.”

“But I am given to understand that there is law for reprieving her, if it is in the kingís pleasure,” said Jeanie.

“Certainly, there is,” said the Duke; “but that is purely in the kingís breast. The crime has been but too common--the Scots crown-lawyers think it is right there should be an example. Then the late disorders in Edinburgh have excited a prejudice in government against the nation at large, which they think can only be managed by measures of intimidation and severity. What argument have you, my poor girl, except the warmth of your sisterly affection, to offer against all this?--What is your interest?--What friends have you at court?”

“None, excepting God and your Grace,” said Jeanie, still keeping her ground resolutely, however.

“Alas!” said the Duke, “I could almost say with old Ormond, that there could not be any, whose influence was smaller with kings and ministers. It is a cruel part of our situation, young woman--I mean of the situation of men in my circumstances, that the public ascribe to them influence which they do not possess; and that individuals are led to expect from them assistance which we have no means of rendering. But candour and plain dealing is in the power of every one, and I must not let you imagine you have resources in my influence, which do not exist, to make your distress the heavier--I have no means of averting your sisterís fate--She must die.”

“We must aí die, sir,” said Jeanie; “it is our common doom for our fatherís transgression; but we shouldna hasten ilk other out oí the world, thatís what your honour kens better than me.”

“My good young woman,” said the Duke, mildly, “we are all apt to blame the law under which we immediately suffer; but you seem to have been well educated in your line of life, and you must know that it is alike the law of God and man, that the murderer shall surely die.”

“But, sir, Effie--that is, my poor sister, sir--canna be proved to be a murderer; and if she be not, and the law take her life notwithstanding, wha is it that is the murderer then?”

“I am no lawyer,” said the Duke; “and I own I think the statute a very severe one.”

“You are a law-maker, sir, with your leave; and, therefore, ye have power over the law,” answered Jeanie.

“Not in my individual capacity,” said the Duke; “though, as one of a large body, I have a voice in the legislation. But that cannot serve you--nor have I at present, I care not who knows it, so much personal influence with the sovereign, as would entitle me to ask from him the most insignificant favour. What could tempt you, young woman, to address yourself to me?”

“It was yourself, sir.”

“Myself?” he replied--“I am sure you have never seen me before.”

“No, sir; but aí the world kens that the Duke of Argyle is his countryís friend; and that ye fight for the right, and speak for the right, and that thereís nane like you in our present Israel, and so they that think themselves wranged draw to refuge under your shadow; and if ye wunna stir to save the blood of an innocent countrywoman of your ain, what should we expect frae southerns and strangers? And maybe I had another reason for troubling your honour.”

“And what is that?” asked the Duke.

“I hae understood from my father, that your honourís house, and especially your gudesire and his father, laid down their lives on the scaffold in the persecuting time. And my father was honoured to gie his testimony baith in the cage and in the pillory, as is specially mentioned in the books of Peter Walker the packman, that your honour, I dare say, kens, for he uses maist partly the westland of Scotland. And, sir, thereís ane that takes concern in me, that wished me to gang to your Graceís presence, for his gudesire had done your gracious gudesire some good turn, as ye will see frae these papers.”

With these words, she delivered to the Duke the little parcel which she had received from Butler. He opened it, and, in the envelope, read with some surprise, “ëMusterroll of the men serving in the troop of that godly gentleman, Captain Salathiel Bangtext.--Obadiah Muggleton, Sin-Despise Double-knock, Stand-fast-in-faith Gipps, Turn-to-the-right Thwack-awayí-- What the deuce is this? A list of Praise-God Bareboneís Parliament I think, or of old Nollís evangelical army--that last fellow should understand his wheelings, to judge by his name.--But what does all this mean, my girl?”

“It was the other paper, sir,” said Jeanie, somewhat abashed at the mistake.

“O, this is my unfortunate grandfatherís hand sure enough--ëTo all who may have friendship for the house of Argyle, these are to certify, that Benjamin Butler, of Monkís regiment of dragoons, having been, under God, the means of saving my life from four English troopers who were about, to slay me, I, having no other present means of recompense in my power, do give him this acknowledgment, hoping that it may be useful to him or his during these troublesome times; and do conjure my friends, tenants, kinsmen, and whoever will do aught for me, either in the Highlands or Lowlands, to protect and assist the said Benjamin Butler, and his friends or family, on their lawful occasions, giving them such countenance, maintenance, and supply, as may correspond with the benefit he hath bestowed on me; witness my hand--Lorne.í

“This is a strong injunction--This Benjamin Butler was your grandfather, I suppose?--You seem too young to have been his daughter.”

“He was nae akin to me, sir--he was grandfather to ane--to a neighbourís son--to a sincere weel-wisher of mine, sir,” dropping her little courtesy as she spoke.

“O, I understand,” said the Duke--“a true-love affair. He was the grandsire of one you are engaged to?”

“One I _was_ engaged to, sir,” said Jeanie, sighing; “but this unhappy business of my poor sister--”

“What!” said the Duke, hastily--“he has not deserted you on that account, has he?”

“No, sir; he wad be the last to leave a friend in difficulties,” said Jeanie; “but I maun think for him as weel as for mysell. He is a clergyman, sir, and it would not beseem him to marry the like of me, wií this disgrace on my kindred.”

“You are a singular young woman,” said the Duke. “You seem to me to think of every one before yourself. And have you really come up from Edinburgh on foot, to attempt this hopeless solicitation for your sisterís life?”

“It was not aíthegither on foot, sir,” answered Jeanie; “for I sometimes got a cast in a waggon, and I had a horse from Ferrybridge, and then the coach---”

“Well, never mind all that,” interrupted the Duke--“What reason have you for thinking your sister innocent?”

“Because she has not been proved guilty, as will appear from looking at these papers.”

She put into his hand a note of the evidence, and copies of her sisterís declaration. These papers Butler had procured after her departure, and Saddletree had them forwarded to London, to Mrs. Glassís care, so that Jeanie found the documents, so necessary for supporting her suit, lying in readiness at her arrival.

“Sit down in that chair, my good girl,” said the Duke,--“until I glance over the papers.”

She obeyed, and watched with the utmost anxiety each change in his countenance as he cast his eye through the papers briefly, yet with attention, and making memoranda as he went along. After reading them hastily over, he looked up, and seemed about to speak, yet changed his purpose, as if afraid of committing himself by giving too hasty an opinion, and read over again several passages which he had marked as being most important. All this he did in shorter time than can be supposed by men of ordinary talents; for his mind was of that acute and penetrating character which discovers, with the glance of intuition, what facts bear on the particular point that chances to be subjected to consideration. At length he rose, after a few minutesí deep reflection.-- “Young woman,” said he, “your sisterís case must certainly be termed a hard one.”

“God bless you, sir, for that very word!” said Jeanie.

“It seems contrary to the genius of British law,” continued the Duke, “to take that for granted which is not proved, or to punish with death for a crime, which, for aught the prosecutor has been able to show, may not have been committed at all.”

“God bless you, sir!” again said Jeanie, who had risen from her seat, and, with clasped hands, eyes glittering through tears, and features which trembled with anxiety, drank in every word which the Duke uttered.

“But, alas! my poor girl,” he continued, “what good will my opinion do you, unless I could impress it upon those in whose hands your sisterís life is placed by the law? Besides, I am no lawyer; and I must speak with some of our Scottish gentlemen of the gown about the matter.”

“O, but, sir, what seems reasonable to your honour, will certainly be the same to them,” answered Jeanie.

“I do not know that,” replied the Duke; “ilka man buckles his belt his ain gate--you know our old Scots proverb?--But you shall not have placed this reliance on me altogether in vain. Leave these papers with me, and you shall hear from me to-morrow or next day. Take care to be at home at Mrs. Glassís, and ready to come to me at a momentís warning. It will be unnecessary for you to give Mrs. Glass the trouble to attend you;--and by the by, you will please to be dressed just as you are at present.”

“I wad hae putten on a cap, sir,” said Jeanie, “but your honour kens it isna the fashion of my country for single women; and I judged that, being sae mony hundred miles frae hame, your Graceís heart wad warm to the tartan,” looking at the corner of her plaid.

“You judged quite right,” said the Duke. “I know the full value of the snood; and MacCallummoreís heart will be as cold as death can make it, when it does _not_ warm to the tartan. Now, go away, and donít be out of the way when I send.”

Jeanie replied,--“There is little fear of that, sir, for I have little heart to go to see sights amang this wilderness of black houses. But if I might say to your gracious honour, that if ye ever condescend to speak to ony ane that is of greater degree than yoursell, though maybe it isna civil in me to say sae, just if you would think there can be nae sic odds between you and them, as between poor Jeanie Deans from St. Leonardís and the Duke of Argyle; and so dinna be chappit back or cast down wií the first rough answer.”

“I am not apt,” said the Duke, laughing, “to mind rough answers much--Do not you hope too much from what I have promised. I will do my best, but God has the hearts of Kings in his own hand.”

Jeanie courtesied reverently and withdrew, attended by the Dukeís gentleman, to her hackney-coach, with a respect which her appearance did not demand, but which was perhaps paid to the length of the interview with which his master had honoured her.

CHAPTER TWELFTH.

Ascend While radiant summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene! Here let us sweep The boundless landscape. Thomson.

From her kind and officious, but somewhat gossiping friend, Mrs. Glass, Jeanie underwent a very close catechism on their road to the Strand, where the Thistle of the good lady flourished in full glory, and, with its legend of _Nemo me impune,_ distinguished a shop then well known to all Scottish folk of high and low degree.

“And were you sure aye to _say your_ Grace to him?” said the good old lady; “for ane should make a distinction between MacCallummore and the bits oí southern bodies that they caí lords here--there are as mony oí them, Jeanie, as would gar ane think they maun cost but little fash in the making--some of them I wadna trust wií six pennies-worth of black-rappee--some of them I wadna gie mysell the trouble to put up a hapnyworth in brown paper for--But I hope you showed your breeding to the Duke of Argyle, for what sort of folk would he think your friends in London, if you had been lording him, and him a Duke?”

“He didna seem muckle to mind,” said Jeanie; “he kend that I was landward bred.”

“Weel, weel,” answered the good lady. “His Grace kens me weel; so I am the less anxious about it. I never fill his snug-box but he says, ëHow díye do, good Mrs. Glass?--How are all our friends in the North?í or it may be--ëHave ye heard from the North lately?í And you may be sure, I make my best courtesy, and answer, ëMy Lord Duke, I hope your Graceís noble Duchess, and your Graceís young ladies, are well; and I hope the snuff continues to give your Grace satisfaction.í And then ye will see the people in the shop begin to look about them; and if thereís a Scotsman, as there may be three or half-a-dozen, aff go the hats, and mony a look after him, and ëThere goes the Prince of Scotland, God bless him!í But ye have not told me yet the very words he said tíye.”

Jeanie had no intention to be quite so communicative. She had, as the reader may have observed, some of the caution and shrewdness, as well as of the simplicity of her country. She answered generally, that the Duke had received her very compassionately, and had promised to interest himself in her sisterís affair, and to let her hear from him in the course of the next day, or the day after. She did not choose to make any mention of his having desired her to be in readiness to attend him, far less of his hint, that she should not bring her landlady. So that honest Mrs. Glass was obliged to remain satisfied with the general intelligence above mentioned, after having done all she could to extract more.

It may easily be conceived, that, on the next day, Jeanie declined all invitations and inducements, whether of exercise or curiosity, to walk abroad, and continued to inhale the close, and somewhat professional atmosphere of Mrs. Glassís small parlour. The latter flavour it owed to a certain cupboard, containing, among other articles, a few canisters of real Havannah, which, whether from respect to the manufacture, or out of a reverend fear of the exciseman, Mrs. Glass did not care to trust in the open shop below, and which communicated to the room a scent, that, however fragrant to the nostrils of the connoisseur, was not very agreeable to those of Jeanie.

“Dear sirs,” she said to herself, “I wonder how my cousinís silk manty, and her gowd watch, or ony thing in the world, can be worth sitting sneezing all her life in this little stilling room, and might walk on green braes if she liked.”

Mrs. Glass was equally surprised at her cousinís reluctance to stir abroad, and her indifference to the fine sights of London. “It would always help to pass away the time,” she said, “to have something to look at, though ane was in distress.” But Jeanie was unpersuadable.

The day after her interview with the Duke was spent in that “hope delayed, which maketh the heart sick.” Minutes glided after minutes--hours fled after hours--it became too late to have any reasonable expectation of hearing from the Duke that day; yet the hope which she disowned, she could not altogether relinquish, and her heart throbbed, and her ears tingled, with every casual sound in the shop below. It was in vain. The day wore away in the anxiety of protracted and fruitless expectation.

The next morning commenced in the same manner. But before noon, a well-dressed gentleman entered Mrs. Glassís shop, and requested to see a young woman from Scotland.

“That will be my cousin Jeanie Deans, Mr. Archibald,” said Mrs. Glass, with a courtesy of recognisance. “Have you any message for her from his Grace the Duke of Argyle, Mr. Archibald? I will carry it to her in a moment.”

“I believe I must give her the trouble of stepping down, Mrs. Glass.”

“Jeanie--Jeanie Deans!” said Mrs. Glass, screaming at the bottom of the little staircase, which ascended from the corner of the shop to the higher regions. “Jeanie--Jeanie Deans, I say! come down stairs instantly; here is the Duke of Argyleís groom of the chambers desires to see you directly.” This was announced in a voice so loud, as to make all who chanced to be within hearing aware of the important communication.

It may easily be supposed, that Jeanie did not tarry long in adjusting herself to attend the summons, yet her feet almost failed her as she came down stairs.

“I must ask the favour of your company a little way,” said Archibald, with civility.

“I am quite ready, sir,” said Jeanie.

“Is my cousin going out, Mr. Archibald? then I will hae to go wií her, no doubt.--James Rasper--Look to the shop, James.--Mr. Archibald,” pushing a jar towards him, “you take his Graceís mixture, I think. Please to fill your box, for old acquaintanceí sake, while I get on my things.”

Mr. Archibald transferred a modest parcel of snuff from the jar to his own mull, but said he was obliged to decline the pleasure of Mrs. Glassís company, as his message was particularly to the young person.

“Particularly to the young person?” said Mrs. Glass; “is not that uncommon, Mr. Archibald? But his Grace is the best judge; and you are a steady person, Mr. Archibald. It is not every one that comes from a great manís house I would trust my cousin with.--But, Jeanie, you must not go through the streets with Mr. Archibald with your tartan what-díye-call-it there upon your shoulders, as if you had come up with a drove of Highland cattle. Wait till I bring down my silk cloak. Why, weíll have the mob after you!”

“I have a hackney-coach in waiting, madam,” said Mr. Archibald, interrupting the officious old lady, from whom Jeanie might otherwise have found it difficult to escape; “and, I believe, I must not allow her time for any change of dress.”

So saying, he hurried Jeanie into the coach, while she internally praised and wondered at the easy manner in which he shifted off Mrs. Glassís officious offers and inquiries, without mentioning his masterís orders, or entering into any explanation,

On entering the coach, Mr. Archibald seated himself in the front seat opposite to our heroine, and they drove on in silence. After they had driven nearly half-an-hour, without a word on either side, it occurred to Jeanie, that the distance and time did not correspond with that which had been occupied by her journey on the former occasion, to and from the residence of the Duke of Argyle. At length she could not help asking her taciturn companion, “Whilk way they were going?”

“My Lord Duke will inform you himself, madam,” answered Archibald, with the same solemn courtesy which marked his whole demeanour. Almost as he spoke, the hackney-coach drew up, and the coachman dismounted and opened the door. Archibald got out, and assisted Jeanie to get down. She found herself in a large turnpike road, without the bounds of London, upon the other side of which road was drawn up a plain chariot and four horses, the panels without arms, and the servants without liveries.

“You have been punctual, I see, Jeanie,” said the Duke of Argyle, as Archibald opened the carriage-door. “You must be my companion for the rest of the way. Archibald will remain here with the hackney-coach till your return.”

Ere Jeanie could make answer, she found herself, to her no small astonishment, seated by the side of a duke, in a carriage which rolled forward at a rapid yet smooth rate, very different in both particulars from the lumbering, jolting vehicle which she had just left; and which, lumbering and jolting as it was, conveyed to one who had seldom been in a coach before a certain feeling of dignity and importance.

“Young woman,” said the Duke, “after thinking as attentively on your sisterís case as is in my power, I continue to be impressed with the belief that great injustice may be done by the execution of her sentence. So are one or two liberal and intelligent lawyers of both countries whom I have spoken with.--Nay, pray hear me out before you thank me.--I have already told you my personal conviction is of little consequence, unless I could impress the same upon others. Now I have done for you what I would certainly not have done to serve any purpose of my own--I have asked an audience of a lady whose interest with the king is deservedly very high. It has been allowed me, and I am desirous that you should see her and speak for yourself. You have no occasion to be abashed; tell your story simply, as you did to me.”

“I am much obliged to your Grace,” said Jeanie, remembering Mrs. Glassís charge, “and I am sure, since I have had the courage to speak to your Grace in poor Effieís cause, I have less reason to be shame-faced in speaking to a leddy. But, sir, I would like to ken what to caí her, whether your grace or your honour, or your leddyship, as we say to lairds and leddies in Scotland, and I will take care to mind it; for I ken leddies are full mair particular than gentlemen about their titles of honour.”

“You have no occasion to call her anything but Madam. Just say what you think is likely to make the best impression--look at me from time to time--and if I put my hand to my cravat so--(showing her the motion)--you will stop; but I shall only do this when you say anything that is not likely to please.”

“But, sir, your Grace,” said Jeanie, “if it wasna ower muckle trouble, wad it no be better to tell me what I should say, and I could get it by heart?”

“No, Jeanie, that would not have the same effect--that would be like reading a sermon, you know, which we good Presbyterians think has less unction than when spoken without book,” replied the Duke. “Just speak as plainly and boldly to this lady, as you did to me the day before yesterday, and if you can gain her consent, Iíll wad ye a plack, as we say in the north, that you get the pardon from the king.”

As he spoke, he took a pamphlet from his pocket, and began to read. Jeanie had good sense and tact, which constitute betwixt them that which is called natural good breeding. She interpreted the Dukeís manoeuvre as a hint that she was to ask no more questions, and she remained silent accordingly.

The carriage rolled rapidly onwards through fertile meadows, ornamented with splendid old oaks, and catching occasionally a glance of the majestic mirror of a broad and placid river. After passing through a pleasant village, the equipage stopped on a commanding eminence, where the beauty of English landscape was displayed in its utmost luxuriance. Here the Duke alighted, and desired Jeanie to follow him. They paused for a moment on the brow of a hill, to gaze on the unrivalled landscape which it presented. A huge sea of verdure, with crossing and intersecting promontories of massive and tufted groves, was tenanted by numberless flocks and herds, which seemed to wander unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures. The Thames, here turreted with villas, and there garlanded with forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty monarch of the scene, to whom all its other beauties were but accessories, and bore on its bosom an hundred barks and skiffs, whose white sails and gaily fluttering pennons gave life to the whole.

The Duke of Argyle was, of course, familiar with this scene; but to a man of taste it must be always new. Yet, as he paused and looked on this inimitable landscape, with the feeling of delight which it must give to the bosom of every admirer of nature, his thoughts naturally reverted to his own more grand, and scarce less beautiful, domains of Inverary.-- “This is a fine scene,” he said to his companion, curious, perhaps, to draw out her sentiments; “we have nothing like it in Scotland.”

“Itís braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have a fine breed oí cattle here,” replied Jeanie; “but I like just as weel to look at the craigs of Arthurís Seat, and the sea coming in ayont them as at aí thae muckle trees.”

The Duke smiled at a reply equally professional and national, and made a signal for the carriage to remain where it was. Then adopting an unfrequented footpath, he conducted Jeanie through several complicated mazes to a postern-door in a high brick wall.

It was shut; but as the Duke tapped slightly at it, a person in waiting within, after reconnoitring through a small iron grate, contrived for the purpose, unlocked the door and admitted them. They entered, and it was immediately closed and fastened behind them. This was all done quickly, the door so instantly closing, and the person who opened it so suddenly disappearing, that Jeanie could not even catch a glimpse of his exterior.

They found themselves at the extremity of a deep and narrow alley, carpeted with the most verdant and close-shaven turf, which felt like velvet under their feet, and screened from the sun by the branches of the lofty elms which united over the path, and caused it to resemble, in the solemn obscurity of the light which they admitted, as well as from the range of columnar stems, and intricate union of their arched branches, one of the narrow side aisles in an ancient Gothic cathedral.

CHAPTER THIRTEETH

I beseech you-- These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo you That never yet were heaved but to things holy-- Things like yourself--You are a God above us; Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy! The Bloody Brother.

Encouraged as she was by the courteous manners of her noble countryman, it was not without a feeling of something like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a place apparently so lonely with a man of such high rank. That she should have been permitted to wait on the Duke in his own house, and have been there received to a private interview, was in itself an uncommon and distinguished event in the annals of a life so simple as hers; but to find herself his travelling companion in a journey, and then suddenly to be left alone with him in so secluded a situation, had something in it of awful mystery. A romantic heroine might have suspected and dreaded the power of her own charms; but Jeanie was too wise to let such a silly thought intrude on her mind. Still, however, she had a most eager desire to know where she now was, and to whom she was to be presented.

She remarked that the Dukeís dress, though still such as indicated rank and fashion (for it was not the custom of men of quality at that time to dress themselves like their own coachmen or grooms), was nevertheless plainer than that in which she had seen him upon a former occasion, and was divested, in particular, of all those badges of external decoration which intimated superior consequence. In short, he was attired as plainly as any gentleman of fashion could appear in the streets of London in a morning; and this circumstance helped to shake an opinion which Jeanie began to entertain, that, perhaps, he intended she should plead her cause in the presence of royalty itself. “But surely,” said she to, herself, “he wad hae putten on his braw star and garter, an he had thought oí coming before the face of majesty--and after aí, this is mair like a gentlemanís policy than a royal palace.”

There was some sense in Jeanieís reasoning; yet she was not sufficiently mistress either of the circumstances of etiquette, or the particular relations which existed betwixt the government and the Duke of Argyle, to form an accurate judgment. The Duke, as we have said, was at this time in open opposition to the administration of Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of favour with the royal family, to whom he had rendered such important services. But it was a maxim of Queen Caroline to bear herself towards her political friends with such caution, as if there was a possibility of their one day being her enemies, and towards political opponents with the same degree of circumspection, as if they might again become friendly to her measures, Since Margaret of Anjou, no queen-consort had exercised such weight in the political affairs of England, and the personal address which she displayed on many occasions, had no small share in reclaiming from their political heresy many of those determined Tories, who, after the reign of the Stuarts had been extinguished in the person of Queen Anne, were disposed rather to transfer their allegiance to her brother the Chevalier de St.

George, than to acquiesce in the settlement of the crown on the Hanover family. Her husband, whose most shining quality was courage in the field of battle, and who endured the office of King of England, without ever being able to acquire English habits, or any familiarity with English dispositions, found the utmost assistance from the address of his partner, and while he jealously affected to do everything according to his own will and pleasure, was in secret prudent enough to take and follow the advice of his more adroit consort. He intrusted to her the delicate office of determining the various degrees of favour necessary to attach the wavering, or to confirm such as were already friendly, or to regain those whose good-will had been lost.

With all the winning address of an elegant, and, according to the times, an accomplished woman, Queen Caroline possessed the masculine soul of the other sex. She was proud by nature, and even her policy could not always temper her expressions of displeasure, although few were more ready at repairing any false step of this kind, when her prudence came up to the aid of her passions. She loved the real possession of power rather than the show of it, and whatever she did herself that was either wise or popular, she always desired that the King should have the full credit as well as the advantage of the measure, conscious that, by adding to his respectability, she was most likely to maintain her own. And so desirous was she to comply with all his tastes, that, when threatened with the gout, she had repeatedly had recourse to checking the fit, by the use of the cold bath, thereby endangering her life, that she might be able to attend the king in his walks.

It was a very consistent part of Queen Carolineís character, to keep up many private correspondences with those to whom in public she seemed unfavourable, or who, for various reasons, stood ill with the court. By this means she kept in her hands the thread of many a political intrigue, and, without pledging herself to anything, could often prevent discontent from becoming hatred, and opposition from exaggerating itself into rebellion. If by any accident her correspondence with such persons chanced to be observed or discovered, which she took all possible pains to prevent, it was represented as a mere intercourse of society, having no reference to politics; an answer with which even the prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, was compelled to remain satisfied, when he discovered that the Queen had given a private audience to Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath, his most formidable and most inveterate enemy.

In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with several persons who seemed most alienated from the crown, it may readily be supposed that Queen Caroline had taken care not to break entirely with the Duke of Argyle. His high birth, his great talents, the estimation in which he was held in his own country, the great services which he had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, placed him high in that rank of persons who were not to be rashly neglected. He had, almost by his single and unassisted talents, stopped the irruption of the banded force of all the Highland chiefs; there was little doubt, that, with the slightest encouragement, he could put them all in motion, and renew the civil war; and it was well known that the most flattering overtures had been transmitted to the Duke from the court of St. Germains. The character and temper of Scotland was still little known, and it was considered as a volcano, which might, indeed, slumber for a series of years, but was still liable, at a moment the least expected, to break out into a wasteful irruption. It was, therefore, of the highest importance to retain come hold over so important a personage as the Duke of Argyle, and Caroline preserved the power of doing so by means of a lady, with whom, as wife of George II., she might have been supposed to be on less intimate terms.

It was not the least instance of the Queenís address, that she had contrived that one of her principal attendants, Lady Suffolk, should unite in her own person the two apparently inconsistent characters, of her husbandís mistress, and her own very obsequious and complaisant confidant. By this dexterous management the Queen secured her power against the danger which might most have threatened it--the thwarting influence of an ambitious rival; and if she submitted to the mortification of being obliged to connive at her husbandís infidelity, she was at least guarded against what she might think its most dangerous effects, and was besides at liberty, now and then, to bestow a few civil insults upon “her good Howard,” whom, however, in general, she treated with great decorum.*

* See Horace Walpoleís Reminiscences.

Lady Suffolk lay under strong obligations to the Duke of Argyle, for reasons which may be collected from Horace Walpoleís Reminiscences of that reign, and through her means the Duke had some occasional correspondence with Queen Caroline, much interrupted, however, since the part he had taken in the debate concerning the Porteous mob, an affair which the Queen, though somewhat unreasonably, was disposed to resent, rather as an intended and premeditated insolence to her own person and authority, than as a sudden ebullition of popular vengeance. Still, however, the communication remained open betwixt them, though it had been of late disused on both sides. These remarks will be found necessary to understand the scene which is about to be presented to the reader.

From the narrow alley which they had traversed, the Duke turned into one of the same character, but broader and still longer. Here, for the first time since they had entered these gardens, Jeanie saw persons approaching them.

They were two ladies; one of whom walked a little behind the other, yet not so much as to prevent her from hearing and replying to whatever observation was addressed to her by the lady who walked foremost, and that without her having the trouble to turn her person. As they advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to study their features and appearance. The Duke also slackened his pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and repeatedly desired her not to be afraid. The lady who seemed the principal person had remarkably good features, though somewhat injured by the small-pox, that venomous scourge which each village Esculapius (thanks to Jenner) can now tame as easily as their tutelary deity subdued the Python. The ladyís eyes were brilliant, her teeth good, and her countenance formed to express at will either majesty or courtesy. Her form, though rather _embonpoint,_ was nevertheless graceful; and the elasticity and firmness of her step gave no room to suspect, what was actually the case, that she suffered occasionally from a disorder the most unfavourable to pedestrian exercise. Her dress was rather rich than gay, and her manner commanding and noble.

Her companion was of lower stature, with light brown hair and expressive blue eyes. Her features, without being absolutely regular, were perhaps more pleasing than if they had been critically handsome. A melancholy, or at least a pensive expression, for which her lot gave too much cause, predominated when she was silent, but gave way to a pleasing and good-humoured smile when she spoke to any one.

When they were within twelve or fifteen yards of these ladies, the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should stand still, and stepping forward himself, with the grace which was natural to him, made a profound obeisance, which was formally, yet in a dignified manner, returned by the personage whom he approached.

“I hope,” she said, with an affable and condescending smile, “that I see so great a stranger at court, as the Duke of Argyle has been of late, in as good health as his friends there and elsewhere could wish him to enjoy.”

The Duke replied, “That he had been perfectly well;” and added, “that the necessity of attending to the public business before the House, as well as the time occupied by a late journey to Scotland, had rendered him less assiduous in paying his duty at the levee and drawing-room than he could have desired.”

“When your Grace _can_ find time for a duty so frivolous,” replied the Queen, “you are aware of your title to be well received. I hope my readiness to comply with the wish which you expressed yesterday to Lady Suffolk, is, a sufficient proof that one of the royal family, at least, has not forgotten ancient and important services, in resenting something which resembles recent neglect.” This was said apparently with great good humour, and in a tone which expressed a desire of conciliation.

The Duke replied, “That he would account himself the most unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed capable of neglecting his duty, in modes and circumstances when it was expected, and would have been agreeable. He was deeply gratified by the honour which her Majesty was now doing to him personally; and he trusted she would soon perceive that it was in a matter essential to his Majestyís interest that he had the boldness to give her this trouble.”

“You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke,” replied the Queen, “than by giving me the advantage of your lights and experience on any point of the Kingís service. Your Grace is aware, that I can only be the medium through which the matter is subjected to his Majestyís superior wisdom; but if it is a suit which respects your Grace personally, it shall lose no support by being preferred through me.”

“It is no suit of mine, madam,” replied the Duke; “nor have I any to prefer for myself personally, although I feel in full force my obligation to your Majesty. It is a business which concerns his Majesty, as a lover of justice and of mercy, and which, I am convinced, may be highly useful in conciliating the unfortunate irritation which at present subsists among his Majestyís good subjects in Scotland.”

There were two parts of this speech disagreeable to Caroline. In the first place, it removed the flattering notion she had adopted, that Argyle designed to use her personal intercession in making his peace with the administration, and recovering the employments of which he had been deprived; and next, she was displeased that he should talk of the discontents in Scotland as irritations to be conciliated, rather than suppressed.

Under the influence of these feelings, she answered hastily, “That his Majesty has good subjects in England, my Lord Duke, he is bound to thank God and the laws--that he has subjects in Scotland, I think he may thank God and his sword.”

The Duke, though a courtier, coloured slightly, and the Queen, instantly sensible of her error, added, without displaying the least change of countenance, and as if the words had been an original branch of the sentence--“And the swords of those real Scotchmen who are friends to the House of Brunswick, particularly that of his Grace of Argyle.”

“My sword, madam,” replied the Duke, “like that of my fathers, has been always at the command of my lawful king, and of my native country--I trust it is impossible to separate their real rights and interests. But the present is a matter of more private concern, and respects the person of an obscure individual.”

“What is the affair, my Lord?” said the Queen. “Let us find out what we are talking about, lest we should misconstrue and misunderstand each other.”

“The matter, madam,” answered the Duke of Argyle, “regards the fate of an unfortunate young woman in Scotland, now lying under sentence of death, for a crime of which I think it highly probable that she is innocent. And my humble petition to your Majesty is, to obtain your powerful intercession with the King for a pardon.”

It was now the Queenís turn to colour, and she did so over cheek and brow, neck and bosom. She paused a moment as if unwilling to trust her voice with the first expression of her displeasure; and on assuming the air of dignity and an austere regard of control, she at length replied, “My Lord Duke, I will not ask your motives for addressing to me a request, which circumstances have rendered such an extraordinary one. Your road to the Kingís closet, as a peer and a privy-councillor, entitled to request an audience, was open, without giving me the pain of this discussion. _I,_ at least, have had enough of Scotch pardons.”

The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, and he was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply while the Queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but remained in the same firm, yet respectful posture, which he had assumed during the interview. The Queen, trained from her situation to self-command, instantly perceived the advantage she might give against herself by yielding to passion; and added, in the same condescending and affable tone in which she had opened the interview, “You must allow me some of the privileges of the sex, my Lord; and do not judge uncharitably of me, though I am a little moved at the recollection of the gross insult and outrage done in your capital city to the royal authority, at the very time when it was vested in my unworthy person. Your Grace cannot be surprised that I should both have felt it at the time, and recollected it now.”

“It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten,” answered the Duke. “My own poor thoughts of it have been long before your Majesty, and I must have expressed myself very ill if I did not convey my detestation of the murder which was committed under such extraordinary circumstances. I might, indeed, be so unfortunate as to differ with his Majestyís advisers on the degree in which it was either just or politic to punish the innocent instead of the guilty. But I trust your Majesty will permit me to be silent on a topic in which my sentiments have not the good fortune to coincide with those of more able men.”

“We will not prosecute a topic on which we may probably differ,” said the Queen. “One word, however, I may say in private--you know our good Lady Suffolk is a little deaf--the Duke of Argyle, when disposed to renew his acquaintance with his master and mistress, will hardly find many topics on which we should disagree.”

“Let me hope,” said the Duke, bowing profoundly to so flattering an intimation, “that I shall not be so unfortunate as to have found one on the present occasion.”

“I must first impose on your Grace the duty of confession,” said the Queen, “before I grant you absolution. What is your particular interest in this young woman? She does not seem” (and she scanned Jeanie, as she said this, with the eye of a connoisseur) “much qualified to alarm my friend the Duchessís jealousy.”

“I think your Majesty,” replied the Duke, smiling in his turn, “will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on that score.”

“Then, though she has not much the air _díune grande dame,_ I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the terrible CHAPTER of Scottish genealogy?”

“No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I wish some of my nearer relations had half her worth, honesty, and affection.”

“Her name must be Campbell, at least?” said Queen Caroline.

“No, madam; her name is not quite so distinguished, if I may be permitted to say so,” answered the Duke.

“Ah! but she comes from Inverary or Argyleshire?” said the Sovereign.

“She has never been farther north in her life than Edinburgh, madam.”

“Then my conjectures are all ended,” said the Queen, “and your Grace must yourself take the trouble to explain the affair of your proteígeíe.”

With that precision and easy brevity which is only acquired by habitually conversing in the higher ranks of society, and which is the diametrical opposite of that protracted style of disquisition,

Which squires call potter, and which men call prose,

the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed the affectionate exertions which Jeanie had made in behalf of a sister, for whose sake she was willing to sacrifice all but truth and conscience.

Queen Caroline listened with attention; she was rather fond, it must be remembered, of an argument, and soon found matter in what the Duke told her for raising difficulties to his request.

“It appears to me, my Lord,” she replied, “that this is a severe law. But still it is adopted upon good grounds, I am bound to suppose, as the law of the country, and the girl has been convicted under it. The very presumptions which the law construes into a positive proof of guilt exist in her case; and all that your Grace has said concerning the possibility of her innocence may be a very good argument for annulling the Act of Parliament, but cannot, while it stands good, be admitted in favour of any individual convicted upon the statute.”

The Duke saw and avoided the snare, for he was conscious, that, by replying to the argument, he must have been inevitably led to a discussion, in the course of which the Queen was likely to be hardened in her own opinion, until she became obliged, out of mere respect to consistency, to let the criminal suffer.

[Illustration: Jeanie and Queen Caroline--194]

“If your Majesty,” he said, “would condescend to hear my poor countrywoman herself, perhaps she may find an advocate in your own heart, more able than I am, to combat the doubts suggested by your understanding.”

The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made a signal for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had hitherto remained watching countenances, which were too long accustomed to suppress all apparent signs of emotion, to convey to her any interesting intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at the awe-struck manner in which the quiet demure figure of the little Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at the first sound of her broad northern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low and sweetly toned, an admirable thing in woman, and eke besought “her Leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young creature,” in tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her native songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in pathos.

“Stand up, young woman,” said the Queen, but in a kind tone, “and tell me what sort of a barbarous people your country-folk are, where child-murder is become so common as to require the restraint of laws like yours?”

“If your Leddyship pleases,” answered Jeanie, “there are mony places besides Scotland where mothers are unkind to their ain flesh and blood.”

It must be observed, that the disputes between George the Second and Frederick Prince of Wales were then at the highest, and that the good-natured part of the public laid the blame on the Queen. She coloured highly, and darted a glance of a most penetrating character first at Jeanie, and then at the Duke. Both sustained it unmoved; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the offence she had given, and the Duke from his habitual composure. But in his heart he thought, My unlucky _protegee_ has with this luckless answer shot dead, by a kind of chance-medley, her only hope of success.

Lady Suffolk, good-humouredly and skilfully, interposed in this awkward crisis. “You should tell this lady,” she said to Jeanie, “the particular causes which render this crime common in your country.”

“Some thinks itís the Kirk-session--that is--itís the--itís the cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases,” said Jeanie, looking down and courtesying.

“The what?” said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase was new, and who besides was rather deaf.

“Thatís the stool of repentance, madam, if it please your Leddyship,” answered Jeanie, “for light life and conversation, and for breaking the seventh command.” Here she raised her eyes to the Duke, saw his hand at his chin, and, totally unconscious of what she had said out of joint, gave double effect to the innuendo, by stopping short and looking embarrassed.

As for Lady Suffolk, she retired like a covering party, which, having interposed betwixt their retreating friends and the enemy, have suddenly drawn on themselves a fire unexpectedly severe.

The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle to himself; there goes another shot--and she has hit with both barrels right and left!

Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confusion, for, having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent offender, he felt much in the circumstances of a country squire, who, having introduced his spaniel into a well-appointed drawing-room, is doomed to witness the disorder and damage which arises to china and to dress-gowns, in consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanieís last chance-hit, however, obliterated the ill impression which had arisen from the first; for her Majesty had not so lost the feelings of a wife in those of a Queen, but that she could enjoy a jest at the expense of “her good Suffolk.” She turned towards the Duke of Argyle with a smile, which marked that she enjoyed the triumph, and observed, “The Scotch are a rigidly moral people.” Then, again applying herself to Jeanie, she asked how she travelled up from Scotland.

“Upon my foot mostly, madam,” was the reply.

“What, all that immense way upon foot?--How far can you walk in a day.”

“Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock.”

“And a what?” said the Queen, looking towards the Duke of Argyle.

“And about five miles more,” replied the Duke.

“I thought I was a good walker,” said the Queen, “but this shames me sadly.”

“May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, that ye canna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs,” said Jeanie. That came better off, thought the Duke; itís the first thing she has said to the purpose.

“And I didna just aíthegither walk the haill way neither, for I had whiles the cast of a cart; and I had the cast of a horse from Ferrybridge--and divers other easements,” said Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she observed the Duke made the sign he had fixed upon.

“With all these accommodations,” answered the Queen, “you must have had a very fatiguing journey, and, I fear, to little purpose; since, if the King were to pardon your sister, in all probability it would do her little good, for I suppose your people of Edinburgh would hang her out of spite.”

She will sink herself now outright, thought the Duke.

But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had touched in this delicate conversation lay under ground, and were unknown to her; this rock was above water, and she avoided it.

“She was confident,” she said, “that baith town and country wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compassion on a poor unfriended creature.”

“His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance,” said the Queen; “but I suppose my Lord Duke would advise him to be guided by the votes of the rabble themselves, who should be hanged and who spared?”

“No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I would advise his Majesty to be guided by his own feelings, and those of his royal consort; and then I am sure punishment will only attach itself to guilt, and even then with cautious reluctance.”

“Well, my Lord,” said her Majesty, “all these fine speeches do not convince me of the propriety of so soon showing any mark of favour to your--I suppose I must not say rebellious?--but, at least, your very disaffected and intractable metropolis. Why, the whole nation is in a league to screen the savage and abominable murderers of that unhappy man; otherwise, how is it possible but that, of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so public an action for such a length of time, one at least must have been recognised? Even this wench, for aught I can tell, may be a depositary of the secret.--Hark you, young woman, had you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob?”

“No, madam,” answered Jeanie, happy that the question was so framed that she could, with a good conscience, answer it in the negative.

“But I suppose,” continued the Queen, “if you were possessed of such a secret, you would hold it a matter of conscience to keep it to yourself?”

“I would pray to be directed and guided what was the line of duty, madam,” answered Jeanie.

“Yes, and take that which suited your own inclinations,” replied her Majesty.

“If it like you, madam,” said Jeanie, “I would hae gaen to the end of the earth to save the life of John Porteous, or any other unhappy man in his condition; but I might lawfully doubt how far I am called upon to be the avenger of his blood, though it may become the civil magistrate to do so. He is dead and gane to his place, and they that have slain him must answer for their ain act. But my sister, my puir sister, Effie, still lives, though her days and hours are numbered! She still lives, and a word of the Kingís mouth might restore her to a brokenhearted auld man, that never in his daily and nightly exercise, forgot to pray that his Majesty might be blessed with a long and a prosperous reign, and that his throne, and the throne of his posterity, might be established in righteousness. O madam, if ever ye kend what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffering creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be neither caíd fit to live or die, have some compassion on our misery!--Save an honest house from dishonour, and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and dreadful death!

Alas! it is not when we sleep soft and wake merrily ourselves that we think on other peopleís sufferings. Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the body--and seldom may it visit your Leddyship--and when the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low--lang and late may it be yours!--Oh, my Leddy, then it isna what we hae dune for oursells, but what we hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thingís life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow.”

Tear followed tear down Jeanieís cheeks, as, her features glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sisterís cause with a pathos which was at once simple and solemn.

“This is eloquence,” said her Majesty to the Duke of Argyle. “Young woman,” she continued, addressing herself to Jeanie, “_I_ cannot grant a pardon to your sister--but you shall not want my warm intercession with his Majesty. Take this house-wife case,” she continued, putting a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanieís hands; “do not open it now, but at your leisure--you will find something in it which will remind you that you have had an interview with Queen Caroline.”

Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on her knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude; but the Duke who was upon thorns lest she should say more or less than just enough, touched his chin once more.

“Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my Lord Duke,” said the Queen, “and, I trust, to your satisfaction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more frequently, both at Richmond and St. Jamesís.--Come Lady Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good-morning.”

They exchanged their parting reverences, and the Duke, so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from the ground, and conducted her back through the avenue, which she trode with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known your advocate. Cymbeline.

The Duke of Argyle led the way in silence to the small postern by which they had been admitted into Richmond Park, so long the favourite residence of Queen Caroline. It was opened by the same half-seen janitor, and they found themselves beyond the precincts of the royal demesne. Still not a word was spoken on either side. The Duke probably wished to allow his rustic proteígeíe time to recruit her faculties, dazzled and sunk with colloquy sublime; and betwixt what she had guessed, had heard, and had seen, Jeanie Deansís mind was too much agitated to permit her to ask any questions.

They found the carriage of the Duke in the place where they had left it; and when they resumed their places, soon began to advance rapidly on their return to town.

“I think, Jeanie,” said the Duke, breaking silence, “you have every reason to congratulate yourself on the issue of your interview with her Majesty.”

“And that leddy was the Queen herself?” said Jeanie; “I misdoubted it when I saw that your honour didna put on your hat--And yet I can hardly believe it, even when I heard her speak it herself.”

“It was certainly Queen Caroline,” replied the Duke. “Have you no curiosity to see what is in the little pocket-book?”

“Do you think the pardon will be in it, sir?” said Jeanie, with the eager animation of hope.

“Why, no,” replied the Duke; “that is unlikely. They seldom carry these things about them, unless they were likely to be wanted; and, besides, her Majesty told you it was the King, not she, who was to grant it.”

“That is true, too,” said Jeanie; “but I am so confused in my mind--But does your honour think there is a certainty of Effieís pardon then?” continued she, still holding in her hand the unopened pocket-book.

“Why, kings are kittle cattle to shoe behind, as we say in the north,” replied the Duke; “but his wife knows his trim, and I have not the least doubt that the matter is quite certain.”

“Oh, God be praised! God be praised!” ejaculated Jeanie; “and may the gude leddy never want the heartís ease she has gien me at this moment!-- And God bless you too, my Lord!--without your help I wad neíer hae won near her.”

The Duke let her dwell upon this subject for a considerable time, curious, perhaps, to see how long the feelings of gratitude would continue to supersede those of curiosity. But so feeble was the latter feeling in Jeanieís mind, that his Grace, with whom, perhaps, it was for the time a little stronger, was obliged once more to bring forward the subject of the Queenís present. It was opened accordingly. In the inside of the case was the usual assortment of silk and needles, with scissors, tweezers, etc.; and in the pocket was a bank-bill for fifty pounds.

The Duke had no sooner informed Jeanie of the value of this last document, for she was unaccustomed to see notes for such sums, than she expressed her regret at the mistake which had taken place. “For the hussy itsell,” she said, “was a very valuable thing for a keepsake, with the Queenís name written in the inside with her ain hand doubtless--_Caroline_--as plain as could be, and a crown drawn aboon it.”

She therefore tendered the bill to the Duke, requesting him to find some mode of returning it to the royal owner.

“No, no, Jeanie,” said the Duke, “there is no mistake in the case. Her Majesty knows you have been put to great expense, and she wishes to make it up to you.”

“I am sure she is even ower gude,” said Jeanie, “and it glads me muckle that I can pay back Dumbiedikes his siller, without distressing my father, honest man.”

“Dumbiedikes! What, a freeholder of Mid-Lothian, is he not?” said his Grace, whose occasional residence in that county made him acquainted with most of the heritors, as landed persons are termed in Scotland.--“He has a house not far from Dalkeith, wears a black wig and a laced hat?”

“Yes sir,” answered Jeanie, who had her reasons for being brief in her answers upon this topic.

“Ah, my old friend Dumbie!” said the Duke; “I have thrice seen him fou, and only once heard the sound of his voice--Is he a cousin of yours, Jeanie?”

“No, sir,--my Lord.”

“Then he must be a well-wisher, I suspect?”

“Ye--yes,--my Lord, sir,” answered Jeanie, blushing, and with hesitation.

“Aha! then, if the Laird starts, I suppose my friend Butler must be in some danger?”

“O no, sir,” answered Jeanie, much more readily, but at the same time blushing much more deeply.

“Well, Jeanie,” said the Duke, “you are a girl may be safely trusted with your own matters, and I shall inquire no farther about them. But as to this same pardon, I must see to get it passed through the proper forms; and I have a friend in office who will for auld lang syne, do me so much favour. And then, Jeanie, as I shall have occasion to send an express down to Scotland, who will travel with it safer and more swiftly than you can do, I will take care to have it put into the proper channel; meanwhile you may write to your friends by post of your good success.”

“And does your Honour think,” said Jeanie, “that will do as weel as if I were to take my tap in my lap, and slip my ways hame again on my ain errand?”

“Much better, certainly,” said the Duke. “You know the roads are not very safe for a single woman to travel.”

Jeanie internally acquiesced in this observation.

“And I have a plan for you besides. One of the Duchessís attendants, and one of mine--your acquaintance Archibald--are going down to Inverary in a light calash, with four horses I have bought, and there is room enough in the carriage for you to go with them as far as Glasgow, where Archibald will find means of sending you safely to Edinburgh.--And in the way I beg you will teach the woman as much as you can of the mystery of cheese-making, for she is to have a charge in the dairy, and I dare swear you are as tidy about your milk-pail as about your dress.”

“Does your Honour like cheese?” said Jeanie, with a gleam of conscious delight as she asked the question.

“Like it?” said the Duke, whose good-nature anticipated what was to follow,--“cakes and cheese are a dinner for an emperor, let alone a Highlandman.”

“Because,” said Jeanie, with modest confidence, and great and evident self-gratulation, “we have been thought so particular in making cheese, that some folk think it as gude as the real Dunlop; and if your honourís Grace wad but accept a stane or twa, blithe, and fain, and proud it wad make us? But maybe ye may like the ewe-milk, that is, the Buckholmside* cheese better; or maybe the gait-milk, as ye come frae the Highlands--and I canna pretend just to the same skeel oí them; but my cousin Jean, that lives at Lockermachus in Lammermuir, I could speak to her, and--”

* The hilly pastures of Buckholm, which the Author now surveys,--“Not in the frenzy of a dreamerís eye,”--are famed for producing the best ewe-milk cheese in the south of Scotland.

“Quite unnecessary,” said the Duke; “the Dunlop is the very cheese of which I am so fond, and I will take it as the greatest favour you can do me to send one to Caroline Park. But remember, be on honour with it, Jeanie, and make it all yourself, for I am a real good judge.”

“I am not feared,” said Jeanie, confidently, “that I may please your Honour; for I am sure you look as if you could hardly find fault wií onybody that did their best; and weel is it my part, I trow, to do mine.”

This discourse introduced a topic upon which the two travellers, though so different in rank and education, found each a good deal to say. The Duke, besides his other patriotic qualities, was a distinguished agriculturist, and proud of his knowledge in that department. He entertained Jeanie with his observations on the different breeds of cattle in Scotland, and their capacity for the dairy, and received so much information from her practical experience in return, that he promised her a couple of Devonshire cows in reward for the lesson. In short his mind was so transported back to his rural employments and amusements, that he sighed when his carriage stopped opposite to the old hackney-coach, which Archibald had kept in attendance at the place where they had left it. While the coachman again bridled his lean cattle, which had been indulged with a bite of musty hay, the Duke cautioned Jeanie not to be too communicative to her landlady concerning what had passed. “There is,” he said, “no use of speaking of matters till they are actually settled; and you may refer the good lady to Archibald, if she presses you hard with questions. She is his old acquaintance, and he knows how to manage with her.”

He then took a cordial farewell of Jeanie, and told her to be ready in the ensuing week to return to Scotland--saw her safely established in her hackney-coach, and rolled of in his own carriage, humming a stanza of the ballad which he is said to have composed:--

“At the sight of Dumbarton once again, Iíll cock up my bonnet and march amain, With my claymore hanging down to my heel, To whang at the bannocks of barley meal.”

Perhaps one ought to be actually a Scotsman to conceive how ardently, under all distinctions of rank and situation, they feel their mutual connection with each other as natives of the same country. There are, I believe, more associations common to the inhabitants of a rude and wild, than of a well-cultivated and fertile country; their ancestors have more seldom changed their place of residence; their mutual recollection of remarkable objects is more accurate; the high and the low are more interested in each otherís welfare; the feelings of kindred and relationship are more widely extended, and in a word, the bonds of patriotic affection, always honourable even when a little too exclusively strained, have more influence on menís feelings and actions.

The rumbling hackney-coach, which tumbled over the (then) execrable London pavement, at a rate very different from that which had conveyed the ducal carriage to Richmond, at length deposited Jeanie Deans and her attendant at the national sign of the Thistle. Mrs. Glass, who had been in long and anxious expectation, now rushed, full of eager curiosity and open-mouthed interrogation, upon our heroine, who was positively unable to sustain the overwhelming cataract of her questions, which burst forth with the sublimity of a grand gardyloo:--

“Had she seen the Duke, God bless him--the Duchess--the young ladies?-- Had she seen the King, God bless him--the Queen--the Prince of Wales--the Princess--or any of the rest of the royal family?--Had she got her sisterís pardon?--Was it out and out--or was it only a commutation of punishment?--How far had she gone--where had she driven to--whom had she seen--what had been said--what had kept her so long?”

Such were the various questions huddled upon each other by a curiosity so eager, that it could hardly wait for its own gratification. Jeanie would have been more than sufficiently embarrassed by this overbearing tide of interrogations, had not Archibald, who had probably received from his master a hint to that purpose, advanced to her rescue. “Mrs. Glass,” said Archibald, “his Grace desired me particularly to say, that he would take it as a great favour if you would ask the young woman no questions, as he wishes to explain to you more distinctly than she can do how her affairs stand, and consult you on some matters which she cannot altogether so well explain. The Duke will call at the Thistle to-morrow or next day for that purpose.”

“His Grace is very condescending,” said Mrs. Glass, her zeal for inquiry slaked for the present by the dexterous administration of this sugar plum--“his Grace is sensible that I am in a manner accountable for the conduct of my young kinswoman, and no doubt his Grace is the best judge how far he should intrust her or me with the management of her affairs.”

“His Grace is quite sensible of that,” answered Archibald, with national gravity, “and will certainly trust what he has to say to the most discreet of the two; and therefore, Mrs. Glass, his Grace relies you will speak nothing to Mrs. Jean Deans, either of her own affairs or her sisterís, until he sees you himself. He desired me to assure you, in the meanwhile, that all was going on as well as your kindness could wish, Mrs. Glass.”

“His Grace is very kind--very considerate, certainly, Mr. Archibald--his Graceís commands shall be obeyed, and--But you have had a far drive, Mr. Archibald, as I guess by the time of your absence, and I guess” (with an engaging smile) “you winna be the waur oí a glass of the right Rosa Solis.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Glass,” said the great manís great man, “but I am under the necessity of returning to my Lord directly.” And, making his adieus civilly to both cousins, he left the shop of the Lady of the Thistle.

“I am glad your affairs have prospered so well, Jeanie, my love,” said Mrs. Glass; “though, indeed, there was little fear of them so soon as the Duke of Argyle was so condescending as to take them into hand. I will ask you no questions about them, because his Grace, who is most considerate and prudent in such matters, intends to tell me all that you ken yourself, dear, and doubtless a great deal more; so that anything that may lie heavily on your mind may be imparted to me in the meantime, as you see it is his Graceís pleasure that I should be made acquainted with the whole matter forthwith, and whether you or he tells it, will make no difference in the world, ye ken. If I ken what he is going to say beforehand, I will be much more ready to give my advice, and whether you or he tell me about it, cannot much signify after all, my dear. So you may just say whatever you like, only mind I ask you no questions about it.”

Jeanie was a little embarrassed. She thought that the communication she had to make was perhaps the only means she might have in her power to gratify her friendly and hospitable kinswoman. But her prudence instantly suggested that her secret interview with Queen Caroline, which seemed to pass under a certain sort of mystery, was not a proper subject for the gossip of a woman like Mrs. Glass, of whose heart she had a much better opinion than of her prudence. She, therefore, answered in general, that the Duke had had the extraordinary kindness to make very particular inquiries into her sisterís bad affair, and that he thought he had found the means of putting it aí straight again, but that he proposed to tell all that he thought about the matter to Mrs. Glass herself.

This did not quite satisfy the penetrating mistress of the Thistle. Searching as her own small rappee, she, in spite of her promise, urged Jeanie with still farther questions. “Had she been aí that time at Argyle House? Was the Duke with her the whole time? and had she seen the Duchess? and had she seen the young ladies--and specially Lady Caroline Campbell?”--To these questions Jeanie gave the general reply, that she knew so little of the town that she could not tell exactly where she had been; that she had not seen the Duchess to her knowledge; that she had seen two ladies, one of whom, she understood, bore the name of Caroline; and more, she said, she could not tell about the matter.

“It would be the Dukeís eldest daughter, Lady Caroline Campbell, there is no doubt of that,” said Mrs. Glass; “but doubtless, I shall know more particularly through his Grace.--And so, as the cloth is laid in the little parlour above stairs, and it is past three oíclock, for I have been waiting this hour for you, and I have had a snack myself; and, as they used to say in Scotland in my time--I do not ken if the word be used now--there is ill talking between a full body and a fasting.”

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

Heaven first taught letters for some wretchís aid,-- Some banished lover or some captive maid. Pope.

By dint of unwonted labour with the pen, Jeanie Deans contrived to indite, and give to the charge of the postman on the ensuing day, no less than three letters, an exertion altogether strange to her habits; insomuch so, that, if milk had been plenty, she would rather have made thrice as many Dunlop cheeses. The first of them was very brief. It was addressed to George Staunton, Esq., at the Rectory, Willingham, by Grantham; the address being part of the information she had extracted from the communicative peasant who rode before her to Stamford. It was in these words:--

“Sir,--To prevent farder mischieves, whereof there hath been enough, comes these: Sir, I have my sisterís pardon from the Queenís Majesty, whereof I do not doubt you will be glad, having had to say naut of matters whereof you know the purport. So, Sir, I pray for your better welfare in bodie and soul, and that it will please the fisycian to visit you in His good time. Alwaies, sir, I pray you will never come again to see my sister, whereof there has been too much. And so, wishing you no evil, but even your best good, that you may be turned from your iniquity (for why suld ye die?) I rest your humble servant to command, “_Ye ken wha._”

The next letter was to her father. It is too long altogether for insertion, so we only give a few extracts. It commenced--