« 이전계속 »
ship was not lost: it arrived, and he arrived same apartment with him made it necessary at that far foreign port—the very name of -no wonder that it was with a sick impawhich, if you mentioned it, would still send tience and disgust of every thing, that Bell, a thrill of pain through Bell's vigorous frame. at last, closed her wearied, hot eyes upon But there the darkness swallowed up the the dawning light. brave and candid sailor ; what he had to say " And he's sell’t Lillie!” were the first for himself, or, if he had nothing to say for words Bell said, as, hastily dressing herself, himself, and the lie against which Bell strug- she looked out at her little window next gled was true, nobody could tell. The an- morning, and saw Robert Brown's black guish of that long expectation need not be cow already in the dewy field. The bittertold ; the quiet years had swallowed it up ness of this exclamation could only be underand gone down upon it, leaving no trace. stood by an Annandale girl, proudly conBell went away when she could endure no scious of one beautiful fair cow among the longer, " to service,” to quench her heart, or little group of black cattle so usual in Dumget new life into it; in that primeval strug- friesshire. Amid all her more engrossing gle with hard labor and outside facts, which troubles, Bell could yet feel a pang for the is the best discipline for human creatures. loss of Lillie, her mother's favorite, the She had fought her battle so far bravely; "grandest milker" in the whole parish. till now, at last, when she had come home. “ It's just like a' the rest,” she said to her
But, to see before her very eyes that au- self bitterly, as she went down-stairs. And thor of her calamity ; to know that she had perhaps it did not give a more Christian been sent for-not to fill her dead mother's gentleness to her feelings as she descended place, nor from the impulse of a relenting into the hard beginning of her unlovely heart, softened by sorrow_but to be wooed life. and carried home by this man, the object of When the father and daughter met that all the resentment possible to woman, the morning, neither of them took any notice cause of all her sufferings_Bell would have whatever of the scene of last night. In such been more than a mere human daughter primitive Scotch households, "good-night” could she have borne it. Her breast swelled and “good-morrow" are dispensed with in a passion of grief, indignation, injured from members of the same family. There love, and injured pride. With a hysterical were no morning salutations between gasp it swelled, “as if it would burst." These Andrew Carr and his daughter. They emotions, which rose so high in her own re- took their homely breakfast together with tirement, where no mother followed now to little conversation. What talk there was, soften the tide of passion or cool the burn- was about “the beasts,” that subject on ing cheek, would never be disclosed to the which an Annandale peasant is naturally light of day. All a Scotchwoman's jealous eloquent. The old man had bethought himreticence all the proud, shy, self-control of self that there was a calf of Lillie's in the a country girl, brought up in such a house byer, and condescended to conciliate Bell by as that of Whinnyrig, built strong barriers this fact. And Bell, we are obliged to conaround to confine the food within its source; fess, though it may convey a depreciating but here, where no one could see, the pas- impression of her character and mind, was sionate bosom swelled, the wild hands conciliated and pleased to hear it. She went clenched each other, the bitterness poured about her work more lightly in consequence. itself forth. There were gleams in the east She patted the long-legged, foolish animal, of early dawn, and the atmosphere had called it “my bonnie woman,” fed it out of lightened, with a gradual smile and clearing her own hand-did every thing an experiof outline, all outside, before sleep visited enced country-woman could do to attract its the eyes of Bell. Ere that time she had youthful affections. She had a hard day's nerved herself, as best she could, for that work before her, as always, and no time for prospect before her. These daily, nightly thinking. Marget Brown, too, came up at persecutions; the necessity of bearing with an early hour from the cottage, and the two this man's presence; hearing him, seeing fell into close conversation, as became old him, knowing why he came; even, perhaps, friends On the whole, Bell was not misertolerating his suit, so far as being within the able. She was nothing in the world of a heroine. When she went out to the door aye a rael guid woman, as was seen on her and lingered a moment in her pretty country at the last. But, Bell, if ye'll believe me, I dress—that short gown and petticoat which dinna doubt she got mair light on some has almost disappeared out of Scotland-things at the hinder end." and, putting up her hand to shelter her eyes, Bell's face flushed with sudden excitement; looked out upon the familiar landscape-it she held out her hands in a wild appeal to was, indeed, the landscape she looked at, her companion, and gasped an inarticulate and not any illusive picture in her own im- inquiry which startled Marget. agination; the low pastoral hills, not very " I'm no meaning ony thing to make ye far off, with all their different tinges of color; look so white,” cried Marget, “naething out the rich wooded line which betrayed towards o' the way. Bell, my woman! Bless me, the east the course of "the water ;” the no! Naething uncanny ever came to a saint "peat-moss," on the other side of the little like yon. But just when a' was maist ower, hillock, with its fantastic paths and deep and me at the bedside (and sair, sair vexed cuttings, glimmering where the sun caught we were that ye couldna be sent for—but them with gleams of water--all this was fair death aye seems sudden whenever he comes) and sweet to the accustomed eyes of Bell. -she held out her bit thin hands, and
says And not less sweet was the hum that filled she, · Willie! bless ye, my man!' says she, the atmosphere everywhere-an indefinite "ye'll make my bairn happy yet.' Bell! mist of sound, in which poultry, sheep, cattle, Eh, my woman! I wouldna have tell’t ye if and men had all their distinct inarticulate I had thought ye would have ta’en't sao strain, and which now and then the soft low muckle to heart.” of a cow or the sharp bark of a dog defined For poor Bell, as was but natural, had for an instant and made complete. When, fallen into a passion of tears. When these at last, her own thoughts began to reflect were spent, however, the Scotch girl quickly themselves in that landscape, and Bell re-recovered her composure. It was a wondermembered that along that moorland road last ful relief to her heart to be at liberty to speak night her unwelcome admirer had made his about her mother at all, and the two entered appearance, she dropped her hand from her upon that sad engrossing subject with all the eyes and turned back to her work-wiser in minutiæ of recollection, and all the eagerunconscious natural wisdom than many a ness of inquiry which specially belongs to great philosopher. Such indulgences of sen- the death-bed. But when Marget had untiment were not for the manager of Whinny- burdened her heart of all her remembrances, rig-not, at least, in good daylight and with she returned to her original starting-point. work in hand to do.
“But, mind my words," said Marget, “I dinna doubt ye'll mak a change-you" Jamie Lowther O'Broomlees has grippit ought at your time o' life, with a' the world the auld man fast, Bell. He's gotten our before you," said Marget Brown ; "it's no maister in his toils, as I say to Robbielike me, hadden doun with wark and weans. some way or other he's gotten that influence Young folks dinna ken, as I say to Robbie on him a body daurna say a word. And, eh, mony's the day—dinna ken the half nor the Bell, if ye canna turn your heart to young quarter of what's before them; no that I Broomlees-as indeed it's little to be exwould envy you. Bell, my woman, ye'll pected-ye'll hae an awfu' handfu'o'the auld have an awfu’ handfu' of the auld man, if ye man!” canna turn your heart to young Broom- Bell heard this augury in silence; she lees."
knew it well enough without any warning. “If ye want to please me, Marget, ye'll Just now she had her mother's gleam of never mention his name," said Bell, shortly. death-bed wandering or insight—which was
“I'm sure it's nae pleasure to me,” said it ?-to comfort her. There was no doubt Marget. "I canna say he ever took my on the subject in Bell's mind; she received fancy, yon lad—nae mair like some o' his these words as if they had come from kin—But whisht, whisht, we're no to speak heaven—a sacredness more than earthly was o' that. The mistress, ye ken, she never about the utterance of the dying. It came would say one thing nor anither. She was to her like a ray of light in the surrounding aye for waiting upon Providence ; she was darkness—she felt her heart buoyed up with
an unexplainable exhilaration. If the influ- | I was young and free, I might bend my heart ence waned, it was at least ineffable for the to your bidding, faither ; but ye ken a' as time.
weel as me. Let alane a' that's happened, That night Andrew Carr himself entered and a' I blame Jamie Lowther for ; let alaze upon the same all-important subject. The I count him for my enemy, though I wish two were alone together as before ; but Bell him no ill; let alane a' thing but the ae was busy with her stockings from the begin- thing—there's this still,” said Bell, a sob ning of the conversation, and that very fact escaping from her in the midst of her helped to fortify and calm her.
words, “I like anither lad better and O “ Bell,” said her father, “it's my desire faither, faither! you ken that, and so does you should show some civility to Jamie he.” Lowther. Ye ken what he comes here for as " It makes nae difference," said the old weel as me.”
man: “if ye can speak up in my face, and “ He might ken better than to come here name that ne'er-do-weel that cares nothing at a’,” said Bell, with involuntary bitter- for you, as is weel seen ; if ye’ve nae shame
like ither women, it's no my blame-I lay “ That's
's no a manner to speak to me," said my command upon you, and this is what ye Andrew Carr; “I require ye, upon your are to do." obedience, to do what I'm telling ye. It's “But I canna," said Bell; “ony thing for you Jamie Lowther comes here, and I've else in the world--ony thing else in the promised him he's to get you.”
world, if it was my life.” “Faither!” cried Bell, with a start and “I wonder what the better I wad be o cry of indignation.
your life,” said the old man, testily; "your " I'm speaking plain fac'," cried the irri- life! Na; ony thing but the only thing tated old man ; “I'm in my ain house, where that's wanted ! I've made up my mind; I've aye been king and priest. Providence tak Jamie Lowther, or never mair ca’ yourgied me the charge ower you, and it's your self bairn o'mine.” business to obey."
"If I was to be cast out of the house this “ If it's to be ceevil, I'll be ceevil,” said moment; if I was to die on the moor, and Bell, restraining herself with a great effort; never more see the light of day; if I was to “and I'm no unceevil,” she added, in a lower be swallowed up by the earth, like Dathan voice.
and Abiram," cried Bell-gradually rising “ Hear to what I've got to say to you. in irrestrainable emotion, wringing her I've chosen him for your man—I've prom- hands, yet facing him with a pale look of ised you for a wife to him,” said Andrew resolve — for she knew her father well Carr; “ye're mine to dispose of baith by enough to know that he could keep even God's law and man's, and I tell ye I've gien such a promise"I'll die if ye like, and Jamie Lowther my word.”
welcome, but I'll no perjure my soul !” “ “But, faither, ye ken it canna be,” said The two faced each other for a moment, Bell, holding her breath so strongly, to both resolute, daring all things. Then the keep herself calm, that her words ended in a old man turned his chair round to the fire. gasp.
“I'll gie ye three days to think,” said An“Wherefore canna it be? I've gien my drew Carr. word it shall be,” said Andrew Carr.
Bell sank down on her seat trembling, “You're hard, but you're no that hard,” yet restraining herself. Three days! and it cried poor Bell, always struggling after the was but yesterday, with thoughts so differmeekness which was so difficult to her. “If I ent, that she had come home!
From Once a week.
ering that Pope did not die until 1744, when ALLAN RAMSAY, JUNIOR.
Mr. Ramsay must have been at least thirtyALLAN RAMSAY, the author of the “Gen- one. tle Shepherd,”—“the best pastoral that had He had considerable talent for art. He ever been written,” said Mr. Boswell, whose began to sketch at twelve. But his father judgments upon poetry, however, are not was poor with a large family to support,-it final, Allan Ramsay, the poet, father of was not possible to afford much of an eduAllan Ramsay, principal painter to King cation to the young artist. He had to deGeorge the Third, claimed descent from the velop his abilities as he best could. In noble house of Dalhousie ; he was the great- 1736, when he was probably twenty-three, grandson of the laird of Cockpen. His the father wrote of him thus simply and tenclaim was admitted by the contemporary derly : “My son Allan has been pursuing earl, who ever took pride in recognizing, as his science since he was a dozen years auld ; a relative, the “restorer of Scottish national was with Mr. Hyffidg, in London, for some poetry.” Certainly the poetical branch of time about two years ago; has since been the family tree had been in some danger of painting here like a Raphael ; sets out for being lost altogether—the clouds of obscu- the seat of the Beast beyond the Alps within rity had so gathered round it—the sunshine a month hence to be away two years. I am of good fortune had so ceased to play upon sweer”-i.e., loath—" to part with him, but it. The laird's children appear to have been canna stem the current which flows from the of the humblest class, dwelling in a poor advice of his patrons and his own inclinahamlet on the banks of the Glangomar, a tions.” This letter was addressed to one tributary of the Clyde among the hills be- John Smybert, also a self-taught artist. He tween Clydesdale and Annandale. The fa- had commenced in Edinburgh as a housether of the Gentle Shepherd is said to have painter, and, growing ambitious, found himbeen a workman in Lord Hopetoun's lead self after a time in London, choosing bemines, and the Gentle Shepherd himself, as tween starvation and the decoration of grand a child, was employed as a washer of ore.coach-panels in Long Acre factories. In Early in the last century he was in Edin- 1728 he settled in Boston, and shares with burgh, a barber's apprentice. In 1729 he had John Watson, another Scotchman, who had published his comic pastoral, and was then preceded him some years, the honor of in a bookseller's shop in the Luckenbooths. founding painting as an art-from a EuroHere he used to amuse Gay, famous for his pean point of view—in the New World. Newgate pastoral, with pointing out the Those who had hesitated in their patronchief characters and literati of the city as age of the poet were not disinclined to aid they met daily in the forenoon at the Cross, the painter. It is much less difficult a mataccording to custom. Here Gay first read ter to have one's portrait painted than to be the “ Gentle Shepherd,” and studied the able to appreciate a poem. Means were Scottish dialect, so that, on his return to forthcoming to enable the art-student to quit England, he was able to explain to Pope the Edinburgh in 1736 for Rome. He remained peculiar merits of the poem. And the poets, there during three years, receiving instrucGay and Ramsay, spent much time and emp- tion from Francesco Solimena, called also tied many glasses together at a twopenny l’Abate Ciccio, and one Imperiali, an artist alehouse opposite Queensbury House, kept of less fame. Of both it may be said, howby one Janet Hall, called more frequently ever, that they did little enough to stay the Janet Ha'.
downfall of Italian art. It was at Edinburgh that Allan Ramsay, On the return of Allan Ramsay, junior, to junior, was born, the eldest of seven children, Scotland, we learn little more of him than in the year 1713, or in 1709, as some say. that he painted portraits of Duncan Forbes, Late in life he was fond of understating his of his own sister, Miss Janet Ramsay, and age as people somehow will do.
Archibald, Duke of Argyle, in his robes as “ I am old enough,” he said once, with the Lord of Session ; finally, he removed to air of making a very frank avowal, “ I am London. old enough to have been a contemporary of He was so fortunate as to find many valu. Pope.” Which was not remarkable, consid- | able friends. The Earl of Bridgewater was an early patron, followed by Lord Bute, were always sitters in his studio: he had as whose powerful position at court enabled much work as he could do, while yet he him to introduce the painter to the heir-ap- found time for self-cultivation. He must parent of the crown, Frederick, Prince of have possessed an active, restless mind. He Wales. Two portraits of his royal highness was not content with being merely a clever, were commanded, full-length, and one re- hard-working, money-making painter. Even markable for being in profile. Still greater at Rome he had studied other things beside fame accrued to him, however, for his por- art. As Mr. Fuseli states magniloquently, trait of Lord Bute, who was said to have after his manner, "he was smit with the had the handsomest leg in England. His love of classic lore, and desired to trace, on lordship was conscious of his advantage, dubious vestiges, the haunts of ancient genand, during the sitting to Ramsay for his ius and learning.” He made himself a good whole-length portrait, engraved by Ryland, Latin, French, and Italian scholar ; indeed, was careful to hold up his robes considera- | he is said to have mastered most of the bly above his right knee, so that his well- modern European languages, with the excepformed limbs should be thoroughly well tion of Russian. His German he found of exhibited. While, as though to direct the no slight service to him in the court of the attention of the spectator, with the forefin- Guelphs. Later in life he studied Greek, ger of his right hand he pointed down to and acquitted himself as a commendable his leg, and in this position remained for an scholar. hour. The painter availed himself to the Artists less accomplished, were inclined full of the opportunity, and humored the to charge him with being above his business, minister to the top of his bent. The pic- and more anxious to be accounted a person ture was a genuine triumph. Reynolds, of taste and learning than to be valued as never popular at court, grew jealous of his a painter. Just as Congreve disclaimed the rival's success, and alarmed lest it should character of a poet, declaring he had writlead to extraordinary advancement. When ten plays but for pastime, and begged he the Marquis of Rockingham was posed be- might be considered merely as a gentleman. fore Sir Joshua for the full-length picture, There was no one to say to Ramsay, howengraved by Fisher, the nobleman asked ever, as Voltaire-nothing, if not literarythe painter if he had not given a strut to said to Congreve, “ If you had been merely the left leg. “My lord,” replied Sir Joshua a gentleman, I should not have come to see with a smile, “I wish to show a leg with you.” On the contrary men applauded RamRamsay's Lord Bute.”
say for qualities quite apart from professional The painter prospered steadily, and, of merits. course, was well abused ; but success is al- “ I love Ramsay,” said Samuel Johnson to ways sure to bring with it envy and satire. his biographer. “You will not find a man Mr. William Hogarth, who objected strongly in whose conversation there is more instructo competitors, sought to jest down the ad- tion, more information, and more elegance vancing Scotchman with a feeble pun about than in Ramsay's.” a Ram's eye! William was very much less Perhaps it may be noted that this remark clever when he had a pen in his hand than of the doctor upon his friend follows curiwhen he was wielding a brush or an etching- ously close upon his satisfactory comment needle.
upon an entertainment at the house of the The Reverend Charles Churchill, very an- painter. gry with North Britons, wrote sneering lines “Well, sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid in the “Prophecy of Famine: "
“What I admire in Ramsay,” says Mr. “ Thence came the Ramsays men of worthy note, Of whom one paints as well as t'other wrote." Boswell
, “ is his continuing to be so young!"
Johnson concedes : “Why, yes, sir, it is By and by these two critics forgot Ram- to be admired. I value myself upon this, Bay, and were busy with each other, bandy- that there is nothing of the old man in my ing abuse and interchanging mud. The conversation. I am now sixty-eight, and I court-painter heeded little their comments. have no more of it than at twenty-eight." He was putting money in his purse. There And the good doctor runs on rather garru