His sister survived till the publication of the tale to which this brief notice forms the introduction; and the author is sorry to learn that a sort of local sympathy, and the curiosity then expressed concerning the Author of WAVERLEY and the subjects of his Novels, exposed the poor woman to enquiries which gave her pain. When pressed about her brothers peculiarities, she asked, in her turn, why they would not permit the dead to rest? To others, who pressed for some account of her parents, she answered in the same tone of feeling.
The author saw this poor, and, it may be said, unhappy man, in autumn 1797 being then, as he has the happiness still to remain, connected by ties of intimate friendship with the family of the venerable Dr. Adam Fergusson, the philosopher and historian, who then resided at the mansion-house of Halyards, in the vale of Manor, about a mile from Ritchies hermitage, the author was upon a visit at Halyards, which lasted for several days, and was made acquainted with this singular anchorite, whom Dr. Fergusson considered as an extraordinary character, and whom he assisted in various ways, particularly by the occasional loan of books. Though the taste of the philosopher and the poor peasant did not, it may be supposed, always correspond, [I remember David was particularly anxious to see a book, which he called, I think, LETTERS TO ELECT LADIES, and which, he said, was the best composition he had ever read; but Dr. Fergussons library did not supply the volume.] Dr. Fergusson considered him as a man of a powerful capacity and original ideas, but whose mind was thrown off its just bias by a predominant degree of self-love and self-opinion, galled by the sense of ridicule and contempt, and avenging itself upon society, in idea at least, by a gloomy misanthropy.
David Ritchie, besides the utter obscurity of his life while in existence, had been dead for many years, when it occurred to the author that such a character might be made a powerful agent in fictitious narrative. He, accordingly, sketched that of Elshie of the Mucklestane-Moor. The story was intended to be longer, and the catastrophe more artificially brought out; but a friendly critic, to whose opinion I subjected the work in its progress, was of opinion, that the idea of the Solitary was of a kind too revolting, and more likely to disgust than to interest the reader. As I had good right to consider my adviser as an excellent judge of public opinion, I got off my subject by hastening the story to an end, as fast as it was possible; and, by huddling into one volume, a tale which was designed to occupy two, have perhaps produced a narrative as much disproportioned and distorted, as the Black Dwarf who is its subject.
III. THE BLACK DWARF
CHAPTER I
PRELIMINARYHast any philosophy in thee, Shepherd? AS YOU LIKE IT.
It was a fine April morning (excepting that it had snowed hard the night before, and the ground remained covered with a dazzling mantle of six inches in depth) when two horsemen rode up to the Wallace Inn. The first was a strong, tall, powerful man, in a grey riding-coat, having a hat covered with waxcloth, a huge silver-mounted horsewhip, boots, and dreadnought overalls. He was mounted on a large strong brown mare, rough in coat, but well in condition, with a saddle of the yeomanry cut, and a double-bitted military bridle. The man who accompanied him was apparently his servant; he rode a shaggy little grey pony, had a blue bonnet on his head, and a large check napkin folded about his neck, wore a pair of long blue worsted hose instead of boots, had his gloveless hands much stained with tar, and observed an air of deference and respect towards his companion, but without any of those indications of precedence and punctilio which are preserved between the gentry and their domestics. On the contrary, the two travellers entered the court-yard abreast, and the concluding sentence of the conversation which had been carrying on betwixt them was a joint ejaculation, Lord guide us, an this weather last, what will come o the lambs! The hint was sufficient for my Landlord, who, advancing to take the horse of the principal person, and holding him by the reins as he dismounted, while his ostler rendered the same service to the attendant, welcomed the stranger to Gandercleugh, and, in the same breath, enquired, What news from the south hielands?
News? said the farmer, bad eneugh news, I think; an we can carry through the yowes, it will be a we can do; we maun een leave the lambs to the Black Dwarfs care.
Ay, ay, subjoined the old shepherd (for such he was), shaking his head, hell be unco busy amang the morts this season.
The Black Dwarf! said MY LEARNED FRIEND AND PATRON, Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, and what sort of a personage may he be?
[We have, in this and other instances, printed in italics (CAPITALS in this etext) some few words which the worthy editor, Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, seems to have interpolated upon the text of his deceased friend, Mr. Pattieson. We must observe, once for all, that such liberties seem only to have been taken by the learned gentleman where his own character and conduct are concerned; and surely he must be the best judge of the style in which his own character and conduct should be treated of.]
Hout awa, man, answered the farmer, yell hae heard o Canny Elshie the Black Dwarf, or I am muckle mistaen A the warld tells tales about him, but its but daft nonsense after a I dinna believe a word ot frae beginning to end.
Your father believed it unco stievely, though, said the old man, to whom the scepticism of his master gave obvious displeasure.
Ay, very true, Bauldie, but that was in the time o the blackfaces they believed a hantle queer things in thae days, that naebody heeds since the lang sheep cam in.
The mairs the pity, the mairs the pity, said the old man. Your father, and sae I have aften telld ye, maister, wad hae been sair vexed to hae seen the auld peel-house was pud down to make park dykes; and the bonny broomy knowe, where he liked sae weel to sit at een, wi his plaid about him, and look at the kye as they cam down the loaning, ill wad he hae liked to hae seen that braw sunny knowe a riven out wi the pleugh in the fashion it is at this day.
Hout, Bauldie, replied the principal, tak ye that dram the landlords offering ye, and never fash your head about the changes o the warld, sae lang as yere blithe and bien yoursell.
Wussing your health, sirs, said the shepherd; and having taken off his glass, and observed the whisky was the right thing, he continued, Its no for the like o us to be judging, to be sure; but it was a bonny knowe that broomy knowe, and an unco braw shelter for the lambs in a severe morning like this.
Ay, said his patron, but ye ken we maun hae turnips for the lang sheep, billie, and muckle hard wark to get them, baith wi the pleugh and the howe; and that wad sort ill wi sitting on the broomy knowe, and cracking about Black Dwarfs, and siccan clavers, as was the gate lang syne, when the short sheep were in the fashion.
Aweel, aweel, maister, said the attendant, short sheep had short rents, Im thinking.
Here my WORTHY AND LEARNED patron again interposed, and observed, that he could never perceive any material difference, in point of longitude, between one sheep and another.
This occasioned a loud hoarse laugh on the part of the farmer, and an astonished stare on the part of the shepherd.
Its the woo, man, its the woo, and no the beasts themsells, that makes them be cad lang or short. I believe if ye were to measure their backs, the short sheep wad be rather the langer-bodied o the twa; but its the woo that pays the rent in thae days, and it had muckle need.