THE LIFE BEYOND. BY GERALD MASSEY. Although its features fade in light of unimagined bliss, We have shadowy revealings of the Better World in this. A little glimpse, when Spring unveils her face and opes her eyes, Of the Sleeping Beauty in the soul that wakes in Paradise. A little drop of Heaven in each diamond of the shower, A little hint that stirs and thrills the wings we fold within, A little silver shiver in the ripple of the river Caught from the light that knows no night for ever and for ever! A little hidden likeness, often faded and defiled, Of the great, the good All-father, in His poorest human child! Although the best be lost in light of unimagined bliss, THE BANNOCK O' TOLLISHILL. [John Mackay Wilson, born about 1800; died at Berwick-on-Tweed, 2d October, 1835. He was a printer, and his taste for literature enabled him to combine with his business the pleasures and pains of authorship. He became editor of the Berwick Advertiser, and afterwards originated the famous series of sketches and stories known as the Tales of the Borders. He wrote the greater part of the first volumes himself, but the remarkable success of the work soon enabled him to obtain the assistance of Hugh Miller, Professor Thomas Gillespie, Alexander Campbell, T. Martin, Alexander Leighton (the editor of the latest editions of the Tales), and others.] "Every bannock had its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill."-Scottish Proverb. Belike, gentle reader, thou hast often heard the proverb quoted above, that "Every bannock had its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill." The saying hath its origin in a romantic tradition of the Lammermoors, which I shall relate to thee. Tollishill is the name of a sheep-farm in Berwickshire, situated in the parish of Lauder. Formerly it was divided into three farms, which were occupied by dif ferent tenants; and, by way of distinguishing it from the others, that in which dwelt the subjects of our present story was generally called Midside, and our heroine obtained the appellation of Midside Maggy. Tollishill was the property of John, second Earl, and afterwards Duke of Lauderdale, a personage whose character posterity hath small cause to hold in veneration. Yet it is a black character, indeed, in which there is not to be found one streak of sunshine; and the story of the "Bannock of Tollishill" referreth to such a streak in the history of John, the Lord of Thirlestane. which is considered as being more immediately the characteristic of the buying and selling children of society. His landlord was no favourer of the Covenant; and, though Thomas wished well to the cause, he did not see the necessity for making his laird, the Lord of Lauderdale, his enemy for its sake. He, therefore, judged it wise to remain a neutral spectator of the religious and political struggles of the period. But Thomas was a bachelor. Half a century had he been in the world, and the eyes of no woman had had power to throw a spark into his heart. In his single, solitary state he was happy, or he thought himself happy; and that is much the same thing. But an accident occurred which led him first to believe, and eventually to feel, that he was but a solitary and comfortless moorland farmer, toiling for he knew not what, and laying up treasure he knew not for whom. Yea, and while others had their wives spinning, carding, knitting, and smiling before them; and their bairns running, laughing, and sporting round about them, he was but a poor deserted creature, with nobody to care for, or to care for him. Every person had some object to strive for, and to make them strive, but Thomas Hardie; or to use his own words, he was "just in the situation o' a tewhit that has lost its mate-te-urheet! te-wheet! it cried, flapping its wings impatiently and forlornly-and te-wheet! te-wheet! answered vacant echo frae the dreary glens." Thomas had been to Morpeth disposing of a part of his hirsels, and he had found a much better market for them than he anticipated. He returned, therefore, with a heavy purse, which generally hath a tendency to create a light and merry heart; and he arrived at Westruther, and went into a hostel, where, Time hath numbered somewhat more than a three or four times in the year, he was in the hundred and ninety years since Thomas Hardie habit of spending a cheerful evening with his became tenant of the principal farm of Tollis- friends. He had called for a quegh of the hill. Now, that the reader may picture Thomas landlady's best, and he sat down at his ease Hardie as he was, and as tradition hath de- with the liquor before him, for he had but a scribed him, he or she must imagine a tall, short way to travel. He also pulled out his strong, and fresh-coloured man of fifty; a few tobacco-box and his pipe, and began to inhale hairs of gray mingling with his brown locks; the fumes of what, up to that period, was almost a countenance expressive of much good-nature a forbidden weed. But we question much if and some intelligence; while a Lowland bonnet the royal book of James the Sixth of Scotland was drawn over his brow. The other parts of and First of England, which he published his dress were of coarse, gray, homespun cloth, against the use of tobacco, ever found its way manufactured in Earlston: and across his into the Lammermoors, though the Indian shoulders, in summer as well as in winter, he weed did; therefore Thomas Hardie sat enjoywore the mountain plaid. His principles as- ing his glass and his pipe, unconscious or resimilated to those held by the men of the Cove-gardless of the fulminations which he, who was nant; but Thomas, though a native of the king in his boyhood, had published against hills, was not without the worldly prudence the latter. But he had not sat long, when a fair maiden, an acquaintance of "mine hostess," entered the hostelry, and began to assist her in the cutting out or fashioning of a crimson kirtle. Her voice fell upon the ears of Thomas like the "music of sweet sounds." He had never heard a voice before that not only fell softly on his ear, but left a lingering murmur in his heart. She, too, was a young thing of not more than eighteen. If ever hair might be called "gowden," it was hers. It was a light and shining bronze, where the prevalence of the golden hue gave a colour to the whole. Her face was a thing of beauty, over which health spread its roseate hue, yet softly, as though the westling winds had caused the leaves of the blushing rose to kiss her cheeks, and leave their delicate hues and impression behind them. She was of a middle stature, and her figure was such, although arrayed in homely garments, as would have commanded the worship of a connoisseur of grace and symmetry. But beyond all that kindled a flame within the hitherto obdurate heart of Thomas, was the witching influence of her smile. For a full hour he sat with his eyes fixed upon her; save at intervals, when he withdrew them to look into the unwonted agitation of his own breast, and examine the cause. "Amongst the daughters of women," thought he unto himself for he had a sprinkling of the language of the age about him-"none have I seen so beautiful. Her cheeks bloom bonnier than the heather on Tollishill, and her bosom seems saft as the new-shorn fleece. Her smile is like a blink o' sunshine, and would mak summer to those on whom it fell a' the year round." He also discovered for the first time, that Tollishill was a dull place, especially in the winter season. When, therefore, the fair damsel had arrayed the fashion of the kirtle and departed, without once having seemed to observe Thomas, he said unto the goodwife of the hostelry-"And wha, noo, if it be a fair question, may that bonnie lassie be?" "She is indeed a bonnie lassie," answered the landlady, "and a guid lassie, too; and I hae nae doot but, as ye are a single man, Maister Hardie, yer question is fair enough. Her name is Margaret Lylestone, and she is the only bairn o' a puir infirm widow that cam to live here some twa or three years syne. They cam frae south owre some way, and I am sure they hae seen better days. We thocht at first that the auld woman had been a Catholic; but, I suppose, that isna the case, though they certainly are baith o' them strong Episcopawlians, and in nae way favourable to the preachers or the word o' the Covenant; but I maun say for Maggie, that she is a bonnie, sweet-tempered, and obleegin lassie—though, puir thing, her mother has brocht her up in a wrang way.' Many days had not passed ere Thomas Hardie, arrayed in his Sunday habiliments, paid another visit to Westruther; and he cautiously asked of the goodwife of the hostel many questions concerning Margaret; and although she jeered him, and said that "Maggy would ne'er think o' a gray-haired carle like him," he brooded over the fond fancy; and although on this visit he saw her not, he returned to Tollishill thinking of her as his bride. It was a difficult thing for a man of fifty, who had been the companion of solitude from his youth upwards, and who had lived in single blessedness amidst the silence of the hills, without feeling the workings of the heart, or being subjected to the influence of its passions-I say, it was indeed difficult for such a one to declare, in the ear of a blooming maiden of eighteen, the tale of his first affections. But an opportunity arrived which enabled him to disembosom the burden that pressed upon his heart. But It has been mentioned that Margaret Lylestone and her mother were poor; and the latter, who had long been bowed down with infirmities, was supported by the industry of her daughter. They had also a cow, which was permitted to graze upon the hills without fee or reward; and with the milk which it produced, and the cheese they manufactured, together with the poor earnings of Margaret, positive want was long kept from them. the old woman became more and more infirm -the hand of death seemed stretching over her. She required nourishment which Margaret could not procure for her; and that it might be procured that her mother might live and not die-the fair maiden sent the cow to Kelso to be sold, from whence the seller was to bring with him the restoratives that her parent required. Now, it so was that Thomas Hardie, the tenant of Tollishill, was in Kelso market when the cow of Widow Lylestone was offered for sale; and as it possessed the characteristic marks of a good milcher, he inquired to whom it belonged. On being answered, he turned round for a few moments, and stood thoughtful; but, again turning to the individual who had been intrusted to dispose of it, he inquired "And wherefore is she selling it?" "Really, Maister Hardie," replied the other, "I could not positively say; but I hae little doot it is for want-absolute necessity. The auld woman's very frail and very ill; I hae to tak a' sort o' things oot to her the nicht frae the doctor's, after selling the cow, and it's no in the power o' things that her dochter, industrious as she is, should be able to get them for her otherwise." Thomas again turned aside, and drew his sleeve across his eyes. Having inquired the price sought for the cow, he handed the money to the seller, and gave the animal in charge to one of his herdsmen. He left the market earlier than usual, and directed his servant that the cow should be taken to Westruther. It was drawing towards gloaming before! Thomas approached the habitation of the widow; and, before he could summon courage to enter it for the first time, he sauntered for several minutes backward and forward on the moor, by the side of the Blackadder, which there silently wends its way as a dull and simple burn through the moss. He felt all the awkwardness of an old man struggling beneath the influence of a young feeling. He thought of what he should say, how he should act, and how he would be received. At length he had composed a short introductory and explanatory speech which pleased him. He thought it contained both feeling and delicacy (according to his notions of the latter) in their proper proportions, and after repeating it three or four times over by the side of the Blackadder, he proceeded towards the cottage, still repeating it to himself as he went. But, when he raised his hand and knocked at the door, his heart gave a similar knock upon his bosom, as though it mimicked him; and every idea, every word of the introductory speech, which he had studied and repeated again and again, short though it was, was knocked from his memory. The door was opened by Margaret, who invited him to enter. She was beautiful as when he first beheld her he thought more beautiful-for she now spoke to him. Her mother sat in an armchair by the side of the peat-fire, and was supported by pillows. He took off his bonnet, and performed an awkward but his best salutation. "I beg your pardon," said he hesitatingly, "for the liberty I have taken in calling upon you. But I was in Kelso the day-and"He paused, and turned his bonnet once or twice in his hands. "And," he resumed, "I observed, or rather I should say, I learned that ye intended to sell your cow; but I also heard that ye was very ill, and "- -Here he made another pause. "I say I heard that ye was very ill, and I thocht it would be a hardship for ye to part wi' crummie, and especially at a time when ye are sure to stand maist in need o' every help. So I bought the cow; but, as I say, it would be a very great hardship for ye to be without the milk, and what the cheese may bring, at a time like this; and therefore I hae ordered her to be brocht back to ye, and ane o' my men will bring her hame presently. Never consider the cow as mine, for a bachelor farmer like me can better afford to want the | siller, than ye can to want yer cow; and I micht hae spent it far mair foolishly, and wi' less satisfaction. Indeed, if ye only but think that good I've dune, I'm mair than paid." "Maister Hardie," said the widow, "what have I, a stranger widow woman, done to deserve this kindness at your hands? Or how is it in the power o' words for me to thank ye? HE who provided for the widow and the fatherless will not permit you to go unrewarded, though I cannot. O Margaret, hinny," added she, "thank our benefactor as we ought to thank him, for I cannot." Fair Margaret's thanks were a flood of tears. "Oh, dinna greet!" said Thomas; "I would ten times ower rather no hae bocht the cow, but hae lost the siller, than I would hae been the cause o' a single tear rowin' doun yer bonnie cheeks.' "O, sir," answered the widow, "but they are tears o' gratitude that distress my bairn, and nae tears are mair precious." I might tell how Thomas sat down by the peat-fire between the widow and her daughter, and how he took the hand of the latter, and entreated her to dry up her tears, saying that his chief happiness would be to be thought their friend, and to deserve their esteem. The cow was brought back to the widow's, and Thomas returned to Tollishill with his herds man. But from that night he became almost a daily visitor at the house of Mrs. Lylestone. He provided whatever she required-all that was ordered for her. He spoke not of love to Margaret; but he wooed her through his kindness to her mother. It was perhaps the most direct avenue to her affections. Yet it was not because Thomas thought so that he pursued this course, but because he wanted confidence to make his appeal in a manner more formal or direct. The widow lingered many months; and all that lay within the power of human means he caused to be done for her, to restore her to health and strength, or at least to smooth her dying pillow. But the last was all that could be done. Where death spreadeth the shadow of his wing, there is no escape from sinking beneath the baneful influence of its shade. Mrs. Lylestone, finding that the hour of her | Maggie was to be found on all the long Lamdeparture drew near, took the hand of her mermoors, in the Merse, nor yet in the broad benefactor, and when she had thanked him for Lothians. They saw the broom and the heather all the kindness which he had shown towards bloom in their season, and they heard the mavis her, she addedsing before their dwelling; yea, they beheld the snow falling on the mountains, and the drift sweeping down the glens; but while the former delighted, the latter harmed them not, and from all they drew mutual joy and happiness. Thomas said that "Maggie was a matchless wife;" and she that "he was a kind, kind husband." "But, O sir, there is one thing that makes the hand of death heavy. When the sod is cauld upon my breast, who will look after my puir orphan-my bonny faitherless and motherless Margaret? Where will she find a hame?"" "O mem," said Thomas, "if the like o' me durst say it, she needna hae far to gang to find a hame and a heart too. Would she only be mine, I would be her protector-a' that I have should be hers." But the third winter was one of terror among the hills. It was near the new year; the snow began to fall on a Saturday, and when the following Friday came the storm had not ceased. A gleam of joy brightened in the eye of the It was accompanied by frost and a fierce wind, dying widow. "Margaret!" she exclaimed faintly; and Margaret laid her face upon the bed and wept. "O my bairn! my puir bairn!" continued her mother, "shall I see ye protected and provided for before I am where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest,' which canna be lang noo?" Thomas groaned-tears glistened in his eyes he held his breath in suspense. The moment of trial, of condemnation or acquittal, of happiness or misery, had arrived. With an eager impatience he waited to hear her answer. Bat Margaret's heart was prepared for his proposal. He had first touched it with gratitude —he had obtained her esteem; and where these sentiments prevail in the bosom of a woman whose affections have not been bestowed upon another, love is not far distant-if it be not between them, and a part of both. "Did ever I disobey you, mother?" sobbed Margaret, raising her parent's hand to her lips. "No, my bairn, no!" answered the widow. And raising herself in the bed, she took her daughter's hand and placed it in the hand of Thomas Hardie. "Oh!" said he, "is this possible? Does my bonny Margaret really consent to make me the happiest man on earth? Shall I hae a gem at Tollishill that I wadna exchange for a monarch's diadem?" It is sufficient to say that the young and lovely Margaret Lylestone became Mrs. Hardie of Tollishill; or, as she was generally called, “Midside Maggie." Her mother died within three months after their marriage, but died in peace, having, as she said, "seen her dear bairn blessed wi' a leal and a kind guidman, and ane that was weel to do." For two years after their marriage, and not a happier couple than Thomas and Midside VOL. V. and the drift swept and whirled like awful pillars of alabaster down the hills, and along the glens "Sweeping the flocks and herds." Fearful was the wrath of the tempest on the Lammermoors. Many farmers suffered severely, but none more severely than Thomas Hardie of Tollishill. Hundreds of his sheep had perished in a single night. He was brought from prosperity to the brink of adversity. It com But another winter came round. menced with a severity scarce inferior to that which had preceded it, and again scores of his sheep were buried in the snow. But February had not passed, and scarce had the sun entered what is represented as the astronomical sign of the two fish in the heavens, when the genial influence of spring fell with almost summer warmth upon the earth. During the night the dews came heavily on the ground, and the sun sucked it up in a vapour. But the herbage grew rapidly, and the flocks ate of it greedily, and licked the dew ere the sun rose to dry it up. It brought the murrain amongst them; they died by hundreds; and those that even fattened, but did not die, no man would purchase; or, if purchased, it was only upon the understanding that the money should be returned if the animals were found unsound. These misfortunes were too much for Thomas Hardie. Within two years he found himself a ruined man. But he grieved not for the loss of his flocks, nor yet for his own sake, but for that of his fair young wife, whom he loved as the apple of his eye. Many, when they heard of his misfortunes, said that they were sorry for bonny Midside Maggie. But, worst of all, the rent-day of Thomas Hardie drew near; and for the first time since he had held a farm, he was unable to meet his 103 |