Part 6

"'I have been at the grave,' said she, 'and I see it has been disturbed.'

"'And it has not,' said I; 'for wasn't I there this morning before ever a soul in all the town was stirring? and didn't I leave it all right with my ould friend?'

"'But I have seen marks,' said she again; for she was so determined.

"'And do you think I don't know you have?' said I; 'and didn't I see them, after I got a spade from the sexton and put on a nate sod or two more to make the grave dacent and respectable?'

"'Oh, I'm so glad,' replied she, all of a content.

"'And you'll be gladder yet, my darling,' said I, as I gave her a kiss. 'Go home and contint yourself, and perhaps, when your mournings are off, you may consent to make a poor docther happy.'

"And so she went away, blushing as no one ever saw except in a raal rose."

And the laugh again sounded through the hall among the dead.

Whether these stories were true, or merely got up by the extravagant love of fun in the Captain, it would not be easy to say; but certain it is, that their being told and responded to in the manner thus described, from the lips of an ear-witness, shews us the atmosphere of moral feeling that then obtained in places proudly designated as being dedicated to the interests of humanity, and from which, too, we could draw the conclusion that what was gained in the amelioration of physical disease was required to be debited so largely with the deterioration of morals and a wide-spread infliction of pain. But even darker deeds were done in Scotland than those for which the Captain took so gasconading a credit. From a certain village called S----e, the myrmidons of the Square, and particularly the "Spune," got more material for the Hall than could have been expected without a resident sympathiser and participator in the profits. That zealous correspondent was not the sexton--no, nor the minister; but he was the minister's brother, and, so far as we can learn, a member of the profession. Need it be remarked how convenient the relation between the messenger of heaven and the benefactor of earth--the physician of souls and the curer of bodies--the man of prayers and the man of pills--the distributor of the great catholicon and the dispenser of the small! We can fancy the godly man, we believe all unconscious of the intentions of his brother, pouring the holy unction of his prayers over the struggling spirit of the dying Christian, and the doctor counting the pulses as they died away into that stillness which was to be the prelude to the payment--five pounds--for the deserted temple. One recording angel would fly to heaven with a name to be inscribed in the roll of eternal salvation, and the other to Edinburgh to announce that another body was to be inserted in the black list of Surgeon's Square.

Even this was not the culmination of the evil. The head of the scorpion--society--was to swallow its tail, so that the virtue and the poison would meet and traverse together the circle. Mammon, through the medium of the leaders of the purveyors of science, extended his charm to the hearts of relations and friends, changing the soft glance of love and pity into the fiery glare of sordid rapacity. Throughout the High Street and Canongate, and down through the squalid wynds and closes, where, though crime and misery shake hands over the bottle of whisky, the death-bed still retains some claims over the affections, and where religion is sometimes able to extort from the demons of passion the unwilling tribute of compunction, these strange men prowled in the hope of finding or making a monster. And in this it is certain that they succeeded more often than was then suspected, or is even yet known. Their first inquiry was for death-beds, and the next for evidence of squalid poverty combined with vice. The subject was approached cautiously where the ground had all the appearance of being dangerous. If they were met by deliberation or hesitation, between which and blows there was no space, their object was secured, as the devil's is, by exposing to the haggard eye of penury the very form and substance of the bribe. In one case, reported by Merrylees himself, the bargain was struck in a whisper by the bed-side of the dying friend. How far the relationship extended in any of these cases we never could ascertain; and it is only fair to assume, for the sake of human nature, that in the majority of instances the success was only over the keepers of stray lodgers, and mere friends, as distinguished from relatives; but that there were, some where there behoved to be the yearnings of affection, and a consequent struggle between love and mammon, there can be no doubt.

Thus, however difficult or delicate the moral impediments that required to be overcome, the physical parts of the contract were of easy management. The coffining was made a little ceremony, performed in presence of some of the neighbours. There would be tears, no doubt, if not an Irish howl, and the louder perhaps the greater the bribe; and in the evening a bag of tanners' bark supplied the place of the friend of the many virtues discoursed of at the wake. Nor was there less care taken in carrying this box of bark to the Canongate burying-ground than was displayed by "Merry-Andrew" in conveying the surrogatum to Surgeon's Square; but, of course, there would be a difference in the speed of the respective bearers. Taking all these details into account, we can scarcely deny that these men wrought harder for their money than if they had pursued a regular calling. But, then, they liked it. Even after the bargain for the living invalid was struck, how many anxious watchings at a wynd-end were to exhaust the weary hours before the spirit took wing from the sold body! The gaunt figure of Merrylees, as he jerked his lank muscles and threw his face into the old contortions, might be seen there, but none would know what this meant.

One night, a student who saw him standing at a close-end, and suspected that his friend was watching his prey, whispered in his ear, "She's dead," and, aided by the darkness, escaped. In a moment after, "Merry-Andrew" shot down the wynd, and, opening the door, pushed his lugubrious face into a house.

"It's a' owre I hear," said he, in a loud whisper; "and when will we come for the body?"

"Whisht, ye mongrel," replied the old harridan who acted as nurse; "she's as lively as a cricket."

A statement which, though whispered in the unction of secresy, and with most evident sincerity, Merrylees doubted, under a suspicion that the woman's conscience had come between her and the love of money; and, jerking himself forward to the bed, he threw the shadow of his revolting countenance over the face of the terrified invalid, enough of itself to have sent the hovering spirit to its destination, whether above or below. Not a word was spoken by the victim. She had heard enough to rouse terror sufficient to deprive her of speech, if not of breath; and all that the ogre witnessed was the pair of eyes lighted up with the parting rays of the fluttering spirit, and peering mysteriously as if into his very soul.

But then, as it happened, "Merry-Andrew" had only a body, and this look, more like as it was to a phosphoric gleam than the light of the living spirit, fell blank. Enough for him that she was not yet dead; and, taking one of his springing steps, he was out of the room, forcing his way up the wynd, to seek, and, if possible, to wreak a most imprudent vengeance on the larking prig who had put his long muscles to such unfruitful exercise. Meanwhile, the young rogue had waited for the butt, to see some more of his picturesque spasms; nor was he disappointed, for the moment Merrylees cast his eye on him, he tossed up his hands, and, with a shout which might have been taken by one who did not know him, or even by one who did, as an indication either of intense fun or fiery anger, made after him at the rate of his long strides. The student, of course, escaped, and Merrylees, convinced that the invalid was not so near her end as he wished, went growling home to bed.

But this tragedy, with its ephialtic forms reflecting these coruscations of grim comedy, did not end here. The old invalid, no doubt hastened by what she had witnessed, died on the following night; and on that after the next succeeding, when he had reason to expect that she would be conveniently placed in that white fir receptacle that has a shape so peculiarly its own, and not deemed by him so artistic as that of a bag or a box, Merrylees, accompanied by the "Spune," entered the dead room with the sackful of bark. To their astonishment, and what Merrylees even called disgusting to an honourable mind, the old wretch had scruples.

"A light has come doon upon me frae heaven," she said, "and I canna."

"Light frae heaven!" said Merrylees indignantly. "Will that shew the doctors how to cut a cancer out o' ye, ye auld fule? But we'll sune put out that light," he whispered to his companion. "Awa' and bring in a half-mutchkin."

"Ay," replied the "Spune," as he got hold of a bottle, "we are only obeying the will o' God. 'Man's infirmities shall verily be cured by the light o' His wisdom.' I forget the text."

And the "Spune," proud of his biblical learning, went upon his mission. He was back in a few minutes; for where in Scotland is whisky not easily got?

Then Merrylees, (as he used to tell the story to some of the students, to which we cannot be expected to be strictly true as regards every act or word,) filling out a glass, handed it to the wavering witch.

"Tak' ye that," he said, "and it will drive the deevil out o' ye."

And finding that she easily complied, he filled out another, which went in the same direction with no less relish.

"And noo," said he, as he saw her scruples melting in the liquid fire, and took out a pound-note, which he held between her face and the candle, "look through that, ye auld deevil, and ye'll see some o' the real light o' heaven that will mak' your cats' een reel."

"But that's only ane," said the now-wavering merchant, "and ye ken ye promised three."

"And here they are," replied he, as he held before her the money to the amount of which she had only had an experience in her dreams, and which reduced her staggering reason to a vestige.

"Weel," she at length said, "ye may tak' her."