A thousand pieces;
Chequered with snowy fleeces.
The air was all in spice,
And every bush
A garland wore: Thus fed my Eyes,
HENRY VAUGHAN.
It was not in mathematics alone that Hugh Sutherland was serviceable to Margaret Elginbrod. That branch of study had been chosen for her father, not for her; but her desire to learn had led her to lay hold upon any mental provision with which the table happened to be spread; and the more eagerly that her father was a guest at the same feast. Before long, Hugh bethought him that it might possibly be of service to her, in the course of her reading, if he taught her English a little more thoroughly3 than she had probably picked it up at the parish school, to which she had been in the habit of going till within a very short period of her acquaintance with the tutor.—The English reader must not suppose the term parish school to mean what the same term would mean if used in England. Boys and girls of very different ranks go to the Scotch4 parish schools, and the fees are so small as to place their education within the reach of almost the humblest means.—To his proposal to this effect Margaret responded thankfully; and it gave Hugh an opportunity of directing her attention to many of the more delicate distinctions in literature, for the appreciation5 of which she manifested at once a remarkable6 aptitude7.
Coleridge’s poems had been read long ago; some of them, indeed, almost committed to memory in the process of repeated perusal8. No doubt a good many of them must have been as yet too abstruse9 for her; not in the least, however, from inaptitude in her for such subjects as they treated of, but simply because neither the terms nor the modes of thought could possibly have been as yet presented to her in so many different positions as to enable her to comprehend their scope. Hugh lent her Sir Walter’s poems next, but those she read at an eye-glance. She returned the volume in a week, saying merely, they were “verra bonnie stories.” He saw at once that, to have done them justice with the girl, he ought to have lent them first. But that could not be helped now; and what should come next? Upon this he took thought. His library was too small to cause much perplexity of choice, but for a few days he continued undecided.
Meantime the interest he felt in his girl-pupil deepened greatly. She became a kind of study to him. The expression of her countenance10 was far inferior to her intelligence and power of thought. It was still to excess—almost dull in ordinary; not from any fault in the mould of the features, except, perhaps, in the upper lip, which seemed deficient11 in drawing, if I may be allowed the expression; but from the absence of that light which indicates the presence of active thought and feeling within. In this respect her face was like the earthen pitcher12 of Gideon: it concealed13 the light. She seemed to have, to a peculiar14 degree, the faculty15 of retiring inside. But now and then, while he was talking to her, and doubtful, from the lack of expression, whether she was even listening with attention to what he was saying, her face would lighten up with a radiant smile of intelligence; not, however, throwing the light upon him, and in a moment reverting16 to its former condition of still twilight17. Her person seemed not to be as yet thoroughly possessed18 or informed by her spirit. It sat apart within her; and there was no ready transit19 from her heart to her face. This lack of presence in the face is quite common in pretty school-girls and rustic20 beauties; but it was manifest to an unusual degree in the case of Margaret. Yet most of the forms and lines in her face were lovely; and when the light did shine through them for a passing moment, her countenance seemed absolutely beautiful. Hence it grew into an almost haunting temptation with Hugh, to try to produce this expression, to unveil the coy light of the beautiful soul. Often he tried; often he failed, and sometimes he succeeded. Had they been alone it might have become dangerous—I mean for Hugh; I cannot tell for Margaret.
When they first met, she had just completed her seventeenth year; but, at an age when a town-bred girl is all but a woman, her manners were those of a child. This childishness, however, soon began to disappear, and the peculiar stillness of her face, of which I have already said so much, made her seem older than she was.
It was now early summer, and all the other trees in the wood—of which there were not many besides the firs of various kinds—had put on their fresh leaves, heaped up in green clouds between the wanderer and the heavens. In the morning the sun shone so clear upon these, that, to the eyes of one standing21 beneath, the light seemed to dissolve them away to the most ethereal forms of glorified22 foliage23. They were to be claimed for earth only by the shadows that the one cast upon the other, visible from below through the transparent24 leaf. This effect is very lovely in the young season of the year, when the leaves are more delicate and less crowded; and especially in the early morning, when the light is most clear and penetrating25. By the way, I do not think any man is compelled to bid good-bye to his childhood: every man may feel young in the morning, middle-aged26 in the afternoon, and old at night. A day corresponds to a life, and the portions of the one are “pictures in little” of the seasons of the other. Thus far man may rule even time, and gather up, in a perfect being, youth and age at once.
One morning, about six o’clock, Hugh, who had never been so early in the wood since the day he had met Margaret there, was standing under a beech-tree, looking up through its multitudinous leaves, illuminated27, as I have attempted to describe, with the sidelong rays of the brilliant sun. He was feeling young, and observing the forms of nature with a keen discriminating28 gaze: that was all. Fond of writing verses, he was studying nature, not as a true lover, but as one who would hereafter turn his discoveries to use. For it must be confessed that nature affected29 him chiefly through the medium of poetry; and that he was far more ambitious of writing beautiful things about nature than of discovering and understanding, for their own sakes, any of her hidden yet patent meanings. Changing his attitude after a few moments, he descried30, under another beech-tree, not far from him, Margaret, standing and looking up fixedly31 as he had been doing a moment before. He approached her, and she, hearing his advance, looked, and saw him, but did not move. He thought he saw the glimmer33 of tears in her eyes. She was the first to speak, however.
“What were you seeing up there, Mr. Sutherland?”
“I was only looking at the bright leaves, and the shadows upon them.”
“Ah! I thocht maybe ye had seen something.”
“What do you mean, Margaret?”
“I dinna richtly ken34 mysel’. But I aye expeck to see something in this fir-wood. I’m here maist mornin’s as the day dawns, but I’m later the day.”
“We were later than usual at our work last night. But what kind of thing do you expect to see?”
“That’s jist what I dinna ken. An’ I canna min’ whan I began to come here first, luikin’ for something. I’ve tried mony a time, but I canna min’, do what I like.”
Margaret had never said so much about herself before. I can account for it only on the supposition that Hugh had gradually assumed in her mind a kind of pastoral superiority, which, at a favourable35 moment, inclined her to impart her thoughts to him. But he did not know what to say to this strange fact in her history. She went on, however, as if, having broken the ice, she must sweep it away as well.
“The only thing ‘at helps me to account for’t, is a picter in our auld36 Bible, o’ an angel sittin’ aneth a tree, and haudin’ up his han’ as gin he were speakin’ to a woman ‘at’s stan’in’ afore him. Ilka time ‘at I come across that picter, I feel direckly as gin I war my lane in this fir-wood here; sae I suppose that when I was a wee bairn, I maun hae come oot some mornin’ my lane, wi’ the expectation o’ seein’ an angel here waitin’ for me, to speak to me like the ane i’ the Bible. But never an angel hae I seen. Yet I aye hae an expectation like o’ seein’ something, I kenna what; for the whole place aye seems fu’ o’ a presence, an’ it’s a hantle mair to me nor the kirk an’ the sermon forby; an’ for the singin’, the soun’ i’ the fir-taps is far mair solemn and sweet at the same time, an’ muckle mair like praisin’ o’ God than a’ the psalms37 thegither. But I aye think ‘at gin I could hear Milton playin’ on’s organ, it would be mair like that soun’ o’ mony waters, than onything else ‘at I can think o’.”
Hugh stood and gazed at her in astonishment38. To his more refined ear, there was a strange incongruity39 between the somewhat coarse dialect in which she spoke40, and the things she uttered in it. Not that he was capable of entering into her feelings, much less of explaining them to her. He felt that there was something remarkable in them, but attributed both the thoughts themselves and their influence on him, to an uncommon41 and weird42 imagination. As of such origin, however, he was just the one to value them highly.
“Those are very strange ideas,” he said.
“But what can there be about the wood? The very primroses—ye brocht me the first this spring yersel’, Mr. Sutherland—come out at the fit o’ the trees, and look at me as if they said, ‘We ken—we ken a’ aboot it;’ but never a word mair they say. There’s something by ordinar’ in’t.”
“Do you like no other place besides?” said Hugh, for the sake of saying something.
“Ou ay, mony ane; but nane like this.”
“What kind of place do you like best?”
“I like places wi’ green grass an’ flowers amo’t.”
“You like flowers then?”
“Like them! whiles they gar me greet an’ whiles they gar me lauch; but there’s mair i’ them than that, an’ i’ the wood too. I canna richtly say my prayers in ony ither place.”
The Scotch dialect, especially to one brought up in the Highlands, was a considerable antidote43 to the effect of the beauty of what Margaret said.
Suddenly it struck Hugh, that if Margaret were such an admirer of nature, possibly she might enjoy Wordsworth. He himself was as yet incapable44 of doing him anything like justice; and, with the arrogance45 of youth, did not hesitate to smile at the Excursion, picking out an awkward line here and there as especial food for laughter even. But many of his smaller pieces he enjoyed very heartily46, although not thoroughly—the element of Christian47 Pantheism, which is their soul, being beyond his comprehension, almost perception, as yet. So he made up his mind, after a moment’s reflection, that this should be the next author he recommended to his pupil. He hoped likewise so to end an interview, in which he might otherwise be compelled to confess that he could render Margaret no assistance in her search after the something in the wood; and he was unwilling48 to say he could not understand her; for a power of universal sympathy was one of those mental gifts which Hugh was most anxious to believe he possessed.
“I will bring you another book to-night,” said he “which I think you will like, and which may perhaps help you to find out what is in the wood.”
He said this smiling, half in playful jest, and without any idea of the degree of likelihood that there was notwithstanding in what he said. For, certainly, Wordsworth, the high-priest of nature, though perhaps hardly the apostle of nature, was more likely than any other writer to contain something of the secret after which Margaret was searching. Whether she can find it there, may seem questionable49.
“Thank you, sir,” said Margaret, gratefully; but her whole countenance looked troubled, as she turned towards her home. Doubtless, however, the trouble vanished before she reached it, for hers was not a nature to cherish disquietude. Hugh too went home, rather thoughtful.
In the evening, he took a volume of Wordsworth, and repaired, according to his wont50, to David’s cottage. It was Saturday, and he would stay to supper. After they had given the usual time to their studies, Hugh, setting Margaret some exercises in English to write on her slate51, while he helped David with some of the elements of Trigonometry, and again going over those elements with her, while David worked out a calculation—after these were over, and while Janet was putting the supper on the table, Hugh pulled out his volume, and, without any preface, read them the Leech-Gatherer. All listened very intently, Janet included, who delayed several of the operations, that she might lose no word of the verses; David nodding assent52 every now and then, and ejaculating ay! ay! or eh, man! or producing that strange muffled53 sound at once common and peculiar to Scotchmen, which cannot be expressed in letters by a nearer approach than hm—hm, uttered, if that can be called uttering, with closed lips and open nasal passage; and Margaret sitting motionless on her creepie, with upturned pale face, and eyes fixed32 upon the lips of the reader. When he had ceased, all were silent for a moment, when Janet made some little sign of anxiety about her supper, which certainly had suffered by the delay. Then, without a word, David turned towards the table and gave thanks. Turning again to Hugh, who had risen to place his chair, he said,
“That maun be the wark o’ a great poet, Mr. Sutherlan’.”
“It’s Wordsworth’s,” said Hugh.
“Ay! ay! That’s Wordsworth’s! Ay! Weel, I hae jist heard him made mention o’, but I never read word o’ his afore. An’ he never repentit o’ that same resolution, I’se warrant, ‘at he eynds aff wi’. Hoo does it gang, Mr. Sutherlan’?”
Sutherland read:—
“‘God,’ said I, ‘be my help and stay secure!
I’ll think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely moor;’”
and added, “It is said Wordsworth never knew what it was to be in want of money all his life.”
“Nae doubt, nae doubt: he trusted in Him.”
It was for the sake of the minute notices of nature, and not for the religious lesson, which he now seemed to see for the first time, that Hugh had read the poem. He could not help being greatly impressed by the confidence with which David received the statement he had just made on the authority of De Quincey in his unpleasant article about Wordsworth. David resumed:
“He maun hae had a gleg ‘ee o’ his ain, that Maister Wordsworth, to notice a’thing that get. Weel he maun hae likit leevin’ things, puir maukin an’ a’—jist like our Robbie Burns for that. An’ see hoo they a’ ken ane anither, thae poets. What says he aboot Burns?—ye needna tell me, Mr. Sutherlan’; I min’t weel aneuch. He says:—
‘Him wha walked in glory an’ in joy,
Followin’ his ploo upo’ the muntain-side.’
Puir Robbie! puir Robbie! But, man, he was a gran’ chield efter a’; an’ I trust in God he’s won hame by this!”
Both Janet and Hugh, who had had a very orthodox education, started, mentally, at this strange utterance54; but they saw the eye of David solemnly fixed, as if in deep contemplation, and lighted in its blue depths with an ethereal brightness; and neither of them ventured to speak. Margaret seemed absorbed for the moment in gazing on her father’s face; but not in the least as if it perplexed55 her like the fir-wood. To the seeing eye, the same kind of expression would have been evident in both countenances56, as if Margaret’s reflected the meaning of her father’s; whether through the medium of intellectual sympathy, or that of the heart only, it would have been hard to say. Meantime supper had been rather neglected; but its operations were now resumed more earnestly, and the conversation became lighter57; till at last it ended in hearty58 laughter, and Hugh rose and took his leave.
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1
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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2
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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3
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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4
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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5
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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6
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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7
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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8
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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9
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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10
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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11
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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12
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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13
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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14
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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15
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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16
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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17
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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18
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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19
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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20
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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21
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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22
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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23
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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24
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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25
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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26
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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27
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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28
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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29
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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30
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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31
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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32
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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33
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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34
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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35
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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38
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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40
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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41
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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42
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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43
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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44
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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45
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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47
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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48
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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49
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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50
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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51
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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52
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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53
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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54
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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55
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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56
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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57
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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58
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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