My gold is gone, my money is spent,
My land now take it unto thee.
Give me thy gold, good John o’ the Scales,
And thine for aye my land shall be.
Then John he did him to record draw.
And John he caste him a gods-pennie;
But for every pounde that John agreed,
The land, I wis. was well worth three.
Heir of Linne.
The Galwegian John o’ the Scales was a more clever fellow than his prototype. He contrived1 to make himself heir of Linne without the disagreeable ceremony of ‘telling down the good red gold.’ Miss Bertram no sooner heard this painful, and of late unexpected, intelligence than she proceeded in the preparations she had already made for leaving the mansion-house immediately. Mr. Mac — Morlan assisted her in these arrangements, and pressed upon her so kindly2 the hospitality and protection of his roof, until she should receive an answer from her cousin, or be enabled to adopt some settled plan of life, that she felt there would be unkindness in refusing an invitation urged with such earnestness. Mrs. Mac — Morlan was a ladylike person, and well qualified3 by birth and manners to receive the visit, and to make her house agreeable to Miss Bertram. A home, therefore, and an hospitable4 reception were secured to her, and she went on with better heart to pay the wages and receive the adieus of the few domestics of her father’s family.
Where there are estimable qualities on either side, this task is always affecting; the present circumstances rendered it doubly so. All received their due, and even a trifle more, and with thanks and good wishes, to which some added tears, took farewell of their young mistress. There remained in the parlour only Mr. Mac-Morlan, who came to attend his guest to his house, Dominie Sampson, and Miss Bertram. ‘And now,’ said the poor girl, ‘I must bid farewell to one of my oldest and kindest friends. God bless you, Mr. Sampson, and requite5 to you all the kindness of your instructions to your poor pupil, and your friendship to him that is gone. I hope I shall often hear from you.’ She slid into his hand a paper containing some pieces of gold, and rose, as if to leave the room.
Dominie Sampson also rose; but it was to stand aghast with utter astonishment6. The idea of parting from Miss Lucy, go where she might, had never once occurred to the simplicity7 of his understanding. He laid the money on the table. ‘It is certainly inadequate,’ said Mac-Morlan, mistaking his meaning, ‘but the circumstances — ’
Mr. Sampson waved his hand impatiently. — ‘It is not the lucre8, it is not the lucre; but that I, that have ate of her father’s loaf, and drank of his cup, for twenty years and more — to think that I am going to leave her, and to leave her in distress9 and dolour! No, Miss Lucy, you need never think it! You would not consent to put forth10 your father’s poor dog, and would you use me waur than a messan? No, Miss Lucy Bertram, while I live I will not separate from you. I’ll be no burden; I have thought how to prevent that. But, as Ruth said unto Naomi, “Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to depart from thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou dwellest I will dwell; thy people shall be my people, and thy God shall be my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death do part thee and me.”’
During this speech, the longest ever Dominie Sampson was known to utter, the affectionate creature’s eyes streamed with tears, and neither Lucy nor Mac-Morlan could refrain from sympathising with this unexpected burst of feeling and attachment11. ‘Mr. Sampson,’ said Mac-Morlan, after having had recourse to his snuff-box and handkerchief alternately, ‘my house is large enough, and if you will accept of a bed there while Miss Bertram honours us with her residence, I shall think myself very happy, and my roof much favoured, by receiving a man of your worth and fidelity12.’ And then, with a delicacy13 which was meant to remove any objection on Miss Bertram’s part to bringing with her this unexpected satellite, he added, ‘My business requires my frequently having occasion for a better accountant than any of my present clerks, and I should be glad to have recourse to your assistance in that way now and then.’
‘Of a surety, of a surety,’ said Sampson eagerly; ‘I understand book-keeping by double entry and the Italian method.’
Our postilion had thrust himself into the room to announce his chaise and horses; he tarried, unobserved, during this extraordinary scene, and assured Mrs. Mac-Candlish it was the most moving thing he ever saw; ‘the death of the grey mare14, puir hizzie, was naething till’t.’ This trifling15 circumstance afterwards had consequences of greater moment to the Dominie.
The visitors were hospitably16 welcomed by Mrs. Mac-Morlan, to whom, as well as to others, her husband intimated that he had engaged Dominie Sampson’s assistance to disentangle some perplexed17 accounts, during which occupation he would, for convenience sake, reside with the family. Mr. Mac-Morlan’s knowledge of the world induced him to put this colour upon the matter, aware that, however honourable18 the fidelity of the Dominie’s attachment might be both to his own heart and to the family of Ellangowan, his exterior19 ill qualified him to be a’squire of dames,’ and rendered him, upon the whole, rather a ridiculous appendage20 to a beautiful young woman of seventeen.
Dominie Sampson achieved with great zeal21 such tasks as Mr. Mac — Morlan chose to entrust22 him with; but it was speedily observed that at a certain hour after breakfast he regularly disappeared, and returned again about dinner-time. The evening he occupied in the labour of the office. On Saturday he appeared before Mac — Morlan with a look of great triumph, and laid on the table two pieces of gold. ‘What is this for, Dominie?’ said Mac-Morlan.
‘First to indemnify you of your charges in my behalf, worthy23 sir; and the balance for the use of Miss Lucy Bertram.’
‘But, Mr. Sampson, your labour in the office much more than recompenses me; I am your debtor24, my good friend.’
‘Then be it all,’ said the Dominie, waving his hand, ‘for Miss Lucy Bertram’s behoof.’
‘Well, but, Dominie, this money-’
‘It is honestly come by, Mr. Mac-Morlan; it is the bountiful reward of a young gentleman to whom I am teaching the tongues; reading with him three hours daily.’
A few more questions extracted from the Dominie that this liberal pupil was young Hazlewood, and that he met his preceptor daily at the house of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, whose proclamation of Sampson’s disinterested25 attachment to the young lady had procured26 him this indefatigable27 and bounteous28 scholar.
Mac-Morlan was much struck with what he heard. Dominie Sampson was doubtless a very good scholar, and an excellent man, and the classics were unquestionably very well worth reading; yet that a young man of twenty should ride seven miles and back again each day in the week, to hold this sort of tete-a-tete of three hours, was a zeal for literature to which he was not prepared to give entire credit. Little art was necessary to sift29 the Dominie, for the honest man’s head never admitted any but the most direct and simple ideas. ‘Does Miss Bertram know how your time is engaged, my good friend?’
‘Surely not as yet. Mr. Charles recommended it should be concealed31 from her, lest she should scruple32 to accept of the small assistance arising from it; but,’ he added, ‘it would not be possible to conceal30 it long, since Mr. Charles proposed taking his lessons occasionally in this house.’
‘O, he does!’ said Mac-Morlan.’ Yes, yes, I can understand that better. And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three hours entirely33 spent inconstruing and translating?’
‘Doubtless, no; we have also colloquial34 intercourse35 to sweeten study: neque semper arcum tendit apollo.’
The querist proceeded to elicit36 from this Galloway Phoebus what their discourse37 chiefly turned upon.
‘Upon our past meetings at Ellangowan; and, truly, I think very often we discourse concerning Miss Lucy, for Mr. Charles Hazlewood in that particular resembleth me, Mr. Mac-Morlan. When I begin to speak of her I never know when to stop; and, as I say (jocularly), she cheats us out of half our lessons.’
‘O ho!’ thought Mac-Morlan, ‘sits the wind in that quarter? I’ve heard something like this before.’
He then began to consider what conduct was safest for his protegee, and even for himself; for the senior Mr. Hazlewood was powerful, wealthy, ambitious, and vindictive38, and looked for both fortune and title in any connexion which his son might form. At length, having the highest opinion of his guest’s good sense and penetration39, he determined40 to take an opportunity, when they should happen to be alone, to communicate the matter to her as a simple piece of intelligence. He did so in as natural a manner as he could. ‘I wish you joy of your friend Mr. Sampson’s good fortune, Miss Bertram; he has got a pupil who pays him two guineas for twelve lessons of Greek and Latin.’
‘Indeed! I am equally happy and surprised. Who can be so liberal? is Colonel Mannering returned?’
‘No, no, not Colonel Mannering; but what do you think of your acquaintance, Mr. Charles Hazlewood? He talks of taking his lessons here; I wish we may have accommodation for him.’
Lucy blushed deeply. ‘For Heaven’s sake, no, Mr. Mac-Morlan, do not let that be; Charles Hazlewood has had enough of mischief41 about that already.’
‘About the classics, my dear young lady?’ wilfully42 seeming to misunderstand her; ‘most young gentlemen have so at one period or another, sure enough; but his present studies are voluntary.’
Miss Bertram let the conversation drop, and her host made no effort to renew it, as she seemed to pause upon the intelligence in order to form some internal resolution.
The next day Miss Bertram took an opportunity of conversing43 with Mr. Sampson. Expressing in the kindest manner her grateful thanks for his disinterested attachment, and her joy that he had got such a provision, she hinted to him that his present mode of superintending Charles Hazlewood’s studies must be so inconvenient44 to his pupil that, while that engagement lasted, he had better consent to a temporary separation, and reside either with his scholar or as near him as might be. Sampson refused, as indeed she had expected, to listen a moment to this proposition; he would not quit her to be made preceptor to the Prince of Wales. ‘But I see,’ he added, ‘you are too proud to share my pittance45; and peradventure I grow wearisome unto you.’
‘No indeed; you were my father’s ancient, almost his only, friend. I am not proud; God knows, I have no reason to be so. You shall do what you judge best in other matters; but oblige me by telling Mr. Charles Hazlewood that you had some conversation with me concerning his studies, and that I was of opinion that his carrying them on in this house was altogether impracticable, and not to be thought of.’
Dominie Sampson left her presence altogether crest-fallen, and, as he shut the door, could not help muttering the ‘varium et mutabile’ of Virgil. Next day he appeared with a very rueful visage, and tendered Miss Bertram a letter. ‘Mr. Hazlewood,’ he said, ‘was to discontinue his lessons, though he had generously made up the pecuniary46 loss. But how will he make up the loss to himself of the knowledge he might have acquired under my instruction? Even in that one article of writing, — he was an hour before he could write that brief note, and destroyed many scrolls47, four quills48, and some good white paper. I would have taught him in three weeks a firm, current, clear, and legible hand; he should have been a calligrapher49, — but God’s will be done.’
The letter contained but a few lines, deeply regretting and murmuring against Miss Bertram’s cruelty, who not only refused to see him, but to permit him in the most indirect manner to hear of her health and contribute to her service. But it concluded with assurances that her severity was vain, and that nothing could shake the attachment of Charles Hazlewood.
Under the active patronage50 of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, Sampson picked up some other scholars — very different indeed from Charles Hazlewood in rank, and whose lessons were proportionally unproductive. Still, however, he gained something, and it was the glory of his heart to carry it to Mr. Mac-Morlan weekly, a slight peculium only subtracted to supply his snuff-box and tobacco-pouch.
And here we must leave Kippletringan to look after our hero, lest our readers should fear they are to lose sight of him for another quarter of a century.
收听单词发音 |
1
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
requite
|
|
| v.报酬，报答 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
lucre
|
|
| n.金钱，财富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
mare
|
|
| n.母马，母驴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
hospitably
|
|
| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
appendage
|
|
| n.附加物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
entrust
|
|
| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
debtor
|
|
| n.借方，债务人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
disinterested
|
|
| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
indefatigable
|
|
| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
bounteous
|
|
| adj.丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
sift
|
|
| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
colloquial
|
|
| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
elicit
|
|
| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vindictive
|
|
| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
penetration
|
|
| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
wilfully
|
|
| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pittance
|
|
| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pecuniary
|
|
| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
scrolls
|
|
| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
quills
|
|
| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
calligrapher
|
|
| n.书法家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
patronage
|
|
| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |