you for my wages.”
“Well, you shall have them, Samuel, if you declare to me that I hired you myself in this same person, and bargained with you with this same tongue and voice with which I speak to you just now.”
“That I do declare, unless ye hae twa persons o’ the same appearance, and twa tongues to the same voice. But, ‘od saif us, sir, do you ken what the auld wives o’ the clachan say about you?”
“How should I, when no one repeats it to me?”
“Oo, I trow it’s a’ stuff—folk shouldna heed what’s said by auld crazy kimmers. But there are some o’ them weel kend for witches, too; an’ they say, ‘Lord have a care o’ us!’ They say the deil’s often seen gaun sidie for sidie w’ ye, whiles in ae shape, an’ whiles in another. An’ they say that he whiles takes your ain shape, or else enters into you, and then you turn a deil yoursel.”
I was so astounded at this terrible idea that had gone abroad, regarding my fellowship with the Prince of Darkness, that I could make no answer to the fellow’s information, but sat like one in a stupor; and if it had not been for my well-founded faith, and conviction that I was a chosen and elected one before the world was made, I should at that moment have given in to the popular belief, and fallen into the sin of despondency; but I was preserved from such a fatal error by an inward and unseen supporter. Still the insinuation was so like what I felt myself that I was greatly awed and confounded.
The poor fellow observed this, and tried to do away the impression by some further sage remarks of his own.
“Hout, dear sir, it is balderdash, there’s nae doubt o’t. It is the crownhead o’ absurdity to tak in the havers o’ auld wives for gospel. I told them that my master was a peeous man, an’ a sensible man; an’, for praying, that he could ding auld Macmillan himsel. ‘Sae could the deil,’ they said, ‘when he liket, either at preaching or praying, if these war to answer his ain ends.’ ‘Na, na,’ says I, ‘but he’s a strick believer in a’ the truths o’ Christianity, my master.’ They said, sae was Satan, for that he was the firmest believer in a’ the truths of Christianity that was out o’ Heaven; an’ that, sin’ the Revolution that the Gospel had turned sae rife, he had been often driven to the shift o’ preaching it himsel, for the purpose o’ getting some wrang tenets introduced into it, and thereby turning it into blasphemy and ridicule.”
I confess, to my shame, that I was so overcome by this jumble of nonsense that a chillness came over me, and, in spite of all my efforts to shake off the impression it had made, I fell into a faint. Samuel soon brought me to myself, and, after a deep draught of wine and water, I was greatly revived, and felt my spirit rise above the sphere of vulgar conceptions and the restrained views of unregenerate men. The shrewd but loquacious fellow, perceiving this, tried to make some amends for the pain he had occasioned to me by the following story, which I noted down, and which was brought on by a conversation to the following purport:
“Now, Penpunt, you may tell me all that passed between you and the wives of the clachan. I am better of that stomach qualm, with which I am sometimes seized, and shall be much amused by hearing the sentiments of noted witches regarding myself and my connections.”
“Weel, you see, sir, I says to them, ‘It will be lang afore the deil intermeddle wi’ as serious a professor, and as fervent a prayer as my master, for, gin he gets the upper hand o’ sickan men, wha’s to be safe?’ An’, what think ye they said, sir? There was ane Lucky Shaw set up her lang lantern chafts, an’ answered me, an’ a’ the rest shanned and noddit in assent an’ approbation: ‘Ye silly, sauchless, Cameronian cuif!’ quo she, ‘is that a’ that ye ken about the wiles and doings o’ the Prince o’ the Air, that rules an’ works in the bairns of disobedience? Gin ever he observes a proud professor, wha has mae than ordinary pretensions to a divine calling, and that reards and prays till the very howlets learn his preambles, that’s the man Auld Simmie fixes on to mak a dishclout o’. He canna get rest in Hell, if he sees a man, or a set of men o’ this stamp, an, when he sets fairly to work, it is seldom that he disna bring them round till his ain measures by hook or by crook. Then, Oh! it is a grand prize for him, an’ a proud Deil he is, when he gangs hame to his ain ha’, wi’ a batch o’ the souls o’ sic strenuous professors on his back. Aye, I trow, auld Ingleby, the Liverpool packman, never came up Glasco street wi’ prouder pomp when he had ten horse-laids afore him o’ Flanders lace, an’ Hollin lawn, an’ silks an’ satins frae the eastern Indians, than Satan wad strodge into Hell with a packlaid o’ the souls o’ proud professors on his braid shoulders. Ha, ha, ha! I think I see how the auld thief wad be gaun through his gizened dominions, crying his wares, in derision, “Wha will buy a fresh, cauler divine, a bouzy bishop, a fasting zealot, or a piping priest?” For a’ their prayers an’ their praises, their aumuses, an’ their penances, their whinings, their howlings, their rantings, an’ their ravings, here they come at last! Behold the end! Here go the rare and precious wares! A fat professor for a bodle, an’ a lean ane for half a merk!’ I declare I trembled at the auld hag’s ravings, but the lave o’ the kimmers applauded the sayings as sacred truths. An’ then Lucky went on: ‘There are many wolves in sheep’s claithing, among us, my man; mony deils aneath the masks o’ zealous professors, roaming about in kirks and meetinghouses o’ the land. It was but the year afore the last that the people o’ the town o’ Auchtermuchty grew so rigidly righteous that the meanest hind among them became a shining light in ither towns an’ parishes. There was naught to be heard, neither night nor day, but preaching, praying, argumentation, an’ catechising in a’ the famous town o’ Auchtermuchty. The young men wooed their sweethearts out o’ the Song o’ Solomon, an’ the girls returned answers in strings o’ verses out o’ the Psalms. At the lint-swinglings, they said questions round; and read chapters, and sang hymns at bridals; auld and young prayed in their dreams, an’ prophesied in their sleep, till the deils in the farrest nooks o’ Hell were alarmed, and moved to commotion. Gin it hadna been an auld carl, Robin Ruthven, Auchtermuchty wad at that time hae been ruined and lost for ever. But Robin was a cunning man, an’ had rather mae wits than his ain, for he had been in the hands o’ the fairies when he was young, an’ a’ kinds o’ spirits were visible to his een, an’ their language as familiar to him as his ain mother tongue. Robin was sitting on the side o’ the West Lowmond, ae still gloomy night in September, when he saw a bridal o’ corbie craws coming east the lift, just on the edge o’ the gloaming. The moment that Robin saw them, he kenned, by their movements, that they were craws o’ some ither warld than this; so he signed himself, and crap into the middle o’ his bourock. The corbie craws came a’ an’ sat down round about him, an’ they poukit their black sooty wings, an’ spread them out to the breeze to cool; and Robin heard ae corbie speaking, an’ another answering him; and the tane said to the tither: “Where will the ravens find a prey the night?” “On the lean crazy souls o’ Auchtermuchty,” quo the tither. “I fear they will be o’er weel wrappit up in the warm flannens o’ faith, an clouted wi’ the dirty duds o’ repentance, for us to mak a meal o’,” quo the first. “Whaten vile sounds are these that I hear coming bumming up the hill?” “Oh, these are the hymns and praises o’ the auld wives and creeshy louns o’ Auchtermuchty, wha are gaun crooning their way to Heaven; an’, gin it warna for the shame o’ being beat, we might let our great enemy tak them. For sic a prize as he will hae! Heaven, forsooth! What shall we think o’ Heaven, if it is to be filled wi’ vermin like thae, amang whom there is mair poverty and pollution than I can name.” “No matter for that,” said the first, “we cannot have our power set at defiance; though we should put them on the thief’s hole, we must catch them, and catch them with their own bait, too. Come all to church to-morrow, and I’ll let you hear how I’ll gull the saints of Auchtermuchty. In the meantime, there is a feast on the Sidlaw hills tonight, below the hill of Macbeth—Mount, Diabolus, and fly.” Then, with loud croaking and crowing, the bridal of corbies again scaled the dusky air, and left Robin Ruthven in the middle of his cairn.
“‘The next day the congregation met in the kirk of Auchtermuchty, but the minister made not his appearance. The elder ran out and in making inquiries; but they could learn nothing, save that the minister was missing. They ordered the clerk to sing a part of the 119th Psalm, until they saw if the