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Ebook has 769 lines and 46590 words, and 16 pages
Release date: January 14, 2024
Original publication: London: Hurst and Blackett, 1853
Transcriber's note
Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book. Formatting and special characters are indicated as follows:
HARRY MUIR.
A STORY OF SCOTTISH LIFE.
"PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF MRS. MARGARET MAITLAND," "MERKLAND," "ADAM GRAEME," &C.
LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1853.
LONDON: Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
HARRY MUIR.
"Housekeeping youth have ever homely wits." TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
"AND this is the pillar that Rob Roy hid behind, the Sabbath day that he warned the young English gentleman in the kirk. It's the very place itsel. Here was the pulpit--and the seats were a' here, and this is the pillar that hid Rob Roy."
A party of young men were in the crypt of Glasgow cathedral--the little sleek, humble-looking man, who very unobtrusively acted as Cicerone, was pointing out to them the notability, with these words.
One of the visitors turned away with a grave smile, and leaving his companions, began to wander slowly down one of the long black aisles. The dim withdrawing vistas--the pillars with their floral chaplets--the singular grace and majesty of those dark and ponderous arches--impressed him with very different associations. The young man's smile, slightly scornful at first, melted as he reached the lower end, and looking up through this grand avenue, saw the little knot of dim figures in the distance. He was glad to escape from their laughter, and unsuitable merriment. These noble old cloisters were too grave and solemn, to have their stillness so invaded.
But he was not suffered long to remain uninterrupted in his contemplative mood. "What ails Cuthbert?" said one of the younger of the party, a lad in the transition state between boy and man. "See to him down yonder at the very end, like a craw in the mist--I say, Cuthbert!"
As the piping shrill voice called out his name at its highest pitch, the young man began slowly to advance again. The lad came forward to meet him. "What are you smiling at--what did you go away for?"
"I was smiling at myself, John," answered the accused.
John was curious. "What for?"
"For thinking there were things more interesting here, than the pillar that hid Rob Roy. Come along--never mind. Where are they all bound for, now?"
They were bound for a very dissimilar place--no other than the crowded Broomielaw, where John's brothers were bent upon showing their Edinburgh cousin, Cuthbert Charteris, and an English stranger who accompanied them, one or two fine ships belonging to "the house" then in port. These young men were the sons of a prosperous merchant, all of them already in harness in the office, and beginning to make private ventures on their own behalf. There were three of them--Richard, Alick, and John Buchanan; the two elder had reached the full dignity of young manhood, and rejoiced in mighty whiskers, which John, poor fellow, could only covet intensely, and cultivate with all his might; but even John had begun to have the shrewd man of business engrafted on the boy, and was sometimes precociously calculating, and commercial--sometimes disagreeably swaggering and loud--though not unfrequently simple, foolish, and generous, as better became his years.
"I say, Cuthbert," said the communicative John, as he swung his arm through his grave cousin's, and followed his gay brothers on the way to the river, "did you ever see Harry Muir? Dick says he's going to make him come and dine with us to-night."
"And who is Harry Muir?" asked Charteris.
"Oh, he's nobody--only a clerk in the office you know--but you never saw such a clever chap. He can sing anything you like. He's a grand singer. And when Harry's in a good humour, you should just hear him with the fellows in the office. My father looks out of his own room sometimes to see what's the row, and there's Gilchrist sucking his pen, and Macauley and Alick close down over their books, writing for a race, and Muir quite cool, and looking as innocent as can be. You should just see them, and see how puzzled my father is, when he finds that there's no row at all!"
"And in such emergencies, how do you behave yourself, Johnnie?"
"Johnnie! I wish you'd just mind that I'm not a boy now."
"Jack, then! Will that please you, young man," said Charteris, smiling.
"Me? I behave the best way I can," said the mollified John. "The best plan is, to set to working, and never let on that you hear the door open; but we like to get him among a lot of us when there's nobody in the way; and you'll just see to-night, Cuthbert, what a grand fellow he is for fun."
Cuthbert did not look very much delighted. "And when is this famous dinner to be?" he asked. "Is Dick to entertain us at home?"
Master John burst into a great laugh. "Man, Cuthbert, what a simple fellow you are! You don't think my mother would ask Harry Muir to dine."
"And why not, my boy?" asked the Edinburgh advocate.
"Why not! Man, is that the way you do in the east country? He's only a clerk, and everybody knows you Edinburgh folk are as proud as proud can be. Would you ask your clerk to dine with you?"
"I don't possess such an appendage, Sir John," said the briefless barrister, "except it be a little scrubby boy like what you were the last time I was west here--and he certainly would need some brushing up. So he's not a gentleman, this wit of yours? He would not be presentable in the drawing-room?"
"Hum! I don't know," said honest John, hesitating. "He looks quite as well as Dick or Alick, or that Liverpool man there." The lad drew himself up and arranged his neckcloth complacently. "There's handsomer men, to be sure; but I think Muir's better looking than any of you, Cuthbert."
Charteris laughed: "Is he not well-bred, then?"
"Oh yes, he can behave himself well enough. He's got a way of his own, you know; but then he's a clerk."
"And so are you, Jack, my man," said Charteris.
"Oh yes, but there's a difference. He's got no money--and more than that," said the juvenile merchant, "he's got no enterprise, Cuthbert. There's Alick, he had a share in a plan, sending out a lot of things to San Francisco on a venture, just when the news came about the gold, you know, and he cleared a hundred pounds; that's the way to do. But then, that fellow Muir, he never tries a thing; and worse than that, he went away and married somebody last year, and he had three sisters before, and them all living with him. Just think of that. Four women all dragging a young man down when he might be rising in the world. Isn't it awful?"
"A very serious burden," said Charteris, smiling, "but what is his salary, John?"
"His salary's sixty pounds; my father gives very good salaries. He's just a clerk, you know. The cashier has two hundred."
"Sixty pounds! and five people live on sixty pounds!" said the lawyer.
"And they've got a baby," said John, solemnly.
It was the climax; there was no more said.
The respectable firm of George Buchanan and Sons had its office in a dingy business street near the Exchange. The early darkness of the February night had almost blotted out the high sombre houses opposite, except for the gleaming gas-light streaming from office windows in irregular patches from garret to basement. It was not a very busy time, and at five o'clock the clerks were preparing to leave the office.
"I say, Muir," cried Richard Buchanan, bursting in hastily, "come and dine with us."
Charteris was behind. The famous Harry Muir was certainly handsome--very much better looking than any other of the party, and had a fine, sparkling, joyous, intelligent face--but the lines of it had everything in them but firmness.
"Not to-night," said the clerk, "you must not ask me to-night."
"Why not to-night?" said the young master. "Come along now, Harry. Do be a good fellow. Why it's just to-night of all nights that we want you. There's my cousin Charteris, and there's an Englishman; and we're all as flat as the Clyde. Come along, Muir, don't disoblige us."
"I am very sorry," said Muir, "but I can't stay in town to-night. Let me off to-night; I will be more obedient next time."
"He wants to get home to nurse his wife," said Buchanan, with a sneer.
"My wife is quite well," answered Harry, with a quick flush of anger; "she does not need my nursing, Mr. Buchanan."
"No, no; I cannot go to-night. I don't think I can stay to-night," said the brilliant facile clerk.
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