"THE NON-SYMPATHISERS." No. III. BY GEORGE ROBERT TWINN. "AMIDST the violence, the coarseness, and the suffering, that may surround and defile the wretched, there must be moments when the heart escapes craving for the innocent and lovely; when the soul makes for itself, even of a flower, a comfort and a refuge." Such is the sentiment of one of our most popular writers, and I would ask, of how many others? Blessings on the kindly feelings and generous natures that we now so frequently meet with; not confined to one class, but appertaining to thousands, who are helping indiscriminately to swarm this earth, not with a formal and superficial knowledge of each other, but with a true, homely, and heart-known apprehension of each other's thoughts, sentiments, and feelings. Compared with the great mass of the people, these individuals, thus praiseworthily engaged in the great cause of human advancement, of never-ending progression, are but units; but boldly persevering in the good work, "their labour of love," they are manfully upholding against all opposition: stern old prejudices are falling beneath their sway; inveterate ignorance is giving place to real knowledge; narrow selfish views of men and things are acquiring a wide scope for their daily expansion; darkness is yielding to light, falsehood to truth, and mute disregard to sympathy. Such noble and high deeds are the triumphs now being registered on behalf of these good workmen, whose lives are given freely to benefit their fellow-creatures. True, their achievements and victories are not rewarded with a nation's thanks, are engraven on no brazen pillars, nor made the rumour of the world, by Fame's trumpets sounding on every shore and coast the great battle fought between good and evil, between sense and mind. No; their doings are not of a character to need such perishable records, such flattering memorials; but they live deep in the heart's warmest recesses-deep in the soul's inmost core-deep on the imperishable tablets of memory's spotless page-deep in the affections and love of those who, being poor in this world's good things, have only the thank-offering of a bursting grateful heart to bring, of a bosom that swells with genuine gratitude, for any one thing or act acquired for the alleviating of the sorrows of social and domestic beings, who too long have been sitting in darkness and despair, through the unkind and cruel ignorance of the world. Oh, in many hearts, how purely and lovingly lives on the memory of men, who, unknown to the faithful worshipper when life was in full play, have become acquainted with them only through their writings; or, in many instances, through a single sentiment! That such a sympathy, as is embodied in these remarks, is becoming daily more reciprocal between the great body of * Douglas Jerrold. real authors and the masses of society, the following little sketch-not the fruit of a fanciful imagination-will prove. I know of no hamlet that can boast of more secluded and pleasant walks, of more rural country scenery, than the once busy little place of B-, in Essex. The old associations connected with that dear hamlet are many; and only the grave can break the ties that so lovingly unite me to it. Once the centre of bustling activity, of great business (inasmuch as it was a direct thoroughfare to London, and a posting place), how is it despoiled of its mercantile character, now the railroad has swept off, with its superior claims, the old ways and manners of men! Since it became subject to the steam king, the road has lost many of those constant attractions for the mere idler, in the shape of coaches, horses, herds of cattle for the markets, &c.; but the ruin, or rather alterations, necessary, have, in many respects, materially benefited, notwithstanding in others their influence has been withering. As this little hamlet is situated at a most commodious distance from the metropolis, many merchants and others, whose vocations leave them leisure to enjoy the country, have taken up their residence, or have their country houses at B-; consequently, we have "genteel residences" by wholesale, a legion of squires and respectables, and, in brief, a great increase in the population. Few persons could imagine that in 1648 this busy hamlet was a forest of trees, with a few sad houses interspersed; yet such was the case. As I said, so I repeat, the walks in the neighbourhood are secluded and pleasant. The old favourite ramble over Warley Common to the Barracks is lost, in consequence of the "line;" we can only walk round the enclosures, and think sadly upon our childhood's days, when we there shared the game of cricket, or, book in hand, rambled amongst the hills and dales, charmed with their solitary grandeur, pleased with the blooming heather that we feared to crush at every step, or captivated with the nest, discovered unwillingly by us, in the furze-bush, and gazed at with feelings of emotion and pleasure-with feelings of innocence and benevolence-as we quitted the callow brood. But though we think thus sorrowfully of one loved haunt, others remain as unaltered now as we knew them "years agone,”—I mean the dear old green lanes-the still quiet shady nooks, where meditation loves to steal and "pore upon the brook that bubbles by," where silence and heaven-born peace reign, and draw the bosom, racked with the turmoil of business, to come for that freshening gale which shall dissipate every care,-where the wild flowers draw the children in their summer playful gambols, by their beauty and fragrance, to twine them amid their curly locks, or to gather them to deck their parents' cottage homes,-where the calm uninterrupted converse of lovers, affectionately locked arm in arm, sauntering at their own free will, and feeding on honied words, is never broken by aught save the coo of the equally amorous dove, or the startling scream of the jay, -and where the student of nature lingers at evening's close to mark the dying sunset, so beautifully seen through the screen of the dancing foliage-type of his own peaceful departure for a better home-where he finds in the prevailing stillness (that creeps upon him, and works so powerfully upon his nature) the proof most convincing, that goodness and mercy have followed him all the days of his life; that in every sider that we also, as inhabitants of Great Britain, might have some share of the glory gained by the ancestors of our fellow-subjects—a mode of reasoning which was always very successfully used by an old friend, who, having been born in Berwick, used to claim to be of Scotch or English extraction, according as the one or the other country hap pened to be made the subject of praise. For obvious reasons, the field of Bannockburn, in its relation to the battle, cannot be described with that minute accuracy which gives such harrowing interest to the plains of Waterloo. The stone whereon Bruce planted his standard, the stream in which the English cavalry fell victims to the stakes and har rows planted there for their reception; the hill from which the sutlers and horse-boys of the Scotch camp rushed down, so that the weary English thought a fresh army was coming to attack them,―these localities are so marked by nature as to admit of no mistake; but the whole scene, the vast expanse of surrounding country, which was the prize of the victor, and must have animated both parties to almost superhuman exertions, is more interesting than any separate portion of it, as being a reward worthy the courage of the most devoted patriots, and calcu.lated to inspire such feelings as filled the-breast of him who The little village of St. Ninians, about half-way between Bannockburn and Stirling, is remarkable for nothing but the singular condition of its church. When General Monk laid siege to Stirling, he used this church as a magazine for powder, which, unfortunately, ignited, and blew the body of the church to atoms, leaving the tower, however, whole and sound. The inhabitants presently rebuilt their church, but, strange to say, placed it at some little distance from the old tower, which still serves as a belfry to its barn-like companion. Stirling is built on the slope of a hill, on the extreme verge of which stands the castle. According to the guide-books, "the approach to the town is very imposing," and, in some sort, the guide-books are correct, for the town, at a distance, looks clean, but is really excessively dirty-an imposition which might be amended with very little trouble by a more frequent and general use of the Forth's clear waters. The High-street is steep and narrow, the houses principally of wood, with pointed gables and narrow casements. The poorer people sit outside the door, with their wheels or knitting-pins, as if aware that the abominations of the interior cannot be wholesome. Bare feet (the toes of which are not crushed together, and covered with bunions or other excrescences, like English toes, but stand out, straight, long, and well separated, like fingers) predominate here, as elsewhere in Scotland. The girls are bare-headed, but the married women, the elder ones particularly, wear caps of a curious ugliness, which, from their great size and dinginess, look like bad picture-frames round indifferent portraits. When we entered, an aged bellman, in a red coat, with a cracked bell and a 1. voice to match, was announcing the sale of a fine "kit o' saumon, in Thompson's Close," a place which the reader may picture to himself, if he can imagine a passage twice as steep, twice as dark, one-third as wide, and fifty times as dirty, as any one of those low, dark, archways in the Strand, out of which eight horses may often be seen painfully, and with much clatter, dragging up an empty coal cart. Who lived in these closes, or how any one of the inhabitants thereof could venture on to the Castle hill and then go home again to his bed, were problems which I could not solve, for never was contrast more striking. Leaning against the battlements of the ancient castle, we looked upon the magnificent windings of the Forth, which are so eccentric that the distance from Alloa to Stirling is, by land, six, but by water twenty miles. The Ochil hills, a magnificent range, commencing near Perth and extending far into Stirlingshire, gleamed like amethysts beneath the setting sun; at their feet towns and hamlets, farms and churches lay scattered in rich profusion, while, afar off, Edinburgh Castle rose up from the plain, like a giant, twin brother to the one under whose protection we stood, and ready to defend the surpassing riches of the intervening fields. Far to the east the Grampians towered aloft, range above range, till their purple summits were lost in the dim clouds, and Pelion piled on Ossa seemed to have reached Olympus. Almost beneath us, an earthen amphitheatre, with seats of turf, showed where James the Fifth, "Snowdoun's Knight," had enacted the mimic sports of the Round Table. Near to that rose up the "Heading Knoll," wherefrom many a gallant spirit, "tender and true," like the Douglas, took his last look of things earthly; and gazing upon the silent headsman, the axe, the block, the sawdust, and the grim, silent crowd, took all the bitterness of death in that one look, and so laid down his head as on a welcome pillow. Behind us the steeple of the Grey Friars' Church, well battered by Monk's cannon-balls, towered above the black houses. It, too, had witnessed stern processions, of men led forth to death, of nobles banded together in faction, of people driven like sheep; its iron voice had often been a tocsin or a knell, but shall be so no more. Those cannon-balls have settled that and many other things of like nature; shaking much, perhaps, at their first discharge, but fixing the heads of kings, nobles, and people, somewhat firmer on the shoulders than was customary in old times. Beneath the shades of evening, we strolled down the Ballengeich" walk towards the town. The "Heading Knoll," and the "Round Table" have lost their uses; are known only to antiquarians and writers of guide books, for what they have been; but the "Gudeman of Ballengeich," the "King of the Commons," the noble-spirited James the Fifth, still lives in the legends of the people, is still as much their standard of royal justice and royal wisdom, as when," in simple Lincoln green," he went forth amongst them to learn, from the lips of the peasant, the lessons that should guide the counsels of the king. 66 "THE NON-SYMPATHISERS." No. III. BY GEORGE ROBERT TWINN. * "AMIDST the violence, the coarseness, and the suffering, that may surround and defile the wretched, there must be moments when the heart escapes craving for the innocent and lovely; when the soul makes for itself, even of a flower, a comfort and a refuge." Such is the sentiment of one of our most popular writers, and I would ask, of how many others? Blessings on the kindly feelings and generous natures that we now so frequently meet with; not confined to one class, but appertaining to thousands, who are helping indiscriminately to swarm this earth, not with a formal and superficial knowledge of each other, but with a true, homely, and heart-known apprehension of each other's thoughts, sentiments, and feelings. Compared with the great mass of the people, these individuals, thus praiseworthily engaged in the great cause of human advancement, of never-ending progression, are but units; but boldly persevering in the good work, "their labour of love," they are manfully upholding against all opposition: stern old prejudices are falling beneath their sway; inveterate ignorance is giving place to real knowledge; narrow selfish views of men and things are acquiring a wide scope for their daily expansion; darkness is yielding to light, falsehood to truth, and mute disregard to sympathy. Such noble and high deeds are the triumphs now being registered on behalf of these good workmen, whose lives are given freely to benefit their fellow-creatures. True, their achievements and victories are not rewarded with a nation's thanks, are engraven on no brazen pillars, nor made the rumour of the world, by Fame's trumpets sounding on every shore and coast the great battle fought between good and evil, between sense and mind. No; their doings are not of a character to need such perishable records, such flattering memorials; but they live deep in the heart's warmest recesses-deep in the soul's inmost core-deep on the imperishable tablets of memory's spotless page-deep in the affections and love of those who, being poor in this world's good things, have only the thank-offering of a bursting grateful heart to bring, of a bosom that swells with genuine gratitude, for any one thing or act acquired for the alleviating of the sorrows of social and domestic beings. who too long have been sitting in darkness and despair, through the unkind and cruel ignorance of the world. Oh, in many hearts, how purely and lovingly lives on the memory of men, who, unknown to the faithful worshipper when life was in full play, have become acquainted with them only through their writings; or, in many instances, through a single sentiment! That such a sympathy, as is embodied in these remarks, is becoming daily more reciprocal between the great body of * Douglas Jerrold. |