Then steps forward the man
of letters, looking anxiously— gazing as though he had a right to gaze in
the strangers face; and, throwing out his head, and particularly his chin,
while he utters the hesitating interrogative—"Sir?" And the stranger
replies—"You don’t know me, I suppose? I am such-an-one, who was at
your school at such a time." The instiller of knowledge starts—
"What!" cries he, shifting
his spectacles, "you Johnnie (Thomas, or Peter, as the case may be)
So-and-so? it’s not possible! O man, I’m glad to see ye! Ye’ll mak me an
auld man, whether I will or no. And how hae ye been, an’ where hae ye
been?" as he speaks, he flings his taws over to the corner where his desk
stands. The young stranger still cordially shakes his hand, and a few
kindly words pass between them, and the teacher, turning to his scholars,
says—"You may put by your books and slates, and go for the day;" when an
instantaneous movement takes place through the school; there is a closing
of books, a clanking of slates, a pocketing of pencils, a clutching for
hats, caps, and bonnets—a springing over seats, and a falling of seats—a
rushing to the door, and a shouting when at the door—a "hurra for play!"—and
the stranger seems to have made a hundred happy, while the teacher and he
retire, to
"Drink a cup o’
kindness
For auld langsyne."
But to proceed with our
story of stories. There was a Dr. Montgomery, a native of Annan, who,
after he had been for more than twenty years a physician in India, where
he had become rich, visited his early home, which was also the grave of
his fathers. There were but few of his relations in life when he
returned—(for death makes sad havoc in families in twenty years)—but,
after he had seen them, he inquired if his old teacher, Mr. Grierson, yet
lived?—and being answered in the affirmative, the doctor proceeded to the
residence of his first instructor. He found him occupying the same
apartments in which he resided thirty years before, and which were
situated on the south side of the main street, near the bridge.
When the first
congratulations--the shaking of hands and the expressions of surprise—had
been got over, the doctor invited the dominie to dinner; and, after the
cloth was withdrawn, and the better part of a bottle of Port had vanished
between them, the man of medicine thus addressed his ancient preceptor:--
"Can you inform me, sir,
what has become of my old class-fellows?—who of them are yet in the land
of the living?— who have caught the face of fortune as she smiled,
or been rendered the ‘sport o’ her slippery ba’?’ Of the fate of one of
them I know something, and to me their history would be more interesting
than a romance."
"Do ye remember the names
that ye used to gie ane anither?" inquired the man of letters, with a look
of importance, which showed that the history of the whole class was
forthcoming.
"I remember them well,"
replied the doctor; "there were seven of us: Solitary Sandy—Glaikit
Willie—Venturesome Jamie—Cautious Watty—Leein’ Peter—Jock the Dunce— and
myself."
"And hae ye forgot the
lounderings that I used to gie ye, for ca’in’ ane anither such names?"
inquired Mr. Grierson, with a smile.
"I remember you were
displeased at it," replied the other.
"Weel, doctor," continued
the teacher, "I believe I can gratify your curiosity, an’ I am not sure
but you’ll find that the history of your class-fellows is not without
interest. The career of some of them has been to me as a recompense for
all the pains I bestowed on them, an’ that o’ others has been a source o’
grief. Wi’ some I hae been disappointed, wi’ ithers surprised; but you’ll
allow that I did my utmost to fleece and to thrash your besetting sins out
o’ ye a’. I will first inform ye what I know respecting the history of
Alexander Rutherford, whom all o’ ye used to ca’ Solitary Sandy, because
he wasna a hempy like yoursels.’ Now, sir, hearken to the history of
Solitary Sandy----
