LIFE OF A SCOTCH NATURALIST

Transcriber's Note: This cover has been created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

LIFE OF A SCOTCH NATURALIST

LIFE
OF
A SCOTCH NATURALIST
THOMAS EDWARD

ASSOCIATE OF THE LINNEAN SOCIETY
By SAMUEL SMILES
AUTHOR OF ‘LIVES OF THE ENGINEERS,‘ ‘SELF-HELP,’ ‘CHARACTER,’
‘THRIFT,’ ETC.
PORTRAIT AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE REID, R.S.A.
Fourth Edition
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1877
[The right of translation is reserved.]

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.

PREFACE.

The history of the humblest human life is a tale of marvels. Dr. Johnson said that there was not a man in the street whose biography might not be made interesting, provided he could narrate something of his experiences of life, his trials, his difficulties, his successes, and his failures.

I use these words as an introduction to the following biography of my “man in the street.” Yet Thomas Edward is not an ordinary man. Eighteen years since, I mentioned him in Self-Help, as one of the most extraordinary instances of perseverance in the cause of science that had ever come under my notice.

Nor was he a man of any exalted position in society. He was a shoemaker then; he is a shoemaker still. For nearly thirty years he has fought the battle of scientific poverty. He was one of those men who lived for science, not by science. His shyness prevented him pushing himself forward; and when he had done his work, he was almost forgotten.

How he pursued his love of Nature,—how he satisfied his thirst for knowledge, in the midst of trials, difficulties, and troubles,—not the least of which was that of domestic poverty,—will be found related in the following book. Indeed, it may be said of him, that he has endured as much hardship for the cause of science, as soldiers do in a prolonged campaign. He spent most of his nights out of doors, amidst damp, and wet, and cold. Men thought him mad for enduring such risks. He himself says, “I have been a fool to Nature all my life.”

He always lamented his want of books. He had to send his “findings” to other naturalists to be named, and he often lost them. But books could not be had without money; and money was as scarce with him as books. He was thus prevented from taking rank among higher-class naturalists. He could only work in detail; he could not generalise. He had to be satisfied with the consolation that Mr. J. Gwyn Jeffreys once gave him. “Working naturalists like yourself,” said he, “do quite as much good service in the cause of science as those who study books.” Edward, however, doubted this; for he considered works on natural science to be a great help to the working naturalist. They informed him of what others had done, and also of what remained to be done.

Those who would know something of what Edward has accomplished in only one department of his favourite subject, should consult Messrs. Bate and Westwood’s History of the British Sessile-eyed Crustacea, where his services to the cause of science are fully and generously acknowledged. Of the numerous Crustacea mentioned in that work, Edward collected a hundred and seventy-seven in the Moray Firth, of which twenty were New Species.

In 1866, Edward was elected an Associate of the Linnean Society,—one of the highest honours that science could confer upon him. Since then, however, he has been able to do comparatively little for the advancement of his favourite study. He had been so battered about by falling from rocks in search of birds, and so rheumatised by the damp, wet, and cold, to which he was exposed at night,—for he was obliged to carry on his investigations after his day’s work was over,—that he was unable to continue his investigations in Natural History.

In the Appendix will be found a Selection of the Fauna of Banffshire, prepared by Edward. I have been able to find room for only the Mammals, Birds, Fishes, and Crustacea. I wish it had been possible to give the Star-fishes (Rayed Echinodermata), Molluscs, Zoophytes, and other objects; but this would have filled up the book, and left no room for the Biography.

It was not my intention to have published the book in the ornate form in which it now appears. But my friend Mr. Reid,—being greatly interested in the man and his story,—and having volunteered to illustrate the work “for love,” I could not withstand his generous offer. Hence the very fine portrait of Edward, so exquisitely etched by Rajon; and the excellent wood engravings of Whymper and Cooper, which illustrate the volume.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the materials of the book have been obtained from Edward himself, either by written communication or by “word of mouth.” Much of it is autobiography. Edward was alarmed at the idea of what he communicated being “put into a book.” He thought it might do me an injury. “Not a copy,” he said, “would be bought in Banff.”

However this may be, the writing of the Biography has given me much pleasure. It has led me to seek health amidst the invigorating breezes of the North; and to travel round the rugged shores of Aberdeen and Banff, in search of the views of bays and headlands with which Mr. Reid has so beautifully embellished the book.

It may be objected—“Why write the life of a man who is still living?” To this it may be answered, that Edward has lived his life and done his work. With most of us, “Hic jacet” is all that remains to be added. If the book had not been written now, it is probable that it never would have been written. But it may be asked,—“Is the life really worth writing?” To this question the public alone can give the answer.

London, Nov. 1876.

CONTENTS.

FAUNA OF BANFFSHIRE.

ILLUSTRATIONS

By GEORGE REID, R.S.A.

OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.

BANKS AND BRAES O’ DON.

LIFE OF A NATURALIST.

CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS.

Thomas Edward was born at Gosport, Portsmouth, on Christmas day, 1814. His father, John Edward, was a private in the Fifeshire Militia. Shortly after his enlistment at Cupar, he went to Aberdeen to join his regiment. While stationed there, he became acquainted with, and afterwards married, Margaret Mitchell, a native of the place.

Not long after John Edward’s marriage, his regiment was ordered to Portsmouth. Towards the close of the continental war, militia regiments were marched hither and thither, from one end of the country to another. The regular troops had mostly left England, to meet the armies of Napoleon in the Peninsula and the Low Countries. The militia were assembled in camps along the coast, or were stationed in garrisons to hold watch and ward over the French prisoners confined there. Hence the appearance of the Fifeshire militia at Gosport, where the subject of our story was born.

VILLAGE OF KETTLE.

When the battle of Waterloo had been fought, and peace fell upon Europe, the English army returned from abroad. The militia were no longer needed for garrison duty, and the greater number of them were sent home. The Fifeshire Militia were ordered to Fife, and took up their quarters at Cupar. During that time, John Edward’s wife and family resided at the village of Kettle, about six miles south-west of the county town. They lived there, because John was a native of the place, and had many relatives in the village.

At length the militia were disembodied. Edward returned to Kettle, and resumed his trade of a hand-loom cotton weaver. After remaining there for some time, he resolved to leave for Aberdeen. His wife liked neither the place nor the people. Kettle was a long straggling sleepy village. The people were poor, and employment was difficult to be had. Hence Edward did not require much persuasion to induce him to leave Kettle and settle in Aberdeen, where his wife would be amongst her own people, and where he would be much more likely to find work and wages to enable him to maintain his increasing family.

THE GREEN AT ABERDEEN.

Arrived at Aberdeen, John Edward and his wife “took up house” in the Green, one of the oldest quarters of the city. Their house stood at the head of the Green, near Hadden’s “Woo mill.” The remains of the old Green were lower down the hill. The Denburn ran at the foot of the Street. There were also the Inches, near the mouth of the Dee, over which the tide flowed daily.

Since then, the appearance of that part of Aberdeen has become entirely changed. Railways have blotted out many of the remnants of old cities.[1] The Green is now covered with houses, factories, and the Aberdeen Railway Station,—its warehouses, sidings, and station rooms. A very fine bridge has been erected over the Green, now forming part of Union Street; the Palace Hotel overlooking the railway station and the surrounding buildings.

Thomas Edward was brought up in his parents’ house in the Green, such as it was sixty years ago. It is difficult to describe how he became a naturalist. He himself says he could never tell. Various influences determine the direction of a boy’s likings and dislikings. Boys who live in the country are usually fond of birds and bird-nesting; just as girls who live at home are fond of dolls and doll-keeping. But this boy had more than the ordinary tendency to like living things. He wished to live amongst them. He made pets of them; and desired to have them constantly about him.

THE UNRULY CHILD.

From his birth he was difficult to manage. His mother said of him that he was the worst child she had ever nursed. He was never a moment at rest. His feet and legs seemed to be set on springs. When only about four months old, he leapt from his mother’s arms, in the vain endeavour to catch some flies buzzing in the window. She clutched him by his long clothes, and saved him from falling to the ground. He began to walk when he was scarce ten months old, and screamed when any one ventured to touch him. And thus he went on, observing and examining,—as full of liking for living things as he was when he tried to grasp the flies in the window at Gosport.

BEGINNINGS OF NATURAL HISTORY.

When afterwards asked about the origin of his love for Natural History, he said, “I suppose it must have originated in the same internal impulse which prompted me to catch those flies in the window. This unseen something—this double being, or call it what you will—inherent in us all, whether used for good or evil, which stimulated the unconscious babe to get at, no doubt, the first living animals he had ever seen, at length grew in the man into an irresistible and unconquerable passion, and engendered in him an insatiable longing for, and earnest desire to be always amongst such things. This is the only reason I can give for becoming a lover of Nature. I know of none other.”

While living at Kettle, the child began to walk. He made friends with the cats and dogs about the house. He was soon able to toddle out of doors. At first, he wished to cultivate the acquaintance of the cocks and hens and ducks, of which the village was full. But they always ran away before he could get up to them and caress them.

There was, however, another, and a much more dangerous creature, whose acquaintance he sought to make. This was a sow called Bet, with a litter of pigs. Whenever he was missing, he was found looking in at the pigs. He could not climb over the paling, but could merely look through the splits.

The sow was known to be ferocious, and she was most so when she had a litter of pigs. Edward’s mother was afraid lest the sow should injure him by biting his hands or face through the bars of the cruive.[2] Therefore she warned him not to go near the beast. But her warnings were disregarded. When she asked, “Where’s Tam?” the answer invariably was, “Oh! he’s awa wi’ the pigs.”

“STOLEN BY THE GYPSIES.”

One day the boy disappeared. Every hen-house, every stable, every pigstye, and every likely corner of the village, was searched; but in vain. Tom was lost! He was then little over a year old. He could not have gone very far. Somebody raised the cry that he had been “stolen by the gipsies!” It was remembered that some tinkers had been selling their brooms and pans in the village that afternoon; and it was immediately concluded that they had kidnapped the child. It was not so very unreasonable after all. Adam Smith, the author of the Wealth of Nations, had been kidnapped by a gipsy woman when a child at Kirkcaldy, many years before; and such things live long in popular recollection.

A hue-and-cry was accordingly got up in Kettle about the bairn that had been stolen by the gipsies. Their camp was known to be in the neighbourhood,—about three miles off. Tom’s uncle and three other men volunteered to go early next morning. The neighbours went to their homes, except two, who remained with the mother. She sat by the fire all night,—a long, wretched, dreary night. Early in the morning the four men started. They found the gipsy camp, and stated their grievance. They “wanted the child that had been kidnapped yesterday.” “What?” said the chief gipsy; “we never kidnap children; such a dishonest deed has never been laid to our charge. But, now that you are here, you had better look for yourselves.”

As the searchers were passing through among the carts and tents, they were set upon by a number of women and girls, and belaboured with every kind of weapon and missile. Those who had neither sticks nor ropes, used their claws. The men were unmercifully pummelled and scratched before they could make their escape. They reached Kettle in a deplorable state,—but without the child!

All hopes of his recovery in that quarter being ended, another body of men prepared to set out in another direction. But at this moment they were amazed by a scream outside the house. All eyes were turned to the door, when in rushed the pig-wife, and, without the least ceremony, threw the child into his mother’s lap. “There, woman, there’s yer bairn! but for God’s sake keep him awa frae yon place, or he may fare war next time.” “But whar was he?” they exclaimed in a breath. “Whar wud he be but below Bet and her pigs a’ nicht!”[3]

THE INCHES AT ABERDEEN.

When the family removed to Aberdeen, young Edward was in his glory. The place where he lived was close to the outside of the town. He was enabled to roam into the country by way of Deeside and Ferryhill. Close at hand were the Inches,—not the Inches of to-day—but the beautiful green Inches of sixty years ago, covered with waving algæ. There, too, grew the scurvy grass, and the beautiful sea daisy. Between the Inches, were channels through which the tide flowed, with numerous pots or hollows. These were the places for bandies, eels, crabs, and worms.

THE VENOMOUS BEASTS.

Above the Inches, the town’s manure was laid down,—at a part now covered by the railway station. The heaps were remarkably prolific in beetles, rats, sparrows, and numerous kinds of flies. Then the Denburn, at the foot of the Green, yielded no end of horse-leeches, powets (tadpoles), frogs, and other creatures that abound in fresh or muddy water. The boy used daily to play at these places, and brought home with him his “venomous beasts,” as the neighbours called them. At first they consisted, for the most part, of tadpoles, beetles, snails, frogs, sticklebacks, and small green crabs (the young of the Carcinus mœnas); but as he grew older, he brought home horse-leeches, asks (newts), young rats—a nest of young rats was a glorious prize—field mice and house mice, hedgehogs, moles, birds, and birds’ nests of various kinds.

The fishes and birds were easily kept; but as there was no secure place for the puddocks, horse-leeches, rats, and such like,—they usually made their escape into the adjoining houses, where they were by no means welcome guests. The neighbours complained of the venomous creatures which the young naturalist was continually bringing home. The horse-leeches crawled up their legs and stuck to them, fetching blood; the puddocks and asks roamed about the floors; and the beetles, moles, and rats, sought for holes wherever they could find them.

THE INCORRIGIBLE BOY.

The boy was expostulated with. His mother threw out all his horse-leeches, crabs, birds, and birds’ nests; and he was strictly forbidden to bring such things into the house again. But it was of no use. The next time that he went out to play, he brought home as many of his “beasts” as before. He was then threatened with corporal punishment. But that very night he brought in a nest of young rats. He was then flogged. But it did him no good. The disease, if it might be so called, was so firmly rooted in him, as to be entirely beyond the power of outward appliances. And so it was found in the end.

Words and blows having failed to produce any visible effect, it was determined to keep him in the house as much as possible. His father, who was a handloom weaver, went to his work early in the morning, and returned late at night. His meals were sent to him during the day. The mother, who had her husband’s pirns to fill, besides attending to her household work, was frequently out of the way; and as soon as she disappeared, Tom was off to the Inches. When any one made a remark about her negligence in not keeping a tighter hold of the boy, her answer was, “Weel, I canna be aye at his heels.” Sometimes he was set to rock the cradle. But on his mother’s arrival at home, she found the rocker had disappeared. He was also left to play with the younger children; but he soon left them to play by themselves.

He was occasionally sent a message, though he rarely fulfilled it. He went to his old haunts, regardless of the urgency of the message. One morning he was sent to his father’s workshop with his breakfast; but instead of going there, he set off for the Stocket, several miles from town, with two other loons.[4] Tom induced them to accompany him. The Stocket was a fine place for birds and birds’ nests. They searched all day, and returned home at night. The father never received his breakfast. It was eaten by Edward and the loons.

IMPRISONED AT HOME.

As a punishment for his various misdoings, he was told one morning that he was to be confined to the house all day. It was a terrible punishment, at least to him. Only a portion of his clothes was given him, that he might not go out; and as a further precaution, his mother tied him firmly to the table leg with a thick wisp of thrums. She also tied his wrists together with a piece of cord. When she went out on family affairs, Tom’s little sister was set to watch him. But he disengaged himself from his bonds almost as quickly as the Davenport brothers. With a mixture of promises and threats, he made his little sister come to his help; and the two together pushed the table close to the grate, when putting the rope which confined his legs between the ribs, it soon burnt asunder, and he was free. He next tried to find his clothes, but his mother had hidden them too securely. He found a coat of his elder brother’s, much too big for himself: nevertheless he put it on.

SETS HOUSE ON FIRE.

His mother’s feet were now heard on the stair. Tom hid himself at the back of the door, so that he might rush out as soon as she entered. The door was opened, his mother rushed in screaming, and Tom ran away. The table to which the rope had been attached was on fire, and the house would soon have been in a blaze. In quenching the flames of the rope attached to the boy’s leg, he had forgotten, in his hurry, to quench the burning of the rope still attached to the table. Hence the fire. But Tom was now at liberty. He soon got rid of his shackles, and spent a glorious day out of doors. He had a warm homecoming at night, but the less said of that the better.

AGAIN ESCAPES.

In fact, the boy was found to be thoroughly incorrigible. He was self-willed, determined, and stubborn. As he could not be kept at home, and would not go a message, but was always running after his “beasts,” his father at last determined to take his clothes from him altogether. So, one morning when he went to work, he carried them with him. When the boy got up, and found that he had nothing to wear, he was in a state of great dismay. His mother, having pinned a bit of an old petticoat round his neck, said to him, “I am sure you’ll be a prisoner this day.” But no! His mother went downstairs for milk, leaving him in the house. He had tied a string round his middle, to render himself a little more fit for moving about. He followed his mother downstairs, and hid himself at the back of the entry door; and as soon as she had passed in, Tom bolted out, ran down the street, and immediately was at his old employment of hunting for crabs, horse-leeches, puddocks, and sticklebacks.

His father, on coming home at night with Tom’s clothes in his hand, looked round the room, and asked, “Is he in bed?” “Na!” “Far[5] is he?” “Weel, I left him here when I gaed to the door for milk, and when I came back he was awa; but whether he gaed out o’ the window or up the lum[6] I canna tell.” “Did ye gie him ony claes?” “No!” “Most extraordinary!” exclaimed the father, sitting down in his chair. He was perfectly thunderstruck. His supper was waiting for him, but he could not partake of it. A neighbouring woman shortly after entered, saying, “Meggy, he’s come!” “Oh, the nickem,”[7] said Tom’s mother, “surely he’s dead wi’ cauld by this time. Fat can we do wi’ him? Oh, Mrs. Kelman, he’ll break my very heart. Think o’ him being oot for haill days without ony meat. Often he’s oot afore he gets his breakfast, and we winna see him again till night. Only think that he’s been out a’ the day ’maist naked! We canna get him keepit in frae thae beasts o’ his!”

RECEPTION ON RETURN.

“He’ll soon get tired o’ that,” said Mrs. Kelman, “if ye dinna lick him.” “Never,” roared old Edward; “I’ll chain him in the house, and see if that will cool him.” “But,” rejoined Mrs. Kelman, “ye maunna touch him the night, John.” “I’ll chain him to the grate! But where is he? Bring him here.” “He’s at my fireside.” By this time Tom, having followed at her heels, and heard most of what was said about him, was ready to enter as she came out. “Far hae ye been, you scamp?” asked his mother. “At the Tide!” His father on looking up, and seeing the boy with the old petticoat about him, bedabbled by the mud in which he had been playing, burst into a fit of laughter. He leant back on his chair, and laughed till he could laugh no more.

“Oh, laddie,” said the mother, “ye needna look at me in that way. It’s you that he’s laughin’ at, you’re sic a comical sicht. Ye’ll gang to that stinkin’ place, man, till ye droun yoursel, and sine ye winna come back again.” Tom was then taken in hand, cleaned and scrubbed, and put to bed. Next morning his father, before he went out, appeared at the boy’s bedside, and said, “If ye go out this day, sir, I’ll have you chained.” “But,” replied Tom, “ye hinna a cooch;”[8] for he had no notion of anything being chained but dogs. “Never mind,” said his father, “I’ll chain you!”

IS LAID UP BY FEVER.

The boy had no inclination to rise that day. He was hot and cold alternately. When he got up in the afternoon, he was in a “gruize.”[9] Then he went to bed again. By the evening he was in a hot fever. Next day he was worse. He raved, and became delirious. He rambled about his beasts and his birds. Then he ceased to speak. His mouth became clammy and his tongue black. He hung between life and death for several weeks. At length the fever spent itself, leaving him utterly helpless.

One afternoon, as he was gradually getting better, he observed his mother sitting by his bedside. “Mother,” said he, “where are my crabs and bandies that I brocht hame last nicht?” “Crabs and bandies!” said she, “ye’re surely gaun gyte;[10] it’s three months sin ye were oot!” This passed the boy’s comprehension. His next question was, “Has my father gotten the chains yet?” “Na, laddie, nor winna; but ye maunna gang back to yer auld places for beasts again.” “But where’s a’ my things, mother?” “They’re awa! The twa bottoms o’ broken bottles we found in the entry, the day you fell ill, were both thrown out.” “And the shrew mouse ye had in the boxie?” “Calton (the cat) took it.” This set the boy a-crying, and in that state he fell asleep, and did not waken till late next morning,—when he felt considerably better. He still, however, continued to make inquiries after his beasts.

His father, being in-doors, and seeing the boy rising and leaning upon his elbow, said to him, “Come awa, laddie. It’s long since ye were oot. The whins, and birds, and water-dogs[11] at Daiddie Brown’s burnie, will be a’ langin to see ye again.” The boy looked at his mother, and smiled, but said nothing. In a few days he was able to rise, but the spring was well advanced before he was able to go out of doors.

HIS RECOVERY.

He then improved rapidly. He was able to go farther and farther every day. At first he wandered along the beach. Then he roamed about over the country. He got to know the best nesting places—the woods, plantations, and hedges,—the streams, burns, locks, and mill-dams,—all round Aberdeen. When the other boys missed a nest, it was always “that loon Edward” that took it. For this he was thrashed, though he was only about four years old.

THE RUBISLAW QUARRIES.

One of his favourite spots was the Den[12] and quarries of Rubislaw. There were five excellent places in the Den for birds’ nests and wild flowers. But he went to the quarries chiefly to find the big bits of sheep’s silver or mica in the face of the rocks. Edward was much astonished at the size of the rocks. He knew how birds made their nests; he knew how flowers and whins grew out of the ground; but he did not know how rocks grew. He asked his parents for the reason. They told him that these rocks had existed from the beginning. This did not satisfy him, and he determined to ask one of the men at the quarry, who certainly ought to know how the rocks grew. “How do the rocks grow?” asked he of a quarryman one day. “Fat say ye?” Tom repeated the question. “To the deil wi’ ye, ye impudent brat, or I’ll toss ye owre the head o’ the quarry!” Tom took to his heels and fled, never looking back.

Another favourite haunt was Daiddie Brown’s burnie. There were plantations and hedges near it, and fields close at hand on either side. Its banks were thickly clothed with wild raspberries and whins—the habitats of numerous birds. The burn itself had plenty of water-dogs, or water-rats, along its banks. That neighbourhood has now been entirely overbuilt. The trees, the hedges, the whins, and even the burn itself, have all been swept away.

LOVE OF BIRDNESTING.

Tom’s knowingness about birds’ nests attracted many of his boy-fellows to accompany him in his expeditions. He used to go wandering on, forgetful of time, until it became very late. On such occasions, the parents of the boys became very anxious about them; and knowing that Tam Edward was the cause of their being kept so long away from home, they forbade them accompanying him again on any account. When he asked them to go with him a-birdnesting, their answer usually was, “Wha wad gang wi’ you? ye never come hame!” Even when Tom did get any boys to follow him, he usually returned alone.

“A BYKE” IN THE WOOD.

On one occasion he got some boys to accompany him to a wood at Polmuir, about two miles from town, on a birdnesting expedition. While they were going through the wood, a little separated, one of them called out, “A byke, a byke,[13] stickin’ on a tree, and made o’ paper!” A byke was regarded as a glorious capture, not only for the sake of the honey, but because of the fun the boys had in skelpin’ out the bees. Before they had quite reached the spot, one of the youngest boys yelled out, “Oh! I’m stung, I’m stung!” He took to his feet, and they all followed. After they had run some distance, and there being no appearance of a foe, a halt was made, and they stood still to consider the state of affairs. But all that could be ascertained was, that the byke was on a tree, that it was made of paper, and that it had lots of yellow bees about it.

This so excited Tom’s curiosity that he at once proposed to go back and take down the paper byke. His proposal was met with a decided refusal; and on his insisting upon going back, all the other boys ran away home. Nothing daunted, however, he went back to that part of the wood where the byke had been seen. He found it, and was taking it from the under side of the branch to which it was attached, when a bee lit upon one of his fingers, and stung it severely. The pain was greater than from any sting that he had ever had before. He drew back, and sucked and blew the wound alternately, in order to relieve the pain.

SECURES THE BYKE.

Then he thought, “What can I do next?” There the byke hung before him. It was still in his power to remove it,—if he could. To leave it was impossible. Although he had nothing to defend himself from the attacks of the bees, nor anything to put the byke into when he had taken it down, still he would not go without it. His bonnet could scarcely do. It was too little and too holey. His stockings would not do; because he wished to take the byke home whole. A thought struck him. There was his shirt! That would do. So he took off his jacket, and disrobed himself of his shirt. Approaching the tree very gently, though getting numerous stings by the way, he contrived to remove the byke from the branch to which it was hanging, and tucked it into his shirt. He tied the whole up into a sort of round knot, so as to keep all in that was in.

It was now getting quite dark, and he hurried away with his prize. He got home in safety. He crept up the stair, and peeped in at the keyhole, to see that the coast was clear. But no! he saw his father sitting in his chair. There was an old iron pot in a recess on one side of the stair, in which Tom used to keep his numerous “things,” and there he deposited his prize until he could unpack it in the morning. He now entered the house as if nothing had happened. “Late as usual, Tam,” said his father. No further notice was taken. Tom got his supper shortly after, and went to bed.

Before getting into bed, he went a little out of way to get undressed, and then, as much unseen as possible, he crept down beneath the blankets. His brother, having caught sight of his nudity, suddenly called out, “Eh, mother, mother, look at Tam! he hasna gotten on his sark!” Straightway his mother appeared at the bedside, and found that the statement was correct. Then the father made his appearance. “Where’s your shirt, sir?” “I dinna ken.” “What! dinna ken!” addressing his wife—“Where’s my strap?” Tom knew the power of the strap, and found that there was no hope of escaping it.

The strap was brought! “Now, sir, tell me this instant, where is your shirt?” “It’s in the bole on the stair.” “Go and get it, and bring it here immediately.” Tom went and brought it, sorrowfully enough, for he dreaded the issue. “And what have you got in it?” “A yellow bumbees’ byke.” “A what?” exclaimed his father and mother in a breath. “A yellow bumbees’ byke.” “Did I not tell you, sir,” said his father, “only the other day, and made you promise me, not to bring any more of these things into the house, endangering and molesting us as well as the whole of our neighbours. Besides only think of your stripping yourself in a wood, to get off your shirt to hold a bees’ byke!”

“But this is a new ane,” said Tom, “it’s made o’ paper.” “Made o’ fiddlesticks!” “Na, I’ll let ye see it.” “Let it alone, I don’t want to see it. Go to bed at once, sir, or I shall give you something (shaking his strap) that will do you more good than bees’ bykes!”

THE WASP’S NEST.

Before the old couple went to bed, they put Tom’s shirt into a big bowl, poured a quantity of boiling water over it, and after it was cold, they opened the shirt, and found—a Wasps’ Nest!

CHAPTER II.
SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS.

Edward was between four and five years old when he went to school. He was sent there principally that he might be kept out of harm’s way. He did not go willingly; for he was of a roving, wandering disposition, and did not like to be shut up anywhere. He hated going to school. He was confined there about four hours a day. It might seem very little to some, but it was too much for him. He wanted to be free to roam about the Inches, up the Denburn, and along the path to Rubislaw, bird-nesting.

The first school to which he was sent was a dame’s school. It was kept by an old woman called Bell Hill. It was for the most part a girls’ school, but Bell consented to take the boy because she knew his mother, and wished to oblige her. The schoolroom was situated at the top of a long stair. In fact, it was the garret of an ordinary dwelling-house.

We have said that Tom did not like school. He could not be reconciled to spend his time there. Thus he often played the truant. He was sometimes arrested on his way to school by the fish-market. It was then held in the Shiprow, where the post-office now stands. There were long rows of benches on which the fish were spread out. The benches were covered in, and afforded an excellent shelter on a rainy day.

THE FISH-MARKET.

Tom was well known to the fishwives. “Here comes the queer laddie,” they would say as they saw him approaching. And when he came up, they would ask him, “Weel, man, fat are ye gaun to speer[14] the day?” Tom’s inquiries were usually about fish—where they came from, what their names were, what was the difference between the different fishes, and so on. The fish-market was also a grand place for big blue flies, great beetles with red and yellow backs (burying beetles), and daylight rottens. They were the tamest rats he had ever seen, excepting two that he used to carry about in his pockets. His rats knew him as well as a dog knows his master.

But Tom’s playing the truant and lingering about the fish-market soon became known to his mother; and then she sent for her mother, Tom’s grannie, to take him to school. She was either to see him “in at the door,” or accompany him into the school itself. But Tom did not like the supervision of his grannie. He rebelled against it. He played the truant under her very eyes. When grannie put him in at the door, calling out “Bell!” to the schoolmistress upstairs, Tom would wait until he thought the old woman was sufficiently distant, and then steal out, and run away, by cross streets, to the Denburn or the Inches.

But that kind of truant-playing also got to be known; and then grannie had to drag him to school. When she seized him by the “scruff o’ the neck,” she had him quite tight. It was of no use attempting to lie down or sit down. Her hand was like a vice, and she kept him straight upon his feet. He tried to wriggle, twist, turn himself round as on a pivot, and then make a bolt. She nevertheless held on, and dragged him to school, into the presence of Bell Hill, and said, “Here’s your truant!” Tom’s only chance was to go along very quietly, making no attempt to escape grannie’s clutches, and then, watching for an opportunity, he would make a sudden dart and slip through her fingers. He ran, and she ran; but in running, Tom far outstripped her, for though grannie’s legs were very much longer than his, they were also very much stiffer.

ATTRACTIONS OF THE DENBURN.

The boy was sent one morning to buy three rolls for breakfast; but after he had bought the rolls, instead of going home, he forgathered with three loons, and accompanied them to the Denburn. He got a lot of horse-leeches, and was in the act of getting another when, looking in the water, he saw the reflection of grannie approaching. When he felt her fingers touching his neck, he let go the stone under which the horse-leech was, and made a sudden bound to the other side of the burn. He heard a heavy splash in the water. His comrades called out, “Tam, Tam, yer grannie’s droonin’!” But Tam neither stopped nor looked back. He flew as fast as he could to the Inches, where he stopped to take breath. The tide coming in, drove him away, and then he took refuge on the logs, near the Middens; after which he slunk home in the evening.

His mother received him thus: “Ye’re here again, ye ne’er-do-well! creepin in like a thief. Ye’ve been wi’ yer raggamuffins: yer weet duds tell that. That’s wi’ yer Inches, an’ tearin an’ ridin on the logs, an’ yer whin bushes. But ye may think muckle black shame o’ yersel, man, for gaun and droonin yer peer auld grannie.” “I didna droon her,” said Tom. “But she may hae been drooned for you; ye didna stay to tak her oot.” “She fell in hersell.” “Haud yer tongue, or I’ll take the poker t’ye. Think shame, man, to send her hame in sic a filthy state. But where’s the bread I sent ye for?” “It’s a’ eaten.” “We wad hae had a late breakfast if we had waited till now, and sine ye’ve no gottin it after a’. But yell see what yer faither ’ill say to ye when he gets hame.”

TOM AND HIS GRANNIE.

Tom was in bed by that time. He remained awake until his father returned in the evening. He was told the whole story by his wife, in its most dreadful details. When he heard of grannie’s plash into the burn, and coming home covered with “glaur,” he burst out into a long and hearty laugh. Tom heard it with joy. The father then remarked that grannie should “beware of going so near the edge of such a dirty place.” Then Tom felt himself reprieved, and shortly after fell asleep.

BELL HILL AND THE BEASTS.

The scapegrace returned to school. He did not learn a great deal. He had been taught by his mother his A B C, and to read words of three letters. He did not learn much more at Bell Hill’s school. Bell’s qualifications as a teacher were not great. Nevertheless, the education that she gave was a religious education. She prayed, or as Edward called it, “groaned” with the children twice a day. And it was during one of her devotional exercises that the circumstance occurred which compelled Bell Hill to expel Tom Edward from her school.

Edward had been accustomed to bring many of his “beasts” with him to school. The scholars were delighted with his butterflies; but few of them cared to be bitten or stung by his other animals. And to have horse-leeches crawling about them was unendurable. Thus Edward became a source of dread and annoyance to the whole school. He was declared to be a “perfect mischief.” When Bell Hill was informed of the beasts he brought with him, she used to say to the boy, “Now, do not bring any more of these nasty and dangerous things here again.” Perhaps he promised, but generally he forgot.

THE “KAE” AT SCHOOL.

At last he brought with him an animal of a much larger sort than usual. It was a Kae, or jackdaw. He used to keep it at home, but it made such a noise that he was sent out with it one morning, with strict injunctions not to bring it back again. He must let it go, or give it to somebody else. But he was fond of his kae, and his kae was fond of him. It would follow him about like a dog. He could not part with the kae. So he took it to school with him. But how could he hide it? Little boys’ trousers were in those days buttoned over their vest; and as Tom’s trousers were pretty wide, he thought he could get the kae in there. He got it safely into his breeks before he entered the school.

So far so good. But when the schoolmistress gave the word “Pray,” all the little boys and girls knelt down, turning their backs to Bell. At this movement the Kae became fractious. He could not accommodate himself to the altered position. But seeing a little light overhead, he made for it. He projected his beak through the opening between the trousers and the vest. He pushed his way upwards; Tom squeezed him downwards to where he was before. But this only made the Kae furious. He struggled, forced his way upwards, got his bill through the opening, and then his head.

The Kae immediately began to cre-waw! cre-waw! “The Lord preserv’s a’! Fat’s this noo?” cried Bell, starting to her feet. “It’s Tam Edward again!” shouted the scholars, “wi’ a craw stickin’ oot o’ his breeks!” Bell went up to him, pulled him up by his collar, dragged him to the door, thrust him out, and locked the door after him. Edward never saw Bell Hill again.

GOES TO ANOTHER SCHOOL.

The next school to which he was sent was at the Denburn side, near by the venerable Bow brig, the oldest bridge in Aberdeen,[15] but now swept away to make room for modern improvements. This school consisted wholly of boys. The master was well stricken in years. He was one of the old school, who had great faith in “the taws,”[16] as an instrument of instruction. Edward would have learnt much more at this school than at Bell Hill’s, had he not been so near his favourite haunt, the Denburn. He was making rapid progress with his reading, and was going on well with his arithmetic, when his usual misfortune occurred.

HORSE-LEECHES AT SCHOOL.

One day he had gone to school earlier than usual. The door was not open; and to wile away his time he went down to the Denburn. He found plenty of horse-leeches, and a number of the grubs of water-flies. He had put them into the bottom of a broken bottle, when one of the scholars came running up, crying, “Tam, Tam, the school’s in!” Knowing the penalty of being behind time, Tom flew after the boy, without thinking of the bottle he had in his hand. He contrived, however, to get it into the school, and deposited it in a corner beside him, without being observed.

All passed on smoothly for about half-an-hour, when one of the scholars gave a loud scream, and started from his seat. The master’s attention was instantly attracted, and he came down from the desk, taws in hand. “What’s this?” he cried. “It’s a horse-leech crawlin’ up my leg!” “A horse-leech?” “Yes, sir, and see,” pointing to the corner in which Tom kept his treasure, “there’s a bottle fu’ o’ them!” “Give me the bottle!” said the master; and, looking at the culprit, he said, “You come this way, Master Edward!” Edward followed him quaking. On reaching the desk, he stopped, and holding out the bottle, said, “That’s yours, is it not?” “Yes.” “Take it then, that is the way out,” pointing to the door; “go as fast as you can, and never come back; and take that too,” bringing the taws down heavily upon his back. Tom thought that his back was broken, and that he would never get his breath again.

A few days after, Tom was preparing to go out, after breakfast, when his mother asked him, “Where are ye gaun the day, laddie?” “Till my school,” said he. “To your school, are ye? where is’t? at the Inches, or the Middens, or Daiddie Brown’s burnie? where is’t?” “At the fit o’ the Green.” “At the fit o’ the Green! But hoo lang is it since ye was putten awa frae that school?” Tom was silent. He saw that his mother had been informed of his expulsion.

EXPELLED FROM SECOND SCHOOL.

In a little while she was ready to go out. She took hold of her son by the cuff of the neck, and took him down to the Green. When she reached the school, for the purpose of imploring the master to take her son back, she knocked at the door, and the master at once appeared. Before she could open her mouth, the master abruptly began, “Don’t bring that boy here! I’ll not take him back—not though you were to give me twenty pounds! Neither I, nor my scholars, have had a day’s peace since he came here.” And with that he shut the door in her face, before she could utter a single word. She turned and came away, very much vexed. She kept her grip on the boy, but, standing still to speak to a neighbour, and her hold getting a little slacker, he made a sudden bolt, and escaped.

As usual, he crept in late in the evening. His father was at home, reading. On entering, Tom observed that he stopped, fixing his eyes upon him over the top of his book, and looked at him steadily for some time. Then, laying down his book, he said, “And where have you been, sir?” The boy said nothing. “It’s no wonder that you’re dumb. You’ve been putten out of your school a second time. You’ll be a disgrace to all connected wi’ you. You’ll become an idler, a ne’er-do-well. You’ll get into bad company. You’ll become a thief! Then you’ll get into gaol, and end your days in misery and shame. Such is the case with all that neglect their schooling, and disregard what their parents bid them.”

Tom was at last ashamed of himself. He said nothing until supper-time; and then he asked for his supper, as he was hungry. “Perhaps you are,” said his father; “and you shall get no supper this night, nor any other night, until you learn to behave yourself better. Go to bed, sir, this moment!” Tom slunk away, and got to bed as soon as possible. When the lights were out, and all were thought to be abed, a light hand removed the clothes from over Tom’s head, and put something into his hand. He found it to be “a big dad o’ bread and butter.” It was so like the kind motherly heart and hand to do this. So Tom had his supper after all.

SENT TO HIS THIRD SCHOOL.

He was next sent to the Lancaster School in Harriet Street. There were two masters in this school. The upper classes were in the highest storey, the other classes in the lowest. The master of the lower class, to which Tom belonged, knowing his weakness, ordered him, on entering, not to bring any of his beasts to that school. He was to pay more attention to his lessons than he had yet done, or he would be punished severely. He did not bring anything but his school-books for a long time, but at last his usual temptation befell him. It happened in this way.

THE SPARROW’S NEST.

On his way to and from school, along School Hill, he observed a sparrow’s nest built in the corner part of a spout. He greatly envied the sparrow’s nest. But he could only feast his longing eyes at a distance. He tried to climb the spout once or twice, but it was too high, and bulged out at the top. The clamps which held the spout to the wall were higher at the top than at the bottom. He had almost given up the adventure in despair, when one day, on going to school, he observed two men standing together and looking up in the direction of the nest. Boy-like, and probably thinking that he was a party concerned in the affair, he joined them, and listened to what they were talking about. He found that the nest interfered with the flow of water along the spout, and that it must be removed; and that the whole waterway along the spout must also be cleaned out.

Tom was now on the alert, and watched the spout closely. That day passed, and nothing was done. The next day passed, and still the men had not made their appearance. But on the third day, on his way to school, he observed a man and a boy placing a long ladder against the house. Tom stopped, and guessing what was about to be done, he intended to ask the man for the nest and its contents. The man was about to ascend the ladder, when, after feeling his pockets and finding that something had been forgotten, he sent the boy back to the shed for something or other,—most probably a trowel. Then, having struck a light, and set fire to his pipe, the man betook himself to the churchyard, which was near at hand.

THE NEST “HARRIED.”

A thought now struck Tom. Might he not take the nest himself without waiting for it, and perhaps without getting it after all? He looked about. He looked into the churchyard gate, nearly opposite. He saw nobody. The coast was clear. Tom darted across the street, and went rapidly up the ladder. Somebody shrieked to him from a window on the other side. It staggered him at first. But he climbed upward; got to the nest, and, after some wriggling and twisting, he pulled it away, and got down before either the man or the boy had returned.

YOUNG SPARROWS AT SCHOOL.

It was eggs that he wanted, but, lo and behold! here was a nest of five well-fledged birds. Instead of taking the birds home, Tom was foolish enough to take them with him to school. He contrived to get the nest into the school unobserved, and put it below the form on which he was seated, never thinking that the little things would get hungry, or try to make their escape. All went on well for about an hour. Then there was a slight commotion. A chirrup was heard. And presently the throats of all were opened—“Chirrup! chirrup!” Before the master could get the words “What’s that?” out of his mouth, the birds themselves answered him by leaving their nest and fluttering round the schoolroom,—the boys running after them! “Silence! Back to your seats!” cried the master. There was now stillness in the school, except the fluttering of the birds.

The culprit was called to the front. “This is more of your work, Edward, is it not?” “Yes, sir.” “And did I not tell you to bring no more of these things here.” “Yes, sir; but I only got them on my way up, or I wouldn’t have brought them here.” “I don’t believe it,” said the master. “Yes, it’s true, it’s true,” shouted some of the scholars. “Silence! How do you know?” “We saw him harryin’ the nest as we came up School Hill.” “How?” “He was on the top of a long ladder takin’ the nest oot o’ a spoot.” “Well, sir,” he said to Edward, “you are one of the most daring and determined little fellows that I have ever heard of. It seems you will follow nobody’s advice. If you do not give up your tricks, you will some day fall and break your neck. But as you have told me the truth, I will forgive you this once. But remember! it’s the last time. Now go, collect your birds, and take them away!”

Edward groped about to collect the birds, but few of them were left. The windows having been let down, they had all escaped except one. He got that one, and descended to the street. There he recovered two other “gorbals.” He went home with his three birds; but, his sister being ill, his mother told him to take them away, because they made such a noise. In the course of the day he gave them to another boy, in exchange for a little picture-book, containing “The Death and Burial of Cock Robin.”

AT LANCASTER SCHOOL.

Next morning he went back to school, and from that time forward he continued to obey the master’s orders. He never brought any more “beasts” there. He was at the Lancaster school about eighteen months, though he was occasionally absent. He did not learn very much. The Bible was used as the reading book, and when he left school he could read it fairly. He could also repeat the Shorter Catechism. But he knew very little of arithmetic, and nothing of grammar. He had only got the length of the rule of two,—that is, he could add up two lines of figures. He could not manage the multiplication table. He could only multiply by means of his fingers. He knew nothing of writing.

We must mention the cause of his leaving his third and his last school. He had entirely given up bringing “beasts” with him. But he had got a bad name. It was well known that he had been turned out of all the schools which he had formerly attended, on account of bringing his “beasts” with him. Better kill a dog, it is said, than give him a bad name. In Edward’s case, his bad name was attended with very serious results.

A MAGGY MONNY FEET.

One morning, when the boys were at their lessons and the master was at his desk, a sudden commotion occurred. The master gave a loud scream, and, jumping to his feet, he shook something from his arm, and suddenly put his foot upon it. Then, turning in Edward’s direction, he exclaimed, “This is some more of your work, Master Edward.” Not hearing what he said, Edward made no reply. Another boy was called forward, and both stooping down, they took up something and laid it on a sheet of paper. On rising, the boy was asked what it was. “It’s a Maggy Monny Feet,” he said. “Is its bite dangerous? Is it poisonous?” The boy could not tell.

Edward was then called to the floor. “You’ve been at your old trade, Edward, I see; but I’ll now take it out of you. I have warned you not to bring any of your infernal beasts here, and now I have just found one creeping up my arm and biting me. Hold up.” Edward here ventured to say that he had not brought the beast, that he had not brought anything for a long while past. “What! a lie too?” said the master: “A lie added to the crime makes it doubly criminal. Hold up, sir!” Tom held up his hand, and the master came down upon it very heavily with the taws. “The other!” The other hand was then held up, and when Tom had got his two hot hands, the master exclaimed, “That’s for the lie, and this for the offence!” and then he proceeded to bring the taws heavily down upon his back. The boy, however, did not cry.

EDWARD UNJUSTLY PUNISHED.

“Now, sir,” said the master, when almost out of breath, “will you say now that you did not bring it?” “I did not; indeed, sir, I did not!” “Well then, take that,” giving him a number of tremendous lashes along his back. “Well now?” “I did not!” The master went on again: “It’s your own fault,” he said, “for not confessing your crime.” “But I did not bring it,” replied Edward. “I’ll flog you until you confess.” And then he repeated his lashes, upon his hands, his shoulders, and his back. Edward was a mere mite of a boy, so that the taws reached down to his legs, and smote him there. “Well now,” said the master, after he was reduced to his last effort, “did you bring it?” “No, sir, I did not!”

The master sat down exhausted. “Well,” said he, “you are certainly a most provoking and incorrigible devil.” The master had a reddish nose, and a number of pimples on his face, which were of the same hue. When he got into a rage, it was observed that the protuberances became much brighter. On this occasion his organ became ten times redder than before. It was like Bardolph’s lanthorn in the poop. Some of the boys likened his pimples to large driblets of blood.

EXPELLED FROM HIS THIRD SCHOOL.

After resting for a while in his chair, Edward standing before him, he called to the boy whom he had first brought to his assistance, “William, bring forward that thing!” The boy brought forward the paper, on which lay a bruised centipede. “Now then,” said the master, “did you not bring that venomous beast here?” “I did not, sir!” The whole school was now appealed to. “Did any of you see Edward with that beast, or any other beast, to-day or yesterday?” No answer. “Did any of you see Edward with anything last week or the week before?” Still no answer. Then, after a considerable pause, turning to Edward, he said, “Get your slate. Go home, and tell your father to get you put on board a man-of-war, as that is the best school for all irreclaimables such as you.” So saying, he pointed to the door. Tom got his slate and his books, and hurried down stairs. And thus Edward was expelled from his third and last school.

On reaching home, he told his parents the circumstances connected with his expulsion. He also added that he wouldn’t go to school any more; at all events, he wouldn’t go back to “yon school.” He would rather go to work. He was told that he was too young to work; for he was scarcely six years old. His father proposed to take him to the Lancaster school on the following day, for the purpose of inducing the master to take back the boy.

A NIGHT UNDER THE LOGS.

The next day arrived. His father came home from his work for the purpose of taking the boy to school; but Tom had disappeared. He would not go back. He went first to the fish-market, where he spent the greater part of the day. Then he went down to the Inches. From thence he went towards the logs, and whilst there with a few more boys preparing sparrow-traps, one of them called out “Tam, there’s yer faither!” Tom immediately got up, and ran away; his father, following him, called out “Stop, sir! stop, sir! come back, come back, will you!” Tom’s father was a long slender man, and could not stand much running. He soon dropt behind, while Tom went out Deeside way like a lamplighter. He never stopped until he reached the Clayholes. Not seeing his father following him, he loitered about there until it was nearly dark; he then returned, keeping a close look-out and ready to run off again. At length, about dark, he got back to the logs.

It must be mentioned that on the spare ground above the Inches large piles of logs were laid, some of them of great size. The logs were floated down the Dee, and were laid there until the timber merchants found it convenient to take them away. Little care being exercised in putting up the piles, there were often large openings left at the ends. Instead of going home, the boy got into one of these openings, and crept in as far as he could get. But though he was in a measure out of sight, he soon found that he could obtain very little shelter for the night. He was barefooted, and his clothes were thin and raggy. The wind blew through the logs, and he soon became very cold. He shivered till his teeth chattered. The squeaking and jumping of the rats, of whom there seemed to be myriads, kept him awake. It was so different from being snug in his warm bed, that he once thought of getting out of his hole and running home. But he was terrified to do that, and thus encounter his father’s strap,—his back being still so sore from the effects of his flogging at school. The cold continued to increase, especially towards the small hours of the morning. Indeed, he never experienced so bitterly cold a night in the whole course of his life.

A FRUITLESS SEARCH.

At length morning began to dawn. The first streaks of light were tinging the eastern sky, when Tom prepared to get out of his hole and have a run in the open ground to warm himself. He was creeping out of the logs for the purpose, when in the dim morning light he thought he saw the figure of a man. Yes! it was his father. He saw him moving about, among the sawpits, the logs, and the piles of wood. Tom crept farther into his hole among the logs; and on looking out again, he found his father had disappeared. Half-an-hour later he appeared again; and after going over the former ground, he proceeded in the direction of the Inches. In a few minutes he descended to the channel, doubtless with the intention of crossing, as the tide was out at the time.

EDWARD’S RETURN HOME.

Now, thought Tom, is my opportunity. He crept out of his hole, went round the farther end of the logs, up Lower Dee Street, past the carpet-weaver’s, up Carmelite Street, and then home. Just as he reached the top of the stair, Mrs. Kelman, the kindly “neibour,” who had been kept up all night by the troubles of the Edward family, took him by the collar, and said, “Eh, laddie, ye hae gien yer folk a sair nicht o’t! But bide a wee, I’ll gang in wi’ ye!” As she entered the door, she exclaimed, “Here he’s again, Maggie, a’ safe!” “Oh, ye vagaboon,” said the mother, “where hae ye been a’ nicht? Yer faither’s oot seekin’ ye. I wonder how I can keep my hands aff ye.” “No, no, Maggie,” said Mrs. Kelman, “ye winna do that. But I’ll tell ye what ye’ll do. Gie him some meat, and let him get to his bed as fast as he can.” “His bed?” said his mother, “he shanna bed here till his faither comes in.” “Just gie him something, Maggie, and get him oot o’ the road.” After some parleying, Tom got something to eat, and was in bed, with the blankets over him, before his father returned.

“Weel, John,” said Mrs. Kelman, “ye hinna gotten him?” “No.” “Ye hinna gaun to the right place!” “The right place!” said John, “who on earth could tell the right place for such a wandering Jew as he is?” “Weel, I’ve got him.” “Where?” “At the head o’ the stair!” “And where is he now?” “Where he should be.” “That’s in Bridewell!” “No, no, John, dinna say that.” “Where, then?” “In his bed.” “What! here? And before I have paid him for his night’s work?” “Now, John, just sit doun and hae a cup o’ tea wi’ Maggie and me before you go to your wark; and if ye hae onything to say to the laddie, ye can say it when he gets up.” “You always take his part, Mrs. Kelman, always!”

Tom lay quaking in bed. He heard all that was said. He peeped out of the blankets; but when he saw his father sit down, he knew that all was safe. And when he had his friendly cup o’ tea, and went to his work, Tom fell fast asleep. He did not awake until midday, when his father returned to dinner. Being observed to move in his bed, his father ordered him to get up. This set him a-crying, and he exclaimed that “he wudna gang back to yon school.” His mother now asked the reason why he was so bitter against going to “yon school.” He then told them how he had been treated by the master, and how his back was sore yet.

RESULTS OF HIS PUNISHMENT.

His back was then looked at, and it was found that his shirt was hard with clotted blood, and still sticking to his skin. The wales extended right down to his legs. Means were adopted to soften the shirt and remove it from the skin. But while that was being done, the boy fell back and fainted away. On coming to himself, he found his mother bathing his brow with cold water, and Mrs. Kelman holding a smelling-bottle to his nose, which made his eyes run with water. A large piece of linen, covered with ointment, was then put upon his back. His father went away, ordering him to keep the house, and not to go out that day.

Whatever may have passed between his parents he did not know. He was in bed and asleep when his father returned at night. But he was never asked to return to the Lancaster school.

AULTEN LINKS, ABERDEEN.

THE AULTEN LINKS.

He had now plenty of time for excursions into the country. He wandered up the Dee and along the banks of the Don on both sides. He took long walks along shore,—across the Aulten Links to the Auld Brig,—and even up to the mountains, which at Aberdeen approach pretty near to the coast.

HUNT AFTER AN ADDER.

During one of his excursions on the hills of Torrie, near the commencement of the Grampians, while looking for blaeberries and crawberries, Edward saw something like the flash of an eel gliding through amongst the heather. He rushed after it, and pounced down upon it with both hands, but the animal had escaped. He began to tear up the heather, in order to get at it. His face streamed with perspiration. He rested for a time, and then began again. Still there was no animal, nor a shadow of one.

At this time another boy came up, and asked, “What are ye doing there?” “Naething.” “D’ye call that naething?” pointing to about a cart-load of heather torn up. “Have ye lost onything?” “No.” “What are ye looking for then?” “For something like an eel!” “An eel!” quoth the lad; “do ye think ye’ll find an eel amang heather? It’s been an adder, and it’s well ye havena gotten it. The beast might have bitten ye to death.” “No fear o’ that,” said Edward. “How long is it sin’ ye saw it?” “Some minutes.” “If that’s the case, it may be some miles up the hills by this time. Which way was it gaun?” “That way.” “Well,” said the lad, “you see that heap o’ stones up there? try them, and if you do not find it there, you may gang hame and come back again, and then ye’ll just be as near finding it as ye are now.” “Will ye help me?” asked Edward. “Na faith, I dinna want to be bitten to death.” And so saying, he went away.

Edward then proceeded to the pile of stones which had been pointed out, to make a search for the animal. He took stone after stone off the heap, and still there was no eel. There were plenty of worms and insects, but these he did not want. A little beyond the stones lay a large piece of turf. He turned it over, and there the creature was! He was down upon it in an instant, and had it in his hand! He looked at the beast. It was not an eel. It was very like an asp, but it was six or seven times longer.

TAKES HOME THE ADDER.

Having tightened his grip of the beast, for it was trying to wriggle out of his hand, he set out for home. He struck the Dee a little below where the Chain Bridge now stands, reaching the ford opposite Dee village, and prepared to cross it. But the water being rather deep at the time, he had to strip and wade across, carrying his clothes in one hand and the “eel” in the other. He had only one available hand, so that getting off and on his clothes, and wading the river breast high, occupied some time.

On reaching the top of Carmelite Street, he observed his mother, Mrs. Kelman, and some other women, standing together at the street door. He rushed in amongst them with great glee, and holding up his hand, exclaimed, “See, mother, sic a bonnie beastie I’ve gotten.” On looking at the object he held in his hand, the conclave of women speedily scattered. They flew in all directions. Edward’s mother screamed, “The Lord preserv’s! what the sorrow’s that ye hae noo?” “Oh, Meggy, Meggy,” said Mrs. Kelman, “it’s a snake! Dinna let him in! For ony sake dinna let him in, or we’ll a’ be bitten.” The entry door was then shut and bolted, and Tom was left out with the beast in his hand.

Mrs. Kelman’s husband then made his appearance. “What’s this, Tam, that has caused such a flutter amongst the wives?” “Only this bit beastie.” Kelman started back. “What, has it not bitten you?” “No!” “Well,” he added, “the best thing you can do with it, is to take it to Dr. Ferguson as fast as you can, for you can’t be allowed to bring it in here.”

Dr. Ferguson kept a druggist’s shop at the corner of Correction Wynd, near the head of the Green. He had a number of creatures suspended in glass jars in his window. Boys looked in at these wonderful things. They were the admiration of the neighbours. Some said that these extraordinary things had come from people’s “insides.” Tom had often been there before with big grubs, piebald snails, dragonflies, and yellow puddocks. So he went to Dr. Ferguson with his last new prize.

THE ADDER SOLD.

He was by this time surrounded by a number of boys like himself. They kept, however, at a respectable distance. When he moved in their direction, they made a general stampede. At length he arrived at the Doctor’s door. When the Doctor saw the wriggling thing that he was holding in his hand, he ordered him out of the shop, and told him to wait in the middle of the street until he had got a bottle ready for the reception of the animal. Tom waited until the bottle was ready, when he was told that when he had gotten the snake in, he must cork the bottle as firmly as possible. The adder was safely got in and handed to the Doctor, who gave Tom fourpence for the treasure. Next day it appeared in the window, to the general admiration of the inhabitants.

TOM’S REWARD.

Tom hastened home with his fourpence. On entering the house he encountered his father, who seized him by the neck, and asked, “Where’s that venomous beast that you had?” “I left it with Dr. Ferguson.” “But have you no more?” “No.” “That’s very strange! You seldom come home with so few things about you. But we shall see.” The boy was then taken into the back yard, where he was ordered to strip. Every bit of clothing was shaken, examined, and searched; the father standing by with a stick. Nothing was found, and Tom was allowed to put on his clothes and go up stairs to bed.

CHAPTER III.
APPRENTICESHIP.

The boy was learning idle habits. He refused to go back to the Lancaster school. Indeed, from the cruel treatment he had received there, his parents did not ask him to return. He had now been expelled from three schools. If he went to a fourth, it is probable that he might also have been expelled from that. It would not do for him to go scouring the hills in search of adders, or to bring them home to the “terrification” of his neighbours. He himself wished to go to work. His parents at last gave their consent, though he was then only about six years old. But poor people can always find something for their children to do out of doors. The little that they earn is always found very useful at home.

TOBACCO WORKING.

Edward’s brother, who was about two years older than himself, was working at Craig and Johnston’s tobacco work. On inquiry, it was found that the firm was willing to take young Edward at the wage of fourteen-pence a week. The tobacco-spinners worked in an old house situated at the end of the flour mill in St. Nicholas Street. Each spinner had three boys under him—the wheeler, the pointer, and the stripper. Edward went through all these grades. As a stripper he could earn about eighteen-pence a week.

THE BRIG O’ BALGOWNIE.

The master was a bird-fancier, so that Edward got on very well with him. The boy brought him lots of nests and young birds in summer, and old birds which he trapped during winter. The master allowed him to keep rabbits in the back yard; so that, what between working and playing, attending to his rabbits and catering for their food, his time passed much more happily than it had done at school.

After being in the tobacco work for about two years, Edward heard that boys were getting great wages at a factory at Grandholm, situated on the river Don, about two miles from Aberdeen. The high wages were a great attraction. Tom and his brother took the advantage of a fast-day to go to the mill and ask for employment. The manager told the boys that he wanted no additional hands at that time, but that he would put their names down and let them know when he required their services.

They returned and told their parents what they had done. Both father and mother were against the change, partly because of Tom’s youth, and partly because of the distance Grandholm was from Aberdeen. Tom, however, insisted that he could both work and walk; and at last his parents gave their consent.

THE SPIRES OF ST. MACHAR.

BANKS OF THE DON.

There was another reason besides the high wages which induced Tom to wish to be employed at Grandholm. He kept this to himself. He had often seen the place before, though only at a distance. But who that has seen the banks and braes of the Don, from the Auld Brig[17] to the Haughs of Grandholm, can ever forget it? Looking down from the heights above the Brig of Balgownie, you see the high broad arch thrown across the deep and dark winding Don. Beneath you, the fishermen are observed hauling to the shore their salmon nets. Westward of the Auld Brig the river meanders amongst the bold bluff banks, clothed to the summit with thick embowered wood. Two or three miles above are the Haughs, from which a fine view of the Don is obtained, with the high wood-covered bank beyond it; and, over all, the summits of the spires of St. Machar, the cathedral church of Old Aberdeen.

AT GRANDHOLM MILLS.

It was to roam through these woods and amidst this beautiful scenery, that young Edward so much desired to be employed at the Grandholm factory. Nor was he disappointed in his expectations. Scarcely three days had elapsed ere a letter arrived at the Edwards’ house, informing both the boys that they would be employed at the mill at the usual wages. The hours were to be from six o’clock in the morning till eight o’clock in the evening.

The boys had accordingly to be up by about four in the morning, after which they had to get their breakfast and to walk two miles to their work. They were seldom home at night before nine. It was delightful in summer, but dreary in winter, when they went and came in the cold dark nights and mornings. The wages of the boys were at first from three to four shillings a week each, and before they left the mill their wages were from five to six shillings a week.

FACTORY WORK.

The boys were first put into the heckling shop. They were next transferred to a small mill at the end of the larger one. Young Edward worked there. His business was to attend at the back of a braker,—to take away the cases when they were full, and put empty ones in their places. He was next set to attend two carding-machines; and from these to the roving or spinning side, three of which he frequently kept before he left. This was the highest work done in that room.

“People may say of factories what they please,” says Edward, “but I liked this factory. It was a happy time for me whilst I remained there. It was situated in the centre of a beautiful valley, almost embowered amongst tall and luxuriant hedges of hawthorn, with watercourses and shadowy trees between, and large woods and plantations beyond. It teemed with nature and natural objects. The woods were easy of access during our meal-hours. What lots of nests! What insects, wild flowers, and plants, the like of which I had never seen before! Prominent amongst the birds was the Sedge Warbler,[18] which lay concealed in the reedy copses, or by the margin of the mill-lades. Oh! how I wondered at the little thing; how it contrived to imitate almost all the other birds I had ever heard, and none to greater perfection than the chirrup of my old and special favourite the sparrow.”

THE KINGFISHER.

One day he saw a Kingfisher—a great event in his life! What a beautiful bird! What a sparkling gem of nature! Resplendent in plumage and gorgeous in colour—from the bright turquoise blue to the deepest green, and the darker shades of copper and gold. Edward was on a nesting excursion, with some little fellows like himself, along the braes of the Don, and at some distance above the Auld Brig, when he first saw this lustrous bird. “I was greatly taken,” he says, “with its extraordinary beauty, and much excited by seeing it dive into the stream. I thought it would drown itself, and that its feathers would eventually become so clogged with water that it would not be able to fly. Had this happened—which, of course, it did not—my intention was to have plunged in to the rescue, when, as a matter of course, I would have claimed the prize as my reward. Thus buoyed up, I wandered up and down the river after the bird, until the shades of even came down and forced me to give up the pursuit; and I then discovered, having continued the chase so long, that I was companionless, and had to return home alone.

COUNTRY RAMBLES.

“It so happened, that for a month or two during summer-time, owing to the scarcity of water, one part of the factory worked during the night-time and the other during the day-time, week and week about. This was a glorious time for me. I rejoiced particularly in the night work. We got out at six in the morning, and, instead of going directly home, I used to go up to the woods of Scotston and Scotston Moor, scoured the country round them, and then returned home by the Auld Brig. Another day I would go up to Buxburn, range the woods and places about them, and then home by Hilton or Woodside. Or again, after having crossed Grandholm Bridge, instead of going up by Lausie Hillock, I went away down Don side, by Tillydrone, the Aulten (Old Aberdeen), through the fields to the Aulten links, whipped the whins there, then over the Broad hill, and home by Constitution Street. I would reach it, perhaps, about dinner-time, instead of at seven in the morning, although I had to be back at the mill again by eight o’clock at night.

“Once, on a Saturday, after having visited Buxburn, I went round by the back of the Dancing Cairns to the Stocket and the woods of Hazelhead, then down the Rubislaw road, and home in the evening. Ah! these were happy days. There were no taws to fear, and no tyrannical dominie to lay them on. True, the farm people did halloo at me at times, but I generally showed them a clean pair of heels. The gamekeepers, also, sometimes gave me chase, but I managed to outstrip them; and although no nests were to be got, there was always something to be found or seen. In winter-time, also, when the canal was frozen, a mile of it lay in our way home, and it was capital fun to slide along, going to and coming from our work. This was life, genuine life, for the young. But, alas! a sad change was about to come; and it came very soon.”

APPRENTICED TO A SHOEMAKER.

The boys remained at Grandholm factory for about two years. Their father thought that they ought both to be apprenticed to some settled trade. The eldest boy left first, and was apprenticed to a baker; then Tom, the youngest, left, very much to his regret, and was bound apprentice to a shoemaker. He was eleven years old at that time. His apprenticeship was to last for six years. His wages began at eighteenpence a week, with sixpence to be added weekly in each succeeding year. He was to be provided by his master with shoes and aprons. The hours were to be from six in the morning to nine at night,—two hours being allowed for meals.

CHARLES BEGG.

The name of Edward’s master was Charles Begg. His shop was situated at the highest part of Gallowgate. He usually employed from two to three workmen. His trade consisted chiefly in manufacturing work of the lightest description, such as ladies’ and children’s boots and shoes. He himself worked principally at pump-making, and that was the branch of the trade which young Edward was taught.

Begg was a low-class Cockney. He was born in London, where he learnt the trade of shoemaking. He had gradually wandered northwards, until he reached Inverness, where he lived for some time. Then he went eastward to Elgin, then to Banff, until at last he arrived at Aberdeen, where he married and settled. Begg was a good workman; though, apart from shoemaking, he knew next to nothing. It is well, however, to be a good workman, if one does his work thoroughly and faithfully. The only things that Begg could do, besides shoemaking, were drinking and fighting. He was a great friend of pugilism; though his principal difficulty, when he got drunk, was to find anybody to fight with in that pacific neighbourhood.

CHARLES BEGG’S SHOP, GALLOWGATE.

It was a great misfortune for the boy to have been placed under the charge of so dissolute a vagabond. He had, however, to do his best. He learnt to make pumps and cut uppers, and proceeded to make shoe-bottoms. He would, doubtless, have learnt his trade very well, but for the drunkenness of his master, who was evidently going headlong to ruin. He was very often absent from the shop, and when customers called, Edward was sent out by his mistress to search the public-houses frequented by Begg; but when found, he was usually intoxicated. The customers would not return, and the business consequently fell off. When drunk, Begg raved and swore; and after beating the boy in the shop, he would go up-stairs and beat his wife.

SHOEMAKERS’ PETS.

Shoemakers are usually very fond of pets, and especially of pet birds. Many of the craft have singing-birds about them, and some are known to be highly-skilled and excellent bird-fanciers. But Begg had no notion of pets of any kind. He had no love whatever for the works of nature, and detested those who had. Edward had been born with the love of birds and living creatures, and Begg hated him accordingly. Begg used to rifle his pockets on entering the shop, to see that Edward had nothing of the kind about him. If he found anything he threw it into the street,—his little boxes with butterflies, eggs, and such like. Many a blow did he give Edward on such occasions. He used to say that he would “stamp the fool out of him;” but he tried in vain.

BEGG’S BRUTALITY.

One afternoon, when Edward had finished his work, and was waiting for the return of his master in order to go to dinner, he was sitting with a sparrow on his knee. It was a young sparrow which he had trained and taught to do a number of little tricks. It was his pet, and he loved it dearly. While he was putting the sparrow through its movements, the master entered. He was three parts drunk. On looking at the bird on Edward’s knee, he advanced, and struck Edward such a blow that it laid him flat on the floor. The bird had fluttered to the ground, and was trampled on.

When Edward was about to rise, he saw that Begg was going to kick him. Raising up his arm to ward off the blow, Begg’s foot came in contact with it, and, losing his balance, he reeled, staggered against the wall, and fell backwards. He gathered himself together and got up. If angry before, he was furious now. Edward, seeing that he was again about to resume his brutality, called out that he would shout for help, and that he wouldn’t be struck again without a cause! “Without a cause, you idle blackguard! sitting playing with some of your devils instead of doing my work!” “I had no work; it was done three hours ago, and I was waiting to go to my dinner.” “It’s not near dinner time yet.” “It’s four o’clock!” “I didn’t know it was so late; well, you may go!”

Tom seized the opportunity of picking up his poor and innocent bird from the floor. He found it was still breathing. He put it tenderly in his bosom and hastened homewards. His mother was not surprised at his lateness, which was very usual, in consequence of the irregularity of his master’s hours. “But what’s the matter wi’ ye?” she said; “your face is bleedin’, and ye hae been greetin’.” “Look,” said he, taking the harmless and now lifeless bird from his breast, and holding it up,—“that would gar onybody greet;” and his tears fell on the mangled body of his little pet. “I wouldn’t have cared so much for myself,” he said, “if he had only spared my bird!” Then he told his mother all that had happened, and he added that if Begg struck him again without a cause, he would certainly run away. She strongly remonstrated against this; because, being bound apprentice for six years, he must serve out his time, come what would.

EDWARD’S PETS KILLED.

On returning to the shoemaker’s shop in the afternoon, Edward was met at the door by his master, who first shook him and then searched him. But finding there was nothing about him, he was allowed to go to his seat. And thus three years passed. The boy learnt something of his trade. The man went on from bad to worse. In his drunken fits he often abused and thrashed his apprentice. At last the climax came. One day Edward brought three young moles to the shop. The moles were safely ensconced in his bonnet. When Begg found the moles he killed them at once, knocked down Edward with a last, seized him by the neck and breast, dragged him to the door, and with a horrible imprecation threw him into the street. Edward was a good deal hurt; but he went home, determined that from that day he would never again serve under such a brute.

Begg called at his mother’s next day, and ordered the boy to return to his work. Edward refused. Begg then invoked the terrors of the law. “He would compel Edward to fulfil his apprenticeship. He would prosecute his father and his two sureties, and make them pay the penalty for breaking the boy’s indenture.” This threat gave Edward’s mother a terrible fright, especially when her boy insisted that he would not go back. The family were left in fear and commotion for some time. But at last, as nothing further was heard of the threatened prosecution, they dismissed it from their minds.

WISHES TO BE A SAILOR.

What was Edward to do next? He was thoroughly sick of his trade, and wished to engage in some other occupation that would leave him freer to move about. He would be a sailor! He had a great longing to see foreign countries, and he thought that the best way of accomplishing this object was to become a sailor. On mentioning the matter to his parents, he was met with a determined and decided refusal. They tried to dissuade him by various methods. “Man,” said his father to him, “do you know that sailors have only a thin plank between them and death? Na, na! If you’re no gaun back to Begg, you must find some other master, and serve out your time. Bide ye at the shoemaker trade, and if ye can make siller at it, ye can then gang and see as mony countries as ye like!”

OFFERS HIMSELF AS CABIN BOY.

Such was his father’s advice, but it did not suit young Edward’s views. He wanted to be a sailor. He went down to the harbour, and visited every ship there, in order to offer himself as a cabin boy. He asked the captains to employ him, but in vain. At last he found one captain willing to take him, provided he had the consent of his father. But this he could not obtain, and therefore he gave up the idea for a time.

GRANDHOLM MILLS

Then he thought of running away from home. He could not get away by sea; he would now try what he could do by land. He had often heard his parents talking about the Kettle, and of his uncle who had gone in search of him to the gipsy camp. Edward thought he would like to see this uncle. He might perhaps be able to help him to get some other and better employment than that of shoemaking. His thoughts were very undefined about the matter. But he certainly would not go back to work again with Charlie Begg, the drunken shoemaker.

CHAPTER IV.
RUNS AWAY FROM HOME.

At last Edward determined to run away from home, and from Charlie Begg’s cruelty, and to visit his wonderful uncle at the Kettle. The village is situated nearly in the centre of the county of Fife,—about a hundred miles from Aberdeen. Edward did not know a step of the road; but he would try and do his best to reach the far-off place.

The first thing that he wanted was money. All his earnings had gone into the family purse, and were used for family expenses. One day, when his mother had gone out, leaving Edward to rock the cradle, he went to look at the money box, and found only a solitary sixpence in it. He wanted sevenpence in all,—that is, a penny to get across Montrose bridge, and sixpence to cross the Tay at Dundee. He took the sixpence from the box, and fancied that he might be able to raise another penny by selling his knife. He took two quarters of oat-cakes, put some oatmeal into a parcel, and bundling his things together, and giving the cradle a final and heavy rock, he left the house, and got away unseen.

JOURNEY TO THE KETTLE.

He ran up Deeside until he came to a high bank, near where the Allanvale cemetery now stands. He went in amongst the bushes, took off his working duds and put his Sunday clothes on; then, tying the former in a bundle, he dug a hole amongst the sand and shingle, and thrust them in, stamping upon them to press them down. He covered up the whole with grass, leaves, and shingle. Putting his stockings and shoes together, and swinging them over his shoulder, he set out barefoot for Kettle. He thought he might be able to accomplish the journey in about two days.

Away he sped. Time was precious. The way was long, and his provender was small. He had only sixpence. He soon tried to raise the other penny. He met with two herd boys and a girl. He said to the boys, “Will ye buy a knife? I’ll give it you cheap.” “No.” He passed through Stonehaven, about sixteen miles from Aberdeen, and up a steep brae on to Bervie.

DUNNOTTAR CASTLE.

Edward was not much influenced by the scenery through which he passed. He was anxious to push on without loss of time. But one thing he could not help seeing, and that was the ruins of Dunnottar Castle. They lay on his left hand, on a lofty rock-bound cliff, betwixt him and the sea. They seemed to be of great extent, but he could not turn aside to visit the ruins. They reminded him, however, of the numerous stories he had heard about them at home,—of the Covenanters who had been thrust into the Whigs’ Vault at Dunnottar, where many of them died,—of others who had tried to escape, and been battered to pieces against the rocks, while attempting to descend to the seashore,—and of the Regalia of Scotland, which had been concealed there during the wars of the Commonwealth. Thoughts of these things helped him on his way; but the constant thought that recurred to him was, how he could sell his knife and raise the other penny.

RUINS OF DUNNOTTAR CASTLE.

As he was approaching Bervie, he met some lads on the road, and asked them “Will you buy a knife?” “Where did you steal it?” said the lads. Off went Edward, followed by a volley of stones. He walked on for a long time, until he got hot and tired. By that time he had walked about twenty-five miles. Then he sat down by the side of a spring to eat his oatmeal, and swallow it down with water.

After resting himself for a time, he started up and set off at full speed for Montrose. On his way he saw numerous things that he would have liked to take with him, and numerous woods that he would have gone into and searched with right good will; but the thought of the journey before him put all other things aside. Kettle was still a long way off; and besides, he still wanted the additional pontage penny, in order to cross Montrose Bridge. He went on and overtook a girl. He asked her if she would buy a knife. “No!”

ENCOUNTER WITH TRAMPS.

He next overtook a man and woman with a lot of bairns. They looked rather suspicious. He tried to avoid them, and walked faster, but the man addressed him: “Stop a minute, laddie; ye’re in an awfy hurry!” “Yes,” said Edward, “I am in a hurry.” “But have ye ony baccy?” “No, I have no baccy.” “Try if he has ony clink,” said the woman. “Have ye ony brass?” “No.” “Take him, ye sheep,” said the woman to her husband, “and squeeze him.” Tom, on hearing this, immediately betook himself to his heels, and being a good runner, soon left them far behind.

MONTROSE.

At length he reached Montrose. Seeing some boys gazing in at a shop window, he went up to them and asked if they would buy a knife. “No!” Edward thought he would never get rid of his knife. He must raise a penny to get over Montrose bridge, and yet he had nothing but his knife to sell. He could not break into his sixpence. Then he bethought him of offering the knife to the bridge-keeper, and if he refused to buy it, he would try and run the blockade. He went up to the bridge, looked at the entrance, and felt that he could not run across with success. He went away from the bridge, and determined again to sell his knife. Walking up the river, he came to some men working at a large building. He asked if any of them wanted a knife. After a little bargaining, one of the men said he would give a penny for it. Edward was delighted. He rushed back to the bridge, gave the bridge-keeper the penny, and crossed in double quick time on his way to Arbroath.

DISTANT VIEW OF MONTROSE.

SLEEPS IN A HAYCOCK.

It was now getting dark. He had walked all day, and was now very tired. He was desirous of putting up somewhere for the night. But first he must have his supper. He sat down by a little rill, and, with the help of the water, ate some more of his meal and a piece of his oat-cake. After he had refreshed himself, he thought he could walk a few more miles. He had now walked forty miles. The twilight being long in the north, and the month being July, he went on until he came to what he thought would be a good beild[19] for the night. This was a field in which there were a number of haycocks. He crossed the wall, went up to a haycock, pulled a lot of hay out, then ensconced himself inside, and soon fell fast asleep.

Towards morning he was wakened up by something scratching at his brow. On putting his hand up he found it was a big black beetle trying to work its way in between his skin and his bonnet. He wished he had had his box with him to preserve the beetle, but he could only throw it away. As he lay awake he heard the mice squeaking about him. It was still dark, though there was a glimmering of light in the east. Day was about to break. So he got out of his hole, shook the hay from him, crossed the wall, and resumed his journey.

Though he felt stiff at first, he soon recovered his walking powers, and reached Arbroath by daylight. Everybody was in bed, excepting one woman, whom he saw standing at the end of a close-mouth. He went up to her and asked, “which was the road to Dundee.” When she began to speak, he saw that she was either drunk, or daft, or something worse. He went away, walked through several other streets, but found no one astir. The town was asleep. Then he sat down on a doorstep and ate some of his cake. He was just beginning to fall asleep, when some men who passed woke him up. They told him the road to Dundee, and he instantly set off in that direction.

As he went on his way, he came up to a man who was tramping along like himself. He belonged to Dundee, was a weaver by trade, and had been travelling through the country in search of work. The man asked Edward where he had come from, whither he was going, where he had slept, and what money he had to carry him to the end of his journey. On hearing that he had only enough to carry him across the ferry at Dundee, the weaver gave him a penny, saying that he would have given him more, but that the penny was all the change he had.

THE SAILORS’ WIVES.

Shortly after, they overtook two women, who turned out to be two sailors’ wives. They had come from Aberdeen. The ship in which their husbands sailed, had been chartered to Dundee, and would not enter the port of Aberdeen for some time; hence the journey of the wives to Dundee. The weaver, on hearing where they came from, pointed to his little companion, and said, “Here’s a laddie that comes frae the same place, and as his wallet’s no very weel filled, perhaps ye might gie him a copper or two.” One of the women looked hard at Edward, and said, “I’ve surely seen ye before, laddie. Did ye ever frequent the fishmarket i’ the Shipraw?” “Yes.” “And ye had sometimes tame rottens wi’ ye?” “Yes.” “Ah! I thocht sae. I used to help my mother wi’ her fish, and was sure that I had seen ye i’ the market.”

They then asked him where he was going? “Till the Kettle,” he said. “Till the—what did ye say, laddie?” “The Kettle!” How they laughed! They had never heard of such a place before. But when their laughter had settled down, they gave the boy twopence; and as they parted, one of the women said, “Tak’ care o’ yer feet, laddie, when ye step intil the Kettle.”

DUNDEE.

On reaching Dundee, Edward crossed the Firth of Tay by the ferry-boat, and reached Newport, in the county of Fife. From thence he walked on to Cupar. He was very much bewildered by the manner in which the people told him the direction of the roads. They told him to go south or north, or east or west. He had no idea of these geographical descriptions. One man told him to “gang east a bit, then turn south, syne haud wast.”

He went in the direction indicated, but he could proceed no farther. He sat down on a stone at the side of the road, and fell fast asleep. A gentleman passing in a gig, called out to him, “Boy! boy! get up! don’t lie sleeping in the sun there; it’s very dangerous!” On wakening up he was much dazed, and he did not at first remember where he was. When he finally got up, he asked the gentleman the road to Cupar. On being properly directed, he set off again.

THE LONG-TAILED TITMOUSE.

The road along which he passed lay for some time through a wood. Among the various birds which he saw and heard, he observed a group of little round birds not much bigger than a hazel nut, with very long tails. They squeaked like mice, and hung to and went round about the slenderest twigs. He had never seen such little birds before. He did not know their names, but he afterwards found that they were the Long-tailed Titmouse. The little things were the young brood of the parent bird, which was, no doubt, hanging or flying somewhere near them.

Edward went into the wood to see them and follow them. As he passed along he was called to from behind, and a man came up and seized him by the collar. The man, doubtless a keeper, roughly asked him where he was going. “Naewhere!” “What are you doing here then?” “Naething!” “What’s that in your bundle?” “My stockings and shoes.” “Let me see.” His bundle was then overhauled, and nothing being found in it but his stockings and shoes, he was allowed to depart, with the injunction “never to return there again unless he wished to be sent to jail.”

ARRIVES AT THE KETTLE.

After walking a few miles he reached Cupar, and, passing through it, went on towards Kettle. Coming to a small burn he washed and dried his feet, and put on his stockings and shoes, rubbing the dust from off his clothes preparatory to arriving at his destination. He reached Kettle in the evening, and soon found his uncle. But the reception he met with did not at all meet his expectations. It was anything but cordial. After some inquiries, the uncle came to the conclusion that the boy had done some mischief, and had run away from his parents to hide himself in the Kettle. He could not believe that the boy had come so far merely to see him. The old man’s relations were all dead, or had removed from the place. He was merely lodging with a friend. The house in which he lodged was full, and there was no spare bed for Edward. At length the woman of the house said that she would make up a bed for him in the place where she kept her firewood.

When the boy had got his supper he was asked if he could read. “A little.” The Bible was got, and he was asked to read two chapters. He was next asked if he could sing. “No.” He was then told that he might go to bed. The bed was soft and sweet to the tired boy. As he went to sleep he heard the people of the house reading the Bible and singing a psalm.

He slept very sound, and would have slept much longer, but for his being wakened up next morning for breakfast. The rain fell very heavily that day. The boy began to feel very weary and lonesome, and wished again to be at home. He had taken no thought until now, of the results of his leaving so suddenly. He thought of what his father and mother might think of his disappearance. He wondered whether he might now get away to sea.

RETURNS HOME.

But how was he to get home? He had now only a poor halfpenny left. However, he had still a gully; perhaps he might be able to sell that. After considering the matter, he resolved to set out for Aberdeen, rather than be a burden to the people at the Kettle. He told his uncle that he would leave next day. The uncle said nothing. The boy was up early next morning, got his breakfast, and also a big piece of bread, which he put in his bundle. His uncle accompanied him a little way along the road, and at parting gave him eighteenpence. Edward was overjoyed. He would now be able to get home with money in his pocket.

As he approached Newport he came up to three men standing on the road. Two of them were gentlemen, and the third seemed to be a gamekeeper. He was showing them something which he had shot in the adjoining wood. Edward went forward, and saw that it was a bird with blue wings and a large variegated head. “What do you want?” said the gamekeeper to Edward. “To have a sight of the bird, if you please.” “There, then,” said the gamekeeper, and swung the bird in his face, nearly blinding him. When the water was out of his eyes, and he could see, he found that they had gone along the road. He followed them, still expecting to see the bird, and to have it in his hand; but the gamekeeper was relentless.

ADVENTURE WITH A BULL.

At length he reached the pier, just as the ferry-boat was reaching the landing-place. He had another pleasant voyage across the ferry to Dundee. His object now was to push on to the field where he had slept amongst the hay. He arrived at the place, but there were no haycocks. The field was cleared. He found some whins in the neighbourhood, and went in amongst them and slept there until the sun was well up the sky. He started up, and went rejoicing on his way. He passed through Arbroath, and was speeding on briskly to Montrose, when he came up to a man standing in the middle of the road, holding a bull by a rope. He asked the boy if he would hold the bull for a few minutes until he went to a house, which he pointed to, near at hand. “I will give you something if you do,” said the man. “Yes, I will,” said Edward, “if you’ll not be long.” “No,” said the man, “I’ll not be long.”

On getting hold of the rope Edward found that he was likely to have a difficult job. Scarcely had the man disappeared ere the bull began to snort, and kick, and jump. The brute threw up its head and bounded backward with such force, that the boy was nearly upset. Instead of holding the rope short as he had been told, he let it go, though he still held by it at the far end. Away went the bull along the road, dragging the boy after him. So long as the full stretch of rope lay between them, Edward did not care so much; but when the animal rushed into a field of corn, he let go altogether, and resumed his journey.

He had not gone far before he found, on looking back, that he was hotly pursued by the animal. Observing his danger, Edward rushed into a clump of trees standing by the roadside, and, throwing down his bundle, he proceeded to climb one of them. He had only ascended a few yards when the brute came up. The bull snorted and smelt at his bundle, threw it into the ditch with his horns, bellowed at the boy up the tree, gave a tremendous roar, then dashed out of the wood, and set off at full speed down the nearest byway. Edward was flurried and out of breath; he rested in the tree for a short time, then descended and ran along the road for some miles until he thought that he was out of reach of further danger.

RESTS NEAR STONEHAVEN.

This was the only adventure that he met with on his homeward journey. He passed through Bervie without molestation. But, instead of reaching Aberdeen that night, as he had intended, he rested near Stonehaven. He went through the town, and got into a corner of the toll-bar dyke, where he sat or lay until daybreak. He then got up and commenced the last stage of his journey.

ARRIVES AT ABERDEEN.