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The Annals of the Parish-Part12_John Galt(1779-1839)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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CHAPTER XVIII YEAR 1777



This may well be called the year of the heavy heart, for we had sad

tidings of the lads that went away as soldiers to America. First,



there was a boding in the minds of all their friends that they were

never to see them more; and their sadness, like a mist spreading



from the waters and covering the fields, darkened the spirit of the

neighbours. Secondly, a sound was bruited about that the king's



forces would have a hot and a sore struggle before the rebels were

put down, if they were ever put down. Then came the cruel truth of



all that the poor lads' friends had feared. But it is fit and

proper that I should relate at length, under their several heads,



the sorrows and afflictions as they came to pass.

One evening, as I was taking my walk alone, meditating my discourse



for the next Sabbath--it was shortly after Candlemas--it was a fine

clear frosty evening, just as the sun was setting. Taking my walk



alone, and thinking of the dreadfulness of Almighty power, and how

that, if it was not tempered and restrained by infinite goodness,



and wisdom, and mercy, the miserablesinner, man, and all things

that live, would be in a woeful state, I drew near the beild where



old Widow Mirkland lived by herself, who was grand-mother to Jock

Hempy, the ramplor lad, that was the second who took on for a



soldier. I did mind of this at the time; but, passing the house, I

heard the croon, as it were, of a laden soul busy with the Lord,



and, not to disturb the holy workings of grace, I paused and

listened. It was old Mizy Mirkland herself, sitting at the gable of



the house, looking at the sun setting in all his glory behind the

Arran hills; but she was not praying--only moaning to herself--an



oozing out, as it might be called, of the spirit from her heart,

then grievously oppressed with sorrow, and heavy bodements of grey



hairs and poverty.--"Yonder it slips awa'," she was saying, "and my

poor bairn, that's o'er the seas in America, is maybe looking on its



bright face, thinking of his hame, and aiblins of me, that did my

best to breed him up in the fear of the Lord; but I couldna warsle



wi' what was ordained. Ay, Jock! as ye look at the sun gaun down,

as many a time, when ye were a wee innocent laddie at my knee here,



I hae bade ye look at him as a type of your Maker, ye will hae a

sore heart; for ye hae left me in my need, when ye should hae been



near at hand to help me, for the hard labour and industry with which

I brought you up. But it's the Lord's will. Blessed be the name of



the Lord, that makes us to thole the tribulations of this world, and

will reward us, through the mediation of Jesus, hereafter." She



wept bitterly as she said this, for her heart was tried, but the

blessing of a religious contentment was shed upon her; and I stepped



up to her, and asked about her concerns, for, saving as a

parishioner, and a decent old woman, I knew little of her. Brief



was her story; but it was one of misfortune.--"But I will not

complain," she said, "of the measure that has been meted unto me. I



was left myself an orphan; when I grew up, and was married to my

gude-man, I had known but scant and want. Our days of felicity were



few; and he was ta'en awa' from me shortly after my Mary was born.

A wailing baby, and a widow's heart, was a' he left me. I nursed



her with my salt tears, and bred her in straits; but the favour of

God was with us, and she grew up to womanhood as lovely as the rose,



and as blameless as the lily. In her time she was married to a

farming lad. There never was a brawer pair in the kirk, than on



that day when they gaed there first as man and wife. My heart was

proud, and it pleased the Lord to chastise my pride--to nip my



happiness, even in the bud. The very next day he got his arm

crushed. It never got well again; and he fell into a decay, and



died in the winter, leaving my Mary far on in the road to be a

mother.



"When her time drew near, we both happened to be working in the

yard. She was delving to plant potatoes, and I told her it would do



her hurt; but she was eager to provide something, as she said, for

what might happen. Oh! it was an ill-omened word. The same night



her trouble came on, and before the morning she was a cauld corpse,

and another wee wee fatherless baby was greeting at my bosom--it was



him that's noo awa' in America. He grew up to be a fine bairn, with

a warm heart, but a light head, and, wanting the rein of a father's



power upon him, was no sa douce as I could have wished; but he was

no man's foe save his own. I thought, and hoped, as he grew to



years of discretion, he would have sobered, and been a consolation




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