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Political Encounters: A Hermeneutic Inquiry into the Situation of Political Obligation Ruairidh J. Brown
GettingintoMedicalSchoolhas a well-earned reputation as a
SCHOOL
trusted resource for prospective medical students looking to improve their chances for admission. This new edition has been
I
THE PREMEDICAL STUDENT’S GUIDEBOOK
CA updated with even more important advice, including:
TWELFTH EDITION
• Undergraduate courses you should take
L
Sanford J. Brown, M.D.
• How to prepare for the MCAT—Medical College Admission
Test—and get your highest score
SCHOOL
• The ins and outs of applying to medical school
• How to ace the personal interview and also handle mini multiple interviews (MMI)—the newest type of student interview
• The benefits of taking a gap year—and making the most of that time
It also features a medical school directory with an up-to-date listing
TWELFTH EDITION
of tuition and fees, academic requirements, and application and enrollment information for more than 170 accredited medical and osteopathic colleges across the United States. Also includes a list of Web sites that provide helpful information to medical school candidates.
ISBN: 978-1-4380-0690-1
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GETTING INTO MEDICAL SCHOOL
THE PREMEDICAL STUDENT’S GUIDEBOOK
THE PREMEDICAL STUDENT’S GUIDEBOOK
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GETTING INTO MEDICAL SCHOOL
THE PREMEDICAL STUDENT’S GUIDEBOOK
TWELFTH EDITION
Sanford J. Brown, M.D.
Director, Mendocino Foundation for Health Education and Premedical Advising
Family Practice and Preventive Medicine, Fort Bragg, California
No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the written permission of the copyright owner.
Allinquiriesshouldbeaddressedto:
Barron’s Educational Series, Inc.
250 Wireless Boulevard
Hauppauge, New York 11788
www.barronseduc.com
Library of Congress Control No. 2015026287
ISBN: 978-1-4380-0690-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Brown, Sanford Jay, 1946–
Getting into medical school / Sanford J. Brown.—Twelfth edition. pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN: 978-1-4380-0690-1
1. Medical colleges—United States—Admission. 2. Medical colleges—United States—Entrance requirements. 3. Premedical education—United States.
I. Title.
R838.4.B76 2016
610.71'173—dc23
2015026287
PRINTED IN CANADA
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Dedication
This edition of GettingIntoMedicalSchoolis dedicated to the memory of Dr. Sidney Shindell, who was head of the Department of Preventive Medicine at the Medical College of Wisconsin when I applied there as an atypical premedical student in 1969. Dr. Shindell became my advocate on the admissions committee, persuaded the other committee members that I was worthy of admission, and allowed me entry into the profession that I have loved for these past 40 years.
Acknowledgments
For help editing, revising, and updating chapters in this twelfth edition of GettingIntoMedicalSchool, I am beholden to and deeply appreciative of the work of members of UC Berkeley’s premedical community: Julia
Baek and Alan Deng for ChoosingaCollege,ChoosingaMajor , and ThePremedSyndrome; Anjali Jain and Jacqueline Zhu for The MedicalCollegeAdmissionTest; Stefan Masselink, Bryan Bui, Danielle Li, and John Huh for ApplyingtoaMedicalSchool—When, Where,andHow; Hung Nguyen and Jennifer Tan for Rejectionand YourAlternatives; Janice Chau and Brandon Chau for TakingaGap Year; Matthew Lum and Alex Qian for the SurvivalBibliography; and Christine Norris for her work on TheFutureofMedicine.
A special thanks to Alex Qian for spearheading this project, numerous contributions to the text, being “lopsided,” and introducing me to the world of Google folders and documents.
I also want to thank my editors, David Rodman and April Martinez, for assuming responsibility for updating the information on individual medical schools.
Finally, I want to thank my readers for keeping GettingIntoMedical Schoolin print these many years. I know from your correspondence that many of you have been successful in your quest to become physicians, in small part from this book, and that has been most gratifying to me. May you all find happiness in your healing art.
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Contents
1 Choosing a College, Choosing a Major
It’s Not Where You Go to School or What You Study, 1 The Myth of the Premedical Major, 2 Getting A’s in the Sciences, 3
The Physician As a Scientist, 4 Abraham Flexner and His Flexner Report, 5 Emphasis on the Sciences, 6 What Kind of Doctor Do You Want to Become? 7 Avoid the Extra Science Courses, 9
2 The Premed Syndrome
11
The Premedical Mind, 11 The Premedical Society and the Premedical Adviser, 12 Does Your Adviser Attend the Meetings? 13 Get Acquainted…See What They Write About You, 15 The Premedical Student, 17 The Premedical Syndrome, 19 Failure Is Always a Possibility, 20
3 The Medical College Admission Test (MCAT)
21
The Most Important Criterion, 21 MCAT a Means for Comparison, 22 The Test, 24 Registering for MCAT and Test Day, 24 The New MCAT, 25 How Is It Scored? 26 Preparing
for the MCAT, 27 Preparatory Courses, 28
4 Applying to a Medical School—When, Where, and How
33 Where to Apply? 33 How Many Schools to Apply To? 34 When to Apply, 36 How to Apply, 37 Early Assurance Programs, 40 Early Decision, 40 Combined MD/PhD Programs, 41 Cost of Applying, 42 Meeting the Costs, 43 Minority Students, 46 Staying In Can Be Harder Than Getting In, 48 Women, 48 Special Interest Groups, 50 What Makes You Different?: Well-rounded vs Lopsided, 50 Recommendations, 57 AMCAS Letter Service, 61
The Interview, 63 Sample Personal Statements, 69 viii
5 How Medical School Admissions Committees Evaluate Applicants 75 Can the Applicant Make It?
6 Rejection and Your Alternatives
Rejection and Reapplication, 81 Consider Reapplying, 82 The Post-baccalaureate, 89 Osteopathy, 92 Attending an International Medical School, 94
Appendix I: Mini Multiple Interview Questions 133
Appendix II: Internet Advising: Sara’s Story
Appendix III: Summer Programs for the Premed and Taking a Gap Year
Appendix IV: Directory of American Medical Schools
Appendix V: Directory of U.S. Schools of Osteopathic Medicine
Appendix VI: Survival Bibliography
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Preface
So, you want to go to medical school and become a doctor. That’s why, I
assume, you’ve picked up this book. But are you serious, or are you a dil-ettante? Are you able to make the sacrifices that going to medical school will require of you, or are you just toying with the idea? Are you ready to jump into the water and sink or swim, or are you just going to get your toes wet?
Getting into medical school is hard work, even for the best and bright-
est. You will spend four years in college taking courses that will only qualify you to apply and are no guarantee of getting accepted. A grade point average of 3.5 or better will be a minimum requirement
and then you will have to take a standardized examination, the MCAT, which will count
more than your college GPA that you sweated four years over as a criterion for admission. You will need to shadow doctors while in college, spend summers in medical environments, and, ultimately, work a year or two after graduation at medically related jobs to gain credibility as an aspiring physician. During your senior year, you will spend countless hours writing your medical school applications, garnering letters of recommendation, and, if you are lucky enough, flying around the country at your own expense going to interviews that still will not guarantee you a place in the freshman class. On top of it all, unless you are independently wealthy, you have to be willing to assume a staggering debt to finance your medical education. Are you ready for all of this?
Because of the corporatization of American medicine, there are many naysayers among physicians today who say that they wouldn’t choose medicine again as a career. But there are many who have adapted to the new models of medical practice and found satisfaction in the new medical marketplace. This, even though M.B.A.s are riding herd over M.D.s,
even though we live in a world of managed care and capitated lives, even though most physicians no longer work for themselves but in large groups where they are paid a salary and have their performance monitored in
myriad ways, even though many of the motivating factors that stimulated
young men and women to choose medicine in the past autonomy, high pay commensurate with hard work, and specialty and living area choice—
are becoming less and less operant. Yet, there are still more applicants to medical school than ever before, with the numbers still rising. Why might ix
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this be so? Simply, because being a doctor is the most intellectually challenging and personally rewarding job that I can think of. It remains one of the last refuges of idealism and, more than any other career, it enables us to improve peoples’ lives every day, and, occasionally, even save a few.
Medicine is still a great profession.
I have been a family physician for over forty years. I tell my personal story about how I got into medical school later in this book, but suffice it to say that I was the most atypical applicant that I have
ever encountered.
By all rights, I shouldn’t have gotten into medical school as quickly as I did, or at all, but I was maniacal in my pursuit and had the help of several people who believed in me along the way. This book has always been my attempt to pay my debt forward, to give other premeds who won’t settle for anything less than a medical school admission’s letter the tools they will need to succeed.
In the nearly forty years GettingIntoMedicalSchoolhas been in print, I have encouraged comments and questions from readers and, in eleven editions, I have received hundreds of them. I have a fondness for nontraditional applicants like myself, but will also advise any college student who doesn’t have access to good advising. I offer a comprehensive advisory service that works with you for the duration of your premedical endeavors, until you either get into medical school or make another career choice.
Once called “the Ann Landers of the premedical world,” I welcome all queries. My email address is sbrown@mcn.org.Go ahead and drop me a line!
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Introduction
Again this year, almost three times as many premed students will apply to medical school as will be accepted. The number of places in U.S. medical schools has risen steadily from 8,298 in 1960–61 to 13,697 in 1972–73 to 16,686 in 1987–88 to 20,000 in 2013. There has been an increase in applicants of more than 500 percent for the same time period, however. This
year, it is anticipated that more than 48,000 applicants and reapplicants will apply. And fewer than 40 percent will be admitted. These figures show that there simply are not enough places in the medical schools for all who have completed the premedical curriculum and are eager to become MDs.
In the main, I’m not going to use this book to discuss the unfolding transformation of American medicine, although I do feel that I owe my
readers a projection for the future. Premedical and medical education is a long tunnel, sometimes lasting over fifteen years, and I would be remiss in not offering some thoughts about what awaits you. I have added a final chapter with that in mind. Primarily, though, I am going to use this book to get you, the premedical student, outof the conventional and often erroneous ways of thinking about how to get into a medical school and intoa more informed and advantageous position. After all, we haven’t all had the same advantages, so this book will attempt to be an equalizer.
I am talking also to the premed dropout and the unsuccessful applicant: students from minority groups, borderline nonminority students, those with financial problems, women, students from colleges where there is no premedical adviser, and, generally, students who, for one reason or another, have been discouraged from continuing in the premed curriculum. This book is a survival kit, if you like, for the
committed. It is a step-by-step guide that anyone who wants to become a physician can put to use anywhere along the course of his or her premedical education. It will cover, from high school onward, the gamut of decision-making and the traumatic events that every premed must face, ranging from choosing a college and a major to accepting a medical school, and to what to do —short of suicide—
if you are rejected by them all. Included are chapters on what it means to be a premed, the Medical College Admission Test, how to apply to medical schools, the way in which medical school admissions committees evaluate applicants, summer programs, preceptorships and jobs for premeds, amazing success stories including a lengthy Internet correspondence with a xi
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xii
G
E T T I N G I N T O M E D I C A L S C H O O L successful applicant, acceptance or rejection and your alternatives, a listing of noteworthy premedical Web sites, and a directory of all U.S. schools of medicine and osteopathy.
Since medical schools cannot absorb even 50 percent of qualified applicants, it may seem paradoxical to take an interest in the students who either drop out of premed or are unsuccessful applicants. My feeling, simply, is that surviving the rigors of the premedical
curriculum is not the most important prerequisite for becoming a good physician. Although a medical school’s first concern in admitting applicants has traditionally been, “Will they get through?” and not, “What kind of physicians will they make?” I prefer to reverse this order of importance. I do not believe, for instance, that organic chemistry should be the most highly regarded academic experience of the premed. The reason that it is so regarded is that an organic chemistry course may simulate the most rigorous tasks of first- and second-year medical school, and medical school admissions committees feel that anyone who can handle it satisfactorily can pass basic medical sciences. The person with a capacity to absorb a lot of data may be favored by admissions committees over an individual who thinks more abstractly.
Encouragingly, the times have brought change. More and more applicants to medical schools are showing a variety of backgrounds that may include not only a nonscience major but an interim period in their education as well.
Some have worked; others have traveled. Many are older applicants. Once having taken the required courses, nearly anyone who is otherwise qualified can go to medical school today.
There is room in medicine for all types of interests. Contrary to popu-
lar myth, every doctor is not a scientist who sees patients one minute and makes great scientific discoveries the next. Although most physicians do direct patient care, not every doctor sees patients. Some work for the Public Health Service tracking down sources of contagious disease; others are employed by state and local health departments to run immunization and multiphasic screening programs. Many doctors prefer teaching and academic medicine to private practice, and a few find satisfaction in editing medical journals and in medical illustration. There are currently fifty-odd specialties and subspecialties in the area of medicine, and this number will certainly increase. In the future, more doctors will be involved in planning health care delivery systems on city, state, and federal levels. More young physicians will realize that preventing disease is easier than curing it and will come to consider health education, epidemiology, and community medicine as specialty 4-0690_GetMedSchool_12th_00FM.indd 12
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Introduction
xiii fields. And with concern for our ecology increasing exponentially with time, environmental and occupational medicine and nutrition can be expected to attract more and more attention. Many doctors now combine their MDs with degrees in law and business.
Medicine today can find a place for artists, photographers, educators, and historians. It needs biomedical engineers and computer programmers,
administrators and basic research scientists. Medicine is the meeting ground of the arts and sciences. Its potential is limitless. It welcomes all kinds of people because diversity works against stagnation and aids growth. I mean to encourage all students to consider medicine as a career, not just the biologist, chemist, and physicist, but also the psychologist, sociologist, and economist, the anthropologist, journalist, and philosopher and, of course, the poet.
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C H A P T E R 1
Choosing a College,
Choosing a Major
Many people know early that they want to be physicians. Some have never wanted to be anything else. Others make their career choices in high school and in college. And there are the few who, like myself, decide to pursue medicine after completing their college education. A sufficiently large number of students settle on medicine in high school to justify treating the choice of a college as the first order of business.
It’s Not Where You Go to School or What You Study
It may come as news to some that the undergraduate institution attended carries little weight with many medical schools. You can be accepted into medical school from virtually any accredited college or university, and your own academic credentials are vastly more important than the reputation of your school. It istrue, however, that some undergraduate institutions are more successful than others at placing their graduates in medical schools.
The student working the percentages in applying to college should ask to know the relative rather than the absolute number of graduates admitted to medical school from that institution during the preceding five years.
I suggest that it is foolish to see college merely as a steppingstone to medical school. College can be a unique experience and a great deal more fun than graduate education. So choose your college for reasons other than 1
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its premedical program, which you can get anywhere else. Attend a small school if you would prefer, or a large school if you want anonymity or an active campus life. Accept a school with an outstanding English or theater arts and drama department. Go to a region of the country where you have never been before. Take your junior year abroad. Experiment.
Remember that once you become a doctor, your patients won’t care where you went to college.
People won’t even care where you attended medical school or ask about the grades you earned or if you graduated with honors. They will only be concerned that you understand them and their medical problems. So if you use your college years to broaden your base of experience, in the long run you’ll be doing your patients a service.
The Myth of the Premedical Major
Wherever you go there are, of course, the exigencies of the premedical program, and I do mean to talk about them. First, however, let us explode once and for all the myth of the premedical major. You cannot go to college and major in premed. Following a premed curriculum means nothing more than taking the basic science courses required by most medical schools.
Minimum requirements are usually one year of general biology, one year of physics, one year each of inorganic and organic chemistry—all with lab.
Other required subjects vary with the medical school and may include English, mathematics, calculus, and other more specialized science courses.
Medical schools always look at an applicant’s science and nonscience cumulative grade point average, with emphasis on the science GPA (into which math grades are averaged). This has numerous implications, for if
you are a nonscience major, each science course you take will have a considerable effect on your science average, whereas those majoring in science can do poorly in one course without any devastating effect. On the other hand, it is true that science is a tougher major than either the humanities or social sciences, and science majors applying to medical schools have lower overall cumulative averages than their nonscience major counterparts. What follows from all of this?
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Choosing a College, Choosing a Major 3
Majoring in a nonscience will probably raise your overall GPA and put you in a more advantageous position when seeking admission to a medical college.
Medical school admission committees today welcome the applicant who did not major in science. However, they must be sufficiently impressed with your premedical course grades to admit you.
Getting A’s in the Sciences
How, then, can you do well in the required sciences? In the first place, do not make the mistake that many premeds make. I hear students say that a grade of C from school X is the equivalent of a B from school Y or of an A from school Z. This is pure myth. An A goes down as an A and a B as a B. Therearenohardconversionfactorsinevaluating applicants’ gradesfromdifferentschoolsalthough, informally, some schools are viewed more selectively than others. So if a required premed course is ridiculously hard, or the competition is especially rough, and science is not your strong suit, then do yourself a favor and take the course somewhere else. This is extremely important, because many medical schools will not even look at your application unless you have a B+ (3.3–3.5) average or better in science, as well as overall.
The extremes to which some universities may go to “keep students competitive” is astounding. My own undergraduate school is a case in point. It had early achieved a reputation as a science school, although it had excellent liberal arts departments. Naturally, it attracted many science students—far more, in fact, than it had the faculty or facilities to train. Most of the influx wanted to concentrate in biology, although physics and chemistry also received more people than they could comfortably handle. The situation was somewhat tolerable at the lower course levels, but would have become cataclysmic if all students had been permitted to advance to their junior and senior years with normal attrition rates.
To ease matters, all students intending to major in biology and physics, as well as in engineering, were routed first through freshman inorganic chemistry along with all the budding chemists. “Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,” including the premeds.
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4
Department of Earth and Space Sciences to open its doors before I dared
fulfill my university’s science requirements. When I finally did take premed inorganic chemistry, it was in night school at a local community college.
I do not mean to suggest that your professors are out to fail you, but some departments do believe in making things difficult on purpose, for reasons of either pride or practicality. My advice is simply not to bother with them. Take that inorganic or organic chemistry course in summer school or at a community college. Many of my premedical adviser colleagues feel strongly that premedical requirements should not be taken at a two-year school. I believe that it is appropriate for community college students to be premeds and that biology and inorganic chemistry may be taken there.
Naturally, medical schools will want to make sure that students who get A’s in community colleges also get A’s at four-year schools when completing their premedical courses. I can also emphatically state that a grade of D from Harvard in inorganic chemistry will keep you out of medical school, whereas an A from a community college will not.
The Physician As a Scientist
The emphasis that has been placed on the basic sciences in recent years has given many people the erroneous impression that all doctors are scientists.
This is simply untrue, but the evolution of the idea is an interesting bit of medical history. At this point, it might be helpful to examine it and see how the idea of the physician as scientist has evolved and influenced medical school admission policies during recent years.
The first medical schools in this country were those associated with established universities such as Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, and the University of Maryland. These schools were, for their day, reasonably substantial medical schools with high academic standards.
During the years of the great immigration to this country, many of the newcomers already had a European medical degree, whereas others wished to study medicine in the European tradition after they arrived. In Europe, a physician who had attained any degree of eminence was called professor.
A European who became sick did not go to a practitioner, specialist, or consultant, but to a professor at some medical center. When an immigrant became sick, he or she, too, wanted to go to a professor. It was part of the European heritage. However, in most states there were no medical schools and consequently no professors.
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Choosing a College, Choosing a Major 5
It wasn’t long before groups of physicians began to band together and
start medical schools of their own. Probably one of the motives behind this was that these doctors could then hold professorships in their own medical schools, thereby acquiring the title of professor. This type of school, known as the proprietary medical school, was organized for prestige and profit and flourished until 1906, when there were about 160 medical schools in the country. With the exception of those affiliated with the older universities, all the rest were proprietary schools.
In most cases, the proprietary schools had low academic standards and sometimes admitted students without a high school education. Virtually
anyone was admitted who could pay the tuition, and when enrollment
dropped, the professors went out to solicit students. There were no state agencies to regulate the practice of medicine. Persons attending proprietary schools, as well as those attending some major universities, spent two years after high school studying medicine and two summers of preceptorship with local practitioners. With this meager background, students then went out to practice. The licensure requirement was that the student merely have graduated from any of the medical schools then existent.
Abraham Flexner and His Flexner Report
By the turn of the century, the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement
of Teaching, which had been engaged in activities to improve the quality of teaching in general, employed Abraham Flexner, who was not a physician,
to make a survey of medical education in the United States. In 1909, Flexner personally visited every medical school in the country and evaluated the schools on the basis of their requirements for admission, the caliber of their faculty, and the quality of their laboratories and physical facilities. When he finished, he formulated the now-famous FlexnerReport,which was published by the Carnegie Foundation in 1910.
In this report, medical schools were classified as A, B, or C type schools.
Many of the medical schools then operating received a C rating. All of those rated C were proprietary type schools. Following the Flexner Report,the states established boards of medical examiners and
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nicht! whatever’s the matter wi’ ye, laddie?” All in the room said, “James!” but before Mrs. Barrie had time to apologize, which she was proceeding to do to James for forgetting the skates, although the strict bargain was that she would speak to me if he slept like a good boy, he threw light on the interruption, greatly to Bell’s relief, by saying, “Mamma, have you spoken to Mr. Martin about the skates?”
James’ single sentence told the whole story better than any other words could have done it, and I told him to come to see me tomorrow, and I would find him a pair. Mr. Barrie’s “Oh, Mr. Martin, you —” and Mrs. Barrie’s “My dear boy, you must—” and Bell’s “Skates! you’ll break your legs, or drown—” were all interrupted, and all three silenced by James’s very pronounced “Oh, thank you, Mr. Martin, thank you very much;” and “Good night, James,” had come from all round the supper table, and Bell had got him in hand to lead him away, and the door was all but closed, when it opened again. There seemed a struggle going on between James and Bell before he reappeared, this time at full length, with his one arm distended towards the lobby, his feet planted and his body inclined forwards, as if in resistance to an outward pull, and his other arm clenching firmly the upper bead of the dado of the parlour.
“Oh, Mr. Martin, please, sir, when will I come to-morrow?” said the boy eagerly.
“Nine o’clock, James,” said I, “or any time after that.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” said he; and looking at Mrs. Barrie, said, “May I go, mamma?”
“We’ll see to-morrow,” replied Mrs. Barrie; “do go to bed like a good boy.”
This was too indefinite for James. “But please, mamma, may I go?” pleaded the boy with difficulty, for Bell was pulling him strongly outwards.
CAUGHT TRIPPING.
“Yes,” came from Mr. Barrie, fettered by some conditions about not going on the “Loch” without getting mamma’s permission, which James did not hear Bell’s strength had mastered his, and the door
was closed. They went up-stairs, Bell enlarging on broken legs and drowning, James on trying to learn on the “pattens;” and Bell had to threaten to go down to me, and tell me not to give him them, and had actually feigned a determined start on that errand, when James said, “Oh, don’t, Bell; I’ll be a good boy, and sleep,” which he did.
James being thus pleasantly disposed of, Mrs. Barrie began her record of experiences, which proved so interesting, that before she had gone on long, I so far forgot myself as to say, “Oh! how I wish Agnes had been here!” Mrs. Barrie caught me at once, and said with a merry smile, “Can you not do with us for an hour? or rather, why did you not bring her with you?”—then went on in a homely way with her useful hints and good advice, illustrating these by incidents that had occurred in her household.
A “for instance,” or “I remember on one occasion,” was followed by an account of a sudden call on her larder,—or a valuable dress torn, or soiled, or spoiled,—or a breakage,—or an unexpectedly heavy tradesman’s account,—or something that was much needed and apparently beyond her power and purse, yet eventually procured by her ingenuity and patience,—or her little plans to make Mr Barrie’s coat into a suit for James and possibly a vest for Lewie. And as her family increased, her scheming, and shaping, and sewing, and turning of garments to keep them “cosy,” were prettily told, and, if I may use such a term, romantic in their very simplicity. I cannot forget the pathos with which she told of a serious and alarming illness caught by Mr. Barrie the week after Nellie’s death, at a funeral in a distant part of the parish, but doubtless aggravated by the disturbed state of his mind and the disorganized state of his frame. For, good man as he was, and perfectly resigned to God’s will, he felt keenly the blank in the home,—for “a little chair was empty there;” and although I could not say he murmured, I know that he greatly missed “the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still” (Tennyson).
“He was very ill,” said she; “alarmingly ill,—so ill that I suggested to Dr. Stevenson, or rather it struck the doctor and myself at the same moment, that it would be desirable to call in an Edinburgh consulting
MR. BARRIE’S ILLNESS.
physician. I confess that the fee was a serious consideration, as I knew that it would prevent my getting the new wincey dresses for myself and the girls that I was saving up for; although this only floated through my mind in its excited state, and required no effort to cast off. The professor came, and went into the case minutely. Never can I forget the kindly way in which he said that our family doctor had treated the case exactly as he himself would have done,—that Mr. Barrie was a splendid patient, self-possessed, scrupulously obedient to the doctor’s orders, a model of passive subjection to the minutiæ of medical requirements; and that his good constitution, which had been conserved by his regular and correct life, rendered the case a hopeful one, still one requiring every attention and care. He said something about myself in that matter that I will not repeat. All I said was, I had a servant worth her weight in gold,—Bell.”
“That’s beyond doubt,” said Mr. Barrie and I simultaneously. Mrs. Barrie went on:
“He also said that he had successfully treated similar cases on a method of his own, and that the surroundings of Mr. Barrie’s case were such as to make him most anxious to have it treated with scrupulous attention to the most minute details of this new system,— that he would write these out carefully, and be in correspondence with Dr. Stevenson, and come out again if necessary. I asked his fee; he said not to mind at present, and when I pressed him he said he would write me. He was very particular in writing specific directions; and Dr. Stevenson more fully explained these, so that we were able to carry them out to the letter. Three days after his visit the carrier brought a small hamper of medicines and cordials from the professor, with full instructions as to their use, and a letter to myself”—here she sobbed. Tears had frequently trembled in her eyes as she told the story of the illness, but they trickled down as she spoke of the letter.
Drying her tears, however, she proceeded: “In the letter he expressed his gratitude at having it in his power to minister ‘to the necessities of saints,’ his delight at having his method of treatment tried so completely, and”—here she halted; then after a
“THE GOOD SAMARITA
N.”
moment’s pause said, “Well, I’m quoting,—and with such nursing. He added that as he had promised to refer to the fee, he would say that he would be more than repaid by Mr. Barrie’s recovery, as it would fortify him in adopting the treatment generally, and announcing it to the profession. Mr. Barrie had meantime got ‘the turn.’ I snatched a few minutes to reply to the professor’s letter. It was written with a full heart, but a shaking hand. I fear my letter was but a sorry production; but,” she said firmly, and with a beaming eye, “the professor’s letter is lying in my mother’s Bible, beside my marriage lines and little Nellie’s hair It is not exactly as he sent it; there are not only the crumpled spots where my tears fell, but under his signature I wrote, before putting it amongst my treasures, ‘the Good Samaritan.’ Mr. Barrie wonders why I did not rather write the ‘Beloved Physician;’ that would have done very well, but I like ‘the Good Samaritan’ better; and now that I think of it, I will get it out to-morrow, and Mr. Barrie can add ‘the Beloved Physician’ himself.”
She did not tell then, but I heard from the “carrier,” that the basket in which the cordials were sent was first well washed and bleached by Bell, then filled with the best her hen-roost, and dairy, and garden could afford, and sent to the physician without any address,—Bell herself having charged the carrier “just to hand it in an’ come away, —no’ to say where it cam’ frae.”
Mrs. Barrie did not confine herself merely to matters of thrift and housekeeping, but dwelt on the higher feelings of our nature, the social sympathies, and the ties and joys of home and kindred. But I could not do justice to the fine taste with which she described or enforced these.
Mr. Barrie occasionally joined in the conversation; but he was interjectional, and more impressive from his tone, the expression of his countenance, and his slight gestures, than from the words he used. When the soiled dress was spoken of, he said with a smile, “Birniepark,”—referring to an awkward servant having spilt a sauceboat full of gravy on Mrs. Barrie’s wedding dress. When “breakage” was mentioned, he said, “Janet,”—recalling an officious, brisk young lady, who, at one of the annual tea meetings of the Sabbath-school teachers in the manse, had seized the tray with
great bounce, to help away with the tea-things, and had literally succeeded, as in crossing the lobby she stumbled, and every dish was broken. When the physician’s letter was referred to, he merely said, “Ebenezer,—Epaphroditus,—Onesiphorus.”
Mrs. Barrie finished by giving a few simple rules which she had herself tried to carry out: “Never buy anything you do not need; look twice at a cheap bargain; use the least of everything, lose the least of everything, and make the most of everything; save all you can, use all you can, and be sure and give all you can. So much for the housekeeping; but be as careful of your heart as of your purse, and be kindly affectioned one towards another, in honour preferring one another.”
DILEMMAS
.
Mr. Barrie summed up with: “In fact, be judeecious. Practise economy, not parsimony; use the world as not abusing it; owe no man anything but to love one another,—a debt that can never be fully discharged.
Love begets love.”
Glancing at the timepiece, I saw that the hour was rather later than I imagined; and having risen, I was thanking Mrs. Barrie for her hearty counsel, and had added that I hoped she would call at Greenknowe before the marriage, and be as kind to Agnes as she had been to me. I saw by Mrs. Barrie’s eye that she had me again.
“I suppose,” said she with great glee, “you will not wish me to call on you both after you are married! I quite expected you to invite me; but Agnes will be calling to say good-bye.”
“What!” said I; “good-bye? She’s not going so far away.”
“But,” said she, “she will make a P.P.C. call.”
“A what?” said I; for I did not know what P.P.C. meant.
“Ask her,” replied she; “I dare not trust myself to quote French in full now.”
I had begun to thank Mr. Barrie, when he said gravely, “Mr. Martin, I greatly desire that there shall be family worship in every house in the parish, and I impress this on all intending young housekeepers; so
you will kindly take the service for me to-night.” And without waiting for a reply, he moved towards the handle of the bell, and was pulling it (it was a little bone barrel at the end of a bit of green cord), saying, “We’ll call Bell in,” when I put my hand on his, and said excitedly, “Mr. Barrie! please, Mr. Barrie, do excuse me,—pray, don’t ask me tonight, please don’t!” for the sudden call and circumstances made me quite nervous.
Mrs. Barrie kindly came to my relief by wishing me a hearty goodnight, and saying, “Mr. Martin may have another call to make tonight, my dear.”
Mr. Barrie followed me to the lobby, and said he hoped I would excuse his rather hasty invitation to conduct family worship; he had forgotten the apostolic injunction, “Lay hands suddenly on no man.”
Then, taking me warmly by the hand, he said, “I rejoice with you tonight at the step you are taking; it is not only judeecious, but promises to be a very happy one for yourselves and your circle. But pray remember the ‘Nisi Dominus frustra’ of your college days, —‘Except the Lord do build the house, they labour in vain that build it.’” There was another firm shake of the hand as we parted, and I heard his voice saying something about taking care of the slippery roads, as I was “some other body’s property now.”
CHAPTER III.
THE MARRIAGE AND THE HOME-COMING.
“We’re a’ noddin’, Nid, nid, noddin’, We’re a’ noddin’
At our house at hame ”
MY stay at the manse had been longer than I expected. When I reached Greenknowe, I had hardly recovered from the scare I had got by the proposal to conduct family worship, and my account of the visit to the manse, although short, was a jumble about Bell, and skates, and good Samaritans. Agnes looked at me anxiously, and said, “Are you well enough? You look excited.” I told her what had excited me, at which she first laughed, then looked thoughtful, then sympathetic, and said, “You’re tired, and it is late; come over to-morrow night, if you can;” and after a pause she said, “My mother has often wished me to ask you to make family worship here, and you will just begin to-morrow night.”
This was adding fuel to flame; so, observing my restlessness, she said, “Oh, Robert, forgive me for adding to your excitement” (that was easily done,—the forgiveness, I mean); “you need a good night’s rest.” I did very much, but I did not get it.
I went to bed immediately on going home, tossed and tumbled about, angry at myself for being so unwilling to undertake a duty which, as at one time an aspirant to the ministry, should not have unhinged me. Then my conscience smote me for being undecided in religious matters; then I resolved to be more decided, and began to compose my first social prayer. As I tried this, I found one bit forgotten as another was being thought over. I was about to rise and write a prayer, but checked myself, and resolved to be a man (when
a man does this, he is more likely to prove himself a child), and to look for help when it was needed where it was to be found.
Next night found me at Greenknowe, quietly retailing Mr and Mrs. Barrie’s sayings; and the “books” were brought in before supper, and I at least got through. Agnes said she was much obliged to me. Mrs. Stewart said little more than “Thank you;” but after the old lady had retired, Agnes told me, in an indirect, quiet way, that Mr. McNab never referred to her mother as “His aged servant,” which I had unwisely done, but as “the handmaid of the Lord.” A young college friend had lost a legacy by a similar mistake in the case of a maiden aunt. My readers will excuse me for leaving this bit to suggest its own lesson. Mrs. Stewart was barely sixty years old: how our ideas of “aged” change as we age ourselves!
P.P.C.
I carried quite a bundle of letters to the post office that night, many of them invitations to the marriage, others P.P.Cs., which I got explained by Agnes, after a quick sideward movement of the head down, followed by a slow movement of it up, and an inquiring stare, as much as to say, Do you really not know? “It’s pour prendre congé —to take leave, to say good-bye.”
“Oh,” said I, “Mrs. Barrie spoke about P.P.C.; and when I asked the meaning, she said something about French, and to ask you. That’s P.P.C., is it?”
The marriage took place, but I spare my readers an account of it. I could not describe the dresses so as to inform the ladies, nor the presents (which now-a-days are so numerous and costly as to have to undergo the trying ordeal of being laid out for exhibition in a special room), for these were more useful than ornamental. Many of them were esteemed for the donor’s sake rather than for their intrinsic value; none more so than a book, called Cottage Comforts, from Mrs. Barrie, which proved very useful to us, and became Agnes’s present to young housekeepers she was interested in, many of whom in after life thanked her for the good hints and help it gave them. Mr. Barrie gave me a copy of the Confession of Faith, and asked me to read it carefully. Although it was the standard of the
Church to which I belonged, and I had declared my adherence to it, I had till then hardly opened it. When I did look into it, many of its statements seemed harsh, and stated so baldly in logical order and theological language, that they seemed to me very different from the teachings of the Bible, interwoven and relieved as these are by illustration, narrative, and incident; and I still think, because it wants the charm of the associations with which the doctrines are joined in the Scriptures, that it is apt to bewilder, if not to prejudice unfavourably, the ordinary reader; but the more I examine it, and compare the parallel passages (i.e. references to texts confirming the doctrines), I see it deserves the name Mr. Barrie gives it in its relation to the Bible,—“an excellent summary of which is to be found in the Westminster Confession of Faith.” Although the excellence is more marked than the summariness; it is a pretty long summary. The “Apostles’ Creed” comes nearer that.
Dinner followed almost immediately after the marriage. There was a little speechmaking after dinner, or “the collation,” as Mrs. McNab called it. Mr. Barrie, in proposing our health, was neat and hearty. He had a hit at me “once thinking of getting married;”—told a story of a lad who, when going to seek a wife, looked so unhappy that his mother said to him, “Keep up yer heart, Johnnie, ma man; faint heart never won fair lady;” “Eh, mother,” said Johnnie, “I’ve mair need to keep it down, for it’s amaist in my mou’ a’ready;”—wished us many happy days, and hoped our married life would be happier than his had been. It took some of us a few seconds to see that this was a very, very good wish.
PLAIN SPEAKING .
My uncle proposed Mrs. Stewart’s health. He was a plain, blunt man, and spoke of her as his “auld friend.” Mrs. Stewart was in grand spirits, and said, “Auld, Mr. Martin! auld! I’m no’ sae auld as you.” “Weel, ye’re as auld-like, ony way,” said the honest man; and Mrs. Stewart and he joined as heartily in the laugh that followed as any of us, and it was so long that he ended his speech by a nod to Mrs. Stewart, and “Here’s t’ye, mem; your very good health.”
A confirmed bachelor proposed the bridesmaids. He was, of course, unable to do justice to the toast, with “such” bridesmaids, etc.
Mr. McNab gave the health of Mr. Barrie. He spoke well; my uncle said he had “a grand stock o’ dictionar’ and college-bred words.”.
“THE FROSTIT CORN.”
Some songs were sung. The bachelor friend had a fine voice, and had cultivated it carefully. Few could equal him at “Gae fetch to me a pint o’ wine;” and when pressed to sing it, he bantered about having lost his best song, “O Nanny, wilt thou gang wi’ me?”
he had not even got round sufficiently to try “My Nannie’s awa’,” but he hoped he would regain his spirits; he would try “When our king comes o’er the water,” and gave it in fine style. A cousin of Agnes’s, her senior by a very few years, sang “A’body’s like to get married but me,” with sweetness and humour, the last three verses so very well as to put our bachelor friend in great spirits. When she finished the following verse, the last one—
“It’s hard to tak’ shelter behint a laigh dyke, It’s hard to gang wi’ ane ye dinna weel like, It’s hard to forsake ane ye fain wad gang wi’, But it’s harder that a’body’s married but me,”
my uncle said, “Ye maun be ill to please; it canna hae been for want o’ offers.” He was then pressed to sing, and did his best; the words were new to all of us, but the tune, “Johnnie Cope,” was familiar. He said it was written by a friend of his, a farmer beside him. We suspected that the author was always very near him. He had sung it at the rent dinner in his laird’s house, and the laird was delighted with it, although it “wasna jist exactly what he wad like to happen to himsel’:”
THE FROSTIT CORN. Tune “J C .”
“Oh, I’m a young farmer hard set by the frost, My gude expectations hae sairly been cross’t, My craps that look’t weel, they are noo nearly lost, By thir calamitous mornin’s
“In the midst o’ last simmer it was understude
That we wad a’ haen plenty o’ gude halesome fude, For man an’ for beast; an’ we ettled to dae gude, But the frost it has backit it sairly
“An’ when that the frost it did gang awa’, The rain it came on like to ruin us a’; It rained that lang, that it shortened the straw, An’ added aye the mair till our mornin’
“But yet for a’ that we maunna compleen, It was sae ordered, or it ne’er wad ha’ been; It was maybe for our gude, tho’ that hasna yet been seen, For to humble our pride in the mornin’
“When things lookit weel, a scheme I had laid, I promised to marry a bloomin’ young maid, To share o’ the o’ercome when a’thing was paid, But the frost it has backit it sairly
“But my crap as it is, it is noo in the yaird, An’ still for the lassie I hae a regaird; I think that I’ll marry her, an’ no pay the laird, Let him ken there was frost in the mornin’.
“An’ if he should break out in ragin’ and strife, He may weel tak’ the gear, but he’ll no tak’ my life; If I should hae naething else, I will aye hae my wife To comfort me in the mornin’.”
Need I say that the applause was loud, and long, and real?
Marriage trips, wedding tours, were not so common forty years ago as they are now: we had none. Shortly after my uncle’s song was finished, and with the glee it inspired still beaming in their faces, the guests went to our house. We were the last to leave, which we did under a shower of old shoes “for luck.” There was the usual gathering of noisy children round the bride’s door, waiting for the coppers scattered on such occasions; and as they scrambled for them, we got into the drosky, and were driven home, followed by an increasing number of children cheering in an intermittent way, all anxious to be in time for the “scatterin’ o’ the ha’pennies,” which had
“BLITHE AN’ MERRY WERE WE A’.”
to be repeated at the bridegroom’s door There was an outer circle of grown-up people, who showed their goodwill by a welcoming cheer. As Agnes crossed her threshold, my oldest sister, who had come to “receive” her, allowed an oat cake to fall on the young wife’s head; and the younger folks scrambled for the bits, as these had some not very clearly defined faculty of foretelling their future luck, especially if confirmed by a dream over the bridescake. Agnes was placed by the matrons present at the head of the supper table, and thereby installed as mistress of the house. After supper there were games, in which the elderly folks joined, the older men with demonstrative glee. The more matronly matrons required a good deal of pressing—their “play days were bye;” but most of them went through a short game, others kept remonstrating with the old men, especially their own husbands, who were oftener up, and who even when looking on capered and “hooched” (i.e. shouted merrily):—“Tammas, Tammas! ye’re forgettin’ yersel’;”—“Stop that auld man o’ mine; he’ll hurt himsel’;”—“Oh man, James, ye’re ower auld for sic nonsense. Let the young folks carry on the games noo.”
After the first round of games, in which all the guests—old and young —took part, and the seniors had shown their skill, these mostly settled to be spectators, all the while enjoying the frolics of the young folk as much as their own canty cracks, whilst the younger portion had the carrying on of the fun, which they did right merrily. Old Scotch songs were sung, and kindly sentiments uttered, as those will readily believe whose memory can recall the homely convivialities of forty or fifty years ago. My uncle was pressed by old and young to sing another song like “The Frostit Corn,”—“one we did not hear every day,”—“a real country-fireside song.” He said he “would gie ane; it was no’ as gude as ‘The Frostit Corn.’ It was ca’d ‘The Country Rockin’.’ But maist o’ ye’ll no’ ken what a rockin’ is. It’s a gatherin’ o’ neebors for a night’s diversion. The women brang their ‘rocks’—things for spinning woo’ or lint wi’, an’ birled an’ span an’ crackit awa’. I’ve seen them hunders o’ times in my young days, but there’s no sic a thing noo as ‘the rock and the wee pickle tow.’ Mind it’s hamespun an’ countrified.” Then he began:— THE COUNTRY ROCKIN’.
“It has often been alloo’d that the best o’ human life Is the hours o’ social harmony when free from party strife, When freendship smiles and love beguiles ’mang lads an’ lasses kindly jokin’; These joys we only find when assembled at a country rockin’
“When the gudeman frae the fire bids us frankly venture ben, In hamely sangs and social joys a nicht wi’ him to spen’, The welcome kind attracts each mind, we needna ither friendly token, When we join the honest social core assembled at a country rockin’
“Noo, since we’re cheerie met for a nicht o’ social joy, Let every care be banished far that wad our peace destroy; When friendship smiles and love beguiles, at sangs we’ll hae a hearty yokin’, An’ we’ll chant the lays o’ Robbie Burns, wha first described the country rockin’
“An’ when we tak’ our hameward road, it’s no taen sair amiss, Tho’ frae some bonny smilin’ face we steal a wee bit kiss, Her heart to move, an’ tell our love in vows that never will be broken, Till in some biggin’ o’ our ain we hae a hearty country rockin’.”
In the enthusiastic chorus every voice joined, and over and over again after the last verse did the chorus ring through the room; and, “Anither, Mr. Martin, anither like that!” was rained on the canny man. During the pause, Auntie Mattie, a sister of Mrs. Stewart’s, said, “Sing the ‘Farmer’s Ingle,’ Mr. Martin, for auld langsyne. I like it better than the ‘Rockin’.”
AUNTIE MATTIE ON SONGS.
“Sae dae I,” said my uncle, “but it’s threadbare noo.”
“Threadbare!” said Auntie Mattie; “threadbare, did ye say, Mr. Martin? A sang that’s worth ca’in’ a sang at a’ will never get threadbare, ony mair than the sun’ll get auld-fashioned altho’ we see’t every day o’ our lives; and ye’ll surely sing’t to obleege me?”
Auntie Mattie was a sonsy, kindly, cheery woman—a’body’s body; but she hardly expected that my uncle would bring her in for a song by the paction he made.
“Mattie,” said he,—“oh, I beg yer pardon, I should hae ca’d ye Mrs. Dickson, but ye lookit sae like what ye did langsyne that Mattie cam’ oot afore I kent,—I’ll sing the ‘Farmer’s Ingle’ if ye’ll sing the
‘Lawland lads think they are fine.’ Ye sang’t at our waddin’, an’ it’s ringin’ in my heid yet. Thae auld sangs are worth a bushel o’ the new trash the folk ca’ sangs noo-a-days. Come awa’, my bonnie leddy, let’s hear the ‘Lawland Lads,’ and ye’ll hae the ‘Farmer’s Ingle’ as weel as I can gie’t; that ye will.”
Auntie Mattie said, “Hoots!” and “Nonsense!” and that “her voice was clean gane;” but her singing of the “Lawland Lads” contradicted all these statements, and was so sweet, and so true, and so natural, as to command strict silence at the second note, which deepened as she proceeded. The verse—
“Few compliments between us pass, I ca’ him aye my Hieland laddie, An’ he ca’s me his Lawland lass, An’ rows me in his tartan plaidie”
as she sung it, was a thing to be remembered. When she had finished and the sincere applause was over, which took the shape of little complimentary speeches to her, and expressions of mutual delight to one another, rather than the noisy demonstration which had followed my uncle’s songs, my uncle said, “Eh, Mattie—hoots! excuse me. Eh, Mrs. Dickson, there’s no’ a fail’d inch o’ ye. That sang was like caller air; it was jist grand, splendid a’thegither. It’s taen the breath frae me completely. I daurna sing after that.”
“Come away, Mr. Martin,” said she; “a bargain’s a bargain. Come away wi’ the ‘Farmer’s Ingle,’” which he did. And I give the song as he sang it, as, although common in country districts in my young days, it is little sung now The chorus was well known to us all, and we did join in it:—
“THE FARMER’S INGLE.”
“Let Turks triumph, let tyrants pray, Let poets sing melodiously, Let Turks triumph and priests live single, But my delight’s at the farmer’s ingle.
Chorus For the farmer’s ingle is the place
Where freedom shines on ilka face. My wish is while on earth to mingle Wi’ gude honest people at the farmer’s ingle
“In winter when the frost an’ snaw Drives a’ the masons frae the wa’, Your hearts wad warm and yer ears wad tingle To hear the cracks at the farmer’s ingle
Chorus For the farmer’s ingle is the place, etc
“The British ship’s the seaman’s boast, Success to tredd’s the merchant’s toast, The miser for his money does pingle, But my delight’s in the farmer’s ingle
Chorus For the farmer’s ingle is the place, etc
“The sailor boldly ploughs the main, The soldier flies o’er heaps of slain, But my wish on earth’s ne’er to live single; Here’s a bumper to the farmer’s ingle
Chorus For the farmer’s ingle is the place,” etc
The “thinking of going home,” which had been hinted at once or twice before, was now general, and the party broke up with good wishes and kind feelings warmly expressed: “We’ve haen a grand nicht o’t!”—“Lang may ye be spared to ane anither, an’ aye be as happy as ye’ve made your freends the nicht!”—crowned by “Auld Langsyne,” with, as the play-bills have it, “the whole strength of the company.”
Our house was above the shop; separate villas, now so common for tradesmen and shopkeepers, were then only occupied by the gentry. The system of villas in the outskirts has shortened the hours of business, and is healthier, but the above-the-shop houses kept a man, and often, be it said with all honour, his wife, thoroughly at the head of affairs. In many businesses, then as yet, the wives were invaluable. Who cannot recall the active, polite, effective way in which the Mistress “kept the shop”? and how nice it was to be served
PEGGY RITCHIE ON THE KIRKYARD.
by her own self, with her interchange of homely civilities, and the ready knack she had of hitting on what was wanted! This good custom is happily still not uncommon. Long may it continue! My business did not require Agnes to be in the shop, but in my absence she used to look in to help the lad or lads, and took to it, and the customers took to her. Often, also, when the assistants were out, she came down to keep me (maybe to keep herself) from wearying; and she soon made such changes as only an orderly woman can devise; and from being interested, she easily became acquainted with the details, and made alterations here and reforms there that resulted in our increased prosperity and comfort. We went on steadily making things better, soon got to be easier in money matters, then laid past a little, then looked out for some investment. But I am the writer, not the subject, of these “bits,” and will spare my readers the dry details of a homely life in a country village. I only add that we had no extra call on our means in the way of having to bring up a family. This was a sore subject many years ago, but it is a mere fact now.
My wife being anxious to get everything to her mind about the house, began next morning to clear up, and sent for some folks who were very glad to get some of the substantial remains to eke out their scanty tables. One of these was Peggy Ritchie. She had been a servant in my father’s house at the time of his death, and my housekeeper for nearly a year thereafter. She had married Gavin Sinclair, a widower with a moderately-sized family. Her father was the sexton and minister’s man, but now unfit for work, and Gavin, or Guy as he was commonly called, “officiated” instead of old Adam Ritchie. Peggy said she was “thankfu’ to get onything, forbye being proud to be mindit, for Guy was very slack the noo, there werena near sae mony deaths as ane would expect this cauld weather. It was very unfortunate, it came at an ill time; if there wasna something doin’ in the kirkyard soon, it wad be a bad job. Guy could say, as the beadle o’ Borthwick said to the Lord Chief Baron, ‘he hadna buried a leevin’ craitur for six weeks.’”
“And how’s your father, Peggy?” said my wife.
“Very middlin’, Mrs. Martin” (Peggy used Mrs. very often and very graciously); “but he was sayin’ to Guy last nicht, after Mr. Barrie gaed out,—he ca’d in to see my faither; he often ca’s. I’m aye glad to see him. He kens what puir folk need in cauld weather. Well, as I was sayin’, my faither says to Guy, ‘Be thankfu’ ye hae Mr. Barrie to deal wi’; he’s a considerate man an’ a gentleman. Ane o’ the ministers before him, no’ to name onybody,—it’s as weel no’ to gie names,— weel, ane o’ the ministers in my day,’ says my faither, ‘was the maist pernickety, impatient, bathersome craitur’ ever was seen. If he wanted onything, ye must do’t in an instant, or he was fair dancin’ wi’ passion. It was a thrang time in the kirkyard, a sair winter, and I had some idle men helpin’ me. The minister was getting something done to the manse, and aye send-sendin’ for me to help, and to come that very moment. I’ve actually seen me,’ says my faither, ‘hae to bring men out o’ the very grave to serve him.’ My faither’s sair failed.”
Knowing that Peggy had been my housekeeper, my wife asked if there was anything I was specially fond of, any special dishes, etc.
Peggy’s sense of importance was flattered at being consulted (as she afterwards put it), and she said, with a gesture of surprise, “The maister,—Maister Martin,— there was nae man could be easier pleased wi’ his meat than him. Gie him a lamb leg an’ a berry tart to his denner, an’ he was perfectly satisfied.” So he may, thought my wife.
MATHIESO N’S HEID.
“Speakin’ about denners,” continued Peggy, “Miss Park got a terrible fricht last Saturday nicht. The flesher’s laddie was takin’ a sheep’s heid to the Mathiesons, but as there was naebody in the house, he raps on Miss Park’s door,—she stops next them. Weel, her servant was out, an’ she answers the door hersel’. She’s an awfu’ nervish craitur’, so she opens a wee bit o’ the door, a’ shakin’, and disna the laddie shove the sheep’s heid bang in? The door was that little open that the neck rubbit against her hands; and he bawls out, ‘Mathieson’s heid,’ an’ let it fa’ in the lobby an’ awa’ in a moment. She was that fear’d that she couldna move, but keepit starin’ awa’ at the ugly black head, thinking a’ sorts o’ things. When her servant cam’ in she was fair chitterin’ wi’ fear. It was real thochtless o’ the laddie.”
Blinkbonny had its events and “foys” (i.e. entertainments), but nothing of special interest occurred until the Disruption of 1843, of which I will treat in my next chapter.
CHAPTER IV.
THE TWO SIDES OF THE CHURCH QUESTION.
“They lay aside their private cares
To mind the Kirk and State affairs; They’ll talk o’ patronage and priests Wi’ kindling fury in their breasts, Or tell what new taxation ’s comin’, And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on ” —Burns
THE agitation which resulted in the Disruption of 1843, when nearly five hundred ministers left the Established Church of Scotland and formed the “Free Church,” extended even to the quiet parish of Blinkbonny, although Mr. Barrie had not taken an active part in the conferences held on the subjects in dispute between the Government and the Non-Intrusionists, as they were sometimes called. He rather avoided the subject; but in the presbytery his attitude indicated that his sympathies were with those who ultimately formed the Free Church,—so much so that many of his friends remonstrated with him, urging him to be careful, to consider his family, not to commit himself hastily. The latter advice Mr. Barrie carried out by thanking is advisers very sincerely, assuring them that he would endeavour to act conscientiously and “judeeciously;” and although he did not commit himself, his answer was made the basis of different conclusions, according as the “conscientiously” or the “judeeciously” was put foremost.
THE SEED POTATOES .
He more nearly committed himself to Bell than to any other person, and this accidentally. She was the head, the only gardener, and early spring found her deeply absorbed in the arrangement of the season’s crops. She had already planted peas and beans, and sundry vegetables; had carefully cut the seed of the early potatoes, making each potato yield as many bits with eyes or buds as she
thought safe; and had the “dibble” in her hand to form the holes into which to drop the seed, when Mr. Barrie, returning from the village, stopped at the “break” which she was beginning to plant.
He never passed Bell without some kindly word. In the garden it was generally, “Well, Bell, always at it?” and Bell’s “Yes, sir” followed him, for he generally walked on. But on this occasion he stood for a few seconds, long enough for Bell to look at him inquiringly, then to wonder whether to speak or not. At length Mr. Barrie said, with something like an introductory sigh:
“Well, Bell, planting the early potatoes, I see. How will you look if we have to flit soon and leave the crop to some other body?”
“Flit!” said Bell; “flit! What d’ye mean, sir? We’ll flit nane;” and forgetting her usual good manners, she added, “Ye havena gotten a call to ony ither kirk that I’ve heard o’, or to ony o’ the big town kirks, have ye, sir?”
“No, not exactly that, Bell; but we may have to leave the manse for all that. But if we have, we will leave the garden in such a state as to be a credit to us.” Then collecting himself, and observing her perplexed face, he made a passing remark on the weather, and had moved towards the manse, too confused to be able to reply to Bell’s practical question, which cut him to the quick, simple as it was, “What for did ye no’ speak about that before I cut the pitaties, sir?”
The question was not asked in Bell’s usual respectful tone, and although she saw that Mr. Barrie had got into the house, she kept looking at the closed door as if it should answer her; then slowly surveyed the garden, the mould of which had been enriched by her industry. She rested her eye first on what she had already planted, next on what she intended to plant; wistfully on the rows that were already above the ground, and that had an hour before been her pride; then looked again at the manse door with an expression of bewilderment. She took the hamper which contained the seed-potatoes in the one hand, still holding the dibble in the other, and walked dreamily round the parts of the garden that were planted. The pace was very unlike her everyday
