Redgauntlet [50]
down the close, where she was no longer to be seen, and demanded of one of the dyer's lads whether he had seen a lady go down the close, or had observed which way she turned.
'A leddy!'--said the dyer, staring at me with his rainbow countenance. 'Mr. Alan, what takes you out, rinning like daft, without your hat?'
'The devil take my hat!' answered I, running back, however, in quest of it; snatched it up, and again sallied forth. But as I reached the head of the close once more, I had sense enough to recollect that all pursuit would be now in vain. Besides, I saw my friend, the journeyman dyer, in close confabulation with a pea-green personage of his own profession, and was conscious, like Scrub, that they talked of me, because they laughed consumedly. I had no mind, by a second sudden appearance, to confirm the report that Advocate Fairford was 'gaen daft,' which had probably spread from Campbell's Close-foot to the Meal-market Stairs; and so slunk back within my own hole again.
My first employment was to remove all traces of that elegant and fanciful disposition of my effects, from which I had hoped for so much credit; for I was now ashamed and angry at having thought an instant upon the mode of receiving a visit which had commenced so agreeably, but terminated in a manner so unsatisfactory. I put my folios in their places--threw the foils into the dressing- closet--tormenting myself all the while with the fruitless doubt, whether I had missed an opportunity or escaped a stratagem, or whether the young person had been really startled, as she seemed to intimate, by the extreme youth of her intended legal adviser. The mirror was not unnaturally called in to aid; and that cabinet-counsellor pronounced me rather short, thick-set, with a cast of features fitter, I trust, for the bar than the ball--not handsome enough for blushing virgins to pine for my sake, or even to invent sham cases to bring them to my chambers--yet not ugly enough either to scare those away who came on real business-- dark, to be sure, but--NIGRI SUNT HYACINTHI--there are pretty things to be said in favour of that complexion.
At length--as common sense will get the better in all cases when a man will but give it fair play--I began to stand convicted in my own mind, as an ass before the interview, for having expected too much--an ass during the interview, for having failed to extract the lady's real purpose--and an especial ass, now that it was over, for thinking so much about it. But I can think of nothing else, and therefore I am determined to think of this to some good purpose.
You remember Murtough O'Hara's defence of the Catholic doctrine of confession; because, 'by his soul, his sins were always a great burden to his mind, till he had told them to the priest; and once confessed, he never thought more about them.' I have tried his receipt, therefore; and having poured my secret mortification into thy trusty ear, I will think no more about this maid of the mist,
Who, with no face, as 'twere, outfaced me.
--Four o'clock. Plague on her green mantle, she can be nothing better than a fairy; she keeps possession of my head yet! All during dinner- time I was terribly absent; but, luckily, my father gave the whole credit of my reverie to the abstract nature of the doctrine, VINCO VINCENTEM, ERGO VINCO TE; upon which brocard of law the professor this morning lectured. So I got an early dismissal to my own crib, and here am I studying, in one sense, VINCERE VINCENTEM, to get the better of the silly passion of curiosity--I think--I think it amounts to nothing else--which has taken such possession of my imagination, and is perpetually worrying me with the question--will she write or no? She will not--she will not! So says Reason, and adds, Why should she take the trouble to enter into correspondence with one who, instead of a bold, alert, prompt gallant, proved a chicken-hearted boy, and left her the whole awkwardness of explanation, which he should have met half-way? But then, says Fancy, she WILL write, for she was not a
'A leddy!'--said the dyer, staring at me with his rainbow countenance. 'Mr. Alan, what takes you out, rinning like daft, without your hat?'
'The devil take my hat!' answered I, running back, however, in quest of it; snatched it up, and again sallied forth. But as I reached the head of the close once more, I had sense enough to recollect that all pursuit would be now in vain. Besides, I saw my friend, the journeyman dyer, in close confabulation with a pea-green personage of his own profession, and was conscious, like Scrub, that they talked of me, because they laughed consumedly. I had no mind, by a second sudden appearance, to confirm the report that Advocate Fairford was 'gaen daft,' which had probably spread from Campbell's Close-foot to the Meal-market Stairs; and so slunk back within my own hole again.
My first employment was to remove all traces of that elegant and fanciful disposition of my effects, from which I had hoped for so much credit; for I was now ashamed and angry at having thought an instant upon the mode of receiving a visit which had commenced so agreeably, but terminated in a manner so unsatisfactory. I put my folios in their places--threw the foils into the dressing- closet--tormenting myself all the while with the fruitless doubt, whether I had missed an opportunity or escaped a stratagem, or whether the young person had been really startled, as she seemed to intimate, by the extreme youth of her intended legal adviser. The mirror was not unnaturally called in to aid; and that cabinet-counsellor pronounced me rather short, thick-set, with a cast of features fitter, I trust, for the bar than the ball--not handsome enough for blushing virgins to pine for my sake, or even to invent sham cases to bring them to my chambers--yet not ugly enough either to scare those away who came on real business-- dark, to be sure, but--NIGRI SUNT HYACINTHI--there are pretty things to be said in favour of that complexion.
At length--as common sense will get the better in all cases when a man will but give it fair play--I began to stand convicted in my own mind, as an ass before the interview, for having expected too much--an ass during the interview, for having failed to extract the lady's real purpose--and an especial ass, now that it was over, for thinking so much about it. But I can think of nothing else, and therefore I am determined to think of this to some good purpose.
You remember Murtough O'Hara's defence of the Catholic doctrine of confession; because, 'by his soul, his sins were always a great burden to his mind, till he had told them to the priest; and once confessed, he never thought more about them.' I have tried his receipt, therefore; and having poured my secret mortification into thy trusty ear, I will think no more about this maid of the mist,
Who, with no face, as 'twere, outfaced me.
--Four o'clock. Plague on her green mantle, she can be nothing better than a fairy; she keeps possession of my head yet! All during dinner- time I was terribly absent; but, luckily, my father gave the whole credit of my reverie to the abstract nature of the doctrine, VINCO VINCENTEM, ERGO VINCO TE; upon which brocard of law the professor this morning lectured. So I got an early dismissal to my own crib, and here am I studying, in one sense, VINCERE VINCENTEM, to get the better of the silly passion of curiosity--I think--I think it amounts to nothing else--which has taken such possession of my imagination, and is perpetually worrying me with the question--will she write or no? She will not--she will not! So says Reason, and adds, Why should she take the trouble to enter into correspondence with one who, instead of a bold, alert, prompt gallant, proved a chicken-hearted boy, and left her the whole awkwardness of explanation, which he should have met half-way? But then, says Fancy, she WILL write, for she was not a