The Days of Auld Lang Syne.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVII, Issue 3, 4 January 1896, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Days of Auld Lang Syne.

Lan Maclaben's New Volume of

Stosies.

Soue Extracts,

(feom our special cokbespondext.)

London, November 8,

An eminent author, whose name is a household word from Cape Horn to Gathay> was heard lamenting in theSavile Club las fc Monday evening, that ho couldn't write sketches of Scotch Character. ' It's the mosb saleable literary commodity going nowadays. Barrio, Crockett, lan Maclaren, these are the men who can command any payment they like to ask. And no wonder. Have you seen the book shops and book stalls to-day ? My boy, their windows and counters are piled with "The Days of Auld Lang Syne." Everybody's buyiug it.' And thi9 was perfectly true. Since tho ' Little Minister' came out I can't recall a bigger rush for a bock of the kind. Yet mosb of the sketches have already rua through magazines and are familiar to us. They will be found rather uneven. Mr Watson at his best probably equals Barrie, but very often an irritating superfluity of sentimentality spoils his work. I have not read the book through yet, so I reserve further criticism of my own, and substitute Mr Andrew Lang's : Writers of genius have presented to us certain phases of Scotch rural character. Mr Watson is almost unique in his power of revealing that curiously complex character in all ita completeness. That character is a subtle blending of, worldliness and other-worldli-nesn/of stornnesaand tenderness, of harshest prose and mosx delicate poetry. The Scotch charactor might be compared to the native granite, with the bluebells blowing thereupon. Drumaheugh, Hillocks, Netherton, James Soutar, Mary Robertson, her granddaughter Lily, and the other characters in 'The Days of Auld Lang Syne,' are as actual and real as ib is possible for thorn to be in the printed page. Their delineator has understood them all, to bbc inmosb recesses of their being. He is a master of their expreesive, melodious dialect, and knows how to make it intelligible to the Southron. And lastly, Mr Wateon .possesses the dramatic faculty; he does nob tell us that his characters are such and such ; he makes them reveal themselves in their own speech, deeds and gestures. Tho humour of this self-revelation by tho?e Drumtochty folk— those morcile3B hard bargainers who can fight for a ' bawbee,' and offer their ' siller' in a stealthy, back-door manner to some poor neighbour whose fortitude and honesty they respect—is most delightful. As an example of the pathetic-heroic in the Scotch character, wo may take the story, ' A Servant Lase—How she went out; How she come home.' Mary Robertson, Lily the servant laas's grandmother, is a perfectly typical southern Scotch character. The story of her proud independence, her upbringing of her grandchildren in spite of dire poverty, reminds us of that of the childhood and youth of the late Dr. John Cairna, whoso biography was recently published. ' There's never been ane o'ma bluid on the parish,' Mary answers when an influential neighbour offers to procure relief for her, % an' there never wull be sac lang as tho Almichty leaves me ma reason an' twa airras.' But her granddaughter Lily is going to a situation in London.

' Weei, weel, lassie, there wes sax tae begin wi,' an' twa deed o' the depthery— eh, but Doctor Maclure wes kind thab time! —an'twa maimed an' gaed awa, an' Chairlio

. . . in Ameriky, an' there's juisc yersel' left, and I wes truatin1 ye vvuk stay wi' yir avid yriinnia and close her een.' * Dinaa speuk that foolish wy, grannie,' but Lily's voice had a break in it. ' Ye're lookin1 fresher than niony a young wumtnan, an' ye ken a'ni tao g65 hame aC a time, maybe ilka three year.' ' It's a lang road, Lily, tae Lunnon, an' ill tae traivel ; a' may be deid an' buried afore ye coruo back, an' all be terrible lonely, juist like a bird when the young anes are ta'on awa'.' The words last quoted commonly characteriso the feeling and tho style of expression of the ■ v'cottish peasantry—*they are an example of tho biuo bell on tho granite. The little delicate ways in which the Drumtochty folk, the hard, shrewd bargainers among fcho rest, contrive to help Lily oq her journey to London, are hit oil' to the life.

' Mary shook hands with Lily twice, once at bhe cottage door and again after she had taken hor piaco boaido Hillocks ; bub Mary did nob kiss Lily, for whom she would havo died, and whom she did not expect to see again in this life ; nor were their farewell words affecting.'

' But Mary did not kiss Lily ' —that also is Scobch, niair's the pity. And when Lily departed—

' Mary went to a knowe that commanded tho road and watched Hillock's dogcarb ci'oß3 Tochby bridge and go up the other eide till ib disappeared into tho dark iir woods on the ridge. Then the went back to tho kitchen, where everything spoke of her girl, and aab down by the lonely hresid& and wept.'

The talk between Alary and neighbour Posty about Lily's lebter from Lunnun, in full of fun, humour aud pathos —

' JLily'a keepin' bar health, but she's no' awfu' ta'en up wi' the climabe o' London. Wud ye believe i&, they hae the gaa iichbib by twa o'clock in bhe aifternoon, an1 the fog's eneuch tae smoor ye; it's no' veecioua cauld, though.' 'Thore'si waur things than cauld,' said Poaby, who bad sbarted that nvjrning in twenty degrees of frost; 'is she weary in'?' ' Whiles am doutin', puir lassie. When she hes half an 'oor tae hersel' she gaes up tae her room an' taks oot a pokia (bag) o' rose leaves we dried in the eimmer. The smell o' them brings up oor bit gairden, an' me stannin', as plain as day, at the door. Fouk tak notions, a've heard, when they're tar frae hame,' added Mary, by way of apology.

Aft.ur some remarks on the habits of London servants, Posty asks, ' Bub is there nae word aboob the kirks?'

1 Am comin' taa thab, an' it's worth hearin', for the ignorance o' thae Loudon fouk i* byordinar'. When she askib the near road tao the kirk, naabotly in the hoose cud toll her whethor it wes easfc or wast.' Posty wagged his head hi pity. ' So she eaed oot, an' fell in wi' a poltsiaan, an' as luck v/ud hao it, he wea a Scotchman. "Come awa, lassie," he said ; "a: see whar yore frae. It's a mercy ye didna fa' intas the hands o' eonoa o' ma neeburs; fchey michb hae sent yo aff tae the Metbodies, an' they wud hae gien ye a fricht wi' cryin' Hallelujah." ' ' Agraund body for a' thab,' interpolated Posty, 'bub clean astray'on the decrees.' ' " Yonder's the place," says he, " an' ye pib yir collection in a plate at the door—there's nae ladies—but there's a couthie wutnman keeps the door in the gallery, an1 she'll gie ye a seat."' 'She koufc it wes her am place when ahe saw a properly ordained minister in the pulpit, wi' his black goon an'bonnie white banda ; an' when they started the Hundredth Psalm, her hert cam intae her mooth, an' Bhe cudna sing a word.' ' Wes thero an organ V demanded Posby, with bhe manner of one who has a duty to perform, and mnst be on his guard against sentiment. ' All no' tell ye a lee, Posty ; there weß, an' of coorse Lily didna like it, but she wea terrible pleased wi' the sermon. As for the organ, it juisb boomilled awa, an' ehe never latTon eho heard ib.' ' Dis she gie the text? an' divoesions ?' and Posiy emacked his lips. 'It's no" likely she wud tor^oi that, after gaein' ower them ilka Sabbath nichb here sin ahe wes a wee bairnie. ' Faith without) works is dead '—James, yd ken.' Poor Lily • cam bame' at last, bab in her coffin,