Yankee Gypsies | Page 7

grave,
decorous, and gentlemanly; he held fast the form of sound words, and
the weakness of the flesh abated nothing of the rigor of his stringent
theology. He had been a favorite pupil of the learned and astute
Emmons,(1) and was to the last a sturdy defender of the peculiar
dogmas of his school. The last time we saw him he was holding a

meeting in our district school-house, with a vagabond pedler for deacon
and travelling companion. The tie which united the ill-assorted couple
was doubtless the same which endeared Tam O'Shanter to the
souter:(2)--
"They had been fou for weeks thegither."
He took for his text the first seven verses of the concluding chapter of
Ecclesiastes, furnishing in himself its fitting illustration. The evil days
had come; the keepers of the house trembled; the windows of life were
darkened. A few months later the silver cord was loosed, the golden
bowl was broken, and between the poor old man and the temptations
which beset him fell the thick curtains of the grave.
(1) Nathaniel Emmons was a New England theologian of marked
character and power, who for seventy years was connected with a
church in that part of Wrentham, Mass., now called Franklin. He
exercised considerable influence over the religious thought of New
England, and is still read by theologians. He died in 1840, in his
ninety-sixth year. (2) Souter (or cobbler) Johnny, in Burns's poetic tale
of *Tam O'Shanter,* had been *fou* or *full* of drink with Tam for
weeks together. One day we had a call from a "pawky auld carle"(1) of
a wandering Scotchman. To him I owe my first introduction to the
songs of Burns. After eating his bread and cheese and drinking his mug
of cider he gave us Bonny Doon, Highland Mary, and Auld Lang Syne.
He had a rich, full voice, and entered heartily into the spirit of his lyrics.
I have since listened to the same melodies from the lips of Dempster(2)
(than whom the Scottish bard has had no sweeter or truer interpreter),
but the skilful performance of the artist lacked the novel charm of the
gaberlunzie's singing in the old farmhouse kitchen. Another wanderer
made us acquainted with the humorous old ballad of "Our gude man
cam hame at e'en." He applied for supper and lodging, and the next
morning was set at work splitting stones in the pasture. While thus
engaged the village doctor came riding along the highway on his fine,
spirited horse, and stopped to talk with my father. The fellow eyed the
animal attentively, as if familiar with all his good points, and hummed
over a stanza of the old poem:--
"Our gude man cam hame at e'en, And hame cam he; And there he saw
a saddle horse Where nae horse should be. 'How cam this horse here?
How can it be? How cam this horse here Without the leave of me?' 'A

horse?' quo she. 'Ay, a horse,' quo he. 'Ye auld fool, ye blind fool,--
And blinder might ye be,-- 'T is naething but a milking cow My
mamma sent to me.' 'A milch cow?' quo he. 'Ay, a milch cow,' quo she.
'Weel, far hae I ridden, And muckle hae I seen; But milking cows wi'
saddles on Saw I never nane.'"(3)
(1) From the first line of *The Gaberlunzie Man,* attributed to King
James V. of Scotland,-- "The pawky auld carle came o'er the lee." The
original like Whittier's was a sly old fellow, as an English phrase would
translate the Scottish. *The Gaberlunzie Man* is given in Percy's
*Reliques of Ancient Poetry* and in Child's *English and Scottish
Ballads,* viii. 98. (2) William R. Dempster, a Scottish vocalist who had
recently sung in America, and whose music to Burns's song "A man 's a
man for a' that" was very popular. (3) The whole of this song may be
found in Herd's *Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs,* ii. 172. That
very night the rascal decamped, taking with him the doctor's horse, and
was never after heard of.
Often, in the gray of the morning, we used to see one or more
"gaberlunzie men," pack on shoulder and staff in hand, emerging from
the barn or other outbuildings where they had passed the night. I was
once sent to the barn to fodder the cattle late in the evening, and,
climbing into the mow to pitch down hay for that purpose, I was
startled by the sudden apparition of a man rising up before me, just
discernible in the dim moonlight streaming through the seams of the
boards. I made a rapid retreat down the ladder; and was only reassured
by hearing the object of my terror calling after me, and recognizing his
voice as that of a harmless old pilgrim