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Though not so much a tradition as a memory still fresh probably in the minds of some of the good old Edinburgh folks, we here offer, chiefly for the benefit of our young female readers who are fond of a story wherein little heroines figure, as in Béranger's Sylphide, an account of a very famous adventure of a certain little Jeannie Deans in our city the more like the elder Jeannie, inasmuch as they both were concerned in a loving effort to save the life of a sister.
Hatton at her side, and he took his limping but blissful daily walk in her society! Rapturous confidences were those in which she and Jeannie Bruce daily engaged. Blissful were the glances with which they rewarded Miss Forrest for her warm and cordial congratulations.
Yes, it would be dreadful it would break her heart; but she was prepared to have her heart broken and her genius wrung out of her by inches, if only she could get two hundred pounds wherewith to take Jeannie away to the South of France. Mr.
I'll go right and do it, only I haven't any netting," said he. "Mrs. Linceford has. I'll go and beg a piece for you. And then, if you'll just sit here a minute, I'll come, Miss Craydocke." When she came back, she brought Jeannie with her. To use a vulgar proverb, Jeannie's nose was rather out of joint since the Haughtleys had arrived.
Come, man, cheer up, we shall be as merry as grigs to-morrow on the hill. You'll never have a grave face in my company, I promise you, long together." "I have been telling him, Will," said Jeannie, "I was sure you would be kind to him, so that he had no need to be frightened. And indeed," continued she, in a sort of whisper, "who would not be kind to a poor orphan boy like him?"
"Oh, I wish I could see! I'm losing it all!" said Elinor, plaintively and blindfold. "Why don't you try the eyestone?" said Jeannie. But Elinor shrunk, even yet, from deliberately putting that great thing in her eye, agonized already by the presence of a mote. There came a touch on her shoulder, as before. The good woman of the gray bonnet had come forward from her seat farther down the car.
Jeannie Welsh Carlyle had capacity for pain, as it seems all great souls have. She suffered but then suffering is not all suffering and pain is not all pain. Life is often dark, but then there are rifts in the clouds when we behold the glorious deep blue of the sky.
"Somebody I loved very much, my child," he answered, rather sadly; "from whom Angus has his blue eyes, and Flora her smile." "You mean Aunt Jane," said I, speaking as softly as he had done, for I felt that she had been very dear to him. "Yes, my dear," he replied; "I mean my Jeannie. You are very like her. I think we shall love each other, Cary." I thought so too. Mr Cameron left us this morning.
"There was only an elderly gentleman and a young leddy accompanied us to the chapel; for Jeannie and her mother said that that was mair genteel than to have a gilravish o' folk at our heels. For my part, I thought, as we were to be married, we micht as weel mak' a wedding o't.
Munn was saying, in a voice muffled by a mouthful of chewing-gum, "they're goin' to do that thing what d'ye call it when two folks that's sparkin' run away?" "Elope," said the orphan, from the depths of a profound experience of the world. "Yes, elope. Don't you ever tell, Tim; but I bet that's what Jeannie an' me'll do some day; only I wish she wasn't such an awful girl to laugh!"
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