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Or if you did venture a bit jibe when you met him, he glowered you off the face of the earth with thae black een of his. Oh, how they longed to get at him! It was not the least of the evils caused by Gourlay's black pride that it perverted a dozen characters. The "bodies" of Barbie may have been decent enough men in their own way, but against him their malevolence was monstrous.
Dame Gourlay's tales were at first of a mild and interesting character Of fays that nightly dance upon the wold, And lovers doom'd to wander and to weep, And castles high, where wicked wizards keep Their captive thralls.
"And, my dear John, did I not tell you so?" replied his wife, smiling; "but if you make other allusions, I am sure Miss Gourlay can bear me out." "She has more than borne you out, my dear," he replied, purposely misunderstanding her. "She has more than borne you out; for, truth to tell, you have in Miss Gourlay's case fallen far short of what I see she is." "But, Mr.
If that be so and Wabster, remember, was an expert whose opinion on this matter is entitled to the highest credence if that be so, it proves the strength and persistence of a thorough alcoholic impregnation, or, as Wabster called it, of "a good soak." In young Gourlay's case, at any rate, the impregnation was enduring and complete. He was like a rag steeped in fusel oil.
We have no means of knowing all the circumstances whereby he was led to this conclusion, but the idea is not in itself inherently improbable. In those days, and for long after, no man tried in Upper Canada for anything savouring of radicalism in politics could hope to receive fair play. In Gourlay's case there were one or two suspicious features which, to say the least, require explanation.
Miss Gourlay's not the stuff to fall in love wid any button-maker, even if he made buttons of goold; an' sure they say that the king an' queen, and the whole royal family wears golden buttons." "I think, in spaiking of buttons," observed the grazier, with a grin, "that you might lave the queen out."
On the dickey were ex-Provost Connal and Sandy Toddle, and between them the Deacon, tightly wedged. The fun began when the horses were crawling up the first brae. The Deacon turned with a wink to Brodie, and dropping a glance on the crown of Gourlay's hat, "Tummuth," he lisped, "what a dirty place that ith!" pointing to a hovel by the wayside. Brodie took the cue at once.
"It was a muckle sheep that dropped him." It was Gourlay's pride in his house that made him harsher to his wife than others, since her sluttishness was a constant offence to the order in which he loved to have his dear possessions. He, for his part, liked everything precise.
The folk would stand in their doors to look at me, man they would that they would cry ben to each other to come oot and see Gourlay's wife gaun slinkin' doon the brae. Doon the brae it would be," she repeated, "doon the brae it would be" and her mind drifted away on the sorrowful future which her fear made so vivid and real. It was only John's going that roused her.
I had known Graeme's crime and Gourlay's self-murder; but the crime was a trick among blacklegs, and the suicide was the madness of a gambler, who had risked his money and was ruined at the moment he wanted to ruin another.
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