Mrs. Pringle to Miss Mally
Glencairn
Dear Miss Mally—I hav a cro
to pik with you conserning yoor comishon aboot the partickels for
your friends. You can hav no noshon what the Doctor and me
suffert on the head of the flooring shrubs. We took your
Nota Beny as it was spilt, and went from shop to shop enquirin in
a most partiklar manner for “a Gardner’s Bell, or the
least of all flowering plants”; but sorrow a gardner in the
whole tot here in London ever had heard of sic a thing; so we
gave the porshoot up in despare. Howsomever, one of
Andrew’s acquaintance—a decent lad, who is only son
to a saddler in a been way, that keeps his own carriage, and his
son a coryikel, happent to call, and the Doctor told him what ill
socsess we had in our serch for the gardner’s bell; upon
which he sought a sight of your yepissle, and read it as a thing
that was just wonderful for its whorsogroffie; and then he sayid,
that looking at the prinsipol of your spilling, he thought we
should reed, “a gardner’s bill, or a list of all
flooring plants”; whilk being no doot your intent, I have
proqurt the same, and it is included heerin. But, Miss
Mally, I would advize you to be more exac in your inditing, that
no sic torbolashon may hippen on a future okashon.
What I hav to say for the present is, that you will, by a
smak, get a bocks of kumoddities, whilk you will destraboot as
derekit on every on of them, and you will before have resievit by
the post-offis, an account of what has been don. I need say
no forther at this time, knowin your discreshon and prooduns,
septs that our Rachel and Captain Sabor will, if it pleese the
Lord, be off to Parish, by way of Bryton, as man and wife, the
morn’s morning. What her father the Doctor gives for
tocher, what is settlt on her for jontor, I will tell you all
aboot when we meet; for it’s our dishire noo to lose no tim
in retorning to the manse, this being the last of our
diplomaticals in London, where we have found the Argents a most
discrit family, payin to the last farding the Cornal’s
legacy, and most seevil, and well bred to us.
As I am naterally gretly okypt with this matteromoneal afair,
you cannot expect ony news; but the queen is going on with a
dreadful rat, by which the pesents hav falen more than a whole
entirr pesent. I wish our fonds were well oot of them, and
in yird and stane, which is a constansie. But what is to
become of the poor donsie woman, no one can expound. Some
think she will be pot in the Toor of London, and her head chappit
off; others think she will raise sic a stramash, that she will
send the whole government into the air, like peelings of ingons,
by a gunpoother plot. But it’s my opinion, and I have
weighed the matter well in my understanding, that she will hav to
fight with sword in hand, be she ill, or be she good. How
els can she hop to get the better of more than two hundred lords,
as the Doctor, who has seen them, tells me, with princes of the
blood-royal, and the prelatic bishops, whom, I need not tell you,
are the worst of all.
But the thing I grudge most, is to be so long in Lundon, and
no to see the king. Is it not a hard thing to come to
London, and no to see the king? I am not pleesed with him,
I assure you, becose he does not set himself out to public view,
like ony other curiosity, but stays in his palis, they say, like
one of the anshent wooden images of idolatry, the which is a
great peety, he beeing, as I am told, a beautiful man, and more
the gentleman than all the coortiers of his court.
The Doctor has been minting to me that there is an address
from Irvine to the queen; and he, being so near a neighbour to
your toun, has been thinking to pay his respecs with it, to see
her near at hand. But I will say nothing; he may take his
own way in matters of gospel and spiritualety; yet I have my
scroopols of conshence, how this may not turn out a rebellyon
against the king; and I would hav him to sift and see who are at
the address, before he pits his han to it. For, if
it’s a radikol job, as I jealoos it is, what will the
Doctor then say? who is an orthodox man, as the world nose.
In the maitre of our dumesticks, no new axsident has cast up;
but I have seen such a wonder as could not have been
forethocht. Having a washin, I went down to see how the
lassies were doing; but judge of my feelings, when I saw them
triomphing on the top of pattons, standing upright before the
boyns on chairs, rubbin the clothes to juggins between their
hands, above the sapples, with their gouns and stays on, and
round-cared mutches. What would you think of such a miracle
at the washing-house in the Goffields, or the Gallows-knows of
Irvine? The cook, howsomever, has shown me a way to make
rice-puddings without eggs, by putting in a bit of shoohet, which
is as good—and this you will tell Miss Nanny Eydent;
likewise, that the most fashionable way of boiling green pis, is
to pit a blade of spearmint in the pot, which gives a fine
flavour. But this is a long letter, and my pepper is done;
so no more, but remains your friend and well-wisher,
Janet
Pringle.
“A great legacy, and her dochtir married, in ae journey
to London, is doing business,” said Mrs. Glibbans, with a
sigh, as she looked to her only get, Miss Becky; “but the
Lord’s will is to be done in a’ thing;—sooner
or later something of the same kind will come, I trust, to all
our families.” “Ay,” replied Miss Mally
Glencairn, “marriage is like death—it’s what we
are a’ to come to.”
“I have my doubts of that,” said Miss Becky with a
sneer. “Ye have been lang spair’t from it, Miss
Mally.”
“Ye’re a spiteful puddock; and if the men hae the
e’en and lugs they used to hae, gude pity him whose lot is
cast with thine, Becky Glibbans,” replied the elderly
maiden ornament of the Kirkgate, somewhat tartly.
Here Mr. Snodgrass interposed, and said, he would read to them
the letter which Miss Isabella had received from the bride; and
without waiting for their concurrence, opened and read as
follows:—
