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    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)
    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)
    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)
    Ebook270 pages7 hours

    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)

    By James Hogg

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    The story traces Robert Wringhim's gradual decline into despair and madness, as his doubts about the righteousness of his cause are counteracted by what appears to be the Devil himself, who is increasing domination over his life. Finally, Robert loses control over his own identity and start's committing murders. The action of the novel is located in a historically definable Scotland with accurately observed settings, and simultaneously implies a pseudo-Christian world of angels, devils, and demonic possession. Many of the events of the novel are narrated twice; first by the 'editor', who gives his account of the facts as he understands them to be, and then in the words of the 'sinner' himself. Considered by turns part-gothic novel, part-psychological mystery, it can be thought of as an early example of modern crime fiction in which the story is told, for the most part, from the point of view of its criminal anti-hero.

    James Hogg (1770-1835) was a Scottish poet, novelist and essayist who wrote in both Scots and English. As a young man he worked as a shepherd and farmhand, and was largely self-educated through reading. He was a friend of many of the great writers of his day, including Sir Walter Scott, of whom he later wrote an unauthorized biography.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMusaicum Books
    Release dateJun 28, 2017
    ISBN9788075836021
    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)
    Author

    James Hogg

    James Hogg previously collaborated with Robert Sellers on What's the Bleeding Time?, the biography of James Robertson Justice. He has contributed to several books and acted as consultant to television programmes, all on British comedy. He is the commercial manager of Yorkshire County Cricket Club.

    Read more from James Hogg

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    Reviews for The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller)

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    • 5/5
      Brilliant and engaging twice told tale.
    • 5/5
      ***** for this volume's main entry. This is a one-of-a-kind book that manages to tell the same story in two different ways and achieve two different reactions on the part of the reader. The villain of the first part becomes the narrator of the second part, and it turns out that there are some mitigating circumstances--namely, Satan! Believing completely in predestination and that the Christian saved are that way from birth, and that nothing they can do in life can change that, the villain can commit any crime with everlasting--though perhaps not immediate--impunity. To say more would spoil the experience. The book is full of Scots dialect, but pretty easy to understand, as the thickest dialect is reserved for the speech of rustic characters. (The glossary at the back of the book is very selective, so most dialect words aren't even defined, but I found it wasn't that hard to get the gist, and there's always Google.) In any case, this is a unique reading experience and about as good a story of the devil as you'll find. It has memorable scenes, great characters, and well-drawn settings. And even humor. Don't miss it.And I should note that it isn't necessary to understand the various competing Scottish theologies and factions or other things the editor's over-complex introduction discusses. In fact, you'll probably enjoy it more by skipping the introduction, since it really does nothing to help you read the story. (At least, it has no spoilers, so I'll give it that much credit.) Reading it afterwards would probably make it better.The Penguin Classics edition includes two more stories in the volume:Marion's Jock ****Once yet get past the nearly impenetrable Scots dialect, this story of a very hungry servant and the lengths he goes to to satisfy his desire for meat is quite entertaining and funny.John Gray O' Middlehome
    • 3/5
      I bought a copy of James Hogg's "The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner" for a group read months ago. The cover of this edition freaked one of my kids out, so I put it "away" and promptly lost it... it turned up recently so I decided to give it a go.The plot of the story is centered around Robert, who may or may not have been the son of Laird Colwan -- who grows up a Calvinist who believes he has been chosen to go to heaven no matter what he does. He comes under the influence of a man -- or the devil -- and commits a series of crimes (or the devil does.)If it sounds convoluted, you're right it is. At times this was tough to get to, although I thought the overall concept of the story was interesting. The execution was what made it a tough read.
    • 4/5
      I downloaded this book from project Gutenberg. Gothic novels don't have the fast paced action that modern books have so I think you either like or you don't. Personally, I love gothic novels. The old Scots dialect may be a little difficult for some people to understand. It was a strange story, dwelling on religion and the supernatural; the devil in particular. I agree with another reviewer; great devil, smooth talker, charming and persuasive.
    • 4/5
      A nicely drawn criticism of a warped and intolerant fundamental religious personality (in this case 19th century Christian).
    • 5/5
      "Confessions of a Justified Sinner" is exciting because it wears so many hats - it's a gothic novel, a murder mystery, and perhaps most of all a trenchant critique of Calvinist thought. It consists of three parts: an objective summary of events in the novel, the events as told through the eyes of Robert Wringham, and the retelling of how the author (who also uses the name James Hogg) came across Wringham's account of the story. True to the early eighteenth century's Romantic fascination with all things fragmentary, broken, and incomplete, this novel uses the conceit of being a "found document," in this case the handwritten history of Robert's experiences.The beginning of the novel tells of the marriage of a young, conservative termagant named Rabina to George Colwan, an outgoing, fun-loving man who is put off by Rabina's extreme Calvinism. Their marriage effectively ends in their separation, but not before he impregnates her (probably in an act of rape), after which she gives birth to George. His father raises him well, and he grows up to be an academically gifted, well-adjusted young man. Shortly after the separation, Rabina's ultra-conservative religious advisor Reverend Wringham moves in with her, and she soon has another child (this time probably by the Reverend) named Robert, who takes Wringham's name. Robert turns out to be the anti-George: maladjusted, antisocial, vindictive, and hateful. The Reverend convinces Robert that he is justified in the eyes of God - that is, guaranteed to go to Heaven and be forgiven of whatever sins he might happen to commit on Earth. As one of God's elect, he can do no wrong.Even though they were raised separately and never allowed to see one another, sometime during early adulthood, Robert starts to stalk George through the city of Edinburgh, generally causing trouble wherever he goes. George also begins to notice that wherever he is, Robert is also very close by, as if he is being shadowed by a doppelganger. Robert's malevolent antics do everything from strike terror into the heart of George to causing a town-wide fracas. When George is finally murdered in a drunken brawl, his step-mother encounters a prostitute who claims to have seen the incident. She says that Robert did it. Later, Robert admits to the crime in one of the most revealing confessions in all of literature, putting on full display his strange, perverse motives, obsessions and compulsions about the purity of his soul.The second part of the novel shifts into Robert's telling of the story, and we learn of the presence of one Gil-Martin, who has goaded and encouraged Robert's deviance, even doing so in the name of Calvinistic sanctity and justice. Gil-Martin is also a protean shape-shifter who can assume Robert's form at will, and commits murder while doing so. At first, Robert understands the necessity of these acts because they are in the name of the greatness of God. But eventually Robert's doubts start to grow as to how holy Gil-Martin's murders really are. Even the prototypical Calvinist fanatic ends up having a conscience. At the end of the novel, the reader is still left hanging as to Gil-Martin's identity. Is he real, or merely a figment of Robert's imagination?Some of what I read, I read out of a sense of obligation, because I think I need to. I thought this would be one of those books, too. I was surprised to find that it moved at the clip of a modern psychological thriller, while always maintaining its literariness. If you found anything to admire in Walpole's "The Castle of Otranto" or Lewis' "The Monk," I highly recommend this.
    • 5/5
      Something that has affected one as profoundly as this novel has affected me is difficult to do justice to in a brief review; but it is harder to do it justice in a longer format, so this will have to serve as a short, scattered, and unworthy paean to a novel of such sinister and cosmic power, that my fingers literally tremble when it comes up for discussion. (I will avoid even hinting at the plot itself, however, as the less you know going into this, the better.)The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner is a dreamy, poisonous, utterly enthralling portrait of the latent (and perhaps extant, perhaps non-extant) evils of a world seeking the favors of God. But it is also a testament to the power of faith, for good or ill, and its pages do not drip solely with venom, but also with ambivalence: such heady themes leave a great deal open to interpretation, and like all of the best polemics, Justified Sinner leaves a great deal of its 'conclusions' open-ended.Words, brief and fickle, fail to summarize Hogg's novel. It is a convoluted and absolutely fascinating study of doubles: double-thoughts, double-motives, double-narrators, double-faiths. That at its heart is a black and troubling mysticism more brooding and pernicious than even its titular Sinner is testament to its powerful mastery of the clean and the unclean, here tempered in a very personal alchemy to produce a narrative of unwavering enigma. Above all, it is a novel of religion: a firm rejection of Calvinistic dogma and the caustic tenets of Predestination, and a peerless embodiment of the private faith at the roots of some of the darkest shadows of the Romantic's muse. Hogg is an eerie prophet, and this complex, eddying tale his opus, revealed through the syrupy fog of confession, violence, madness, and reprobation. The suspicion that we cannot trust multiple, and even third-party, points of view (despite the relative merits of each) is genius; the suggestion that an entity as singular and terrifying as Gil-Martin may both exist and yet also not exist, the mark of an author of exceptional gifts and striking power. In short: perdition is spilled upon these pages, and yet also the unmistakable ghost of an uncanny and all-knowing grace.Highly, highly recommended.
    • 3/5
      Weird but interesting read that reminds me of many things, including Frankenstein, Lolita and Don Quixote, as well as Faust. I was a bit annoyed at the Scottish jargon, but it was an otherwise funny book with a strong satire of Protestant religious extremism.
    • 3/5
      The novel is from 1824, set in Scotland, and is in two parts, the first the bare outlines of the narrative, the second, longer, told by the evildoer, Robert Colwan. The first scenes are hilarious, of a Scot’s lord marrying a Calvinist beauty, to be put out of his wedding bed by her piety. She bears two sons, the first in the mold of the Scots lord, gentlemanly, the second, possibly a product of illicit liaison with her minister, the evil Robert. Robert starts as a divinity student, but is dissembling and jealous in school, and is completely convinced of his righteousness when his father declares him an elect. He meets the devil, in the form of an alter ego or companion, immediately afterwards, and is tempted to every sin, killing his brother after ruining his brother’s life, possibly killing his mother, ravishing a young lady and finally committing suicide. All the while he justifies himself that as an elect, he will be in heaven, because nothing he does can alter the eternal will of God. Fast paced despite difficult language.
    • 4/5
      Hogg pulls off a difficult stunt - he writes the same novel twice, each from the perspective of a different lead character. The result is a remarkable study in how different events and people can appear based on point of view. Overall, a good read.
    • 5/5
      One of the novels that has had the most influence on me. Electrifying read - one of the forgotten classics.
    • 4/5
      An eerie Caledonian fable about religious dogmatism, which works simultaneously on dozens of levels – atmospheric, intellectual, generic, geographical – and all of them engaging. With its in-jokes, its metafictional structure and even a cheeky authorial self-insertion, it reads very much like something faked-up by Pynchon or Coover or some other contemporary experimentalist: a postmodern rewrite of Gothic Romance. But this is very much the original article.The accoutrements of the genre are all there – doppelgängers, sublime nature, black-clad figures, looming architecture, eldritch forces that man should not wot of – but fused, here, with the Scottish landscape in a way that locates the horrors of the story firmly ‘at home’. (This is unlike Gothic fiction from south of the border, which tends to go abroad to find its otherworldliness – Switzerland for Frankenstein, Italy for The Castle of Otranto, France for Udolpho, Romania for Dracula.) The supernatural elements are also built up over a scaffolding of fascinating religious debate that comes out of the split between Calvinists and religious liberals in Scotland in the nineteenth century.The root of the story is in the dispiriting notion of predestination, which, as Hogg's protagonist points out, makes ‘the economy of the Christian world…an absolute contradiction’.Seeing that God had from all eternity decided the fate of every individual that was to be born of woman, how vain it was in man to endeavour to save those whom their Maker had, by an unchangeable decree, doomed to destruction.Not only does this theory, taken to its logical conclusion, make preaching and religious guidance a complete waste of time, it also means that your own actions have no bearing whatever on your eventual fate amid the celestial choirs or the sulphurous pits. In which case, if you happen to know that you're heading upwards – that you're theologically ‘justified’ – then what's to stop you doing anything you like? Rape…murder…fratricide…there are no limits.The concept is a brilliant one and Hogg plays it for everything it's worth. His interest in ideas of confused identity, psychological breakdown and multiple ‘truths’ makes it easy to understand why the book was so enthusiastically rediscovered towards the end of the twentieth century after decades of neglect; throw in the religious extremism and it's never been more relevant. It's also genuinely creepy. The character of Gil-Martin is one of the best literary treatments of the Devil I've encountered, and some of the set-pieces have a real uncanniness to them which is hard to pull off. A fascinating book, and an excellent choice for anyone in search of a suitably nightmarish Hallowe'en read.
    • 3/5
      Book DescriptionThis extraordinarily complex novel from Scottish author James Hogg is notable for being a powerful criticism of the Calvinist doctrine of predetermination. Revolving around the story of Robert Colwan, a young man convinced that he is pre-determined to enjoy heavenly salvation. As Robert's descent into evil, despair, and madness ultimately leads him to murder his own brother, Hogg's novel questions the nature of religious fanaticism and its excesses.My ReviewI listened to this book on audio and I found it to be an ok read. The dialect of the reader was hard to understand at times but I found the Calvinist doctrine of predetermination and the different viewpoints of the story to be very interesting. Whether or not a person is pre-destined no matter what sins he commits is really left for you to decide in the end.
    • 4/5
      Quite what the meaning of this story is is a difficult thing to fathom, as consistent accounts of important events throughout are elusive. The book tells parts of the story from two main viewpoints, beginning with that of the good brother, going onto the bad brother, and with a small bits from whoever is presenting us the story.To begin with it seems as if the main dichotomy exists between the good brother and the bad brother - the lawful and recognised son of the Laird, George, and the spurned brother Robert (or half brother perhaps, it is hinted), with the former being athletic, of good temper, and sociable, and the latter being studious, unsocial, religious, fanatical, and of bad nature, and brought up by the Rvnd. Wringham who has adopted him as his son.The eponymous Justified Sinner, Robert, is a follower of the Calvinist heresy, believing that people are either chosen for eternal salvation or condemnation before birth, by God, and that their actions throughout their life cannot change this decision. He is told by his father, a cleric, that he has been saved, which gives him carte blanche for committing as much sin as he likes, feeling he is already justified and that his actions can do him no harm. Robert is not a completely bad character though, and sometimes experiences doubt about the correctness of his actions before carrying out crimes, and guilt afterwards, but is dragged down by a mysterious stranger who earns his confidence and befriends him; these two, not the two brothers, are the ones who take prominence in the story. Subtle and not so subtle hints that this stranger is the devil himself are presented, but Robert believes for much of it that he is a messenger of God, a guardian, and that things such as the murdering of sinners that he convinces him to do are righteous, though he does eventually come to loathe him. Alternatively, it could be seen that the stranger and himself are aspects of the same schizophrenic character, with one being good and the other evil, with their existence as separate people being metaphoric, but this is left for us to decide.Whatever the reader is meant to understand, (and I doubt the author accidentally left things this ambiguous), this is a powerful tale of warning against conceit of ones own ideas, and the danger of not critically assessing the truth of what other people tell you; this moral is illustrated both by the way the main character accepts what bad influences tell him, and how this leads him into trouble, and also by the way the author gives opposing or inconsistent details of events, in order to challenge our credulity and teach us to make our own conclusions instead.
    • 4/5
      This is a gothic novel and a satire on religious fanaticism. The doctrine of predestination is used by the main character as an excuse for committing a number of heinous crimes under the influence of a "mysterious stranger". It turned out to be a pretty good read due to the element of psychological suspense.
    • 5/5
      Hilarious and appalling at the same time.
    • 5/5
      Hogg's darkly comic moralistic tale is unjustifiably obscure. The elegantly crafted 19th century tale of a rich young man who justifies his violent tendencies through both the doctrine of predestination and the influence of a nameless stranger. He is an amoral sinner, building his repertoire up to murder as soon as he is declared saved by his reverend adoptive father. Hogg's sophisticated prose offers a classic dark tale of temptation by an external devil as well as a modern psychological (internal sublimation) reading. The story is wholly microscopic of 19th century Scotland, but wholly timeless and universal.
    • 2/5
      This is a very convoluted tale of two brothers and perhaps a demonic being. This is billed as a satire on Calvinism. The premise of the story is that Robert, the youngest "son" of the Laird (but perhaps the son of the Parson) is convinced by his best friend (perhaps the "demon") that since he is of the elect, that nothing he does will be cause for him to lose his place in heaven. Robert really isn't a bad guy and doesn't understand why he's being accused of all sort of things, including the murder of his brother and mother. This reader thinks it was the demon who committed these acts. Half of the time I had no idea who was telling the story, Robert, or his brother, or "the editor." Good thing this book was short or I would have put it down and not finished. Also the servant's dialogue was almost unintelligible to me; much like Cockney only Scottish. Not recommended. 206 pages
    • 4/5
      James Hogg’s 1824 novel, The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner: Written by Himself: With a detail of curious traditionary facts and other evidence by the editor tells the story of the George Colwan, the Laird of Dalcastle, and his two sons, George and Robert. The elder Laird marries Rabina Orde, a devout woman who rejects his impiousness. She later has a son, George, who is the Laird’s heir. Her second son, Robert, is strongly implied to be the son of her minister, the Reverend Wringhim. The two brothers are separated, with George learning all he needs to become the future Laird while Wringhim raises Robert in his antinomian Calvinist beliefs. When the two brothers meet later on, they frequently fight. George dies in an apparent duel and Robert is accused of the murder, but disappears before he can face trial.The second half of the novel tells the story from Robert’s point of view, with his antinomian beliefs allowing him to sin with abandon. Robert falls under the sway of a shape-shifting man who encourages him to sin further. The man calls himself Gil-Martin, but Robert believes him to be Czar Peter of Russia (pg. 127). When Robert first questions Gil-Martin about his name, the shape-shifter says, “You may call me Gil-Martin. It is not my Christian name; but it is a name which may serve your turn” (pg. 122). He further states, “I have no parents save one, whom I do not acknowledge” (pg. 122). Hogg intends for the readers to infer that Gil-Martin is the Devil, though he also introduces enough doubt that Gil-Martin may be nothing more than a figment of Robert’s imagination. This version of the literary Devil is particularly interesting, as the doubt over his existence and the fact that he cannot make Robert do anything that he doesn’t want to anyway encourages further questioning of theological dogmatism.The novel engages directly with Calvinist theology and the concept of predestination, with Robert, the “sinner,” describing himself as “justified” to refer to his acceptance of Calvinism and belief that he is among the elect predestined for paradise, which contradicts the belief that good works could gain entry to heaven. Thus, Robert points out one of the flaws with antinomian predestination (besides assuming the existence of an all-powerful being without repeatable, testable evidence) – if good works will not permit entry to paradise since the “saved” have been chosen since the beginning of time, then they are free to sin at will confident in their belief that their sins were already cleansed through the crucifixion. The “sinner” muses upon this, thinking, “The more I pondered on these things, the more I saw of the folly and inconsistency of ministers, in spending their lives, striving and remonstrating with sinners, in order to induce them to do that which they had it not in their power to do” (pg. 117). Hogg further criticizes the gullible or easily misled through his portrayal of Reverend Wringhim’s belief in maternal impression, a belief William Hogarth criticized in his 1762 satirical print, Credulity, Superstition and Fanaticism (pg. 104). For those interested in Scottish literature or work that engages with the Scottish Reformation, this is a must-read, though Hogg’s use of dialect to capture the Scottish brogue coupled with archaic slang may be difficult for nonacademic readers.
    • 4/5
      Who is he that causeth the mole, from his secret path of darkness, to throw up the gem, the gold, and the precious ore?

      Hogg should be better remembered. Justified Sinner is a dark revelation, one less gothic than psychological. The novel is a headbirth which ignores Lewis/Walpole/Radcliff and instead Babadooks from a nascent emotional realism, one like Fyodor's magic door where everything is tinged yellow and seizures lead to murder. Speaking of crows, I heartily endorse the subtext as being an opposition to fanaticism or any dogmatic approach to life or social order. (Please leave the room, Rick Santorum). The novel is two tiered, a found editor's investigation and a journal form the eponymous: the latter is vain, contradictory and doomed. Sorry for the spoiler: what else could you expect from an early novel where Old Scratch is the wingman? There are veiled thoughts on marriage and inheritance at play, poky pines towards Church imposition. That said, this proved an enjoyable bout with the more sinister angels of our nature.

    Book preview

    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Psychological Thriller) - James Hogg

    James Hogg

    The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner

    (Psychological Thriller)

    Published by

    Books

    - Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -

    musaicumbooks@okpublishing.info

    2017 OK Publishing

    ISBN 978-80-7583-602-1

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    Table of Contents

    The Editor’s Narrative

    Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Sinner

    End of the Memoir

    The Editor’s Narrative

    Table of Contents

    It appears from tradition, as well as some parish registers still extant, that the lands of Dalcastle (or Dalchastel, as it is often spelled) were possessed by a family of the name of Colwan, about one hundred and fifty years ago, and for at least a century previous to that period. That family was supposed to have been a branch of the ancient family of Colquhoun, and it is certain that from it spring the Cowans that spread towards the Border. I find that, in the year 1687, George Colwan succeeded his uncle of the same name, in the lands of Dalchastel and Balgrennan; and, this being all I can gather of the family from history, to tradition I must appeal for the remainder of the motley adventures of that house. But, of the matter furnished by the latter of these powerful monitors, I have no reason to complain: It has been handed down to the world in unlimited abundance; and I am certain that, in recording the hideous events which follow, I am only relating to the greater part of the inhabitants of at least four counties of Scotland matters of which they were before perfectly well informed.

    This George was a rich man, or supposed to be so, and was married, when considerably advanced in life, to the sole heiress and reputed daughter of a Baillie Orde, of Glasgow. This proved a conjunction anything but agreeable to the parties contracting. It is well known that the Reformation principles had long before that time taken a powerful hold of the hearts and affections of the people of Scotland, although the feeling was by no means general, or in equal degrees; and it so happened that this married couple felt completely at variance on the subject. Granting it to have been so, one would have thought that the laird, owing to his retiring situation, would have been the one that inclined to the stern doctrines of the reformers; and that the young and gay dame from the city would have adhered to the free principles cherished by the court party, and indulged in rather to extremity, in opposition to their severe and carping contemporaries.

    The contrary, however, happened to be the case. The laird was what his country neighbours called a droll, careless chap, with a very limited proportion of the fear of God in his heart, and very nearly as little of the fear of man. The laird had not intentionally wronged or offended either of the parties, and perceived not the necessity of deprecating their vengeance. He had hitherto believed that he was living in most cordial terms with the greater part of the inhabitants of the earth, and with the powers above in particular: but woe be unto him if he was not soon convinced of the fallacy of such damning security! for his lady was the most severe and gloomy of all bigots to the principles of the Reformation. Hers were not the tenets of the great reformers, but theirs mightily overstrained and deformed. Theirs was an unguent hard to be swallowed; but hers was that unguent embittered and overheated until nature could not longer bear it. She had imbibed her ideas from the doctrines of one flaming predestinarian divine alone; and these were so rigid that they became a stumbling block to many of his brethren, and a mighty handle for the enemies of his party to turn the machine of the state against them.

    The wedding festivities at Dalcastle partook of all the gaiety, not of that stern age, but of one previous to it. There was feasting, dancing, piping, and singing: the liquors were handed, around in great fulness, the ale in large wooden bickers, and the brandy in capacious horns of oxen. The laird gave full scope to his homely glee. He danced—he snapped his fingers to the music—clapped his hands and shouted at the turn of the tune. He saluted every girl in the hall whose appearance was anything tolerable, and requested of their sweethearts to take the same freedom with his bride, by way of retaliation. But there she sat at the head of the hall in still and blooming beauty, absolutely refusing to tread a single measure with any gentleman there. The only enjoyment in which she appeared to partake was in now and then stealing a word of sweet conversation with her favourite pastor about divine things; for he had accompanied her home after marrying her to her husband, to see her fairly settled in her new dwelling. He addressed her several times by her new name, Mrs. Colwan; but she turned away her head disgusted, and looked with pity and contempt towards the old inadvertent sinner, capering away in the height of his unregenerated mirth. The minister perceived the workings of her pious mind, and thenceforward addressed her by the courteous title of Lady Dalcastle, which sounded somewhat better, as not coupling her name with one of the wicked: and there is too great reason to believe that, for all the solemn vows she had come under, and these were of no ordinary binding, particularly on the laird’s part, she at that time despised, if not abhorred him, in her heart.

    The good parson again blessed her, and went away. She took leave of him with tears in her eyes, entreating him often to visit her in that heathen land of the Amorite, the Hittite, and the Girgashite: to which he assented, on many solemn and qualifying conditions—and then the comely bride retired to her chamber to pray.

    It was customary, in those days, for the bride’s-man and maiden, and a few select friends, to visit the new-married couple after they had retired to rest, and drink a cup to their healths, their happiness, and a numerous posterity. But the laird delighted not in this: he wished to have his jewel to himself; and, slipping away quietly from his jovial party, he retired to his chamber to his beloved, and bolted the door. He found her engaged with the writings of the Evangelists, and terribly demure. The laird went up to caress her; but she turned away her head, and spoke of the follies of aged men, and something of the broad way that leadeth to destruction. The laird did not thoroughly comprehend this allusion; but being considerably flustered by drinking, and disposed to take all in good part, he only remarked, as he took off his shoes and stockings, that, whether the way was broad or narrow, it was time that they were in their bed.

    Sure, Mr. Colwan, you won’t go to bed to-night, at such an important period of your life, without first saying prayers for yourself and me.

    When she said this, the laird had his head down almost to the ground, loosing his shoe-buckle; but when he heard of prayers, on such a night, he raised his face suddenly up, which was all over as flushed and red as a rose, and answered:

    Prayers, Mistress! Lord help your crazed head, is this a night for prayers?

    He had better have held his peace. There was such a torrent of profound divinity poured out upon him that the laird became ashamed, both of himself and his new-made spouse, and wist not what to say: but the brandy helped him out.

    It strikes me, my dear, that religious devotion would be somewhat out of place to-night, said he. Allowing that it is ever so beautiful, and ever so beneficial, were we to ride on the rigging of it at all times, would we not be constantly making a farce of it: It would be like reading the Bible and the jestbook, verse about, and would render the life of man a medley of absurdity and confusion.

    But, against the cant of the bigot or the hypocrite, no reasoning can aught avail. If you would argue until the end of life, the infallible creature must alone be right. So it proved with the laird. One Scripture text followed another, not in the least connected, and one sentence of the profound Mr. Wringhim’s sermons after another, proving the duty of family worship, till the laird lost patience, and tossing himself into bed, said carelessly that he would leave that duty upon her shoulders for one night.

    The meek mind of Lady Dalcastle was somewhat disarranged by this sudden evolution. She felt that she was left rather in an awkward situation. However, to show her unconscionable spouse that she was resolved to hold fast her integrity, she kneeled down and prayed in terms so potent that she deemed she was sure of making an impression on him. She did so; for in a short time the laird began to utter a response so fervent that she was utterly astounded, and fairly driven from the chain of her orisons. He began, in truth, to sound a nasal bugle of no ordinary calibre—the notes being little inferior to those of a military trumpet. The lady tried to proceed, but every returning note from the bed burst on her ear with a louder twang, and a longer peal, till the concord of sweet sounds became so truly pathetic that the meek spirit of the dame was quite overcome; and, after shedding a flood of tears, she arose from her knees, and retired to the chimney-corner with her Bible in her lap, there to spend the hours in holy meditation till such time as the inebriated trumpeter should awaken to a sense of propriety.

    The laird did not awake in any reasonable time; for, he being overcome with fatigue and wassail, his sleep became sounder, and his Morphean measures more intense. These varied a little in their structure; but the general run of the bars sounded something in this way: Hic-hoc-wheew! It was most profoundly ludicrous; and could not have missed exciting risibility in anyone save a pious, a disappointed, and humbled bride.

    The good dame wept bitterly. She could not for her life go and awaken the monster, and request him to make room for her: but she retired somewhere, for the laird, on awaking next morning, found that he was still lying alone. His sleep had been of the deepest and most genuine sort; and, all the time that it lasted, he had never once thought of either wives, children, or sweethearts, save in the way of dreaming about them; but, as his spirit began again by slow degrees to verge towards the boundaries of reason, it became lighter and more buoyant from the effects of deep repose, and his dreams partook of that buoyancy, yea, to a degree hardly expressible. He dreamed of the reel, the jig, the strathspey, and the corant; and the elasticity of his frame was such that he was bounding over the heads of maidens, and making his feet skimmer against the ceiling, enjoying, the while, the most ecstatic emotions. These grew too fervent for the shackles of the drowsy god to restrain. The nasal bugle ceased its prolonged sounds in one moment, and a sort of hectic laugh took its place. Keep it going—play up, you devils! cried the laird, without changing his position on the pillow. But this exertion to hold the fiddlers at their work fairly awakened the delighted dreamer, and, though he could not refrain from continuing, his laugh, beat length, by tracing out a regular chain of facts, came to be sensible of his real situation. Rabina, where are you? What’s become of you, my dear? cried the laird. But there was no voice nor anyone that answered or regarded. He flung open the curtains, thinking to find her still on her knees, as he had seen her, but she was not there, either sleeping or waking. Rabina! Mrs. Colwan! shouted he, as loud as he could call, and then added in the same breath, God save the king—I have lost my wife!

    He sprung up and opened the casement: the day-light was beginning to streak the east, for it was spring, and the nights were short, and the mornings very long. The laird half dressed himself in an instant, and strode through every room in the house, opening the windows as he went, and scrutinizing every bed and every corner. He came into the hall where the wedding festival had been held; and as he opened the various windowboards, loving couples flew off like hares surprised too late in the morning among the early braird. Hoo-boo! Fie, be frightened! cried the laird. Fie, rin like fools, as if ye were caught in an ill-turn! His bride was not among them; so he was obliged to betake himself to further search. She will be praying in some corner, poor woman, said he to himself. It is an unlucky thing this praying. But, for my part, I fear I have behaved very ill; and I must endeavour to make amends.

    The laird continued his search, and at length found his beloved in the same bed with her Glasgow cousin who had acted as bridesmaid. You sly and malevolent imp, said the laird; you have played me such a trick when I was fast asleep! I have not known a frolic so clever, and, at the same time, so severe. Come along, you baggage you!

    Sir, I will let you know that I detest your principles and your person alike, said she. "It shall never be said, Sir, that my person was at the control of a heathenish man of Belial—a dangler among the daughters of women—a promiscuous dancer—and a player of unlawful games. Forgo your rudeness, Sir, I say, and depart away from my presence and that of my kinswoman.

    Come along, I say, my charming Rab. If you were the pink of all puritans, and the saint of all saints, you are my wife, and must do as I command you.

    Sir, I will sooner lay down my life than be subjected to your godless will; therefore I say, desist, and begone with you.

    But the laird regarded none of these testy sayings: he rolled her in a blanket, and bore her triumphantly away to his chamber, taking care to keep a fold or two of the blanket always rather near to her mouth, in case of any outrageous forthcoming of noise.

    The next day at breakfast the bride was long in making her appearance. Her maid asked to see her; but George did not choose that anybody should see her but himself. He paid her several visits, and always turned the key as he came out. At length breakfast was served; and during the time of refreshment the laird tried to break several jokes; but it was remarked that they wanted their accustomed brilliancy, and that his nose was particularly red at the top.

    Matters, without all doubt, had been very bad between the new-married couple; for in the course of the day the lady deserted her quarters, and returned to her father’s house in Glasgow, after having been a night on the road; stage-coaches and steam-boats having then no existence in that quarter.

    Though Baillie Orde had acquiesced in his wife’s asseveration regarding the likeness of their only daughter to her father, he never loved or admired her greatly; therefore this behaviour nothing astounded him. He questioned her strictly as to the grievous offence committed against her, and could discover nothing that warranted a procedure so fraught with disagreeable consequences. So, after mature deliberation, the baillie addressed her as follows:

    Aye, aye, Raby! An’ sae I find that Dalcastle has actually refused to say prayers with you when you ordered him; an’ has guidit you in a rude indelicate manner, outstepping the respect due to my daughter—as my daughter. But, wi’ regard to what is due to his own wife, of that he’s a better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths of his wife—an’ let him lick at that.

    What do you mean, Sir? said the astonished damsel.

    I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle, said he, for what he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for this.

    So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage only at the Laird of Dalcastle. Villain that he is! exclaimed he, I shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your husband’s impertinence!

    The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from carrying his daughter’s meal, he said to himself: I shall make the sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life.

    Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets; for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts, and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.

    That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that there was no refuge for her in her father’s house; and so, after some sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by drawing him into argument.

    The laird kept his temper a long while, but at length his patience wore out; he cut her short in all her futile attempts at spiritualization, and mocked at her wire-drawn degrees of faith, hope, and repentance. He also dared to doubt of the great standard doctrine of absolute predestination, which put the crown on the lady’s Christian resentment. She declared her helpmate to be a limb of Antichrist, and one with whom no regenerated person could associate. She therefore bespoke a separate establishment, and, before the expiry of the first six months, the arrangements of the separation were amicably adjusted. The upper, or third, story of the old mansion-house was awarded to the lady for her residence. She had a separate door, a separate stair, a separate garden, and walks that in no instance intersected the laird’s; so that one would have thought the separation complete. They had each their own parties, selected from their own sort of people; and, though the laird never once chafed himself about the lady’s companies, it was not long before she began to intermeddle about some of his.

    Who is that fat bouncing dame that visits the laird so often, and always by herself? said she to her maid Martha one day.

    Oh dear, mem, how can I ken? We’re banished frae our acquaintances here, as weel as frae the sweet gospel ordinances.

    Find me out who that jolly dame is, Martha. You, who hold communion with the household of this ungodly man, can be at no loss to attain this information. I observe that she always casts her eye up toward our windows, both in coming and going; and I suspect that she seldom departs from the house emptyhanded.

    That same evening Martha came with the information that this august visitor was a Miss Logan, an old an intimate acquaintance of the laird’s, and a very worthy respectable lady, of good connections, whose parents had lost their patrimony in the civil wars.

    Ha! very well! said the lady; very well, Martha! But, nevertheless, go thou and watch this respectable lady’s motions and behaviour the next time she comes to visit the laird—and the next after that. You will not, I see, lack opportunities.

    Martha’s information turned out of that nature that prayers were said in the uppermost story of Dalcastle house against the Canaanitish woman, every night and every morning; and great discontent prevailed there, even to anathemas and tears. Letter after letter was dispatched to Glasgow; and at length, to the lady’s great consolation, the Rev. Mr. Wringhim arrived safely and devoutly in her elevated sanctuary. Marvellous was the conversation between these gifted people. Wringhim had held in his doctrines that there were eight different kinds of FAITH, all perfectly distinct in their operations and effects. But the lady, in her secluded state, had discovered another five, making twelve [sic] in all: the adjusting of the existence or fallacy of these five faiths served for a most enlightened discussion of nearly seventeen hours; in the course of which the two got warm in their arguments, always in proportion as they receded from nature, utility, and common sense. Wringhim at length got into unwonted fervour about some disputed point between one of these faiths and TRUST: when the lady, fearing that zeal was getting beyond its wonted barrier, broke in on his vehement asseverations with the following abrupt discomfiture: But, Sir, as long as I remember, what is to be done with this case of open and avowed iniquity?

    The minister was struck dumb. He leaned him back on his chair, stroked his beard, hemmed—considered, and hemmed again, and then said, in an altered and softened tone: Why, that is a secondary consideration; you mean the case between your husband and Miss Logan?

    The same, Sir. I am scandalized at such intimacies going on under my nose. The sufferance of it is a great and crying evil.

    Evil, madam, may be either operative, or passive. To them it is an evil, but to us none. We have no more to do with the sins of the wicked and unconverted here than with those of an infidel Turk; for all earthly bonds and fellowships are absorbed and swallowed up in the holy community of the Reformed Church. However, if it is your wish, I shall take him to task, and reprimand and humble him in such a manner that he shall be ashamed of his doings, and renounce such deeds for ever, out of mere self-respect, though all unsanctified the heart, as well as the deed, may be. To the wicked, all things are wicked; but to the just, all things are just and right.

    Ah, that is a sweet and comfortable saying, Mr. Wringhim! How delightful to think that a justified person can do no wrong! Who would not envy the liberty wherewith we are made free? Go to my husband, that poor unfortunate, blindfolded person, and open his eyes to his degenerate and sinful state; for well are you fitted to the task.

    Yea, I will go in unto him, and confound him. I will lay the strong holds of sin and Satan as flat before my face as the dung that is spread out to fatten the land.

    Master, there’s a gentleman at the fore-door wants a private word o’ ye.

    "Tell him I’m engaged:

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