APPENDIX C
JEANIE BURNS
[This chapter was originally intended by Mrs. Moodie for inclusion
in the first edition of Roughing it in the Bush but was instead
published in the periodical Bentley's Miscellany, in August 1852.
It was later revised and included in the book Life in the Clearings
versus the Bush by the same author.]
"Ah, human hearts are strangely cast,
Time softens grief and pain;
Like reeds that shiver in the blast,
They bend to rise again.
"But she in silence bowed her head,
To none her sorrow would impart;
Earth's faithful arms enclose the dead,
And hide for aye her broken heart!"
Our man James came to me to request the loan of one of the horses,
to attend a funeral. M - - was absent on business, and the horses
and the man's time were both greatly needed to prepare the land for
the fall crops. I demurred; James looked anxious and disappointed;
and the loan of the horse was at length granted, but not without a
strict injunction that he should return to his work the moment the
funeral was over. He did not come back until late that evening. I
had just finished my tea, and was nursing my wrath at his staying
out the whole day, when the door of the room (we had but one,
and that was shared in common with the servants) opened, and the
delinquent at last appeared. He hung up the new English saddle,
and sat down by the blazing hearth without speaking a word.
"What detained you so long, James? You ought to have had half an
acre of land, at least, ploughed to-day."
"Verra true, mistress. It was nae fau't o' mine. I had mista'en the
hour. The funeral didna' come in afore sun-down, and I cam' awa'
directly it was ower."
"Was it any relation of yours?"
"Na, na, jist a freend, an auld acquaintance, but nane o' mine ain
kin. I never felt sare sad in a' my life, as I ha' dune this day.
I ha' seen the clods piled on mony a heid, and never felt the saut
tear in my e'en. But, puir Jeanie! puir lass. It was a sair sight
to see them thrown doon upon her."
My curiosity was excited; I pushed the tea-things from me, and told
Bell to give James his supper.
"Naething for me the night, Bell - I canna' eat - my thoughts will a'
rin on that puir lass. Sae young - sae bonnie, an' a few months ago
as blythe as a lark, an' now a clod o' the earth. Hout we maun all
dee when our ain time comes; but, somehow, I canna' think that
Jeanie ought to ha' gane sae sune."
"Who is Jeanie Burns? Tell me, James, something about her."
In compliance with my request, the man gave me the following story.
I wish I could convey it in his own words, but though I can
perfectly understand the Scotch dialect when spoken, I could not
write it in its charming simplicity:
