I CANNA BE FASHED!

OR, WILLIE GRANT'S CONFESSIONS.

"Here's a bonny day, sir," said old Willie Grant, "and the Whitadder's in excellent trim—will ye get your gad and your creel, and we'll awa see what sort o' sport there is. If I'm no mistaen, the trouts will rise as fast as ye throw the line to-day."

"Oh, I canna be fashed," said the individual to whom he spoke.

"What's that I hear ye say?" added Willie, seriously. "Ye canna be fashed! can ye no? Do ye think ye could be fashed to read the 'Cottagers o' Glenburnie?' Ye would there see the meaning and the effects o' 'I canna be fashed' illustrated. But if ye can be fashed to hear, I'll gie ye an example in my ain case; and, I assure ye, that those four words, 'I—canna—be—fashed' (he spoke them very slowly, laying emphasis on each)—I say, sir, those four words hae cost me a thousand pounds twice told. I got them for naething; but, certes, they proved a dear bargain in the long run. They hae made me acquainted wi' a sair skin, a sair heart, and an empty pocket. I hae nae remembrance wha learned me the words, nor am I altogether certain but that they are words that just spring out o' the laziness and indolence o' our dispositions, like weeds out o' a neglected soil. But weel do I remember the first time when I was made to hae a feeling remembrance o' having used them. My faither was a bit sma' laird in East Lothian—no very far frae Dunglass—and the property consisted o' between thirty and forty acres, so that he managed to bring up a family o' five o' us very comfortably, and rather respectably—and the more especially as my mother was a very thrifty woman. I was the third o' the family; and, as I was gaun to say to ye, there was ae day that we were a' gilravishing about the floor, and wheeling ane anither in a little wheelbarrow that my faither had got a cartwright in Dunbar to mak for us (for he was a man that liked to see his bairns happy), when, says he to me—

"Willie, tie yer whings,[5] and dinna let yer shoon be shaughlin aff yer feet in that gate, or ye maun gang barefoot. Folk shouldna hae shoon that dinna ken hoo to wear them."

"I canna be fashed, faither," said I, and continued running after the wheelbarrow; but, before ever I wist, and before I thought that I had done ill, he gied me a cuff i' the haffits that made me birl half donnert by the cheek o' the lum.[6]

"Ay, man!" says he, "what's that I hear ye say—'ye canna be fashed!' Let me hear the words come out o' your lips again if ye daur, and I'll knock the life out o' ye."

That was the first time that I particularly remember o' having made use o' the phrase, and I am only sorry that the clout which my faither gied me didna drive it out o' my head frae that day henceforth, and for ever; though, truly, it had nae such effect, as ye shall hear, and as I experienced to my sorrow. I sat down whinging till my faither gaed out o' the house, and, as soon as his back was turned, I dried my een, and began to drive about the barrow again wi' my brothers and sisters; but I hadna ran aboon ten minutes, till my mother, wha was tired wi' the noise we were making, cried—

"Willie, laddie, gie me aff your stockings instantly. Preserve us! the callant has holes in their heels ye micht put yer nieve through!—There's what ye've dune wi' your running about without yer whings tied."

"Hoot, mother," cried I, "I canna be fashed—darn them again' nicht."

"I'll 'canna be fashed' ye—ye lazy monkey, ye. Did your faither no gie ye aneugh for that no ten minutes syne, and ye'll tell me ony siccan a story!"

She grippit me by the neck, and for my faither's ae clout she gied me ten, at every cuff saying, "I'll canna be fashed ye!" And at last she threw aff my shoon, and pulled the stockings aff my legs, and pushed me awa frae her wi' a great drive, crying, "Now, only let me hear ye making use o' thae words again, and ye'll maybe see what I can be fashed to do."

"Oh dear me!" thought I, "what ill have I done?" And I sat down, and I grat and I roared most heartily, and I kicked my bare feet upon the floor.

"Kick awa there, my man," said my mother—for she was a woman that never got into what ye could call a passion in her family, as I have seen some mothers do—"kick awa there," says she; "and if ye drive a hole in the heels o' the stockings you've on now, ye'll darn them yoursel."

But this, sir, was only the first thrashing that I got for "I canna be fashed"—it wasna the last, by a score o' times. My faither was a man that never liked to lay out a shilling where it could be saved; and he always grudged to employ other people to do anything when he thought it could be done within his own house—that is, by the members o' his own family—therefore, about the back end o' spring, or the fore end o' summer, he would have said to us—

"Now, bairns, haud awa to your beds, and before school-time the morn, gang and howe the potatoes, or weed the corn."

I never durst say onything then, but slipped awa to bed very unwillingly—just feeling as if I felt it a trouble to put aff my claes. But before sunrise in the morning, when my brothers would have wakened me, I used to rub my een, and gaunt, and say—

"What!—what!—hoots!—I canna be fashed!"

And my father, frae the ben-a-house, would have cried out, wi' a voice that made the very nails on my fingers shake, "What's that he's saying?—I'll be fashed him!"

Then up I would have got, shrugging my shoulders, and wriggling them frae side to side, and cried peevishly to one, "Where's my stockings?" and to another, "Where's my jacket?"

Then my faither would have cried out again, "I'll seek it for ye!" Then I soon found it, and got out o' the house wi' the rest o' them.

It was precisely the same thing when my brothers used to shake me in a morning, and say—

"Get up, Willie—ye haena your task yet."

I had invariably the same answer for them on such occasions also. I appeared as if naething could drive it out o' me. I have heard auld wives say, if ye were taking infants to ony part o' the globe ye like, and keeping them where they never would hear a human voice, nor speech o' one kind nor anither, that they would speak Hebrew! Now, I verily believe that, if ye had done the same by me—if ye had taken me, when a week auld, into the deserts o' Arawbia, wi' naething but dummies round about me, and not a living soul nor a living thing endowed wi' the power o' speech allowed to see me or come near me—I say, that I verily believe the first words I would have spoken would have been, "I canna be fashed!" in guid braid Scotch. The words literally seemed born wi' me. And, as I was telling ye about getting up to learn my tasks in the morning, many, many is the time, in the cauldest day o' winter, that my favourite phrase has caused the tawse to warm my hands, when the fingers o' a' the rest o' the scholars were dinnlin wi' cauld, and they were holding them at their mouths, and blowing their hot breath on them to take out the frost. My faither should have paid no coal-money for me. And more than this, the four insignificant and carelessly-uttered words which I allude to, while I was at school, always kept me near the bottom o' the class; or, if I rose one or two towards the top, it was purely on account o' others having been awa from the school for a day, or half-a-day, and having to take the foot o' the class, on account o' their absence, as a matter o' course. Often and often I could have tripped their heels, and taken my place aboon them—and the teacher kenned it as weel, and many a weary time has he said to me, "Oh, ye stupid stirk! why do ye stand there? why didna ye trap him?"

And once, in particular, I remember I answered him, "I couldna be fashed, sir!"

"Fashed!" he cried, in a perfect fury, and he raised the tawse to his teeth—"fashed, sirrah!" he cried again; "then I'll learn ye to be fashed!"

But o' a' the belabourings I ever got frae either faither or mother, for the same cause, they were naething to the schoolmaster's. It's a miracle to me that there was a tail left on his tawse; for he loundered me round the school and round the school; and, aye as he loundered, he ground his teeth together, and he cried, "Heard ever onybody the like o' that! Canna be fashed, truly!—I'll fash ye, my man!—I'll learn ye to gie me an answer o' that kind again!"

But a' the thrashings that faither, and mother, and master could thrash at me, on every occasion the confounded words were aye uppermost—they were perpetually at my tongue end. I was just an easy, indolent being—one that seemed disposed to steal through the world wi' my hands in pocket, as smoothly as possible. When I grew to be a lad, I daresay those that kenned me best were surprised that I could be fashed to gang a-courting, like other youngsters. But even then, when others would brush themselves up, and put on their half-best coat, and the like o' that, in order that they might look as smart as possible, I have thought to mysel, I wonder if I should shave and wash my face, and gie mysel a redd-up before I gang to see her the nicht; but perpetually I used to say to mysel—"Ou, I carena; I canna be fashed—I'll do very weel as I am." And there wasna less than three or four young lasses that I had a particular liking for—and each o' them, I daresay, would made an excellent wife, and I could been very happy wi' ony o' them—but they all broke off acquaintance wi' me, "just," as they said to their friends, "because I was o' such a slovenly disposition, that I couldna even be fashed to mak mysel purpose-like when I gaed to see a body."

The like o' this was very galling to me; but it hadna the effect o' making a better o' me. I couldna be fashed to be ony better, let come what might. "Losh-a-day," thought I, "I wonder what folk would hae me to be at, or how they can gie themsels sae meikle trouble, and be sae particular?"

But, beyond all others, there was one young woman that I had an affection for in a very extraordinary degree. She was as dear to me as the apple o' my ee; and I am sure she could hae done onything wi' me—save to break me o' my habit o' saying "I canna be fashed." That was beyond her power. It was my fixed intention to marry her; and, indeed, not only was the wedding-day set, but her wedding-gown and my coat were made, and the ring was bought, and she had spoken to her bridesmaid; and, besides buying a' sort o' things hersel, she had got her mother to have her providing packed up, and everything was in readiness just to be lifted to our new house—that is, the house we were to occupy. Now, when all this had taken place, there was one bonny starlight nicht that we were walking together, just as happy as twa wood-pigeons, and talking owre the settlements o' every thing, that she said to me—

"What did the joiner say last nicht, Willie?—will he be sure no to disappoint us wi' the furniture?—for I would like everything richt at the very first."

"Eh! weel-minded, my dear," says I; "I really forgot to gang and see him, for I was sae tired when I got hame last nicht, that—I couldna be fashed."

"That was silly o' ye, man," said she; "it was very thoughtless. But I hope ye didna forget to gie in the marriage lines to the minister?" (The session-clerk was ill at the time.)

"Save us a', hinny!" said I, "weel, I am sure that dings everything! But, as sure as death! as I told ye, I was sae tired, that I never minded a word about it till bed-time, when I had my waistcoat unbuttoned and my shoon off, and I couldna be fashed to put them on again, and, at ony rate, it was owre late."

"Very weel, Willie," says she, and apparently a good deal hurt, "I wouldna thought it o' ye—but no matter."

"No, love," said I, "it's no great matter, sure enough; for this is only Saturday nicht, and I'll just call in at the manse in the by-going, as I gang hame, and tell the minister a' about it. The thing can be done in a minute."

"Indeed, no," said she, "though I should never be cried,[7] ye are to go no such way. This is Saturday nicht—the morn is the Sabbath, and the minister will be at his studies, and ye are not to disturb him upon my account."

"Very well, love," said I, "we'll just have to put off a week, then."

"Maybe sae," said she. But I thought there was something unco dry in her manner o' saying "maybe sae." However, as I couldna be fashed to call upon the minister that nicht, I took nae mair notice o' the subject.

I could hardly get a word out o' her after this, for above an hour that I remained in her company. However, she rather came to a little (for she was a kind-hearted lassie), when we were about to part; and we promised faithfully to meet one another at the usual trysting-place, on the Wednesday nicht following, at eight o'clock, within a minute; and I was to have everything arranged wi' the minister and the joiner in the meantime.

On the Sunday morning, the minister passed me between the manse and the kirk, and, says he, quite familiarly—for he was a man that had nae stiffness about him—

"Willie, I thought you was to have been cried to-day."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said I; "but it was all my neglect; for I couldna be fashed until last nicht, and then I thought ye would be at your studies, and it was owre late to trouble ye."

"You were very considerate," said he, wi' a smile; "but I'll save you the trouble next week."

"I'll be obliged to ye, sir," said I, taking off my hat.

In going home, I overtook the joiner—no, I'm wrong, the joiner overtook me—and, after he had observed that it was a fine day, and I had said it was, and he had asked me what I thought o' the sermon, and so on, I said to him—"Now, I expect that ye'll no disappoint me wi' the furniture."

"Ye needna be feared o' that, Mr Grant," said he; "ye ken ye proposed that it was to be a ready-money transaction. It's no every day that we meet wi' jobs o' that kind, and ye may tak my word on't, I'll no disappoint ye—both for your sake and mine."

"Weel," thought I, "that's twa things aff my head—Isabella will surely be pleased now (for they ca'd her Isabella). I've been fortunate in meeting wi' them baith—in killing twa birds wi' ae stane."

But the appointed Wednesday nicht came, and perfectly do I recollect, that a dark, dirty, gousty nicht it was. I had full three miles to go to see her, and about seven o'clock I pulled out my watch, and I went to the door. A sma' drizzling rain came battering on my face. I looked a' round about the heavens, and saw that there was nae appearance o' the nicht's clearing up, and, thinks I—"Weel, she'll ne'er think o' coming to meet me the nicht. She'll no be sae daft. It's o' nae use o' me gaun, and—I canna be fashed."

So I went into the house again, and sat down quite contented; and a nicht or twa after, the weather having settled, I went to see her at her faither's. The auld folk received me, as usual, very kindly; and the auld man got a seat for me next the fire, and inquired if there were any news—while his guidwife asked me if I wadna hae my stockings changed, as the roads were very wet, and my feet might be damp—and I thanked her, and said "No." But there sat my intended, plaiting at a cap-border, or frill, or something o' that sort, as stiff and as silent as a stucco image, never letting on that she either saw or heard me. I spoke to her twice or thrice, and she gied a sort o' low, half cough, half hem! but not a syllable did I get out o' her. Never did she look to the side o' the house I was on. Her head seemed to be fixed in a blacksmith's vice in an opposite direction, and dear kens what sort o' cap or frill it was she keepit plait, plait, plaiting at; but her task was never like to come to an end, and she keepit pingle, pingling, and nip, nipping at it wi' a knife, until my patience was fairly worn out. In my opinion her fingers had discovered the perpetual motion; and when I had sat until vexation and anxiety were like to choke me, I felt a sort o' ha!—ha!—haing! in my throat, as though I could hae burst out into a fit o' passion, or greeting, or I dinna ken what—and wi' a great struggle I got up, and I managed to say—

"Will ye speak at the door, Isabella dear?"

"I canna be fashed!" said she.

O sir! sir! had ye experienced what I felt at that moment. The lounderings o' my faither, my mother, and my dominie, and the slights o' former sweethearts, were a mere naething to what her answer caused me to endure. I expected naething but that I would drop down upon the floor.

"Oh, ye foolish lassie, ye!" said her mother, who was sorry for me, "what do ye mean?"

"Get up!" said her faither.

"I canna be fashed!" said she again, more cuttingly than before, and half turned her een upon me, as she said it, in a manner that gaed through my breast as if ye had drawn a sharp knife across it.

Weel, sir, our names were ca'ed on the Sunday following; and between the first day o' their being published, and the day on which the marriage was to take place, I was three or four times back and forward at her faither's—but I got nae mair out o' her. I almost thought that I ought to stop the banns; but I thought, again, that that would be very unco like, and very contrary to what I wished; so I allowed them to go on, Sunday after Sunday.

I never imagined but that she was just in the pet at me having broken my tryst, and that, like everybody that was in the pet, she would come out o't when she found it necessary, and the sooner frae being left to hersel. But, on the very day we had fixed for the wedding, and when the best-man and I went to her faither's house, expecting to find her and the best-maid, and the whole o' them, in readiness to go before the minister—to my unutterable astonishment and dismay, there was she, sitting in her morning gown, as unconcerned as a judge, just as if naething had been to happen.

"Mercy me! Isabella!" says I, "are ye no ready?—where's the women?"

"Ready!" returned she—"what for?—what do ye mean?—what women?"

Oh! guid gracious! I'll never forget the sensation that I felt at that moment. I'm surprised that I didna drop dead on the floor. "Isabella," said I, "are ye no perfectly aware that this is our wedding-day, and that we were to be at the manse at twelve o'clock precisely?"

"Ay!" said she, "had ye keepit your tryst at such a time, and at such a place, nae doubt this would have been the day; but ye couldna be fashed to keep it then—and I canna be fashed now."

"Oh, confound it!" cried I; "Isabella, do ye want to drive me mad?"

"I dinna think there's ony danger o' that," replied she.

Vexation and surprise put me fairly beyont mysel—I was taken in a moment.

"Weel!" exclaimed I, "ye'll rue it, Isabella! ye'll rue it—there shall nae woman mak a fool o' me!"

"Nor man o' me," said she.

"Be it sae," said I; "yet, guidness me! you're no in earnest?"

"Earnest!" said she; "I tell you I canna be fashed."

At the sound o' the terrible words, I banged out o' the house. I never stopped till I came to Dunbar, and there, at the very moment I arrived, I took the coach for Edinburgh; and there I stopped but two days till I set off for London, for my heart was in such a terrible state o' perturbation, that I could have gone to the world's end, ay, and round it, and round it again, if I had had the means, in order that I might have found rest.

It seems that poor Isabella thought that I would come back—and the best-man persuaded her that I would—and she went to dress hersel, and sent for the best-maid. But little did she understand the character she had to deal wi'. I was either a' laziness, or a' desperation. I knew no medium; and I have no doubt that, before she got her hair dressed, and her gown fairly on, I was half-way to Edinburgh—for I flew to Dunbar as though furies had pursued me.

But, sir, the upshot was, that Isabella died a spinster, and I am a bachelor until this day, and will be, until the last day o' my existence; and thus did the four never-aneugh-to-be-detested words—"I canna be fashed"—place eternity, yea, an infinite chasm, between me and the only woman for whose sake I could have laid down my life, as cheaply as though it hadna been worth a sixpence.

Ye may think that the few instances I have related to ye, and their consequences, would have been aneugh to have cured me o' ever making use o' the words again—but ye shall see.

Now, you'll observe that, before the time I'm speaking o', my faither and mother were both dead, as well as two o' their family, so that there were but three o' us left, and we sold the property, and divided the money amongst us in equal shares. Therefore, when I got to London, I was not altogether bare-handed. Now, to my shame, I must confess that I had not been long there, till the remembrance o' Isabella, and the cause that had provoked me to come to desert her, were almost forgotten; for ye must remember that absence makes many changes—and there is many a bonny face in London. So, after I had looked about me for a week or two, I thought to mysel that I saw nobody doing better than the keepers o' wine and spirit vaults. It seemed a' ready-money; it was just nipper after nipper—that is, glass after glass, owre the counter—the money down, and done wi' it. I resolved to become a wine-vault keeper, and I looked around to see where such premises were to let. At length I pitched upon a shop that I thought would suit me exactly, on the north side of Clerkenwell Street, and nearly facing Jerusalem Passage.

There were a very great number o' compositors and pressmen, and bookbinders and gold-beaters, and other trades, in the immediate neighbourhood; and I understood that they were in the habit o' making the vaults which I was about to take their pay-house and house-o'-call. So I took the house, and entered upon the business, and, in a very short time, I thought very little about Isabella, or the grief she had caused me. I hadna long opened the house until the compositors and the pressmen, the bookbinders, gold-beaters, and others, a' came back to it. They were weel-spoken, civil lads. They spent a deal o' money, and I certainly tried to be as civil and obliging to them as I could; and, in short, they called me "a fine chap," and "the best Scotsman out of all sorts they had ever met with."

Weel, in a week or two, some o' them began to get on to my slates—not by name, for I didna like to ask it; it was impudent; and, thought I, oh, it might spoil their custom at ony rate; and I canna be fashed; it would be an awfu trouble writing names upon a slate, especially the names o' so many. But I knew them a' by head-mark, and I thought there was no need for it.

However, one got into my books, and another got into my books; but, no, I am wrong there again, for they only got on to the slates—I couldna be fashed to carry them into the books; I thought there was nae need for it; they generally paid upon the Saturday nicht, and there was nae fear o' me forgettin.

But, in a short time, there never was a Saturday nicht but there was always some o' my debtor customers amissing; and when I inquired for any o' them, the reply was—

"Oh, you're one of his ghosts, are you? well, I wish you may get it—he's got the bag.[8]"

"So, so," I would say; "and he is off with his finger in my bag too."

Well, in this way I lost more money than I can tell. But I lost it in another way also, and from the same cause. You know that in London every public-house has a porter-walk, or a beer-walk, as they call it, the same as the rounds of a milk-woman here, and they go round twice a-day, at dinner-time and supper-time. Well, to my surprise, in a few months I got the best beer-walk in all London. I couldna think how it was. I was almost rivalling the Alderney dairy which was at my very hand, for I had to engage two pot-boys to carry out my supply. But I gave credit; I trusted to the lads to keep an account of what they took out, and they trusted to me. I said "I couldna be fashed wi' the like o' that;" but they said they gave me the names and number o' the individuals with whom they had intrusted both porter and pewter-pots; and if I did not mark it down and see after it, it was my look-out, and not theirs. In this way, I believe, I lost five butts o' porter within twelve months. Yet, sir, these were not the only griefs and the only losses that the four words which are the subject of my story have brought upon me. Not only did I frequently neglect to insert in my own books what I had sent out on credit, but I as frequently delayed to mark down what had been sent to me by the brewer or distiller, and said, "Hoot, I haena time—I canna be fashed to enter it to-day, I will do it the morn, or the next day." But the next day and the next came, and I could be less fashed than ever, and the entry remained untouched. Many a heavy loss I am sensible this has caused me; and often has it made me appear as a rogue, when my intentions were honest.

Sir, what I have told ye is but a sample o' what "I canna be fashed" has cost me. I could relate to you a thousand o' its consequences; but half-a-dozen are as good, and perhaps better than a thousand, by way o' example.

I had been about fifteen years in business, when I became bond, for a friend that I thought I could have trusted as my own brother, to the extent o' three thousand pounds. I was certain he was perfectly solvent, and from the acquaintance I had had o' him, I could nae mair hae doubted him than I could hae doubted that I was the son o' my mother. But a few weeks after I had signed the bond, a mutual acquaintance called upon me, and, says he—

"Grant, you have acted like a fool."

"I dinna doubt," says I, for I was perfectly aware that I often had; "but what do ye mean to be at?"

"Why," says he, "So-and-so has taken you in. He is preparing to be off, bag and baggage, for America, and you will be left to pay the piper."

"Oh, ye are a suspicious wretch," says I; "man, I couldna believe the like o' that if ye were to swear it to me."

"Believe it or not," says he, "if you don't see after it instantly, your three thousand pounds are gone."

"Hoot! babbles!" said I, "the man's daft!—do ye think I dinna ken him better than that? The man is as sure as the bank. I would be the last man he would injure a farthing—I ken that weel aneugh. But, at ony rate, I am particularly busy, and I canna be fashed wi' ony nonsense o' the kind; so ye may keep yoursel easy, and I am only sorry that ye should hae such an opinion o' ony friend o' mine."

"Canna be fashed!" cried my acquaintance, hurrying from the shop; "what a deuced fool! Grant, you'll repent it."

I laughed at the man; for I had perfect confidence in my friend, and I knew that he had property worth three times the money that I was bond for him.

On the very next day, the same acquaintance came into my house very hastily, and says he—

"Grant, if you don't look after your money, and that very sharply, you will find your friend's property is no go, and you are in for paying the three thousand."

"Ye dinna mean to say the like o' that?" said I.

"Say that, you blockhead!" returned my acquaintance—"wherefore wouldn't you believe me yesterday?" And placing his arm through mine, he dragged me out o' the house. We reached the habitation o' the worthy gentleman for whom I was surety in the sum o' three thousand precious pounds sterling. But he was off—off like a bird whose nest has been robbed o' its eggs. Twelve hours before, he had sailed for America, or some other quarter o' the globe; but where I never knew.

"Come home, Grant," said my friend, "don't distress yourself now."

"Oh, dinna speak to me," says I—"I canna be fashed; my three thousand pounds!—my poor three thousand pounds!"

We went into a tavern, and I drank out o' pure desperation until I could hardly stand; and as we were going home I fell, and I dislocated my arm, or I broke it; at ony rate I did something to it, and it never was like to get better; and my friends advised me to send for a surgeon—but——

"What to do wi' a surgeon?" says I; "I canna be fashed wi' them. The arm will get better itsel."

But from that day until the present hour, I have never had the right use o' it. It made me useless, in a great measure, in the way o' business. Therefore I sold the goodwill o' my house, and wi' the other little remains o' what I had saved, I came down here, just to live as easy and as cheap as possible. And now, sir, as ye have seen what a great gainer I have been by the words "I canna be fashed," I hope and implore ye will never use them again, but take a warning by the example o' Willie Grant.