Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 08
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 08
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
She could only exclaim, "Henry!" and speech failed her--recollection
fled. Henry Cranstoun struck his hand upon his brow, and rushed wildly
away. Agnes was conveyed to her father's house, as being nearer than
that of her bridegroom's. She was laid upon her bed, she seemed
unconscious of all around, and her tongue only uttered the word "Henry."
She rose not again from the bed on which she was laid, and within a week
her gentle spirit fled. The shock which Henry had met with occasioned a
relapse of the fever from which he had but recently recovered. He was
taken to the village inn. He felt that death was about to terminate his
sufferings, and when he heard of the death of his Agnes, he requested to
be buried by her side. Within three weeks he died, and his latest wish
was fulfilled--he was laid by the side of Agnes Percy, and a rose-tree
was planted over their grave.
THE HENPECKED MAN.
Every one has heard the phrase, "_Go to Birgham!_" which signifies much
the same as bidding you go to a worse place. The phrase is familiar not
only on the Borders, but throughout all Scotland, and has been in use
for more than five hundred years, having taken its rise from Birgham
being the place where the Scottish nobility were when they dastardly
betrayed their country into the hands of the first Edward; and the
people, despising the conduct and the cowardice of the nobles, have
rendered the saying, "_Go to Birgham!_" an expression of contempt until
this day. Many, however, may have heard the saying, and even used it,
who know not that Birgham is a small village, beautifully situated on
the north side of the Tweed, about midway between Coldstream and Kelso;
though, if I should say that the village itself is beautiful, I should
be speaking on the wrong side of the truth. Yet there may be many who
have both heard the saying and seen the place, who never heard of little
Patie Crichton, the bicker-maker. Patie was of diminutive stature, and
he followed the profession (if the members of the _learned professions_
be not offended at my using the term) of a cooper, or bicker-maker, in
Birgham for many years. His neighbours used to say of him, "The puir
body's henpecked."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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