Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 19
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 19
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
Thus did matters continue for a long period of time; and all the
efforts, and threats, and devices of Gustavus had no more effect
in preventing Julia from taking her pleasure, than the restraint
of a husband generally has over the irregularities of a wife of
true courage, who knows her inalienable rights derived from the
just laws of a free land. If his brain seemed to be exhausted in
devising remedies, his patience fell a victim before his continued
wretchedness—and no marvel either, when it is considered that
while other men only bring in the means of supporting a drunken
wife, whom the equitable and wise ordinances of the country will
not allow him to get quit of except for a crime not a tithe so bad
as that of Julia M’Iver, he kept her in means, and cooked for and
dressed for her, and nursed her, and all the good he got out of her
was the liberty of doing these things for her benefit. By a happy
chance, however, Gustavus’ brains were not yet exhausted. Space
and time he had taken to ruminate upon his evils, and to hit upon
one expedient more for the envied cure; and he resolved to carry
his Julia off to the country, where, in some secluded cottage, he
might exercise such an authority over her as would prevent her
from following her usual courses. So accordingly he did just as
he had resolved; and, in a small domicile in a part of the north,
he took up his habitation, for no other purpose in the world than
to cure Julia of her heart-engrained propensity. The place he had
chosen seemed the very choicest that could have been found in all
Scotland—ay, or England or Ireland either; for there was no house
where a gossip might live, or a whisky-vender hang board, for
miles; while a carrier that passed daily brought him everything
that was necessary for human sustenance; and he himself could cook
and wash unseen by the eyes of mortal.
For six weeks was Julia M’Iver as sober as the Chief Justice of
England, or the President of the Supreme Court, and it was manifest
that never a drop of anything stronger than river water had got
beyond her parched lips.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account