Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Chapter 6
FIXED ASSETS
STUDENT EXERCISES
I. TRUE/FALSE
1. T
2. T
3. T
4. F
5. T
6. F
7. T
8. T
9. F
II. QUESTIONS
PROBLEM 6-A
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
© 2015 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part, except for use as
permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 4 11/10/2023
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Acct. Account
Number Title Debit Credit
Operating Revenue
Cost
Operating Expenses
Other Revenue
Other Expense
Assets
Cash 43,157.23
Accounts Receivable 61,988.54
Merchandise Inventory 133,300.00
Prepaid Insurance 2,957.30
Supplies 2,235.00
-------------
Total Current Assets 243,638.07
Vehicles 61,750.00
Accum. Depr. Vehicles -6,451.38
Office Equipment 86,608.49
Accum. Depr. Office Eqpt. -7,535.24
Office Furniture 22,294.95
Accum. Depr. Office Furn. -1,330.93
-------------
Total Plant Assets 155,335.89
-------------
Total Assets 398,973.96
=============
Liabilities
-------------
Total Current Liabilities 47,219.49
Owner's Equity
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Chapter 6 - Manual Page 10 11/10/2023
SL DDB MACRS
Annual Annual Annual
Year Deprec. Deprec. Deprec.
(140) Pickup Truck 2013 $340.00 $800.00 $2,400.00
Acquired on 11/20/13 2014 $2,040.00 $4,480.00 $3,840.00
Depreciation Methods 2015 $2,040.00 $2,688.00 $2,304.00
Useful Life = 5 2016 $2,040.00 $1,612.80 $1,382.40
Original Cost = 12,000.00 2017 $2,040.00 $619.20 $1,382.40
Salvage Value = 1,800.00 2018 $1,700.00 $691.20
MEMORANDUM
TO: Manager, Accounting Department
As per your request, the following table depicts a comparison of the straight-
line, double declining-balance, and MACRS methods of depreciation for Asset No.
140-Pickup Truck.
SL DDB MACRS
Annual Annual Annual
Year Deprec. Deprec. Deprec.
(140) Pickup Truck 2013 $340.00 $800.00 $2,400.00
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permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 11 11/10/2023
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Chapter 6 - Manual Page 12 11/10/2023
PROBLEM 6-B
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Chapter 6 - Manual Page 13 11/10/2023
6520
240 Saga Notebook Comp 09/15/13 SL 4 2,295.00 250.00 1521
6520
250 Z10 Copy Machine 10/03/13 DDB 5 2,995.00 335.00 1521
6520
260 File Server 10/17/13 DDB 5 4,185.00 500.00 1521
6520
270 CB10 Laser Printer 10/17/13 DDB 5 2,189.50 350.00 1521
6520
280 Alpha-5 Fax Machine 10/21/13 MACRS 5 3,899.00 400.00 1521
6520
290 Voice Mail System 11/10/13 DDB 7 4,500.00 500.00 1521
6520
310 Conf. Table & Chairs 01/31/13 MACRS 7 6,200.00 950.00 1531
6525
320 Receptionist Station 08/22/13 MACRS 7 2,195.00 350.00 1531
6525
330 Office Desk & Chair 06/16/13 SL 6 3,085.00 650.00 1531
6525
340 Storage Cabinet 10/09/13 SL 10 2,360.00 225.00 1531
6525
350 Office Desk 10/14/13 SL 10 1,495.00 260.00 1531
6525
360 Security Vault 10/27/13 SL 20 5,975.00 450.00 1531
6525
370 Bookshelf 11/12/13 MACRS 7 516.50 50.00 1531
6525
380 Glass Shelving 11/14/13 SL 10 639.99 70.00 1531
6525
-----------
Total Fixed Assets 171,164.99
===========
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
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permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 14 11/10/2023
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
© 2015 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part, except for use as
permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 15 11/10/2023
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
Annual Accum.
Book
Year Deprec. Deprec.
Value
© 2015 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part, except for use as
permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 16 11/10/2023
Acct. Account
Number Title Debit Credit
Operating Revenue
Cost
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permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 18 11/10/2023
Operating Expenses
Other Revenue
Other Expense
Assets
Cash 42,645.68
Accounts Receivable 61,988.54
Merchandise Inventory 133,300.00
Prepaid Insurance 2,952.30
Supplies 2,192.00
-------------
Total Current Assets 243,078.52
Vehicles 61,700.00
Accum. Depr. Vehicles -6,459.71
Office Equipment 86,998.50
Accum. Depr. Office Eqpt. -7,599.55
Office Furniture 22,466.49
Accum. Depr. Office Furn. -1,340.07
-------------
Total Plant Assets 155,765.66
-------------
Total Assets 398,844.18
=============
Liabilities
Owner's Equity
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Chapter 6 - Manual Page 20 11/10/2023
SL DDB MACRS
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Chapter 6 - Manual Page 21 11/10/2023
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permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 22 11/10/2023
MEMORANDUM
TO: Manager, Accounting Department
SL DDB MACRS
Annual Annual Annual
Year Deprec. Deprec. Deprec.
(225) Web Server 2013 $95.33 $206.33 $619.00
Acquired on 11/25/13 2014 $572.00 $1,155.47 $990.40
Depreciation Methods 2015 $572.00 $693.28 $594.24
Useful Life = 5 2016 $572.00 $415.97 $356.54
Original Cost = 3,095.00 2017 $572.00 $249.58 $356.54
Salvage Value = 235.00 2018 $476.67 $124.79 $178.28
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permitted in a license distributed with a certain product or service or otherwise on a password-protected website for classroom use.
Chapter 6 - Manual Page 23 11/10/2023
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them presented his carbine at her—
“Off, mistress; blast my heart, if it were not for your pretty face, I
would send an ounce of cold lead through you. What the devil—
haven’t we spared your father’s life, and you would have us connive
at the escape of a murderer, to the risk of our own necks!”
“Do not distress yourself about me, my sweet girl,” cried Graham
—“farewell once more!”
And she turned back weeping, while the troopers held their way
towards the western outlet of the valley.
Chapter III.
Mary was too generous to be happy in the safety of her father,
when that was bought with the life of his brave deliverer. When
Graham was taken away, she felt a pang as if he had been led to
execution. Instead, therefore, of indulging in selfish congratulation,
her whole soul was taken up in the romantic and apparently hopeless
scheme of extricating him from his danger. There was not a moment
to lose; and she asked her father if he could think of any way in
which a rescue might be attempted.
“Mary, my dear, I know of none,” was his answer. “We live far from
any house, and before assistance could be procured, they would be
miles beyond our reach.”
“Yes, father, there is a chance,” said she, with impatience. “Gallop
over to Allister Wilson’s on the other side of the hills. He is a strong
and determined man, and, as well as some of his near neighbours, is
accustomed to contest. You know he fought desperately at Drumclog;
and though he blamed you for not joining the cause, he will not be
loth to assist in this bitter extremity.”
Allan, at these words, started up as if awakened from a reverie.
“That will do, my dear bairn. I never thought of it; but your
understanding is quicker than mine. I shall get out the horse; follow
me on foot, as hard as you can.”
This was the work of a minute. The horse was brought from the
stable, and Allan lashed him to his full speed across the moor. Most
fortunately he arrived at Allister’s house as the latter was on the
point of leaving it. He carried a musket over his shoulder, and a huge
claymore hung down from a belt girded round his loins.
“You have just come in time,” said this stern son of the Covenant,
after Allan had briefly related to him what had happened. “I am on
my way to hear that precious saint, Mr Hervey, hold forth. You see I
am armed to defend myself against temporal foes, and so are many
others of my friends and brethren in God, who will be present on that
blessed occasion. Come away, Allan Hamilton, you are one of the
timid and faint-hearted flock of Jacob, but we will aid you as you
wish, and peradventure save the young man who has done you such a
good turn.”
They went on swiftly to a retired spot at the distance of half a mile;
it was a small glen nearly surrounded with rocks. There they beheld
the Reverend Mr Hervey standing upon a mound of earth, and
preaching to a congregation, the greater part of the males of which
were armed with muskets, swords, or pikes; they formed, as it were,
the outworks of the assembly,—the women, old men, and children
being placed in the centre. These were a few of the devoted
Christians who, from the rocks and caves of their native land, sent up
their fearless voices to heaven—who, disowning the spiritual
authority of a tyrannic government, thought it nowise unbecoming or
treasonable to oppose the strong arm of lawless power with its own
weapons; and who finally triumphed in the glorious contest,
establishing that pure religion, for which posterity has proved, alas,
too ungrateful!
In the pressing urgency of the case, Allister did not scruple to go
up to the minister, in the midst of his discourse. Such interruptions
indeed were common in these distracted times, when it was
necessary to skulk from place to place, and perform divine worship
as if it was an act of treason against the state. Mr Hervey made
known to his flock in a few words what had been communicated to
him, taking care to applaud highly the scheme proposed by Wilson.
There was no time to be lost, and under the guidance of Allister the
whole of the assemblage hurried to a gorge of the mountains through
which the troopers must necessarily pass. As the route of the latter
was circuitous, time was allowed to this sagacious leader to arrange
his forces. This he did by placing all the armed men—about twenty-
five in number—in two lines across the pass. Those who were not
armed, together with the women and children, were sent to the rear.
When, therefore, the soldiers came up, they found to their surprise a
formidable body ready to dispute the passage.
“What means this interruption?” said Ross, who acted the part of
spokesman to the rest. Whereupon Mr Hervey advanced in front
—“Release,” said he, “that young man whom ye have in bonds.”
“Release him!” replied Ross. “Would you have us release a
murderer? Are you aware that he has shot his officer?”
“I am aware of it,” Mr Hervey answered, “and I blame him not for
the deed. Stand forth, Allan Hamilton, and say if that is the soldier
who saved your life; and you, Mary Hamilton, stand forth likewise.”
Both, to the astonishment of the soldiers, came in front of the
crowd. “That,” said Allan, “is the man, and may God bless him for his
humanity.”—“It is the same,” cried his daughter; “I saw him with
these eyes shoot the cruel Clobberton. On my knees I begged him to
sue for mercy, and his kind heart had pity upon me, and saved my
father.”
“Soldiers,” said Mr Hervey, “I have nothing more to say to you.
That young man has slain your captain, but he has done no murder.
His deed was justifiable: yea, it was praiseworthy, in so far as it saved
an upright man, and rid the earth of a cruel persecutor. Deliver him
up, and go away in peace, or peradventure ye may fare ill among
these armed men who stand before you.”
The troopers consulted together for a short time, till, seeing that
resistance would be utter madness against such odds, they
reluctantly let go their prisoner. The first person who came up to him
was Mary Hamilton. She loosened the cords that tied him, and
presented him with conscious pride to those of her own sex who were
assembled round.
“Good bye, Graham,” cried Ross, with a sneer;—“you have bit us
once, but it will puzzle you to do so again. We shall soon ‘harry’ you
and your puritanical friends from your strongholds. An ell of strong
hemp is in readiness for you at the Grassmarket of Edinburgh. Take
my defiance for a knave, as you are,” added he, with an imprecation.
He had scarcely pronounced the last sentence when Graham
unsheathed the weapon which hung at his side, sprang from the
middle of the crowd, and stood before his defier. “Ross, you have
challenged me, and you shall abide it—draw!” Here there was an
instantaneous movement among the Covenanters, who rushed in
between the two fierce soldiers, who stood with their naked weapons,
their eyes glancing fire at each other. Mary Hamilton screamed aloud
with terror, and cries of “separate them!” were heard from all the
women. Mr Hervey came forward and entreated them to put up their
swords, and he was seconded by most of the old men; but all
entreaties were in vain. They stood fronting each other, and only
waiting for free ground to commence their desperate game.
“Let me alone,” said Graham, furiously, to some who were
attempting to draw him back; “am I to be bearded to my teeth by that
swaggering ruffian?”
“Come on, my sweet cock of the Covenant,” cries Ross, with the
most insulting derision, “you or any one of your canting crew—or a
dozen of you, one after the other.”
“Let Graham go,” was heard from the deep stern voice of Allister
Wilson; “let him go, or I will meet that man with my own weapon. Mr
Hervey, your advice is dear to us all, and well do we know that the
blood of God’s creatures must not be shed in vain; but has not that
man of blood openly defied us, and shall we hinder our champion
from going forward to meet him? No; let them join in combat and try
which is the better cause. If the challenger overcomes, we shall do
him no harm, but let him depart in peace: if he be overcome, let him
rue the consequences of his insolence.”
This proposition, though violently opposed by the women and the
aged part of the crowd, met the entire approbation of the young men.
Each felt himself personally insulted, and allowed, for a time, the
turbulent passions of his nature to get the better of every milder
feeling. A space of ground was immediately cleared for the combat,
the friends of Ross being allowed to arrange matters as they thought
fit. They went about it with a coolness and precision which showed
that to them this sort of pastime was nothing new. “All is right—fall
on,” was their cry, and in a moment the combatants met in the area.
The three troopers looked on with characteristic sang froid, but it
was otherwise with the rest of the bystanders, who gazed upon the
scene with the most intense interest. Some of the females turned
away their eyes from it, and among them Mary Hamilton, who
almost sank to the earth, and was with difficulty supported by her
father.
The combat was desperate, for the men were of powerful strength,
and of tried courage and skill in their weapons. The blows were
parried for some time on both sides with consummate address, and
neither could be said to have the advantage. At length, after
contending fiercely, Ross exhibited signs of exhaustion—neither
guarding himself nor assaulting his opponent so vigorously as at
first. Graham, on noticing this, redoubled his efforts. He acted now
wholly on the offensive, sending blow upon blow with the rapidity of
lightning. His last and most desperate stroke was made at the head
of his enemy. The sword of the latter, which was held up in a
masterly manner to receive it, was beat down by Graham’s weapon,
which descended forcibly upon his helmet. The blow proved decisive,
and Ross fell senseless upon the ground. His conqueror immediately
wrested the weapon from him, while a shout was set up by the crowd
in token of victory. The troopers looked mortified at this result of the
duel, which was by them evidently unexpected. Their first care was to
raise up their fellow comrade. On examination, no wound was
perceived upon his head. His helmet had been penetrated by the
sword, which, however, did not go further. His own weapon had
contributed to deaden the blow, by partially arresting that of Graham
in its furious descent. It was this only which saved his life. In a few
minutes he so far recovered as to get up and look around him. The
first object which struck him was his opponent standing in the ring
wiping his forehead.
“Well, Ross,” said one of his companions, “I always took you to be
the best swordsman in the regiment; but I think you have met your
match.”
“My match? confound me!” returned the vanquished man, “I
thought I would have made minced meat of him. There, for three
years, have I had the character of being one of the best men in the
army at my weapon, and here is all this good name taken out of me
in a trice. How mortifying—and to lose my good sword too!”
“Here is your sword, Ross, and keep it,” said Graham. “You have
behaved like a brave man; and I honour such a fellow, whether he be
my friend or foe. Only don’t go on with your insolent bragging—that
is all the advice I have to give you; nor call any man a knave till you
have good proof that he is so.”
“Well, well, Graham,” answered the other, “I retract what I said; I
have a better opinion of you than I had ten minutes ago. Take care of
old Dalzell—his “lambs” will be after you, and you had better keep
out of the way. Take this advice in return for my weapon which you
have given me back. It would, after all, be a pity to tuck up such a
pretty fellow as you are; although I would care very little to see your
long-faced acquaintances there dangling by their necks. Give us your
hand for old fellowship, and shift your quarters as soon as you
choose. Good bye.” So saying, he and his three comrades departed.
After these doings, it was considered imprudent for the principal
actors to remain longer in this quarter. Mr Hervey retired about
twenty miles to the northward, in company with Allan Hamilton and
his daughter, and Allister Wilson. Graham went by a circuitous route
to Argyleshire, where he secreted himself so judiciously, that though
the agents of government got information of his being in that
country, they could never manage to lay hand upon him. These steps
were prudent in all parties; for the very day after the rescue, a strong
body of dragoons was sent to the Lowthers, to apprehend the above
named persons. They behaved with great cruelty, burning the
cottages of numbers of the inhabitants, and destroying their cattle.
They searched Allan Hamilton’s house, took from it everything that
could be easily carried away, and such of his cattle as were found on
the premises. Among other things, they carried off the body of the
sanguinary Clobberton, which they found on the spot where it had
been left, and interred it in Lanark churchyard, with military
honours. None of the individuals, however, whom they sought for
were found.
For a short time after this, the persecution raged with great
violence in the south of Lanarkshire; but happier days were
beginning to dawn; and the arrival of King William, and the
dethronement of the bigoted James, put an end to such scenes of
cruelty. When these events occurred, the persecuted came forth from
their hiding-places. Mr Hervey, among others, returned to the
Lowthers, and enjoyed many happy days in this seat of his ministry
and trials. Allan and his daughter were among the first to make their
appearance. Their house soon recovered its former comfort; and in
the course of time every worldly concern went well with them. Mary,
however, for a month or more after their return, did not feel entirely
satisfied. She was duller than was her wont, and neither she nor her
father could give any explanation why it should be so. At this time a
tall young man paid them a visit, and, strange to say, she became
perfectly happy. This visitor was no other than the wild fighting
fellow Graham,—now perfectly reformed from his former evil
courses, by separation from his profligate companions, and by the
better company and principles with which his late troubles had
brought him acquainted.
A few words more will end our story. This bold trooper and the
beautiful daughter of Allan Hamilton were seen five weeks thereafter
going to church as man and wife. It was allowed that they were the
handsomest couple ever seen in the Lowthers. Graham proved a kind
husband; and it is hardly necessary to say that Mary was a most
affectionate and exemplary wife. Allan Hamilton attained a happy
old age, and saw his grandchildren ripening into fair promise around
him. His daughter, many years after his death, used to repeat to
them the story of his danger and escape, which we have here
imperfectly related. The tale is not fictitious. It is handed down in
tradition over the upper and middle wards of Lanarkshire, and with a
consistency which leaves no doubt of its truth.
THE POOR SCHOLAR.
By Professor Wilson.
The vernal weather, that had come so early in the year as to induce
a fear that it would not be lasting, seemed, contrary to that
foreboding of change, to become every day more mild and genial,
and the spirit of beauty, that had at first ventured out over the bosom
of the earth with timid footsteps, was now blending itself more boldly
with the deep verdure of the ground, and the life of the budding
trees. Something in the air, and in the great wide blue bending arch
of the unclouded sky, called upon the heart to come forth from the
seclusion of parlour or study, and partake of the cheerfulness of
nature.
We had made some short excursions together up the lonely glens,
and over the moors, and also through the more thickly inhabited
field-farms of his parish, and now the old minister proposed that we
should pay a visit to a solitary hut near the head of a dell, which,
although not very remote from the manse, we had not yet seen; and I
was anxious that we should do so, as, from his conversation, I
understood that we should see there a family—if so a widow and her
one son could be called—that would repay us by the interest we could
not fail to feel in their character, for the time and toil spent on
reaching their secluded and guarded dwelling.
“The poor widow woman,” said the minister, “who lives in the hut
called Braehead, has as noble a soul as ever tenanted a human
bosom. One earthly hope alone has she now—but I fear it never will
be fulfilled. She is the widow of a common cottar, who lived and died
in the hut which she and her son now inhabit. Her husband was a
man of little education, but intelligent, even ingenious, simple,
laborious, and pious. His duties lay all within a narrow circle, and his
temptations, it may be said, were few. Such as they were, he
discharged the one and withstood the other. Nor is there any reason
to think that, had they both been greater, he would have been found
wanting. He was contented with meal and water all his days, and so
fond of work that he seemed to love the summer chiefly for the
length of its labouring days. He had a slight genius for mechanics;
and during the long winter evenings he made many articles of
curious workmanship, the sale of which added a little to the earnings
of his severer toil. The same love of industry excited him from
morning to night; but he had also stronger, tenderer, and dearer
motives; for if his wife and their one pretty boy should outlive him,
he hoped that, though left poor, they would not be left in penury, but
enabled to lead, without any additional hardships, the usual life, at
least, of the widow and the orphans of honest hardworking men. Few
thought much about Abraham Blane while he lived, except that he
was an industrious and blameless man; but, on his death, it was felt
that there had been something far more valuable in his character;
and now, I myself, who knew him well, was pleasingly surprised to
know that he had left his widow and boy a small independence. Then
the memory of his long summer days, and long winter nights, all
ceaselessly employed in some kind of manual labour, dignified the
lowly and steadfast virtue of the unpretending and conscientious
man.
“The widow of this humble-hearted and simple-minded man,
whom we shall this forenoon visit, you will remember, perhaps,—
although then neither she nor her husband were much known in the
parish,—as the wife of the basket-maker. Her father had been a
clergyman—but his stipend was one of the smallest in Scotland, and
he died in extreme poverty. This, his only daughter, who had many
fine feelings and deep thoughts in her young innocent and simple
heart, was forced to become a menial servant in a farmhouse. There,
subduing her heart to her situation, she married that inoffensive and
good man; and all her life has been—maid, wife, and widow—the
humblest among the humble. But you shall soon have an opportunity
of seeing, what sense, what feeling, what knowledge, and what piety,
may all live together, without their owner suspecting them, in the
soul of the lonely widow of a Scottish cottar; for except that she is
pious, she thinks not that she possesses any other treasure; and even
her piety she regards, like a true Christian, as a gift bestowed.
“But well worthy of esteem, and, to speak in the language of this
world’s fancies, of admiration, as you will think this poor solitary
widow, perhaps you will think such feelings bestowed even more
deservedly on her only son. He is now a boy only of sixteen years of
age, but in my limited experience of life, never knew I such another.
From his veriest infancy he showed a singular capacity for learning;
at seven years of age he could read, write, and was even an
arithmetician. He seized upon books with the same avidity with
which children in general seize upon playthings. He soon caught
glimmerings of the meaning even of other languages; and, before he
was ten years old, there were in his mind clear dawnings of the
scholar, and indications not to be doubted of genius and intellectual
power. His father was dead—but his mother, who was no common
woman, however common her lot, saw with pure delight, and with
strong maternal pride, that God had given her an extraordinary child
to bless her solitary hut. She vowed to dedicate him to the ministry,
and that all her husband had left should be spent upon him, to the
last farthing, to qualify him to be a preacher of God’s Word. Such
ambition, if sometimes misplaced, is almost always necessarily
honourable. Here it was justified by the excelling talents of the boy—
by his zeal for knowledge, which was like a fever in his blood—and by
a childish piety, of which the simple, and eloquent, and beautiful
expression has more than once made me shed tears. But let us leave
the manse, and walk to Braehead. The sunshine is precious at this
early season; let us enjoy it while it smiles!”
We crossed a few fields—a few coppice woods—an extensive sheep-
pasture, and then found ourselves on the edge of a moorland.
Keeping the shelving heather ridge of hills above us, we gently
descended into a narrow rushy glen, without anything that could be
called a stream, but here and there crossed and intersected by
various runlets. Soon all cultivation ceased, and no houses were to be
seen. Had the glen been a long one, it would have seemed desolate,
but on turning round a little green mount that ran almost across it,
we saw at once an end to our walk, and one hut, with a peatstack
close to it, and one or two elder, or, as we call them in Scotland,
bourtrie bushes, at the low gable-end. A little smoke seemed to tinge
the air over the roof uncertainly—but except in that, there was
nothing to tell that the hut was inhabited. A few sheep lying near it,
and a single cow of the small hill-breed, seemed to appertain to the
hut, and a circular wall behind it apparently enclosed the garden. We
sat down together on one of those large mossy stones that often lie
among the smooth green pastoral hills, like the relics of some
building utterly decayed—and my venerable friend, whose solemn
voice was indeed pleasant in this quiet solitude, continued the simple
history of the poor scholar.
“At school he soon outstripped all the other boys, but no desire of
superiority over his companions seemed to actuate him—it was the
pure native love of knowledge. Gentle as a lamb, but happy as a lark,
the very wildest of them all loved Isaac Blane. He procured a Hebrew
Bible and a Greek Testament, both of which he taught himself to
read. It was more than affecting—it was sublime and awful to see the
solitary boy sitting by himself on the braes shedding tears over the
mysteries of the Christian faith. His mother’s heart burned within
her towards her son; and if it was pride, you will allow that it was
pride of a divine origin. She appeared with him in the kirk every
Sabbath, dressed not ostentatiously, but still in a way that showed
she intended him not for a life of manual labour. Perhaps, at first,
some half thought that she was too proud of him; but that was a
suggestion not to be cherished, for all acknowledged that he was sure
to prove an honour to the parish in which he was born. She often
brought him to the manse, and earth did not contain a happier
creature than she, when her boy answered all my questions, and
modestly made his own simple, yet wise remarks on the sacred
subjects gradually unfolding before his understanding and his heart.
“Before he was twelve years of age he went to college; and his
mother accompanied him to pass the winter in the city. Two small
rooms she took near the cathedral; and while he was at the classes,
or reading alone, she was not idle, but strove to make a small sum to
help to defray their winter’s expenses. To her that retired cell was a
heaven when she looked upon her pious and studious boy. His genius
was soon conspicuous; for four winters he pursued his studies in the
university, returning always in summer to this hut, the door of which
during their absence was closed. He made many friends, and
frequently during the three last summers, visitors came to pass a day
at Braehead, in a rank of life far above his own. But in Scotland,
thank God, talent and learning, and genius and virtue, when found in
the poorest hut, go not without their admiration and their reward.
Young as he is, he has had pupils of his own—his mother’s little
property has not been lessened at this hour by his education; and
besides contributing to the support of her and himself, he has
brought neater furniture into that lonely hut, and there has he a
library, limited in the number, but rich in the choice of books, such
as contain food for years of silent thought to the poor scholar—if
years indeed are to be his on earth.”
We rose to proceed onwards to the hut, across one smooth level of
greenest herbage, and up one intervening knowe, a little lower than
the mount on which it stood. Why, thought I, has the old man always
spoken of the poor scholar as if he had been speaking of one now
dead? Can it be, from the hints he has dropped, that this youth, so
richly endowed, is under the doom of death, and the fountain of all
those clear and fresh-gushing thoughts about to be sealed? I asked,
as we walked along, if Isaac Blane seemed marked out to be one of
those sweet flowers “no sooner blown than blasted,” and who perish
away like the creatures of a dream? The old man made answer that it
was even so, that he had been unable to attend college last winter,
and that it was to be feared he was now far advanced in a hopeless
decline. “Simple is he still as a very child; but with a sublime sense of
duty to God and man—of profound affection and humanity never to
be appeased towards all the brethren of our race. Each month—each
week—each day, has seemed visibly to bring him new stores of silent
feeling and thought—and even now, boy as he is, he is fit for the
ministry. But he has no hopes of living to that day—nor have I. The
deep spirit of his piety is now blended with a sure prescience of an
early death. Expect, therefore, to see him pale, emaciated, and sitting
in the hut like a beautiful and blessed ghost.”
We entered the hut, but no one was in the room. The clock ticked
solitarily, and on a table, beside a nearly extinguished peat fire, lay
the open Bible, and a small volume, which, on lifting it up, I found to
be a Greek Testament.
“They have gone out to walk, or to sit down for an hour in the
warm sunshine,” said the old man. “Let us sit down and wait their
return. It will not be long.” A long, low sigh was heard in the silence,
proceeding, as it seemed, from a small room adjoining that in which
we were sitting, and of which the door was left half open. The
minister looked into that room, and, after a long earnest gaze,
stepped softly back to me again, with a solemn face, and taking me
by the hand, whispered to me to come with him to that door, which
he gently moved. On a low bed lay the poor scholar, dressed as he
had been for the day, stretched out in a stillness too motionless and
profound for sleep, and with his fixed face up to heaven. We saw that
he was dead. His mother was kneeling, with her face on the bed, and
covered with both her hands. Then she lifted up her eyes and said, “O
merciful Redeemer, who wrought that miracle on the child of the
widow of Nain, comfort me—comfort me, in this my sore distress. I
know that my son is never to rise again until the great judgment day.
But not the less do I bless Thy holy name, for Thou didst die to save
us sinners.”
She arose from her knees, and, still blind to every other object,
went up to his breast. “I thought thee lovelier, when alive, than any
of the sons of the children of men, but that smile is beyond the power
of a mother’s heart to sustain.” And, stooping down, she kissed his
lips, and cheeks, and eyes, and forehead, with a hundred soft,
streaming, and murmuring kisses, and then stood up in her solitary
hut, alone and childless, with a long mortal sigh, in which all earthly
feelings seemed breathed out, and all earthly ties broken. Her eyes
wandered towards the door, and fixed themselves with a ghastly and
unconscious gaze for a few moments on the gray locks and withered
countenance of the holy old man, bent towards her with a pitying
and benignant air, and stooped, too, in the posture of devotion. She
soon recognised the best friend of her son, and leaving the bed on
which his body lay, she came out into the room, and said, “You have
come to me at a time when your presence was sorely needed. Had
you been here but a few minutes sooner you would have seen my
Isaac die!”
Unconsciously we were all seated; and the widow, turning
fervently to her venerated friend, said, “He was reading the Bible—he
felt faint—and said feebly, ‘Mother, attend me to my bed, and when I
lie down, put your arm over my breast and kiss me.’ I did just as he
told me; and, on wiping away a tear or two vainly shed by me on my
dear boy’s face, I saw that his eyes, though open, moved not, and that
the lids were fixed. He had gone to another world. See—sir! there is
the Bible lying open at the place he was reading—God preserve my
soul from repining!—only a few, few minutes ago.”
The minister took the Bible on his knees, and laying his right hand,
without selection, on part of one of the pages that lay open, he read
aloud the following verses:—
“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”
The mother’s heart seemed to be deeply blest for a while by these
words. She gave a grateful smile to the old man, and sat silent,
moving her lips. At length she again broke forth:—
“Oh! death, whatever may have been our thoughts or fears, ever
comes unexpectedly at last. My son often—often told me, that he was
dying, and I saw that it was so ever since Christmas. But how could I
prevent hope from entering my heart? His sweet happy voice—the
calmness of his prayers—his smiles that never left his face whenever
he looked or spoke to me—his studies, still pursued as anxiously as
ever—the interest he took in any little incident of our retired life—all
forced me to believe at times that he was not destined to die. But why
think on all these things now? Yes! I will always think of them, till I
join him and my husband in heaven!”
It seemed now as if the widow had only noticed me for the first
time. Her soul had been so engrossed with its passion of grief, and
with the felt sympathy and compassion of my venerable friend. She
asked me if I had known her son; and I answered, that if I had, I
could not have sat there so composedly; but that I was no stranger to
his incomparable excellence, and felt indeed for her grievous loss.
She listened to my words, but did not seem to hear them, and once
more addressed the old man.
“He suffered much sickness, my poor boy. For although it was a
consumption, that is not always an easy death. But as soon as the
sickness and the racking pain gave way to our united prayers, God
and our Saviour made us happy; and sure he spake then as never
mortal spake, kindling into a happiness that was beautiful to see,
when I beheld his face marked by dissolution, and knew, even in
those inspired moments (for I can call them nothing else), that ere
long the dust was to lie on those lips now flowing over with heavenly
music!”
We sat for some hours in the widow’s hut, and the minister several
times prayed with her, at her own request. On rising to depart, he
said that he would send up one of her dearest friends to pass the
night with her, and help her to do the last offices to her son. But she
replied that she wished to be left alone for that day and night, and
would expect her friend in the morning. We went towards the outer
door, and she, in a sort of sudden stupor, let us depart without any
farewell words, and retired into the room where her son was lying.
Casting back our eyes before our departure, we saw her steal into the
bed beside the dead body, and drawing the head gently into her
bosom, she lay down with him in her arms, and as if they had in that
manner fallen asleep.
THE CRUSHED BONNET.