Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Building on the measures included in the original 1994 volume and subse-
quent 2009 volume, Communication Research Measures III: A Sourcebook
extends its coverage of measurement issues and trends across the entire com-
munication discipline.
Volume III features entirely new content and offers an assessment of new
measures in mass, interpersonal, instructional, group, organizational,
family, health, and intercultural communication and highlights work in
emergent subdisciplines in communication, including social media and new
communication technologies, sports communication, and public relations.
The “best of the best” from 2009 through today, the profiled research meas-
ures in Volume III serve as models for future scale development and consti-
tute the main tools that researchers can use for self-administered
measurement of people’s attitudes, conceptions of themselves, and percep-
tions of others.
This book is ideal for undergraduate and graduate courses that
emphasize quantitative research methods, measurement, and/or survey
design across communication studies disciplines.
A Sourcebook
Typeset in Sabon
by Swales & Willis, Exeter, Devon, UK
We dedicate Communication Research Measures III: A Sourcebook to
all measurement scholars whose work aided our quest for know-
ledge about measurement and communication. We especially want
to acknowledge Rebecca B. Rubin whose vision of a compendium
of communication measures put this series in motion. She set the
standard, we just followed her lead.
Contents
Part I
MEASUREMENT TRENDS AND ISSUES
Part II
MEASURE PROFILES
Editors
Elizabeth E. Graham (Ph.D., Kent State University, 1987) is Professor and Dir-
ector of the School of Communication Studies at Kent State University.
Beth’s research interests include three foci: (1) family communication pat-
terns; (2) student learning and engagement; and (3) measurement and data
analytic issues and trends in communication research. Her work has
appeared in Communication Monographs, Communication Education,
Communication Quarterly, Western Journal of Communication, Journal of
Family Communication, Communication Reports, Communication Research
Reports and other communication-related journals. She has authored/co-
authored several books and book chapters and co-edited Communication
Research Measures I and II: A Sourcebook.
Joseph P. Mazer (Ph.D., Ohio University, 2010) is Professor and Chair of
the Department of Communication at Clemson University. Joe’s research
interests include communication in teaching and learning contexts, social
media and new technologies, and measurement issues and trends in com-
munication research. He has authored or co-authored over 80 research
articles, book chapters, and books and has been ranked in the top 1%
of prolific scholars in the communication discipline for the past 10 years.
A recent study named him among the top five influential scholars in
instructional communication. He recently completed terms as editor of
the Basic Communication Course Annual and consulting editor for
forums for Communication Education.
Contributors
Nicholas David Bowman (Ph.D., Michigan State University, 2010) is an
Associate Professor in the College of Media and Communication at
Texas Tech University. His work examines the cognitive, emotional,
physical, and social demands of interactive media such as social media
and video games. He has published more than 80 journal articles and
xiv Editors and Contributors
presented more than 160 conference papers for regional, national, and
international associations. He is an editor for the Journal of Media
Psychology and Communication Research Reports and is a regular con-
tributor to a number of news media outlets.
Jeffrey T. Child (Ph.D., North Dakota State University, 2007) is a Professor
in the School of Communication Studies at Kent State University. His
primary research explores privacy regulation, communication technol-
ogy, and interaction. Most recently, his work has focused on how people
manage their privacy and respond to breakdowns in privacy manage-
ment when interacting on social media and the influence of family com-
munication on privacy regulation practices. His research has been
published in journals such as the Journal of Family Communication,
Computers in Human Behavior, Journal of the American Society for
Information Science and Technology, Communication Quarterly, and
Communication Studies, among others.
Stephen M. Croucher (Ph.D., University of Oklahoma, 2006) is Professor
and Head of the School of Communication, Journalism, and Marketing
at Massey University. He is also the Wellington Regional Director of the
Massey Business School. He researches immigrant cultural adaptation,
religion and communication, statistics, and conflict. He has also explored
how religion influences communication behaviors. He has authored more
than 100 journal articles and book chapters, authored/co-edited 10
books, and given keynote addresses in more than 20 nations. He serves
on the editorial boards of more than 10 journals, and served as the
editor of the Journal of Intercultural Communication Research
(2010–2019) and Speaker & Gavel (2010–2015). He is active in the
National Communication Association, International Communication
Association, the World Communication Association, and holds profes-
sorships at the University of Jyväskylä, Universidade Aberta, and the
Universidade de Coimbra.
Bryan E. Denham (Ph.D., University of Tennessee, 1996) has held the
Campbell Endowed Professorship in Sports Communication at Clemson
University since 1999. He is the author of Categorical Statistics for Com-
munication Research (Wiley, 2017) and has published in disciplinary
outlets such as Communication Theory and the Journal of Communica-
tion. He is a Research Fellow in the North American Society for the
Sociology of Sport and serves on the editorial boards of Communication
and Sport, Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly, and Mass
Communication & Society.
Nichole Egbert (Ph.D., University of Georgia, 2000) is Professor in the
School of Communication Studies at Kent State University. Her research
centers predominantly on social support in health contexts with
Editors and Contributors xv
Elizabeth E. Graham
Joseph P. Mazer
Acknowledgments
people; if scores change and nothing else has intervened between the
two administrations, the measure is unreliable. Internal consistency tests
a scale’s items to see if they are homogeneous in nature; this is typically
measured via Cronbach’s alpha. With split-half reliability half of
a measure’s items are randomly chosen and correlated with the remain-
ing items; if the reliability coefficient is low, the items are not measuring
the same construct consistently.
Validity occurs when a measure is actually measuring what it is sup-
posed to measure. Three types of validity are identified and include:
content, criterion, and construct validity. Content validity is concerned
with representativeness. Scale items are generated to represent the con-
tent domain of the construct of interest. Face validity, a subset of con-
tent validity, is a starting point for scale development. Face validity
relies on common agreement that on its “face” the measure appears to
be a good translation of the construct. Criterion-related validity
addresses prediction and outcomes and involves assessing a measure
with some external criterion. There are two common forms of criterion-
related validity, predictive and concurrent validity. Predictive validity
involves the future prediction of an outcome (i.e., criterion). Relatedly,
concurrent validity is indicated when the criterion measure is obtained
at the same time, i.e., concurrently, as the initial measurement of inter-
est. Construct validity, the most important and recent addition to meas-
urement practice, links theory to measurement (Kerlinger & Lee, 2000).
Variables are deduced from theory and are tested for expected relation-
ships. If the measures perform in theoretically hypothesized ways, then
this constitutes a degree of construct validity and reflects on the theory,
the measures constructed, and the method employed (Allen & Yen,
1979/2002). Four different forms of construct validity include: conver-
gent validity, discriminant validity, multitrait-multimethod validity, and
factorial validity. Convergent validity addresses the degree to which the-
oretically related measures should be statistically related to each other.
Discriminant validity (sometimes referred to as divergent validity)
examines the degree to which theoretically unrelated measures should
be statistically unrelated. Multitrait-multimethod validity features the
examination of unrelated and different traits measured by different
methods. The resulting correlation matrix reveals relationships between
the variables measured in different ways. Hypothetically, the same trait
should produce high correlations, even though it is measured via differ-
ent methods (i.e., convergent validity). Conversely, correlations between
different and unrelated traits, measured via the same methods, should
be low (i.e., discriminant validity). Measurement bias is suggested if cor-
relations for different traits are higher when the same method is used
than when different methods are employed to measure the same trait
(Allen & Yen, 2002). Factorial validity is a data reduction technique
Introduction xxiii
References
Allen, M. J., & Yen, W. M. (2002). Introduction to measurement theory. Long
Grove, IL: Waveland Press. (Original work published 1979)
Kerlinger, F. N., & Lee, H. B. (2000). Foundations of behavioral research (4th
ed.). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.
Part I
(Continued )
6 Carolyn K. Shue and Glen H. Stamp
study findings. Wigley (2011) discussed the use, and at times misuse, of
Cronbach’s alpha as a measure of reliability as well as Likert scale use
in communication trait research (Wigley, 2013). Wigley (2011, 2013)
framed his discussions in terms of myths providing arguments for both
dispelling the myths and adopting analysis practices that strengthen
empirical findings.
Measurement Considerations
It is in the footsteps of this work that we offer observations about scale
development in the interpersonal communication domain, organized
around the following questions: What are we intending to measure?
How are we creating our measurement tools? And how do we ensure
our measurement tools remain relevant and useful amid a changing rela-
tional landscape? To answer these questions, we examine three areas
related to the scales we reviewed: conceptual definitions, theoretical
issues, and operational definitions; scale development and validation;
and relevancy and utility.
As Graham and Titsworth further point out, the preference in social sci-
ence research is typically to use low-inference measures, but self-report
data often limits the researcher to more subjective considerations. While
the topic of inference was not overtly discussed by the majority of the
research reviewed here, an examination of the scales indicated both
low-inference and high-inference items.
The use of different levels of inference may be due, in some cases, to the
type of construct being measured. For example, the unidimensional con-
struct of blurting, measured with the Blurting Scale (Hample et al., 2013)
is defined as “speech that is spontaneous, unedited, and negative in its con-
sequences” (p. 503). Since blurting, by its very nature, entails a vast array
of possible verbalizations, the items on the scale (e.g., “When I interact
with another person, I just say what’s on my mind”), specifically reflect the
descriptors in the definition and are low inference as a result.
Scales with multiple factors may also impact the inference of the
items. For example, in the Active-Empathic Listening Scale (Bodie,
2011), the three factors are sensing, processing, and responding. The
items for sensing (e.g., “I understand how others feel”) and processing
(e.g., “I assure others that I will remember what they say”) are high-
inference due to sensing and processing being more abstract internal
processes. In contrast, responding (“I show others that I am listening by
my body language” [e.g., head nods]) has more concrete behavioral
indicators, resulting in low-inference items.
Two of the articles specifically discuss issues related to inference.
Richmond et al. (2003) review previous immediacy scales regarding
their high-inference nature being problematic in terms of lack of valid-
ity. As a result, the items of their Nonverbal Immediacy Scale are specif-
ically low-inference (e.g., “I touch others on the shoulder or arm while
talking to them”). Similarly, one of Ledbetter’s (2013) specific goals in
developing the Relational Maintenance Communication Scale was to
improve on previous maintenance scales that are “high inference in
nature, requiring significant interpretation to determine whether
a particular communication behavior indicates openness, positivity, sup-
portiveness, and so forth” (p. 290). As a result, the scale contains low-
inference items such as “We go out on dates” and “We say ‘I love you’
to each other.”
Measurement in Interpersonal Communication 13
using the scale. Wright and Miller (2010) used college students as parti-
cipants managing stressors of general living and compared them to par-
ticipants in online health support groups managing health concerns.
These two different samples were then used to determine discriminant
validity of the Weak-Tie/Strong-Tie Scale. Wright and Miller predicted,
and partially supported the hypotheses that individuals managing differ-
ent types of stressors prefer support from different types of relation-
ships – weak-tie versus strong-tie.
To develop the scales, typically, researchers generated items from the
literature (e.g., Verbal Rumination [VR] measure: Henson, 2009), used
items from previous scales (e.g., Dogmatism Scale: Shearman & Levine,
2006), adapted scales used in other contexts for use in interpersonal
research (e.g., Active-Empathic Listening Scale: Bodie, 2011), and cre-
ated items based on participants’ experiences (e.g., Blurting Scale:
Hample et al., 2013). Some utilized experts or participants to establish
face validity as a preliminary component of the validation study (e.g.,
Narrative Believability Scale: Yale, 2013). Some researchers did use
exploratory factor analysis to reduce the number of items and identify
factors as a first step in the scale development process (e.g., Communi-
cation Anxiety Regulation Scale: White et al., 2015); however, in subse-
quent studies, data from new samples was subjected to confirmatory
factor analysis (CFA) to demonstrate factor stability. This process
reflects the standards advocated for by Levine (2005).
The majority of researchers designed studies to establish construct
validity, offering claims about the relationships between the construct
measured in the new scale (e.g., self-censorship – Hayes, Uldall, and
Glynn [2010]: Willingness to Self-Censor Scale) and other constructs
(e.g., dispositional shyness). While not as prevalent, researchers have
focused on criterion-related validity as well. For example, Stafford
(2010) demonstrated that the Relational Maintenance Behavior Meas-
ure predicted relationship satisfaction, commitment, liking, and love for
both husbands and wives.
When demonstrating the validity of scales, it is important for
researchers to clearly state the type of validity the study intends to
establish and articulate how the study results align with the validity
type. For example, confusion occurs when researchers state predictive
validity which involves scores to predict future behavior when in actual-
ity the researchers are testing theoretically derived relationships among
the measure and other constructs or construct validity. Readers must
pay attention to the study design and findings when evaluating validity
type and claims.
While cross-sectional survey design studies, often using online survey
tools, still dominate the interpersonal communication scale development lit-
erature, some researchers employ hypothetical cases and full-experiments
Measurement in Interpersonal Communication 15
(Hayes, Glynn, & Shanahan, 2005; Hayes et al., 2010) to evaluate the util-
ity of their measure. Hayes et al. (2005) used hypothetical scenarios to
manipulate the opinion climate environment when testing their Willingness
to Self-Censor Scale. In the 2010 validation study of the scale, Hayes et al.
experimentally manipulated the opinion climate of a conversation using
two research confederates. The findings revealed that those low in will-
ingness to self-censor were not affected by the opinion climate, while
high self-censors were affected by the opinion climate. Use of quasi- and
full-experiment designs can increase researchers’ confidence in the meas-
ure while also answering important empirical questions. Continually
revisiting the issue of scale validity, as demonstrated in Hayes and col-
leagues’ 2005 hypothetical scenario study and the 2010 full-experiment
study, illustrates that validity should not be a “one study and done” elem-
ent of scale design. To maintain a scale’s relevance and utility, evaluation,
testing, and reflection should be an ongoing endeavor.
the original Romantic Jealousy Scale, the item “look through my partner’s
belongings for evidence of a rival relationship” has been updated to be
“look through my partner’s belongings/computer for evidence” in the
revised Communication Responses to Remantic Jealousy Scale. This revi-
sion reflects the evolving ways we engage in relationship surveillance in the
technological age. Another item “repeatedly called my partner” is quickly
losing relevancy among a generation that prefers texting and often fears
calling on the phone. This item is likely to be revised in future versions of
the scale or when individual researchers take it upon themselves to modify
items. Careful reflection on, and revision of, outdated items or awkward
word choices is necessary to maintain the validity of a measure.
Finally, successful instruments are ones that are used in multiple stud-
ies with different samples at different points in time. The consistent
results of multiple studies demonstrate stability in the scale structure as
well as reliability. Many of the published scales we found when generat-
ing our initial list of scales to review were only used once in the initial
validation study. This trend does not even account for scales developed
and presented in conference papers that do not result in a published art-
icle. Researchers are expending considerable effort to conceptualize,
operationalize, construct, and test measures that ultimately do not make
sustained contributions to a line of research. Successful instruments are
championed by the developer(s) (e.g., Bodie, 2011; Hayes and col-
leagues, 2005; Stafford, 2010). Those contemplating designing a scale
should conceptualize scale development as the beginning of a line of
research rather than the end product of a single research project.
References
Bodie, G. D. (2011). The active-empathic listening scale (AELS): Conceptualiza-
tion and evidence of validity within the interpersonal domain. Communication
Quarterly, 59, 277–295. doi:10.1080/01463373.2011.583495
Burleson, B. R. (2010). Explaining recipient responses to supportive messages:
Development and tests of a dual-process theory. In S. W. Smith &
S. R. Wilson (Eds.), New directions in interpersonal communication research
(pp. 159–179). Los Angeles, CA: Sage.
Canary, D. J., & Stafford, L. (1992). Relational maintenance strategies and
equity in marriage. Communication Monographs, 59, 243–267. doi:10.1080/
03637759209376268
Carpenter, S. (2018). Ten steps in scale development and reporting: A guide for
researchers. Communication Methods & Measures, 12, 25–44. doi:10.1080/
19312458.2017.1396583
Cionea, I. A., Hoelscher, C. S., & Iles, I. A. (2017). Arguing goals: An initial
assessment of a new measurement ͉instrument. Communication Reports, 30,
51–65. doi:10.1080/08934215.2016.1184695
Craig, R. T. (1999). Communication theory as a field. Communication Theory, 9,
119–161. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2885.1999.tb00355.x
DeVellis, R. F. (2017). Scale development: Theory and applications (4th ed.).
Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.
Graham, E. E., & Titsworth, S. (2009). Measurement in interpersonal communi-
cation. In E. B. Rubin, A. M. Rubin, E. E. Graham, E. M. Perse, &
D. R. Seibold (Eds.), Communication research measures II: A sourcebook (pp.
76–93). New York, NY: Routledge.
Guerrero, L. K., Hannawa, A. F., & Babin, E. A. (2011). The communicative
responses to jealousy scale: Revision, empirical validation, and associations with
relational satisfaction. Communication Methods & Measures, 5, 223–249.
doi:10.1080/19312458.2011.596993
Hample, D. (2003). Arguing skill. In J. O. Greene & B. R. Burleson (Eds.), Hand-
book of communication and social interaction skills (pp. 439–478). Mahwah,
NJ: Erlbaum.
Hample, D., Richards, A. S., & Skubisz, C. (2013). Blurting. Communication
Monographs, 80, 503–532. doi:10.1080/03637751.2013.830316
Hannawa, A. F., & Spitzberg, B. H. (2011). A cross-validation of the relational
entitlement and proprietariness scale. Communication Methods & Measures,
5, 1–27. doi:10.1080/19312458.2010.527871
Hannawa, A. F., Spitzberg, B. H., Wiering, L., & Teranishi, C. (2006). “If I can’t
have you, no one can”: Development of a Relational Entitlement and Proprie-
tariness Scale (REPS). Violence and Victims, 21, 539–560.
18 Carolyn K. Shue and Glen H. Stamp
“Hout, lassie,” said the wily Dame Seton to her daughter, “dinna
blear your een wi’ greeting. What would honest Maister Binks say, if
he were to come in the now, and see you looking baith dull and dour?
Dight your een, my bairn, and snood back your hair—I’se warrant
you’ll mak a bonnier bride than ony o’ your sisters.”
“I carena whether I look bonny or no, since Willie winna see me,”
said Mary, while her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, mother, ye have been
ower hasty in this matter; I canna help thinking he will come hame
yet, and make me his wife. It’s borne in on my mind that Willie is no
dead.”
“Put awa such thoughts out o’ your head, lassie,” answered her
mother; “naebody doubts but yoursel that the ship that he sailed in
was whumelled ower in the saut sea—what gars you threep he’s
leeving that gate?”
“Ye ken, mother,” answered Mary, “that when Willie gaed awa on
that wearifu’ voyage, ‘to mak the crown a pound,’ as the auld sang
says, he left a kist o’ his best claes for me to tak care o’; for he said he
would keep a’ his braws for a day that’s no like to come, and that’s
our bridal. Now, ye ken it’s said, that as lang as the moths keep aff
folk’s claes, the owner o’ them is no dead,—so I e’en took a look o’ his
bit things the day, and there’s no a broken thread among them.”
“Ye had little to do to be howking among a dead man’s claes,” said
her mother; “it was a bonny like job for a bride.”
“But I’m no a bride,” answered Mary, sobbing. “How can ye hae
the heart to speak o’t, mother, and the year no out since I broke a
ring wi’ my ain Willie!—Weel hae I keepit my half o’t; and if Willie is
in this world, he’ll hae the other as surely.”
“I trust poor Willie is in a better place,” said the mother, trying to
sigh; “and since it has been ordered sae, ye maun just settle your
mind to take honest Maister Binks; he’s rich, Mary, my dear bairn,
and he’ll let ye want for naething.”
“Riches canna buy true love,” said Mary.
“But they can buy things that will last a hantle longer,” responded
the wily mother; “so, Mary, ye maun tak him, if you would hae me
die in peace. Ye ken I can leave ye but little. The house and bit garden
maun gang to your brother, and his wife will mak him keep a close
hand;—she’ll soon let you see the cauld shouther. Poor relations are
unco little thought o’; so, lassie, as ye would deserve my benison,
dinna keep simmering it and wintering it any longer, but take a gude
offer when it’s made ye.”
“I’ll no hae him till the year is out,” cried Mary. “Wha kens but the
ship may cast up yet?”
“I fancy we’ll hae to gie you your ain gate in this matter,” replied
the dame, “mair especially as it wants but three weeks to the year,
and we’ll need that to hae ye cried in the kirk, and to get a’ your
braws ready.”
“Oh, mother, mother, I wish ye would let me die!” was Mary’s
answer, as she flung herself down on her little bed.
Delighted at having extorted Mary’s consent to the marriage,
Dame Seton quickly conveyed the happy intelligence to her son-in-
law elect, a wealthy burgess of Dunbar; and having invited Annot
Cameron, Mary’s cousin, to visit them, and assist her in cheering the
sorrowful bride, the preparations for the marriage proceeded in due
form.
On the day before that appointed for the wedding, as the cousins
sat together, arranging the simple ornaments of the bridal dress,
poor Mary’s feelings could no longer be restrained, and her tears fell
fast.
“Dear sake, Mary, gie ower greeting,” said Annot; “the bonny white
satin ribbon is wringing wet.”
“Sing her a canty sang to keep up her heart,” said Dame Seton.
“I canna bide a canty sang the day, for there’s ane rinnin’ in my
head that my poor Willie made ae night as we sat beneath the rowan-
tree outby there, and when we thought we were to gang hand in hand
through this wearifu’ world,” and Mary began to sing in a low voice.
At this moment the door of the dwelling opened, and a tall, dark-
complexioned woman entered, and saying, “My benison on a’ here,”
she seated herself close to the fire, and lighting her pipe, began to
smoke, to the great annoyance of Dame Seton.
“Gudewife,” said she gruffly, “ye’re spoiling the lassie’s gown, and
raising such a reek, so here’s an awmous to ye, and you’ll just gang
your ways, we’re unco thrang the day.”
“Nae doubt,” rejoined the spaewife, “a bridal time is a thrang time,
but it should be a heartsome ane too.”
“And hae ye the ill-manners to say it’s otherwise?” retorted Dame
Seton. “Gang awa wi’ ye, without anither bidding; ye’re making the
lassie’s braws as black as coom.”
“Will ye hae yer fortune spaed, my bonny May?” said the woman,
as she seized Mary’s hand.
“Na, na,” answered Mary, “I ken it but ower weel already.”
“You’ll be married soon, my bonny lassie,” said the sibyl.
“Hech, sirs, that’s piper’s news, I trow,” retorted the dame, with
great contempt; “can ye no tell us something better worth the
hearing?”
“Maybe I can,” answered the spaewife. “What would you think if I
were to tell you that your daughter keeps the half o’ the gold ring she
broke wi’ the winsome sailor lad near her heart by night and by day?”
“Get out o’ my house, ye tinkler!” cried Dame Seton, in wrath; “we
want to hear nae such clavers.”
“Ye wanted news,” retorted the fortune-teller; “and I trow I’ll gie ye
mair than you’ll like to hear. Hark ye, my bonnie lassie, ye’ll be
married soon, but no to Jamie Binks,—here’s an anchor in the palm
of your hand, as plain as a pikestaff.”
“Awa wi’ ye, ye leein’ Egyptian that ye are,” cried Dame Seton, “or
I’ll set the dog on you, and I’ll promise ye he’ll no leave ae dud on
your back to mend another.”
“I wadna rede ye to middle wi’ me, Dame Seton,” said the fortune-
teller. “And now, having said my say, and wishing ye a blithe bridal,
I’ll just be stepping awa;” and ere another word was spoken, the
gipsy had crossed the threshold.
“I’ll no marry Jamie Binks,” cried Mary, wringing her hands; “send
to him, mother, and tell him sae.”
“The sorrow take the lassie,” said Dame Seton; “would you make
yoursel and your friends a warld wonder, and a’ for the clavers o’ a
leein’ Egyptian,—black be her fa’, that I should ban.”
“Oh, mother, mother!” cried Mary, “how can I gie ae man my
hand, when another has my heart?”
“Troth, lassie,” replied her mother, “a living joe is better than a
dead ane ony day. But whether Willie be dead or living, ye shall be
Jamie Binks’ wife the morn. Sae tak nae thought o’ that ill-deedy
body’s words, but gang ben the house and dry your een, and Annot
will put the last steek in your bonny white gown.”
With a heavy heart Mary saw the day arrive which was to seal her
fate; and while Dame Seton is bustling about, getting everything in
order for the ceremony, which was to be performed in the house, we
shall take the liberty of directing the attention of our readers to the
outside passengers of a stagecoach, advancing from the south, and
rapidly approaching Dunbar. Close behind the coachman was seated
a middle-aged, substantial-looking farmer, with a round, fat, good-
humoured face, and at his side was placed a handsome young sailor,
whose frank and jovial manner, and stirring tale of shipwreck and
captivity, had pleasantly beguiled the way.
“And what’s taking you to Dunbar the day, Mr Johnstone?” asked
the coachman.
“Just a wedding, John,” answered the farmer. “My cousin, Jamie
Binks, is to be married the night.”
“He has been a wee ower lang about it,” said the coachman.
“I’m thinking,” replied the farmer, “it’s no the puir lassie’s fault
that the wedding hasna been put off langer; they say that bonny
Mary has little gude will to her new joe.”
“What Mary is that you are speaking about?” asked the sailor.
“Oh, just bonny Mary Seton that’s to be married the night,”
answered the farmer.
“Whew!” cried the sailor, giving a long whistle.
“I doubt,” said the farmer, “she’ll be but a waefu’ bride, for the
sough gangs that she hasna forgotten an auld joe; but ye see he was
away, and no likely to come back, and Jamie Binks is weel to pass in
the world, and the mother, they say, just made her life bitter till the
puir lassie was driven to say she would take him. It is no right in the
mother, but folks say she is a dour wife, and had aye an ee to the
siller.”
“Right!” exclaimed the young sailor, “she deserves the cat-o’-nine
tails!”
“Whisht, whisht, laddie,” said the farmer. “Preserve us! where is he
gaun?” he continued, as the youth sprung from the coach and struck
across the fields.
“He’ll be taking the short cut to the town,” answered the
coachman, giving his horses the whip.
The coach whirled rapidly on, and the farmer was soon set down at
Dame Seton’s dwelling, where the whole of the bridal party was
assembled, waiting the arrival of the minister.
“I wish the minister would come,” said Dame Seton.
“We must open the window,” answered Annot, “for Mary is like to
swarf awa.”
This was accordingly done, and as Mary sat close by the window,
and gasping for breath, an unseen hand threw a small package into
her lap.
“Dear sirs, Mary,” said Dame Seton, “open up the bit parcel, bairn;
it will be a present frae your Uncle Sandie; it’s a queer way o’ gieing
it, but he ne’er does things like ony ither body.” The bridal guests
gathered round Mary as she slowly undid fold after fold. “Hech!”
observed Dame Seton, “it maun be something very precious to be in
such sma’ bouk.” The words were scarcely uttered when the half of a
gold ring lay in Mary’s hand.
“Where has this come frae?” exclaimed Mary, wringing her hands.
“Has the dead risen to upbraid me?”
“No, Mary, but the living has come to claim you,” cried the young
sailor, as he vaulted through the open window, and caught her in his
arms.
“Oh, Willie, Willie, where hae ye been a’ this weary time?”
exclaimed Mary, while the tears fell on her pale cheek.
“That’s a tale for another day,” answered the sailor; “I can think of
nothing but joy while I haud you to my breast, which you will never
leave mair.”
“There will be twa words to that bargain, my joe,” retorted Dame
Seton. “Let go my bairn, and gang awa wi’ ye; she’s trysted to be this
honest man’s wife, and his wife she shall be.”
“Na, na, mistress,” said the bridegroom, “I hae nae broo o’
wedding another man’s joe: since Willie Fleming has her heart, he
may e’en tak her hand for me.”
“Gude save us,” cried the farmer, shaking the young sailor by the
hand, “little did I ken wha I was speaking to on the top of the coach. I
say, guidwife,” he continued, “ye maun just let Willie tak her; nae
gude e’er yet come o’ crossing true love.”
“’Deed, that’s a truth,” was answered by several bonny
bridesmaids. Dame Seton, being deserted by her allies, and finding
the stream running so strongly against her, at length gave an
unwilling consent to the marriage of the lovers, which was celebrated
amidst general rejoicings; and at the request of his bride, Willie, on
his wedding-day, attired himself in the clothes which the moths had
so considerately spared for the happy occasion.
A PASSAGE OF MY LIFE.
Maiden aunts are very tough. Their very infirmities seem to bring
about a new term of life. They are like old square towers—nobody
knows when they were built, and nobody knows when they will
tumble down. You may unroof them, unfloor them, knock in their
casements, and break down their doors, till the four old black walls
stand, and stand through storm and sunshine year after year, till the
eye, accustomed to contemplate the gradual decay of everything else,
sickens to look at this anomaly in nature. My aunt, dear good soul,
seemed resolved never to die,—at least to outlive her hopeful
nephew. I thought she was to prove as perdurable as a dried
mummy,—she was by this time equally yellow and exsiccated as any
of the daughters of Pharaoh.
I had run myself quite aground. But my extravagances, as well as
my distresses, I had the policy to conceal from my aged relative. She,
honest lady, occasionally had pressed me to accept of some slight
pittances of two or three £50’s at different times, which, after much
difficulty and entreaty, I made a merit of accepting, stoutly asserting
that I only received them to avoid hurting her feelings—that my own
income was amply sufficient for the limited wants of a scholar, or to
any one who could put in practice the rules of wholesome economy;
but this trifle certainly would enable me to purchase a few rather
expensive publications which I could not otherwise have hoped to do,
and which would prove of essential use in furthering the progress of
the two great works I had commenced while at college, and had been
busy with ever since, viz.: “A History of Antediluvian Literature, Arts,
and Sciences,” and, “A Dissertation on the Military Tactics of the
Assyrians,” which I intended should appear along with the last
volume of Valpy’s Greek Dictionary, or the first of Sir James
Mackintosh’s History of Great Britain.
Fortune at last grew tired of persecuting me; she fairly turned her
wheel, and put me on the brightest spoke. My aunt’s factor called one
day, and let me know that he thought I should make my visits at
Broadcroft more frequent—take a little interest in looking over the
ditching and draining of the estate (short-sighted man, he little knew
how much I had ditched and drained it by anticipation!)—walk
through the woods and plantations, and bestow my opinion as to
thinning them (they were long ago, in my own mind, transferred to
the timber-yard)—apply myself a little to master the details of
business connected with agricultural affairs, such as markets, green
and white crops, manure, &c. &c.; and concluded by telling me that
his son was a remarkably clever lad, knew country matters
exceedingly well, and would be a most valuable acquisition as factor
or land grieve to any gentleman of extensive landed property. The
drift of this communication I perfectly understood. I listened with
the most profound attention, lamented my own ignorance of the
subjects wherein his clever son was so much at home, and wished
only that I had an estate, that I might entrust it to the care of so
intelligent a steward. After dispatching a bottle or two of claret, we
parted mutually pleased.
He had seen my aunt’s will, and, in the fulness of his heart, ran
over the legal jargon which constituted me the owner of Broadcroft,
Lilliesacre, Kittleford, Westerha’, Cozieholm, Harperston, and
Oxgang, with hale parts and pendicles, woods and fishings, mills and
mill-lands, muirs and mosses, rights of pasturage and commonty. I
never heard more delightful music all my days than the hour I spent
hearkening to this old rook cawing over the excellent lands that were
mine in prospective. My aunt’s letters, after this, I found assumed a
querulous tone, and became strongly impregnated with religious
commonplaces—a sure sign to me that she herself was now winding
up her earthly affairs—and generally concluded with some such
sentence as this: “I am in a comfortable frame of spirit, but my
fleshly tabernacle is sorely decayed—great need hath it of a sure prop
in the evening of its days.” These epistles I regularly answered,
seasoning them with scriptural texts as well as I could. Some, to be
sure, had no manner of connection or application whatsoever; but I
did not care for that if they were there. I stuck them thick and
threefold, for I knew my aunt was an indulgent critic, provided she
got plenty of matter. I took the precaution also of paying the postage,
for I learned, with something like satisfaction, that of late she had
become rather parsimonious in her habits. I also heard that she daily
took much comfort in the soul-searching and faith-fortifying
discourses of Mr Samuel Salmasius Sickerscreed, a migratory
preacher of some denomination or other, who had found it
convenient for some months to pitch his tent in the Broadcroft.
Several of my aunt’s letters told me, in no measured terms, her high
opinion of his edifying gifts. With these opinions, as a matter of
course, I warmly coincided. Sheet after sheet now poured in from
Broadcroft. I verily thought all the worthy divines, from the
Reformation downwards, had been put in requisition to batter me to
pieces with choice and ghostly counsel.
This infliction I bore up against with wonderful fortitude, and
repaid with my weightiest metal. To supply the extraordinary drafts
thus made on my stores of devout phraseology, I had to call in my
worthy friend Tom ——. He had been a regularly-bred theologian,
but finding the casque more fitting for his hot head than the
presbyter’s cowl, he now lived in elegant starvation as a dashing
cornet in the —— Dragoons, and a better fellow never breathed. His
assistance was of eminent service: when we exhausted our own
invention, we immediately transcribed the sermon of some forgotten
divine of last century, and sent it thundering off. These we
denominated shells. At this time Tom’s fortune and mine were
hanging on the same pin; we were both up to the chin in debt; we
had stretched our respective personal credits, as far as they would go,
for each other. We were involved in such a beautiful multitude and
labyrinth of mutual obligations, that we could neither count them
nor see our way out of them. In the holy siege of Broadcroft citadel
we therefore joined heart and hand.
In this manner things went on smoothly. My aunt was becoming
daily weaker, seldom left her own bedroom, and permitted no person
to see her save the Rev. S. S. Sickerscreed. Indeed, every letter I
received from my aunt intimated more plainly than its predecessor
that I might make up my mind for a great and sudden change, and
prepare myself for afflictions. As in duty bound, my answers
breathed of sorrow and resignation—lamented the mutability of this
world—its nothingness—the utter vanity of all earthly joys. I really
loved the good old lady; but I was hampered most villanously. I knew
not a spot where I could put the sole of my foot, without some legal
mine blowing me up a shivered rag into the azure firmament,—a fate
a thousand times more picturesque than pleasant. I may therefore be
excused for confessing that I looked upon my aunt’s release from this
world as the dawn of my own deliverance. Yet, even then, I felt
shame when I looked into the chambers of my heart, and found that
every feeling of grief I had there for my aunt’s illness was beautifully
edged with a gleam of satisfaction. The cypresses and yews, and
other mournful trees that threw their pensive shadows around me,
were positively resting above a burning volcano of joy. No; it was not
in human nature for a desperate man like me to exclude from his
contemplation the bills, bonds, moneys, and manors that had
accumulated for years under her thrifty and prudent management.
One morning, while musing in this indescribable state of feeling, a
little ragged boy, besmeared with dust and sweat, whom I recognised
as turnspit and running footman of the establishment at Broadcroft,
thrust a crumpled greasy-like billet in my hand.
“Come awa, laird, come awa, gin ye would like to see your auld
auntie afore she gangs aff a’thegither.”
I started up, threw down the “Sporting Magazine,” and
instinctively snatched up my hat.
“When did it happen, wee Jamie?”
“This morning, nae far’er gane—but come awa; everything’s gaun
tap-salteerie at Braidcraft—sae unexpected by us a’! Has your horse
been fed yet? Dinna put aff, but come awa. We’re a’ dementit ower
the way, and ye’re muckle wanted, and sair missed.”
With this wee Jamie darted away; I roared after him to obtain
further particulars, but wee Jamie shot off like an arrow, only
twisting his head over his shoulder, notwithstanding his trot, he
screamed—
“Gerss maunna grow under my heels, if I care for my lugs. But it’s
a’ by noo, and there’s nae gude in granin’.”
With which sapient remark the kitchen boy got out of hearing, and
soon out of sight.
I now hastily broke the black wax of the billet. The note was
subscribed by Mr S. S. Sickerscreed, and was written in his most
formal small-text hand. He had been a schoolmaster in his youth,
and could write legibly, which no gentleman who regards his caste
should do. The three big S S S were dearer to me than a collar of
knighthood. It required my immediate presence at Broadcroft to talk
over certain serious and impressive matters. So had Mr Samuel
Salmasius Sickerscreed penned his billet, and in the fulness of my
heart I gave the poor man credit for an excess of delicacy more than I
ever noticed had belonged to him before. Poor dear man, he, too, has
lost a valuable friend. Judging of the exquisiteness of my feelings by
the agony of his own, he has kindly delayed the fatal announcement
of my aunt’s demise, till my heart has been prepared to meet the
shock with becoming fortitude. How considerate—how very
compassionate he has been! Worthy man—would I could repay his
kindness with a benifice! Thus did I soliloquise over the dispatch
from Broadcroft; but notwithstanding the tumult which it and its
bearer raised in my bosom, I did not omit communicating to Tom the
unexpected change which a few hours had produced in our destinies,
and charging him at the same time to moderate his transports till I
returned with a confirmation of our hopes.
Then backing my stoutest hunter, and taking a crow’s flight across
the country, I spared not her heaving flanks, nor drew bridle, till I
reached the long, straight, dusky avenue that led to the tall, narrow
slip of a house yclept Broadcroft Place. Here I slackened my pace,
and left my wearied and panting brute to crawl as lazily as she liked
along the avenue. I, too, lengthened my visage to the requisite degree
necessary for the melancholy purpose on which I came. The very
trees had a lugubrious and sepulchral aspect. I took them in fancy to
be so many Sawlies waiting the time for heading the funeral
procession of my lamented aunt. They seemed to mourn for her in
sincere sorrow, and, in fact, walking under their shadows disposed
my mind very much to melancholy. Now a green leaf, now a withered
one, dropped on my beaver as I passed, and in the deep silence that
reigned around me, I could not, despite my constitutional
recklessness, be wholly insensible to the appeals these mute
emblems of man’s mortality made to reflection.
But a pleasanter train of feelings arose when I looked at the stately
trunks of the venerable oaks, their immense girth, and (with a glow
of patriotic virtue, quite common now-a-days) pictured forth to
myself how admirably they were suited to bear Britannia’s thunders
triumphantly across the wave. Yes, every tree of them shall be
devoted to the service of my country. Perish the narrow thought, that
for its own gratification would allow them to vegetate in unprofitable
uselessness, when they can be so beneficially employed for the state.
Every old, druidical-looking oak which my eye scanned was, of
course, devoted to the axe. I already saw the timber yards piled with
Broadcroft oak, and the distant sea my imagination soon whitened
with a fleet of noble barks wholly built of them. Thus did I speculate
till I reached the end of the avenue, where, to my surprise, I found a
travelling post-chaise and four drawn up before the door of the
mansion. This vehicle, an apparition of rare occurrence in so
secluded a part of the country, and at the residence of so retired a
lady as my departed aunt, was literally crushed with trunks, and
boxes, and bags, and packages of one kind or another, strapped
above, behind, and before it.
Being never unfertile in surmises, I immediately guessed that the
equipage I saw must, of necessity, belong to the clerk to the signet,
my aunt’s city lawyer, who had trundled himself into the country
with the whole muniments of my estate, for the mere purpose of
welcoming me, and regulating my deceased relative’s affairs. His
prompt appearance, I attributed, with my usual goodness of heart, to
the kindly foresight of Mr Samuel. I really did not know how I could
sufficiently recompense him for the warm, disinterested, and
valuable services he had rendered in this season of affliction. But my
aunt must have remembered him in her testament. She was ever
grateful. She cannot possibly have overlooked him. As the d—l would
have it, I then asked myself, now, if your aunt has forgotten Mr
Samuel Salmasius Sickerscreed altogether, how will you act? At first,
I said he must have £100 at least; then as I looked on my own
necessities, the uncertainty of rents, the exorbitance of taxes, this
sum speedily subsided into half the amount. And by the time I fairly
reached my aunt’s door, I found my mind reconciling itself to the
handsome duty of presenting Mr Sickerscreed with a snuff-box, value
£2, 10s., a mourning ring worth 30s., a new coat, and ten guineas; in
all, some twenty pieces of gold or thereby.
On alighting, I gave my horse to the servant to walk and cool. John
was old as his late mistress—a very good, foolish, gray-headed
domestic, marvellously fond of the family he served with, and
marvellously fond of conversation. He looked profoundly melancholy
when he took my reins.
“It’ll be a sair dispensation to you, Maister William,” quoth John,
“this morning’s news. Ye wud be wonderfully struck and put about
when ye heard it.”
“It is, indeed,” said I, throwing as much of mournfulness as
possible into the tones of my voice. “Heavy news indeed, and most
unexpected. Great cause have I to grieve. My poor dear aunt to be
thus lost to me for ever!”
“Nae doubt, nae doubt, Maister William, ye maun hae a heavy
heartfu’. We were a’ jalousing as muckle,—that’s me, Souple Rab, and
wee Jamie; however, it’ll no do to be coosten down a’thegither,—a
rainy night may bring a blithe morrow. Every thing is uncertain in
this world but death! But come on, Kate;” and John and my reeking
jade disappeared in the direction towards the stable; John, no doubt,
bursting with impatience till he could communicate to his select
cabinet, Souple Rab and wee Jamie, the awsome and doncie looks of
the young laird.
I was yet lingering on the threshold in a most comfortable frame of
mind, when the door was thrown open. Imagine my horror when the
first figure I saw was my aunt herself, not in the drapery of the grave,
but bedizzened with ribbons from head to heel, and leaning her
withered hand on the arm of the Reverend Mr Sickerscreed. I gasped
for breath—my tongue swelled and clung to the roof of my mouth—
my eyes literally started from their sockets as if they would leave
their bony casements altogether. Had I not caught hold of the porch,
down I should have dropped.
“Am I in my senses, aunt? Do I see you really alive? Is this no
unreal mockery—no cruel hallucination? Resolve me, for Heaven’s
sake, else I go mad.”
“Dear me, nephew,” said the old lady, “what agitates you so? I feel
so glad that you have paid me this visit ere I set off on my marriage
jaunt with the elect of my heart, your worthy connection, Mr
Sickerscreed.”
“Marriage!” thundered I, “marriage!—I came to mourn over your
bier, not to laugh at your bridal. O, the infernal cruelty, Mr What’s-