Wilson's Tales of the Borders AND OF SCOTLAND. 

 HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE, WITH A GLOSSARY. 

 REVISED BY

 ALEXANDER LEIGHTON, _One of the Original Editors and Contributors_. 

 VOL. XVII. 

 LONDON

 WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE. 

 1884. 

CONTENTS. 

 Page ROGER GOLDIE'S NARRATIVE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 1

 HOGMANAY; OR, THE LADY OF BALOOCHGRAY, (_Alexander Leighton_), 33

 GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT, (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)--

 X. SERGEANT WILSON, 65

 XI. HELEN PALMER, 72

 XII. THE CAIRNY CAVE OF GAVIN MUIR, 80

 XIII. PORTER'S HOLE, 92

 THE RECLUSE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 95

 A HIGHLAND TRADITION, (_Alexander Campbell_), 125

 THE SURGEON'S TALES, (_Alexander Leighton_)--

 THE BEREAVED, 129

 THE CONDEMNED, 145

 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 161

 THE SIMPLE MAN IS THE BEGGAR'S BROTHER, (_John M. Wilson_), 170

 TALES OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE, (_Matthew Forster Conolly_)--

 THE ROBBERY AT PITTENWEEM AND THE PORTEOUS MOB, 194

 STORY OF CHARLES GORDON AND CHRISTINA CUNNINGHAM, 220

 A LEGEND OF CALDER MOOR, (_John Howell_), 237

 HUME AND THE GOVERNOR OF BERWICK, (_Alexander Leighton_), 269

WILSON'S

TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND. 

ROGER GOLDIE'S NARRATIVE. 

A TALE OF THE FALSE ALARM. 

Ye have heard of the false alarm, (said Roger Goldie, ) which, for the spaceof wellnigh four and twenty hours, filled the counties upon the Border withexceeding great consternation, and at the same time called forth an exampleof general and devoted heroism, and love of country, such as is nowhererecorded in the annals of any nation upon the face of the globe. Good causehave I to remember it; and were I to live a thousand years, it never wouldbe effaced from my recollection. What first gave rise to the alarm, I havenot been able clearly to ascertain unto this day. There was a house-heatingup beside Preston, with feasting and dancing; and a great light, like thatof a flambeau, proceeded from the onstead. Now, some say that the man thatkept the beacon on Hownamlaw, mistook the light for the signal on Dunselaw;and the man at Dunselaw, in his turn, seeing Hownam flare up, lighted hisfires also, and speedily the red burning alphabet of war blazed on everyhill top--a spirit seemed to fly from mountain to mountain, touching theirsummits with fire, and writing in the flame the word--_invasion!_ Otherssay that it arose from the individual who kept watch at Hume Castle beingdeceived by an accidental fire over in Northumberland; and a very generalsupposition is, that it arose from a feint on the part of a greatsea-admiral, which he made in order to try the courage and loyalty of thenation. To the last report, however, I attach no credit. The fable informsus, that the shepherd laddie lost his sheep, because he cried, "The wolf!"when there was no wolf at hand; and it would have been policy similar tohis, to have cried, "_An invasion!_" when there was no invasion. Neithernations nor individuals like such practical jokes. It is also certain thatthe alarm was not first given by the beacons on the sea-coast; and therecan be no doubt that the mistake originated either at Hownamlaw or HumeCastle. 

I recollect it was in the beginning of February 1804. I occupied a housethen about half a mile out of Dunse, and lived comfortably, and I will saycontentedly, on the interest of sixteen hundred pounds which I had investedin the funds; and it required but little discrimination to foresee, that, if the French fairly got a footing in our country, funded property wouldnot be worth an old song. I could at all times have risked my life indefence of my native land, for the love I bore it; though you will perceivethat I had a double motive to do so; and the more particularly, as, out ofthe interest of my funded capital, I maintained in competence anaffectionate wife and a dutiful son--our only child. The name of my wifewas Agnes, and the name of my son--who, at the time of the alarm, wassixteen--was Robert. Upon their account it often caused me greatuneasiness, when I read and heard of the victories and the threatenings ofthe terrible Corsican. I sometimes dreamed that he had marched a mightyarmy on a bridge of boats across the straits of Dover, and that he had notonly seized my sixteen hundred pounds, but drawn my son, my only son, Robie, as a conscript, to fight against his own natural and lawful country, and, perhaps, to shoot his father! I therefore, as in duty bound, as a trueand loyal subject, had enrolled myself in the Dunse volunteers. Some joinedthe volunteers to escape being drawn for the militia, but I could give mysolemn affidavit, that I had no motive but the defence of my country--andmy property, which, as I have said, was a double inducement. 

I did not make a distinguished figure in the corps, for my stature did notexceed five feet two inches. But although my body was small, no man wasmore punctual on the parade; and I will affirm, without vanity, none moreactive, or had a bolder heart. It always appeared to me to be the height offolly to refuse to admit a man into a regiment, because nature had notformed him a giant. The little man is not so apt to shoot over the head ofan enemy, and he runs less risk of being shot himself--two things verynecessary to be considered in a battle; and were I a general, I would havea regiment where five feet two should be the maximum height even for thegrenadier company. 

But, as I was saying, it was early in the February of 1804, on the secondnight, if I recollect aright--I had been an hour abed, and was lying aboutthree parts asleep, when I was started with a sort of bum, bumming, likethe beating of a drum. I thought also that I heard people running along theroad, past the door. I listened, and, to my horror, I distinctly heard thealarm drum beating to arms. It was a dreadful sound to arouse a man fromhis sleep in our peaceful land. 

"Robie!" cried I to my son, "rise, my man, rise, and run down to the town, and see what is the matter, that they are beating the alarm drum at thistime of night. I fear that"--

"Oh, dearsake, Roger!" cried Agnes, grasping my arm, "what do ye fear?"

"That--that there's a fire in the town, " said I. 

"Weel, " quoth she, "it canna reach us. But on dear me! ye have made myheart beat as if it would start from my breast--for I thought ye was gaunto say that ye was feared the French were landed!"

"I hope not, " said I. But, in truth, it was that which I did fear. 

Robie was a bold, spirited laddie; and he rushed out of the house, cold asit was, half-dressed, and without his jacket; but he had not been absent aminute, when he hurried back again, and cried breathlessly as heentered--"Faither! faither! the Law is a' in a lowe!--the French arelanded!"

I was then standing in the middle of the floor, putting on my clothes; and, starting as though I had seen an apparition, I exclaimed--"The Frenchlanded!--rise, Agnes! rise, and get me my accoutrements. For this day Iwill arm and do battle in defence of my native land. "

"Roger! Roger!" cried my wife, "wherefore will ye act foolishly. Stop athome, as a man ought to do, to preserve and protect his ain family and hisain property. Wherefore would ye risk life or limb withouten cause. Therewill be enough to fight the French without you--unmarried men, or men thathave naebody to leave behint them and to mourn for them. "

"Agnes, " said I, in a tone which manifested my authority, and at the sametime shewed the courageousness of my spirit--"get me my accoutrements. Ihave always been the first upon the parade, and I will not be the last toshew my face upon the field of battle. I am but a little man--the leastbattalion man in the whole corps--but I have a heart as big as the biggestof them. Bonaparte himself is no Goliath, and a shot from my musket mightreach his breast, when a taller man would be touching the cockade on hiscocked hat. Therefore, quick! quick!--get me my accoutrements. "

"Oh, guidman!" cried she, "your poor, heart-broken wife will fall on herknees before ye--and I implore ye, for my sake, and for the sake o' ourdear bairn, that ye winna fling away life, and rush upon destruction. Whatin the name of fortune, has a peaceable man like you to do wi' war or wi'Bonaparte either? Dinna think of leaving the house this night, and I myselfwill go down to the town and procure a substitute in your stead. I havefifteen pounds in the kist, that I have been scraping thegither for thesetwelve years past, and I will gie them to ony man that will take your placein the volunteers, and go forth to fight the French in your stead. "

"Guidwife, " said I, angrily, "ye forget what ye are talking about. TheFrench are landed, and every man, auld and young, must take up arms. Yewould have me to become the laughing-stock of both town and country. Therefore get me my accoutrements, and let me down to the cross. "

"O Robie, my bairn!--my only bairn!" cried she, weeping, and addressing ourson, "try ye to prevail upon your faither to gie up his mad resolution. Ifhe leave us, he will mak you faitherless and me a widow. "

"Mother, " said the laddie, gallantly, "the French are landed, and myfaither maun help to drive them into the sea. I will tak my pistol and gangwi' him, and if ony thing happens, I will be at hand to assist him. "

"Haud, haud your tongue, ye silly callant!" she exclaimed, in greattribulation, "ye are as great a fool as your faither is. He sees what hehas made o' you. But as the auld cock craws the young ane learns. "

I felt a sort of glow of satisfaction warming my heart at the manifestationof my son's spirit; but I knew that in one of his age, and especially atsuch a time, and with such a prospect before us, it was not right toencourage it, and it was impossible for a fond parent to incite his onlyson to the performance of an act that would endanger his life. I thereforespoke to him kindly, but, at the same time, with the firmness necessary toenforce the commands of a father, and said--"Ye are too young, Robin, tobecome a participator in scenes of war and horror. Your young bosom, thatis yet a stranger to sorrow, must not be exposed to the destroying bullet;nor your bonny cheek, where the rose-bud blooms, disfigured with the sabreor the horse's hoof. Ye must not break your mother's heart, but stay athome to comfort and defend her, when your father is absent fighting for yeboth. "

The boy listened to me in silence, but I thought that sullenness mingledwith his obedience, and I had never seen him sullen before. Agnes wentaround the house weeping, and finding that I was not to be gainsayed, shebrought me my military apparel and my weapons of war. When, therefore, Iwas arrayed and ready for the field, and while the roll of the drum wasstill summoning us to muster, I took her hand to bid her farewell--but, inthe fulness of my heart, I pressed my lips to hers, and my tears mingledwith her own upon her cheek. 

"Farewell, Agnes, " said I, "but I trust--I hope--I doubt not, but we shallsoon return safe, sound, and victorious. But if I should not--if it be soordered that it is to be my lot to fall gloriously in defence of ourcountry, our son Robert will comfort ye and protect ye; and ye will findall the papers relating to the sixteen hundred pounds of funded property inmy private drawer; although, if the French gain a footing in the country, Idoubt it will be but of small benefit to ye. And, in that case, Robin, myman, " added I, addressing my son, "ye will have to labour with your handsto protect your mother! Bless you, doubly bless you both. "

I saw my son fall upon his mother's neck, and it afforded me a consolation. With great difficulty I got out of the house, and I heard Agnes sobbingwhen I was a hundred yards distant. I still also heard the roll of the drumrolling and rattling through the stillness of midnight, and, on arriving atthe cross, I found a number of the volunteers and a multitude of thetownspeople assembled. No one could tell _where_ the French had landed, butall knew that they _had_ landed. 

That, I assure ye, was a never-to-be-forgotten night. Every personnaturally looked anxious, but I believe I may safely say, that there wasnot one face in a hundred that was pale with fear, or that exhibited atrace of cowardice or terror upon it. One thought was uppermost in everybosom, and that was--to drive back the invaders, yea to drive them into, and drown them in the German ocean, even as Pharaoh and his host wereencompassed by the Red Sea and drowned in it. Generally speaking, a spiritof genuine, of universal heroism was manifested. The alacrity with whichthe volunteers assembled under arms, was astonishing; not but that therewere a few who fell into the ranks rather slowly and with apparentreluctance; but some of those, like me, had perhaps wives to cling roundtheir necks, and to beseech them not to venture forth into the war. One ofthe last who appeared upon the ground, was my right-hand comrade, JonathanBarlowman. I had to step to the left to make room for Jonathan, and, as hetook his place by my side, I heard the teeth chattering in his head. Ourcommanding officer spoke to him rather sharply, about being so slow inturning out in an hour of such imminent peril. But I believe Jonathan wasinsensible to the reprimand. 

The drums began to beat and the fifes to play--the word "March!" wasgiven--the townspeople gave us three cheers as we began to move--and mycomrade Jonathan, in his agitation, put his wrong foot foremost, and couldnot keep the step. So we marched onward, armed and full of patriotism, towards Haddington, which in case of the invasion, was appointed ourhead-quarters or place of rendezvous. 

I will not pretend to say that I felt altogether comfortable during themarch; indeed, to have done so was impossible, for the night was bitterlycold, and at all times there is but little shelter on the bleak and wildLammermoors; yet the cold gave me but small concern, in comparison of thethoughts of my Agnes and my son Robin. I felt that I loved them even betterthan ever I had imagined I loved them before, and it caused me much silentagony of spirit when I thought that I had parted with them--perhaps forever. Yet, even in the midst of such thoughts, I was cheered by theglorious idea of fighting in defence of one's own native country; and Ithought of Wallace and of Bruce, and of all the heroes I had read aboutwhen a laddie, and my blood fired again. I found that I hated our invaderswith a perfect hatred--that I feared not to meet death--and I grasped myfirelock more firmly, and a thousand times fancied that I had it levelledat the breast of the Corsican. 

I indulged in this train of thoughts until we had reached Longformacus, andduring that period not a word had my right-hand neighbour, JonathanBarlowman, spoken, either good, bad, or indifferent; but I had frequentlyheard him groan audibly, as though his spirit were troubled. At length, when we had passed Longformacus, and were in the most desolate part of thehills--"O Mr Goldie! Mr Goldie!" said he, "is this no dismal?"

"I always consider it, " answered I, "one of the dreariest spots on theLammermoors. "

"O sir!" said he, "it isna the dreariness o' the road that I am referringto. I would rather be sent across the hills from Cowdingham to Lander, blindfold, than I would be sent upon an errand like this. But is it not adismal and a dreadfu' thought that Christian men should be roused out oftheir beds at the dead of night, to march owre moor and mountain, to beshot, or to cut each other's throats? It is terrible, Mr Goldie!"

Now, he was a man seven inches taller than I was, and I was glad of theopportunity of proving to him that, though I had the lesser body, I had thetaller spirit of the two--and the spirit makes the man. Therefore I said tohim--"Why, Mr Barlowman, you surprise me to hear you talk; when our countrydemands our arms in its defence, we should be ready to lay down our lives, if necessary, by night or by day, on mountain or in glen, on moor or inmeadow--and I cannot respond your sentiments. "

"Weel, " said he, "that may be your opinion, and it may be a good opinion, but, for my own part, I do confess that I have no ambition for the honoursof either heroism or martyrdom. Had a person been allowed a day to make asort of decent arrangement of their worldly affairs, it wadna have been saebad; but to be summoned out of your warm bed at midnight, and to take up aninstrument of death in the dark, and go forth to be shot at!--there is, inmy opinion, but a small share of either honour or glory in the transaction. This, certainly, is permanent duty now, and peremptory duty also, with awitness! But it is a duty the moral obligation of which I cannot perceive;and I think that a man's first duty is to look after himself--and family. "

He mentioned the word "family" with a peculiarity of emphasis which plainlyindicated that he wished it to work an effect upon me, and to bring me overto his way of thinking. But, instead of its producing that effect, myspirit waxed bolder and bolder as I remained an ear-witness of hiscowardice. 

"Comrade Jonathan--I beg your pardon, Mr Barlowman I mean to say, " saidI--"the first duty of every man, when his country is in danger, is to takeup arms in its defence, and to be ready to lay down his life, if his bodywill form a barrier to the approach of an enemy. "

"It may be sae, " said he; "but I would just as soon think of my body beingeaten by cannibals, as applied to any such purpose. It will take a longtime to convince me that there is any bravery in a man volunteering to 'beshot at for sixpence a-day;' and it will be as long before fighting theFrench prepare my land for the spring seed. If I can get a substitute whenwe reach Haddington, they may fight that likes for me. "

As we marched along, his body became the victim of one calamity afteranother. Now his shoes pinched his feet and crippled him, and in a while hewas seized with cramp pains in his breast, which bent him together twofold. But, as it was generally suspected by the corps that Jonathan was, at best, hen-hearted, he met with little, indeed I may say no sympathy on account ofhis complaints, but rather with contempt; for there was not a man in ourwhole regiment, save himself, that did not hate cowardice with his wholeheart, and despise it with his whole soul. Whether he actually wassuffering from bodily pain, in addition to the pain of his spirit, or not, it is not for me to judge. The doctor came to the rear to see him, and hesaid that Mr Barlowman certainly was in a state of high fever, that wouldrender him incapable of being of much service. But I thought that he madethe declaration in an ironical sort of tone; and whether it was a fever offear, of spiritual torment, or of bodily torment, he did not tell. Onething is certain, the one frequently begets the other. 

The words of the doctor gave a sort of license to bold Jonathan Barlowman, and his moaning and his groaning, his writhing and complaining, increased. He began to fall behind, and now stood fumbling with his pinching shoes, orbent himself double with his hands across his breast, sighing piteously, and shedding tears in abundance. At length we lost sight and hearing ofhim, and we imagined that he had turned back, or peradventure, lain down bythe way; but there was no time for us to return to seek him, nor yet tolook after one man, when, belike a hundred thousand French had landed. 

Well, it was about an hour after the final disappearance of Jonathan, thata stranger joined our ranks in his stead. He took his place close by myside. He carried a firelock over his shoulder, and was dressed in agreatcoat; but so far as I could judge from his appearance in the dark, Isuspected him to be a very young man. I could not get a word out of him, save that in answer to a question--"Are ye Mr Barlowman's substitute?"

And he answered--"Yes. "

Beyond that one word, I could not get him to open his mouth. However, Iafterwards ascertained that the youth overtook Jonathan, while he waswrithing in agony upon the road, and declaring aloud that he would give anymoney, from ten to a hundred guineas, for a substitute, besides his armsand accoutrements. The young man leaped at the proposal, or rather at apart of it, for he said he would take no money, but that the other shouldgive him his arms, ammunition, and such like, and he would be hissubstitute. Jonathan joyfully accepted the conditions; but whether or nothis pains and groanings left him, when relieved from the weight of hisknapsack, I cannot tell. Our corps voted him to be no man who could findtime to be ill, even in earnest, during an invasion. 

My attention, however, was now wholly taken up with the stranger, who, itappeared, had been dropped, as if from the clouds, in the very middle of awaste, howling wilderness, to volunteer to serve in the place of my cravencomrade, Jonathan Barlowman. The youth excited my curiosity the more, because, as I have already informed ye, he was as silent as a milestone, and not half so satisfactory; for beyond the little word "Yes, " which Ionce got out of him, not another syllable would he breathe--but he kept hishead half turned away from me. I felt the consciousness and the assurancegrowing in me more and more that he was a French spy; therefore I kept mymusket so that I could level it at him, and discharge it at half a moment'swarning; and I was rejoicing to think that it would be a glorious thing ifI got an opportunity of signalizing myself on the very first day of theinvasion. I really began to dream of titles and rewards, the thanks ofparliament, and the command of a regiment. It is a miracle that, in thedelirium of my waking dream, I did not place the muzzle of my musket to mystrange comrade's head. 

But daylight began to break just as we were about Danskin, and my curiosityto see the stranger's face--to make out who he was or what he was, orwhether he was a Frenchman, or one of our own countrymen--was becomingaltogether insupportable. But, just with the first peep of day, I got aglimpse of his countenance. I started back for full five yards--the musketdropped out of my hands!

"Robie! Robie, ye rascal!" I exclaimed, in a voice that was heard from theone end of the line to the other, and that made the whole regimenthalt--"what in the wide world has brought you here? What do ye mean to beafter?"

"To fight the French, faither!" said my brave laddie; "and ye ken ye alwayssaid, that in the event of an invasion, it wad be the duty of every onecapable of firing a musket, or lifting a knife, to take up arms. I can dobaith; and what mair me than another?"

This was torturing me on the shrine of my own loyalty, and turning my ownweapons upon myself, in a way that I never had expected. 

"Robie! ye daft, disobedient, heart-breaker ye!" continued I, "did I notcommand ye to remain at home with your mother, to comfort her, and, if itwere necessary, and in your power, to defend her; and how, sirrah, have yedared to desert her, and leave her sorrowing for you?"

"I thought, faither, " answered he, "that the best way to defend her, wouldbe to prevent the enemy approaching near to our dwellings. "

My comrades round about that heard this answer, could not refrain fromgiving three cheers in admiration of the bravery of the laddie's spirit;and the cheering attracting the attention of the officers, one of them cameforward to us, to inquire into its cause; and, on its being explained tohim, he took Robin by the hand, and congratulated me upon having such ason. I confess that I did feel an emotion of pride and gratificationglowing in my breast at the time; nevertheless, the fears and the anxietyof a parent predominated, and I thought what a dreadful thing it would befor me, his father, to see him shot or pierced through the body with abayonet, at my very side; and what account, thought I, could I give of sucha transaction to his bereaved and sorrowing mother? For I felt a somethingwithin my breast, which whispered, that, if evil befell him in the warfarein which we were about to engage, I would not be able to look her in theface again. I fancied that I heard her upbraiding me with having instilledinto his mind a love of war, and I fancied that I heard her voice requiringhis life at my hands, and crying--"Where is my son?"

At length we arrived at Haddington; and there, in the course of the day, itwas discovered, to the gratification of some and the disappointment ofmany, that our march had originated in a _false alarm_. I do confess that Iwas amongst those who felt gratified that the peace of the land was not tobe endangered, but that we were to return every man to his own fireside, and to sit down beneath our vine and our fig tree, with the olive branchestwining between them. But amongst those who were disappointed, and whoshewed their chagrin by the gnashing of their teeth, was my silly laddie, my only son Robert. When he saw the people laughing in the marketplace, andheard that the whole Borders had been aroused by an accidental light upon ahill, his young brow lowered as black as midnight--his whole body trembledwith a sort of smothered rage--and his eyebrows drew together until theshape of a horse-shoe was engraven between them. 

"Robie, my captain, " said I, "wherefore are ye looking sae dour? Man, yeought to rejoice that no invader as yet has dared to set his foot upon ourcoast, and that you and I will return to your mother, who, no doubt, willbe distracted upon your account beyond measure. But, oh, when she meets youagain, I think that I see her now springing up from the chair, where she issitting rocking and mourning, and flinging her arms round your neck, crying--'Robie!--Robie, my son! where have ye been?--how could ye leaveyour mother?' Then she will sob upon your breast, and wet your cheek withher tears; and I will lift her arms from your neck, and say--'Look ye, Agnes, woman, your husband is restored to ye safe and sound, as well asyour son?' And then I will tell her all about your bravery, and yourfollowing us over the moors, and the cowardice of Jonathan Barlowman, andof your coming up to him, where he groaned behind us on the road--of yourbecoming his substitute, and of your getting his greatcoat, his knapsack, and his gun--and of your marching an hour by your father's side without himfinding out who you were. I will tell her all about my discovering you, andabout your answers, and the cheering of the volunteers; and the officerscoming up and taking your hand, and congratulating me upon having such ason. O Robie, man! I will tell her everything! It will be such a meeting asthere has not been in the memory of man. Therefore, as the French areneither landed nor like to land, I will speak to the superior officer, andyou and I Will set off for Dunse immediately. "

We went into a public-house, to have a bottle of ale and baps; and I thinkI never in my life partook of anything more refreshing or more delicious. Even Robie, notwithstanding the horse-shoe of angry disappointment on hisbrow, made a hearty repast; but that was natural to a growing laddie, andespecially after such a tramp as we had had in the death and darkness ofnight, over moor and heather. 

"Eat well, Robie, lad, " said I; "it's a long road over again between hereand Dunse, and there is but little to be got on it. Take another glass ofale; ye never tasted anything from Clockmill to match that. It is asdelicious as honey, and as refreshing as fountain water. "

That really was the case; though whether the peculiar excellence of the alearose from anything extraordinarily grateful in its flavour, or from mylong march, my thirst, and sharp appetite--added to the joy I felt in theunexpected prospect of returning home in peace and happiness with my son, instead of slaughtering at enemies, or being slaughtered by them--I cannotaffirm. There might be something in both. Robin, however, drank an entirebottle to his own head--that was three parts of a choppin, and a great dealtoo much for a laddie of his years. But in the temper he was in, andknowing by myself that he must be both thirsty and hungry, I did not thinkit prudent to restrain him. It was apparent that the liquor was gettinguppermost in his brain, and he began to speak and to argue in company, andto strike his hand upon the table like an angry man; in short, he seemedforgetful of my presence, and those were exhibitions which I had neverobserved in him before. 

I was exceedingly anxious to get home, upon his mother's account; for shewas a woman of a tender heart and a nervous temperament; and I knew thatshe would be in a state bordering on distraction on account of his absence. I therefore said to him--"Robin, I am going to speak to the commandingofficer; ye will sit here until I come back, but do not drink any more. "

"Very weel, faither, " said he. 

So I went out and spoke to the officer, and told him my reasons for wishingto return home immediately; urging the state of anxiety and distress thatAgnes would be in on account of the absence of our son. 

"Very well, Mr Goldie, " said he; "it is all very right and proper; I have aregard to the feelings of a husband and a parent; and as this has provedbut a false alarm, there is no obstacle to your returning homeimmediately. "

I thanked him very gratefully for his civility, and stepped away up to theGeorge Inn, where I took two outside places on the heavy coach to Dunbar, intending to walk from there to Broxmouth, and to strike up there by thewest to Innerwick, and away over the hills, down by Preston, and home. 

I am certain I was not twenty minutes or half an hour absent at thefarthest. When I entered the public-house again, I looked for my son, buthe was not there. 

"What have ye made of Robie?" said I to my comrades. 

"Has he no been wi' ye?" answered they; "he left the house just after ye. "

Mortal man cannot describe the fear, agony, and consternation that fellupon me. The sweat burst upon my brow as though it had been the warmest dayin summer. A thousand apprehensions laid their hands upon me in a moment. 

"With me!" said I; "he's not been with me: have none of you an idea wherehe can have gone?"

"Not the smallest, " said they; "but he canna be far off--he will soon castup. He will only be out looking at the town. "

"Or showing off gallant Jonathan Barlowman's gun, big-coat, and knapsack, "said one. 

"Keep yoursel at ease, Mr Goldie, " said another, laughing; "there is nodanger of his passing the advanced posts, and falling into the hands of theFrench. "

It was easy for those to jest who were ignorant of a father's fears and afather's feelings. I sat down for the space of five minutes, and to me theyseemed five hours; but I drank nothing, and I said nothing, but I kept myeyes fixed upon the door. Robin did not return. I thought the ale mighthave overcome the laddie, and that he had gone out and lain down in a stateof sickness; and "That, " thought I, "will be a _becoming_ state for me totake him home in to his distressed mother. Or it will cause us to stop anight upon the road. "

My anxiety became insupportable, and I again left my comrades, and went outto seek him. I sought him in every street, in every public-house in thetown, amongst the soldiers, and amongst the townspeople; but all were toomuch occupied in discussing the cause of the alarm, to notice him who wasto me as the apple of my eye. For three hours I wandered in search of him, east, west, north, and south, making inquiries at every one I met; but noone had seen or heard tell of him. I saw the coach drive off for Dunbar. Ibeheld also my comrades muster on the following morning, and prepare toreturn home, but I wandered up and down disconsolate, seeking my son, butfinding him not. 

The most probable, and the fondest conjecture that I could indulge in, was, that he had returned home. I, therefore, shouldered my musket, and followedmy companions to Dunse, whom I overtook upon the moors. It would beimpossible for me to describe my feelings by the way--they were torturestrained to its utmost extremity, and far more gloomy and dreary than thegloomiest and dreariest parts of the moors over which we had to pass. Everyfootstep increased my anxiety, every mile the perturbation and agony of myspirit. Never, I believe, did a poor parent endure such misery before, andI wished that I had never been one. I kept looking for him to the right andto the left every minute; and though it was but few travellers that we metupon the road, every one that we did meet I described him to them, andasked them if they had seen him. But, "No!" "No!" was their unvariedanswer, and my wretchedness increased. 

At length we arrived at Dunse, and a great crowd was there to meetus--wives to welcome their husbands, parents to greet their children, andchildren their parents. The first that my eyes singled out, was a sister ofmy Agnes. She ran up to me. 

"Roger, " she cried, "hae ye seen onything o' Robie?"

The words went through my breast as if it had received the fire of a wholeFrench battalion. I stood stock-still, petrified with despair. My lookstold my answer to her question. 

"Oh, dear me! dear me!" I heard her cry; "what will his puir mother donoo--for she already is like ane clean out o' her judgment about him. "

I did not stop for the word "halt, " or for the breaking of the lines; and Iwent home, I may say by instinct, for neither bird, bush, house nor tree, man nor bairn, was I capable of discerning by the road. Grief andheart-bursting anxiety were as scales upon my eyes. I remember of rushinginto the house, throwing down my gun, and crying--"O Agnes! Agnes!" And aswell do I remember her impatient and piteous inquiry--"Where is myRobie?--Oh, where is my son?--hae ye no seen him?"

It was long before I could compose myself, so as to tell her all that Iknew concerning him; and it was even longer before she was sufficientlycalm to comprehend me. Never did unhappy parents before experience greaterbitterness of soul. I strove to comfort her, but she would not listen to mywords; for oh, they were as the blind leading the blind; we both werestruggling in the slough of despair--both were in the pit of dark, bewildering misery. We sometimes sat looking at each other, like criminalswhose last hour is come; and even when our grief wore itself into a "calmsough, " there was something in our silence as dismal and more hopeless thanthe silence of the grave itself. But, every now and then, she would burstinto long, loud lamentations, mourning and crying for "her son!--her son!"Often, too, did we sit, suppressing our very breath, listening to everyfoot that approached, and as one disappointment followed another, herdespair became deeper and deeper, louder and louder, and its crushingweight sank heavier and heavier upon my spirit. 

Some of his young companions informed us, that Robin had long expressed adetermination to be a soldier; and, on the following day, I set out forEdinburgh to seek for him there, and to buy him off at any price, if he hadenlisted. 

There, however, I could gather no tidings concerning him; and all that Icould learn was, that a regiment had left the Castle that morning at twoo'clock, and embarked at Leith for Chatham, from whence they were toproceed direct abroad; and that several recruits were attached to it, someof them only sworn in an hour before they embarked; but whether my poorRobie was among them or not, no one could tell. 

I left Edinburgh no wiser, no happier, and in no way more comforted than Ientered it, and returned to his mother a sad and sorrowing-hearted man. Shewrung her hands the instant she beheld me, and, in a tone that might havetouched the heart of a stone, cried aloud--"Oh, my lost! lost bairn! Ye haemade a living grave o' yer mother's breast. "

I would have set off immediately for London, and from thence down toChatham, to inquire for him there; but the wind was favourable when thevessel sailed, and it was therefore certain, that, by the time I got backto Dunse, she was at the place of her destination; and moreover, I had nocertainty or assurance that he was on board. Therefore, we spent anotherday in fruitless lamentations and tears, and in vain inquiries around ourown neighbourhood, and amongst his acquaintances. 

But my own heart yearned continually, and his mother's moaning wasunceasing in my ear, as the ticking of a spider, or the beating of astop-watch to a person that is doomed to die. I could find no rest. Iblamed myself for not proceeding direct from Edinburgh to Chatham; and, next day, I went down to Berwick, to take my place in the mail to London. 

By the way I met several of the yeomanry, who were only returning fromDunbar, where they had been summoned by the alarm; and I found that Berwickalso had been in arms. But taking my place on the mail, I proceeded, without sleep or rest, to London, and from thence hastened to Chatham. There again I found that the regiment which I sought was already half waydown the Channel; but I ascertained also that my poor thoughtless boy wasone of the recruits, and even that was some consolation, although but apoor one. 

Again I returned to his mother, and told her of the tidings. They broughther no comfort, and, night and day, she brooded on the thought of her fairson lying dead and mangled on the field of slaughter, or of his returninghelpless and wounded to his native land. And often it was wormwood to myspirit, and an augmentation of my own sorrows, to find that, in secret, shemurmured against me as the author of her bereavement, and as havinginstilled into my son a liking for a soldier's life. She said it was allowing to my getting him, from the time that he was able to read, to takethe newspaper in his hand and read it aloud to my cronies, and in whichthere were accounts of nothing but wars and battles, of generals andcaptains, and Bonaparte, of whom enough was foretold and enough could beread in the Revelations. These murmurings grieved me the more, inasmuch asmy mind was in no way satisfied that they were without foundation. No manknew better than I did, how easily the twig is bent; a passing breeze, thelighting of a bird upon it, may do it; and as it is bent, so the branch orthe tree will be inclined. I, therefore, almost resolved not to permitanother newspaper to be brought within my door. But, somehow or other, itbecame more necessary than ever. Every time it came it was like a letterfrom Robie; and we read it from beginning to end, expecting always to hearsomething of him or of his regiment. Even Agnes grew fond of it, and wasuneasy on the Saturdays if the postman was half-an-hour behind the time inbringing it. 

Full twelvemonths passed before we received a letter from him; and neverwill I forget the delightful sensations that gushed into my bosom at thesight of that letter. I trembled from head to foot with joy. I knew hishandwriting at the first glance, and so did his mother--just as well as ifhe had begun "_dear parents_" on the back of it. It was only to be a penny, and his mother could hardly get her hand into her pocket to give the copperto the postman, she shook so excessively with joy and with agitation, andkept saying to me--"Read, Roger! read! Oh, let me hear what my bairn says. "

I could hardly keep my hand steady to open it; and, when I did break theseal, I burst into tears at the same moment, and my eyes became as though Iwere blind; and still his mother continued saying to me--"Oh, read! read!"

Twice, thrice, did I draw my sleeve across my eyes, and at last I read asfollows:--

"MY DEAR PARENTS, --I fear that my conduct has caused you many a miserableday, and many a sleepless night. But, even for my offence, cruel as it hasbeen, I trust there is forgiveness in a parent's breast. I do not thinkthat I ever spoke of it to you, but, from the very earliest period that Icould think, the wish was formed in my mind to be a soldier. When I used tobe spelling over the History of Sir William Wallace, or the lives of theSeven Champions of Christendom, I used to fancy myself Wallace or SaintGeorge; and I resolved, that when I lived to be a man, that I would be asoldier and a hero like them; and I used to think what a grand thing itwould be for you and my mother, and all my acquaintances, to be readingabout me and my exploits! The continual talking about the war and theFrench, and of their intention to invade Britain, all strengthened my earlydesires. Often when I was reading the newspapers to you and your friends, and about the gallant deeds of any particular individual, though I used toread _his name_ aloud to you, I always read it in to myself as though itwere my own. I had resolved to enlist before the false alarm took place;and, when you and the other volunteers marched out of Dunse to Haddington, I could not resist the temptation which it offered of seeing and beingpresent at a battle. About half-an-hour after you left the town, I followedye, and, as ye are already aware, overtook poor Jonathan Barlowman, who hadfallen behind the corps, in great distress, apparently both of body andmind. He seemed to be in a swither whether to return home, to follow ye, orto lie down and die by the road. I knew him by the sound of the lamentationhe was making, and, accosting him, I inquired--'What is the matter wi' ye, Jonathan! Has ony o' the French, concealed aboot the moors, shot yealready?' 'Oh, ' he replied, 'I am ill--I am dying!--I am dying!--I willgive any money for a substitute!' 'Gie me yer gun, ' said I, 'and I will beyer substitute without money. ' 'A thousand blessings upon yer head, Robie, lad!' said he; 'ye shall hae my gun, and ye may tak also my greatcoat andknapsack, for they only encumber me. Ye hae rescued a dying man. ' I wasnearly as tall as he; and, though his coat was loose about me, when I gotit on, and his musket over my shoulder, and felt that I was marching likean armed knight of old against the invaders of my country, I felt as proudas an emperor; I would not have changed situations with a king. I overtookyou, and you know the rest. At Haddington, the strong ale was too strongfor me. I was also sorely mortified to find all my prospects of becoming ahero blasted. When, therefore, you went out to take our places in thecoach to Dunbar, I slipped out of the room, and hiding Mr Barlowman's coatand gun in a closet, in the house, I took the road for Edinburgh; whichcity I reached within less than three hours; and before I had been in ittwenty minutes I was a soldier. I was afraid to write home, lest ye wouldtake steps to buy me off. On the fourth day after my enlisting I was landedat Chatham, where I was subjected to a perpetual drill; and within thirtyhours after landing, I again embarked with my regiment; and when I wishedto have written, I had not an opportunity. Since then, I have been in twogeneral engagements and several skirmishes, in all of which I have escapedunwounded. I have found that to read of a battle, and to be engaged in abattle, are two very different things. The description is grand, but thesight dismal. I trust that my behaviour as a soldier has beenunimpeachable. It has obtained for me the notice of our colonel, who haspromoted me to the rank of corporal, with the promise of shortly making mea sergeant; and I am not without hopes, before the war is over, (of whichthere at present is no prospect), of obtaining a commission; though itcertainly is not one in a thousand that has such fortune. Hoping, therefore, my dear parents, that, under the blessing of Providence, thiswill find you well, as it leaves me, and that I will live to return to askyour forgiveness, I remain your affectionate and dutiful son, "ROBERT GOLDIE. "

 * * * * *

Such was Robin's letter. "Read it again, " said mother--and I read it again;and when I had done so, she took it in her hand and pressed it to her lipsand to her breast, and wept for "her poor bairn. " At last, in a tone ofdespondency, she said--"But, oh, he doesna once particularly mention hismother's name in't. "

"He surely does, " said I; "I think he mentions us both. "

So I took the letter again into my hand, and, at the foot corner of thethird page, I saw what I had not observed before, the letters andwords--"_P. S. Turn over_. "

"P. S. " said his mother; "who does that mean?"

"Oh!" said I, "it means nobody. It means that we have not read all theletter. "

"Read it a', then--read it a'!" she cried. 

And I turned to the last page, on the fold above the direction, and read--

"P. S. --But how am I to ask the forgiveness of my dear mother, for all thedistress and anxiety that my folly and disobedience must have occasionedher. I start in my very sleep, and think that I hear her yearning andupbraiding. If she knew how deep my repentance is, and how keen my miseryfor the grief which I have caused her, I would not have to ask herforgiveness twice. Dear father! dear mother!--both, both of you forgiveyour thoughtless son. "

These last lines of his letter drowned us both in tears, and, for the spaceof several minutes, neither of us were able to speak. I was the first tobreak silence, and I said--"Agnes, our dear Robin is now a soldier, and heseems to like that way of life. But I dislike the thought of his being onlya corporal, and I would wish to see him an officer. We have nobody in theworld but him to care for. He is our only son and heir, and I trust thatall that we have will one day be his. Now, I believe that the matter offour or five hundred pounds will buy him a commission, and make him anofficer, with a sword by his side, a sash round his waist, and a goldepaulette on his shoulder, with genteel pay and provision for life; besidessetting him on the high road to be a general. Therefore, if ye approve ofit, I will sell out stock to the amount that will buy him commission. "

"Oh, " replied she, "ye needna ask me if I approve, for weel do ye ken thatI will approve o' onything that will be for my bairn's benefit. "

I accordingly lifted five hundred pounds, and through the influence of aParliament man, succeeded in procuring him a commission as an ensign. Ithought the money well spent, as it tended to promote the respectabilityand prospects of my son. 

Four years afterwards, his mother and I had the satisfaction of reading inthe public papers, that he had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant uponthe field, for his bravery. On the following day we received a letter fromhimself, confirming the tidings, which gave us great joy. Nevertheless, ourjoy was mingled with fears; for we were always apprehensive that some dayor other we would find his name among the list of killed and wounded. Andalways the first thing that his mother said to me, when I took up thepapers, was--"Read the list of the killed and wounded. " And I always didso, with a slow, hesitating, and faltering voice, fearful that the next Ishould mention would be that of my son, Lieutenant Goldie. 

There was very severe fighting at the time; and every post was bringingnews concerning the war. One day, (I remember it was a King's fast-day, )several neighbours and myself were leaning upon the dike, upon the footpathopposite to my house, and waiting for the postman coming from Ayton, tohear what was the news of the day. As he approached us, I thought he lookedvery demure-like, which was not his usual; for he was as cheerful, active-looking a little man as you could possibly see. 

"Well, Hughie, " said I to him, holding out my hand for the papers, "ye lookdull like to-day; I hope ye have no bad news?"

"I would hope not, Mr Goldie, " said he; and, giving me the paper, walkedon. 

The moment that Agnes saw that I had got it, she came running out of thehouse, across the road, to hear as usual, the list of the killed andwounded read, and my neighbours gathered round about me. There had been, Iought to tell ye, a severe battle, and both the French and our army claimedthe victory; from which we may infer, that there was no great triumph oneither side. But, agreeably to my wife's request, I first read over thelist of the killed, wounded, and _missing_. I got over the two firstmentioned; but, oh! at the very sight of the first name upon the missinglist, I clasped my hands together, and the paper dropped upon the ground. 

"O Robie! my son! my son!" I cried aloud. 

Agnes uttered a piercing scream, and cried, "O my bairn--what has happenedmy bairn? Is he dead! Tell me, is my Robie dead?"

Our neighbours gathered about her, and tried to comfort her; but she wasinsensible to all that they could say. The first name on the missing listwas that of my gallant son. When the first shock was over, and I hadcomposed myself a little, I also strove to console Agnes; but it was withgreat difficulty that we could convince her that Robin was not dead, andthat the papers did not say he was wounded. 

"Oh, then!" she cried, "what do they say about him. Tell me at once. RogerGoldie! how can ye, as the faither o' my bairn, keep me in suspense. "

"O, dear Agnes, " said I, "endeavour, if it be possible, to moderate yourgrief; I am sure ye know that I would not keep ye in suspense if I couldavoid it. The papers only say that Robin is _amissing_. "

"And what mean they by that?" she cried. 

"Why, " said I to her, "they mean that he, perhaps, pursued the enemy toofar--or possibly that he may have fallen into their hands, and be aprisoner--but that he had not cast up when the accounts came away. "

"Yes! yes!" she exclaimed with great bitterness, "and it perhaps means thathis body is lying dead upon the field, but hasna been found. "

And she burst out into louder lamentations, and all our endeavours tocomfort her were in vain; though, in fact, my sufferings were almost asgreat as hers. 

We waited in the deepest anxiety for several days, always hoping that wewould hear some tidings concerning him, but none came. I therefore wrote tothe War-Office, and I wrote also to his Colonel. From the War-Office Ireceived a letter from a clerk, saying that he was commanded to inform me, that they could give me no information relative to Lieutenant Goldie, beyond what was contained in the public prints. The whole letter did notexceed three lines. You would have said that the writer had been employedto write a certain number of letters in a day, at so much a day, and thesooner he got through his work the better. I set it down in my mind that hehad never had a son amissing on the field of battle, or he never would havewritten an anxious and sorrowing father such a cold scrawl. He did not evensay that, if they got any tidings concerning my son, they would make meacquainted with them. He was only commanded to tell me that they did notknow what I was, beyond every thing on earth, desirous to ascertain. Thoughperhaps, I ought to admit that, in a time of war, the clerks in theWar-Office had something else to do than enter particularly into thefeelings of every father that had a son in the army, and to answer all hisqueries. 

From the Colonel, however, I received a long, and a very kind letter. Hesaid many flattering things in praise of my gallant laddie, and assured methat the whole regiment deplored his being separated from them. He, however, had no doubt but that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and that, in some exchange of prisoners, or in the event of a peace, hewould be restored to his parents and country again. 

This letter gave us some consolation. It encouraged us to cherish the hopeof pressing our beloved son again to our breasts, and of looking on hisfeatures, weeping and wondering at the alterations which time, war, andimprisonment had wrought upon them. But more than three years passed away, and not a syllable did we hear concerning him, that could throw the leastlight upon where he was, or whether he was dead or living. Anxiety preyedsadly upon his mother's health as well as upon her spirits, and I could notdrive away a settled melancholy. 

About that time a brother of mine, who was a bachelor, died in the EastIndies, and left me four thousand pounds. This was a great addition to ourfortune, and we hardly knew what to do with it. I may say that it made usmore unhappy, for we thought that we had nobody to leave it to; and he whoought to have inherited it, and whom it would have made independent, weknew not whether he was in the land of the living, or a strange corpse in aforeign grave. Yet I resolved that, for his sake, I would not spend onefarthing of it, but let it lie at interest; and I even provided in a willwhich I made, that unless he cast up, and claimed it, no one should deriveany benefit from either principal or interest until fifty years after mydeath. 

I have said, that the health of Agnes had broken down beneath her weight ofsadness, and as she had a relation, who was a gentleman of muchrespectability, that then resided in the neighbourhood of Kelso, it wasagreed that we should spend a few weeks in the summer at his house. Ientertained the hope that society, and the beautiful scenery around Kelso, with the white chalky braes[A] overhung with trees, and the bonny islandsin the Tweed, with mansions, palaces, and ruins, all embosomed in aparadise as fair and fertile as ever land could boast of, would have atendency to cheer her spirits, and ease, if not remove, the one heavy andcontinuing sorrow, which lay like an everlasting nightmare upon her heart, weighing her to the grave. 

Her relation was a well-educated man, and he had been an officer in thearmy in his youth, and had seen foreign parts. He was also quiteindependent in his worldly circumstances, and as hospitable as he wasindependent. There were at that period a number of French officers, prisoners, at Kelso, and several of them, who were upon their parole, werevisiters at the house of my wife's relation. 

There was one amongst them, a fine, though stern-looking man of middle age, and who was addressed by the appellation of Count Berthé. He spoke ourlanguage almost as well as if he had been a native. He appeared to beinterested when he heard that my name was Goldie, and one day after dinner, when the cloth was withdrawn, and my wife's relation had ordered the punchupon the table--"Ha! Goldie! Goldie!" said the Count, repeating my name--"Ican tell one story--which concerns me much--concerning, one MonsieurGoldie. When I was governor of the castle La----, (he called it by someforeign name, which I cannot repeat to you), there was brought to me, (headded), to be placed under my charge, a young British officer, whose namewas Goldie. I do not recollect the number of his regiment, for he was notin uniform when brought to me. He was a handsome man, but represented as aterrible one, who had made a violent attempt to escape after being takenprisoner, and his desperate bravery in the field was also recorded. I wasrequested to treat him with the respect due to a brave man, but, at thesame time, to keep a strict watch over him, and to allow him even lessliberty than I might do to an ordinary prisoner. His being a captive didnot humble him; he treated his keepers and his guards with as much contemptas though he had been their conqueror on the field. We had confined hisbody, but there was no humbling of his spirit. I heard so much of him, thatI took an interest in the haughty Briton. But he treated me with the samesullen disdain that he showed towards my inferiors. I had a daughter, whowas as dear to me as life itself, for she had had five brothers, and theyhad all fallen in the cause of the great emperor, with the tricolor ontheir brow, and the wing of the eagle over them. She wasbeautiful--beautiful as her sainted mother, than whom Italy boasted not afairer daughter, (for she was a native of Rome. ) Hers was not a beauty thatyou may see every day amongst a thousand in the regions of the north--herswas the rare beauty amongst ten thousand of the daughters of the sunnysouth, with a face beaming with as bright a loveliness, and I would saydivinity, as the Medici. Of all the children which that fair being boreunto me, I had but one, a daughter, left--beautiful as I havesaid--beautiful as her mother. I had a garden beneath the castle, and overit was a terrace, in which the British prisoner, Goldie, was allowed towalk. They saw each other. They became acquainted with each other. He haddespised all who approached; he had even treated me, who had his life in myhand, as a dog. But he did not so treat my daughter. I afterwards learned, when it was too late, that they had been seen exchanging looks, words, andsigns with each other. He had been eighteen months my prisoner; and onemorning when I awoke, I was told that my daughter was not to be found, andthat the English prisoner, Lieutenant Goldie, also had escaped. I cursedboth in my heart; for they had robbed me of my happiness--he had robbed meof my child; though she only could have accomplished it. Shortly afterthis, (and perhaps because of it, ) I was again called into active service, where, in my first engagement, it was my lot to be made a prisoner, andsent here; and since then I have heard nothing of my daughter--my one, dearchild--the image of her mother; and nothing of him--the villain who seducedher from me. "

"Oh, sir, " exclaimed I, "do not call him a villain, for if it be he that Ihope it was, who escaped through the intrumentality of your daughter, andtook her with him, he has not a drop of villain's blood in his whole body. Sir! sir! I have a son--a Lieutenant Goldie; and he has (as I hope) been aFrench prisoner from the time ye speak of. Therefore, tell me, I imploreye, what was he like. Was he six inches taller than his father, with lightcomplexion, yellowish hair, an aqualine nose; full blue eyes, a mole uponhis right cheek, and, at the time ye saw him, apparently, perhaps, fromtwo-and-twenty to three-and-twenty years of age? Oh, sir--Count, orwhatever they call ye--if it be my son that your daughter has liberated andgone away with, she has fallen upon her feet; she has married a good, akind, and a brave lad; and, though I should be the last to say it, the sonof an honest man, who will leave him from five to six thousand pounds, beside his commission. "

By the description which he gave me, I had no doubt but that my poor Robie, and the laddie who had run away with his daughter, (or, I might say, theladdie with whom his daughter had run away, ) were one and the same person. 

I ran into the next room, crying, "Agnes! Agnes! hear, woman! I have gotnews of Robie!"

"News o' my bairn!" she cried, before she saw me. "Speak, Roger! speak!"

I could hardly tell her all that the French Count had told me, and I couldhardly get her to believe what she heard. But I took her into the room tohim, and he told her everything over again. A hundred questions were askedbackward and forward upon both sides, and there was not the smallest doubt, on either of our parts, but that it was my Robie that his daughter hadliberated from the prison, and run off with. 

"But oh, sir, " said Agnes, "where are they now--baith o my bairns--as yousay I have twa? Where shall I find them?"

He said that he had but little doubt that they were safe, for his daughterhad powerful friends in France, and that as soon as a peace took place, (which he hoped would not be long, ) we should all see them again. 

Well, the long-wished-for peace came at last--and in both countries thecaptives were released from the places of their imprisonment. I havealready twice mentioned the infirm state of my wife's health; and we wereresiding at Spittal, for the benefit of the sea air and bathing, and theSpa Well, (though it had not then gained its present fashionablepopularity, ) when a post-chaise drove to the door of our lodgings. Anelderly gentleman stepped off from the dicky beside the driver, and out ofthe chaise came a young lady, a gentleman, and two bonny bairns. In amoment I discovered the elderly gentleman to be my old friend the FrenchCount. But, oh! how--how shall I tell you the rest! I had hardly lookedupon the face of the younger stranger, when I saw my own features in thecountenance of my long lost Robie! The lady was his wife--the Count's bonnydaughter; and the bairns were their bairns. It is in vain for me todescribe to you the feelings of Agnes; she was at first speechless andsenseless, and then she threw her arms round Robie, and she threw themround his wife, and she took his bairns on her knee--and, oh! but she wasproud at seeing herself a grandmother! We have all lived together inhappiness from that day to this; and the more I see of Robie's wife, themore I think she is like an angel; and so thinks his mother. I have only toinform you that bold Jonathan Barlowman was forced to leave thecountry-side shortly after his valiant display of courage, and since thennobody in Dunse has heard whether he be dead or living and nobody cares. This is all I have to tell ye respecting the _false alarm_, and I hope yeare satisfied. 

FOOTNOTES:

[A] It is evidently from the beautiful chalk cliff near Ednam House (thoughnow not a very prominent object) that Kelso derives its name--as is provedby the ancient spelling. 

HOGMANAY;

OR, THE LADY OF BALLOCHGRAY. 

The last fifty years of mortal regeneration and improvement have effectedmore changes in the old fasts, and feasts, and merrymakings of Scotland, than twice and twice over that time of any other period since it became anation. Every year we see the good old customs dying out, or strangled bythe Protæan imp Fashion, who, in the grand march of improvement of which weare so proud, in the perking conceit of heirs-apparent of the millennium, seems to be the only creature that derives benefit from the eternal changesthat, by-and-by, we fear, will turn our heads, and make us look _back_ forthe true period of happiness and wisdom. But what enrageth us the more is, that, while all our fun of Beltane, Halloween, Hogmanay, Hanselmonday, andall our old merrymakings, are gone with our absentee lords and thanes--

 "Wha will their tenants pyke and squeize, And purse up all their rent; Syne wallop it to far courts, and bleize Till riggs and schaws are spent"--

and to whose contempt of our old customs we attribute a great part of theirdecay--we, in the very midst of the glorious improvement that hassucceeded, are still cheated, belied, robbed, and plundered on all hands bypolitical adventurers, private jobbers, and saintly hypocrites, in anartful, clean-fingered, and beautiful style of the trade, a thousand timesmore provoking than the clumsy, old-fashioned, _honest_ kind of roguerythat used to be in fashion, when folk were not too large for innocentmirth, and not too wise for enjoying what was liked by their ancestors. Thepeople cry improvement--so do we; but we cherish a theory that has nocharm, in these days of absolute faith in politics and parliament for theregeneration of man, that the true good of society--that is, theimprovement of the heart and morals of a great country--lies in a spherefar humbler than the gorgeous recesses of Westminster--the fireside; aplace that in former days, was revered, and honoured, and cherished, notonly as the cradle of morals, but the abode of soul-stirring joys, and thescene of the celebration of many old and sacred amusements which humanizedthe young heart, and moulded and prepared it for the reception of thosefeelings which are interwoven with the very principle of social good. Apolitical wrangle is a poor substitute for the old moral tales of thewinter evenings of old Scotland. Even our legends of superstitious fearcarried in them the boon of heartfelt obligation, which, when the subjectwas changed for the duties of life, still retained its strength, andwrought for good. These things are all gone; and, dissatisfied as we arewith the bold substitutes of modern wisdom, let us use that which theycannot take from us, our books of "auld lear, " and refresh ourselves with apeep at Leslie, in the Hogmanay of 16--. Who has not heard of "Christ'sKirk" in the kingdom of Fife, that place so celebrated by King James, inhis incomparable "Christ's Kirk on the Green, " for the frolics of wooersand "kittys washen clean, " and "damsels bright, " and "maidens mild?" Thatcelebrated town was no other than our modern Leslie; and, though we cannotsay that that once favoured haunt of the satyrs of merrymaking has escapedthe dull blight that comes from the sleepy eye of the owl of modern wisdom, we have good authority for asserting that long after James celebrated theplace for its unrivalled festivities, the character of the inhabitants waskept for many an after-day; and Hogmanay was a choice outlet for theexuberant spirits of the votaries of Momus. 

The day we find chronicled as remarkable for an exhibition of the truespirit of the Leslieans, went off as all days that precede a gloriousjubilee at night generally do. The ordinary work of the "yape" expectantswas, no doubt, apparently going on; but the looking of "twa ways" forgloaming was, necessarily, exclusive of much interest in the work of theday. The sober matrons, as they sat at the door on the "stane settle, "little inclined to work, considered themselves entitled to a _feast_ ofgossip; and even the guidman did not feel himself entitled to curb the glibtongue of his dame, or close up her ears with prudential maxims against thebad effects of darling, heart-stirring, soul-inspiring scandal. On that daythere was no excise of the commodities of character. They might be boughtor sold at a wanworth, or handed or banded about in any way that suited thetempers of the people. The bottle and the bicker had already, even in theforenoon, been, to a certain extent, employed as a kind of outscouts of thearray that was to appear at night, and the gossipers were in that blessedstate, between partial possession and full expectation, that makes everypart of the body languid and lazy except the tongue. Around them theyounkers, "hasty hensures" and "wanton winklots, " were busy preparing thehabiliments of the guysers--whose modes of masking and disguising wereoften regulated by the characters they were to assume, or the songs theyhad learned to chant for the occasion. Nor were these mimes limited to theurchin caste; for, in these days, wisdom had not got so conceited as to beashamed of innocent mirth; and gaucy queens and stalwarth chiels exhibitedtheir superiority only in acting a higher mask, and singing a loftierstrain. The gossips did not hesitate to suspend the honeyed topic, to givesage counsel on the subject of the masking "bulziements;" and anon theyturned a side look at the minor actors, the imps of devilry, who passedalong with their smoking horns often made of the stem or "runt" of a wintercabbage, wherewith that night they would inevitably smoke out of "house andhauld" every devil's lamb of every gossip that did not open her hand and"deal her bread" to the guysers. Both parties, gossips and urchins, understood each other--like two belligerent powers asserting mutual rights, and contemplating each other with that look of half-concealed contentionand defiance, which only tended to make the attack more inevitable. 

The evening set in, and the witching hour--the keystone of night's blackarch, twelve o'clock--was approaching. To go to bed on such an occasion, would have been held no better than for a jolly toper to shirk his bicker, a lover to eschew the trysting thorn, or a warrior to fly the scene of hiscountry's glory; neither would it have been safe, for no good guyser of theold school would take the excuse of being in bed in lieu of the butteredpease-bannock--the true hogmanay cake, to which he was entitled, by "theauld use and wont" of Scotland; and far better breathe the smoke of the"smeikin horn" on foot, and with the means of self-defence at command, thanlie choked in bed, and "deaved" by the stock and horn, the squallingbagpipe, and the eternal--

 "Hery, Hary, Hubblischow, See ye not quha is come now!"

ringing in one's ears during the whole night. The young were out; the oldwere in; but all were equally up and doing the honours of the occasion. Atauld Wat Wabster's door, one minstrel company were singing--"Great is mysorrow;" and Marion, his daughter, with

 "Her glitterand hair, that was sae gowden, "

dealt out, with leal hand, the guyser's bannock. At the very next door, MegJohnston was in the act of being "smecked oot" by a covey of twelve devils, who had inserted into every cranny a horn, and were blowing, with puffedcheeks, a choking death in every blast. One kept watch, to give theconcerted signal when Meg should appear with her stick. On which occasionthey were off in an instant; but only to return when Meg had let out thesmoke, and satisfied herself that she would be no more tormented thatnight, to blow her up and out again, with greater vigour and a denser smokethan before. Farther on, Gib Dempster's dame, Kate, is at her door, withthe bottle in her hand, to give another menyie of maskers their "hogmanay, "in the form of a dram; and Gib is at her back, eyeing her with a squint, tocount how many interlusive applications of the cordial she will make to herown throat before she renounce her _opportunity_. In the middle of thestreet, Gossip Simson is hurrying along, with the necessaries in her lap, to treat her "cusin, " Christy Lowrie, with a bit and a drop; and ever andanon she says, "a guid e'en" to this one, and "a guid e'en" to that; and, between the parties, her head is ever thrown back, as if she were countingthe stars; and, every time the act is repeated, the bottle undergoes aperceptible diminution of its contents, till, by the time she reaches her"luving cusin's" door, it is empty; and honest John Simson, at her return, greets her with--"My feth, Jenny, ye've been at mony a hoose in Christ'sKirk this nicht, if ane may judge by yer bottle. " At the same instant, "Oh, leddy, help yer prisoneer This last nicht o' the passing year, "

is struck up at the door; the stock and horn sounds lustily in the ears ofher whose bottle is empty; and, obliged to send them away without eithercake or sup, she hears sounding in her confused ears--

 "The day will come when ye'll be dead. An' ye'll neither care for meal nor bread;"

and, in a short time after, "Jamie the wight, " an impling, with a tail ofhalf-a-dozen minor and subordinate angels, begin blowing their smokinghorns in at both door and window, till honest John is fairly smoked out, crying, as he hastens to the door--"This comes, Jenny, o' yer lavishkindness to yer cusins, that we hae naethin left in oor bottle, either tokeep oot thae deevils' breath or wash't oot o' oor choking craigs. " He isno sooner at the door than Geordie Jamieson accosts him in the usual style, and says he has come for his "hogmanay;" but John, knowing the state of thebottle, begins a loud cough, in the midst of the smoke, and cries, as heruns away from his house and visitor, (whom he pretends not to see for thesmoke. ) "It's a deevil o' a hardship to be smeeked oot o' ane's ain hoose. "

"Now, " mutters Jenny, as she hears him run away, "I'll no see his face tillmornin; an' he'll come in as blind's a bat. " And out she flies to catchhim; but, in her hurry, she overturns Geordie, just as his lips aremanufacturing the ordinary "Guid e'en to ye, Jenny!"

"The same to ye, Geordie, " says she; and, with that boon, leaves him on herflight. 

The truth was, that John had the same instinctive antipathy against a housewhere there was an empty bottle as rats have against deserted granaries. But, if honest John Simson's house was deserted because Jenny had made toofree with the bottle, Wat Webster's was full, from a reason precisely thevery opposite; for the fair Marion--who had

 "Brankit fast and made her bonny"--

was, in the midst of a company, distributing the cakes and bannocks withmaidenly grace; and many a swain that night was glad, while

 "He quhissilit and he pypit baith, To mak her blyth that meeting-- My hony heart, how says the sang, There sall be mirth at oor greeting. "

And among the rest might now be seen John Simson and his helpmate, and alsoMeg Johnston, who had been--either in reality, or, at least, with semblancesufficient to form their apology for calling where there was plenty ofdrink--smoked out of their own houses, amidst the cheers of the fire-imps. About this time, twelve o'clock was chimed from a rough-voiced bell of theFranciscan Monastery; and, some time after, in came Christy Lowrie, puffingand blowing, as if she too had experienced the effects of the thick breathof the fire-imps; and it might have been a fair presumption that herthroat, like that of some of her predecessors, had been dried frompre-perceived gusts of Wat Webster's whisky rather than the smoke of thefire-angels, had it not been made quickly apparent, from other symptoms, that a horripilant terror had seized her heart and limbs, and inspired hertongue with the dry rattle of fearful intelligence. Never stopping till shegot forward into the very heart of the company, seated round a blazingingle, she sank upon a chair, and held up her hands to heaven, as ifcalling down from that quarter some supernatural agency to help in herdifficulty. Every one turned and looked at her with wonder, mixed withsympathetic fear. 

"What, in God's name, is this, Christy? Is he come?" cried Wat Webster. 

"Oh! he's come again--he's come again!" she replied, in the midst of aneffort to catch a spittle to wet her parched throat. "He's been at WillPearson's, and Widow Lindsay's, and Rob Paterson's--he's gaun his auldrounds--and dootless he'll be here too. O Marion! Marion! gie me a spark toweet my throat. "

The door was again opened, and in came Widow Lindsay in great haste andterror, "I've seen him again!" cried she fearfully, and threw herself down in acorner of the lang settle. 

"Are ye sure it's him, dame?" inquired Meg Johnston, who seemed perfectlyto understand these extraordinary proceedings. 

"Sure!" ejaculated the widow. "Hae I no tasted his _red whisky_; and has itno burned my throat till I maun ask Marion there to quench the fire wi' aspark o' human-liquor?"

The fire in the two terror-struck women's throats was soon extinguished bythe "spark" they demanded; and a conversation, composed of twenty voices atonce, commenced, the essence of which was, that, on the occasion of thelast Hogmanay, a man dressed in a peculiar manner, with a green doublet, and hose of the same colour, a cravat, and a blue bonnet, had, just astwelve o'clock pealed from the monastery clock, made his appearance in thetown, and conducted himself in such a manner as to excite much wonder amongthe inhabitants. Everything about him was mysterious; no person in thatquarter had ever seen him before; there was nobody along with him; he cameexactly at twelve; his face was so much shaded by a peculiar manner ofwearing his bonnet and cravat that no one could say he had ever got aproper view of his features; he carried with him a bottle of liquor, whichthe people, from ignorance of its character, denominated _red whisky_, andwhich he distributed freely to all and sundry, without his stock everrunning out, or being exhausted: his manners were free, boisterous, andhilarious; and he possessed the extraordinary power of making people lovehim _ad libitum_. He came as he went, without any one knowing more of himthan that he was the very prince of good fellows; so exquisite a tosspot, that he seemed equal to the task (perhaps no difficult one) of making thewhole town of Christ's Kirk drunk by the extraordinary spirit of hisexample; and so spirit-stirring a conjurer of odd thoughts and unrivalledhumour, that melancholy itself laughed a gaunt laugh at his jokes; andgizzened gammers and giddy hizzies were equally delighted with his devilryand his drink. Arriving in the midst of frolic as high as ordinary mortalspirits might be supposed able to sublime human exultation, he effectedsuch an increase of the corrybantic power of the laughing and singinggenius of Hogmanay, that

 "Never in Scotland had been seen Sic dancing nor deray; Nowther at Falkland on the green, Nor Peebles at the play. "

But, coming like a fire-flaught, like a fire-flaught he and his red whiskyhad departed; and it was not until he had gone, and one tosspot met anothertosspot, and gossip another gossip, and compared notes, and exchangedshrewd guesses, eloquent winks, and pregnant vibrations of wonderingnoddles, that the mysterious stranger was invested with all the attributesto which he was, by virtue of his super-human powers, so clearly entitled. He was immediately elevated to the place which, in those days, was reservedin every cranium for the throne of the genius of superstition; yea he ofthe red cravat and red liquor was the never-ending subject of conversation, investigation, speculation, and consternation of the good folks of the townof Christ's Kirk. While the terror he had inspired was still fresh on theminds of the people, he returned at the exact hour of twelve on thesubsequent Halloween. He brought again his bottle of red liquor, wasdressed in the same style, wore the same red cravat, and was invested withthe same sublimating powers of extravagant merriment. He went his oldrounds; cracked nuts with the kittys; ducked for the apple, which neverescaped his mouth; threw the weight in the barn; spaed fortunes with theMauses; drank with the tosspots--

 "If you can be blest the day, Ne'er defer it till the morn-- Peril still attends delay; As the fools will find, when they Have their happy hour forborne;"

and, by means of his wild humour and exhilarating drink, set all the sceneof his former exploits in an uproar of mixed terror, jollity, superstition, and amazement. Every one, not possessed of fear, scrutinized him; those(and they were many) who were stricken with terror, avoided him as if hehad in reality been the gentleman in black, as indeed many at that timealleged he was; some who had heard of him, watched to catch a passingglimpse of him; but, wonderful as it may seem, the jolly stranger againdisappeared, and no one, even those who had got royally drunk with him, could say aught more of him than was said on the prior occasion; viz. , thathe was the very prince of good fellows, if he should be the "verybig-horned Deil himsel. " On his second disappearance, the point was nolonger a moot one, "Who the devil he could be?" for the very question, asput, decided the question before it was answered. The point was just aslucid as ever was the spring of St Anthony, and no one could be gravelled, where there was not a grain of sand to interrupt the vision. There was notin the limits of the guid toun a dame or damsel, greybeard, or no-beard, that possessed within the boundaries of their cerebral dominions a singlepeg on which they could hang a veritable or plausible doubt of the truecharacter, origin, and destination of this twelve-o'clock visiter of thegood old town of "Christ's Kirk on the Green. "

Such was the state and condition of public opinion in the town of Leslie onthis most important and engrossing subject, on the breaking of the day withwhich our history begins--this eventful Hogmanay. As the eveningapproached, every one trembled; but the inspiration of incipient drams hadhad the effect of so far throwing off the incubus as to enable some of theinhabitants, and, in particular, those we have mentioned, to go about theforms of the festival with decent freedom; while the guysers and "reekers, "after the manner of buoyant youth, had been flirting with their terrors, and singing and blowing to "keep their spirits up, " in the execution ofwhat they conceived to be a national duty, as well as very good individualfun. But there was little real sport in the case; and we would give it as astanch, and an unflinching opinion, were it put to us, that the terror ofthe stranger, and not a love of the liquor she carried, was the true causeof Jenny Simson's having emptied the bottle before she arrived at theresidence of Christy Lowrie. Nay, more, we might safely allege--and thereis no affidavit in the case--that there might have been more than smoke inthe cause of the rapid flight of John Simson and Meg Johnston from theirown houses to that of Wat Webster; and more than the roses in the cheeks ofthe fair Marion, or Wat Webster's pith of anecdote, that produced thecongregation of individuals round his "blazing ingle, " at the approach ofthe eerie hour of twelve, when it was probable the mysterious strangerwould again appear. Be all this as it may--and we have no wish to overstatea case in which it is scarcely possible to carry language too far--therecannot be a doubt that the bells of the Franciscan monastery, as theytolled, in reverberating sounds, the termination of the old year and thebeginning of the new, on that eventful night, struck a panic into theboldest Heich Hutcheon that ever figured in "Christ's Kirk on the Green. "

The statement of Christy Lowrie was perfectly true. Just as the belltolled, the identical personage, with the red cravat, was seen hurryingforward with his ordinary agility--taking immense strides, and, at times, laughing with the exuberance of his buoyant spirits, on the eve of beinggratified by his darling fun--by the east end of the town. The moon threw afaint beam on him as he passed, and exhibited him first to a company ofguysers who were chanting at the door of Will Pearson--

 "O lusty Maye, with Flora queen. "

The song was cut by a severed breath, and, uttering a loud scream, thewhole party darted off at full speed, and, as they flew, spread thedreadful intelligence, that he of the red cravat was hurrying into the townfrom the east. The news was just what was expected; hundreds were waiting_aperto ore_ to receive it; and the moment they did receive it, they fledto communicate the intelligence to others. Guysers, reekers, gossips, andtosspots, laid down their songs, their horns, their scandal, and theirstoups, and acknowledged their Hogmanay occupation gone. The startlingwords--"He's come, he's come!" passed from mouth to mouth. Some shut uptheir houses, to prevent him from coming into them; and many who weresolitary, sought refuge in the houses of their neighbours. Some went out ofthe town entirely, and sought protection from the abbot of the monastery;and many stood about the corners of the passages and the ends of houses, consulting what should be done in this emergency they had so long lookedfor, and were so poorly provided against. In every quarter, fear reignedwith absolute sway; and if, in any instances, there was exhibited anyportion of courage, it was either derived from the protecting power of acrucifix, or assumed in spite of the collapsing heart of real terror. 

But all this did not prevent the stranger from going through his wontedroutine. His long strides, and extreme eagerness to get again into theheart of his former extravagant jollity, brought him very soon to thethreshold of his old tosspot, Will Pearson, who, with his wife Betty, wassitting at the fire, engaged in a low-toned conversation, on the verysubject of him of the red cravat. The door was burst open--the strangerentered with a loud laugh and boisterous salutation. 

"A good new year to thee, " said he, "Will Pearson!" And he took, at thesame time, out of a side-pocket, the identical bottle, with a long neck, and a thin waist, and containing the same red whisky he had been so lavishof on former occasions, and set it upon the table with a loud knock thatrang throughout the small cottage. 

Will Pearson and his wife Betty were riveted to the langsettle on whichthey sat. Neither of them could move, otherwise they would have either goneout at the back window, or endeavoured to get past the stranger, andhurried out of the door. The quietness of the street told them eloquentlythat there was no one near to give them assistance; and such was theenchantment (they said) thrown over them by the extraordinary personage, that they were fixed to their seats as firmly as if they had been tied bycords. 

"A good new year to thee!" said the stranger again; and he reached forthhis hand, and seized two flasks that lay on a side table, and which theyhad been using in the convivialities of the day. These he placed upon thetable with a loud clank; and, laying hold of a three-footed creepy, he satdown right opposite the trembling pair, and proceeded to empty out the redliquor into the flasks, which he did in the most flourishing and noblestyle of valiant topers. 

"Here, my good old tosspot, Will Pearson!" said he, as he handed to him oneof the flasks. "I love thee, man, and have called on thee the first of allthe inhabitants of Christ's Kirk. Ha! by the holy rude, what a jolly cruiseI shall have!--I have looked forward for it since the last time thou and Ireduced the consistency of our corporations to the texture of souls, through which the moon might have shone, by the power of this inimitableliquor. Ho, man, had not we a jolly time of it last time we met? Drink, man!"

And he emptied his flask, and flung it down upon the table, with a bold andreckless air, as if he did not care whether its continuity might bemaintained against the force of the bang with which he disposed of it. 

Will Pearson was unable to speak a single syllable; and the flask that hadbeen filled for him stood upon the table untouched. He sat with his eyesfixed upon the stranger, and his skin as pale as a corpse. Betty was in thesame state of immovable terror. Every word that fell from his lips was adeath-knell--every drop of his red drink was as much liquid fire--and everylook was a flame. 

"Why won't drink, Will Pearson, mine good old crony?" said he again, withthe same boisterous manner. "What grieves thee, man? and Betty too?--whatloss hast thou sustained? Cuffed by fortune? Broken on her wheel? Ha! ha! Idespise the old gammer, and will laugh out my furlough, though my lungsshould crack in throwing off the burden. 

 "'This warld does ever flight and wary, Fortune sae fast her wheel does cary, Na time but turn can ever rest; For nae false charge suld ane be sary, And to be merry, I think it best. '

Pull up thy jaws, Will Pearson, and pull into them this flask, and thoushalt be again my merry tosspot. "

Will and his wife were still under the influence of their fear, and staredat him in amazement. 

"Well, and thou wilt not, " he cried, rising hastily, "may the Devil take onfor't! My time is counted, and I must stuff as much fun into the compass ofan hour as may serve me for the coming year. Will Pearson, thou and I mighthave had a right jolly time of it. I warrant the gallant Rob Paterson willwelcome me in a different manner. The sight of this is enough for Rob, "(taking up the bottle;) "and as for this--ha! ha! what goodness getteth notthe fire claims. "

And throwing the liquor into the ingle, which blazed up a large and fearfulflame by the strength of the spirit, he sallied out, and at the same momenta loud scream--coming from some bolder investigators, who had ventured nearthe house, and seen the sudden conflagration, followed by the exit of thestranger--rung in echoes all around. But the stranger heeded not thesetrifling indications of the effect of his visit. Resuming his long stridesand pushing-on activity of manner, he soon arrived at the house of RobPaterson, who was at the very moment addressing a figure of the Virgin. 

"A good new year to thee, Rob Paterson!" cried the stranger, as he sat downupon a kind of chair by the side of the table, and, taking out hisstrange-fashioned bottle of red spirits, banged it down with a noise thatmade Rob start and shake all over. 

"Here again, thou seest, Rob Paterson, " continued he. "We must have anotherjolly bout. Thou knowest my time is short. Let us begin, for my body feelsthe weight of its own clay. Before the Virgin, Rob? Ha! ha! man, art goingto die? Come, man--

 "When grim Death is looking for us, We are toping at our bowls; Bacchus joins us in the chorus-- Death, begone!--here's none but souls. "

Drink, Rob Paterson, and thou'lt pray the better to the Virgin. "

And he held out the bottle to Rob, after having put it bodily to his mouth, and taking a long draught as an example to the latter, who was known todespise flasks. Rob turned up his eyes to the Virgin, and got from her someconfidence, if not courage. He looked at the tempting bottle, beautiful inits fulness and total freedom from the contaminating society of flasks ortankards; then he turned a fearful eye on its laughing, rioting possessor, and anon sought again the face of the saint. 

"Hast lost thine ancient spirit, Rob Paterson?" said the stranger. Whathath that spare figure, made of dry wood, to do with the mellow fuddling ofour noses? Come, man--Time flies; let us wet his wings, and keep himfluttering a while over our heads. 

 "'With an O and an I, Now are we furder found, Drink thou to me, and I to thee, And let the cup go round. '"

"But wha, in the Devil's name, are ye?" now said Rob Paterson, after manyan ineffectual effort to put the question. 

"Ha! ha!" answered the stranger, "does Rob Paterson ask a man who isintroduced by this friend of noble red-blood, who he is? Why, man, I am RobPaterson's tosspot. Isn't that enough?"

"No quite, " answered Rob, drawing nearer the Virgin. "Satan himself mightuse the same words; and I crave the liberty to say in your presence, that Ihae nae wish to be on drinking terms wi' his Majesty. "

And Rob eyed him fearfully as he thus alluded to the subject of the town'sfears, and again sought the face of the saint. 

"Ah, Rob Paterson, my once cherished toper, " replied the stranger, "Isorrow for thy change. Thine ancient spirit has left thee, and thou hasttaken up with wooden idols, in place of the well-filled jolly bottle of thyand my former love. Well, may the Devil take on for't!--I care not. Thoumayst repent of thy folly when I am gone. 

 "'Robene thou has hard soung and say, In gesties and stories auld-- The man that will not quhen he may, Sall haif nocht quhen he wald. '"

Never mair, Rob Paterson, shalt thou have offer of spirit of wine. It shallgo there first!"

And, taking a mouthful of the red liquor, the stranger squirted it in thefire, and raised a mighty flame that flared out into the very middle of thestreet, and produced another echoing cry or scream from the terrifiedinhabitants. He departed in an instant, and left Rob in a state ofagitation he had never felt before at the departure of a guest with awell-filled bottle of good liquor. 

The stranger passed out at the door with his usual bold precipitude, andagain plied his long limbs in making huge strides along the street, for thehouse of another crony. He took no notice of the extraordinary demeanour ofthe inhabitants, who were seen flying away from corners and angles wherethey had nestled, for the purpose of seeing him come out in a flame of firefrom Rob Paterson's, as he had done from Will Pearson's. He strode on, neither looking to the right nor to the left, till he came to WidowLindsay's. 

"A good new year to thee, Dame Lindsay!" said he, as he entered the houseby opening the door, which the widow thought she had barred when she shovedthe bolt beyond the staple, and found her sitting by the fire counting herrosary, and muttering prayers, with eyes upturned to heaven. 

"Holy Mary, save me!" she muttered, as she heard him enter by the supposedlocked door. "He's come at last. " And she retreated to a corner of theroom, and prayed fervently for deliverance. 

"Thy throat has doubtless good memory of me and mine, " continued thestranger, as he placed on the table the same extraordinary bottle, theshape and dimensions of which were as vivid in the mind of Dame Lindsay aswas the colour of the red cravat. "My male tosspots have forgot the tasteof my red liquor, " he continued; "but what wet gossip's throat ever forgotwhat nipped it. Come, dame, and let us have a right hearty jorum of thisinimitable drink. " And, for want of better measure, he seized lustily abicker that lay near him, and dashed a quantity of the liquor into it. "Ha!I forgot. Get thee for Meg Johnston thy gossip, dame, and let us be merrytogether. Meg is a woman of a thousand. What a lusty hold she takes of abrimming bicker, and how her eye lightens and brightens as she surveys theswimming heaven under her nose! Come, dame--what ails?"

The only reply he got was a groan, and the rustle of Dame Lindsay'squivering habiliments. 

"By my own saint, this town of Christ's Kirk has a change upon it!" hecontinued. "Last time I was here, it was as merry as King James when hesang of it. The young and the old hailed me as the prince of good fellows, and the wenches and wives--ha! ha!

 "'To dans thir damysells them dight, Thir lasses light of laits; They were sae skych when I them nicht, They squeild like ony gaits. '"

Dame Lindsay, I perceive what thou wantest, to melt thee into thy formerjollity. Thou'rt coquetting in the corner there for a kiss; and, by theholy rude, thou shalt not want it for the space of the twinkling of thineeye. "

He rose for the purpose of applying the emollient he had threatened; but aloud scream evinced that a woman, however much she may worship his SatanicMajesty, cares not for his familiarities. The widow fainted; and what maybe supposed her feelings, when she found, on coming to herself, that thatidentical and terrific red liquor had had a share in her recovery! Againshe screamed; but no kindly neighbour came to rescue her from her periloussituation. Those who heard her cries, had many strange thoughts as to whatspecies of punishment she was undergoing, for her sins. The conjectureswere endless. "What could he be doing to Widow Lindsay?" was the universalquestion. Some supposed that she was in the act of being carried off, andwas struggling to get out of his talons; some looked for the passing flame, in the midst of which, the poor widow, clasped in his arms, would be seenon her luminous journey to the lower world; and there were not few whopretended to find, in the past life of the wretched victim, a very goodlegitimate cause for the visit of the stranger, and the severity he wasclearly exercising towards her. 

"Thou'lt be the better for thy faint, Widow Lindsay, " said the stranger, asshe recovered, "seeing that what blood it has sent from thy heart, will bereturned with the addition of that liquor which is truly the water of life. Dost forget, good widow, that, when I was last here, thou and Meg Johnstonwould have fought for a can of it, if I had not made the can two? Come now, and let us fuddle our noses till they be as red as the liquor itself, andthy spectacles shew thee two noses, before they melt with the heat of theirruby supporter. 

 "'However this world do change and vary, Oh, let us in heart never more be sary. '"

"Avaunt ye! in the name o' the five holy wounds!" muttered the widow, asshe held up the Sathanifuge crow in his face. 

"Well, and if thou wilt not, here goes!" replied he, as he threw thecontents of the bicker in the fire, which blazed up till the house seemed, to those waiting fearfully in the distance, to be in flames. 

Many an eye was now directed to the door and windows, to see Widow Lindsaytake her pyromantic flight through the flaming fields of ether; and theycontinued their gaze till they saw him of the red cravat sally forth, whenfear closed up the vision, and they saw no more. Meanwhile he strode on, singing all the way--

 "Full oft I muse, and be's in thocht; How this false world is aye on flocht, "

till he came to the door of Meg Johnston's cottage. He found it deserted;and then stalked on to honest John Simson's, which was in like mannerempty. 

"What can this mean?" he said to himself, as he bent his long steps to WatWebster's, where fearful messengers, as we have seen, had already precededhim. "My person has lost its charm, my converse its interest, and my drinkits spirit-stirring power. But we shall see what Wat Webster and his DameKitty, and the fair Marion, say to the residue of my authority. Ah, Marion, as I think of thee--

 "'How heises and bleizes My heart wi' sic a fyre, As raises these praises That do to heaven aspire. '"

"Ha! ha! I will there outdevil all my devilries. My fire-chariots have asyet flown off without a passenger; but this night I shall not go homealone. "

And he continued striding onwards in the deserted and silent passage, tillhe came to Wat Webster's, where the collected inmates were all huddledtogether round the fire, in that state of alarm produced by theintelligence of Christy Lowry and Widow Lindsay, and already partly setforth by us heretofore. Bang up went the door. 

"A good new year to ye all!" said he, as he stalked into the middle of theapartment. 

There was a dead silence throughout the company. Marion was the onlyindividual that dared to look him in the face; and there was an expressionin her eye that seemed to have the effect of increasing the boisterous gleeof his mysterious manner. 

"Here we are once more, again, " he continued, as he took out the eternalimp-shaped bottle, and clanged it on the table. 

Every eye was fixed upon him as if watching his motions and evolutions. MegJohnston was busy in a corner, defending herself, by drawing a circle roundher; Widow Lindsay was clinging close to the figure of the Virgin that wasplaced against the wall by her side; Jenny Wilson sought refuge in the armsof honest John; Wat Webster himself got his hand placed upon an old LatinBible, not one word of which he could read; and some followed one mode ofself-defence, and some another, against the expected efforts of thestranger, whose proceedings at his other places of call had been allrelated at Wat Webster's, with an exaggeration they perhaps stood little inneed of. The stranger cared nothing for these indications, not a cinder;and took no notice of them. 

"I'll e'en begin our potations myself, " said he, filling out a flaskful ofhis liquor, and drinking it off. "By him that brewed it, it tastes wellafter my long walk! Wat Webster, wilt thou pledge me, man--

 "'And let us all, my friends, be merry, And set nocht by this world a cherry; Now while there is good wyne to sell, He that does on dry bread worry, I gif him to the devil of hell. '"

And he trowled the flask upon the table while he sung, as a kind of basschorus to his song. 

"There's for thee, Wat!" continued he, filling out a flask. 

Wat kept his hand upon the holy book. 

"Wilt thou, honest John Wilson, pledge thy old friend in this red liquor, which formerly claimed so strong an acquaintanceship with the secret powerof the topers' hearts of merry Christ's Kirk?"

"For the luve o' heaven, " whispered Jenny, as she clung closer to him, "touch it not!--it will scald yer liver like brimstone, and may, besides, be the price o' yer soul's purchase. "

John looked at the liquor, and would have spoken; but his heart failed him. 

"Wilt thou, Meg Johnston, empty this flask to the health of thy oldfriend?"

"Guid faith, I, lad, " muttered Meg, safe as she thought within the walls ofher necromantic circumvallation--"I ken ye owre weel. Ye needna think tocheat me. I'm no a spunk to be dipped in brimstone, and then set lowe to. But [aside] how can he stand the look o' the haly rude! and the haly book?The deevil o' sic a deevil I ever heard, saw, or read o'. Avaunt ye, avauntye, in the name o the seven churches! The deil a bane ye'll get here--yereowre weel kenned. Set aff in a flash o' yer ain fire to Falkland. "

"Wilt thou, Christy Lowry, pledge thine old friend?" continued thestranger, without noticing Meg's recommendation. 

"In guid troth na, " replied Christy, to whom the cross afforded someconfidence. "It's a' out, man--it's owre the hail town. There's nae use inconcealin't langer. Just put a spunk to the neck o't and set aff. Wae! wae![aside] but it's an awfu thing to look the enemy i' the very face, andhauld converse wi' lips that mak nae gobs at cinders! Ave Maria! helpChristy Lowry in this her trial and temptation?"

"Come from thy langsettle, jolly Kate Webster, " continued he of the redcravat, "and let us, as thou wert wont to say, have a little laughing anddrinking deray in this last night of the old year. I see, by the verymouths thou makest, thy throat is as dry as a dander, and, by and by, mayset fire to my red liquor. Ha! I love a jolly gossip for a tosspot; for shegives more speech, and takes more liquor, than your 'breeked' steers thatdrink down the words, and drown them in the throat. Nothing drowns awoman's speech. It strengthens and improves in ale or whisky as if it wereits natural element. Come open thy word-mill, Kate, and pour in the redgrist, lass. "

"The soopleness o' his tongue has been long kent, " whispered Kitty to MegJohnston. 

"Ay, an' lang felt, " replied Meg, in a suppressed tone. "Our sins arenaething but a coil o't. When, in God's name, will he tak flight? I cannastand this muckle langer. "

"Three times have I warded off a swarf, " said Kitty. "The gouch o' hisbreath comes owre me like the reek o' a snuffed-out candle. Will the men nointerfere?"

"Marion Webster, " said the stranger, as if unconscious of the fear he wasproducing, "did I not, sweet queen, dance a jolly fandango with thee, lastHalloween, to the rondeau of love--

 "'Return the hamewart airt agane, And byde quhair thou wast wont to be-- Thou art ane fule to suffer paine, For love of her that loves not thee. '

And wilt thou not pledge thy old friend in a half flask--the maiden'sbumper?"

"I hae nae objections, " replied the sprightly Marion, and took up theflask. 

The company looked on in amazement and terror. The flame would rise on theapplication of the liquor to her lips, and doubtless little more of MarionWebster would be seen on the face of this lower world. While Marion stillheld the flask in her hand, the sound of carriage wheels was heard. Thevehicle seemed to halt at Wat Webster's door. The door opened with a bang. Marion had not time to drink off her "spark, " and, still holding the flask, went to the door to see who had so unceremoniously opened it; he of the redcravat, taking up his bottle, followed with a long stride. A suddenexclamation was heard from Marion; the sound of the shutting of the door ofa carriage followed; then came Jehu's "hap-away, " with three loud cracks ofa whip, and all was ended by the rolling of rapid wheels, lost in a momentin the distance. 

Wat Webster, who had hitherto been chained to his seat, now started up;and, clasping his hands in his agony, ejaculated, that "Marion was off in aflame o' fire. " The fact scarcely required mention--alas! too evident toall the company--that the greatest beauty of Christ's Kirk was away in thetalons of the great Enemy of all good; and the evidence within the walls ofthe house was not greater than what was afforded by the watching crowdwithout. The carriage, which was entirely black, and not unlike a hearse, was seen to come in by the east end of the town, driving with a furiouscareer, the driver (dressed also in black) impelling, with a long whip, theblack horses, from whose hoofs sparks of fire were seen to fly; and neitherhouse nor man seeming to claim his attention, until he arrived at the houseof Wat Webster, where he of the red cravat was known to be. Many followedthe carriage, and many remained at a distance to see who the victim wasthat was destined to be carried off in the strangers' vehicle; for, thatthe coach was brought there for no other purpose than to carry off one whocould command in an instant a chariot of fire, seemed reasonably to beentirely out of the question. Marion Webster, the beloved of the village, was seen to enter, followed by the stranger; and, as the coach flew off, aloud wail burst from the stricken hearts of the villagers, expressive atonce of their fear and of the intense pity they felt for the fate of one somuch beloved, and whose crimes, much less than theirs, merited so dreadfula punishment as that she should be carried off to the regions of sorrow. The evidence, within and without the house, met, and, by the force ofsympathetic similarity, mixed in an instant, carrying away in their course, like floating straws, the strongest doubts that remained in the mind of themost sceptical man in Christ's Kirk, of the hapless daughter of Wat Websterhaving been carried off by the Devil. The town was in the greatestcommotion; terror and pity were painted on every face; but the feelings ofthe public held small proportion, indeed, to the agony which overtook WatWebster and his wife, whose only child she was, as well as their pride, andthat of every one in the whole town. Wat, who saw no use in flying afterSathan--an individual of known locomotive powers--lay extended on the floorof his cottage, cursing his fate, and bewailing the condition of his lovelydaughter, whose entry into Pandemonium, and first scream produced by theburning lake, were as distinct in his eye and ear as ever was his morningporridge, when they boiled and bubbled by the heat of the fire. But Kittywas up and out, with a mighty crowd or tail in attendance, flying up anddown in every direction, to see if any burning trace could be had of herbeloved Marion; for she declared that, if she only got "the dander o' herbody to bury in Christ's Kirk, " she would be thankful to heaven for thegift, and try to moderate her grief. But no "dander" was to be seen. It wasby much too evident that Marion Webster would never more be seen on earth;and, what might naturally add to the grief of her friends, they had nochance of seeing her again in the world to come, unless at the expense of a_condemnation_--a dear passport to see an old friend. Such a night wasnever seen in Christ's Kirk as that on which Marion Webster was carried offby his Sathanic Majesty. 

We have said quite enough to make it to be understood that Marion Websterdid in reality go off in a coach with the stranger who has occupied so muchof our attention; but we have (being of Scottish origin) prudentlyabstained from giving any opinion of our own upon the question of the truecharacter of him of the red cravat. The two drove off together, apparentlywith much affection, and, after they had got entirely beyond the reach ofany supposed followers, they became comparatively easy, and very sooncommenced a conversation--an amusement never awanting when there is a womanwithin reach of a person's articulated breath. 

"What is the meaning o' a' this, Geordie, man?" said Marion, lookinglovingly into the face of the stranger. "Could I no have met ye this nightat the Three Sisters--the trees in the wood o' Ballochgray--without yourcoming to Christ's Kirk, and spreading the fear o' the deil frae town's-endto town's-end? But whar are we journeying to? and what means the carriage?"

The stranger thus accosted by the familiar name by which he was known tothe young woman, smiled, and told her to hold her tongue, and resignherself to the pleasure of being carried through the air at the rate of tenmiles an hour. The moon was now shining beautifully "owre tower and tree;"and ever and anon the maiden glanced her blue eye on the "siller-smolt"scenes through which she passed, and then turned to the face of hercompanion, who seemed to enjoy silently the wonder expressed by her fairface. After rolling on for some time, they came to a road or avenue of tallbeech trees, at the end of which appeared an old castle, on which themoonbeams were glancing, and exhibiting in strange forms the turrets withwhich it was fancifully decorated. The grey owl's scream was borne along onthe breeze that met them, and struck on Marion's ear in wild and fitfulsounds--inspiring a dread which the presence of her mute lover did littleto remove or assuage. 

"Is not that Ballochgray Castle?" said Marion, at last--"that fearfu placewhar the Baron of Ballochgray haulds his court with the Evil One, on everyHalloween night, when the bleak muirs are rife with the bad spirits o' theearth and air. Whar drives the man, Geordie? Oh, tell him to turn awa fraethae auld turrets and skreeching owls. I canna bear the sight o' the ane, or the eerie sound o' the ither. "

A smile was again the answer of her companion, and the carriage still droveon to the well-known residence of the young Baron of Ballochgray--a manwho, knowing the weakness of his King, James the Third of Scotland, in hislove of astrology and divination, and their sister black arts, had, withmuch address, endeavoured to recommend himself to his sovereign, by acharacter pre-established in his own castle, for a successful cultivationof the occult sciences. He had long withdrawn himself from the eyes of theworld, and even of his own tenants, and shut himself up in his castle, witha due assortment of death's heads, charts, owls, globes, bones, astrolobes, and vellum chronicles, with a view to the perfection of his hiddenknowledge; or, as some thought, with a view to produce such a fame of hischaracter and pursuits as might reach the ears of James, and acquire forhim that sway at court for which he sighed more than for real knowledge. Some alleged that he was a cunning diplomatist, who cared no more for thenostrums of astrology than he did for the dry bones that, while theyterrified his servants, had no more virtue in them than sap, and were, withthe other furniture of his dark study, collected for the mere purpose offorwarding his ambitious designs upon the weak prince. His true characterwas supposed to be--what he possessed before he took to his newcalling--that of a wild, eccentric, devil-daring man, who loved adventuresfor their own sake, and worshipped the fair face of the "theekit andtenanted skull" of a bouncing damsel, with far greater enthusiasm andsincerity than he ever did his mortal osteological relics that lay in somuch profusion in the recesses of his old castle. But he had, doubtless, sofar succeeded in his plans; for he possessed a most unenviable fame for allsort of cantrips and sorceries; and the wandering beggar would rather havesolicited a bit of bread from the iron hand of misery itself, than venturednear Ballochgray to ask his awmous. 

"I winna gang near that fearfu place, Geordie!" again cried Marion. "Whathae ye, a puir hind, to do wi' the Baron o' Ballochgray? Turn, for the sakeo' heaven!--turn frae that living grave o' dry banes, an' the weary goulthat sits jabbering owre them, by their ain light!"

Her companion again smiled; and the man dashed up the avenue, and neverstopped till he came to the gate of the castle--over which there wereplaced two human shank-bones of great length, that were said to havesustained the body of the Baron of Balwearie--that prince of the black art, and the most cunning necromancer that ever drew a circle. The carriagestopped; and two servants, dressed in red doublets, (like garments offire, ) slashed with black, waited at the carriage door, with flambeaux intheir hands, to shew the couple into the hall. Out sprang the male first, and then Marion Webster was handed, with great state, and led into theinterior of the old castle. She was led direct into the hall, which waslighted up in a very fanciful manner, by means of many skulls arrangedround the room, and through the eyes and jaws of which lurid lightsstreamed all around. Marion was filled with terror as she cast her eyes onthese shining monuments of mortality; and had, in her fear, scarcelynoticed a man in black, sitting at the end of the room, poring over ablack-lettered manuscript. 

"Marion Webster, " now said her travelling companion, "behold in your oldlover of the Ballochgray Wood the Baron of Ballochgray!"

A scream burst from the choking throat of the terrified damsel, and rungthrough the old hall. 

"Come, love, " he continued, "abate thy terrors. My fame is worse than myreal character. I have wooed thee for reasons known to myself, and to beknown soon to thee. Thou didst love Geordie Dempster; and thy love was weakindeed, if it is to be scared by brainless tongues or tongueless skulls. Wilt thou consent to be the lady of the Baron of Ballochgray?"

"Geordie! Geordie!" cried the wondering, and yet loving maiden, "if I wouldwillingly wed thee in the grave, wi' death himsel for oor priest, shall Irefuse to be yours in a castle o' the livin, filled though it be wi' thaesigns o' mortality?"

"Come forth, Father Anthony!" cried the Baron, "and join us by the rulesand bands of holy kirk!"

The man in black lifted up his head from the black-letter page; and, havingcalled his witnesses, went through the requisite ceremonies; and MarionWebster became, within a short space, the lady of Ballochgray. 

Next day the Baron took her forth to the green woods, where, as theysauntered among elms many centuries old, and as high as castles, he toldher that he had more reasons than other men for having a wife _who couldkeep a secret_. When he first met her, he was struck with her beauty, buthad no more intention than ordinary love adventurers for making her hiswife; frequent intercourse had revealed to him a jewel he had never seen insuch brightness in the _head gear_ of the nobles of the land--a stern andunflinching regard to the sanction of her word. He quickly resolved to testthis in such a manner as would leave no doubt in his mind that asecret-keeping wife he might find in his humble maiden of Ballochgraywoods. He had three times visited Christ's Kirk in such a manner as wouldraise an intense curiosity in the inhabitants as to who he was. Marion hadthe secret only of his being plain Geordie Dempster; but so firmly anddeterminedly had she kept it, that, in the very midst of a general beliefthat he was the Prince of Darkness, she had never even let it be known thatshe had once seen his face before. So far Marion was enlightened; and it isnot improbable that, afterwards, she knew _why_ a secret-keeping wife wasso much prized by the Baron of Ballochgray, and why he could serve twopurposes--that of love, and fame of supernatural powers--in personating, ashe had done, the Prince of Darkness in his visits to Christ's Kirk on theGreen. So far, at least, it is certain that Marion never revealed thesecret of his pretended astrological acquirements. 

For weeks after the marriage, inquiries were made in every quarter for thelost damsel; but, at last, all search and inquiry was given up, and thebelief that she was in the place appointed for the wicked had settled downon the minds of the people. One evening a number of cronies were assembledat the house of the disconsolate parents, and among these were MegJohnston, Christy Lowrie, Widow Lindsay, and others of the Leslians. 

"The will o' the Lord maun be done, " said Meg; "but wae's me! there wasmony an auld gimmer in Leslie, whose horns are weel marked wi' the lines o'her evil days, that Clootie might hae taen, afore he cam to the bonnie ewethat had only tasted the first leaves o' her simmer girse. What did MarionWebster ever do in this warld to bring upon her this warst and last o' theevils o' mortals?"

"It's just the like o' her the auld villain likes best, " rejoined Christy. "He doesna gie a doit for a gizzened sinner, wha will fa' into his hands atthe lang run without trouble. But the young, the blooming, and the bonnyare aye sair beset by temptations; and, heard ye never, Mrs Webster, o'Marion's meetings at the Three Sisters, sometimes, they say, at the deadhour, wi' some lover that naebody ever kenned. "

"Ay, ay, dame, " said Widow Lindsay; "that's just _his_ way. He comes in theshape o' a young lover, and beguiles the hearts o' young maidens. Ye mindo' bonny Peggy Lorimer o' the town's end, wha never did mair guid after shemet a stranger in the woods o' Ballochgray. Ae glance o' his ee, she said, took awa her heart; and, every day after, she pined and pined, and wanderedamang the woods till she grew like a wraith, but nae mair o' him did sheever see. I stricked her wi' my ain hands, and sic a corpse I neverhandled. There wasna a pound o' flesh on her bones; and the carriers at theburial aye said, that there wasna a corpse ava in the coffin. But puirMarion has dreed a waur weird. "

"My puir bairn! my puir bairn!" cried the mother. "The folk o' Leslie ayesaid she wad ride in her carriage, for she was the bonniest lass that everwas seen in Christ's Kirk. But, wear-awins! little kenned they what kind o'a carriage she wad ride awa in on her marriage night. "

"Some folks say, the monks will pray her back again, " rejoined Meg; "but, my faith, they'll hae hard work o't. He'll no let her awa without a fearfutuilzie, Christy. "

"She'll never mair be seen on earth, woman, " answered Christy. "And, evenif she were to be prayed back again, she wad never be the creature she wasagain. A coal black lire, and singit ee-brees, wadna set her auld lovers inChrist's Kirk in a bleeze again. "

"They should watch the smoking field o' Dysart, " cried Widow Lindsay. "Ifshe come again ava, it will be through that deil's porch. But what noise isthat, Kitty? Didna ye hear the sound o' carriage wheels?"

The party listened attentively; and, to be sure, there was a carriagecoming rattling along the street. 

"Get out the Latin Bible, Wat!" cried Kitty. "He's maybe coming to tak usawa next. "

The listening continued; and when the sounds ceased, as the carriagestopped at the door, and the postilion's whip cracked over the restlesshorses, a cry of terror rang through the room. Every one shrank into acorner, and muttered prayers mixed with the cries of fear. The door opened. Every eye was fixed upon it, for no one doubted that their old friend hadreturned. The Baron of Ballochgray and his lady, dressed in the mostgorgeous style, entered the house of the old couple. The sight of the gayvisiters made Wat and Kitty's eyes reel; and they screamed again from thefear that the Prince had come back, only in a new doublet, to exhibit tothem their _sold_ daughter. 

"I beg to introduce thee, " said the Baron, "to the lady of Ballochgray--mywedded wife. "

Marion, without waiting for an answer, fell upon the neck of her father;and then, in the same manner, she embraced her mother; but it was a longtime before the fears of Wat and Kitty were removed. At last, they werepersuaded to accompany them on a visit to Ballochgray Castle; and, whenthey rode off in the chariot, they left behind them the belief that theytoo were carried off by the "Old One. " We cannot pretend to describe thefeelings of Wat and his wife when they were introduced into the old castle;but they soon came to see that the Baron of Ballochgray was just "as guid achiel in his ain castle as ever he was when he acted the Deevil in Christ'sKirk on the Green. "

GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT. 

X. --SERGEANT WILSON. 

It was early on Monday morning, in the cold month of March, Anno Domini1683, that the farm-house of Barjarg, in the parish of Keir and county ofDumfries, was surrounded by dragoons. They were in quest of a sergeant ofthe name of Wilson--a Sergeant Wilson--who had all unexpectedly (for he wasa steady man and a good soldier) deserted his colours, and was nowhere tobe found. The reason why they had come to Barjarg, was the report which oneof Sergeant Wilson's companions in arms had made, that he knew the deserterwas in love with Catherine Chalmers, the farmer's fair and only child. Catherine Chalmers was indeed forthcoming in all her innocence andbloom--but William was nowhere to be found, though they searched mostminutely into every hole and corner. Being compelled, at last, to retirewithout their object--though not without threatening Catherine with thethumbikins, if she persevered in refusing to discover her lover'sretreat--the family of Barjarg was once more left to enjoy its wontedquietude and peace. Adjoining to the farm-house of Barjarg, and occupyingthe ground where the mansion-house now stands, there stood an old tower, containing one habitable apartment; but only occupied as a sleeping room byone of the ploughmen, and the herd boy. There were one or twolumber-garrets besides; but these were seldom entered, as they wereunderstood to contain nothing of any value, besides being dark, andswarming with vermin. Reports of odd noises and fearful apparitions hadbegun to prevail about the place, and both ploughman and herd wereunwilling to continue any longer in a lodgment into which it was their firmpersuasion that something "no canny" had entered. Holding this exceedinglycheap, Adam Chalmers, the veteran guidman of Barjarg, agreed to take anight of the old tower, and to set the devil and all his imps at defiance;but it was observed, that he came home next morning thoughtful and out ofspirits, agreeing, at once, that nobody should, in future, be compelled tosleep in the old tower. He said little of what he had seen or heard, but heshook his head, and seemed to intimate that he knew more than he was atliberty to divulge. Things went on in this manner for some time--reports ofnoises at unseasonable hours still prevailing, and every one shunning theplace after dark--till, one morning before daylight, the whole building wasobserved to be on fire, surrounded at the same time, as the flames were, bya troop of Grierson's men, with their leader at their head. The screamwhich Catherine Chalmers uttered when she beheld the flames, but tooplainly intimated the state of her mind; nor was her father less composed, but went about, wringing his hands and exclaiming--"Oh! poor SergeantWilson! poor Sergeant Wilson!" At this instant, the fire had made its wayto the upper apartment, and had thrown light upon a human head andshoulders, which leaned over the decayed battlement. Every one washorror-struck except the inhuman soldiery, who collected around the burningpile, and shouted up their profane and insulting jests, in the face of thepoor perishing being, who, from his footing immediately giving way, wasprecipitated into the flames, and disappeared. 

"There, let him go, " said Grierson, "dog and traitor as he is, let him sinkto the lowest pit, there to wait the arrival of his canting and Covenantingspouse, whom we shall now take the liberty of carrying to head-quarters, there to await her sentence, for decoying a king's sworn servant and asergeant, from his duty and allegiance. "

No sooner said than done, was the order of these dreadful times. CatherineChalmers was placed in one of her father's carts; and, notwithstandingevery remonstrance, and an assurance that poor Catherine was now a widow, she was placed betwixt two soldiers, who rode alongside the cart onhorseback, and conveyed her to Dumfries, there to stand her trial beforethe Sheriff, Clavers, and the inhuman Laird of Lag. When arrived at herdestination, she was put under lock and key, but allowed more personalliberty than many others who were accused of crimes more heinous in theeyes of the persecutors, than those of which she was merely suspected to beguilty. It so happened, that the quarterly meeting of the court was held ina few days, and the chief witness produced against Catherine Wilson, was aservant maid of her father, who was compelled, very much against her will, to bear evidence to her having seen Sergeant Wilson and her mistress (forCatherine kept her father's house) several times together in the old tower, as well as under a particular tree at the end of the old avenue, and thather mistress had told her that Sergeant Wilson was heartily tired of theservice in which he was engaged. Her own father, too, was compelled toconfess, that he had had an interview with the sergeant, in the tower, whohad confessed to him the marriage, had asked and with difficulty obtainedhis forgiveness, and that he meditated a departure along with his wife, tosome distant place, beyond the reach of his enemies. There was no directevidence, however, that Catherine had persuaded him to desert, or to vilifythe service which he had left; and the court were about to dismiss her_simpliciter_ from the bar, when, to the amazement of all, Catherine rosein her place, and addressed the court to the following purpose:--"And nowye have done your utmost, and I am innocent, in as far as your evidence hasgone; but I am NOT INNOCENT--I am deeply guilty, if guilt ye deem it, inthis matter. 'Twas I that first awakened poor William's conscience to asense of his danger, in serving an emissary of Satan; 'twas I that spoke tohim of the blood that cries day and night under the Altar; 'twas I thatmade him tremble--ay, as an aspen leaf, and as some here will yet shakebefore the Judge of all--when I brought to his recollection the brutalscenes which he had witnessed, and in which he had taken a part; 'twas Ithat agreed to marry him privately, without my dear father's consent, (whose pardon I have sought on my knees, and whose blessing I have alreadyobtained, ) [hereupon her father nodded assent] provided he would desert, and retire with me, at least for a time, beyond the reach of ye all--yemessengers of evil, sent to scourge a guilty and backsliding race; 'twas Ithat visited him night after night in that old tower, which you inhumanlyset on fire, and in which--O my God!"----Hereupon she laid hold of the deskbefore her, and would have dropped to the earth, had not an officer inattendance supported her, and borne her, under the authority of the court, into the open air. She was now, notwithstanding her self-accusation, declared to be at liberty: and immediately, so soon as strength was givenher, retired into the house of an acquaintance and relative, where suitablerestoratives and refreshments were administered. The house where her friendlived was close upon what is called the Sands of Dumfries, adjoining to theriver, which up to this point is navigable, and where boats are generallyto be seen. During the night, she disappeared, and, though all search wasmade at home and everywhere else, she was not heard of. Her father at firsttook her disappearance sadly to heart; but time seemed to have a remedialeffect upon his spirits, and he at length rallied, even into cheerfulness. Things went on for years and years, very much in the old way at Barjarg. The old man's hairs gradually whitened and became more scanty, whilst thisloss was made up for by an increase of wrinkles. The only change in hishabits were not unfrequent visits which he payed to an old friend, he said, in Whitehaven, and from which he always returned in high spirits. It mighthave been stated formerly that, when the ashes of the old tower weresearched, after they had cooled, for the body of poor Wilson, no such bodywas found--but the inference was made by the neighbours, that the remainshad been early removed by his wife's orders, who would naturally wish topossess herself of so valued a deposit. In fact, the whole transactionmelted away in the stream of time, like the snow-flake on the surface ofthe water; and things went on very much us usual. Six long years revolved, and still no word of Catherine Wilson. Many conjectured that she had missedher foot in the dark, and fallen into the river, and been carried out tosea by the reflux of the tide. Others again hinted at suicide, from extremegrief; and some very charitable females nodded and winked something meantto be significant, about some people's not being easily known--and thatsome people, provided that they got a _grip_ of a man, would not be verynice about the object or the manner!

Oh, what a blessed thing it was when King William came in!--and with himcame amnesty, and peace, and restoration! It was upon a fine summerevening, in the year 1689, just six years after the mysteriousdisappearance of Catherine Wilson, that the old guidman of Barjarg wassitting enjoying the setting sun at his own door, on the root of an oldtree, which had been converted into a _dais_, or out-of-doors seat. It wasabout the latter end of July, that most exuberantly lovely of all months, when Adam Chalmers, with Rutherford's Letters on his knee, sat gazing uponone of the most beautiful landscapes which our own romantic country canboast of. Before him flowed the Nith, over its blue pebbles, and through athousand windings; beyond it were the woods and hills of Closeburn, allblooming and blushing in the setting beams of the sun, and rising up, tierabove tier, till they terminated in the blue sky of the east. To the leftwere the Louther Hills, with their smooth-green magnificence, bearing awayinto the distance, and placed, as it were, to shelter this happy valleyfrom the stormy north and its wintry blasts. At present, however, all ideaof storm and blast was incongruous, for they seemed to sleep in the sun'seffulgence, as if cradled into repose by the hand of God. To the south, andhard at hand, were the woods and the fields of Collestown, with the echoingLinn, and the rush of many waters. O land of our nativity!--how deeply artthou impressed upon this poor brain!--go where we will--see what wemay--thou art still unique to us--thou art still superior to all otherlands. 

It was eight o'clock of the evening above referred to, when a chaiseentered the old avenue, passed the ruins of the Tower and the oldmansion-house, and drew up immediately opposite old Adam Chalmers. Thesteps were immediately let down, and out sprung, with a bound, the longlost child, the blooming and matronly looking Mrs Wilson. Behind herfollowed one whom the reader, I trust, has long ago considered as dead, andperhaps buried, her manly and rejoicing husband William Wilson, handing outa fine girl of five years of age, a boy about three, and an infant still atthe breast! It was indeed a joyous meeting; and the old man bustled about, embracing and pressing his child, and then surveying, with silent andintense interest, his grandchildren; taking the oldest on his knee, andpermitting him all manner of intercourse with his wrinkles and his greyhairs. 

One of Lag's troop, the intimate and attached friend of the sergeant, hadconveyed to him, by means of a letter, the fact, that his haunt wasdiscovered; and that Lag had sworn he would search him out like a fox, --inshort, that he would burn the old tower about his ears. A thought struckWilson, that even though he should now escape, the pursuit would still becontinued; but that, if he could by any means persuade his enemies that hehad perished in the flames, the search of course would cease. As he wasoccupied with these thoughts, it occurred to him, that, by placing a coupleof pillows, dressed in some old clothes, which were lying about, and whichbelonged to the former tenant, in the topmost turret of the tower, he mightimpose the belief upon Lag and his party, that he had actually perished inthe flames. Having communicated this plan to his friend in the troop by asecret messenger, he immediately, and without waiting even to advertise hiswife of the deception, departed, and hastened on to a brother's house inthe neighbourhood of Dumfries, where he lay concealed. By the management ofhis friend, the deception was accomplished; for he even swore to thecaptain, that he heard Wilson scream, and jump upwards, and then sink downinto the devouring flames. The trial was not unknown to Wilson, and he hadprevailed upon his brother, with a few friends sworn to secrecy, to assisthim in possessing himself of the person of his wife, in going to or comingfrom the court-house. Matters, however, succeeded beyond his utmost hopes. His spouse was liberated, and, by means of a boat well manned, he reachedDouglas in the Isle of Man in safety, in the course of eight-and-fortyhours. There, at last, he was safe, being beyond immediate pursuit, andindeed being supposed to be dead; and there, by a successful speculation ortwo, with money which had been left him by an uncle, after whom he wasnamed, and who had prospered in the Virginia trade, he soon becameprosperous, and even wealthy. His wife having a natural desire to see herfather, took means to have him apprised of the secret of their retreat. Hisvisits, nominally to England, were in fact made to Douglas; and theRevolution now put it in the power of Sergeant Wilson to return with hisyoung and interesting family to the farm of Barjarg, and to purchase theproperty on which the old house stood, it being now in the market; to refitthe old burnt tower; to rebuild the old castle, and to live there alongwith old Adam for several years, not only in comfort, but in splendour. When engaged over a bottle, of which he became ultimately rather more fondthan was good for his health, he used to amuse his friends with the abovenarrative, adding always at the end--"The burning o' me has been the makingo' me. " The property has long passed into other hands, and is now in thefamily of Hunter; but such was its destination for at least fifty years, during the life of the sergeant, and the greater part of the life of theson, who, being a spendthrift, spent and sold it. 

XI. --HELEN PALMER. 

Helen Palmer was originally from Cumberland; her parents were English, buther father had removed with Helen, an only daughter, whilst yet a child, tothe neighbourhood of Closeburn Castle, to a small village which still goesby the name of Croalchapel. There the husband and father had been employedoriginally as forester on the estate of Closeburn, belonging to Sir RogerKirkpatrick, and had afterwards become chamberlain or factor on the sameproperty. Peter Palmer was a superior man. He had been well educated forthe time in which he lived, and had been employed in Cumberland in keepingaccounts for a mining establishment. The death, however, in child-birth, ofhis beloved and well-born wife, (she had married below her station, ) had, for some time, disgusted him with life, and his intellects had nearly givenway. Having committed several acts of insanity, so as to make himselfspoken of in the neighbourhood, he took a moonlight flitting, with hischild and a faithful nurse, and, wandering north and north, at last fixedhis residence in the locality already mentioned, where he was soon noticedas a superior person by the Laird of Closeburn, and advanced as has beenstated. 

Helen Palmer was the apple of her father's eye; he would permit no one butthe nurse to approach her person, and he himself was her only instructor;he taught her to read, to write, and to calculate accounts; in short, everyspare hour he had was spent with little Helen. There you might see him, after dinner, with Helen on his knee, his forest dog sleeping before him, and a tumbler of negus on a small table by his side, conversing with hischild, as he would have done with her mother; holding her out at arm'slength, to mark her opening features; and then again straining her to hisbosom in a paroxysm of tears. 

"Just my Helen--my own dear Helen anew!" he would say; "oh, my child--mychild!--dear, dear art thou to thy poor heart-broken father! but I willlive for thee!--I will live with thee!--and when thou diest, child, thoushalt sleep on this breast--thou shalt be buried, child, in thy father'sdust; and thy mother and we shall meet, and I will tell her of her babe; ofthat babe which cost her so much, and we will rejoin in divine love forever and ever!"

Oh, how beautiful is paternal affection!--the love of an only survivingparent for an only child--and she a female. It is beautiful as the smile ofProvidence on benevolence--it is strong as the bond which binds the worldto a common centre--it is enduring as the affections which, being cherishedon earth, are matured above!

As Helen grew up, her eye kindled, her brow expanded, her cheeks freshenedinto the most delicious bloom, and she walked on fairy footsteps of themost delicate impression. Her feet, her hands, her arms, her bust, herwhole person, spoke her at once the lady of a thousand descents--ages hadmodelled her into aristocratic symmetry. But with all this, there was arustic simplicity about her, an open, frank, unaffected manner, whichseemed to say, as plain as any manner could, "I am not ashamed of being myfather's daughter. " When Helen Palmer had attained her sixteenth year, shewas quite a woman--not one of your thread-paper bulrushes, which shootupwards merely into unfleshed gentility; but a round, firm, well-spread, and formed woman--a bonny lass, invested with all the delicacy and softnessof a complete lady. Her bodily accomplishments, however, were not her onlyrecommendation; her mind was unusually acute, and her memory was storedwith much and varied information. She knew, for example, that the age inwhich she lived was one of cruelty and bloodshed; that the second Charles, who, at that time, filled the throne, was a sensual tyrant; that Lag, Clavers, Douglas, Johnstone, and others, were bloody persecutors; and thateven Sir Roger Kirkpatrick himself, the humane and amiable in manyrespects, was "a friend of the castle"--of the court--and would not permitany of the poor persecuted remnant to take refuge in the linns of Creehope, or in any of the fastnesses on his estate of Closeburn. All this grievedHelen's heart; but her father had taught her that it was _her_ duty, aswell as his own, to be silent on such subjects, and not to give offence toone whose bread he was eating, and whose patronage he had enjoyed to sogreat an extent. 

There were frequent visiters, in those days, at Closeburn Castle. In fact, with all the chivalric hospitality of ancient times and of an ancientfamily, Sir Roger kept, in a manner, open house. During dinner, thedrawbridge was regularly elevated, and, for a couple of hours at least, none might enter. This state ceremony had cost the family of Kirkpatrickmany broad acres; for, when the old and heirless proprietor of the fineestate of Carlaverock called at the castle of Closeburn, with the view ofbequeathing his whole property to the then laird, the drawbridge was up--hewas refused immediate entrance, because Sir Thomas was at dinner. "Tell SirThomas, " said the enraged visitor, "tell your master to take his dinner, and with zest; but tell him, at the same time, that I will put a betterdinner _by_ his table this day than ever was on it. " So he went on toDrumlanrig, and left the whole property to Douglas of Queensberry. Such, however, was not the reception of some young gentlemen who arrived aboutthis time at the castle of Closeburn, on a sporting expedition, with dogsand guns, and a suitable accompaniment of gamekeepers and other servants. These strangers were manifestly Englishmen, but from what quarter ofEngland nobody knew, and, indeed, nobody inquired. They were only birds ofpassage, and would, in a month or so, give place to another arrival, aboutto disappear, in its turn, from a similar cause. As Helen Palmer was oneday walking, according to her wont, amongst the Barmoor-woods, in herimmediate neighbourhood, a hare crossed her path, followed closely by agreyhound, by which it was immediately killed. Poor Helen started, screamed, and dropped her book in an agony of pity. She had not beenaccustomed to such barbarities; and the poor dying animal cried like achild, too, as it expired! At this instant, a horseman brought up his steedin her presence, and, immediately alighting, proceeded, in the most politeand delicate manner imaginable, to administer such relief as was in hispower. He begged her to be composed, for the animal was now dead, and itssuffering over; and her feelings should never be lascerated again in thismanner, as they would pursue their sport somewhere else, at a greaterdistance from her abode. Upon recovering herself, Helen felt ashamed at herposition, and even at her weakness in betraying her feelings, and, beggingthe stranger's pardon for the interruption to his sport which she hadoccasioned, with a most graceful courtesy she withdrew from his sight. Thestranger was exceedingly struck with her appearance. It was not that shewas beautiful, for with beautiful women he had long been familiar; butthere was something in the expression of her countenance which made himtremble all over--she was the very picture of his father; nay, his ownfeatures and hers bore a close resemblance. The same indefinite terrorwhich had seized this young and exceedingly handsome sportsman hadpenetrated the breast of Helen. The resemblance of the stranger to herself, was what struck her with amazement. There was the same arched eyebrow--thesame hazel eye--and the same dimple in the chin. Besides, there was anall-over sameness in the air, manner, and even step, which she could not, with all her efforts, drive from her recollection. She did not, however, think proper to inform her father of this little foolish incident; but, ereshe went to bed that night, she surveyed herself in the glass with morethan wonted attention. Still, still, she was left in surprise, by comparingwhat she saw with what she recollected--the image in her bosom with that inthe glass. 

Next day, as might have been anticipated, the stranger called to see if shehad recovered from her fright, and spent a considerable time in verypleasing conversation. Her father happened to be in the writing office atthe time, and did not see him. These calls were repeated from time to time, till at last it became evident to all about the castle, that the young heirof Middlefield, in Cumberland, was deeply in love. He had almost entirelygiven up his former amusements, and even railed against the cruelty of suchsports. Mr Graham, a near connection of him of Netherby, was a young personof an excellent heart, and of a large property, to which, from his father'sdeath, by an accident, he had just succeeded. He was besides, one of thehandsomest men in Cumberland; and it was reported that Sir James Graham'soldest daughter had expressed herself very favourably respecting herkinsman's pretensions to her hand, should he _presume so high_! However, his heart was not in the match, and he had made this visit to his father'sintimate friend, in order to avoid all importunity on a subject which wasirksome to him. It is useless to mince the matter. Helen, in spite of herfather's remonstrances and representations, was deeply and irrecoverably inlove with the gallant Graham, and he, in his turn, was at least equallyenamoured of the face, person, manners, mind, and soul, of the lovely andfascinating Miss Palmer. 

There was only one subject on which there was any division of opinionbetwixt the lovers--Helen was every inch a Covenanter; whilst Mr Williamwas rather, if anything, inclined to view their opposition to government asfactious and inexcusable. He did not, indeed, approve of the atrocitieswhich were practising every day around him, and in the parish of Closeburnin particular; but he ventured to hope that a few instances of severitywould put an end to the delusion of the people, and that they would againreturn to their allegiance and their parish churches. Helen was mighty andmagnificent in the cause of non-conformity and humanity. She talked offreedom, conscience, religion, on the one hand--of tyranny, treachery, oppression, and cruelty, on the other--till Mr William, either convinced, or appearing to be so, fairly gave in, promising most willingly, and inperfect good faith, that he would never assist the Laird of Closeburn, orof Lag, in any of their unhallowed proceedings. 

One day when Helen and her lover (for it was now no secret) were on a walkinto the Barmoor-wood, they were naturally attracted to the spot wheretheir intercourse had begun; and, sitting down opposite to each other onthe trunks of some felled trees, they gradually began a somewhatconfidential conversation respecting their birth and parentage. Helendisguised nothing; she was born in Cumberland, and brought here whilst achild; her mother, whose name was Helen Graham, had died at her birth. Atthe mention of this name, the stranger and lover started convulsively tohis feet, and running up to and embracing Helen, he exclaimed--"O God! OGod! you are my own cousin!" Helen fainted, and was with difficultyrecovered, by an application of water from the adjoining brook. It wasindeed so. Out of delicacy, Mr William had made no particular inquiries atHelen respecting her mother; and Helen, on the other hand, knew that Grahamis an almost universal name, in Cumberland in particular. This, therefore, excited no suspicion; but true it is, and of verity, these two similar andaffianced beings were cousins-german. Helen Graham, the sister of the Lordof Middlefield having married beneath her rank, was abandoned by herbrother and family, and her name was never mentioned in Middlefield House. An old servant, however, of the family had made the young heir master ofthe fact of the marriage, and of the death of his old aunt; but he couldnot tell what had become of the father or the child; he supposed that theyhad either died or gone to the plantations abroad; and there the matterrested till this sudden and unexpected discovery. Peter Palmer, the fatherof Helen, was altogether unacquainted with William Graham, as he was a merechild when Peter left Cumberland; and his father had used him so cruelly asto make him avoid his residence and presence as carefully as possible. 

Would to heaven we could stop here, and gratify the reader with a wedding, and as much matrimonial happiness as poor mortality can possiblyinherit!--But it may not be. As Lockhart says beautifully of Sir Walter, wehear "the sound of the muffled drum. "

Sir Roger and all the friends of Mr William Graham were opposed to hisunion with Miss Palmer, as Graham always called her. Her own father, too, was opposed to her forming a connection with the son of one who had treatedhim so cruelly, and, as he thought, unjustly--and it became manifest toWilliam, as he was in every sense of the word his own master, that had hehis fair betrothed in the leas of Middlefield, he might set them all atdefiance, and effect their union peaceably, according to the rules of thechurch. In an evil hour, Helen consented to leave her father's house bynight, along with her William, and on horseback, to take their way acrossthe Border for Cumberland. They had reached the parish of Kirkconnel abouttwo o'clock in the morning, and were giving their horses a mouthful ofwater in the little stream called Kirtle, when a shot was heard in theimmediate neighbourhood--it was heard, alas! by two only, for the third wasdying, and in the act of falling from her seat in the saddle. She wascaught by a servant, and by her lover; but she could only say--"I amgone--I am gone!" before breathing her last. Oh, curse upon the hand thatfired the shot? It was, indeed, an accursed hand, but a fatal mistake. Itwas one of the bloody persecutors of Lag's troop, who, having beenappointed to watch at this spot for some Covenanters who were expected tobe passing on horseback into England, in order to escape from the savagecruelty of their persecutors, had immediately, and in drunken blindness, fired upon this inoffensive group. The ball, alas! took too fatal effect inthe heart of Helen Palmer; and it was on her, and not as Allan Cunninghamrepresents it, "on Helen Irving, the daughter of the laird of Kirkconnel, "that the following most pathetic verses were written--

 "I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries: Oh, that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnel lea!

 "Oh, Helen fair beyond compare, I'll make a garland of thy hair; Shall bind my heart for ever mair, Until the day I dee. 

 "Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropped On fair Kirkconnel lea!"

XII. --THE CAIRNY CAVE OF GAVIN MUIR. 

There is a wild, uninhabited district, which separates Nithsdale fromAnnandale, in Dumfriesshire. It is called Gavin Muir; and, though lonely, and covered with spret and heather, exhibits some objects which merit theattention of the traveller in the wilderness. There is the King's Loch, theKing's Burn, and the King's Chair, all records of King James V. 'scelebrated raid to subdue the thieves of Annandale. Tradition says, whatseems extremely likely, that he spent a night in the midst of this muir;and hence the appellations of royalty which adhere to the objects whichwitnessed his bivouac. But, although the localities referred to possess aninterest, they are exceeded, in this respect, by a number of "cairns, " bywhich the summits of several hills, or rising grounds, are topped. Thesecairns, which amount to five or six, are all within sight of each other, all on eminences, and all composed of an immense mass of loose, water-wornstones. And yet the neighbourhood is free from stones, being bare, and fitfor sheep-pasturage only. Tradition says nothing of these cairns inparticular; or, indeed, very little of any similar collections, frequent asthey are in Scotland and throughout all Scandinavia. Stone coffins, nodoubt, have been discovered in them, and human bones; but, beyond this, allis surmise and uncertainty. Often, when yet a boy, and engaged in fishingin the King's Burn, have we mounted these pyramids, and felt that we werestanding on holy ground. "Oh, " thought we, "that some courteous cairn wouldblab it out what 'tis they are!" But the cairns were silent; and hence thenecessity we are under of professing our ignorance of what they refused todivulge. But there is a large opening in the side of one of these cairns, respecting which tradition has preserved a pretty distinct narrative, whichwe shall now venture, for the first time, to put under types, for theinstruction of our readers. 

The whole hill country, in Dumfriesshire and Galloway in particular, isriddled, as it were, with caves and hiding-places. These, no doubt, afforded refuge, during the eight-and-twenty years of inhuman persecution, to the poor Covenanter; but they were not, in general, constructed for orby him. They existed from time immemorial, and were the work of that son ofnight and darkness--the smuggler, who, in passing from the Brow at themouth of the Nith, from Bombay, near Kirkcudbright, or from the estuary ofthe Cree, with untaxed goods from the Isle of Man--then a separate andindependent kingdom--found it convenient to conceal both his goods andhimself from the observation of the officers of excise. So frequent arethese concealed caves in the locality to which we refer, that, in passingthrough the long, rank heather, we have more than once disappeared in aninstant, and found ourselves several feet below the level of the upperworld, and in the midst of a damp, but roomy subterraneous apartment ofconsiderable extent. We believe that they are now, in these piping times ofpeace and preventive service, generally filled up and closed by theshepherds, as they were dangerous pitfalls in the way of their flocks. Inthe time, however, to which we refer--namely, in the year 1683--they werenot only open, but kept, as it were, in a state of repair, being tenantedby the poor, persecuted remnant (as they expressed it) of God's people. That the reader may fully understand the incidents of this narrative, itwill be necessary that he and we travel back some hundred and fifty years, and some miles from the farm-house of Auchincairn, that we may have oculardemonstration of the curious contrivances to which the love of life, ofliberty, and of a good conscience, had compelled our forefathers to haverecourse. That cairn which appears so entire and complete, of which thestones seem to have been huddled together without any reference toarrangement whatever, is, nevertheless, hollow underneath, and on occasionsyou may see--but only if you examine it narrowly--the blue smoke seekingits way in tiny jets through a thousand apertures. There is, in fact, roomfor four or five individuals. Beneath, there are a few plaids andbed-covers, with an old chair, a stool, and seats of stone. There islikewise a fire-place and some peats, extracted from the adjoining moss. But there is, in fact, no entrance in this direction. You must bend yourcourse round by the brow of that hollow, over which the heather hangsprofusely; and there, by dividing and gently lifting up the heathy cover, you will be able to insert your person into a small orifice, from which youwill escape into a dark but a roomy dungeon, which will, in its turn, conduct you through a narrow passage, into the very heart or centre of thisseemingly solid accumulation of stones. When there, you will have lightsuch as Milton gives to Pandemonium--just as much as to make darknessvisible, through the small, and, on the outside, invisible crevices betwixtthe stones. Should you be surprised in your lighted and fireapartment--should any accident or search bring a considerable weight aboveyou, so as to break through your slightly supported roofing--you canretreat to your ante-room or dungeon, and from thence, if necessary, makeyour way into the adjoining linn, along the bottom of which, you mayultimately find skulking-shelter, or a pathway into a more inhabiteddistrict. Now that you have surveyed this arrangement, as it existed ahundred and fifty years ago, we may proceed to give you the narrative whichis connected with it. 

In the year above referred to, the persecution of the saints was at itsheight--Clavers, in particular, went about the country with his dragoons, whom he designated (like the infamous Kirk) his _Lambs_, literally seekingto hurt and destroy in all the hill country, in particular of Dumfriesshireand Galloway. Auchincairn was a marked spot; it had often been a city ofrefuge to the shelterless and the famishing; but it had so frequently beensearched, that every hole and corner was as well known to Clavers and histroop as to the inhabitants themselves. There was now, therefore, no longerany refuge to the faithful at Auchincairn; in fact, to come there was tomeet the enemy half-way--to rush as it were into the jaws of the lion. Inthese circumstances, old Walter Gibson, a man upwards of seventy years ofage, who, by his prayers and his attending conventicles, had renderedhimself particularly obnoxious, was obliged to prolong a green old age bytaking up his abode in the cave and under the cairn which has already beendescribed. With him were associated, in his cold and comfortless retreat, the Rev. Robert Lawson, formerly minister of the parish of Closeburn; butwho, rather than conform to the English prayer-book and formula, had takento the mountain, to preach, to baptize, and even to dispense the Sacramentof the Supper, in glens, and linns, and coverts, far from the residence ofman. Their retreat was known to the shepherds of the district, and indeedto the whole family of Auchincairn; but no one ever was suspected ofimitating the conduct of the infamous Baxter, who had proved false, anddiscovered a cave in Glencairn, where four Covenanters were immediatelyshot, and two left hanging upon a tree. On one occasion, a little innocentgirl, a grand-daughter of old Walter, was surprised whilst carrying someprovisions towards the hill-retreat, by a party of Clavers' dragoons, whodevoured the provisions, and used every brutal method to make the girldisclose the secret of the retreat; but she was neither to be intimidatednor cajoled, and told them plainly that she would rather die, as hergranduncle had done before her, than betray her trust. They threw her intoa peat-hag filled with water, and left her to sink or swim. She did _not_swim, however, but sank never to rise again. Her spirit had been broken, and life had been rendered a burden to her. She expressed to her murderers, again and again, a wish that they would send her to meet her uncle (as shetermed it) William. Her body was only discovered some time after, when theprocess of decomposition had deformed one of the most pleasing countenanceswhich ever beamed with innocence and piety. 

"The old hound will not be far off, when the young whelp was so near, "exclaimed Clavers, upon a recital of the inhuman murder. "We must watch themuirs by night; for it is then that these creatures congregate and fatten. We must continue to spoil their feasting, and leave them to feed oncranberries and moss-water. " In consequence of this resolution, a strictwatch was set all along Gavin Muir; and it became almost impossible toconvey any sustenance to the famishing pair; yet the thing was done, andwonderfully managed, not in the night-time, but in the open day. Oneshepherd would call to another, in the note of the curlew or the miresnipe, and without exciting suspicion, convey from the corner of his plaid thenecessary refreshments, even down to a bottle of Nantz. The cave was neverentered on such occasions; but the provisions were dropped amidst the rankheather; and a particular whistle immediately secured their disappearance. Night after night, therefore, were these prowlers disappointed of theirobject, till at last, despairing of success, or thinking, probably, thatthe birds had escaped, they betook themselves, for the time, elsewhere, andthe cairn was relieved from siege. Clavers, in fact, had retired toGalloway, along with Grierson and Johnstone, and the coast was clear, atleast for the present. 

It was about the latter end of October, when Mr Lawson was preaching anddispensing the Sacrament to upwards of a hundred followers, in the hollowwhere stood the King's Chair. This locality was wonderfully well suited forthe purpose--it was, in fact, a kind of amphitheatre, surrounded on allsides by rising ground, and in the centre of which three large stonesconstituted a chair, and several seats of the same material were ranged ina circular form around. The stones remain to this hour, and the truth ofthis description can be verified by any one who crosses Gavin Muir. It wasa moonlight night--a harvest moon--and Mr Lawson, having handed theSacramental cup around, was in the act of concluding with prayer, when thenote of a bird, seemingly a plover, was heard at a great distance. It wasresponded to by a similar call, somewhat nearer; and, in an instant, amessenger rushed in upon their retreat, out of breath, and exclaiming, "Youare lost!--you are all dead men!--Clavers is within sight, and at fullgallop, with all his troop at his back. "

One advantage which the poor persecuted had over their persecutors, was asuperior knowledge of localities. In an instant the hollow was tenantless;for the inmates had fled in all directions, and to various coverts andoutlets into the vale of Annan. The minister alone remained at his postcontinuing in ejaculatory prayer, and resisting all persuasion even to takeadvantage of the adjoining cairny cave. In vain did Walter Gibson delaytill the last moment, and talk of his farther usefulness. Mr Lawson's onlyanswer was--"I am in the hands of a merciful Master, and, if he has moreservice for me, he himself will provide a way for my escape. I have neitherwife nor child, nor, I may say, relation, alive. I am, as it were, astranger in the land of duty. If the Lord so will it that the man of bloodshall prevail over me, he will raise up others in my stead, fitter to servehim effectually than ever I have been; but, Walter, _you_ have a bonnyfamily of grandchildren around you, and your ain daughter the mother ofthem a', to bless you, and hear you speak the words of counselling andwisdom; so, make you for the cave and the cairn out by yonder--I will e'enremain where I am, and the Lord's will be done!" Seeing that all persuasionwas unavailable, and that, by delaying his flight, he would only sacrificehis own life, without saving that of his friend, Walter appeared to takehis departure for his place of refuge. It was neither Clavers, however, norLag, nor Johnstone, nor Winram, who was upon them; but only CaptainDouglas, from Drumlanrig, to which place secret information of the night's_wark_, as it was termed, had been conveyed. Captain Douglas' hands werered with blood; he had shot poor Daniel M'Michan in Dalveen Glen, and hadgiven word of command to blow out his brother's brains, as has been alreadyrecorded in the notices of these times. One of his troop had been woundedin the affair at Dalveen, and he was literally furious with rage and thethirst of blood. Down, therefore, Douglas came with about half-a-dozen men, (the rest being on duty in Galloway, ) determined to kill or be killed--toput an end to these nightly conventicles, or perish in the attempt. 

Mr Lawson had taken his position in the King's Chair, which, as wasformerly described, consisted of three large stones set on end, around onein the centre, which served as a seat; and when Douglas came in sight, nothing appeared visible in the moonshine but these solitary stones. 

"They are off, by G----d!" exclaimed Douglas; "the fox has broken cover--wemust continue the chase; and Rob, " added he, to one who rode near him, "blaw that bugle till it crack again. When you start the old fox, I shouldlike mightily to be at the death. But--so ho!--what have we here?--why, here are bottles and a cup, by Jove! These friends of the Covenant are noenemies, I perceive, to good cheer"--putting the bottle to his mouth, andmaking a long pull--"by the living Jingo! most excellent wine. Here, Rob, "emptying what remained into the silver goblet or cup, "here, line yourweasan with a drop of the red, and then for the red heart's blood of thesepsalm-singing, cup-kissing gentry. So ho--so ho!--hilloa--one and all--thefox is under cover still, " (advancing towards the stone chair, ) "and wethought him afield, too. Stand forth, old Canticles, 5 and 8th, and let ussee whether you have got one or five bottles under your belt. What! youwon't, or you can't stand! Grunt again!--you are made of stone, areyou?--why, then, we will try your qualities with a little burnt powder andlead. Gentlemen of the horse-brigade, do you alight, and be d----d to you, and, just by way of experiment, rattle me half-a-dozen bullets in the faceof that there image of stone, which looks so mighty like the parson ofCloseburn that one might easily mistake the one for the other. "

The men had alighted with their holster pistols, and had arrangedthemselves, as directed, in the front of the stone chair, and with a fullview of the figure which occupied the seat, when, at this very criticaljuncture, a band of upwards of fifty horses, with panniers on their backs, came up at a smart trot. 

"Stop your hellish speed!" said a voice from the front of the band; "or, bythis broadsword, and these long six-footers, you are all dead men, ere youcan say, Present, fire!" Instantly, Douglas saw and comprehended hisposition--"To horse!" was his short exhortation, and, in an instant, hisfive followers and himself had cleared the brow of the glen, and were outof sight at full speed. "Shed not their blood!--shed not their blood!"continued to exclaim a well-known voice amongst the band of smugglers--forsuch the reader may have guessed they were. It was the voice of WalterGibson, well known to many of the smugglers; for again and again they hadsupplied Auchincairn with Hollands and Nantz. "Shed not one drop of blood, I say; but leave them to Him who has said, 'Vengeance is mine, and I willrepay it;'--He will find His own time of revenging the death of my poormurdered bairn, whom they drowned in the King's Moss, owre by there. But, dear me, Mr Lawson, are ye dead or living, that ye tak nae tent o' what'sgoing on?" In fact, Mr Lawson, having given himself up as lost, hadcommitted himself, with shut eyes, so intently to prayer, that he had but avery confused notion of what had happened. 

"The Lord's will be done!" he exclaimed at last; "and is this you, WalterGibson?--fearful! fearful!--are these the Philistines around you?--and areyou and I to travel, hand in hand, into Immanuel's land?--or, but do mypoor eyes deceive me, and are these only our good friends, the fairtraders, come to the rescue, under God and his mercy, in the time of ourneed?"

"Indeed, " responded a known voice--that, namely, at whose bidding the workof death had been staid--"indeed, Mr Lawson, we are friends and not foes;and, whilst our cattle, which are a little blawn, with the haste into whichthey were hurried by old Walter here--until the beasts bite, I say, and eattheir corn, we will e'en thank God, and take a little whet of the creature. You know, such comforts are not forbidden in the laws of Moses, or, indeed, in any laws but those of this persecuted and oppressed land. "

So saying, he disengaged from a hamper a flagon of Nantz, and was about tomake use of the Sacramental cup, which Douglas had dropped, to convey itaround, when his arm was arrested by the still strong hand of Walter. 

"For the sake of God and his church--of Him who shed his blood for poorsinners--profane not, I beseech you, the consecrated, the hallowed vesselwhich I have so lately held in these vile hands as the emblem of mypurification through the blood of sprinkling--profane not, I say, thatvessel which, when all worldly goods were forfeited and relinquished asthings of no value, our worthy pastor has borne along with him--being thegift of his parishioners--to the mountain and the glen--to the desert andthe wilderness!"

There needed no further admonition; the cup was deposited in the hands ofits owner, and the whole _posse comitatus_ spread themselves out on thegrass--for, though all around was heath, this little spot was green andlovely--and, by applying the vessel directly to their lips, each one took adraught so long and hearty that the captain or leader had again and againto replenish the measure. Nor were Lawson and old Walter Gibson behind inthis work of refreshment. Many a day they had laid themselves down to restin the damp and cold cave, with little of food and with nothing to cheerand support them but a mouthful, from time to time, of the _Solwaywaters_--viz. , _smuggled brandy_. We are all the children, to a greatamount, of circumstances; and the very men who, but a little ago, wereengaged in the most solemn act of religion, and counted themselves as atthe point of death--these very men were now so much cheered, and evenexhilarated, by the reviving cordial, that they forgot, for the time, theirdangers and their privations, and were not displeased to hear the smugglerssing the old song, "We are merry men all, " when a figure approached, out ofbreath, exclaiming--

"The gaugers! the gaugers!--the excisemen from Dumfries!"

In an instant the whole troop stood to arms. They had beenwell-disciplined; and the horses, along with the parson and Walter, werestowed away, as they called it, behind. They spoke not; but there was theclick of gunlocks, and a powerful _recover_, on the ground, of heavymuskets, with barrels fully six feet long, which had been used by theirforefathers in the times of the first Charles and the civil commotion. Theenemy came up at the gallop; but they had plainly miscalculated the forcesof their opponents--_they_ were only about fifteen strong; so, wheelingsuddenly round, they took their departure with as much dispatch as they hadadvanced. 

"We must off instantly!" exclaimed the leader of this trading band. "Wemust gain the pass of Enterkin ere day-dawn; for these good neighbours willmake common cause with the King's troops, whenever they meet them, andthere will be bloody work, I trow, ere these kegs and good steeds changemasters. "

So saying, the march immediately proceeded up Gavin Muir, and the ministerand Walter took possession of their usual retreat--the Cairny Cave I haveso often referred to. 

Douglas was not thus, by accident, to be foiled in his object; for having, in the course of a few days, obtained additional forces from Galloway, hereturned to the search in Gavin Muir, where he had, again and again, beentold meetings still continued to be held, and some caves of concealmentexisted. Old Lauderdale in council had one day said--"Why, run down thedevils, like the natives of Jamaica, with blood-hounds. " And the hint wasnot lost on bloody Clavers--he had actually a pair of hounds of thisdescription with him in Galloway at this time; and, at his earnest request, Douglas was favoured with one of them. Down, therefore, this monster cameupon Gavin Muir, not to shoot blackcocks or muirfowl, in which it abounded, but to track, and start and pistol, if necessary, poor, shivering, half-starved human beings, who had dared to think the laws of their Godmore binding than the empire and despotism of sinful men. The game was amerry one, and it was played by "merry men all:" forward went the houndthrough muirs and mosses; onward came the troop, hallooing and encouragingthe animal in pursuit of its horrid instincts. As they passed the moss-holein which the poor grand-daughter of Walter had been suffocated, the jest, and the oath, and the merriment were at their utmost. 

"Had we but a slice of the young pup, " said one, "to flesh our hound with, he would soon scent out the old one--they are kindred blood, you know. Butwhat do I see?--old Bloody, is it, on the top of the cairn yonder?--andscooping, nosing, and giving tongue most determinedly. By the holypoker!--and that's a sanctified oath--I will on and see what's agoinghere. " Thus saying, he put spurs to his horse, and, waving his sword roundhis head, "Here goes for old Watty!--and may the devil burn me if I do notunearth the fox at last!" Onwards they all advanced at the gallop; but JackJohnston was greatly in front, and had dashed his horse half-way up thesteep cairn, when, in an instant, horse and man rushed down, andimmediately disappeared. 

"Why, " said Douglas, "what has become of Jack?--has old Sooty smelt him, and sent for him, on a short warning, to help in roasting Covenanters?--orhave the fairies, those fair dames of the green knowe and the grey cairn, seen and admired his proportions, and made a young 'Tam Lean' of poor JackJohnston? Let us on and see. "

And see to be sure they did; for there was Jack, lying in the last agoniesof death, under his horse, which itself was lamed and lying with feetuppermost. The horrid hound was lapping, with a growl, the blood whichoozed from the nose and lips of the dying man, and with a dreadful curse, the terrible being expired, just as the party came within view. He hadtumbled headlong, owing to the pressure from the horse's feet, through theslight rafter-work beneath, and had pitched head-foremost against a stoneseat, in consequence of which his skull was fractured, and his immediatedeath ensued. Douglas looked like one bewildered, he would scarcely credithis eyes; but his companion in arms did the needful; and Jack Johnston'sbody was removed, his horse shot through the brain, and the whole bandreturned, drooping and crestfallen, to Drumlanrig. Throwing his sword downon the hall table when he arrived, he was heard to say, looking wildly andfearfully all the while, "The hand of God is in this thing, and I knew itnot. " It is a curious fact, but one of which my informant had no doubt, that this very Douglas became, after this, quite an altered man. Mr Lawson, who lived some years after his death, attended upon him in his lastillness. "God only knows the heart, " would he say; "but, to all _outward_appearance, William Douglas was a cleansed and a sanctified vessel: themercy of God is infinite--it even extended to the thief on the cross. "

XIII. --PORTER'S HOLE. 

In the west corner of the churchyard of Dalgarno--now a section of theparish of Closeburn--there is a small, but neat headstone, with two figuresjoining hands, as if in the attitude of marrying. Beneath is written, andstill legible--"John Porter and Augnas Milligan. They were lovely in theirlives, and in their deaths they were not divided. " There is neither datenor narrative; but, as this part of the churchyard has not been used as aburial-ground since the union of the parishes, in the reign of Charles theSecond, the date must have been some time betwixt 1660 and 1684. Thisbeautiful and sequestered churchyard, all silent and cheerless as it is, lies upon the banks of the Nith, immediately upon its union with the ocean;and near to the most famous salmon-fishing pool in the whole river, calledPorter's Hole. Whilst yet a boy, and attending Closeburn school, ourattention was, one sunny afternoon, (when the trouts were unwilling tovisit the dry land, ) drawn to the little stone in the corner, of which wehave just made mention, and recollecting, at the same time, that Porter wasthe name of the pool, as well as of the person buried, we began tospeculate upon the possibility of there being some connection betwixt thetwo circumstances--the name of the individual, and the well-knowndesignation of the blackest and deepest pool in the Closeburn part of theriver. Near to this solitary restingplace of the ashes of ourforefathers--the Harknesses, the Gibsons, and the Watsons of Closeburn fromtime immemorial--there stood, at that time, an old cottage, straw or rather_grass_-thatched, (for it was covered with green chicken-weed, ) wheredwelt, in single solitude, Janet M'Guffoch--whether any relation of thecelebrated individual of that name mentioned by Sir Walter Scott, we knownot--but there dwelt Janet, a discontented, old waspish body of one hundredyears of age, according to general belief; and, being accompanied by ablack cat and a broom besom, was marked by us _boys_ as a decided witch. Wenever had any doubt about it, and the thing was confirmed by the Laird ofCloseburn's gamekeeper, who swore that he had often hunted hares to Janet'sdoor; but never could start them again. Under all these circumstances, itrequired no common impulse to induce us to enter the den of this emissaryof Satan; but our curiosity was excited by the similarity of the names"Porter's Grave" and "Porter's Hole, " (as the pool was familiarly named, )and we at length mustered faith, and strength, and courage to thrustourselves past a bundle of withered twigs, which served Janet as a door insummer, and as a door-protector in the blasts of winter. Janet was as usualat her wheel, and crooning some old Covenanting ditty, about--

 "Oh, gin Lag were dead and streekit, An' that his ha' wi' mools was theekit!"

when, by means of a six-inch-square skylight, our physiognomy becamevisible to Janet. 

"And what art thou, that's creeping into an old body's dark den, andleaving ahint thee the guid sunshine?"

We responded by mentioning our name. 

"Ay, ay, " said Janet, "come away and sit thee down on the creepy there, beside the heidstane[B]--thou art freely welcome, for thou art o' the seedo' the faithful, the precious salt of the earth: and the blessing of theGod of the Covenant will rest upon its children, even to the third and thefourth generation!" Thus welcomed, we took our position as requested, eyeing all the while the large black cat with a somewhat suspicious regard. 

"The beast winna stir thee, " said Janet, "it has, like its auld mistress, mair regard for the martyr's seed. "

Having hereupon taken advantage of a pause in Janet's discourse, we at oncestated the subject of our inquiry. 

"Ay, ay, " said Janet; "and atweel there is a connection betwixt that bonnyangel stane, and the pool ca'ed Porter's Hole. Ay, is there; an an awfu'connection it is. But what comes thou here for to torment an auld body likeme, wi' greeting and groaning at my time o' life? Gae awa, gae awa--I cannathole the very thochts o' the story whilk thou ettles to ken. "

This only increased our curiosity, and, after some flattering languageabout Janet's good nature, retentive memory, and Covenanting lineage, theold crone proceeded to the following purpose; and, as nearly as we canmind, (for it is a tale o' fifty years, ) repeated it in the followingwords:--

"Thou ken's the auld ruin, bairn, the auld wa's out by there. That's theauld farm-house o' Dalgarno, ere the new one at the path-head was biggit;and there, within the wa's, was ance a warm hearth, and twa as leal heartsas ever beat against pin or button. John Porter was young, handsome, andthe tenant of the best farm in the parish o' Dalgarno; but he was nae friento the vile curate, and a marked bird, as they ca' it, by Grierson o' Lag, in particular, who had been heard to say, that he would decant his porterfor him some day yet, in the shape and colour of heart's bluid. AgnesMilligan was an orphan, brought up at Dalgarno--a sister's son o' the auldDalgarno, and a fu' cousin, ye ken, o' the young farmer. They had baith fedfrae the same plate; sleeped under the same roof; played at the samesports; and dabbled in the same river--the bloody, bloody Nith!--frominfancy to youth. Oh! sirs! but I canna get on ava"---- Here Janet sortedher wheel, and apparently shed a tear, for she moved her apron corner toher eye. "Aweel, this was the nicht o' the wedding, bairn--no _this_ nicht, like; but I think I just see it present, for I was there mysel, a wee bitwhilking lassie. Lawson, guid godly Lawson, had tied the knot, an' we wara' merry like; but it was a fearfu' spate, and the Nith went frae bank tobrae. 'They are comin!' was the cry. I kenna wha cried it, but a voice saidit, an' twenty voices repeated it. Lag an' his troop's coming; they'regallopin owre the Cunning-holm at this moment. John Porter flew to hisbonnet, an', in an instant, was raised six or seven feet high on his longstilts, with which he had often crossed the Nith when nae mortal could takit on horseback. Agnes Milligan was out and after; the moon shone clearthrough a cloud, and she saw the brave man tak the water at the broadest. On he went--for we a' witnessed what he did--on he went, steady, firm, an'unwaverin; but, alas! it was hin' harvest, an' some sheaves o' corn hadbeen carried off the holms by the spate. Ane o' them crossed his upperstilt, an', in a moment, his feet went frae him, an' doon he cam into theroarin flood. He was still near the Closeburn bank, an' we a' ran down theside to see if we could help him out. Again an' again he rose to his feet;but the water was mighty, it was terrible, it just whumbled him owre, an'we saw nae mair o' him. Agnes ran for Porter's Hole, (then only kent as thesalmon pool, ) an' stood watching the eddy, as it whirled straw an' corn, an' sic like rubbish, aboot. Her husband's head appeared floating in thewhirl--she screamed, leaped into the deep, deep pool, an' next day theywere found clasped in each other's arms. Oh, my bairn, my bairn!--whatbrocht ye here the day?"

Janet was found, next morning, dead in her bed--the exertion and excitementhad killed her. 

FOOTNOTES:

[B] _Vide_ Jameson. 

THE RECLUSE. 

The situations of farm-houses, or steadings, as we call them in Scotland, are very rarely selected so much for their beauty, with reference to thesurrounding scenery, as for conveniency; and hence it is that we find butfew of them in positions which a view-hunter would term strikinglyfelicitous. When they are so, we rather presume the circumstance arisesfrom its happening that eligibility and choice have agreed in determiningthe point. Yet, seriously, though the generality of farm-steadings havelittle to boast of as regards situation, there are many pleasingexceptions. Nay, there are some to be found occupying the most choicepositions--surrounded with or overlooking all that is beautiful in nature. One of these, most certainly, is the farm-house of West Mains, in theparish of Longorton, Lanarkshire. It stands on the summit of a gentle, isolated eminence that rises in the very centre of a deep and romanticvalley, formed of steep green hills, thickly wooded towards the bottom, butrising in naked verdancy from about the centre upwards. The view from thehouse is thus, indeed, limited; but this limitation is amply compensated byits singular beauty. 

About fifty years ago, this beautifully-situated farm-house was occupied byone Robert Adair, who rented also the entire valley in which it issituated. Adair's family, at this time, consisted of himself, his wife, ason, and two daughters, Martha and Rosina, or Rosy, as she was familiarlycalled. The former was, at the period of our story, in her twentieth year, the latter in her eighteenth. Martha was a good-looking and good-temperedgirl; but, in both respects, and in several others, she was much surpassedby her younger sister, Rosy, as we, too, prefer to call her. The latter, with, personal attractions of no common order, was one of the liveliest andmost cheerful creatures imaginable. Nothing could damp her buoyant spirit;nothing, be it what it might, could make her sad for longer than tenminutes together. From morning to night she continued pouring out, in avoice of the richest and most touching melody, the overflowings of a lightand innocent heart. And scarcely less melodious was the joyous and gleefullaugh, in which she ever and anon gave way to the promptings of a livelyand playful imagination. Let it not, however, be thought that all thisapparent levity of manner was the result of an unthinking or uncalculatingmind, or that it was in her case, as it frequently is in others, associatedwith qualities which exclude the finer and better feelings of femalenature. It was by no means so. With all her gaiety and sportiveness, shehad a heart filled with all the tenderest sensibilities of a woman. Herattachments were warm and ardent. In character, simple and sincere, Rosycould have died for those she loved; and so finely strung were thesympathies of her nature, that they were wrought on at will by either mirthor pathos, and with each were found equally to accord. 

Rosy's father, Mr Adair, although holding a considerable extent of land, and paying a very handsome rental, was yet by no means in affluentcircumstances. Both his name and his credit in the country were on a fairfooting, and he was not encumbered with more debt than he could very easilypay. But this was all; there was no surplus--nothing to spare; and theless, that he had been liberal in his expenditure on the education of hisdaughters. On this he had grudged no cost; they had both passed severalwinters in Glasgow, and had there possessed themselves of some of the moreelegant accomplishments in female education. 

In character, Robert Adair was something of an original. In speech, blunt, plain, and humorous; but in disposition, kind, sincere, and generous. Hewas, in short, in all respects an excellent and worthy man. On the score ofeducation, he had not much to boast of; but this deficiency was, in part atany rate, compensated by great natural shrewdness and vigour of mind. 

Such, then, were the inmates of the farm-house of West Mains, at the periodto which our story refers, and which is somewhere about the year 1788. 

It was at the close of a day of incessant rain, in the month of Septemberof that year, or it may, perhaps, have been of the year following, that ayoung man, of somewhere about five-and-twenty years of age, respectablydressed, with a stick in his hand, and a small leathern bundle under hisarm, presented himself at the door of Robert Adair's house, and knocked foradmittance. The door was opened by Robert himself; and when it was so, theperson whom we have described stood before him. He was drenched with wet. It was streaming from his hat, and had soaked him all over to the skin. Hewas thus, altogether, in most uncomfortable plight; for, besides being wet, the night was intensely cold. 

"Can you, my good friend, " said the stranger, in a tone and manner thatbespoke a person of education at least, if it might not be ventured to callhim a gentleman--"Can you give me quarters for a night?" he said, on beingconfronted by Mr Adair. "I am an entire stranger in this part of thecountry, and do not know of any inn at hand, otherwise I would not havetroubled you. I will, very readily, pay for my accommodation. "

"A nicht's quarters, frien, " replied Adair. "Oh, surely, ye'll get that, an' welcome. Walk in. Save us, man, but ye hae gotten a soakin! Ye're likea half-drooned rat. But stap in, stap in. There's a guid fire there in thekitchen and I'm sure ye're no out the need o' a blink o't. "

In a minute after, the stranger was comfortably seated before a roaringfire. But his host's hospitality did not end with this kindness; heinsisted on his guest shifting himself; and, to enable him to do so, brought him a whole armfull of his own clothes; shirt, coat, waistcoat, trousers, and stockings. Nor with this kindness did his benevolence yetterminate; he invited the stranger to accept of some refreshment; aninvitation which he followed up by desiring his daughter Rosy to cover asmall table close by the fire, and to place thereon such edibles as she hadat hand. Delighting as much as her father in acts of kindness, Rosyhastened to obey an order so agreeable to her. In a trice, she had thetable covered with various good things, conspicuous amongst which was ajolly round of salt beef. In compliance with the request of his host, thestranger drew into the table thus kindly prepared for him; but, to thegreat disappointment of his entertainer, ate very sparingly. 

"Dear help me, man!--eat, eat, canna ye!" exclaimed Adair, every now andthen, as he marked the listless manner in which the stranger pecked at thefood on his plate. "Eat, man, canna ye!" he said, getting absolutely angryat his guest's want of appetite, which he construed into diffidence. "Lord, man, take a richt whang on your plate at once, and dinna be nibblin at itthat way, like a mouse at a Du'lap cheese. " Saying this, he seized a knifeand fork, cut a slice from the cold round, an inch in thickness, and atleast six in diameter, and threw it on the stranger's plate with much aboutthe same grace which he exhibited in tossing a truss of hay with apitchfork. "There, man, tak half-a-dizzen o' cuts like that, and then yemay say ye hae made a bit supper o't. "

Robert Adair was, in truth, but a rough table attendant, but he was a kindone, and in all he said and did meant well, however uncouthly it might beexpressed. 

Of this the stranger seemed perfectly aware; and, although he could noteat, he appeared fully to appreciate the sincerity of his host'sinvitations to him to do so. 

After persevering, therefore, a little longer, as if to please hisentertainer, he at length laid down his knife and fork, and declared thathe was now satisfied, and could take no more. On his making this decidedmovement--

"My faith, " said his hospitable landlord, "an' ye be na waur to water thanto corn, I think I could board ye, an' no be a loser, for a very sma'matter. Rosy, bring butt the bottle. "

Obedient to the command, Rosy tripped out of the kitchen, and in an instantreturned with the desiderated commodity--a dumpy, bluff, opaque bottle, ofabout a gallon contents--which she placed on the table. Adair seized it byits long neck, and, filling up a brimming bumper, tossed it off to thehealth of his guest. This done, he filled up another topping glass, andpresented it to the stranger, with a strong recommendation on the score ofexcellence. "Ra-a-l guid stuff, sir, " he said, "tak my word for't. Juist acordial. Noo, dinna trifle wi' your drink as ye did wi' your meat, or I'llno ken what to think o' ye at a'. "

The stranger, with renewed acknowledgments for the kindness shewn him, tookthe proffered beverage; but, instead of taking it off as his worthy hosthad expected, he merely put it to his lips, and replaced it on the table. 

"Weel, that cowes the gowan!" said Adair. "Ye'll neither hap norwyn--neither dance nor haud the candle. Try't again, man, try't again. Steek your een hard, gie ae gulp, an' ower wi't. "

The worthy man, however, pressed in vain. The stranger would not drink; butonce more acknowledged the kindness and well-meant hospitality of hisentertainer. 

During all this time, the stranger had neither said nor done any singlething which was capable of imparting the slightest idea of who or what hewas--where he was from, or whence he was going. Indeed, he hardly spoke atall; and the little he did speak was almost all confined to briefexpressions of thanks for the kindness shewn him. When seen as he was now, under more favourable circumstances than those in which he had firstpresented himself, shivering with cold and drenched with wet, he exhibiteda handsome exterior. His countenance was full of expression andintelligence, but was overspread with an apparently deep-seated and settledmelancholy. He appeared, in short, to be a person who was sufferingseverely either in body or mind; but his affliction exhibited all thesymptoms of being of the latter rather than the former. Yet was not theprofound gravity of his manner of an unpleasing or repulsive character; itpartook of a gentleness and benevolence that rendered it rather gracefulthan otherwise. The tones of his voice, too, corresponded with thesequalities; they were mild and impressive, and singularly agreeable. Altogether, the stranger appeared a mysterious sort of person; and greatlydid it puzzle Mr Adair and all his household to conjecture who or what hecould possibly be; a task to which they set themselves after he had retiredto bed, which he did--pleading fatigue as an excuse--at an early hour. Thefirst ostensible circumstance connected with their guest of the night, which the family divan, with the father of it at their head, took intoconsideration when discussing the knotty points of the stranger's characterand calling, was his apparel. But of this they could make nothing. Hishabiliments were in no ways remarkable for anything; they being neithergood, bad, nor indifferent, but of that indefinite description calledrespectable. So far as these were concerned, therefore, he might be eithera peer of the realm or an English bagman. 

Finding they could make nothing of the clothes, the family cabinet councilnext proceeded to the looks and manners of the stranger; and, with regardto these, all agreed that they seemed to bespeak the gentleman; and on thisconclusion from the premises, none insisted more stoutly than Rosy, who, let us observe, although she thought nobody saw her, had taken severalstolen glances at the subject of discussion while he was seated at thekitchen fire; and at each glance, let us farther observe, more and moreapproved of his finely arched eyebrows, his well-formed mouth, darkexpressive eyes, and rich black locks that clustered around his white andopen forehead. But all this is a secret, good reader, and should not havebeen told. 

So far, then, had the united opinions of the family determined regardingtheir guest. But what should have brought him the way of West Mains, suchan out-of-the-way place, seeing that he had neither gun, dog, norfishing-rod, and could not therefore have been in pursuit of sport? It wasodd, unaccountable. Where could he be from? Where could he be going to?These were questions more easily put than answered; and by all were theyput, but by none were they replied to. At length, Mr Adair took speech inhand himself on the subject. 

"I kenna, nor, indeed, neither do I muckle care, wha the lad is; but heseems to me to be a ceevil, discreet, young man; and I rather like hima'thegither, although he's a dooms bad haun at baith cap and trencher. A', however, that we hae to do wi' him, is to treat him ceevily while he'sunder our roof. He's gotten a guid bed to lie in, and in the mornin we'llgie him a guid breakfast to tak the road wi', and there'll be an end o't. It's no likely we'll ever hear or see mair o' him. " Having said this, Robert broke up the conclave; gave the long-drawn sonorous yawn that hisfamily knew to be the signal of preparation for bed. In the next moment, Adair's left hand was busily employed in undoing the knee buttons of hissmall clothes. Another powerful yawn, and he proceeded to perform the sameoperation on his right leg. In two minutes after, he was snugly buriedbeneath the blankets; his "honest, sonsy, bawsint face, " and red Kilmarnocknight-cap, being all that was left visible of him; and, in five minutesmore, a magnificent snore intimated to all whom it might concern, thatworthy Robin Adair was fairly in the land of Nod, and oblivious of allearthly concerns. 

On the following morning, Mr Adair and his guest met at breakfast, whenthat liking for each other which had begun to manifest itself on thepreceding night--although neither, perhaps, could say precisely whence itarose--gradually waxed into a somewhat stronger feeling. Adair was pleasedwith the gentle and unaffected manners of his guest, while the latter wasequally pleased with the sincerity of character and generosity of heart ofhis entertainer. It appeared, however, as if their acquaintance was to bebut of short duration, and as if they were now soon to part, in allprobability for ever. Circumstances seemed to point to this result; yet itwas by no means the one that followed--an odd incident at once threw outall such calculation. 

When breakfast was concluded, and the party who had sat around thetable--Adair, his family, and the stranger--had risen to their feet, thelatter, smiling through his natural gravity, asked his host if he would beso good as give him a private interview with him. To this Mr Adair, although not a little surprised at the request, consented, and led the wayinto a small back-parlour that opened from the room in which they hadbreakfasted. 

"Mr Adair, " said the stranger, on their entering this apartment, and havingpreviously secured the door, "I am greatly indebted to you for the kindnessand hospitality you have shewn me. "

"No the least, sir--no the least, " replied the farmer, with a decree ofrespect in his manner with which his guest's air and bearing hadunconsciously inspired him, he did not know how or wherefore--"No theleast. I am aye glad to shew civility to them that seek the shelter o' myrufe; it's just a pleasure to me. Ye're not only heartily welcome, sir, toa' ye hae gotten, but to a week o't, an' ye like. I dinna think that I wadbe the first to weary o't. "

"Have you any objection to try?" said the stranger, with a gentle smile. 

"None whatever, " replied the hospitable yeoman. 

"Well, Mr Adair, " said the stranger, with more gravity of manner, "toconvert jest into earnest, I have a proposal to make to you. I have beenfor some time looking out for such a quiet retirement as this is, and afamily as respectable and agreeable as yours seems to me to be. Now, havingfound both of these things to my mind here, I will, if you have noobjection, become a boarder with you, Mr Adair, paying you a hundredguineas a-year; and here, " he said, drawing out a well-filled purse, andemptying its contents on the table--"here are fifty guineas in advance. "And he told off from the heap that lay on the table, the sum he named, andthrust it towards his astonished host. "And let me add, " went on themysterious stranger, "that, if you agree to my proposal, and continue toput up as well together as I expect we shall, I will not limit my paymentto the sum I have mentioned. What say you to this, Mr Adair?"

To _this_ Mr Adair could say nothing for some time. Not a word. He was lostin perplexity and amazement--a state of mental difficulty andembarrassment, which he made manifest by scratching his head, and looking, with a bewildered sort of smile, alternately at the gold and its lateowner--first at the one, then at the other. At length--

"Well, " he said, still scratching his head, "this is a queer sort o'business, an' a turn o' matters I didna look for ava; but I hae seen waurthings come o' better beginnins. To tell ye a truth, sir, " continued theperplexed yeoman, "I'm no oot o' the need o' the siller. But, if ye'll juststop a minute, if ye please, till I speak to the guidwife on the subject. "

And, with this, Adair hurried out of the room; and, having done this, hehurried his wife into another, and told her of what had just taken place, concluding with a--"An', noo, guidwife, what do ye think we should do?"

"Tak the siller, to be sure, " replied the latter. "He seems to me to be adecent, canny lad; and, at ony rate, we canna be far wrang wi' ae sixmonths o' him, ony way, seein that he's payin the siller afore haun. That'sthe grand point, Rab. "

"Feth, it's that, guidwife--nae doot o't, " replied her husband. "Juist thepint o' pints. But whar'll ye put the lad?"

"Ou, tak ye nae fash about that, guidman. I'll manage that. Isna there thewee room up the stair, wi' a bed in't that micht sair the kinghimself--sheets as white as the driven snaw, and guid stripped druggitcurtains just oot o' the mangle?"

"Weel, weel, guidwife, ony way ye like as to thae matters, " replied Adair;"and I'll awa, in the meantime, and get haud o' the siller. There's gowdyonner for the liftin. Deil o' the like o't ever I saw. " Saying this, heflung out of the apartment, and in the next minute was again in thepresence of the mysterious stranger. 

On his entering--"Well, Mr Adair, " said the latter, "what does your goodlady say to my becoming a boarder with her?"

"Feth, sir, she's very willin, and says ye may depend on her and herdochter doin everything in their power to make ye comfortable. "

"Of that I have no doubt, " said the stranger; "and now, then, that thismatter is so far settled, take up your money, Mr Adair, and reckon onpunctual payments for the future. "

"No misdoubtin that, sir, at a', " said the latter, picking up the guineas, one after another, and chucking them into a small leathern purse which hehad brought for the purpose. "No misdoubtin' at a', sir, " he said. "I takthis to be guid earnest o' that. "

The stranger, then, whoever he was, was now fairly domiciled in the houseof Mr Adair. The name he gave himself was Mowbray; and by this name he washenceforth known. 

For two years succeeding the period of which we have just been speaking, did Mr Mowbray continue an inmate of West Mains, without any singlecircumstance occurring to throw the smallest light on his history. At theend of this period, as little was known regarding him as on the day of hisfirst arrival. On this subject he never communicated anything himself; and, as he was always punctual in his payments, and most exemplary in hisgeneral conduct, those with whom he resided did not feel themselves calledupon, nor would it have been decorous, to make any further inquiry on thesubject. Indeed although they had desired to do so, there was no way opento them by which to obtain such information. 

During the period alluded to, Mr Mowbray spent the greater part of his timein reading; having, since his settlement at West Mains, opened acommunication with a bookseller in the neighbouring country town of ----;and in walking about the country, visiting the more remarkable scenery, andother interesting objects in the neighbourhood. 

During all this time, too, his habits were extremely retired; shunning, asmuch as he possibly could, all intercourse with those whom he accidentallymet; and, even at home, mingling but little with the family with which heresided. Privacy and quietness, in short, seemed to be the great objects ofhis desire; and the members of Mr Adair's household, becoming aware ofthis, not only never needlessly intruded themselves on him, but studiouslyavoided involving him in conversation, which they observed was alwaysannoying to him. He was thus allowed to go abroad and to return, and evento pass, when accidentally met by any members of the family, without anynotice being taken of him, further, perhaps, than a slight nod of civility, which he usually returned without uttering a syllable. 

From all this--his retired habits, deep-seated melancholy, and immoveabletaciturnity--it was evident to Mr Adair and his family that their boarderwas labouring under some grievous depression of mind; and in this opinionthey were confirmed by various expressions of grief, not unaccompanied byothers of contrition, which they had frequently overheard, accidentally, asthey passed the door of his apartment on occasions--and these werefrequent--when Mr Mowbray seemed more than usually depressed by the sorrowto which he was a prey. 

With all this reserve and seclusion, however, there was nothing repulsivein Mr Mowbray's manners or habits. He was grave without being morose, taciturn without being churlish, and sought quietness and retirementhimself, without any expression of impatience with, or sign of peevishnessat, the stir and bustle around him. 

As a matter of course, the history and character of Mr Mowbray excited, atleast for a time, much speculation in the neighbourhood; and thesespeculations, as a matter of course, also, as we may venture to say, werenot in general of the most charitable description. One of these held forththat he was a retired highwayman, who had sought a quiet corner in which toenjoy the fruits of his industry, and to avoid the impertinences of thelaw; another held that he was a murderer, who had fled from justice;another that he was a bankrupt, who had swindled his creditors; a fourth, that he was a forger, who had done business in that way to a vast extent. 

As to the nature of the crime which Mr Mowbray had committed, it will beseen that there were various opinions; but that he had committed someenormous crimes of some sort or other, was a universal opinion--in thisgeneral sentiment all agreed. 

Amongst other mysteries, was that involved in the query--where did he gethis money? Where did it come from? He did not, indeed, seem to have thecommand of very extensive resources; but always to have enough to paypunctually and promptly everything he desired, and to settle all pecuniaryclaims upon him. 

His remittances, it was also ascertained, came to him, from whateverquarter it might be, regularly twice a-year, per the English mail, whichpassed within a mile and a half of West Mains. The exact amount of theseremittances, which were always in gold, and put up in a small, neat, tightparcel, was never exactly known; but was supposed, on pretty good grounds, to be, each, somewhere about a hundred and fifty guineas, one of which wentto Mr Adair; for Mr Mowbray had, of his own accord, added fifty guineas perannum to the hundred which he had first promised. The other hundred andfifty was disposed of in various ways, or left to accumulate with theirowner. Such, then, was the amount of information acquired regarding MrMowbray's pecuniary resources; and more, on this point, or any otherregarding him, could not, by any means, be arrived at. 

By the end of the period, however, which we have above named--namely, twoyears--public opinion had, we must observe, undergone a considerablemodification in Mr Mowbray's favour. He had been gradually acquitted of hisvarious crimes; and the worst that was now believed of him was, that he wasa gentleman whom troubles, of some kind or other, had driven from theworld. 

This favourable change in public opinion regarding him was, in a greatmeasure, if not, indeed, wholly owing to the regularity of his conduct, thegentleness of his manners, his generosity--for he was a liberal contributorto the relief of the necessitous poor in his vicinity--and to the rigidpunctuality he observed in all his pecuniary transactions. 

In the family in which he resided, where there were, of course, betteropportunities for judging of his character, and estimating his goodqualities, he came to be much beloved. Adair, as he often said himself, would "gae through fire and water to serve him;" for a more honourable, or"discreet" young gentleman, as he also frequently said, "didna breathe thebreath o' existence. "

On every other member of the family, the impression he made was equallyfavourable; and, on one of them, in particular, we might speak of it in yetstronger language. But of this anon. 

The general conviction into which the family with which Mr Mowbray residedfell, regarding the personal history of that person, was, that he was agentleman who possessed a moderate annuity from some fixed sum, and thatsome disgust with the world had driven him into his present retirement; andin this conviction they had now been so long and so completely settled, that they firmly believed in its truth, and never after dreamed of againagitating the question, even in the most distant manner. 

Thus, then, stood matters at West Mains at the end of two years from theperiod at which our story opens. Hitherto, however, we have only exhibitedwhat was passing above board. We will now give the reader a peep of certainlittle matters that were going on behind the scenes. 

A short while previous to the time of which we now speak, Rosy's sister, Martha, had gone to Edinburgh to spend the winter with a near relative ofher father; partly as a friendly visit, and partly for the purpose ofperfecting herself in certain branches of female education. This separationwas a painful one to the two sisters, for they were much attached to eachother; but they determined to compensate it by maintaining a close andregular correspondence; and huge was the budget that each soon accumulatedof the other's epistolary performances. Out of these budgets we will selecta couple, which will give the reader a hint of some things of which, wedaresay, he little dreamed. The first is from Martha to her sister, and isdated from Edinburgh. 

 * * * * *

"MY DEAR ROSY, " (runs this document, ) "I received your kind letter by MrMeiklewham, likewise the little jar of butter for Aunt, who says it isdelicious, and that she would know it to be West Mains butter wherever sheshould have met with it. 

"I am delighted to hear that you are all well, and that Mr Mowbray has gotbetter of his slight indisposition. By the by, Rosy, I have observed thatyou are particularly guarded in all your communications about Mr M. Whenyou speak of him you don't do so with your usual sprightliness of manner. Ah! Rosy, Rosy, I doubt--I doubt--I have long doubted, or rather, I havebeen long convinced--of _what_, say you blushing! _N'importe_--nothing atall. Do you believe me, Rosy?--No, you don't. Does Mr M. Fix his fineexpressive eyes on you as often and as intensely as he used to do? Eh, Rosy!--Now, there's something you can't deny. 

"To be serious, Rosy, my dear sister, I have long been satisfied that youare loved by Mr Mowbray--deeply, sincerely, ardently loved. And, more, mydear Rosy, I am equally satisfied that Mr Mowbray is loved by _you_. I amcertain of it. I have marked many symptoms of it, although I have nevermentioned it to you before; and I do it now in order to induce you tounburden yourself of such feelings, as it may relieve you to discover to asister who loves you tenderly and sincerely, " &c, &c. 

 * * * * *

Our next quotation is from Martha's budget; and we shall select the lettershe received in reply to the one above given. It is dated West Mains, andproceeds thus:--

 * * * * *

"MY DEAR MARTHA, --It is not in my nature to play a double part. I freelyconfess, my dear Martha, in reply to your lecture on a certain subject, that Mr Mowbray is not indifferent to me. I have long, I avow it, admiredthe many good qualities which we have all acknowledged him to possess--hisgentlemanly bearing; his accomplishments; the elegance of his manners, andthe noble generosity of his nature. These I have indeed, Martha, longadmired. But what reason have you for supposing that your sister, withnothing to recommend her but some very homely advantage of person, can havemade any impression on the heart of such a man as Mr Mowbray? Here, Martha, you are decidedly at fault, and have jumped to a conclusion which you haverather wished than believed. But, enough of this foolish matter. "--And herethe fair writer leaps off to another subject, which, as it has no referenceto our story, nor any particular interest of its own, we beg to leave inthe oblivion in which it reposes. And having quoted enough of the sisters'correspondence for our purpose, we will here, again, throw our narrativeinto its more direct and legitimate channel. 

By the letters above given, we have shewn pretty plainly that, on the partof the one sister, a secret attachment to the unknown lodger was in rapidprogress, if it had not indeed already attained a height fatal to the peaceof mind of her by whom it was entertained; and that, on the part of theother, a strong suspicion existed, not only that such love had beengenerated, but that this love was mutual. And was it so? It was. Mr Mowbrayhad not, indeed, made any very palpable advances, nor displayed anysymptoms of the state of his feelings, which any one but such a close andshrewd observer as Martha could have detected. To no other eyes did thissecret stand revealed. But there was now, in his general manner towardsRosy, much that such an observer could not fail to be struck with, or toattribute to its real and proper cause. Nor was this change confined to hisintercourse with Rosy Adair--to the slight confusion that appeared in hiscountenance whenever they accidentally met each other, unseen of any onebesides, and to the evident pleasure which he took in her society--to thecircumstance of his seeking that pleasure as often as he could withoutmaking it subject of remark. No, the change that had now come over MrMowbray was not confined to what such incidents as these may be presumed toindicate; his spirit also, the whole tenor of his thoughts, the wholeconstitution of his mind, seemed equally under the influence of hisnew-born passion. His manner became more cheerful; his eye became lightedup with an unwonted fire; and he no longer indulged in the seclusion whichhe had so sedulously sought when he first came to West Mains. Mr Mowbraywas now, in fact, a changed man, and changed for the better. He was now nolonger the weeping, melancholy recluse, but a character evidently much moresuitable to his natural temper and dispositions--a gay and cheerful man ofthe world. It was, indeed, a marvellous change; but so it was. 

This, however--referring to the attachment which had thus grown up betweenRosy Adair and Mr Mowbray--was a state of matters which could not longremain in the position in which we have represented them; some result orconclusion was inevitable--and it arrived. Mr Mowbray gradually became moreand more open in his communications with Miss Adair; gradually disclosedthe state of his feelings with regard to her, and finally avowed his love. Miss Adair heard the delightful confession with an emotion she could notconceal; and, ingenuous in everything, in all she said and did, avowed thatshe loved in return. 

"Then, my Rosina, my beloved Rosina, " exclaimed Mr Mowbray, in a wildtransport of joy--and throwing himself, in the excitation of the moment, atthe feet of her whom he addressed--"allow me to mention this matter to yourfather, and to seek his consent to your making me the happiest of livingmen. "

The liberty he thus sought with such grace and earnestness, was blushinglygranted; not indeed, in express words, but with a silence equallyintelligible and more eloquent than words. 

In five minutes after, Mr Mowbray was closeted, and in earnest conversationwith Mr Adair. He had already announced his attachment to his daughter, andhad sought his consent to their union. Mr Adair had yet made no reply. Therequest was one of too serious a nature to be hastily or unreflectinglyacquiesced in. At length--

"Weel, Mr Mowbray, " said Mr Adair, "I'll tell ye what it is: although Icertainly haena a' the knowledge o' ye--that is, regarding yoursel and youraffairs--that I maybe hae a richt to insist on haein before giein ye thehaun o' my dochter--and this for a' the time that ye hae been under myroof--yet, as in that time--noo, I think, something owre twa year ganeby--yer conduct has aye been that o' a gentleman, in a' respects--sober, discreet, and reglar; most exemplary, I maun say;--and, as I am satisfiedthat ye hae the means o' supportin a wife, in a decent way, no to say thatthere may be muckle owre either, I really think I can hae nae reasonableobjections to gie ye Rosy after a'. "

During this speech of the worthy yeoman's, there was on Mr Mowbray'scountenance a smile of peculiar meaning; evidently one under which laysomething amusing, mingled with the expression of satisfaction which MrAdair's sanction to his marriage with Rosina had elicited. 

Delighted with the success of his mission, Mr Mowbray now flew to theapartment in which he had left Miss Adair, and, enfolding her in his arms, in a transport of joy, informed her that he had obtained her father'sconsent to their union, and concluded by asking her to name the day whichshould make her his for ever. This, however, being rather too summary aproceeding, Rosina declined; and Mr Mowbray was obliged to be content witha promise of the matter being taken into consideration on an early day. 

Leaving the lovers in discussion on these very agreeable points, and othersconnected therewith, we will follow Mr Adair on the errand on which hewent, after Mr Mowbray had left him. This was to communicate to his wifethe unexpected and important proposal which had just been made to him, andto which he had just acceded. 

"Weel, guidwife, here's a queer business, " said Mr Adair, on joining histhrifty helpmate, who was busy at the moment in scouring a set of milkdishes. "What do ye think? Mr Mowbray has just noo asked my consent to hismarrying Rosy. Now, isna that a queer affair! My feth, but they maun haemanaged matters unco cannily and cunningly; for deil a bit o' me ever couldsee the least inklin o' anything past ordinar between them. "

"You see onything o' that kind!" replied Mrs Adair, with an expression ofthe greatest contempt for her husband's penetration in _affaires decoeur_. "You see't, Robin! No--I dare say no. Although they were sittingunder your very nose, wi' their arms aboot ithers' necks, I dinna believeye wad see that there was onything in't. But, though ye didna see't, Robin, I saw't--and plainly enough, too--although I said naething about it. I saw, mony a day sin', that Mr Mowbray had a notion o' Rosy; and, if truth betell't, I saw as weel that she had a notion o' him, and hae lang expectedthat it wad come to this. "

"Weel, weel, guidwife, ye hae a glegger ee for thae things than I hae, "replied Mr Adair. "But here's the end o' the matter noo. "

"And hae ye gien your consent, Robin?"

"'Deed hae I; for I think he's an honest, decent lad; and, no to say he'srich maybe, fair aneuch aff, I think, as to worldly matters. "

"As to that, I daresay, there's naething far amiss, " replied Mrs Adair, "nor as regards his character either, maybe; but I'm no sure. I dinna ken, Robert, considerin a' things, if ye haena been a wee owre rash in gieinyour consent to this business. It's a serious affair. And, after a', we kenbut little about the lad; although, I canna but say he seems to be adecent, honourable chiel, and I houp'll mak Rosy happy. " Here the goodwoman raised the corner of her apron to her eyes, and gave way, for asecond or two, to those maternal feelings which the occasion was so wellcalculated to excite. 

"Tuts, woman; what's the use o' that?" said Mr Adair, with a sort ofgood-natured impatience. "The thing's a' richt aneuch, and sae'll be seenin the end, nae doot. "

"God grant it!" replied his wife, with solemn earnestness; and here theconversation dropped for the time. 

We now revert to the proceedings of Mr Mowbray at this eventful crisis ofhis life; but in these we find only one circumstance occurring between theday on which he solicited, and that on which he obtained, the hand of RosyAdair. This circumstance, however, was one of rather curious import. It wasa letter which Mr Mowbray addressed to a friend, and ran thus:--

 * * * * *

"DEAR NARESBY, --The appearance of this well-known hand--well known to you, my friend--will, I daresay, startle you not a little. My letter will seemto you as a communication from the dead; for it is now upwards of two longyears since you either heard from me or of me. On this subject I have muchto say to you, and on some others besides, but defer it until I shall havethe pleasure of seeing you at Wansted--a pleasure which I hope to have inabout three weeks hence--when we shall talk over old affairs, and, mayhap, some new ones. Would you believe me, Naresby, if I was to say, that the seahad ceased to ebb and flow, that the hills had become valleys, and thevalleys had risen into hills; that the moon had become constant, and thatthe sun had forgotten to sink in the west when his daily course was run?Would you believe any or all of these things, if I were to assert them tobe true? No, you wouldn't. Yet will you as readily believe them, I daresay, as that I am to be--how can I come out with the word!--to be--to bemarried, Naresby! Married! Yes, married. I am to be married--I repeat itslowly and solemnly--and to one of the sweetest and fairest creatures thatever the sun of heaven shone upon. 'Oh! of course, ' say you. But it's true, Naresby; and, ere another month has passed away, you will yourself confessit; for ere that period has come and gone, you will have seen her with yourown eyes. 

"So much then for resolution, for the weakness of human nature. Ithought--nay, I swore, Naresby, as you know--that I would, that I couldnever love again. I thought that the treachery, the heartlessness of one, one smiling deceiver, had seared my heart, and rendered it callous to allthe charms and blandishments of her sex. But I have been again deceived. 

"I have not, however, this time, chosen the object of my affections fromthe class to which--I cannot pronounce her name--that fatal name--belonged;but from one which, however inferior in point of adventitious acquirement, far surpasses it--of this experience has convinced me--in all the betterqualities of the heart. 

"The woman to whom I am to be married--my Rosina Adair!--is the daughter ofa humble yeoman, and has thus neither birth nor fortune to boast of. Butwhat in a wife are birth or fortune to me? Nothing, verily nothing, whentheir place is supplied--as in the case of my betrothed--by a heart thatknows no guile; by a temper cheerful and complying; and by personal charmsthat would add lustre to a crown. Birth, Naresby, I do not value; andfortune I do not want. 

"Well, then, Naresby, my period of seclusion is now about over, and Ireturn again to the world. Who would have said this two years ago? If anyhad, I would have told them they spoke untruly--that I had abjured theworld, and all its joys, for ever; and that, henceforth, William Mowbraywould not be as other men. But so it is. I state the fact, and leave othersto account for and moralize on it. "

 * * * * *

Such, then, was the letter which Mr Mowbray wrote to his friend, Naresby, during the interval to which we formerly alluded. Several other letters healso wrote and despatched about the same time; but the purpose of these, and to whom written, we must leave the sequel of our story to explain. 

Having no further details of any interest wherewith to fill up theintervening period between the occurrence of the circumstances just relatedand the marriage of Rosina Adair and William Mowbray, we at once carryforward our narrative to the third day after the celebration of that event. On that day--

"Rosy, my love, " said Mr Mowbray, smiling, "I have a proposal to make toyou. "

"Indeed!--what is it, William?"

"Why, I'll tell you what it is, " said the latter; "I wish to go on a visitto a particular friend, and I wish you to go with me. "

"Oh, surely, " replied Mrs Mowbray. "Is it far?"

"Why, a pretty long way; a two days' journey. Will you still venture onit?"

"Surely--surely, William. Anywhere with you!"

"Thank you, my love, " said Mr Mowbray, embracing his young wife. 

"Now, I have another proposal to make, Rosy, " continued the former; "I wishyour father and mother to accompany us. "

"What! my father and mother too!" exclaimed Mrs Mowbray, in great surprise. "Dear me, wouldn't that be odd, William. What would your friend say to sucha cavalcade of visiters?"

"Delighted to see them, I assure you, my love. It's my friend's own expresswish; and, however odd it may seem, it is a point which must be concededme. "

"Well, well, William, any way you please. I am content. But have youthought of the expense? That will be rather serious. "

"Oh, not in the least, my love, " replied Mr Mowbray, laughing. "Not in theleast serious, I assure you. I will manage that part of the matter. "

"Well, well; but my father's consent, William. There's the difficulty. Toget him to leave his farm for so long a time; I doubt you will scarcelyprevail upon him to do that. He would not live a week from home, I verilybelieve, although it were to make a lord of him. "

"I'll try, Rosy; I'll try this minute, " said Mr Mowbray, hurrying out ofthe apartment, and proceeding in quest of Mr Adair, whom he soon found. 

"Leave hame for a week!" exclaimed the latter, on Mr Mowbray's making knownto him his wishes on this subject. "Impossible! my dear sir; impossible!Wholly out o' the question. I hae a stack o' oats to thrash oot; a bit o' afauld dyke to build; twa acres o' the holme to ploo; the new barn to theek;the lea-field to saw wi' wheat; the turnips to bring in; the taties tobing; forbye a hunner ither things that can on nae account stan owre. Impossible, my dear sir--impossible. Juist wholly oot the question. But yemay get the guidwife wi' ye an' ye like, Mr Mowbray, " said Mr Adair, laughing jocosely; "and may keep her too, if ye like. "

"Yes--yes. All very well, Mr Adair; but I must have you too, in spite ofthe manifold pieces of work you have on hand. I have a particular reasonfor pressing this point, and really will not be denied. "

For a full half-hour did this sort of sparring continue between Mr Mowbrayand his father-in-law; both being resolute--the one to carry his point, theother to keep his ground; but, what could hardly be expected, the formerfinally prevailed. His urgency carried the day; and Mr Adair wasultimately, although we need scarcely say it, reluctantly, prevailed on topromise that he would be one of the intended party. Having obtained thispromise, Mr Mowbray farther secured its performance by naming the followingday as that on which they should set out. 

On the following day, accordingly--Mrs Adair's consent having, in themeantime, been obtained, and with much less difficulty than herhusband's--two chaises--unwonted sight--appeared at the door of West MainsHouse; they had been ordered by Mr Mowbray from the neighbouring countrytown; and, in a little after, out came the party by which they were to beoccupied. 

"I wad far rather hae ridden the black mare than go into ane o' thaethings, " said Mr Adair, looking contemptuously at the couple of chaisesthat stood at the door. "I never was fond o' ridin in cotches a' my life. Nasty, rattlin, jinglin things. Ane micht as weel be shut up in a corn kistas in ane o' them. "

Having expressed this opinion of the conveyance he was about to enter, MrAdair, notwithstanding of that opinion, proceeded, with the assistance ofMr Mowbray, to help his wife into one of them. This done, he followedhimself. Mrs and Mr Mowbray stepped into the other chaise. The doors wereshut by the coachman with a bang; and, in the next minute, both thevehicles were in rapid motion. 

On the forenoon of the second day after their departure--nothing, in theinterval, having occurred worth relating--the party arrived at a certainnoble mansion not far from the borders of England. The two chaises havingdrawn up before the door of this splendid residence, three or four servantsin rich livery hastened to release the travellers by throwing open thedoors of their carriages, and unfolding the steps, which they did with verymarked deference and respect, and with smiles on their faces, (particularlyin the case of one not in livery, who seemed the principal of them, ) ofvery puzzling meaning. 

On the party having got out of their chaises--"Is this your freen's house, Mr Mowbray?" said Mr Adair, standing fast, and looking up with greatastonishment and admiration at the splendid building before him. 

"It is, sir, " replied Mr Mowbray. 

"My feth! an' he maun be nae sma' drink then--that's clear. He has a raresittin-down here. It's a house for a lord. "

"The house is very respectable, certainly, " said Mr Mowbray; "and, I think, you'll find the inside every way worthy of the out. "

"I dinna doot it--I dinna doot it, " replied Mr Adair. "But whar's yourfreen, himsel?"

"Oh! we'll see him presently. In the meantime let us walk in. " And, takinghis wife's arm within his, Mr Mowbray led the way into the house, conductedby the principal domestic, and followed by Mr and Mrs Adair; the latter noless overwhelmed than her husband by the grandeur with which she wassurrounded. 

Having entered the house, the party were led up a magnificent staircase, and ushered into a room of noble dimensions, and gorgeously furnished. Allbut Mr Mowbray himself, and the servant who attended, were awe-strickenwith the splendours around them. Even Mrs Mowbray was oppressed with thisfeeling; so much so as not to be able to speak a word; and on her fatherand mother it had a similar effect. Not one opened a mouth, but continuedgazing around them in silent amazement and admiration. 

When the party had seated themselves--"Shall I serve up some refreshment, sir?" said the servant to Mr Mowbray, with great respect of manner, butwith that perplexing smile on his face. 

"Yes, John, do, " said Mr Mowbray; "and as quick's you like; for we are all, I fancy, pretty sharp-set; and some of us--I speak for myself at anyrate--not a little thirsty. "

The servant bowed and retired. When he had done so--"'Od, sir, ye seem tobe greatly at your ease here, " said Mr Adair, who was not a littlesurprised, with the others, as well he might, at the free and easy mannerof his son-in-law in his friend's house, "You and your freen maun surely beunco intimate. "

"Oh! we certainly are so, " replied Mr Mowbray, laughing. "I can use anyfreedom here--the same as if I were in my own house. "

"Weel, that's pleasant and friendly like, " said Mr Adair. "But isna yourfreen himsel lang o' makin his appearance?"

"Rather, I confess; but he'll be here shortly, I daresay--something of aparticular nature detaining him, I have no doubt; but, in the meantime, we'll make ourselves at home. I know it will please him if we do so. " AndMr Mowbray proceeded to the bell-pull, and rung it violently. 

A servant instantly appeared, and received an order, fearlessly given, fromMr Mowbray, to hasten the refreshment in preparation. 

Mr Adair's countenance expressed increased amazement at this veryunceremonious proceeding; and he felt as if he would have said that hethought it the most impertinent thing ever he had seen done in his life;but he refrained. In this feeling Mrs Adair also partook; and in thisfeeling Mr Mowbray's own wife shared, although not, perhaps, to the sameextent. Not the least curious part, let us observe too, of this odd scene, was that Mr Mowbray seemed to delight in the perplexity of feeling whichhis proceedings excited in his friends, and appeared studiously to doeverything he could think of to increase them. 

By and by, the promised repast was served up; and an exceedingly handsomeone it was. The party took their seats, no host or hostess having yetappeared--Mr Mowbray placing his wife at the head of the table, and himselftaking the foot--and proceeded to do justice to the good things beforethem. The repast over, wine was introduced. This done, Mr Mowbray--who, tothe now utterly inexpressible amazement, and even confusion, of both Mr andMrs Adair, had all this while been ordering away, right and left, as if hehad been in a common inn--desired all the attendants to retire. When theyhad done so, he filled up a bumper of wine, lifted it, rose to his feetand, advancing with smiling countenance and extended hand towards his wife, bade her welcome to _her own house_!

"What!" shouted Mr Adair, leaping from his chair. 

"Eh!" exclaimed his wife, doing precisely the same thing by hers. 

"William, " said Mrs Mowbray, in a voice faint with agitation, andendeavouring to rise from her chair, into which, however, she was obligedagain to sink. 

"True, my friends, " said Mr Mowbray; "all true. This, Mr Adair, is yourdaughter's house; all that is within it and around it. Welcome again, mylove, to your own fireside!" said Mr Mowbray, embracing his wife, "andlong may you live to enjoy all the comfort and happiness which MaltonHouse, and ten thousand a-year, are capable of affording!"

Here, then, ends our story, good reader; and as we do not think you wouldchoose to be much longer detained, especially with dry details ofexplanation which are all that now remains to add, we shall be brief. 

Mr Mowbray was a young man of large fortune, who, having been crossed inlove, had imagined that he had been thereby weaned from the world and allits joys; and, under this impression, had sought to retire from the busyscenes of life, with a determination never to return to them again. How hekept to this resolution our story tells. 

A HIGHLAND TRADITION. 

On the summit of a bluff headland that projects into the Sound of Sky, there stand the grey ruins of an ancient castle, which was once theresidence of a Highland chieftain of the name of M'Morrough--a man offierce nature and desperate courage, but not without some traits of agenerous disposition. When about middle age, M'Morrough married thedaughter of a neighbouring chief--a lady of much sweetness of manner andgentleness of nature. On the part of the former, however, this connectionwas one in which love had little share: its chief purpose would have beenattained by the birth of a male heir to the name and property of the feudalchieftain; and this was an event to which he looked anxiously forward. 

When the accouchement of his lady arrived, M'Morrough retired to an upperapartment of the castle to await the result--having desired a trustydomestic to bring him instant intelligence when the child was born, whetherit was a male or a female. The interval he employed in walking up and downthe chamber in a fever of impatience. At length the door of the apartmentopened, and Innes M'Phail entered. The chieftain turned quickly andfiercely round, glanced at the countenance of his messenger, and there readthe disappointment of his hopes without a word being uttered. 

"It is even so, then, " roared out the infuriated chieftain. "It is a girl, Innes; a girl. My curses on her!"

"Say _girls_, M'Morrough, " said Innes, despondingly. "There are twins. "

"And both girls--both!" exclaimed the former, stamping the floor in theviolence of his passion. "To the battlements with them, Innes!--to thebattlements with them instantly, and toss them over into the deep sea! Letthe waves of Loch Sonoran rock them to sleep, and the winds that rushagainst Inch Caillach sing their lullaby. Let it be done--done instantly, Innes, as you value your own life; and I will witness the fidelity withwhich you serve me from this window. I will, with my own eyes, see the deeddone. Go--go--quick--quick!"

Innes, who had been previously aware that such would be the fate of afemale child, if such should unfortunately be born to his ruthless chief, and who had promised to be the instrument of that fate, now left theapartment to execute the atrocious deed. In less than ten minutes after, Innes M'Phail appeared on the battlements, carrying a large wicker basket. From this depository he took out a child, swaddled in its first apparel, and raising it aloft, tossed it over to perish in the raging sea below. Thelittle arms of the infant extended as it fell; but the sight was momentary. It glanced white through the air like an ocean bird, and, in an instantafter, disappeared in the dark waters of Loch Sonoran. The murdererfollowed with his eye the descent of his little victim, till the sea closedover it, when, returning to the basket, he took from it another child, anddisposed of it as he had done the first. 

During the whole of this dreadful exhibition, M'Morrough was standing at awindow several yards lower down than the battlements, but so situated in anangle of the building that he could distinctly see what passed on theformer. Satisfied that his atrocious decree had been fully executed, hewithdrew from the window; and, avoiding an interview with his wife, whom--stern and ruthless as he was--he dreaded to meet with the murder ofher infants on his head, he left the castle on a hunting expedition, fromwhich he did not return for three days. On his return, M'Morrough wouldhave waited on his lady, whom he hoped now to find in some measurereconciled to her bereavement, but was told that she would see no one; thatshe had caused a small apartment at the top of the castle to be hung withblack; and that, immuring herself in this dismal chamber, she spent bothher nights and days in weeping and lamentation. On learning this, M'Morrough did not press his visit, but left it to time to heal, or, atleast, to soothe the grief of his unhappy wife. In the expectation which hehad formed from the silent but powerful operation of this infallibleanodyne, M'Morrough was not mistaken. In about a month after the murder ofher babes, the lady of M'Morrough, deeply veiled, and betraying everysymptom of a profound but subdued grief, presented herself at the morningmeal which was spread for her husband. It was the first time they had metsince the occurrence of the tragical event recorded above. To that event, however, neither made even the slightest allusion; and, whether it was thattime had weakened the impression of her late misfortune, or that shedreaded rousing the enmity of her husband towards herself by a longerestrangement, the lady of M'Morrough showed no violent disinclination toaccept of the courtesies which, well-pleased with her having made herappearance of her own accord, he seemed anxious to press upon her. Afooting of companionship having thus been restored between the chieftainand his lady, matters, from this day, went on at Castle Tulim much as theyhad done before, only that the latter long continued to wear a countenanceexpressive of a deeply wounded, but resigned spirit. Even this, however, gradually gave way beneath the influence of time; and, when seventeen yearshad passed away, as they now did, unmarked by the occurrence, at CastleTulim, of any event of the smallest importance, the lady of M'Morrough hadlong been in the possession of her wonted cheerfulness. 

It was about the end of this period, that the haughty chieftain, nowsomewhat subdued by age, and no longer under the evil influence of thoseungovernable passions that had run riot with him in his more vigorousyears, was invited, along with his lady, to a great entertainment which wasabout to be given by his father-in-law. M'Morrough and his lady proceededto the castle of their relative. The banquet hall was lighted up; it washung with banners, crowded with gay assemblage, and filled with music. There were many fair faces in that assemblage; but the fairest of all, werethose of two sisters, who sat apart by themselves. The beauty ofcountenance and elegance of form of these two girls, who seemed to be bothabout the same age--seventeen--were surpassing. M'Morrough marked them; hewatched them during the dance; he could not keep his eyes off them. Atlength, turning to his lady, he asked who they were. 

"They are _your_ daughters, M'Morrough, " replied the former. 

A deadly paleness overspread the countenance of the chief. He shook inevery limb, and would have sunk on the floor had he not been supported. Onrecovering a little, he covered his face with his hands, burst into a floodof tears, and rushed out of the apartment. On gaining a retired andunoccupied chamber, M'Morrough sent for his daughters. When they came, theyfound him on his knees, fervently thanking God for this signal instance ofhis mercy and beneficence. He took his daughters in his arms, blessed thema thousand times over, buried his head between them, and wept like a child. 

THE SURGEON'S TALES. 

THE BEREAVED. 

By looking over the memorial of my professional life; and writing out theextended details of my experience, I am, in effect, living my life overagain. Most of the scenes I witnessed left such an impression upon my mind, that it requires only the touch of the _caduceus_ of the witching power ofmemory, to call them all up again with a vividness scarcely less than thatby which they were formerly presented to me. There is only this difference, that my remembered experiences, now invested with a species of borrowedlight, seem like scenery which one has seen in the glance of a mid-day sun, presented again to the dreamy "evening sense" under the soft blueeffulgence of the waning harvest-moon; the trees with the sere leafrustling under the fluttering wing of the night bird; and the dead silence, which is not broken by the internal voice speaking the words that have beenspoken by those who lie under the yew tree. In an early leaf of my journal, I find some broken details of a visit I paid to Mr B----, a richmanufacturer in the town where I began my practice; but which I left when Ihad more confidence in those humble powers of ministering to the afflicted, which have raised me to an honourable station, and supplied me with themeans of passing my old age in affluence. This individual had lost hiswife--a very amiable woman, with whom he had lived a period of twenty-fiveyears--and took on grief so heavily, that he was unfit to attend thefuneral. He lay in bed, and would not be comforted. Having attended hiswife, I continued my attentions to the husband. Three days had passed sincehis wife had been buried, and during all that time, he had eaten nothing;and, what augured gloomily for his fate, he had never been heard to speak, or sigh, or even to give vent to his sufferings in a single groan. Thereseemed to have fallen over him a heavy load, which, pressing with deadlyforce upon the issues of life, defied those reacting energies of nature, which usually struggle, by sighs and groans, to throw off the incubus ofextraordinary griefs. 

I have met with many wiseacre-sceptics who laugh at the idea of what isvulgarly called a "broken heart, " as a direct consequence either ofunrequited love or extraordinary grief--admitting, however, in theirliberality, that death may ensue from great griefs operating merely as aninductive original cause, which destroying gradually the foundations ofhealth, bring on a train of other ailments, that may, in the end, provemortal. The admission cares for nothing, as a matter of every-dayexperience; and the original proposition to which it is objected as aqualification, remains as a truth which may humble the pride of man, andspeak to the sceptic through the crushed heart of a fatal experience. Ihave seen many instances of the fatal effects of grief as a direct mortalagent, killing, by its own unaided energies, as certainly, though not in soshort a time, as a blow or a wound in the vital organs of the human body. The common nosologies contain no name for the disease, because, in truth, it cannot properly be called a disease, any more than a stab with a swordcan deserve that name; and this, combined with the fact that it is only ina very few instances that the _coup_ works by itself, without the aid ofsome ailment generated by it, that young practitioners often homologate thevulgar notions that prevail upon this important subject. 

Among all the many causes of grief to which mankind are daily exposed, Iknow not that there is one that strikes so deeply into the secret recessesof the vital principle as the loss of a dearly-beloved wife, who has livedwith a man for a lengthened period, through early adversity and lateprosperity--borne him a family which have bound closer the tie that wasknitted by early affection, and who has left him to tread the last wearystages of existence alone, and without that support which almost all menderive from woman. The effects are often supposed to be proportioned to theaffection; yet I doubt if this solves the curious problem of the diversityof consequences resulting from this great privation. There are many men ofstrong powers of mind, who are so constituted that they _cannot_ but pressheavily on the support of another. They seem almost to live through thethoughts and feelings of their helpmates; and the energies they take creditfor in the busy affairs of the world, have their source--unknown often tothemselves--in the bosom of wedded affection. It is in proportion to thestrength of the habit of this _leaning_, combined, doubtless, with thecoexistent affection, that the effects of the loss of a helpmate, in thelater period of life, work with such varied influence on the survivor. Itmay also seem a curious fact, and I have no doubt of the truth of it, thata man when advanced in years is much more apt to break suddenly down underthis visitation than a woman; while, again, the consequence would seem tobe reversed if the calamity has overtaken them in the more early stages ofthe connection. These are grounds for speculation. At present I have onlyto do with facts. 

The individual whose case has suggested these observations, presented, whenI saw him first after the funeral of his wife, the symptom--present in allcases of an utterly crushed spirit--of a wish to die. I was the first towhom he had uttered a syllable since the day on which she had been carriedout of the house which she had so long filled with the spirit ofcheerfulness and comfort. His only daughter, Martha, a fine young woman, had contributed but little to his relief--if she had not, indeed, increasedhis depression by her own emotions, which she had no power to conceal; andhis only son had gone off to Edinburgh, to attend his classes in thecollege, where he intended to graduate as a physician. He was thus, in amanner, left in a great degree alone; for his daughter sought her apartmentat every opportunity, to weep over her sorrows unobserved; and she hadnaturally thought that her father's grief, attended by no exacerbations ofgroaning or weeping like her own, presented less appearance of intensitythan that which convulsed her own heart, and got relief by nature'sappointed modes of alleviation. When the heart is stricken with a certainforce, all forms of presenting less gloomy views of the condition of theindividual, will generally be found to be totally unavailing in affordingrelief. Nay, I am satisfied that there was genuine philosophy in the customof the Greeks and the ancient Germans, in _forcing_ victims of greatsorrows to _weep_ out the rankling barbed shaft. These had a species oflicensed mourners, whose duty it was to soften the heart by melting strainsof mournful melody, whereby, as by the application of a bland liniment, therigid issues of the feelings were softened and opened, and the oppressedorgan, the heart, was relieved of the load which defies the force ofargument, and even the condolence of friendship. The curing of cold-nips bythe appliance of snow, and of burns by the application of heat, could nothave appeared more fraught with ridicule to the old women of former days, than would the custom I have here cited to the comforters of modern times. If I cannot say that, amongst some bold remedies, I have recommended it, Ihave, at least, avoided, on all occasions, officious endeavours tocounteract the oppressing burden, by wrenching the mind from the engrossingthought--a process generally attended with no other result than making itadhere with increased force. 

The greatest triumph that can be effected with the truly heart-strickenvictim, to whom is denied the usual bursts that indicate a bearablemisfortune, or, at least, one whose intensity is partly abated, is thebringing about of that more natural condition of the heart, which, indeed, is generally most feared by the ordinary paraclete. In the case of thebereaved husband, there is no charm so powerful in its effects as the vividportrayment of the virtues of her who has gone down to the grave; and itmay well be said, that the heart that will not give out its feelings to theimpassioned description of the amiable properties of the departed helpmate, is all but incurable. The sister of Mr B----, who saw the necessity ofadministering relief, tried to awaken him to a sense of religiousconsolation; but he was as yet unfit even for that sacred ministration; andall her efforts having failed to rouse him, even from the deathlike stuporin which he lay, she had recourse, by my advice, to probing the wound, totake off the stricture by which the natural humours were pent up. Shediscoursed pathetically on the qualities of the departed, which, she said, would be the passport of her spirit to a sphere where he would againcontemplate them unclouded by the dingy vapours of earthly feelings. Shekept in the same strain for a lengthened period; but declared to me, when Ivisited him again, that he exhibited no signs of being moved by herdiscourse. He, once or twice, turned his eyes on her for a moment, drewoccasionally a heavy sigh, that told, by the difficulty of the operation, the load with which he was oppressed; but his eyes were dry, no groanescaped from him, or any other sign of the heart being aided in an effortto restore the current of natural feeling. The _coup de peine_ had tooclearly taken the very core of the heart; the lamp of hope had been dashedout violently, and, under the cloud of his great evil, all things thatremained to him upon earth were tinged with its dark hues. He presented allthe appearances--except the dilation of the pupil of the eye--of one whosebrain had been concussed by a deep fall, or laboured under a fracture ofthe bones of the _cranium_. The few words he spoke to me came slowly, witha heavy oppressive sound, as if spoken through a hollow tube; and what may, to some, be remarkable, though certainly not to me, they embraced not theslightest allusion to his bereavement--a symptom almost invariablyattendant upon those deeper strokes of grief, which, being but seldomwitnessed, are much less understood in their effects than the more ordinaryoppressions, whose intense demonstrations and allusions to the cause of theevil, mark the victims as objects for the portrayments of poets. 

Two or three days passed off in this way, without the slightestamelioration of his condition. The efforts of Miss B---- had been repeatedoften without effect. As she expressed herself to me, he would neither eatnor speak, sleep nor weep. "He has not, " she added, "even muttered hername. His heart seems utterly broken; and time and the power of Heavenalone will effect a change. " Such is the common philosophy of sorrow: timeis held forth as all-powerful, all-saving; and while I admit its force, Ionly insist for the certainty of the existence of exceptions. The eighthday had passed without any support having been taken to sustain the system. A course of maceration, that had been going on during his wife's illness, was thus continued; yet, in the few words I occasionally drew from him, there was no indication of anything like the sullen determination of thesuicide; the cause lay in the total cessation of the powers of thestomach--a consequence of the cerebral pressure, whose action is felt notwhere it operates primarily, but in the heart and other organs, where itworks merely by sympathy. 

It was on the evening of the eighth day after the funeral, as I have itnoted, that I called to see if any change for the better had been effectedby the ministrations of his sister. She sat by his bedside, with the Bibleplaced before her, from which she had been reading passages to him. Hisface was turned to the front of the bed, but he did not seem to be in anyway moved by my entrance. All the efforts his sister had made to get him toenter into the spirit of the passages she had been reading had beenfruitless; nor had he as yet made the slightest allusion to the cause ofhis illness, or mentioned the name of his deceased partner. A few words ofno importance, and not related to the circumstances of his grief, werewrung from him painfully by my questions; but it seemed as if the languagethat represents the things of the world had lost all power of charming theear; the deadness that had overtaken the heart like a palsy, was felt fromthe fountain of feelings, to the minute endings of the nerves; and theexternal senses, which are the ministers of the soul, had renounced theirordinary ministrations to the spirit that heeded them not. Only once hissister had observed a slight moisture rise for a moment in his eye, as shetouched some tender traits of the character of the departed; but it passedaway rather as an evidence of the utter powerlessness of nature, in a faintheave of the reactive energy, telling at once how little she could perform, yet how much was necessary to overcome the weight by which she wasoppressed. I sat for some moments silent by the side of the bed, andmeditated a recourse to some more strenuous effort directed to his sense ofduty as a parent; though I was aware, that until the heart is in somedegree relieved, all such appeals are too often vain, if not ratherattended with unfavourable effects, but, in extreme cases, we are notentitled to rest upon the generality of theories where so various andmutable an essence as the human mind is the object to which they are to beapplied. I was on the point of making a trial, by recurring to the positionof his son and daughter, when I heard the sound of a horse's feetapproaching, with great rapidity, the door. The sister started; and I couldhear Martha open the window above, to ascertain who might be the visiter. In another moment the outer door opened with a loud clang. Some oneapproached along the passage, in breathless haste. He entered. It wasGeorge B----, under the excitement of some strong internal emotion; hiseyes gleaming with a fearful light, and his limbs shaking violently. Hestood for a moment as if he were gathering his energies to speak; but thewords stuck in his throat, the sounds died away amidst the noise of anindistinct jabbering. I noticed the eye of his father fixed upon him, betraying only a very slight increase of animation; but even thisextraordinary demeanour of his son did not draw from him a question; soutterly dead to all external impulses had his grief made him, that theharrowing cause of so much excitement in his son, remained unquestioned bythe feelings of the parent. In another moment the youth was stretchedacross the bed, locking the father in his embrace, and sobbing outinarticulate words, none of which I could understand. The aunt was as muchat a loss to solve the mystery of the violent paroxysm as myself; for sometime neither of us could put a question; the sobbings of the youth seemedto chain up our tongues by the charm of the eloquence of nature'simpassioned language. Meanwhile, Martha entered, ran forward to thebedside, lifted her brother from the position which he occupied, and seatedhim, by the application of some force, on the empty chair that stood by theside of the bed. 

"What is the matter, George?" she cried; the question was repeated by theaunt, and the eyes of the parent sought languidly the face of the youth, which was, however, now covered by his hands. The question was more thanonce repeated by both the aunt and myself; the father never spoke, norcould I perceive a single ray of curiosity in his eye. He seemed to awaitthe issue of the son's explanation, heedless what it might be--whether theannouncement of a great or a lesser evil--its magnitude, thoughtranscending the bounds of ordinary bearing, comprehending every othermisfortune that fate could have in store for him, being, whatever itsproportions, as nothing to the death-stricken heart of one whose hope wasburied. 

"This is scarcely a time or an occasion, George, " said I, "for themanifestation of these emotions. If the cause lies in the grief, come backwith increased force, for the death of your mother, you should have knownthat there is one lying there whose load is still greater, and who is, unfortunately, as yet, beyond the relief which, as your agitationindicates, nature in the young heart is working for you. "

"The death!--the death!" he muttered in a choking voice; "but there issomething after the death that is worse than the death itself. "

"Are you distracted, George?" said the aunt. "This Bible was the hand-bookand the rule of your mother's conduct in this world. A better woman neveroffered up her prayers at the fountain of the waters of immortal life; noone that ever lived had a better right to draw from the blessing, or betterqualified for enjoying it as she now enjoys it. She is in heaven; and willyou say that that is worse than death?"

"You speak of her spirit, aunt, " replied he, as he still covered his facewith his hands. "Her spirit is there!"--and he took away one of his handsfrom his face and pointed to heaven--"There, where the saints rest, does mymother's soul rest; but, O God, where--where is the body?"

A thought struck me on the instant. I was afraid to utter it. I looked atthe father, and suspected, from the sudden light of animation that startedto his eye, that the gloom of his mind had at last been penetrated by thethought which had suggested itself to me. 

"Where is the body!" responded the aunt. "Why, George, where should it bebut in C---- churchyard, beneath the stone that has told the virtues of herancestors, and will, in a short time, declare her own, greater than thoseof her kindred that have gone before?"

"It is on Dr M----'s table!" cried the youth, starting to his feet, andagain throwing himself violently on the chair. "I purchased it; paid theprice for it; and recognised it only when the dissecting-knife was in myhand!" Every one started aghast; terror froze up the issues of speech; adeep groan issued from the bed-ridden patient; he beckoned me to his ear. "Tell the women to go out, " he whispered, as he twisted his bodyconvulsively among the bedclothes. 

I complied with his request; and the aunt, seizing Martha, who stood as ifshe had been transfixed to the floor, dragged her out of the room. In thepassage, I heard a loud scream; and, in a moment, all was again silence. MrB----, without uttering a word, raised his feeble body from the bed, andcame forth, the spectre of what he was only a few weeks before. His limbs, which were reduced to bony shanks, covered with shrivelled skin, seemedtotally unable to support even the decayed, emaciated frame. He staggeredas he reached the floor; but, recovering himself, stood firm, and thenproceeded to his wardrobe, from which he drew his vestments, and proceededto attire himself. 

"An hour since, " he said, in a slow, solemn voice, "I thought these clotheswould never again be on my body. My only hope was the winding-sheet, andthat grave which has been robbed. "

"George may have been deceived, " said I, as he was proceeding to dresshimself. "I have often thought that I saw resemblances to deceased friendsin the features of subjects in the dissecting-room. "

"The grave will test it, " answered he, with a deep groan, as he proceededslowly, but resolutely, to put one garment after another on his skeletonbody. 

He was at length dressed; and, proceeding to the kitchen, he appearedagain, in a short time, with a lighted lantern in his hand, the light ofwhich, as it threw its beam on his sallow face--for the candle had, meanwhile, burned down into the socket--exhibited, in its lurid glare, thedeep-sunken eyes and protruding bones of his emaciated countenance. 

"Come, we shall proceed to the grave of my Isabella, " said he. 

"You are unable, " said I. "Your limbs will not carry you that length; andyou are, besides, unfitted by the state of your mind and feelings, for aninvestigation of this kind. Stay here with your son, and I will go to thechurchyard and satisfy myself of the deception under which George, doubtless, labours. "

"I feel now more than my former strength, " he replied. "I am awakened froma death-stupor of the soul; and I feel that within me which will enable meto go through this trial. I will look into my Isabella's grave; will meetwith those eyes again--that countenance through which I have read theworkings of love in a spirit that is now far from the precincts of theclay. Deny me not; I will be satisfied of this, if I should come back fromher grave to complete that which is begun, and is already visible in theseshrunken members, that now obey a supernatural power. "

There seemed to be no gainsaying him; his manner was inspired and resolute;and I proceeded to accompany him to C---- churchyard. George, who, in themeantime, had been tossing himself in the chair, rose to make one of theparty. The agitation under which he still laboured was in direct contrastto the cold stillness of his father; yet the one was a more livingexpression than the other; and, while my eye shrunk not from the ordinaryindications of suffering, I--maugre all the experience of misery I hadhad--could scarcely look on the animated corpse thus preparing to visit thegrave where the object of all his hopes and affections in this world hadbeen buried, and might now be found to have been desecrated by the knife ofthe anatomist. We went forth together. George's horse still stood at thedoor, reeking and bloody. I requested Mr B---- to mount, as we had a fullmile to go to the burying-ground, and I deemed it utterly impossible thathe could accomplish the distance. He did not answer me, but proceededonwards with a firm step, in the face of a cold, bleak, east wind, thatmoaned mournfully among a clump of trees that skirted the road. Some flakesof snow were winging through the air--driven now by the breeze, orlingering over our heads as if afraid to be soiled by the earth, which wewere bent to open where the dead then lay--or some time before lay--a massof putrefaction; yet dear to the feelings of the bereaved, and sought nowwith greater avidity than when the body was arrayed in the smiles ofbeauty, and filled with living, breathing love. The husband spoke nothing;and George was silent, save for the deep sobs that burst from him as helooked upon the woe-worn form of his father, who stalked away before uslike a creature hurrying to the grave to seek the home there from which atroubled spirit had removed him in the dark hour of night. In this way wewandered on. I was not in a mood to speak. The occasion and the scenedepressed me more than ever did the prospect of a deathbed, or the sight ofa patient about to submit to a painful and dangerous operation. My habitsof thought are little conversant with the poetry of nature, or of man'scondition in this stage of suffering--the duties of an arduous professionare exclusive of those dreamy moods of the mind, which have little incommon with the doings of every-day life; yet, on this occasion, I felt allthe inspiration of the sad muse; and, were I to endeavour to account forit, I could only seek for the cause in the aspect of the night, and theunusual nature of the vocation, operating, at the moment, on a mindloosened from the cares of my profession. 

In a much less time than I could have anticipated, from the weak conditionof Mr B----, we arrived at the churchyard--a solitary spot, surrounded withan old grey dyke, at the back of which rose in deep shade a wood of firs. The snow lay on the top of the walls, and on the higher branches of thefirs, reminding one of streaks of white clouds in the sky, as the darknessof the night, enveloping the lower portions, kept them almost from ourview. From a small house at the ridge of the fir-belt, a slight ray oflight beamed forth, and, striking upon the top of a monument placed againstthe wall, exhibited the left all around in deeper gloom. Without uttering aword, Mr B---- made up to the house, and, knocking at the door, a youngfemale appeared. She uttered a scream, and ran back, doubtless from thepale and death-like appearance presented by the face of the visiter. Herplace was momentarily supplied by the sexton, who, the moment he saw MrB----, shrunk back in what I conceived to be conscious fear. I was standingbehind, and noticing, what I thought, the guilty expression of the man'sface, concluded unfavourably for the sad hope of my friend. 

"I have reason to believe that there have been resurrectionists in yourchurchyard, James, " said Mr B---- mournfully. 

"Impossible!" replied the sexton; "we have been guarding the ground forsome time past. It is a dream, Mr B----; many relations are troubled by thesame fears. It was only yesterday that I opened a grave to satisfy thewishes of Mrs G----, whose husband was buried a week ago. The body was assafe as if it had been in her own keeping. Take my advice; be satisfiedthere is no cause of apprehension; you forget the sacred nature of mytrust. "

"I can only be satisfied by an examination of the grave, " replied Mr B----. "I insist upon having this satisfaction. The cemetery is my property, and Ihave a right to examine it. "

The man hesitated, and said that his assistant was from home. But thebereaved husband was not to be thus diverted from his purpose. He stoodresolutely with the lantern in his hand, and demanded admittance into thechurchyard. The man at length reluctantly took down the key from a nail inthe passage, and bringing another lantern with him, led us to the door, which, in the midst of many grumblings, he opened. He then led the way overthe snowy hillocks to nearly the middle of the burying-ground, where thegrave of Mrs B----, headed by an ornamented stone, was exhibited to us. MrB---- bent down, and, moving the lantern backwards and forwards, examinedit slowly and carefully, casting his eye over the snow, which presented anunbroken appearance, and examining every chink, as if he there found anevidence of the truth of George's statement. 

"That grave has not been touched, " said the man. "The head of it is thepart to judge by. You will find the turf lies whole and unbroken under thewreath. "

"It may be as you say, " replied Mr B----, as he bent down in hisexamination; "but the late snow may have removed the traces of the opening. I cannot return home till I am satisfied. My own bones must mix with thoseof my Isabella. Proceed to open the grave; I myself will assist you. "

At that moment a figure was seen gliding alone amidst the tombstones. Ithad all the legitimate whiteness like the ideal spirit. I stood and gazedat it, and George's eyes were also fixed upon it; Mr B---- paid noattention; he was too intent upon the investigation he was engaged in; andthe grave-digger, whose head was down, did not notice it. I said nothing;but George, pointing to it as it approached, cried--

"See, see! what is that?"

The sexton looked up, and cried--"It is David. He has been out, and iscovered with snow. He comes in good time. "

It was even so. The man approached, and the implements having beenprocured, they set about opening the grave. Mr. B---- stood motionless, hishead hanging down, and deep sighs occasionally coming from his breast, mixed with the quick breathing of the men, as they plied their shovels. Hestill held the lantern in his hand, by the light of which the group beforeme is brought out in faint relief. The silence around was signally that ofa churchyard; for the fir belt shrouded the scene from the night breeze, and there was only occasionally heard a low, mournful gust, as it diedamong the branches of the trees. On that spot only there was quickbreathing action. The men had got down pretty far into the grave; and, asthey brought their heads within the ray of the lantern, in their acts ofthrowing up the earth, their flushed faces contrasted strongly with thecadaverous countenance of the husband, who leant over them, watching everymotion, and intent upon the expected stroke of the shovel upon the coffinlid. The recollection of the attributes of the German ghoul came over me;nor did the difference between the beings, the motives, and the actions, prevent me from conjuring up the similitude, so unlike a human being did heappear in his complexion, his fixed, dead-like stare into the grave, andthe perfect stillness of his body, as he crouched down to be nearer to theobject of his search. At length, the sound was heard, the rattle on thecoffin lid. The victim's ear seemed chained to the sound, as if he couldhave augured from it whether or not the chest was empty. In a short time, "The heavy moil that shrouds the dead"

was entirely removed. The sexton now took his own lamp down into the grave. The screw-nails were undone, the lid was raised, and the body of Mrs B----, arrayed in her winding-sheet and scalloped sere-clothes, was seen, by thesickly, yellow gleam of the lantern, lying in the stillness and placidityof death--

 "For still, still she lay, With a wreath on her bosom. "

One of the men now came out, and Mr B---- descended into the grave. Helifted off the face-cloth, gazed on the clay-cold face, touched it, and nowwas opened the

 "Sacred source of sympathetic tears. "

He burst into a loud paroxysm; and, as if nature had been to take herrevenge for her sufferings, under the freezing influence of his sorrow, hewept as if there had been to be no end of his weeping. It was latterlyfound necessary to force him out of the grave; though, as I was informed byGeorge, he had shrunk from the view of the dead body of his wife, while itlay in the house, and before it was interred. The lid was again placed onthe coffin, the screws fixed, and the grave filled up. Mr B---- slipped aguinea into the hand of the sexton, and we took our way back to the town. George informed us, as we went, that he had been for several nights hauntedby the image of his mother; and could only thus account for the convictionthat had seized him, that the body of the female he had seen in thedissecting-room was that of his parent. It is a remarkable fact, and theone which chiefly induced me to give this narrative, that the scene I havenow described wrought so powerfully on the feelings of Mr B----, that theform of his grief was entirely changed. During the whole of the subsequentnight, he wept intensely--nature was relieved--his sorrow was mollifiedinto one of those

 "Moods that speak their softened woes;"

and time soon wrought its accustomed amelioration. I never saw one whoseemed more certainly doomed to the fate of the heart-stricken; and, however fanciful it may seem, I attribute to the mistake of his son therestoration of the father. 

THE CONDEMNED. 

I believe it was Fontenelle who said that, if he were to have beenpermitted to pass his life over again, he would have done everything he didin the world, and, of course, consented to suffer what he had suffered, inconsideration of what he had enjoyed. I have heard the same statement fromothers. A very learned and ingenious professor in the north, whoselucubrations have often cast the effulgence of his rare genius over thepages of the Border Tales, has no hesitation in declaring that he wouldgladly consent to receive another tack of existence in this strange world, with all its pains and penalties, were it for nothing but to be allowed towitness the curious scenes, the startling occurrences, the humorousbizarrerie of cross-purposes, the conceits, the foibles, the triumphs ofthe creature man. Moore the poet has somewhere said, that he would notconsent to live his life over again, except upon the condition that he wereto be gifted with less love and more judgment--probably forgetting that inthat case he would not have been the author of "Lallah Rookh;" though, mayhap, of a still drier life of Sheridan than that which came from hispen. I have often put the question to patients, and have found the answerto be regulated by the state of their disease. Upon the whole, it requiresa very sharp, bitter pang, indeed, to extort the confession, that theywould not accept another lease of life. If men were not Christians, theywould choose, I think, to be Pythagoreans, were it for nothing but theslight chance they would enjoy of passing into some state of existence notin a remote degree different from that which they have declared themselvessick of a thousand times before they died. Sick of it as many, however, saythey are, they would all live "a little and a little longer still, " whenthe dread hour comes that calls them home. These remarks have beensuggested by the following passage in my note-book:--"17th August, ----, case of Eugene D----, in the jail of ----. Extraordinary example of the_amor vitæ_. " I find I had jotted a number of the details; but such was theimpression the scene of that tragedy of life produced in me, that even now, though many years have passed, I recollect the minutiæ of the drama asdistinctly as if I had witnessed it yesterday. I was indeed interested inthe case more than professionally; for the subject of it was an earlycompanion of my own, and was, besides, calculated, from his acquirements, and a free, open generosity of spirit, to produce a deep interest in thefate which, in an unhappy hour, he brought upon himself. It was on theforenoon of the day I have mentioned, that the under turnkey of the prisonof ---- came in breathless haste, and called me to a prisoner. It wasEugene D----. I was at the moment occupied in thinking of the youth. He hadforged a bill upon his father, Mr. D----, a wealthy merchant; and it wasvery clearly brought out, in evidence that he applied the money toextricate a friend from pecuniary embarrassments. The father had paid thebill; but the legal authorities had prosecuted the case; and he, at thatmoment, lay in jail a criminal, condemned to die. The gallows was standingready to exact its victim within two hours; the post from London wouldarrive in an hour with or without a reprieve. His father and mother, whatwere they then doing, thinking, suffering? On them and him I was meditatingwhen the words of the turnkey fell upon my ear. 

"What has occurred?" was my question to the messenger. 

"Eugene D----, the condemned criminal, has taken some poisonous drug, " saidhe, "and the provost has sent me for you to come to his relief. "

I meditated a moment. It might have been as well, I thought, for allparties, that I had not been called, and that the drug, whatever it was, might be allowed to anticipate the law, but I had no alternative; I wascalled in my official capacity; and then a messenger might still arrivefrom London. I provided myself with the necessary counteracting agents, andfollowed the man. I passed the house of his father. The blinds were drawn, and all seemed wrapped in dead silence, as if there had been a corpse inthe house. Several people were passing the door, and cast, as they went, amelancholy look at the windows. They had, in all likelihood, seen thegallows; at least, they knew the precise posture of affairs within thehouse. I was inclined to have entered; but I could see no benefit to bederived from my visit, and hurried forwards to the jail, from the window ofwhich the black apparatus projected in ghastly array. The post-office in---- Street was in the neighbourhood, and an assembly of people wasbeginning to collect, to wait for the incoming of the mail. There wassympathy in every face; for the fate of the youth, who had been wellesteemed over the town, for a handsome, generous-minded young man, and thesituation of his parents--wealthy and respectable citizens--had calledforth an extraordinary feeling in his favour. Indeed, thousands had signedthe petition to the King, but forgery was, at that time, a crime offrequent occurrence, and the doubts that were entertained as to the successof the application were apparently justified by the arrival of the eleventhhour. On passing through the jail, I saw the various preparations inprogress for the execution; the chaplain was in attendance; and, in a smallcell, at the end of the apartment from which the fatal erection projected, there sat, guarded by an officer, from a fear that he would escape, theexecutioner himself--

 "Grim as the mighty Polypheme. "

My guide led me forward, and, in a few minutes, I stood beside Eugene, who, dressed in a suit of black, lay twisting his body in a chair, making thechains by which he was bound clank in a fearful manner. A small phial wason the floor. I took it up, and ascertained, in an instant, that he hadbetaken himself to the drug most commonly resorted to by suicides. 

"Laudanum!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, yes--as much as would kill two men!" he cried wildly. 

The poison had not had time to operate; or rather, its narcotic power hadbeen suspended by the terrors of an awakened love and hope of life, thathad followed close upon the prospect of death caused by his own act. 

"You had a chance for life, Eugene, " said I, hurriedly. "A courier may yetarrive, independently of the mail, which has not yet come. "

"Chance or no chance, " he cried, as I proceeded with my assistant, who nowentered, to apply the remedies; "I would yet live the two hours! I had nosooner swallowed the drug, than I thought I had intercepted the mercy ofheaven; life seemed--and, oh, it even now seems--sweeter than ever, anddeath still more dreadful! Quick--quick--quick! The poison is busy with myheart. I would give a world for even these two hours of life andhope--small, small as that is!"

I proceeded with the application of the usual remedies. A portion, but onlya portion of the laudanum, had been taken off; and the next efficientremedy was motion, to keep off the sleepy lethargy that drinks up thefountain of life. Two men were got to drag him as violently as possiblealong the floor, leaving him enough of his own weight to force him to usehis limbs. I noticed that he struggled with terrible energy against theonset of the subtle agent; exhibiting the most signal instance I everbeheld of the power of that hope which seems to be consistent with lifeitself. Already an eighth part of the apparent period of his sojourn uponearth had passed. Seven quarters more would, in all likelihood, bring himto the scaffold, and, by resisting my energies to counteract the effects ofthe poison, he might have eluded the grim arm of the law, by a death athousand times less dreadful. Every now and then, as the men dragged himalong, he turned his eyes to me, and asked the hour. Sometimes he repeatedthe question within two minutes of my answer. As often was his ear directedto the street, to try to catch the sounds of a coach, or the feet of ahorse; and then he redoubled his energies to keep off the onset of thelethargy, which I told him was most to be feared. The operation waspersevered in; but the men informed me they thought he was graduallygetting heavier on their hands, and I noticed his eye, at times, get sodull that he seemed to be on the eve of falling asleep and sinking. Anotherquarter of an hour soon passed; and in a little further time, the bailiesand chaplain would find it their duty to come and prepare him for hisfate--alas! now indeed so certain, that no reasonable thought could suggesteven the shadow of a hope; a reprieve, so near the time of execution, wouldnot have been trusted to the mail, and a messenger would have arrived, byquick stages, long before; unless there had, indeed, been any fault in thegovernment authorities, in tampering with a man's life within an hour ofhis execution. If I had not been under the strict law of professionaldiscipline, I would certainly have allowed him to lie down and pass intodeath or oblivion. I had, however, my duty to perform; and, strange as itmay appear, that duty quadrated with the wishes of the young man himself;who, as he struggled with the demon that threatened to overpower him, seemed to rise in hope as every minute diminished the chance of hissalvation. By the increased energies of the men, he was again roused into aless dull perception of sounds, and I could perceive him start as therattle of the wheels of a carriage was heard at the jail door. He fixed hishalf-dead, staring eye in my face, and muttered, with a difficult effort ofhis sinking jaws--

"Is that it--is that it?--I hear a carriage wheels, and they have stoppedat the door. "

As he uttered the words, it appeared as if he again exerted himself to keepthe enemy, who still threatened him, at bay. I replied nothing; for Isuspected that the carriage brought only some official, or, probably, somemourner, to see him, previous to the fatal scene--that scene which, in alllikelihood, I was endeavouring to render more heart-rending to his friendsand spectators, by keeping alive the vital spark, that might only serve tomake him conscious of pain. It appeared to be too evident that he hadincreased tenfold the misery of his situation; for the stern law wouldadmit of no excuse, and if he was not able to walk to the scaffold he wouldbe carried; yet, if I remitted my endeavours to keep in life, I might, inthe event of the looked-for reprieve still arriving, be liable to beaccused, by my own conscience, of having been as cruel as the law itself. The door of the jail now opened, and a turnkey told me that the usual timehad arrived when the officials began their preparatory duties. I repliedthat it was in vain to attempt, at present, the performance of these sacredrites; the prisoner was wrestling with death; and, if the exertions of themen, who kept still dragging him backwards and forwards, were remitted, hewould sink, in a few minutes, into insensibility. I noticed the eye of poorEugene turned imploringly upon me, as if he wished to know who it was thathad arrived in the carriage. I merely shook my head; and the sign was nosooner made than his chin fell down on his breast; his limbs became weaker, his knees bent, and if the supporters had not exerted themselves stillfarther, he would have sunk. But the men still performed their duty, anddragged him hurriedly along, scarcely now with any aid from his feet, which, obeying no impulse of the loose and flaccid muscles, were thrownabout in every direction, with, a shuffling, lumbering noise, and aclanking of the chain, that must have produced an extraordinary effect onthose who waited in the adjoining cells. The noise thus produced was indeedall that was heard; for the effect of the poison was such as to take awayall power of groaning. I was now doubtful if all the working of the menwould be able to keep off much longer the sleepy incubus, for he seemed tohave lost almost all power of seconding their efforts; but the door of thejail again opened, and the sound of the grating hinges made him again lifthis head. His eye seemed to indicate that he had lost all sense of thepassing of the moments, and I could not discover whether he looked for theentry of one bearing his letter of salvation, or of the jailor with hishammer, to knock the chain from his feet, and lead him forth to thescaffold. He again muttered some words as the turnkey was proceedingforward to where I was. I could not make them out, so faint had his voicenow become; but one of the men said he wished to know the hour. I told himit was one o'clock--that was just one hour from the appointed terminationof his life. The turnkey, meanwhile, whispered in my ear that his father, mother, and sister had arrived. It was the sound of their carriage wheelsthat we had heard. I enjoined upon the men the necessity of continuingtheir labours, and went out to prevent the entry of his parents to thewitnessing of a scene transcending all their powers of bearing. I found thethree standing in the recess where the executioner was sitting in gloomysilence. I took the father and mother by the arms, and hurried them away tothe empty cell, where the chaplain and several officials were collected. The turnkey saw his error, and excused himself, on the ground that he wasconfused by the extraordinary state of affairs within the prison. Iascertained that no notice had been made to his parents of his having takenthe drug. They had come to take farewell of him. The mail had arrived, buthad brought no intelligence--not even of the petition having been disposedof; and, having given up all hope, their intention was that the mother anddaughter should, after the last act of parting, fly to the country, to beas far as possible from the scene of the impending tragedy. I was the firstwho communicated the tidings of the condition of their son; and the noisein the prisoner's cell, as the men still continued their operations, was asad commentary on my words. The sister, who was veiled, uttered a shrillscream, and fell back on the floor. The father stood like

 "Wo's bleak, voiceless petrifaction, "

moving neither limb nor countenance; his eye was fixed steadfastly on theground, and a deadly paleness was over his face. The mother, who was alsoveiled, staggered to a bench--recovering herself suddenly, as some thought, rising wildly, stung her to a broken utterance of some words. I approachedher, while Mr H----, the chaplain, was assisting in getting Miss D---- to achair. 

"Let him die!--let him die!" she exclaimed. "Is not his doom inevitable?You will torture my Eugene by keeping in his life till the law demands itsvictim, and he may be carried--carried! O God!--to a second death, tentimes more cruel than that which he is now suffering. "

"No rejection of the petition has been intimated, " I replied; "and there ishope to the last grain in life's ebbing glass. It is not yet two yearssince a reprieve came to a prisoner, in this very jail, within three hoursof the appointed term of his life. You have spoken from the impulse of anagony which has overcome the truer feelings of a mother and the betterdictates of prudence. "

"Small, small, indeed, is that hope which a mother may not see through thegloom of a despair such as mine, " she replied. "But what means thatdreadful noise in Eugene's cell?"

"Only the efforts of the men to keep him awake, " replied I. "My dutyrequires my efforts in behalf of a fellow-creature to the last moment. Reflect for an instant, and the proper feeling will again vindicate itsplace in the heart of a parent. "

"Dreadful alternative!" she replied. "But, sir, hear me. I am his mother, and I tell you, from the divination of a mother's heart, that there willnow be no respite. I say it again; it would be a relief to me if I heard, at this moment, that he had escaped by death that tragedy which will now berendered a thousand times more painful to him and dreadful to me. "

The father moved his eyes, and fixed them on the face of the mother of hisboy, who, in her agony, thus called for his death in a form which bore evena shade of relief from the horror of what awaited the victim. It was, indeed, an extraordinary request; and told, as no words spoken by mortalhad ever told, the pregnancy of an anguish that could seek for alleviation(if I may use so inadequate a phrase) from so fearful an alternative. Allwere, for a time, now silent, and there was no sound to be heard but thedeep sobs of the daughter, as she recovered from her swoon; the struggle inthe throat of the mother; and the shuffling and tramping in the cell of theprisoner. 

"There is still hope, " I whispered in the ear of the mother. 

"None--none!" she ejaculated again. "My Eugene! my Eugene!"

She reclined back, with her hands over her face, still sobbing out the nameof her son. I pointed to the father to assist her, while I should go againto ascertain the state of the son; but he did not seem to understandme--retaining still his rigid position, and looking with the calmness ofdespair on the scene around him. Her silence continued but a few moments;and when she opened her eyes again, it was to fix them on me. 

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed again. "What, in the name of heaven, are you doing to my Eugene?--Saving him for second, and still more crueldeath. It might have been all over. Let me see him--let me see him!"

And she rose to proceed to the cell where her son was confined; but herstrength failed her, and she again reclined helplessly back in her seat. The clergyman's ministrations were called for by these uttered sentiments, which seemed so little in accordance with the precepts of Holy Writ, however natural to the bursting heart of the mother, to whom the reporteddeath of her son, in his unparalleled situation might almost have beentermed a boon. Retreating from a scene so fraught with misery, I hastenedback to Eugene, who was still in the arms of the men. One of them whisperedto me that he had spoken when he heard the shrill cry of his sister; but, immediately after, he relapsed again into stupor. The men complained ofbeing exhausted by their efforts to keep him moving. His weight was nowalmost that of a dead body; and it was only at intervals that he made anystruggles to move himself by the aid of his paralysed limbs. Two otherindividuals were got to relieve them; and the compulsory motions werecontinued. The lethargy had not altogether mastered the sentient powers;and, the operation having been stopped that I might examine his condition, he lifted his head slowly, looked round him with a vacant stare, and, aftera few moments, muttered again the word "hour. " I pulled out my watch, andtold him that it was twenty minutes past one, he understood me, as Ithought; and pronouncing indistinctly "mother, " he again sank into apparentlistlessness. The men again resumed their work. 

Meanwhile, a buzz from without intimated too distinctly that the mob wascollecting to witness the fate of their townsman. There was no distinctsound, save that which a mass of people, under the depressing feelings ofsorrow, seem to send forth involuntarily--making the air, as it were, thick, and yet with no articulation or distinct noise which can be caughtby the ear of one at a distance, or within the walls of a house. Eugene, Iam satisfied, was unable to recognise the faint indication. It was well forhim. I learned, from the turnkey, that the sound of the hammer in theerection of the gallows had put him almost distracted, and precipitated theexecution of the purpose, which he had wished to delay till after thearrival of the mail. I had little doubt that he might now be kept from thegrasp of the death-stupor for the remaining three quarters of an hour; but, alas! what would be my triumph? Every minute added to the certainty that Iwas only preparing for him and his relations greater pain; for, in anyview, he could not walk to the fatal spot without as much aid as might havesufficed to carry him; and it was even more than probable that he would beso overcome that that latter operation would require to be resorted to, under the stern sanction of a law that behoved to be put in force within agiven time, or not at all. The case I am now describing might suggest someconsideration worthy of the attention of our legislators, who, arrogatingto themselves a license as wide as the limits of the human mind, deny allmanner of discretion to the superintendents of the last execution of thelaw. We profess to be abhorrent from scenes of torture, as well as, ongrounds of policy, hostile to a species of punishment which, indeed, defeats its own ends; and yet I could give more than one case where thesubstance has been retained in all its atrocity, while the form was veiledby flimsy excuses of a false necessity. My situation was now a very painfulone indeed. I was training and supporting the victim for the altar;rescuing from death only to sacrifice him with more bloody rites and acrueller spirit of immolation. The words of his mother, wrung from theagony of a parent's love, rang in my ears; the look of the father--that ofimbecile despair--was imprinted on my mind; the hour was fast on the wing;all hope had perished; and before me was the unfortunate youth, handsome, elegant, and interesting, even in the writhings of the master-fiend, suffering a death which was to be, in effect, repeated in another and acrueller form. I had seen him under circumstances of friendship, and theebullitions of his generous spirit; and I was become, as I pictured tomyself, his enemy, who would not allow him to die, to escape from shame andan increased agony of dissolving nature. Will I admit it? For a moment ortwo I hesitated; and, indeed, had half-resolved to tell the men tostop--the time might yet have sufficed for finishing what he had begun. Ifhe was not dead before two, he would, at least be beyond feeling; and, ifthe officials chose to take the last step of getting him carried to thegallows, they would in effect be immolating a corpse. 

My better and calmer thoughts of duty, however, prevailed; and, in themeantime, I saw the prudence of preventing any meeting between Eugene andhis parents, which could tend to nothing but an increase of pain on theside of those who were still able to feel--for, as regarded the young manhimself, he was beyond the impulse of the feelings that might otherwisehave been called up, even by such a scene. I was not even ill pleased tohear from the under turnkey, that the magistrates had given orders for thedeparture of the friends; though, for my own satisfaction, I wished thatthe father, who had still some command of himself, might visit his son fora few minutes, and sanction my proceedings with his approbation. I wasinformed also by the turnkey, that the father was resisting to the utmostof his power the efforts of the mother to get into the cell. He probablysaw too clearly that in the excited condition in which she still remained, the scene might prove disastrous, as affecting either life or reason; and, if I could judge from what I myself felt in spite of the blunting effectsof a long acquaintanceship with misery in its various phases, there wasgood reason for his fears. The scene presented features

 "Direr than incubus's haggard train. "

I had just looked my watch--it wanted now only twenty minutes of the lasthour. The order for the friends to quit the jail was about to be obeyed. The father sent a messenger for me. I repaired to the cell; but to avoidthe appeals of the mother and daughter, I beckoned him forth to the lobby. He asked me whether he should see his son now that he was all butinsensible, and could not probably recognise him. He feared that he couldnot stand the scene, for that the calmness he assumed was false! I repliedthat it certainly required no ordinary firmness; and yet the pain might insome degree be even lessened by the state of stupor and insensibility inwhich the youth still continued. He fixed his eyes on my face with anexpression of forced and unnatural calmness, that pained me more than thedeath-like inanity of the still beautiful countenance of his son, or thehysterical excitement of the mother. He at last seized my hand andproceeded along to the cell hurriedly, as the turnkey was crying loudly forthe friends to depart. We entered and stood for a moment. He stood andgazed at his son, as the latter was still kept moving by the men; butEugene was apparently unconscious of the presence of his parents. A loudcry from the dense crowd who had assembled to witness the execution, struckmy ear. I ran to the window, and saw a man in the act of coming off ahorse, whose sides were covered with foam and blood. The cries of the crowdcontinued, and I could distinctly hear the word "_reprieve_" mixed with theshouts. Mr. D---- was at my back, and I felt his hands press me like avice. The two men who were supporting Eugene, had also heard the sound, and, paralysed by the extraordinary announcement, they actually let theprisoner sink on the floor. The sound of his fall made me turn; the fatherhad vanished, doubtless to meet the messenger, and communicate the tidingsto his wife and daughter. A great bustle in the neighbouring cellssucceeded. The two men stood and looked at me in silence. Eugene still layon the floor, to all appearance insensible. By my orders he was immediatelyagain lifted up, and dragged more violently than ever, backwards andforwards. In a few seconds, the turnkey came in, and struck off the irons, by which his ancle had been so severely torn that the blood flowed from iton the floor. He informed me that he was indeed reprieved, and that thefault of the delay was attributable to the authorities in London. I shoutedin the ear of the young man the electric word; he lifted his head, lookedwildly around him for a few seconds, and uttered a strange gurgling soundunlike any expression of the human voice I ever heard. I was indeeduncertain whether he understood me or not. In a few minutes more, the cellwas crowded--the father, mother, and daughter, the chaplain, the messenger, and several of the officials, all bursting in, to see the condition of thecriminal. To this I was not averse; because the more excitement that couldbe produced in the mind of the youth, the greater chance remained of ourbeing able to keep off the deadly effects of the drug. A thousand times didthe parent and mother sound into his dull ear the vocable pregnant with somuch relief to him and his friends; but it was not until two hoursafterwards that he was so far recovered as to understand perfectly thenarrow escape he had made from death. In the evening he was conveyed homein a carriage; and, as they were leaving the jail, he looked out at thegrim apparatus which had been erected for him, and which the workmen wereremoving in the midst of a dense crowd of citizens. 

Some days afterwards, Eugene D---- had almost entirely recovered from theeffects of the poison. One day when I called, I found him lying on a sofa, with his mother sitting by his side. She took her eyes off her son, andbent them on me till tears filled them. 

"Before you entered, " she said, "I was talking to Eugene about the requestI made to you in the jail on that dreadful day, to let my son die. Repeatedly since, have I thought of my wild words; but they know little ofhuman nature, at least little of the feelings of a mother in my situation, who could brand them as unnatural, or doubt the sanity that recognisedfully their effect. "

"I am too well apprised, madam, " I replied, "of the workings of that organ, whose changes often startle ourselves, to be surprised at the words youthen made use of. I knew not, after all, if you did not exhibit as muchheroism as Brutus, who condemned his son to death; certainly more thanZaleucus, who condemned his to the loss of an eye, having first submittedto the loss of his own, to make the love of a father quadrate with thejustice of the law-giver. "

"And what say you to yourself, to whom I owe the safety of my Eugene?" sheadded. 

"An Acesias might have accomplished all that I accomplished, madam--for allI did was to keep off sleep; but, if the secret must needs be told, I hadsome doubts at least of the humanity of my proceedings, whatever I mighthave thought of my duty. "

Eugene afterwards went to the East Indies, where he made a fortune. Somepecuniary embarrassments afterwards overtook the family, on which occasionhe sent them home the one half of the money he had made, whereby they wereagain placed in a condition of affluence. A present was also sent to me. Itis not yet very many years ago since I saw Eugene. He had assumed anothername in India, where he had married a very beautiful woman, and to whom heagain returned. 

THE UNBIDDEN GUEST, OR, JEDBURGH'S REGAL FESTIVAL. 

 "In the mid revels, the first ominous night Of their espousals, when the room shone bright With lighted tapers--the king and the queen leading The curious measures, lords and ladies treading The self-same strains--the king looks back by chance, And spies a strange intruder fill the dance; Namely, a mere anatomy, quite bare, His naked limbs both without flesh and hair, (As we decipher Death, ) who stalks about Keeping true measure till the dance be out. "

 _Heywood's Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels. _

There is no river in this country which presents in its course, scenes morebeautifully romantic than the little Jed. Though it exhibits not the dizzycliffs where the eagles build their nests, the mass of waters, themagnitude and the boldness, which give the character of sublimity to ascene; yet, as it winds its course through undulating hills where theforest trees entwine their broad branches, or steals along by the foot ofthe red, rocky precipices, where the wild flowers and the broom blossomfrom every crevice of their perpendicular sides, and from whose summits thewoods bend down, beautiful as rainbows, it presenteth pictures ofsurpassing loveliness, which the eye delights to dwell upon. It is a fairsight to look down from the tree-clad hills upon the ancient burgh, withthe river half circling it, and gardens, orchards, woods, in the beauty ofsummer blossoming, or the magnificence of their autumnal hues, encompassingit, while the venerable Abbey riseth stately in the midst of all, as atemple in paradise. Such is the character of the scenery around Jedburghnow; and, in former ages, its beauty rendered it a favourite resort of theScottish Kings. 

About the year 1270, an orphan boy, named Patrick Douglas, herded a fewsheep upon the hills, which were the property of the monks of Melrose. Someof the brotherhood, discovering him to be a boy of excellent parts, instructed him to read and to write; and perceiving the readiness withwhich he acquired these arts, they sought also to initiate him into all thelearning of the age, and to bring him up for their order. To facilitate andcomplete his instructions, they had him admitted amongst them, as a_convert_ or lay-brother. But, though the talents of the shepherd boycaused him to be regarded as a prodigy by all within the monastery, fromthe Lord Abbot down to the kitchener and his assistants; yet, with Patrick, as with many others even now, gifts were not graces. He had no desire towear the white cassock, narrow scapulary, and plain linen hood of theCistertian brethren; neither did he possess the devoutness necessary forperforming his devotions seven times a-day; and when the bell roused him attwo in the morning, to what was called the _nocturnal_ service, Patrickarose reluctantly; for, though compelled to wedge himself into a narrow bedat eight o'clock in the evening, it was his wont to lie awake, musing onwhat he had read or learned, until past midnight; and, when the _nocturnal_was over, he again retired to sleep, until he was aroused at six for_matins_; but, after these came other devotions, called _tierce_, the_sexte_, the _none_, _vespers_, and the _compline_, at nine in the morning, at noon, at three in the afternoon, at six in the evening and before eight. These services broke in on his favourite studies; and, possessing moretalent than devotion, while engaged in them he thought more of his studiesthan of them. Patrick, therefore, refused to take the monastic vow. He

 "had heard of war, And longed to follow to the field some warlike lord. "

He, however, was beloved by all; and when he left the monastery, the Abbotand the brethren gave him their benediction, and bestowed gifts upon him. He also carried with him letters from the Lord Abbot and Prior, to men whowere mighty in power at the court of King Philip of France. 

From the testimonials which he brought with him, Patrick Douglas, theScottish orphan, speedily obtained favour in the eyes of King Philip andhis nobles, and became as distinguished on the field for his prowess andthe feats of his arms, as he had been in the Abbey of Melrose for hisattainments in learning. But a period of peace came; and he who was but afew years before a shepherd boy by Tweedside, now bearing honours conferredon him by a foreign monarch, was invited as a guest to the palace of theillustrious Count of Dreux. A hundred nobles were there, each exhibitingall the pageantry of the age; and there, too, were a hundred ladies, vyingwith each other in beauty, and in the splendour of their array. But chiefof all was Jolande, the daughter of their host, the Count of Dreux, and thefame of whose charms had spread throughout Christendom. Troubadours sang ofher beauty, and princes bent the knee before her. Patrick Douglas beheldher charms. He gazed on them with a mixed feeling of awe, of regret, and ofadmiration. His eyes followed her, and his soul followed them. He beheldthe devoirs which the great and the noble paid to her, and his heart washeavy; for she was the fairest and the proudest flower among the Frenchnobility --he an exotic weed of desert birth. And, while princes strove forher hand, he remembered, he felt, that he was an orphan of foreign and ofobscure parentage--a scholar by accident, (but to be a scholar was norecommendation in those days, and it is but seldom that it is one evennow. ) and a soldier of fortune, to whose name royal honours were notattached, while his purse was light, and who, because his feet covered moreground than he could call his own, his heels were denied the insignia ofknighthood. Yet, while he ventured not to breathe his thoughts or wishesbefore her, he imagined that she looked on him more kindly, and that shesmiled on him more frequently than on his lordly rivals; and his heartdeceived itself, and rejoiced in secret. 

Now, it was early in the year 1283, the evening was balmy for the season, the first spring flowers were budding forth, and the moon, as a silvercrescent, was seen among the stars. The young scholar and soldier ofunknown birth walked in the gardens of the Count of Dreux, and the lovelyJolande leaned upon his arm. His heart throbbed as he listened to thesilver tones of her sweet voice, and felt the gentle pressure of her softhand in his. He forgot that she was the daughter of a prince--he the son ofa dead peasant. In the delirium of a moment, he had thrown himself on hisknee before her, he had pressed her hand on his bosom, and gazed eagerly inher face. 

She was startled by his manner, and had only said--"Sir! whatmeans?"--though in a tone neither of reproach nor of pride, when what shewould have said was cut short by the sudden approach of a page, who, bowingbefore her, stated that four commissioners having arrived from the King ofScotland, the presence of the Princess Jolande was required at the palace. Patrick Douglas started to his feet as he heard the page approach, and ashe listened to his words he trembled. 

The princess blushed, and turning from Patrick, proceeded in confusiontowards the palace; while he followed at a distance, repenting of what hehad said, and of what he had done, or, rather, wishing that he had saidmore, or said less. 

"Yet, " thought he, "she did not look on me as if I had spokenpresumptuously! I will hope, though it be against hope--even though it bebut the shadow of despair. "

But an hour had not passed, although he sought to hide himself with histhoughts in his chamber, when he heard that the commissioners who hadarrived from his native land, were Thomas Charteris, the High Chancellor;Patrick de Graham, William de St Clair, and John de Soulis; and that theirerrand was to demand the beautiful Jolande as the bride and queen of theirliege sovereign, Alexander the Third, yet called good. 

Now, the praise of Alexander was echoed in every land. He was as a fatherto his people, and as a husband to his kingdom. He was wise, just, resolute, merciful. Scotland loved him--all nations honoured him. ButDeath, that spareth not the prince more than the peasant, and which, toshort-sighted mortals, seemeth to strike alike at the righteous and thewicked, had made desolate the hearths of his palaces, and rendered theirchambers solitary. Tribulation had fallen heavily on the head of a virtuousKing. A granddaughter, the infant child of a foreign prince, was all thatwas left of his race; and his people desired that he should leave behindhim, as inheritor of the crown, one who might inherit also his name andvirtues. He was still in the full vigour of his manhood, and the autumn ofyears was invisible on his brow. No "single silverings" yet marked theraven ringlets which waved down his temples; and, though his years wereforty and three, his appearance did not betoken him to be above thirty. 

His people, therefore, wished, and his courtiers urged, that he shouldmarry again; and fame pointed out the lovely Jolande, the daughter of theCount of Dreux, as his bride. 

When Patrick Douglas, the learned and honoured, but fortuneless soldier, found that his new competitor for the hand of the gentle Jolande was noneother than his sovereign, he was dumb with despair, and the last, themiserable _hope_ which it imparts, and which maketh wretched, began toleave him. He now accused himself for having been made the sacrifice of awild and presumptuous dream, and again he thought of the kindly smile andthe look of sorrow which met together on her countenance, when, in a rash, impassioned moment, he fell on his knee before her, and made known what hisheart felt. 

But, before another sun rose, Patrick Douglas, the honoured militaryadventurer of King Philip, was not to be found in the palace of the Countde Dreux. Many were the conjectures concerning his sudden departure; and, amongst those conjectures, as regarding the cause, many were right. ButJolande stole to her chamber, and in secret wept for the brave stranger. 

More than two years passed away, and the negotiations between the Courts ofScotland and of France, respecting the marriage of King Alexander and FairJolande, were continued; but, during that period, even the name of PatrickDouglas, the Scottish soldier, began to be forgotten--his learning became adead letter, and his feats of arms continued no longer the theme oftongues. It is seldom that kings are such tardy wooers; but between theunion of the good Alexander and the beautiful Jolande many obstacles werethrown. When, however, their nuptials were finally agreed to, it wasresolved that they should be celebrated on a scale of magnificence such asthe world had not seen. Now, the loveliest spot in broad Scotland, wherethe Scottish King could celebrate the gay festivities, was the good town ofJedworth, or, as it is now called, Jedburgh. For it was situated, like anEden, in the depth of an impenetrable forest; gardens circled it; woodedhills surrounded it; precipices threw their shadows over flowery glens;wooded hills embraced it, as the union of many arms; waters murmured amidstit; and it was a scene on which man could not gaze without forgetting, orregretting his fallen nature. Yea, the beholder might have said--"If theearth be yet so lovely, how glorious must it have been ere it was cursedbecause of man's transgression!"

Thither, then, did the Scottish monarch, attended by all the well-affectednobles of his realm, repair to meet his bride. He took up his residence inthe castle of his ancestors, which was situated near the Abbey, and hisnobles occupied their own, or other houses, in other parts of the town; forJedburgh was then a great and populous place, and, from the loveliness ofits situation, the chosen residence of royalty. (It is a pity but that ourprinces and princesses saw it now, and they would hardly be again charmedwith the cold, dead, and bare beach of Brighton. ) An old writer (I forgetwhom) has stated, in describing the magnitude of Jedburgh in those days, that it was six times larger than Berwick. This, however, is a mistake, forBerwick, at that period, was the greatest maritime town in the kingdom, andsurpassed London, which strove to rival it. 

On the same day that King Alexander and his splendid retinue reachedJedburgh, his bride, escorted by the nobles of France and their attendants, also arrived. The dresses of the congregated thousands were gorgeous assummer flowers, and variegated as gorgeous. The people looked with wonderon the glittering throng. The trees had lost the hues of their fresh andliving green--for brown October threw its deep shadows o'er thelandscape--but the leaves yet trembled on the boughs from which they wereloath to part; and, as a rainbow that had died upon the trees, and left itshues and impression there, the embrowning forest appeared. 

The marriage ceremony was performed in the Abbey, before Morel, the LordAbbot, and glad assembled thousands. The town and the surrounding hillsbecame a scene of joy. The bale-fires blazed from every hill; music echoedin the streets; and from every house, while the light of tapers gleamed, was heard the sounds of dance and song. The Scottish maiden and the Frenchcourtier danced by the side of the Jed together. But chief of all thefestive scene was the assembly in the hall of the royal castle. At thefarther end of the apartment, elevated on a purpled covered dais, sat KingAlexander, with the hand of his bridal queen locked in his. On each sidewere ranged, promiscuously, the Scottish and the French nobility, withtheir wives, daughters, and sisters. Music lent its influence to the scene, and the strains of a hundred instruments blended in a swell of melody. 

Thrice a hundred tapers burned suspended from the roof, and on each side ofthe hall stood twenty men with branches of blazing pine. Now came themorris dance, with the antique dress and strange attitudes of theperformers, which was succeeded by a dance of warriors in their coats ofmail, and with their swords drawn. After these a masque, prepared by Thomasthe Rymer, who sat on the right hand of the King, followed; and the companylaughed, wept, and wondered, as the actors performed their parts beforethem. 

But now came the royal dance; the music burst into a bolder strain, andlord and lady rose, treading the strange measure down the hall, after theKing and his fair Queen. Louder, and yet more loud the music pealed; and, though it was midnight, the multitude without shouted at its enliveningstrains. Blithely the dance went on, and the King well nigh forgot themeasure as he looked enraptured in the fair face of his beauteous bride. 

He turned to take her hand in the dance, and in its stead the bony fingersof a skeleton were extended to him. He shrank back aghast; for royaltyshuddereth at the sight of Death as doth a beggar, and, in its presence, feeleth his power to be as the power of him who vainly commanded the wavesof the sea to go back. Still the skeleton kept true measure beforehim--still it extended to him its bony hand. He fell back, in horror, against a pillar where a torch-bearer stood. The lovely Queen shriekedaloud, and fell as dead upon the ground. The music ceased--silence fell onthe multitude--they stood still--they gazed on each other. Dismay causedthe cold damp of terror to burst from every brow, and timid maidens soughtrefuge and hid their faces on the bosom of strangers. But still, visible toall, the spectre stood before the king, its bare ribs rattling as it moved, and its finger pointed towards him. The music, the dancers, becamenoiseless, as if Death had whispered--"_Hush_!--_be still_!" For the figureof death stood in the midst of them, as though it mocked them, and no soundwas heard save the rattling of the bones, the moving of its teeth, and themotion of its fingers before the king. 

The lord abbot gathered courage, he raised his crucifix from his breast, hewas about to exorcise the strange spectre, when it bent its grim headbefore him, and vanished as it came--no man knew whither. 

"Let the revels cease!" gasped the terror-stricken king; and they didcease. The day had begun in joy, it was ended in terror. Fear spread overthe land, and while the strange tale of the marriage spectre was yet in themouths of all men, yea before six months had passed, the tidings spreadthat the good King Alexander, at whom the figure of Death had pointed itsfinger, was with the dead, and his young queen a widow in a strange land. 

The appearance of the spectre became a tale of wonder amongst all men, descending from generation to generation, and unto this day it remains amystery. But, on the day after the royal festival at Jedburgh, PatrickDouglas, the learned soldier, took the vows, and became a monastic brotherat Melrose; and, though he spoke of Jolande in his dreams, he smiled, as ifin secret triumph, when the spectre that had appeared to King Alexander wasmentioned in his hearing. 

THE SIMPLE MAN IS THE BEGGAR'S BROTHER. 

"Many a time, " said Nicholas Middlemiss, as he turned round the skirts andthe sleeve of his threadbare coat to examine them, "many a time have Iheard my mother say to my faither--'Roger, Roger (for that was my faither'sname, ) _the simple man is the beggar's brother_. ' But, notwithstanding mymother's admonitions, my faither certainly was a very simple man. Heallowed people to take him in, even while they were laughing in his face athis simplicity. I dinna think that ever there was a week but that somebodyor other owrereached him, in some transaction or other; for every knave, kennin' him to be a simpleton, (a nosey-wax, as my mother said, ) alwayslaid their snares to entrap Roger Middlemiss--and his family were thesufferers. He had been a manufacturer in Langholm for many a long year, andat his death he left four brothers, a sister and mysel', four hundredpounds each. Be it remembered, however, that his faither before him lefthim near to three thousand, and that was an uncommon fortune in those days, a fortune I may say that my faither might have made his bairns dukes by. Had he no been a simple man, his family might have said that they wouldnaca' the Duke o' Buccleuch their cousin. But he was simple--simplicity'ssel'--(as my mother told him weel about it)--and he didna leave his bairnssae meikle to divide among them, as he had inherited from theirgrandfaither. Yet, if, notwithstanding his opportunities to make a fortune, he did not even leave us even what he had got, he at least left us hissimpleness unimpaired. My brothers were honest men--owre honest, I am sorryto say, for the every-day transactions of this world--but they alwaysfollowed the _obliging_ path, and kept their face in a direction, which, ifthey had had foresight enough to see it, was sure to land them _in_, or_on_, (just as ye like to take the expression, ) their _native parish_. Now, this is a longing after the place o' one's birth for which I have noambition; but on the parish it did land my brothers. My sister, too, was apoor simple thing, that married a man who had a wife living when he marriedher; and, after he had got every shilling that she had into his possession, he decamped and left her. 

"But it is not the history of my brothers and sisters that I would tell youabout, but my own. With the four hundred pounds which my faither left me, Ibegan business as a linen manufacturer--that is, as a maister weaver, onwhat might be called a respectable scale. The year after I had commencedbusiness upon my own account, and before I was two and twenty, I was takinga walk one Sunday afternoon on the Hawick road, along by Sorbie, and thereI met the bonniest lassie, I think, that I had ever seen. I was so struckwi' her appearance, that I actually turned round and followed her. She wasdressed in a duffel coat or pelisse, which I think country folk call a_Joseph_; but I followed her at a distance, through fields and owre stiles, till I saw her enter a sma' farm-house. There were some bits o' bairns, apparently hinds' bairns, sitting round a sort o' duck-dub near thestackyard. 

"'Wha lives there, dearies?' says I to them, pointing wi' my finger to thefarm-house. 

"'Ned Thomson, ' says they. 

"'And wha was that bonny lassie, ' asked I, 'that gaed in just the now?'

"'He! he! he!' the bairns laughed, and gaed me nae answer. So I put myquestion to them again, and ane o' the auldest o' them, a lassie aboutthirteen, said--'It was the maister's daughter, sir, the laird's bonnyJenny--if ye like, I'll gang in and tell her that a gentleman wishes tospeak to her. '

"I certainly was very proud o' the bairn taking me to be a gentleman; but Icouldna think o' meeting Miss Thompson, even if she should come out to seeme, wi' such an introduction, for I was sure I would make a fool o' mysel';and I said to the bit lassie--'No I thank ye, hinny; I'm obliged to ye'"and a' her little companions 'he! he! he'd!' and laughed the louder at myexpense; which, had I not been a simple man, I never would have placed itin their power to do. 

"So I went away, thinking on her face as if I had been looking at it in aglass a' the time; and to make a long story short, within three months, Miss Jenny Thompson and me became particularly weel acquaint. But mymother, who had none o' the simpleness that came by my faither's side o'the house, was then living; and when Jenny and I were on the eve o' beingpublicly cried in the kirk, she clapped her affidavit against it. 

"'Nicol, ' said she, 'son as ye are o' mine, ye're a poor simple goniel. There isna a bairn that I have among ye to mend another. Ye are yourfaither owre again, every one o' ye--each one more simple than another. Will ye marry a taupie that has nae recommendation but a doll's face, andbring shame and sorrow to your door?'

"I flew into a rampaging passion wi' my mother, for levelling Jenny toeither shame or sorrow: but she maintained that married we should not be, if she could prevent it; and she certainly said and did everything that layin her power to render me jealous. She might as weel have lectured to awhinstane rock. I believed Jenny to be as pure as the dew that falleth upona lily before sunrise in May. But on the very night before we were to bemarried, and when I went to fit on the gloves and the ring--to my horrorand inexpressible surprise, who should I see in the farm-yard, (for it wasa fine star-light night, ) but my Jenny--my thrice cried bride--wi' her handupon the shouther o' the auldest son o' her faither's laird, and his armround her waist. My first impulse was to run into the stackyard where theywere, and to knock him down; but he was a strong lad, and, thinks I, 'second thoughts are best. ' I was resolved, however, that my mother shouldfind I wasna such a simpleton as she gied me out to be--so I turned roundupon my heel and went home saying to mysel, as the song says--

 'If this be the way of courting a wife, I'll never look after another; But I'll away hame and live single my lane, And I'll away hame to my mother. '

When I went hame, and informed her o' what I had seen, and o' what I haddune, the auld woman clapped me upon the shouther, and says she--'Nicholas, my man, I am glad that yer ain een have been made a witness in the matterof which your mother forewarned ye. Ye was about to bring disgrace uponyour family; but I trust ye have seen enough to be a warning to ye. ONicholas! they that marry a wife merely for the sake o' a bonny face, orfor being a smart dancer, or onything o' that kind, never repent it butonce, and that is for ever. Marriage lad, lifts the veil from the face o'beauty, and causes it to be looked upon as an every-day thing; and even ifye were short-sighted before, marriage will make ye see through spectaclesthat will suit your sight, whither ye will or no. Dinna think that I amagainst ye taking a wife; for I ken it is the best thing that a young mancan do. Had your faither not married me when he did, he would hae died abeggar, instead o' leaving ye what he did. And especially a simple creaturelike you, Nicholas, needs one to take care o' him. But you must not expectto meet wi' such a one in every bonny face, handsome waist, or smart anclethat ye meet wi'. Na, na, lad; ye maun look to the heart, and thedisposition or temper, and the affection for you. They are the grand pointsthat ye are to study; and not the beauty o' the face, the shape o' thewaist, (which a mantua-maker has a principal hand in making, ) the colour o'the een, or the texture o' the hair. Thae are things that are forgottenbefore ye hae been married a twalmonth; but the feelings o' the heart, andthe sentiments o' the soul, aye rin pure, Nicholas, and grow stronger andstronger, just like a bit burn oozing frae a hill, and wimpling down itsside, waxing larger and larger, and gathering strength on strength as itruns, until it meets the sea, like a great river; and even so it is wi' theaffections o' the heart between man and wife, where they really love andunderstand each other; for they begin wi' the bit spring o' courtship, following the same course, gathering strength, and flowing side by side, until they fall into the ocean o' eternity, as a united river that cannotbe divided! Na, son, if ye will take a wife, I hope ye hae seen enough toconvince ye that she ought never to be the bonny Miss Thompson. But if Imight advise ye in the matter, there is our own servant, Nancy Bowmaker, ayoung lass, a weel-faured lass, and as weel behaved as she is good-looking. She has lived wi' us, now, for four years, and from term to term I neverhave had to quarrel her. I never saw her encouraging lads about thehouse--I never missed the value o' a prin since she came to it--I nevereven saw her light a candle at the fire, or keep the cruisy burning whenshe had naething to do but to spin, or to knit. Now, Nicholas, if ye willbe looking after a wife, I say that ye canna do better than just draw upwi' Nancy Bowmaker. '

"So my mother ended her long-winded harangue; which I had hardly patienceto listen to. In the course o' the week, the faither and brothers o' MissJenny Thompson called upon me, to see why I had not fulfilled myengagement, by taking her before the minister, and declaring her to be mywife. I stood before them like a man touched wi' a flash o' lightning--paleas death and trembling like a leaf. But, when they began to talk big owreme, and to threaten me wi' bringing the terrors o' the law upon myhead--(and be it remembered I have an exceeding horror o' the law, andwould rather lose a pound ony day, than spend six and eightpence, which isthe least ye can spend on it)--as good luck would have it, while they werestamping their feet, and shaking their nieves in my face, my mother cameforward to where we were standing, and says she to me--'Nicholas, what isa' this about? What does Mr Thompson and his sons want?'

"The very sound o' her voice inspired me; I regained my strength and mycourage, as the eagle renews its age. And, simple man as I was--'Sir, ' saidI, 'what is it that ye mean? Gae ask your daughter wha it was that had hisarm round her waist on Thursday night last, and her hand upon his shouther!Go to _him_ to marry her!--but dinna hae the audacity to look me in theface. '

"'Weel said, Nicol, ' whispered my mother, coming behint me, and clapping meon the back; 'aye act in that manner, my man. '

"And both her faithers and her brothers stood looking one to another for ananswer, and slunk away without saying another word either about the law orour marriage. I found I had gotten the whip hand o' them most completely. So, there never was another word between me and bonny Jenny Thompson, who, within a month, ran away wi' the son o' her faither's laird--and, poorhizzy, I am sorry to say, her end wasna a good one. 

"My mother, however, always kept teasing me about Nancy Bowmaker, andsaying what a notable wife she would make. Now, some folk are foolishenough to say that they couldna like onybody that was in a manner forcedupon them. And, nae doubt, if either a faither or a mother, or onybody elsethat has power owre ye, says--'_Like_ such a one, ' it is not in your powerto comply, and actually love the person in obedience to a command. Yet thisI will say, that my mother's sermons to me about Nancy Bowmaker, and mybeing always _evened_ to her upon that account, caused me to think moreabout her than I did concerning ony other woman under the sun. And ye cannathink lang about ony lass in particular, without beginning to have a sorto' regard for her, as it were. In short, I began to find that I liked Nancyjust as weel as I had done Jenny; we, therefore, were married, and a mostexcellent and affectionate wife she has been to me, even to this day. 

"It was now that I began the world in good earnest. But though my wife wasan active woman, I was still the same simple, easy-imposed-upon sort o'being that I had always been. Every rogue in the country-side very soonbecame acquainted wi' my disposition. I had no reason to complain of mybusiness; for orders poured in upon me faster than I was able to supplythem. Only, somehow or other--and I thought it very strange--money didnacome in so fast as the orders. My wife said to me--'This trade will neverdo, Nicholas--ye will gang on trust, trusting, until ye trust yoursel' tothe door. Therefore, do as I advise ye, and look after the siller. '

"'O my dear, ' said I, 'they are good customers, and I canna offend them forthe sake o' a few pounds. I have no doubt but they are safe enough. 

"'Safe or no safe, ' quoth she, 'get ye your accounts settled. Their sillerwill do as meikle for ye as their custom. Take a woman's advice for once, and remember, that, 'short accounts make long friends. ' Look ye after yourmoney. '

"I couldna but confess that there was a great deal o' truth in what MrsMiddlemiss (that is my wife) said to me. But I had not her turn for doingthings. I could not be so sharp wi' folk, had it been to save my life. Inever could affront onybody in my days. Yet I often wished that I couldtake her advice; for I saw people getting deeper and deeper into my books, without the prospect o' payment being made more manifest. Under suchcircumstances I began to think wi' her, that their siller would be as goodas their custom--the one was not much worth without the other. 

"But, just to give ye a few instances o' my simplicity:--I was walking, ona summer evening, as my custom was, about a mile out o' the town, when Iovertook a Mr Swanston, a very respectable sort o' man, a neighbour, and anauld acquaintance, who appeared to be in very great tribulation. I think, indeed, that I never saw a fellow-creature in such visible distress. Hiscountenance was perfectly wofu', and he was wringing his hands like a bodydementit. 

"'Preserve us, Mr Swanston!' says I, 'what's the matter wi' ye?--hasonything happened?'

"'Oh! happened!' said he; 'I'm a ruined man!--I wish that I had never beenborn!--that I had never drawn breath in this world o' villany! I believeI'll do some ill to mysel'. '

"'Dear me, Mr Swanston!' quoth I, 'I'm sorry to hear ye talk so. It is veryunchristian-like to hear a body talking o' doing harm to theirsels. Thereis a poet, (Dr Young, if I mistake not, ) that says--

 'Self-murder! name it not, our island's shame!'

Now, I dinna like to hear ye talking in such a way; and though I have nowish to be inquisitive, I would just beg to ask what it is upon your mindthat is making ye unhappy?'

"'Oh, Mr Middlemiss, ' said he, 'it is o' no use telling ye o't, for Ibelieve that sympathy has left this world, as weel as honesty. '

"'Ye're no very sure o' that, neighbour, ' says I; 'and I dinna think thatye do mysel' and other people justice. '

"'Maybe not, sir, ' said he; 'but is it not a hard case, that, after I havecarried on business for more than twenty years, honestly and in credit wi'all the world, that I should have to stop my business to-morrow, for thewant o' three hundred pounds?'

"'It certainly is, ' said I, 'a very hard case; but, dear me, Mr Swanston, Ialways thought that ye would be worth twenty shillings in the pound. '

"'So I am, ' said he; 'I am worth twice twenty, if my things should be putup at their real value; but at present I canna command the ready money--andthere is where the rock lies that I am to be wrecked upon. '

"'Assuredly, ' returned I, 'three hundred pounds are no bauble. It requiresa person to turn owre a number o' shillings to make them up. But I wouldthink that, you having been so long in business, and always having borne anirreproachable character, it would be quite a possible thing for you toraise the money amongst your friends. '

"'Sir, ' said he, 'I wouldna require them to raise the money, nor ever toadvance or pay a farthing upon my account; all that I require is, that somesponsible person, such as yourself, would put their name to a bill for sixmonths. There would be nothing but the signing o' the name required o'them; and if you, sir, would so far oblige me, ye will save a neighbourfrom ruin. '

"I thought there was something very reasonable in what he said, and that itwould be a grand thing if by the mere signing o' my name, I could save afellow-creature and auld acquaintance from ruin, or from raising his handagainst his own life. Indeed, I always felt a particular pleasure in doinga good turn to onybody. I therefore said to him--

'Weel, Mr Swanston, I have no objections to sign my name, if, as you say, that be all that is in it, and if my doing so will be of service to you. '

"He grasped hold o' my hand wi' both o' his, and he squeezed it until Ithought he would have caused the blood to start from my finger ends. 

"'Mr Middlemiss, ' said he, 'I shall never be able to repay you for this acto' kindness. I will feel it in my heart the longest day I have to live. '

"I was struck with his agitation; in fact, I was very much put about. Foreven a tear upon the face o' a woman distresses me beyond the power o'words to describe; but to see the salt water on the cheeks of a manindicates that there is something dreadfully ill at ease about the heart. And really the tears ran down his face as if he had been a truantschool-laddie that had been chastised by his master. 

"'There is no occasion for thanks, Mr Swanston, ' said I--'none in theworld; for the man would be worse than a heathen, that wouldna be ready todo ten times more. '

"Weel, he grasped my hand the harder, and he shook it more fervently, saying--'O, sir! sir!--a friend in need is a friend indeed; and such yehave proved to be--and I shall remember it. '

"That very night we went to a public-house, and we had two half-mutchkinstogether; in the course of drinking which, he got out a stamped paper, andafter writing something on it, which I was hardly in a condition to read, (for my head can stand very little, ) he handed it to me, and pointed withhis finger where I was to put my name upon the back o't. So I took the penand wrote my name--after which, we had a parting gill, and were both verycomfortable. 

"When I went home, Nancy perceiving me to be rather sprung, and my een noas they ought to be, said to me--'Where have you been, Nicholas, until thistime o' nicht?'

"'Touts!' said, I, 'what need ye mind? It is a hard maiter that a bodycanna stir out owre the door but ye maun ask--'where hae ye been?' I'm myown maister, I suppose--at least after business hours. '

"'No doubt o' that, Nicholas, ' said she; 'but while ye are your ownmaister, ye are also my husband, and the faither o' my family, and itbehoves me to look after ye. '

"'Look after yoursel'!' said I, quite pettedly--'for I am always very highand independent when I take a glass extra--ye wouldna tak me to be a simpleman then. '

"'There is no use in throwing yoursel' into a rage, added she; 'for ye kenas weel as me, Nicholas, that ye never take a glass more than ye ought todo, but ye invariably make a fool o' yoursel' by what ye say or do, andsomebody or ither imposes on ye. And ye are so vexed with yoursel' the nextday, that there is nae living in the house wi' ye. Ye wreak a' the shameand ill-nature that ye feel on account o' your conduct upon us. '

"'Nancy!' cried I, striking my hand upon the table, as though I had been anemperor, 'what in the name o' wonder do ye mean? Who imposes upon me?--whodare?--tell me that!--I say tell me that?' And I struck my hand upon thetable again. 

"'Owre mony impose upon ye, my man, ' quoth she; 'and I hope naebody hasbeen doing it the night, for I never saw ye come hame in this key, but thatsomebody had got ye to do something that ye was to repent afterwards. '

"'Confound ye, Nancy!' cried I, very importantly whipping up the tails o'my coat in a passion, and turning my back to the fire, while I gied a sorto' stagger, and my head knocked against the chimley piece--'confound ye, Nancy, I say, what do ye mean? Simple man as ye ca' me, and as ye tak me tobe, do ye think that I am to come home to get naething but a dish o'tongues from you! Bring me my supper. '

"'Oh, certainly, ye shall have your supper, ' said she, 'if ye can eatit--only I think that your bed is the fittest place for ye. O man, ' addedshe in a lower tone, half speaking to hersel, 'but ye'll be sorry for thisthe morn. '

"'What the mischief are ye muttering at?' cried I--'get me my supper. '

"'Oh, ye shall have that, ' said she very calmly, for she was, and is, aquiet woman, and one that would put up with a great deal, rather than allowher voice to be heard by her neighbours. 

"My head was in a queer state the next day; for ye see I had as good asfive glasses, and I never could properly stand above two. I was quiteashamed to look my wife in the face, and I was so certain that I had beenguilty o' some absurdity or other, that my cheeks burned just under thedread o' its being mentioned to me. Neither could I drive the idea ofhaving put my name upon the back of the bill from my mind. I was consciousthat I had done wrong. Yet, thought I, Mr Swanston is a very decent man; heis a very respectable man; he has always borne an excellent character; andis considered a good man, both amongst men o' business and insociety--therefore, I have nothing to apprehend. I, according to his ownconfession, did him a good turn, and I could in no way implicate myself inhis transactions by merely putting my name upon the back o' a bit o' paper, to oblige him. So I thought within myself, and I became perfectly satisfiedthat I had done a good action, without in the slightest degree injuring myfamily. 

"But just exactly six months and three days afterwards, a clerk belongingto a branch o' the Commercial Bank called upon me, and, after making hisbow, said he--'Mr Middlemiss, I have a bill to present to you. '

"'A bill!' said I, 'what sort o' a bill, sir? Is it an auctioneer's, for aroup o' furniture or a sale o' stock?'

"He laughed quite good-natured like in my face, and pulling out the bitstamped paper that I had been madman enough to sign my name upon the backo'--'It is that, sir, ' said he. 

"'That!' cried I; 'what in the earthly globe have I to do wi' that? It isMr Swanston's business--not mine. I only put my name upon the back o't to_oblige_ him. Why do ye bring it to me?'

"'You are responsible, sir, ' said the clerk. 

"'Responsible! the meikle mischief!' I exclaimed; 'what am I responsiblefor, sir?--I only put my name doun to oblige him, I tell ye! For what am Iresponsible?'

"'For three hundred pounds, and legal interest for six months, ' said myunwelcome visiter, wi' a face that shewed as little concern for thecalamity in which, through mere simplicity and goodness of heart, I wasinvolved, as if he had ordered me to take a pipe, and blow three hundredsoap-bubbles!

"'Oh! lack-o'-me!' cried I, 'is that possible? Is Mr Swanston sic avillain? I am ruined--I am clean ruined. Who in all the world will tellNancy?'

"But that I found was a question that I did not need to ask; for she kennedalmost as soon as I did mysel'. 

"I need not say that I had the three hundred pounds, ineerest and all, plack and farthing, to pay; though, by my folly and simplicity, I hadbrought my wife and family to the verge o' ruin, she never was the woman tofling my silly conduct in my teeth; and all that she ever did say to meupon the subject, was--'Weel, Nicholas, this is the first o' your billtransactions, or o' your being caution for onybody, and I trust it hasproved such a lesson as I hope ye will never need another. '

"'O Nancy, woman!' cried I, 'dinna speak to me! for I could knock my brainsoot! I am the greatest simpleton upon the face o' the earth. '

"Now, that was one instance o' my simple conduct and its consequences, andI will just relate to you another or two. I had bought some ninety poundsworth o' flax from a merchant in Glasgow, for which I was to receive sixmonths' credit. Weel, he came round for his money at the appointed time, and I paid him accordingly, and got a line off his hand in acknowledgment. On that very day, and just about an hour after he had left, Nancy says tome--'Nicholas, I dinna owre and aboon like that man that ye hae beendealing wi' the day. He has owre muckle gab, and scraping, and bowing forme. I wish he may be honest. Have ye got a receipt from him?'

"'Certainly, ' says I; 'do ye think I would pay onybody money without one?'

"'And I hope it is on a stamp, ' said she. 

"'A stamp!' quoth I--'a stamp!--hoots, woman! I wonder to see ye sosuspicious. Ye dinna tak a' the world to be rogues?'

"'No, ' said she, 'I do not, and I should be sorry if I did; but if ye haetaken a receipt from him without a stamp, ye are a simple man--that is allthat I say. '

'A simple man!' cried I; 'gracious! what does the woman mean? Ye are forever saying that I am simple this, and simple that! I wish that ye wouldexplain yoursel, and say what ye wish to be after! Where, or how am Isimple?'

"'It's not been one lesson that you've had, Nicholas, ' said she, 'nor ten, nor twenty either, but it is every week, I may say every day, wi' ye. Thereis perpetually some person or another showing ye that the 'simple man isthe beggar's brother, ' and ye canna see it, or ye winna regard it. But yewill, perhaps, be brought to think on't, when neither your bairns nor mehave a stool to sit upon. '

"'Woman!' exclaimed I, 'flesh and blood cannot stand your tongue! Ye wouldexasperate the patience o' Job! What is it that ye wish to be after?--whatwould ye have me to do?'

"'Oh, it is o' nae use getting into a passion about it, ' said she, 'forthat winna mend the matter. But there is only this in it, Nicholas: I wouldhave ye to be as sharp in your dealings in the world, as ye are wi' me whenI happen to speak a word to ye for your good. '

"There was so much truth in what she said, and she always spoke in such acalm, good-natured manner that it was impossible to continue to be in apassion wi' her. So I said no more about the subject; but I thought tomysel', that, as I knew very little about the man I had dealt with, itwould hae been quite as safe to have had the receipt upon a stamp. 

"A few months afterwards, I saw his name amongst the list o' bankrupts; andto my very great astonishment, I received a letter from a writer, demandingpayment from me o' the ninety pounds for the flax which I had already paid. 

"'The thing is unreasonable a'thegither, ' said I; 'here is a man that hasnapaid once himself, and he would come upon me to pay twice! But I'll see himfar enough first!'

"I paid no attention to the letter, and I was summoned to appear before thewriter, and three men that were called the trustees to the bankrupt'sestate. (Dear kens where the estate lay. )

"'Sir, ' said they to me, as haughtily as if I had been a criminal beforethem; 'wherefore do ye refuse to pay the ninety pounds?'

"'For the best o' a' reasons, gentlemen, ' said I, very civilly; 'and thatsimply is, because I have paid it already. '

"'What proof can you show for that!' asked the writer. 

"'Proof, sir, ' said I--'here is a line off the man's own hand, acknowledging the payment o' every farthing o' the money. '

"'Let me look at it, ' says he. 

"So, as honesty never needs to be feared for what it does, I handed him thebit paper. But after looking at it for a moment, he held it up between hisfinger and thumb, and wi' a kind o' sarcastic laugh, inquired--'Where isthe stamp?'

"The sweat broke ower me from head to foot. 'Sir, my wife, Nancy! Is thatdocument, in the handwriting o' the man himsel', not proof positive that Ihave paid the money?'

"The writer shook his head; and a gentleman that was standing near me, andwho was very probably in a similar predicament to myself, said--'Unstampedreceipts, sir, may do very well, where ye find a world o' purely honestmen--but they winna do where ye arena sure but ye may be dealing wi' arogue. '

"'Gentlemen!' cried I, 'have ye really the cruelty and injustice to saythat I am to pay that money owre again?'

"'Owre again or not owre again, ' said the writer, 'ye must pay it, otherwise summary proceedings will be entered against ye. If ye havealready paid it in the way ye say, it is only making good the proverb, thatthe 'simple man is the beggar's brother. '"

"'Oh, confound ye!' cried I, 'for a parcel o' unprincipled knaves--that isexactly what my wife says; and had I followed her advice, I would ne'er haeseen ane o' yer faces. '

"However, the ninety pounds I had to pay again, doun upon the nail; andthat was another o' the beautiful effects o' my simplicity. I didna kenhow, in the universal globe, I was to muster courage to look my wife in theface again. Yet all that she said was--'O Nicholas! Nicholas!--would yeonly be less simple!'

"'Heigho!' said I, 'dinna talk about it, Nancy--I'm owre grieved as itis--I can stand no more!'

"The loss o' the three hundred pounds, wi' the bill business, and theninety just mentioned, made me to stagger, and those that knew about thecircumstances wondered how I stood them. But I had just begun a newconcern, which was the manufacture o' table-cloths upon a new principle, and with exceedingly splendid patterns. I got an extraordinary sale forthem, and orders came pouring in upon me. But I had to employ more men tofulfil them, and their wages were to pay every Saturday, while theremittances did not come in by half so regular as the orders, and I foundit was not easy to pay men without receiving money for their work. Had Ibeen a man o' a great capital, the case might have been different. Therewas one day, however, that a gentleman that had dealt wi' me veryextensively called upon me, and he gied me a very excellent order. But, although he had seen a great deal o' my goods, I never had seen the shadowo' his cash. I canna say that I exactly liked his manner o' doing business;yet I couldna, for the breath that was in my body, have the face to say animpertinent thing to ony one, and I was just telling him that his ordershould be attended to, when my wife, who was sitting in a room off theparlour, gave a tap upon the door, and, asking the gentleman to excuse mefor a minute, I stepped ben, and I half whispered to her--'What is it, dear?'

"'Has that man spoken about paying ye?' said she. 

"'No, ' said I. 

"'But I think it is time he was, ' quoth she, 'before ye trust him onyfarther. Remember that ye have men's wages to pay, and accounts to pay, anda wife and family to support, and those things canna be done upon nothing. '

"'Very true, dearie, ' said I; 'but ye wouldna have me to speak abruptly tothe gentleman, or to affront him?'

"'It will affront no gentleman, ' replied she--'at least, no honest man--toask him for what is your own. Therefore, ask him for your money. Remember, Nicholas, that the simple man is the beggar's brother. '

"'O dear, woman!' says I, 'ye ken I dinna like to hear thae words. I'll askthe gentleman to pay me--to be sure I will; and what is the use o' yourkeeping tease, teasing at a body, just as if I were a simpleton. '

"So I slipped back to the customer, and, after a few words about his order, I said to him--'Sir, ye understand I have men's wages to pay, and accountsto pay, and a wife and family to support, and it's no little that does it;therefore, if ye could just oblige me wi' the settlement o' your account, it would be a favour. '

"'My dear Mr Middlemiss, ' said he, 'I am extremely sorry that you did notinform me that you were in want of cash sooner, as I have just, before Isaw you, parted with all I can spare. But, if you be very much in want ofit, I can give you a note, that is, a bill for the money, at three or sixmonths. You can get it cashed, you know, and it is only minus the discount, and that is not much upon your profits, eh?'

"'Begging your pardon, sir, ' says I, 'but I take I would have my name towrite on the back o't. '

"'Certainly, sir, ' said he, 'you know that follows as a matter of course. '

"'Yes, sir, ' continued I, 'and I have found that it sometimes follows alsoas a matter o' _coercion!_ I never had to do wi' what ye call a bill in mylife but once, which was merely writing my name upon the back o't, and thatcost me three hundred pounds--exactly sixteen pounds, two shillings andthreepence, and a fraction, for every letter in the name of NicholasMiddlemiss, as my wife has often told me. Therefore, sir, I would neverwish to see the _face_ o' a bill again; or, I should say, the _back_ o'one. '

"'But, my good sir, ' said the gentleman, 'I have told you that it is notconvenient for me to give you the cash just now; and, if you won't take mybill, why, what do you wish me to do? Do you intend to affront me? Do yousuppose I have nothing to attend to but your account?'

"'Oh, by no means, sir, ' said I; 'and it would be the last thing in mythoughts either to offend you or ony man. If ye have not the money atcommand, I suppose I must take the bill; for I know that cash down is asort o' curiosity, as I sometimes say, and is very difficult to be metwi'. '

"While we were conversing thegither, I heard my wife gie a tap, tap, tap, twice or thrice upon the parlour door, and I was convinced that sheowreheard us; but I didna take the least notice o' it, for I felt consciousthat it would only be to ring the auld sang in my ears, about the simpleman. So I took the gentleman's bill at six months; and immediately after heleft me, Nancy came into the parlour. 

"'Weel, ' said she, 'ye've gotten your money. ' But she said it wi' ascornful air, such as I had never seen her use before, and which caused meto feel excessively uncomfortable. 

"'Yes, I've got my money, ' says I, 'but, dear me, Nancy, what business isit o' yours whether I have got my money or no?'

"'If it isna my business, Nicholas, ' said she, 'I would like to ken whasebusiness it is? I am the wife o' your bosom--the mother o' your family--amI not? Guidman, ye may take ill what I say to ye, but it is meant for yourgood. Now, ye hae ta'en the bill o' the man that has just left ye, for fourhundred and odd pounds! What do ye ken aboot him? Naething!--naething inthe blessed world! Ye are a simple man, Nicholas!'

"'Dinna say that, ' said I; 'I am not simple. I told him to his face that Ididna like his bills. But ye are like a' women--ye would do wonders if yewere men! But his bill prevents a' disputes about his account--do ye notsee that--and I can cash it if I wish. '

"'Very true, ' said she, 'ye can cash it, Nicholas, but upon your owncredit, and at your own risk. '

"'Risk!' said I, 'the woman's a fool to talk in such a manner about anevery-day transaction. '

"'Weel, ' answered she, 'not to say that there is the slightest risk in thematter, have ye considered, that, if ye do cash this bill, there will be aheavy discount to pay, and if ye pay it, what is to become o' your profits?Did ye tell him, that if ye took his bill ye would carry the discount tohis next account?'

"'O Nancy! Nancy!' cried I, 'ye would skin the wind! Just take yoursel'away, if ye please; for really ye're tormenting me--making a perfect gowko' me, for neither end nor purpose. '

"'Oh, if that be the way, ' said she, 'I can leave ye--but I have seen theday when ye thought otherwise o' my company. Yet, the more I see o' yourtransactions, Nicholas, the more I am convinced in the truth o' the saying, that the simple man is the beggar's brother. '

"'Sorrow take ye, wife!' cried I, 'will ye really come owre thae wordsagain. Are ye not aware that I detest and abhor them? Have I not said thatto ye again and again?--and yet ye will repeat them in my hearing? Do yewish to drive me mad?'

"'I would wish to see ye act, ' answered she, 'so that I would ne'er need touse them again. ' And, on saying that, she went out o' the room, which to mewas a great deliverance. 

"I got the bill cashed, and, to tell ye the plain truth, I also had it topay. This was a dreadfu' loss to me; and I found there was naething leftfor me but so _sit down_, (if ye understand what that means, ) as mony a guidman has been compelled to do. Hooever, I paid every body seventeenshillings and sixpence half-penny in the pound. Some of my creditors saidit was owre meikle--that I had been simple and wronged mysel'. 

"'I would wish to the utmost o' my power to be honest, ' said I; 'and if Ihae wronged mysel', I hae saved my conscience. If there be naething elseleft for me noo, as Burns says--

 'Heaven be thankit! I can beg. '

"My business, hooever, had been entirely at a stand for the space o' saxweeks. I had neither journeyman nor apprentice left. My looms, and the haleapparatus connected wi' the concern, had been sold off, and I had naethingin the world but a few articles o' furniture, which a freend bought backfor me at the sale. I got the loan o' a loom, and in order to support mywife and family, I had to sit down to drive the shuttle again. I hadwrought nane to speak o' for ten years before, and my hands were quite ooto' use. I made but a puir job o' it. The first week I didna mak aboonhalf-a-crown; and that was but a sma' sum for the support o' a wife andhalf-a-dozen hungry bairns. Hooever, I was still as simple as ever; andthere wasna a wife in the countryside that was a bad payer, but brought herweb to Nicholas Middlemiss. I wrought late and early; but though I did myutmost, I couldna keep my bairns' teeth gaun. Many a time it has wrung myheart, when I hae heard them crying to their mother, clinging round her, and pulling at her apron, saying--'Mother, gie's a piece!--Oh just a weebite, mother!'

"'O my darlings, ' she used to say to them, 'dinna ask me for bread the noo. I haena a morsel in the house, and hae na siller to buy meal. But yerfaither is aboot finished wi' the web, and ye shall hae plenty the nicht. '

"Then the bits o' dear creatures would hae come runnin' ben to me, andasked--'Faither, when will the web be ready?'

"'Soon, soon, hinnies!' said I, half choked wi' grief and blind wi' tears;'haud awa' oot and play yoursels!'

"For I couldna stand to see them yearning afore me, and to behold want, like a gnawing worm, eating the flesh from their lovely cheeks. Then, whenI had went out wi' the web, Nancy would say to me--'Noo, Nicholas, rememberthe situation we're in. There's neither food o' ae description nor anitherin the house, and ye see the last o' oor coals upon the fire. Therefore, afore ye leave the web, see that ye get the money for the working o't. '

"Yet, scores o' times, even after such admonitions, hae I come hame withouta penny in my pocket. Ane put me aff with ae excuse, and anither wi'anither. Some were to ca' and pay me on the Saturday, and others when theykilled their pig. But those Saturdays seldom came; and, in my belief, thepigs are living yet. It used to put me in terror to meet my poor starvingfamily. The consequence generally was, that Nancy had to go to where I hadcome frae and request payment hersel'; and, at last, she wadna trust me wi'the taking hame o' the webs. 

"We suffered more than I'm willing to tell aboot, at the period I mention, and a' arose oot o' my simpleness. But I was confined to my bed for tenweeks, wi' a dreadfu' attack o' rheumatism--it was what was ca'ed arheumatic fever--it reduced me to a perfect anatomy. I was as feckless as ahalf-burned thread. Through fatigue, anxiety, and want o' supportthegither, Nancy also took very ill; and there did we lie to a' appearancehastening to the grave. What we suffered, and what our family suffered uponthis occasion, no person in a Christian country could believe. But for thekindness o' the minister, and some o' oor neebors, we must a' hae perished. As a matter of course we fell sadly back; and when the house rent becamedue, we had not wherewith to pay it. The landlord distrained us for it. Asecond time the few things I had left were put under the hammer o' theauctioneer. 'Oh!' said I, 'surely misery and I were born thegither!' For wehad twa dochters, the auldest only gaun six, baith lying ill o' the scarletfever in the same bed, and I had to suffer the agony o' beholding the bedsold out from under them. It was more than human nature could endure. Thepoor, dear lammies cried--'Faither! mither! dinna let them touch us!' Itook the auldest up in my arms, and begged that I micht be allowed ablanket to row her in. Nancy took up the youngest one, and while the salewent on, with our dying bairns in our arms, we sat down in the streetbefore the door, as twa beggars--but we were not begging. 

"Our case excited universal commiseration. A number o' respectable peoplebegan to take an interest in our weelfare; and business came so thick uponme that I had to get twa other looms, and found constant employment, notonly for my auldest laddie, whom I was bringing up to the business, butalso for a journeyman. 

"Just as I was beginning to prosper, hooever, and to get my head aboon thewater, there was ane o' my auld creditors to whom I had paid thecomposition of seventeen and sixpence halfpenny in the pound, wha was ahard-hearted, avaricious sort o' man, and to whom I had promised, and notonly promised, but given a written pledge, to pay him the remaining two andfivepence halfpenny in the pound, together with interest, in the course ofsix years. The time was just expiring, when he came to me, and presentingthe bit paper, which was in my own handwriting, demanded payment. 

"'Really, sir, ' said I, 'I acknowledge that I must pay ye, though everybodysaid at the time that I was a very simple man for entering into ony suchagreement wi' ye; but it is not in my power to pay ye just now. In thecourse o' a twalmonth I hope to be able to do it. '

"'Mr Middlemiss, ' said he, as slowly as if he were spelling my name, 'mymoney I want, and my money I will have; and have it immediately, too. '

"'Sir, ' said I, 'the thing is impossible; I canna gie ye what I haena got. '

"'I dinna care for that, ' said he; 'if I dinna get it, I shall _get you_. '

"He had the cruelty to throw me into jail, just as I was beginning togather my feet. It knocked all my prospects in the head again. I began tosay it was o' nae use for me to strive, for the stream o' fate was againstme. '

"'Dinna say so, Nicholas, ' said Nancy, who came on foot twice every week, a' the way from Langholm, to see me--'dinna say sae. Yer ain simplicity isagainst ye--naething else. '

"Weel, the debt was paid, and I got my liberty. But, come weel, come woe, Iwas still simple Nicol Middlemiss. Ne'er hae I been able to get the bettero' my easy disposition. It has made me acquainted wi' misery--it has keptme constantly in the company o' poverty; and, when I'm dead, if onybodyerect a gravestane for me, they may inscribe owre it--

 "THE SIMPLE MAN IS THE BEGGAR'S BROTHER. "

TALES OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE. 

THE ROBBERY AT PITTENWEEM AND THE PORTEOUS MOB. 

On the 2nd of March 1736, Andrew Wilson in Pathhead, William Hall inEdinburgh, and George Robertson, stabler at Bristo Port there, wereindicted and accused, at the instance of Duncan Forbes of Culloden, thenLord Advocate, before the high court of justiciary at Edinburgh, of thecrimes of stouthrief housebreaking and robbery, in so far as James Stark, collector of excise in Kirkcaldy, being upon his circuit in collecting thatrevenue, and having along with him a considerable sum of money collected byhim by virtue of his office, upon Friday the 9th day of January then last, was at the house of Margaret Ramsay, relict of Andrew Fowler, excise-officekeeper at Pittenweem; and Andrew Wilson having formed a design to robCollector Stark of the money and other effects he had along with him, andhaving taken William Hall and George Robertson as associates, they cametogether from Edinburgh that morning, and towards evening put up theirhorses in Anstruther-Easter, in the inn kept by James Wilson, brewerthere;[C] and after having had some deliberations upon their intendedrobbery, leaving their horses there, they went privately on foot toPittenweem, and about eleven o'clock that night called at the house ofWidow Fowler, and under the pretence of drinking, remained there untilthey were informed, or might reasonably presume Collector Stark was gone tobed; and about twelve that night, or one next morning, Andrew Wilson andWilliam Hall, or one or other of them, did impudently and in defiance oflaw forcibly and with violence break the door of the room where CollectorStark was lying in bed, and having knocked out the under pannel, CollectorStark suspecting an attack upon his life, for his safety jumped out at awindow in his shirt; whereupon Andrew Wilson and William Hall, or one orother of them, entered the room, and did feloniously carry off bank-notesin a pocket-book belonging to Collector Stark, and gold and money in hispossession to the value of L. 200, less or more, and did rob and take away apair of pistols, a seal, a penknife, a cloak bag, a pair of silverbuckles, a bible, several suits of linens and other goods belonging toCollector Stark and in his possession; and when they went out of that room, did divide, disperse of, and distribute the gold, money, and other goods sorobbed and taken away at their pleasure. And while the said Andrew Wilsonand William Hall were committing the foresaid crimes, the said GeorgeRobertson was standing, sometimes at the door and sometimes at the foot ofthe stair of said house, as a sentinel and guard, with a drawn cutlass inhis hand, to prevent any person from interfering and stopping the saidviolence and robbery, and did threaten to kill or otherwise intimidate theservants of the house when going towards the door of the collector's room;and when several of the inhabitants, alarmed by the noise, gatheredtogether upon the street, and coming towards the door, inquired what wasgoing on there; he, George Robertson, did treacherously endeavour topersuade them not to attempt to enter the house, falsely affirming that hehad tried to go up stairs, but being in danger of being shot, he was byfear obliged to leave the house. And in order to keep them still amusedwith his false suggestion of danger by entering the house, having gonealong with them into the house of John Hyslop in Pittenweem, he detainedthem there for some time, until he judged that his associates might havemade their escape with their spoil; and soon afterwards William Hall wasseized in the street of Anstruther-Easter, between twelve and one nextmorning, being Saturday the 10th January, having several of the goods and apurse of gold so robbed in his possession, which he dropped and endeavouredto conceal. And they, Andrew Wilson, and George Robertson, having met someshort time afterwards in the house of said James Wilson inAnstruther-Easter, where they were informed that the house was beset, conscious of their own guilt, they, one or other of them, did deliver tosaid James Wilson the seal, the penknife, the pair of buckles, some money, and other things robbed, telling that if they were found in theirpossession they would be hanged or undone, or words to that purpose, expressing an apprehension of the utmost danger; and immediately thereaftergot into bed, as if they had lain all night asleep, where both wereapprehended, and upon the top of which bed were found the bank notes robbedfrom Collector Stark, and his pocket-book above another bed in another roomof the house, &c. Wherefore, on these crimes being confessed or proven, theparties ought to be most severely and exemplarily punished with the painsof law, in terror of others committing the like in time coming. 

The indictment to the foregoing effect was read--the case debated, and theLords ordered both parties to give in informations. 

On the 19th March 1736, the Lords found the libel relevant--but allowedGeorge Robertson a proof, with respect to his behaviour at the time stated, for taking off the circumstances tending to infer his being accessory, orart and part of the crimes libelled. 

A jury was empannelled, and the trial proceeded. To give even notes of thedepositions on both sides would exceed our limits. We shall thereforemerely select the evidence of two or three witnesses, whose statements willserve to form a continuation of our narrative, and pass over the remainderas unnecessary for our purpose. 

The first we shall adduce is the collector, the individual robbed. 

James Stark, collector of excise, Kirkcaldy, aged forty-nine years orthereby, married, solemnly sworn, purged of malice partial, counselexamined and interrogated, depones time and place libelled--the deponentbeing then upon his collection as collector of excise. He went to bed aboutten o'clock, and about an hour and a-half thereafter, he was waked out ofsleep by a noise and some chapping at the door of the room where helay--which door he had secured before he went to bed by screwing down thesneck of the door--which noise the deponent at first imagined wasoccasioned by some drunken people in the house; but afterwards, upon thestrokes on the door being repeated with violence, the deponent jumped outof his bed, and heard the under part of the door of the bed-room givingway, upon which the deponent laid hold upon two bags of money, which, withthe deponent's breeches, in which were about L. 100 in gold, and bank notesand silver, the deponent had put below his head when he went to bed; andthe deponent did then, in the confusion in which he was, put the table andsome chairs to the back of the door to stap the gap, and thereafter openedthe window, and returning to find the bags of money and his breeches, hecould only find one of the bags of money, and being in fear of his life, hejumped out at the window with one of the bags of money, and fell at thefoot of the stair, the said window being just above the entry to the house, and recovering himself a little, he went towards the corn-yard, and hearinga person call out "Hold him, " the deponent apprehending the voice to bebefore him, he returned a few paces, and then perceiving a man standing orwalking at the foot of the stair, the deponent returned again to the yard, where he hid the bag of money, and thereafter coming back towards the houseto hear what was a-doing, the deponent heard a knocking in the room wherehe had been lodged, and thereupon retired to the yard again--lay coveredwith some straw till about four in the morning--and then returning to thehouse saw the panel, William Hall, in custody of some soldiers; and thedeponent having said to him that he had given him a cold bath that night, William Hall answered that he was not to blame, being only hired, and hadno hand in it, but that Andrew Wilson and George Robertson had come thereof a design to rob the deponent that night, and that this design had beenformed several months before by Andrew Wilson, and particularly at thepreceding collection at Elie; and further depones that soon after thedeponent got out of the window as aforesaid, he heard the clock striketwelve; that when the deponent was first awakened out of his sleep asaforesaid, he heard Mrs Fowler, the landlady, call to the persons who werebreaking open the deponent's bed-room, "What are ye doing?" or "Why do yethis?" and the deponent heard them at the same time cursing and swearingand making a great noise; and the deponent having only carried one bag ofmoney along with him as aforesaid, he left in said bed-room the money andgoods following, viz. , the deponent's breeches, in which was a purse withfifty-two and a-half guineas, betwixt six and seven pounds in silver, and apocket-book with one and forty pounds in bank notes, which purse andpocket-book the deponent exhibits in court; that besides the bank notes, there were several bills and other papers in the pocket-book, and thatthere was likewise in the deponent's breeches, a seal, a pair of silvershoe-buckles, and a penknife, which the deponent likewise exhibits; thedeponent likewise left in his room a cloak-bag with some linens in it, which cloak-bag the deponent likewise exhibits in court; as also a bible, apair of pistols, which the deponent likewise exhibits; that upon thedeponent returning to his room as aforesaid, he found the door of the roombroken up, and saw a press in the room which had been broken up, and foundhis breeches empty and all the several particulars above enumeratedamissing; and thereafter, about seven o'clock in the morning, the deponenthaving gone to Anstruther-Easter, he soon thereafter saw the three panelsin custody; and the deponent did then see in the hands of the magistratesof Anstruther, the seal, the buckles, and penknife above mentioned; deponesthat upon Monday following, being the 12th of January last, William Hall, panel, told the deponent that he had informed Alexander Clerk, supervisorof excise, where the purse of gold was to be found, whereupon the deponentdesired the supervisor to go in quest of it, which he did, and having foundit, he restored it to the deponent with the whole gold in it; and that thebible was returned to the deponent by one of the soldiers who apprehendedHall; that on Saturday night the 10th of January, the deponent got back hispocket-book and bank notes, with the other papers in the said pocket-book, from Bailie Robert Brown in Anstruther-Easter. _Causa scientiæ patet. _Andthis is truth, as he shall answer to God. (Signed) James Stark; AndrewFletcher. 

Alexander Clerk, supervisor of excise at Cupar-Fife, being solemnly sworn, and depones time and place libelled, the deponent was lodged in the roomnext to Collector Stark, and went to bed about ten, and was wakened abouttwelve by persons rapping either at his door or that of the collector's;and heard a cry of "Murder the dogs and burn the house!" upon which thedeponent swore that the first man that came in he would put a pair of ballsin him. The deponent then put on some of his clothes and got out at awindow at the backside of the house, [D] and walked to Anstruther, about amile, and awakened the serjeant who commanded a small party of soldiersthere, and with the serjeant and two of the soldiers set out forPittenweem, and left orders for the rest of the party to follow as soon aspossible. As they passed the entry to Sir John Anstruther's house inEaster-Anstruther, [E] they met with some men who having challenged thedeponent, "Who comes there?" the deponent desired them to give an accountof themselves, and upon their running off, the deponent ordered thesoldiers to seize them, upon which the serjeant with his halbert hooked oneof them, the rest escaping, which afterwards proved to be William Hall, oneof the panels, and whom the deponent carried along with him to the exciseoffice at Pittenweem, and having brought him into the house of Mrs Fowler, Jean Finlay, servant to Mrs Fowler, upon seeing the said Hall, said, "Thisis the villain that broke my head a little while ago;" and Thomas Durkie, another servant in the house, said, "This is one of the persons who robbedthe collector the night;" and the soldiers who brought Hall produced a bagof linen and a bible which they said they had taken up as Hall had droppedthem by the way; and William Geddes, clerk to the collector, did then say, "This is the collector's bible, and there are his linens, " whereupon Hallconfessed that he had been guilty of robbing the collector; and thedeponent thereupon telling Hall that he was now _in for it_, and that thebest way for him was to discover the rest, which, if he would do, thedeponent would do his endeavours to get him made an evidence, and havingthen asked if he promised to get him a pardon? depones that he understoodit so, but does not remember that he used the word _pardon_; upon whichHall told deponent he would get these other persons whom he named;remembers particularly that he named Andrew Wilson, panel, to have been oneof them. That they had come upon four horses that morning from Kinghorn, and that he would find them all in the house of James Wilson inAnstruther-Easter, or in a house twenty yards on this side of it, which thedeponent understood to be Bailie Andrew Johnston's. [F] By this time therest of the party having come up from Anstruther, the deponent made somesearch for the collector, but could not find him, and thereafter thedeponent carried up Hall to the room where the collector had lodged, thedoor of which he saw broken in the under part, and left Hall prisoner therein custody of some of the soldiers and the rest of the party, and ThomasDurkie and William Geddes. The deponent then went east to Anstruther insearch of the rest of the robbers, and having surrounded the house of JamesWilson there, he found three men in a room there, viz. , Andrew Wilson andGeorge Robertson, panels, and one John Friar, and having shown them to theabove Thomas Durkie, he declared that they were two of the persons who hadrobbed the collector; upon which the deponent having applied to BailiesRobert Brown and Philip Millar, both in Anstruther-Easter, he got theaccused committed to prison; and further depones that as the panels werebeing carried prisoners to Edinburgh, and while they were halting atKirkcaldy, the deponent asked George Robertson, panel, what was become ofthe collector's purse of gold, George answered that Andrew Wilson, theother panel, told him that William Hall got the purse; upon which thedeponent inquired at Hall about it, and added that unless he confessed anddiscovered where the purse was, he could not expect that the promises madewould be kept to him; when after some entreaty Hall told deponent that hehad dropped it upon being seized in a wet furr near a dung-hill, andaccordingly the deponent went back to Pittenweem, and upon application toBailie Andrew Fowler, of Pittenweem, and in his presence the purse wasfound near to a dung-hill between Anstruther-Wester and Pittenweem, in thespot described by Hall, with fifty-two guineas and a-half in it, whichpurse and gold was given to the deponent, and the purse exhibited in courtbeing shown to him, he thinks it is the very same purse. And all this istruth, as he shall answer to God. (Signed) Alexander Clerk; AndrewFletcher. 

John Galloway, servant to Patrick Galloway, horse-hirer in Kinghorn, agedtwenty-six, depones that at the time libelled, William Hall came to thedeponent's master's house in Kinghorn, and desired him to get two horses, one for himself and one for the deponent, telling him that they were goingto Anstruther to get some brandy; and that George Robertson and AndrewWilson were to be their masters and pay their expenses; and desired him togo to the houses where they then were. The deponent having goneaccordingly, and spoken to the said persons, George Robertson desired toget their horses ready, and Hall and the deponent to go before and theywould overtake them; that about six o'clock at night they came toAnstruther-Easter, and set up their horses in James Wilson's house, wherehe found Andrew Wilson before him; and after they put up their horses theywent to Andrew Johnston's there, where they found Robertson and Wilsondrinking punch. Depones that the three panels and the deponent went fromAnstruther to Pittenweem on foot, between ten and eleven o'clock at night. Depones that when they came to Pittenweem, he (the deponent), Hall, andWilson went into a house, but does not know the name of the landlord, wherethey drank a bottle of ale, and it was agreed while they were there thatRobertson and the other panel should walk on the street; that when theycame out of that house, the three panels and the deponent went to WidowFowler's house, where they drank some ale and brandy. Andrew Wilson havingasked the landlady if she could lodge any casks of brandy for him, shedesired him to speak low, because the collector was in the house; uponwhich Wilson said, Is he here? She answered, he was. Robertson, the panel, called for a reckoning, and all four went down stairs, at least went to thestair-head. Robertson, Hall, and the deponent went out to the street, andas the maid was going to shut the outer door, Andrew Wilson pushed it openand went in, upon which the deponent and William Hall went in also; andGeorge Robertson drew his cutlass and stood at the outer door, saying thatno person should go out or in of that house but upon the point of thatweapon. Depones when they went in to the house they saw Andrew Wilsonstanding at the door of the room where the collector was lodged, and thelower part of the door broken; that upon seeing the door broken, he, thedeponent, asked Wilson what it meant? or what he would be at? to whichWilson answered, that he had lost a great deal of money, and understoodthat there was some of it there, and was resolved to have it back again;upon which the deponent said to him, that he would have nothing to do inthe matter. Depones that after the door of the collector's room was brokenopen as aforesaid, Andrew Wilson went into the room, and brought out a pairof breeches, and shewing them to the deponent, said, "Here is a good dealof money;" the deponent telling him that he would have nothing to do withit, the said Andrew took out several handfuls of money, and put it into thedeponent's pocket; which money, except a few shillings, the deponentdelivered back to the said Andrew Wilson in the house of James Wilson inAnstruther. Depones that Andrew Wilson went again into the room, andbrought out a cloak-bag, which he desired the deponent to carry, which herefused to do. The said Andrew then carried the cloak-bag himself, tillthey came to the end of the town, together with a pair of pistols, which hethen delivered to William Hall, who carried it half way to Anstruther, andthen Andrew Wilson desired Hall to set it down, that they might see ifthere was any bank-notes in it; and Hall, having opened the cloak-bag, tookout some linens and a bible, which he stowed about himself. That at thesame time he saw Andrew Wilson take out of his pocket the pocket-book, outof which he took several bank-notes and put in his pocket, and then threwthe pocket-book on the floor. Depones that Andrew Wilson and the deponentwent out of Wilson's house, and threw one of the pistols and some linenswhich they had brought from Pittenweem in among some straw in a barn-yard;thereafter the deponent, Bailie Thomas Brown, Anstruther-Easter, and somesoldiers, went to the place where the cloak-bag was left, and to thebarn-yard where the pistols and linen were thrown, where they were allfound. Being further examined, depones that as Wilson and Hall and thedeponent were on the road from Pittenweem to Anstruther, a little to thewest of Sir John Anstruther's house, they met Mr Clerk, the supervisor, andsome soldiers, who, having challenged him who they were, one of thesoldiers seized Hall with his halbert, upon which Andrew Wilson and thedeponent made their escape. Depones that the cutlass now produced is thesame that George Robertson had in his hand at Widow Fowler's house. _Causascienticæ patet. _ And this is truth, as he shall answer to God, and deponeshe cannot write. (Signed) James Mackenzie. 

Upon the indictment against the panels being read in court, they all pled"Not guilty, " and certain defences were offered for them. 

And first, in opposition to what the indictment alleged with regard toAndrew Wilson having formed a design to rob Collector Stark, and havingtaken Hall and Robertson, his associates, from Edinburgh that morning, itwas stated that they did not set out from Edinburgh in company, but metupon the water in the passage between Leith and Kinghorn, where two ofthem, Wilson and Hall, were passing in a yawl, and Robertson was crossingin a passage boat; that instead of leaving Edinburgh and going to the EastNeuk on the criminal design libelled, they had each of them lawful businessin that part of the country, viz. , for buying goods in which theyordinarily dealt, and which it was neither criminal nor capital to buy andsell; and particularly George Robertson, who kept an inn near Bristo Portin Edinburgh, where the Newcastle carriers commonly put up; that havingoccasion to buy liquors in the east of Fife, he agreed to take share of acargo with Andrew Wilson, and with that view got a letter of credit fromFrancis Russell, druggist addressed to Bailie Andrew Waddell, Cellardyke, for the value of £50 sterling; and further, he carried with him an acceptedbill of John Fullerton in Causeyside, to the like extent, as a fund ofcredit for the goods he might buy; and William Hall, the third panel, was apoor workman in Edinburgh, commonly attending the weigh-house, who wascarried along to take care of and fetch home the goods; that accordingly, as soon as they came to Anstruther, and put up their horses at JamesWilson's, they went to a respectable man, Bailie Johnston, and bought goodsto the value of £46 10s. , and whilst making the bargain they drank somequantity of liquor; that after this, not finding at Anstruther all thesorts of liquor they wanted to purchase, they went on foot to Pittenweem, when they first went to the house of ---- Drummond, another respectablemerchant, and drank some time with him, desiring to buy some brandy of him, but he told them he could not furnish them at that time; that after thisthe panels went into the house of Widow Fowler, where, calling for a room, they were shown into the kitchen, and inquired at the landlady if she couldfurnish them any place for lodging the goods they had bought, and therethey drank both ale and punch, till, with what they had got before atdifferent places, they became all very drunk; that at this place it wastold by the landlady or servants, in conversation, that there was money toa considerable value in the next room, and if any part of the factslibelled were committed by the panels, Wilson and Hall, it must have beendone upon occasion of this purely accidental information, when they wereinsane from strong drink: it was more like a drunken frolic than apreconcerted robbery. As a further evidence of this fact, it appeared bythe libel itself that they acted like persons in such a condition; forthey, as well as the other panel Robertson, were all seized in an hour ortwo thereafter, before the effects of the liquor had worn off, and beforethey had time to come to themselves, and without any of them taking themost rational and obvious measures to make their escape. 

As to the case of George Robertson, it is not said that the inhabitantsgathered together upon the streets, came there to save or rescue what wascontained in the room; on the contrary, it was admitted on debate that theinhabitants of small coast towns are not very ready on these occasions tolend their assistance to the officers of justice; and if George Robertsonhad truly said to the persons whom he met on the street that he was by fearobliged to leave the house, it might very possibly have been true, and anargument of his innocence, and therefore ought not to be turned into acircumstance of his guilt. 

Our space will not admit of further argument. Suffice it to say that thejury unanimously found Andrew Wilson and William Hall guilty, and GeorgeRobertson art and part on the crimes libelled; and the Lords of Justiciarypassed sentence of death on all three, which sentence they appointed to beexecuted on Wednesday the 14th of April 1736. 

Leaving the criminals in the condemned cells, where they are to remain fiveweeks before being executed, let us, in the meanwhile, in order to thebetter understanding the case, and forming a clearer opinion in referenceto the nature and origin of the Porteous mob--one of the most extraordinaryevents recorded in history, and which arose out of the trial and sentenceagainst Andrew Wilson and the others before narrated--let us endeavour togive a brief sketch of Mr Porteous' history, from his birth till the timeof which we write, namely, the recording of the sentence of death againstWilson and his associates. 

John Porteous, one of the captains of the Edinburgh City Guard, was son ofStephen Porteous, a tailor in Canongate. The father held a fair character, and was esteemed a good honest man in the whole conduct of his life, hisgreatest misfortune was his having such a son as John. 

The father early discovered in his son a perverseness of nature, and aproneness to commit mischievous and more than childish tricks. The mother, out of a blind affection for her child, took them all for growing proofs ofspirit and manliness, and as marks of an extraordinary and sprightlygenius. 

Thus the family were divided upon the education of the son, and from beingoften thwarted in his measures about him, the father lost his authority, and for the peace of his family winked at the faults which the good man sawit his duty to correct. The loss of parental authority begot want of filialregard, so that the boy, shooting up with these vicious habits anddisregard of the father, advanced from reproaches and curses to blows, whenever the unfortunate old man ventured to remonstrate against the follyand madness of his son's conduct. 

The mother saw, when it was too late, what her misguided affection hadproduced, and how to her fond love in childhood the man made the basereturn of threatening language and the utmost disregard; for he proved toohard for both father and mother at last. 

The father having a good business, wanted John to learn his trade of atailor, both because it was easiest and cheapest for the old man, and asure source of good living for the son, whether he began business forhimself or waited to succeed the father after his death; but as he grew uphis evil habits increased, and at last when checked by his father in hismad career, he almost put the good old man to death by maltreatment. 

At last, provoked beyond all endurance, the father resolved to rid himselfof him by sending him out of the country, and managed to get him engaged toserve in the army under the command of Brigadier Newton. 

While in Flanders, he saw, in passing along with one of his brothersoldiers, a hen at a little distance covering her chickens under her wings, and out of pure wanton and malicious mischief he fired his musket and shotthe hen. The poor woman to whom it belonged, startled by the shot, went outand saw her hen dead; and following the young soldier, asked him to pay theprice of the hen and chickens, for both were lost to her, and they formed agreat part of her means of subsistence; but the unfeeling youth would notgive her a farthing--threatening if she annoyed him he would send her afterher hen; upon which the injured old woman predicted, "that as many peoplewould one day gaze in wonder on his lifeless body as that hen had featherson hers. "

Young Porteous afterwards left the army and returned to London, where hewrought for some time as a journeyman tailor; but his evil habits broughthim to poverty, and he was found in rags by a friend of his father's, whowrote to the old man to remit £10 to clothe him and defray his travellingcharges to Edinburgh, which, moved by the compassion of a father, he did, and when John appeared, the kind-hearted old man received him with tears ofjoy, and embraced him with all the warmth of paternal affection. Vainlyhoping that his son was a reformed man, he gave up his business to him, andagreed that he should only have a room in the house and his maintenance andclothes. 

Young Porteous, thus possessed of the house and trade of his father, and ofall his other goods and effects, began by degrees to neglect and maltreatthe old man, first, by refusing him a fire in his room in the middle ofwinter, and even grudging him the benefit of the fire in the kitchen. Inaddition to this, he disallowed him a sufficiency of victuals, so that hewas in danger of being starved to death with cold and hunger. In thisunhappy condition he applied for admission into the Trinity Hospital. 

John Porteous having been for some time in the army, and being known to bepossessed of no small courage and daring, was selected by John Campbell, lord provost of Edinburgh, in the memorable year 1715, to be drill-sergeantof the city-guard, as it became necessary to have the guard welldisciplined and made as effective as possible in that eventful period, forthe support of the government and the protection of Edinburgh. In thisoffice he discharged his duty remarkably well, and was often sent for bythe lord provost to report what progress his men made in militarydiscipline. This gave him an opportunity of meeting sometimes with agentlewoman who had the charge of the lord provost's house and family, withwhom he fell deeply in love; after paying his addresses for some time, andproposing to her, he was accepted, and they were married. From a gratefulsense of her services, as well as from a conviction of Porteous's abilityfor the office, the lord provost proposed that John Porteous should beelected one of the captains of the city-guard, and it was agreed to. 

This was a situation of trust and respectability, and would have enabledthe young couple to live in comfort and ease if the husband had conductedhimself properly. The gentlewoman was a person of virtue and merit, but wasunlucky in her choice of a husband--Porteous was no better a husband thanhe had been a son. They were not long married when he began to ill-use her. He dragged her out of bed by the hair of the head, and beat her to theeffusion of blood. The whole neighbourhood were alarmed sometimes atmidnight by her shrieks and cries; so much so, indeed, that a lady livingabove them was obliged, between terms, to take a lodging elsewhere for herown quiet. Mrs Porteous was obliged to separate from her husband, and thiswas her requital for having been the occasion of his advancement. 

His command of the city-guard gave him great opportunities of displayinghis evil temper, and manifesting his ungovernable passions. Seldom a daypassed but some of his men experienced his severity. The mob on all publicoccasions excited his naturally bad temper; and on all days of rejoicing, when there was a multitude from the country as well as from the town, thepeople were sure to experience offensive and tyrannical treatment from him. The hatred and terror of him increased every year, and his character as animmoral man was known to everybody, so that he was universally hated andfeared by the lower orders both in town and country. 

This was the position in which Captain Porteous stood with the people whenhe was called upon to take charge of the execution of the law in referenceto Andrew Wilson, whose case it has been thought proper to detail beforeproceeding to narrate the extraordinary events that followed, and which, indeed, partly serves to explain the cause of these events. 

We have stated that Andrew Wilson, George Robertson, and William Hall, werecondemned by the High Court of Justiciary to die on Wednesday the 14th ofApril 1736. Hall was reprieved, but Wilson and Robertson were left tosuffer the extreme penalty of the law. A plan was concocted to enable themto escape out of the Tolbooth, by sawing the iron bars of the window; butWilson, who is described as a "round, squat man, " stuck fast, and before hecould be disentangled the guard were alarmed. It is said that Robertsonwished to attempt first the escape, and there is little doubt he would havesucceeded, but he was prevented by Wilson, who obstinately resolved that hehimself should hazard the experiment. This circumstance seems to haveoperated powerfully on the mind of the criminal, who now accused himself asthe more immediate cause of his companion's fate. The Tolbooth stood nearto St Giles' Church; it was customary at that time for criminals to beconducted on the last Sunday they had to live to church to hear their lastsermon preached, and, in accordance with this practice, Wilson andRobertson were, upon Sunday the 11th of April, carried from prison to theplace of worship. They were not well settled there, when Wilson boldlyattempted to break out, by wrenching himself out of the hands of the fourarmed soldiers. Finding himself disappointed in this, his next care was toemploy the soldiers till Robertson should escape; this he effected bysecuring two of them in his arms, and after calling out, "_Run, Geordie, run for your life_!" snatched hold of a third with his teeth. ThereuponRobertson, after tripping up the heels of the fourth soldier, jumped out ofthe pew, and ran over the tops of the seats with incredible agility, theaudience opening a way for him sufficient to receive them both; in hurryingout at the south gate of the church, he stumbled over the collection money. Thence he reeled and staggered through the Parliament Close, and got downthe back stairs, which have now disappeared, often stumbling by the way, and thus got into the Cowgate, some of the town-guard being close afterhim. He crossed the Cowgate, ran up the Horse Wynd, and proceeded along thePotterrow, the crowd all the way covering his retreat, and by this timebecome so numerous, that it was dangerous for the guard to look after him. In the Horse Wynd there was a horse saddled, which he would have mounted, but was prevented by the owner. Passing the Crosscauseway, he got into theKing's Park, and took the Duddingstone road, but seeing two soldierswalking that way, he jumped the dyke and made for Clear Burn. On comingthere, hearing a noise about the house, he stopt short, and, repassing thedyke, he retook the route for Duddingstone, under the rocks. When hecrossed the dyke at Duddingstone, he fainted away; but, after receivingsome refreshment, the first he had tasted for three days, he passed out oftown, and, soon after getting a horse, he rode off, and was not afterwardsheard of, notwithstanding a diligent search. 

Upon Robertson's getting out of the church door, Wilson was immediatelycarried out without hearing sermon, and put in close confinement to preventhis escape, which the audience seemed much inclined to favour. 

Notwithstanding his surprising escape, Robertson came back about afortnight afterwards, and called at a certain house in the neighbourhood ofEdinburgh. Being talked to by the landlord touching the risk he ran by hisimprudence, and told that, if caught, he would suffer unpitied as a madman, he answered, that as he thought himself indispensably bound to pay the lastduties to his beloved friend, Andrew Wilson, he had been hitherto detainedin the country, but that he was determined to steer another course soon. Hewas resolved, however, not to be hanged, pointing to some weapons he hadabout him. 

It was strongly surmised that plots were laid for favouring Wilson'sescape. It was well known that no blood had been shed at the robbery; thatall the money and effects had been recovered, except a mere trifle; thatWilson had suffered severely in the seizure of his goods on severaloccasions by the revenue officers; and that, however erroneous the idea, hethought himself justified in making reprisals. Besides, Wilson's conducthad excited a very great sympathy in his favour; and the crime for which hewas condemned was considered very venial at that time by the populace, whohated the malt-tax, and saw no more harm in smuggling, or in robbing acollector of excise, than in any matter of trifling importance. Themagistrates of Edinburgh, in order to defeat all attempts at a rescue, lodged the executioner the day previous in the Tolbooth, to prevent hisbeing carried off; the sentinels were doubled outside the prison; theofficers of the trained bands were ordered to attend the execution, likewise the city constables with their batons; the whole city-guard, having ammunition distributed to them, were marched to the place ofexecution with screwed bayonets, and, to make all sure, at desire of thelord provost, a battalion of the Welch Fusiliers, commanded by commissionedofficers, marched up the streets of the city, and took up a position oneach side of the Lawnmarket; whilst another body of that corps was placedunder arms at the Canongate guard. A little before two o'clock, Porteouscame to receive Wilson, the prisoner, from the captain of the city prison. He was in a terrible rage, first against Wilson, who had affronted hissoldiers, and next against the mob, who were charmed with Wilson's generousaction in the church, and had favoured Robertson's escape. They are alwayson the side of humanity and mercy, unless they are engaged themselves. Porteous was also infuriated because the Welch Fusiliers had been broughtto the Canongate, as if he and his guard had not been sufficient to keepdown any riot within the city. The manacles were too little for Wilson'swrists, who was a strong, powerful man; when the hangman could not makethem meet, Porteous flew furiously to them, and squeezed the poor man, whocried piteously during the operation, till he got them to meet, to theexquisite torture of the miserable prisoner, who told him he could notentertain one serious thought, so necessary to one in his condition, undersuch intolerable pain. "No matter, " said Porteous, "your torment will soonbe at an end. " "Well, " said Wilson, "you know not how soon you may beplaced in my condition; God Almighty forgive you as I do. "

This cruel conduct of Porteous' still more embittered the minds of thepopulace, who were sufficiently exasperated against him before, and thereport of it was soon spread over town and country. 

Porteous conducted Wilson to the gallows, where he died very penitent, butexpressing more sorrow on account of the common frailties of life, than thecrime for which he suffered. His body was given to his friends, who carriedit over to Pathhead in Fife, where it was interred; George Robertsonhaving, as we have seen, rashly attended the funeral before going abroad. 

During the melancholy procession of the criminal and his guard, accompaniedby the magistrates, ministers, and others from the Old Tolbooth, whichstood in the Lawnmarket, to the scaffold, which was placed in theGrassmarket, there was not the slightest appearance of a riot, nor afterWilson had been suspended, until life was extinct, did the leastmanifestation of disturbance occur on the part of a vast crowd of peoplecollected from town and country to witness the execution. The magistratesof Edinburgh had retired from the scaffold to a house close by--concluding, with reason, that as all was over with poor Wilson, no disturbance couldthen happen, and the executioner was actually on the top of the ladder, cutting Wilson down, when a few idle men and boys began to throw pebbles, stones, or garbage at him (a common practice at that time, ) thinking he wastreating the affair rather ludicrously; whereupon Captain Porteous, who wasin very bad humour, became highly incensed, and instantly resented, bycommanding the city-guard, without the slightest authority from themagistrates, and without reading the riot act or proclamation according tolaw, to fire their muskets, loaded with ball, and by firing his own fuzeeamong the crowd, by which four persons were killed on the spot, and elevenwounded, many of them dangerously, who afterwards died. The magistrates, ministers, and constables, who had retired to the first storey of a housefronting the street, were themselves in danger of being killed, a ball, aswas discovered afterwards, having grazed the side of the window where theystood. The lord provost and magistrates immediately convened, and orderedCaptain Porteous to be apprehended and brought before them for examination;after taking a precognition, his lordship committed Porteous to closeimprisonment for trial for the crime of murder; and, next day, fifteensentinels of the guard were also committed to prison, it clearly appearing, after a careful examination of the firelocks of the party, that they werethe persons who had discharged their pieces among the crowd. 

On the 25th of March 1736, Captain Porteous was put on trial, at theinstance of the lord-advocate of Scotland, before the High Court ofJusticiary, for the murder of Charles Husband, and twelve other persons, onthe 14th of April preceding, being the day of the execution of AndrewWilson; and after sundry steps of procedure, having been found, by theunanimous voice of the jury, guilty, he was, on the 20th of July following, sentenced to suffer death in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, on Wednesday the8th of September in the same year--that was, about five months afterWilson's execution. 

On the 26th of August, the Duke of Newcastle, one of the secretaries ofstate, wrote a letter to the right honourable the lord justice-general, justice-clerk, and other lords of justiciary, of which the following is acopy:--"My lords, application having been made to her Majesty[G] in thebehalf of John Porteous, late captain-lieutenant of the city-guard ofEdinburgh, a prisoner under sentence of death in the gaol of that city, Iam commanded to signify to your lordships her Majesty's pleasure, that theexecution of the sentence pronounced against the said John Porteous berespited for six weeks from the time appointed for his execution. I am, mylords, your lordships' most obedient, humble servant, (Signed) Holles, Newcastle. "

On receipt of this letter, the lords of justiciary granted warrant to themagistrates of Edinburgh for stopping the execution of Porteous till the20th day of October following. 

The effect of this respite on the minds of the people of Scotland was toinduce the belief that the government did not intend to carry out thesentence of death against Porteous at all--that it was merely apreliminary step to his pardon and liberation--and that, so far fromcondemning him, the government had rather taken up a prejudice against thetown of Edinburgh, on account of the proceedings, and in some measureagainst all Scotland. A number of persons, therefore, who were neverdiscovered, resolved to take the matter into their own hands, and on the7th of September 1736, a body of strangers, supposed to be from thecounties of Fife, Stirling, Perth, and Dumfries, many of them landedgentlemen, entered the West Port of Edinburgh between nine and ten o'clockat night, and having seized the Portsburgh drummer by the way, broughtalong his drum with them, and his son. Some of them advancing up into theGrassmarket, commanded the drummer's son to beat to arms. They then calledout, "Here! all those who dare to avenge innocent blood!" This probablywas a signal for their associates to fall in. It was followed by instantlyshutting up the gates of the city, posting guards at each, and flyingsentinels at all places where a surprise might be expected, while aseparate detachment threw themselves upon and disarmed the city-guard; andseizing the drum, beat about the High Street to notify their success sofar at least. At that instant, a body of them proceeded to the Tolbooth, called for the keeper, and finding he was gone, fell a-breaking the doorwith fore-hammers; but making no great progress in that way, they gottogether a parcel of dried broom, whins, with other combustibles, andheaps of timber, and a barrel of pitch, all previously provided for thepurpose, and taking the flambeaux or torches from the city officers, theyset fire to the pile. When the magistrates appeared, they repulsed themwith showers of stones, and threatened, if they continued in the streetsand offered resistance, they would discharge platoons of fire-arms amongthem; and it is even reported they placed sentinels on the magistrates towatch their motions. 

Upon the prison door taking fire, two gentlemen made up to the rioters, andremonstrated with them on the imminent danger of setting the wholeneighbourhood on fire, insinuating that this outrage was likely to bedeeply resented, and might bring them to trouble; to which it was answeredthat they should take care no damage should be done to the city, and thatas to the rest, they knew their business, and that they (the gentlemen)might go about theirs. 

Before the prison door was burnt down, several persons rushed through theflames, ran up stairs, demanded the keys from the keepers; and though theycould scarcely see one another for the smoke, got into Captain Porteous'apartment, calling, "Where is the murdering villain?" He is said to haveanswered, "Gentlemen, I am here; but what are you going to do with me?"When they answered, "We are to carry you to the place where you shed somuch innocent blood, and hang you. " He begged for mercy, but they instantlyseized and pulled him to the door in his bed-gown and cap; and as hestruggled, they caught him by the legs and dragged him to the foot of thestair, while others set all the rest of the prisoners in the Tolbooth atliberty. As soon as Porteous was brought to the street, he was set on hisfeet, and some seized him by the breast, while others pushed behind. He wasthus conducted to the Bow-head, where they stopped a moment, at thepressing solicitation of some of the citizens, on the pretence that hemight die peaceably, but really that time might be gained, as they expectedthe Welch Fusiliers every moment from the Canongate, or that the garrisonof the Castle would come to Porteous' relief. By this time some whoappeared to be the leaders in the enterprise ordered him to march, and hewas hurried down the Bow and to the gallows stone, where he was tokneel, --to confess his manifold sins and wickedness, particularly thedestruction of human life he had committed in that place, and to offer uphis petitions to Almighty God for mercy on his soul. After which, in a veryfew minutes, he was led to the fatal tree. A halter being wanting, theybroke open a shop in the Grassmarket, and took out a coil of ropes, forwhich they left a guinea on the counter, [H] and threw the one end over adyer's cross-trees close by the place of execution. On seeing the rope, Porteous made remonstrances, and caught hold of the tree, but beingdisengaged they set him down, and as the noose was about to be put over hishead, he appeared to gather fresh spirit, struggling and wrenching his headand body. Here again some citizens appeared for him, telling that thetroops being now in full march, they must all expect to be sacrificed, andthat the artillery of the Castle would doubtless be discharged among them. They answered, "No man will die till his time come. "

About a quarter of an hour before twelve they put the rope about his neck, and ordered him to be pulled up; which being done, observing his handsloose, he was let down again; after tying his hands he was hauled up asecond time, but after a short space, having wrought one of his arms loose, he was let down once more, in order to tie it up and cover his face. Stripping him of one of the shirts he had on, they wrapped it about hishead, and got him up a third time with loud huzzas and a ruff of the drum. After he had hung a long time, they nailed the rope to the tree; thenformally saluting one another, grounding their arms, and another ruff ofthe drum, they separated, retired out of town, and numbers of them wereseen riding off in bodies well mounted to different quarters, leaving thebody hanging till near five next morning. 

Neither the two gentlemen who conversed with the rioters at the Tolbooth, nor those who were sent out by the magistrates to see if they knew any ofthem, could say they had ever seen any one of them before, though theflames of the fire at the Tolbooth door rendered it as light as noonday;so that it was generally believed no citizen acted any principal part inthe tragedy; though, indeed, it is certain that many of the burgesses andinhabitants of Edinburgh, led by curiosity, went to the streets to beholdthe surprising boldness and incredible extravagance of the scene. 

Upon the whole, it would seem that the rioters were a body of gentlemen andothers in disguise, some having masons' aprons, others joiners', fleshers', shoemakers', dyers', and those of other trades, who had concerted theirplot with judgment, conducted it with secresy, executed it with resolutionand manly daring, and completed the whole in the short space of two hourswith unparalleled success. 

FOOTNOTES:

[C] The inn or house here referred to is now demolished. It was a backhouse which stood behind Mr Thomas Foggo's shop, through which there was apassage or entry to it; and from its concealed and backlying situation, itwould seem to have been a very likely place for smugglers to resort to withtheir contraband goods. And here it may be remarked, that less than 100years ago, smuggling was very prevalent in the east of Fife; almost everymerchant and trader in the east coast burghs, and farmers from St Andrewsall along the southeast coast, were less or more concerned in theimportation of brandy, gin, teas, silks, and tobacco, &c. The penalties atone time were only the forfeiture of the goods seized, and if one vessel'scargo escaped out of two or three, it was a profitable trade. The measuresof Government were then thought to be so stringent and despotic, that menof principle, of probity, and integrity in all other respects, manifestedgreat obliquity of vision in viewing the traffic in smuggled goods, andfelt no compunctious visitings in embarking in that trade. In the betterclass of houses in the district, hiding holes and places of concealmentwere always to be found, and some of these places are only now beingdiscovered. It is not many years since, that an honest man in Pittenweem, while employed in his cellar, fell down into a large concealment capable ofholding a great many ankers of spirits and boxes of tea, of which hepreviously knew nothing. 

[D] The window referred to is still pointed out. It is that at the back ofthe house on the second storey, and is near the north-east corner of thetenement. 

[E] Anstruther House, which stood a little west, on the opposite side ofthe road, to Mr Russell's printing office, was demolished in 1811. According to Miss Strickland, Queen Mary passed a night in it; and it is awell established fact that King Charles II. Lodged a night there in 1651. 

[F] Bailie Johnston's house was that now occupied by Mr William Russell, with the brewery behind the same. It was formerly a house of one storey, and was rebuilt and heightened on the walls by the late Mr James Rodger, orMr David Rodger his son. 

[G] This was Queen Caroline, who was regent of the kingdom during theabsence of her husband, George the First, at Hanover. 

[H] The person who did this was a man of the name of Bruce, belonging toAnstruther, who returned some time after to the town, and was well known tothe late Mrs Black, the mother of the late Admiral Black. 

THE STORY OF CHARLES GORDON AND CHRISTINA CUNNINGHAM. 

On the 21st of March, 1743, Captain Richard Dundas, commander of thefrigate _Arethusa_, carrying forty-four guns and 250 men, sailed fromDeptford with that vessel in perfect order and condition, and bound forLeith. The ship was one of the finest in the service, and the commander aman of great energy and intelligence. Mr Charles Gordon, superintendent ofhis Majesty's dockyard at Deptford, a young officer of distinguishedability and exemplary character, was one of the passengers. No incidentworthy of notice occurred until they reached St Abb's Head, when they wereovertaken with a strong adverse gale of wind and heavy snow storm, whichunfortunately drove them from their course, and prevented sight of land fora considerable time. The wind continued to increase in violence, but thesnow ceased falling for a little, when it was discovered that they had beendriven past the mouth of the Firth of Forth and were now in St Andrews Bay. 

They then close-reefed their sails, and made all snug; and Captain Dundas, declaring that they should have to encounter a strong south-easter, alltheir efforts were directed to double the headland of Fifeness and thedreaded Carr Rock, and get into the Forth; but their utmost endeavours wereunavailing, so that the best part of a day was spent in tacking and veeringto, close in with the land, to no purpose. 

The sun set angrily, and the wind veering more adversely, to their utterdismay, brought them on a lee shore. The storm increased with the night. The snow began again to fall, and neither the stars nor the lights of Tayor of the Firth could be seen. The sea was lashed into tremendous fury. There was a fearful sullen sound of rushing waves and broken surges--"Deepcalled unto deep. " At times the black volume of clouds overhead seemed rentasunder by flashes of lightning that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowedover the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by themountain-like waves. As the ship was seen staggering and plunging amongthese roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards dipped into the water--her bow wasburied almost beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appearedready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helmpreserved her from the shock. 

"The impervious horrors of a leeward shore" they were doomed to experienceduring a moonless and starless night. They reduced their sails to a fewyards of canvass, and lowered their yards on deck. The waves, that rolledthe vessel with irresistible force, threatened to swallow them up; atremendous sea carried away the boat which was hoisted up at the stern, andbroke in all the bulkheads of the quarters. For safety of lives andproperty, all hands, after being revived with a glass of rum, began tothrow overboard the guns. The long-boat was then released from herlashings; and, as they wished, the waves soon swept her from the deck. Thetwo large anchors were cut from the bows, and the vessel, thus eased of aheavy top-load, danced more lightly over the tremendous billows, andinspired them with fresh hopes. The crew were all ordered to the after partof the deck, and again refreshed with another glass of rum and water. 

A little before daylight, the captain, who had been anxiously looking out, acquainted the officers, so as not to be heard by the crew, that he sawbreakers nearly ahead, and had no thought of being able to weather them. MrGordon coincided in this opinion, to which some one said, "Well, we are allborn to die; I shall go with regret, but certainly not with fear. "

The breakers were soon visible to all the crew, being not more than aquarter of a mile distant on the lee bow, when Captain Dundas remarked, "Our only chance is to put away a point before the wind, or we are sure togo broadside into the surf and perish at once. "

A heavy sea now struck the vessel, swept the deck fore and aft, and carriedoverboard five of the crew, who instantly sank to rise no more. 

The captain seeing a mighty billow approaching, and viewing nothing butdeath before them, exclaimed, "Lord have mercy upon us, " and at that momentthe vessel rose upon a mountain wave to a tremendous height, from whosesummit she descended with the velocity of lightning, as if she were goingto bury herself in the remorseless deep. By this rapid movement she wasprecipitated beyond the reach of the breakers, which now rolled behind herstern, and burst in impotence, as if incensed at the loss of their destinedprey. "We are safe!" exclaimed Captain Dundas; "jump, men, from the yards, and make sail. " This they did with tumultuous joy, which Mr Gordon checked, and said to them, "Whilst you are working silently, thank God for yourmiraculous preservation. " The sea upon which the vessel rose was the meansof her preservation and that of her crew. Probably there was not, if thesea had been calm, a depth of two feet water on the Carr Rock, for it wasthat dangerous reef she had passed; but the mighty wave carried her safeover at a moment when every hope but that of immortality was gone from theminds of the ship's company. [I]

The tempest having somewhat abated, and the wind veered round to a morefavourable quarter, the vessel rode more smoothly, and the hour of eightbeing arrived, all hands were enabled to sit up and take coffee forbreakfast. 

For about three hours the ship had been working up the Firth, and had comeoff Anstruther, into which port she entered shortly afterwards, in orderto undergo a survey, and get all necessary repairs completed in hull andrigging; and as the vessel had been seen from the _Windmill Tower_ and the_Brae_ all the morning to be in great distress, the eastern pier (for thewest pier had not then been built) was crowded with spectators to witnessher arrival. 

Amongst others who had gone down the pier was Captain John Cunningham, theprovost or chief magistrate of the burgh, who, being a sea captain himself, deeply sympathised both as a sailor and a man with the officers and crew ofthe _Arethusa_, on seeing them in such a miserable plight, and proffered toafford them all the aid and assistance in his power. He got intoconversation with Mr Gordon, and found him so intelligent and gentlemanlyin his manners, that he invited him to his house (which stood in the ShoreStreet, and on the east side of the Pend Wynd, and was that which formerlybelonged to the late Mr Willis, collector of customs, and is presentlypossessed by Mrs Rodger, Mr Imrie, and others), until the vessel wasrepaired and made ready for sea. Mr Gordon thanked him for his kindness, and cordially accepted his hospitable invitation. 

Anstruther is a small country town, pleasantly situated on the banks of theForth. It is a favourable specimen of a good old Scottish town. There is anold town-hall, and an old burgh school, (lately rebuilt, ) an old jail, andan old bridge, besides an old church, now completely renewed and repaired, and forming, with the steeple, a handsome edifice, situated on the ridge orhigh ground above the town. The manse, a fine old building, placed on thesummit of the same ridge near the church, was built by James Melville, minister of the place in the reign of James VI. It afterwards became theproperty of the Anstruther family, who, it is supposed, presented it to thetown, or exchanged it for a house in the _Pend Wynd_, now belonging to MrJohn Darsie, which was occupied for some time as the manse. At the time ofwhich we write, there was a fine old baronial mansion, called "AnstrutherPlace, " which stood near the present junction of the Crail and St Andrewsroads. It belonged to the above-mentioned ancient family, the Anstruthersof Anstruther, whose progenitor was a Norman warrior that came to Britainwith William the Conqueror. It was a mansion as large as Balcaskie, surmounted by a tower, and surrounded by fine old ancestral trees. Amagnificent hall graced its interior, large enough to contain a company ofvolunteers, or local militiamen at drill, within its four corners. Inaddition to these old buildings, which gave a peculiar character to theplace, there were a good many handsome new houses in the town ofAnstruther, for it was far from being in a state of decay. Many wealthy andintelligent families chose it for their residence. It was the seat of acustom-house and excise-office. There was a branch of the Paisley Bankestablished in the town, under the management of a Mr Henry Russell, of thecustoms, and the bank office was kept in that shop now belonging to MrJames Reddie, ironmonger. [J] There was also a Greenland Whale FishingCompany connected with the town, of which a Bailie Johnston was manager. The company's place of business was situated in the East Green, and is nowthe property of Mr Robert Todd, and it is still known to old people by thename of the Greenland Close. There is, or was lately, an old stone placedover the door at the southern entrance into the yard, indicating thenature of the manufacture formerly carried on therein. [K] And before theReform Bill was passed, Anstruther-Easter joined with the other fourburghs of the district in sending a member to Parliament. Many thrivingand respectable trades-people, whose forefathers had resided there forgenerations, and who looked upon the old buildings of their native townwith something of the same sort of feeling as the landowner surveys theoaks which encircle his paternal hall, regarded it with pride andveneration. Perhaps no town of its size in Scotland could be named whereso much good feeling prevailed among all classes. An eminent physician, who came to settle in the place, expressed his astonishment at the amountof private charity distributed. If a poor man met with any accident, everykind assistance was given him by his wealthier neighbours. If a smalltradesman suffered a loss, or a carter his horse, or a widow's cow died, asubscription was set on foot, and the accident often turned out a gain, rather than a loss. 

The old Castle of Dreel, another ancient seat of the Anstruther family, stood on the east side of the Dreel Burn, at its entrance into the sea. Several curious traditions are in circulation respecting this old baronialresidence and its proprietors. The castle has entirely disappeared, and itssite is now partly occupied by fish-curing premises, and partly by a largeantiquated tenement called Wightman's house. Some eminent men have beenborn in Anstruther, among whom may be mentioned Drs Chalmers and Tennant, and Professor Goodsir. 

Such is a brief description of Anstruther at the time of which we write. It is unnecessary to give a particular account of it at the present day, because its trade and commerce, its fishing, farming, and shippinginterests--its new buildings and projected undertakings--its Sundayschools and provident societies, and savings' banks and subscriptionlibraries, are familiar to the most of my readers. 

Captain Cunningham, the chief magistrate of Anstruther, was a wealthy andrespectable shipowner, and his family consisted of a son about twenty, anda daughter about seventeen years of age, besides some younger children. MrGordon, their guest, then in his twenty-fifth year, was a light-hearted andrising young officer. He was, at first, a little impatient of the delayoccasioned by the repairs of the vessel, the superintendence of which fellto be his duty; but circumstances soon occurred which checked thisimpatience, and more than reconciled him to his present quarters. 

As Christina Cunningham is destined to occupy no unimportant position inthis narrative, some description of her will therefore be necessary. 

Let us endeavour to draw her portrait. 

She was not only beautiful, but full of life and animation, her smilingface being the true index of a cheerful, happy disposition. Gentle, amiable, affectionate, good-natured, she was beloved by all who knew her;although, from a maidenly modesty and a natural reserve, she was reallyknown by few. With the figure of a sylph, and the face of a Hebe, she hadluxuriant hair of the darkest possible chestnut, wreathed generally inthick cable plaits round her beautifully-shaped head, which, owing to thefashion of that day, as well as of the present, of wearing the bonnets onthe shoulders, enabled her well-formed head to be seen to the greatestadvantage. In the delicate outline of her faultless features, there was aharmony that made of her whole face a concerted loveliness of form, colour, and expression, that was irresistible. Hackneyed as the simile is, her skinwas literally like snow, upon which blush rose-leaves seemed to havefallen. Her long-cut oriental-looking eyes, were "deeply, darkly, beautifully blue, " while their heavy, snowy lids were fringed with longblack silken lashes, that seemed to be continually trying to salute hercheeks, for which no one could possibly blame them. Her nose was, to saythe least, irreproachable. Then came the rich red pouting under, and theshort chisselled upper lip; the beautiful pearly arched teeth within them;the little round velvety chin, and the perfectly oval peach-like cheeks. Inshort, so pretty a creature was seldom to be seen. 

But Miss Cunningham was something _more_ than beautiful, she was amiable, and gentle, and affectionate; and besides, she was a Christian in the fulland true sense of the word; and, young as she was, she had learned to lookupon herself as a sinner, however innocent and pure she might appear in theeyes of men. While enjoying the blessings of health, peace, and competence, that providence had poured upon her, she looked upon them all as undeservedmercies, marks and tokens of her heavenly Father's love--a love manifestedin man's redemption, in a way surpassing all understanding. Where on earthcan there be found a more lovely character than that in which are blendedtrue religion and natural amiability, rectitude of conduct, and tendernessof disposition?

Residing under the same roof with Miss Cunningham, who can wonder that, before many weeks had elapsed, Mr Gordon was as devoted to CaptainCunningham's daughter as any young and ardent lover could be. MissCunningham was not conscious of any deeper feeling than that ofaffectionate friendship, nor was it till some time after that her hearttold her, that Charles Gordon occupied a place in her affections, whichcould be held by one, and by one only. 

Several weeks had passed away, the repairs of the _Arethusa_ had beennearly completed, and the time was fast approaching when Charles Gordonwould be obliged to depart from Anstruther. It happened, however, that aday or two previously to his leaving, a party of pleasure was planned forvisiting Kellie Law, near Carnbee, and Macduff's Cave, near Earlsferry. Theparty consisted of Mr John Cunningham, junior, and his sister, and MrGordon and Miss Anderson, the daughter of an opulent merchant in the town. A vehicle having been hired for the occasion, a drive of about an hourbrought the excursionists to Kellie Law. Having put up the horse andequipage at Gillingshill, and partaken of the hospitality of the occupants, they ascended this beautiful conical eminence, which is 800 feet above thelevel of the sea, and about four miles distant from it, and rises from theridge running eastward from Largo Law. From the summit of Kellie Law, onwhich there is a large cairn of stones, one of the most magnificent viewsin Scotland is obtained. Immediately below, to the south, is a rich andbeautiful stretch of country, all enclosed and highly cultivated; anextensive range of sea-coast, studded with numerous little towns andvillages; the ample bosom of the Firth of Forth, enlivened with shippingand fishing-boats; and in the extreme distance, the coast of the Lothians, from St Abb's Head to Edinburgh. Near the south base of this hill standsKellie Castle, a fine baronial seat of the Earls of Kellie, surrounded byold trees, and containing some princely apartments. Sir Thomas Erskine ofGogar was one of those who rescued James VI. From the attempt of the Earlof Gowrie to assassinate him at Perth in 1600, and killed the earl'sbrother with his own hand. He was created Viscount Fenton in 1606, and Earlof Kellie in 1619. The earldom merged into that of Marr on the death ofMethven, tenth Earl of Kellie, who was great-grand-uncle to Sir ThomasErskine of Cambo, the present baronet. It is said these earldoms may, andprobably will, be again disjoined, and the titles and honours of Marr andKellie inherited by two distinct noblemen. 

After enjoying the splendid prospect from Kellie Law, the party set off forElie, on their way to view the caves in Kincraig Hill. The drive betweenGillingshill and Elie is delightful. The turnpike road passes in someplaces through a long line of tall trees, arching high overhead, andshowing, at the termination, picturesque vistas. It skirts KilconquharLoch, and affords not very distant views of Charlton and Balcarres, Colinsburgh and Cairnie House; and passing through Kilconquhar, thebeautiful church of the parish and manse (which do credit to the heritors)are close by. The noble mansions of Elie and Kilconquhar, in the immediateneighbourhood, are also seen, surrounded with fine old trees, and standingin a rich and fertile district. 

On arriving at Elie, the party gave the horse and vehicle in charge of thehostler, and set out on foot for Kincraig. Immediately from the beach, atthe south-west end of the parish, Kincraig Hill rises to the height ofabout two hundred feet above the level of the sea. Its southern frontpresents a nearly perpendicular rugged wall of trap rock, of the mostpicturesque appearance, and in these rocks are several caves, calledMacduff's Cave, the Hall Cave, and the Devil's Cave. There is a traditionthat Macduff, the Maormar or Earl of Fife, in his flight from the vengeanceof Macbeth, was concealed in the cave which still bears his name, and wasafterwards ferried across the Firth to Dunbar by the fishermen of theplace, from which circumstance it was called "Earlsferry;" and, besidesbeing constituted a royal burgh by Malcolm III, about 1057, it obtained theprivilege, that the persons of all, in flight, who should cross the Firthfrom thence, should be for a time inviolable--no boat being allowed toleave the shore in pursuit, till those who were pursued were half-seasover. 

The party now resolved that they should partake of luncheon on thegreensward, to fortify themselves for their proposed expedition among thecliffs. While the viands were being produced, Mr Gordon set forth ofhimself in quest of a very rare plant, which he was informed grew in thislocality. 

On observing a group of persons gazing anxiously upwards at the overhangingcliffs, he joined them, inquiring on what their attention was so earnestlyfixed. The persons addressed spoke not, but pointed to a spot abouthalf-way up the face of the rock. Mr Gordon looked in the directionindicated, when, to his horror, he beheld a boy, apparently of aboutfifteen years of age, climbing along a stony ledge, which was so narrow asto be hardly visible from the spot where the group of terrified beholderswas stationed. Scarcely had there been time for Mr Gordon to fix his eye onthe human form that had reached so perilous a position, when a portion ofthe ledge of rock on which the unhappy boy was standing gave way--a loudscream rent the air, echoing through the cliffs--and in another instant allthat remained of him was a lifeless, mangled corpse. The poor fellow'sstory is soon told. He was an idiot, and having wandered from his mother'sside, had reached the fatal spot, no one knew how, and thus met a fearfuldeath. 

His poor mother witnessed the dreadful catastrophe, and agonizing was hergrief as she followed the body of her child, which was borne on theshoulders of the awe-struck villagers to her home. Mr Gordon also followedthe body to the house, and, feeling that at such a time any attempt atcomforting the childless widow would be of no avail, he merely placed a sumof money in the hands of a respectable-looking person, a bystander, for heruse, and slowly and sick at heart he was in the act of returning to hisfriends, when he met Christina Cunningham, who was in search of him, forthe purpose of bringing him back to luncheon. She saw that he was deadlypale, and hurriedly asked if he felt ill. He told her all that hadhappened. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "if it had been _you_!"

"Well, Miss Cunningham, " he replied, carelessly, "and if it had, few wouldhave missed me. I should probably have had fewer mourners than that pooridiot boy. "

"Oh, how can you say so?" she returned, and bending down her head, becamevisibly agitated. And yet poor Christina knew not, even now, that she lovedCharles Gordon: she understood not the true cause of the beatings of herdisturbed heart. He looked at her. As he looked, a momentary smile passedover his features, which was soon exchanged for an expression of deepsorrow, as he thought of the lonely widow, bending over the lifeless formof her lost son. The sad story was related to the rest of the party, andall cheerfulness for the time was at an end. 

This was destined to be an eventful day. Another calamity--and one that, although it was not attended with fatal results, affected Charles more thanthat which had occurred--was yet to take place. We have said that therewere some remarkable caves at this place, which had long been objects ofinterest to the traveller and excursionist. One there is in particular, called the Devil's Cave, which penetrates far into the heart of the rock, on the face of which lies its entrance. From the steepness of the pathwhich leads into this cavern, it is rarely visited by tourists. The party, however, with perhaps more curiosity than prudence, determined to exploreand visit this cave. A female guide was procured, and a candle supplied toeach person. All being ready, in single file they entered the mouth of thecavern, carefully groping their way, not without difficulty. Miss Andersonsoon lost courage, and turned back, stating that she and Mr Cunninghamwould return to the inn at Elie, and prepare tea; the other two resolved toproceed along with the guide. The aperture through which they had to passbecame at length so low, and so narrow, that a consultation was held, andit was agreed that it would be prudent to return. Charles now led the wayas they retraced their steps. He had not proceeded far when he heard aheavy fall, and turning quickly round, beheld, to his horror, Christinastretched upon the humid soil of the cavern; her eyes were closed, and hercandle had fallen from her hand. Whether bad air had struck her down ornot, he could not tell. For an instant he believed her to be dead, but, bending over her, he perceived that she breathed. What was now to be done?Only one plan lay before him which he could adopt. Giving his candle to theguide, and directing her to keep in front of him, holding the light so ashe could see, he raised Miss Cunningham in his arms, and with all thestrength he was master of, bore her along in the direction of the entrance. The roof of the cave was so low, that it was impossible to maintain anupright position, and his strength so entirely failed him that he wasobliged to stop and take a rest before he could proceed with his preciousburden. On reaching the mouth or entrance of the now detested cave, signsof returning consciousness began to appear in the poor sufferer. Onbreathing the fresh air of heaven, she opened her eyes for a moment, thenclosed them again, drawing several long and apparently painfulrespirations. Charles placed her on a grassy bank, and seating himselfbeside her, supported her by placing his arm round her waist. The guide wasdespatched for water. By and by, Christina, looking round, said with herown sweet smile, "I am better now. " Charles pressed the form of her whom healready loved so well, to himself, and then assisting her to rise, withslow and measured steps they returned to Elie. 

"You are very tired, I fear, and I am the cause, " said Christina, as sheleaned on Charles's arm, turning her face to his. 

For a moment their eyes met, those of Christina fell, while a shade ofcolour tinged her still pallid face. She had met a look in Charles's facethat she had never seen there before. She again relapsed into silence. 

Charles, in reply to her remark, uttered something that was inaudible; thename of "Christina, " however, was substituted for that of "MissCunningham. "

Any endeavour to conceal what had occurred would have been useless. Thepale face of the sufferer plainly told that she had been ill, and generalwas the consternation of all on hearing what had happened. Charles resignedher to the care of Miss Anderson and the hostess, and, passing to thelittle parlour of the village inn, flung himself on the sofa in a state ofcomplete exhaustion. 

Long he remained buried in thought. At length his good nature andcompassion prompted him to visit once more the poor, childless widow, whilepreparations were being made for their return to Anstruther. She was alonewith the body of her idiot son. Carefully had she cleansed away the bloodand dust from his face, which now appeared to exhibit more intelligence indeath than it had done in life. 

As Charles entered, the poor Irish widow exclaimed, --"May the blessing ofthe Great God, who is above us this day, be about ye, and wid ye for everand ever, my jewel young gentleman!" She held in her hand the money that hehad left for her, and added, "Sure isn't there enough here for the poorlone widow, to buy her darlint son a dacent coffin for to lay him in thecould earth, in the land of the stranger, before she goes far, far away, toa land beyant the rowling say (referring to America). You've given me moneywhen I wanted it sore, an' the blessin' of the lone widow woman will be widyou wherever ye go; but none can give me back my boy! Oh, Patrick, jewel!why did ye die? Och, my poor boy! my poor boy! my poor boy!"

The tears came into Charles's eyes as he listened to this patheticlamentation, but longer he could not remain. He succeeded, however, inlearning that she had resolved to accede to a proposal of her sister's, tojoin her in America, which his gift had provided her with the means ofaccomplishing. 

The drive to Anstruther was speedily made out, and in few days MissCunningham was quite restored to her usual state of health and enjoyment. 

Time rolled on. The _Arethusa_ has sailed. Mr Gordon has returned toDeptford, and resumed his ordinary duties. Has all intercourse ceasedbetween him and Miss Cunningham? Assuredly not. Many a kind letter haspassed between them. She has been to England visiting his sister, at thatsister's kind invitation, and is come back to Anstruther. Charles hasproposed to her, and been accepted, and has obtained a special licence fortheir marriage. He comes back to Anstruther to claim his bride. 

If you, my reader, were at this moment greedily perusing a modern novel, you would here be gratified by a very romantic and touching account, threeor four pages long at least, of the meeting of the two ardent lovers aftera long separation; smiles and tears, sighs and sobs, broken accents, protestations of eternal love and fidelity, and all that sort of thing. Here you will find nothing of the kind. I very much doubt myself as towhether anything of the kind took place in this instance at all; I ratherimagine the meeting was a calm and quietly happy one, without anythingstrikingly romantic or stage-like about it. But even suppose there hadbeen, and that I had been present to see, (which, by the by, would havebeen an awkward enough situation for me, or any other third party, to havefound himself in) ought we to have disclosed it? Certainly not; such ascene, every one knows, ought to be strictly private and confidentialSuffice it then to say, that doubtless both, parties found themselvesextremely comfortable and happy. 

Let me now convey you, in thought, backwards one hundred and fourteenyears, and place you in the street of Pittenweem, opposite the ScottishEpiscopal Chapel. We see a crowd; let us inquire what is the occasion ofit. 

"What is this crowd collecting for, so early this morning?"

"There's going to be a wedding, ma'am. "

"Do you know whose wedding it is?"

"No ma'am, I don't; I'm only here to keep order--nothing else to do withit. "

It is some time since we have seen a wedding, suppose we go into church. Here we are. We shall have a nice view of them from that front pew in thegallery. How tastefully the chapel is decorated with foliage and flowers!Make haste! I hear the carriages coming, that will do. Wait! here theycome, only fancy, it's Christina Cunningham, and--Who? Charles Gordon, Ideclare. How nicely he looks in his naval uniform. Then the reports wereall true. Poor Christina! she's very much agitated. I suppose being marriedmust be rather nervous work. The clergyman who is marrying them is arelation of the bridegroom's--he's rector of a large parish nearDeptford--how beautifully he reads. And there is our dear old clergyman, MrSpence, assisting him, how happy he looks. They say he has known the bridesince she was an infant, and the bridegroom for some time. There!--she's nolonger Christina Cunningham! I wonder where they are going to afterbreakfast? Blessings on them both!

FOOTNOTES:

[I] On account of the many accidents which happen almost yearly at the CarrRock, some plan for marking its dangerous locality has long been an objectof deep solicitude. The writer recollects of a round tower of some heighthaving been built on the rock, on the same principle as that on the BellRock, but it was soon overthrown by the first winter's storm, because therewas not a sufficient surface of rock at the base to admit of a strongenough building being placed upon it. But might not an erection be made ofstrong bars of iron, and a large bell placed on its summit, with an ironcylinder in the centre, perforated with holes to admit the sea water?Within the cylinder let a powerful floater be placed, which by theperpetual action of the tides' ebb and flow, would cause the bell to ring, and so give timeous warning of danger near. Or, another method might beadopted, viz. , Let a steady officer be stationed at Fifeness, whose duty itshould be to fire a gun, say a six or eight-pounder, at short intervals insnow storms, or in thick and foggy weather, when neither the land duringthe day, nor the stars or lights at night, can be seen. In either way theexpense would be trifling, and the benefit might be great. Captains ofsteamers and of other vessels enveloped in the fog would then, on hearingthe sound of the bell or gun, know where they were, and would take theirbearings from Fifeness accordingly. 

[J] The principles of banking seem to have been imperfectly understood inour fathers' days, for it appears that, at the Anstruther branch, there wasa certain fixed sum _per month_ allotted for bills to be discounted. Whenthat sum was exhausted, it mattered not what further sum was wanted, therewere no more discounts allowed that month. It followed, that the most_needy_ were always, at the beginning of the month, the _earliest_customers, and, consequently, post-due bills became the rule, retired billsthe exception. Under these circumstances, it is not difficult to foreseewhat would be the result. The bank was closed at no distant period, and theagent, it is said, lost L1500 of his own money. No other banking companyattempted to establish a bank in Anstruther till May 1832, when theNational Bank of Scotland opened a branch under the management of Mr F. Conolly, town-clerk, which he conducted successfully for twenty-five years. A handsome new building has lately been erected for the use of this bank. Two other branch banks have been opened in the town. 

[K] There were two vessels belonging to the company, one named the _Hawk_, and the other the _Rising Sun_. The _Hawk_ was lost on her first voyage, and Bailie Meldrum--some time chief magistrate of Anstruther-Wester--one ofthe crew, lost the toes of both his feet by frost-bite. The undertaking didnot prove a successful one; the company was dissolved; and the premises, which were sold to the late John Miller, senior, shipowner in Anstruther, afterwards became, as I said, the property of Mr Todd. 

A LEGEND OF CALDER MOOR. 

It was a beautiful evening in the month of September--the air still andserene, forming a delightful change from the sultry heat of the day, whichhad been oppressive in the extreme. Nature seemed to have redoubled herenergies; the swallows twittered cheerfully over the small pond; the beesreturned laden with the rich fruits of their industry, humming theirsatisfaction; the heath sent its fragrance around; and the few sheep thatSimon Wallace attended were nibbling earnestly the stunted grass, havingspent the greater part of the day in the shade of a small knoll, listlessfrom the heat which oppressed them. In the midst stood Simon, enjoying thescene around him, which, barren and desolate as it might be in the eyes ofa stranger, was to him the loveliest spot in the universe; nor would hehave bade it farewell to dwell in the most fertile vale in the Lothians. Here he had been born sixty summers before, and here he had enjoyed as muchof happiness as falls to the lot of man. Humble and content, his wisheswere bounded by the few acres of moss land that his fathers had reclaimedfrom the waste, and his knowledge of the busy world that lay beyond thehills that bounded the horizon around his humble cottage, was derived froma few books. Farther than the next market-town, Mid-Calder, he had neverbeen, save upon one occasion--an important epoch in his life--when, uponsome business of importance, concerning his lease, he had visited thecapital, the wonders of which had been a never-failing subject of discourseat his humble hearth; yet, Simon was not ignorant, for he made good profitof the few books he could procure; and there was one--the fountain of allknowledge--he knew so well, that even Esdras, the holy scribe, couldscarcely have found him at fault, in pointing out all the most beautiful ofthe inspired passages. His constant companion, he had been reading it onthe hill for the last hour, and now, before retiring to his home for thenight, he stood there in mental prayer, his face turned to the setting sun, which sunk beyond a sea of clouds, tinged with the most gorgeous colours, and his mind away among the bright realms of eternal felicity. A faintbreeze had arisen, and the heavy clouds began to sail along, denoting rain, when he gave his orders to his faithful dog, to gather his sheep for thenight, and urged him to be active, to enable him to proceed home before theshower came on. Looking along in the direction of the road that led throughthe moor, he thought he could perceive, at a considerable distance, threeobjects, urging their way forward; and, through the gloom, he withdifficulty made them out to be a man and two females upon horseback. Afeeling of surprise crossed his mind, as he saw travellers journeying overthe moor, at a period when it was not usual, except upon urgent business, to leave Mid-Calder at a late hour, and proceed along roads almostimpassable, with no other prospect than a night journey, in dangerous andtroubled times. Musing on the circumstance, he had just reached the road onhis way to his cottage, when the travellers came up and accosted him withan inquiry if they could find shelter for the night, as they had beenovertaken by the storm, and one of the females had been taken suddenly illsince they had left the last town. With an apology for the poorness of hisaccommodation, Simon made them welcome to his home, and led the wayhomewards. Neither of the females spoke; but he thought he heard one ofthem utter, at intervals, a stifled groan, while the other supported her onher saddle, and the male led her horse over the rough path to prevent itsstumbling. A few minutes brought them to the house, and they were soonseated by the blazing hearth, while Helen Wallace was busy preparing forthem some humble refreshments; but the lady continued to become worse--shehad been taken in labour, prematurely, as the female said, from the fatigueof travelling. She appeared to be of a rank far above her companions, whotreated her with lowly attentions; but there was something harsh andforbidding in the manner and appearance of the man, which made Helen quail, and feel uneasy in his presence; and the female, who was above the middleage, and of a masculine appearance, had a harshness of voice and manner, that was disagreeable, even to the rustic wife of the moorland farmer. Theyoung and beautiful female they attended--apparently not above eighteen, pale and dejected, her eyes red and swollen with weeping--had not, as yet, uttered a single word; but, apparently fearful of her attendants, especially the female, who sat close by her at the fire, had cast severalstolen and imploring glances at Helen, and seemed anxious to speak, butafraid to give utterance to her thoughts. 

The lady rapidly grew worse, and was put into their only spare bed, whileHelen requested her husband to take one of the horses and ride to the townfor assistance. This the man promptly forbade--saying, that the otherattendant, a skilful woman, was capable of doing all that was required atsuch a time, with the assistance of the farmer's wife; that they were ontheir way to the residence of his master when the present unfortunateillness had occurred much sooner than was expected; that he had in the_valise_ with him everything requisite; and that for any trouble the farmeror his wife might be put to, they should be amply rewarded. The cottageconsisted of only one apartment, divided by a hallen or thin partition, which did not extend beyond the centre of the floor, to protect thefire-place from the blasts of winter; and Simon and the stranger retired toa small distance from the door, where they stood and saw the full moonrising in grandeur in the east. In vain the farmer endeavoured to gain anyinformation from his companion of who the strangers were, and whither theywere going. He got only an evasive answer. His position was extraordinaryand uncomfortable. Three hours had passed: no person appeared from thehouse; his unsocial acquaintance scarcely spoke; a scowl in his eye, and ashade of ferocity in his countenance, alarmed him; his whole soul, sometimes intent upon some signal from the cottage, at other periods becameabsent; and he clutched at the sword that hung by his side, as if he meantto draw it and attack the farmer, endeavouring again, in a husky voice, tomake an apology for the inconvenience they had put him to. At length Helencame to the door, and requested them to come into the house, for the ladywas now better. 

"What has she got?" inquired Simon. 

"Two beautiful boys as ever I saw, " answered the wife; "--but one of themis dead, and the mother is very weak. "

While this and some other conversation passed between the farmer and hiswife, the man and the woman were busy whispering at the other end of thehouse; but they at length approached the hearth and partook of somerefreshment which had been prepared for them. The farmer offered thefemale, for the remainder of the night, the use of their only other bed;but both the man and the woman objected to this proposition--saying, thatthey preferred to sit by the hearth and attend to their mistress, andrequesting that their hosts should retire to it themselves. This they did, and soon both fell into a sound sleep. Helen awoke about two hoursafterwards, and, to her astonishment, found that neither of the twoattendants was in the cottage. She arose and went to the bed of the sicklady, who lay apparently in a deep and troubled sleep, with the babe in herbosom. She looked for the body of its brother; but it was gone. She feltalarmed, and gently awaking Simon, in a whisper told him to arise. He wassoon dressed, and, on going out, found that the strangers were gone, thehorses were away, and with them everything that had been brought, even tothe dress the lady had worn upon her arrival. In great anxiety theyapproached the bed: the lady still appeared in a deep sleep; her breathingwas heavy and laborious, every attempt to awaken her was in vain; her eyeswere opened and closed unconsciously, and without a word of utterance. 

"Surely, " said Helen, with clasped hands, "that woman hasna poisoned thepuir young creature wi' that mixture she requested me to gie her justbefore I ca'ed you into the house. She said it was to compose her to sleep. She had offered it to the lady hersel, who, being afraid o' her, wadnataste it. Then she gave me the cup, and I offered it. O Simon! what apiteous look she threw upon me, as she said, 'From you I will takeanything; you, I know, will not do me harm'--and she drank it from myhands. Surely, surely, I am not guilty of her blood, if death was in thatcup!"

Here the poor woman sank upon the side of the bed in a passion of tears, while Simon stood the image of horror, gazing alternately upon his wife andthe unconscious lady in the bed. Sinking upon his knees, he prayed forcounsel in this hour of distress, and his mind became more calm andcollected. 

"Helen, " said he, "you will not be afraid to stay by the poor youngcreature, while I go and catch Mally, and ride as fast as she can carry meto the manse, and bring the minister, who is a skilful man, and who, perhaps, may be able to do something for the sufferer; at least, he willadvise us what is best for us to do in this hour of need. "

"I will, indeed, be eerie, " answered Helen--"very eerie; but do mak all thehaste ye can, and I will tent baith mother and bairn until ye return. "

In a very short time, the farmer was on his way to the manse, and soon, along with the minister, on his return to his cottage; but, before theyarrived, the victim had breathed her last sigh. 

Helen was at the door, weeping and wringing her hands. She blamed herselfas being the cause of the young mother's death; nor was it until after theminister had prayed, and assured her that no guilt could attach to her, that she became composed. On his way to the cottage, the farmer hadinformed him of every circumstance, as far as it had happened under his owneye:--That the young lady had been very ill; that the female appearedexpert at her duty, and kept Helen as much at a distance from her patientas she could; that the young creature wished her much to be near her, as ifshe had something to communicate; but the attendant always told her, in aharsh manner, that it was improper for her to speak, and found always someexcuse to send her from the bedside; that the lady appeared to be in greatawe of her; and that the first boy, the one that was alive, Helen kept atthe hearth until the other came; that she heard it cry once, and inquiredwhat it was, when the assistant said it was also a boy, but dead, and shethrew it from her upon the bed; that, after a time, she took a vial fromher pocket, and poured it into a cup, requesting the lady to drink it, asit was a composing draught, but she put it away from her; and that the poormurdered creature was persuaded by Helen to accept it at her hands. 

The minister having drawn up a circumstantial detail of all thecircumstances narrated, bade the sorrowing couple adieu, and departed, tosend one of his maids to assist Helen, and to stay with her through theday. He vowed to make the horrid transaction as public as possible, inhopes of discovering the two wretches and their employer, and promised tocall in the evening, and direct what was further to be done. He rode directto Mid-Calder; and, on inquiry at the hostelry, if any such travellers hadbeen there the day before, found that they had passed through the town, only stopping to bait their horses, and no particular attention had beenpaid to them by the landlord of the house. Here his inquiries necessarilyterminated. In the meantime, Helen and her assistant had been employedlaying out the corpse of the murdered woman, and tending the orphan boy. Tied by a silken cord, a curious gold ring, of massive workmanship, wassuspended from her neck, and lay resting upon her bosom. 

"A true love-gift, " ejaculated Helen, "an exchange o' plighted faiths. Dearly had you loved the giver, for, even in sore distress and death it layupon thy bosom. Cruelly has your love been requited; but rest inpeace--your sorrows are past. I will keep this for your babe, and, as soonas he can speak, I will tell him where I found it. I fear it will be a' Iwill ever be able to inform him of either father or mother. " She thenplaced the ring in her own bosom, until she could shew it to her husband;renewed her offices to the dead; took the babe in her lap, and, weepingover it, resolved, as she thought of its desolate state, without a relationin the world, that, so long as she had life, she would be a parent toit--for death had been a spoiler in her own family of three sons, all ofwhom it had been her misfortune to bury. 

The minister arrived again in the evening. They shewed him the ring, andtold where it had been found. He examined it closely; but there wereneither armorial bearings nor cypher upon it, to lead even to a guess ofthe person to whom it had belonged--yet the make and chasing were peculiar, and might lead a person who had once examined it to remember it. The motherwas interred; the babe baptized by the name of William, put out to nurse;and the usual routine of the cottage once more restored. The boy grew upunder the roof of his kind protectors. To his education the minister paidparticular attention, and was proud of his pupil--for William Wallace, ashe was called, did honour to the labour bestowed upon him. He was quick tolearn, yet his mind was not given to literary pursuits--for he delighted infeats of strife, and dwelt with rapture on the feats of the warrior. SirWilliam Wallace was the hero of his youthful imagination--and he longed tobe of man's stature, only that he might be a soldier. Thus years rolled on. William was now eighteen years of age; the labour of the farm, in which heengaged, was irksome to him; yet he restrained his inclinations, and toiledon for his benefactors, who had both become so frail that they required hisaid. By the time he arrived at his twentieth year, his foster parents diedwithin a few months of each other, and left him possessor of their littlewealth. When spring returned, he made known to his benefactor, theminister, his resolution of leaving the moor and going into the busy world. The stock was turned into cash, and William, bidding a long adieu to thescenes of his youth, set off for the capital, accompanied by the prayers ofthe good man for his success. Since the death of his protectors he had wornhis mother's ring, and he had a vague hope that it might, by some way orother, lead to a discovery of his parents, and enable him to avenge hermurder. All the mild lessons of his teacher upon this point had been vain. His mind dwelt with a gloomy satisfaction upon a just retribution. At timeshis feelings rose to agony--the idea that the guilty individual might behis own parent, often flashed across his mind and made him love hisignorance; but, nature prevailing, his wonted desire recurred again, and, musing thus, he rode on towards Edinburgh, now with the reins resting uponhis horse's neck; and then, when urged by his troubled mind, urging forwardhis steed. He stopped at the borders of the moor, and turned towards thescenes so dear to him, where he had passed what of his life had gone by ininnocence and peace. For the first time, he felt alone in the world; and afew involuntary tears fell from his eyes--a token of regret due to thememory of departed worth, and a pleasing recollection of scenes endeared tohim by many tender associations. Thus in pensive meditation he rode on, undetermined as to his future mode of life. Prior to his setting out, everything had appeared to his imagination of easy execution; but now hebegan to encounter difficulties he had never dreamed of before; and thesight of Edinburgh, which he reached before nightfall, did not diminishthem. The vastness of the city overpowered him; the stateliness of thebuildings appeared to him the work of giants; and he almost shrank fromentering it, through a feeling of his own littleness. In his approach, hiseyes had been constantly fixed upon the buildings of the Castle, perchedhigh above the town, and crowning the almost circular, bold, and craggyrocks on which it stands. Along the line of houses to the east, thatstretched farther than his eye could trace, the setting sun threw hisdeparting rays, and innumerable windows glanced like burnished gold; whilethe diadem-shaped spire of St Giles', towering above all, in the centre, seemed to proclaim her the queen of cities. With all the impatience ofyouth, he urged on his horse, expecting to see all the inhabitants of sofair a place themselves fair. But scarce had he entered the West-Port gate, when his feelings were shocked to witness, on every side, squalid miseryand wretchedness, and every token of poverty and vice. He put up for thenight at one of the many inns of the Grassmarket; and, revolving in hismind what he had already seen, retired to bed. 

Early next morning, he arose, dressed, and sallied forth to gratify hiscuriosity; but, with no one to whom he could communicate the feelings thatevery new object awakened, he felt solitary among the surrounding crowds. On the second day after his arrival, as he walked in the Meadows, heobserved among the crowd of well-dressed pedestrians that thronged thewalks, an elderly gentleman, who eyed him with marked attention. William'scuriosity was excited, and he threw himself again in his way. The oldgentleman bowed. 

"I beg pardon, " said he--"may I be so bold as to request your name?--for Ifeel as if you and I had not now met for the first time. Yet it cannot be;for it is now above twenty years since that time, and you do not appear tobe more than that time old. "

"My name is William Wallace, " answered William, with a beating heart. "Inever had the honour to see you until to-day. "

"Wallace? Wallace?" said the old gentleman, musing. "No---my friend's namewas not Wallace; we were both of Monro's regiment--his name was Seaton; butthe likeness was so strong that you must excuse me for addressing you. "

William's heart sank--he remained silent for a few minutes--his face wasalternately flushed and pale--a new train of ideas crowded upon hismind--he wished to speak, but he could not find utterance--wiped hisforehead with his handkerchief, and went through the other forms ofconfusion and bashfulness. His new acquaintance looked upon him, muchsurprised at his emotion; and, with an energy bordering on violence, seizedhis hand. 

"Young man, " said he, "that ring was once the property of my friend: howcame you by it? He valued it above all things, nor would he have partedwith it but with life. At this moment, I almost think the last long twentyyears of my life a dream, and that I am still a captain in Monro'sregiment. You must come and dine with me, and explain how this came intoyour possession. "

"With pleasure, " replied William. "It is a sad account, I have to give, andI am most impatient to learn something of its possessor. Alas! I fear Imust feel too great an interest in him. "

"The early friend I allude to, " replied the old man, "was an honour to hiscountry. A braver or more generous heart, no officer in the army possessed. This you will acknowledge when I have told you all. Alas! poor Seaton!shall I ever see you again?"

Thus conversing, they reached the house of Colonel Gordon, one of theprincipal flats of a house in the High Street. After they had dined, William gave a distinct account of his birth and the death of his mother, and a modest outline of himself. His hearer listened to him with thegreatest interest, only interrupting him at the account of his mother'sdeath by an exclamation of horror. 

"Henry Seaton, " he cried, "had no hand in this, I could pledge my head forhim. I am strongly impressed, young man, with the idea, that my friend hasbeen cruelly injured, and his generous heart wounded past recovery by thisdeed of darkness. Savage monsters! worse than demons! would to God I hadyou in my power!" And he walked about the room in a state of violentexcitement. "William, " said he again, "I have no doubt you are the son ofHenry Seaton, my more than brother; and, so far as is in my power, I shallassist you in the discovery of your parents, and avenge the murder of yourmother. I shall now give you my story:--I was an ensign in Munro's regimentof Scots, serving in Flanders, when your father (for I have no doubt thathe was such) joined us, early in the spring of the year 1706, a short timebefore the battle of Ramilies. We were both of the same company, and ofcongenial minds; so that we soon became bosom friends, and were ever asmuch as possible in each other's society. In battle we fought side by side, without being jealous of each other's fame. In our first battle, that ofRamilies, the Scots had more than their share of the loss, and I had themisfortune to be shot in the leg early in the action. When I fell, yourfather saved me from the sword of the enemy, and bore me out of the line atthe hazard of his own life; for we were at the time, pressed by a strongdivision of the French. I soon recovered, and joined the ranks, when ourfriendship, if possible, was stronger than ever. At the battle of Oudenard, where we drove the French from their trenches, your father led on his men, over the works, with too much eagerness, and was not supported for a time, as the enemy sprung a mine and made the ditch impassable, killing andwounding a great many of the advancing column. Bravely did he and hishandful of Scots stand their ground, surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers;but they were dropping fast, for they fought hand to hand, and they were sopressed by the enemy, and hemmed in, that they could not fire, for fear ofkilling their own men. I saw the perilous situation of my friend; with thegreatest efforts, I and a few noble countrymen got clambered up to theirrescue. At our arrival, there were not more than six of them upon theirfeet--all were covered with wounds and spent with fatigue. Your fatherstill raged like a lion in the toils--all swords were aimed at him--heseemed invulnerable. I had reached his side, when a severe wound laid himinsensible at my feet; but I stood over him, and backed by my bravefollowers, we fought till the French gave way before the numbers of ourtroops that had forced the works and poured in on every side. I raised himup--the blood streamed from his side--he appeared to be dead--his eyes wereclosed--I placed my hand upon his breast--all appeared still--thenmournfully I supported his head on my knee, and saw his eyelids move, andthen a faint heaving of the breast. I snatched the canteen of a deadsoldier that lay by my side; there was some wine in it; I applied it to hislips--he opened his eyes. "

"'Edward, ' said he, 'I thank you. I fear my career of glory is run. I hopewe have beat the enemy. I die content. Farewell!' And he sank again intoinsensibility. "

"All this had passed in the course of a couple of minutes The enemy hadmade a fresh stand, and were forcing our troops back upon theintrenchments. I gently laid him down, and, rallying the men who wereretreating, again forced them back. The enemy began to give way in alldirections, and we followed up our advantage until the order for ceasingthe pursuit was given. For a time I had forgot everything, in theimpetuosity of battle; but, after rallying my company, and marching back toour camp, I took a file of men, and proceeded to the spot where I had leftmy friend. I looked for some time in vain. So active had been the work ofthe pillagers that followed the camp, that the dead and the dying had beenstripped; and by the countenance alone could one discover a friend from afoe, I examined every face amidst a heap of dead bodies, and discovered myfriend. Life was not yet extinct. I had him removed to my tent, and wentfor a surgeon, who examined and dressed his wound, but gave me no hopes ofhis recovery. He was carefully removed into Oudenard, where our hospitalswere established, and for some days his life was despaired of; but youthand a good constitution prevailed, and he again bade fair for life andhappiness. As soon as he was enabled to converse, I was at my usual placeby his bedside, when, after thanking me for his preservation, he expressedthe deepest sorrow for the loss of his ring, which had been torn from hisfinger by the pillagers. 

"I had, until now, scarcely paid any attention to this bauble; butremembered, when he spoke of it, of having seen at all times a ring uponhis finger. I expressed my concern at his loss, but said, that it ought notto give him so much concern, at a time when a miraculously spared lifecalled for his gratitude to God. 

"'I value it next to life itself, ' was his reply, 'for it was the gift ofmy mother, and had been in our family for ages. Publish among the sutlers, my good friend, that fifty dollars will be given for the ring, upon itsdelivery to me; and twenty dollars to any one who will give informationthat will lead to its recovery. '

"I promised, and left him, consoled with the hopes of again getting thejewel; yet I could not help thinking my friend too profuse in his offer. Iimmediately published in the camp, a reward of ten dollars for the ring, orfive for any information to lead to its recovery, and next morning the ringwas delivered, and the ten dollars paid to one of the fiends in humanshape, that, like vultures, follow in the track of war. My fingers itchedto cut the ruffian down, but I restrained myself. I paid him the promisedreward with a hearty curse--the word of a soldier is sacred; and it was atthis time that I examined the bauble so minutely, that I never can forgetit. I never saw joy more vividly expressed than when he placed it upon hisemaciated finger, and said I had given him a medicine that would quicklyrecover him. 

"'Shade of my sainted mother, ' he ejaculated, 'I have still thy latestgift, and it shall be parted with only with my latest breath. ' And hekissed it fervently as he spoke. "

"In the course of a few weeks, he was convalescent, and again joined theregiment. Each officer had received one step of promotion, and our dutieswent on in the usual routine, though we were principally occupied inforaging parties. It was the depth of winter, and provisions were scarce. Henry had the command of a strong foraging party; and, on one occasion, hecame in his route to a large farm-house, where he hoped to obtain supplies. Approaching the house, he heard cries of distress and supplication infemale voices. He put his men into rapid motion, and rushed forward alone. Passing a thick fence, he saw a party of Dutch soldiers, who hadanticipated him, and some of whom were at the door, guarding it; but thegreater part were within the house. The cries became more piteous andpiercing. He drew his sword and rushed past the sentinels at the door, whoattempted to prevent him; but the view of his men coming up unnerved them. A scene of horror met his eyes: the male inmates of the house were bound, and soldiers were standing over them, ready to plunge their bayonets intotheir bosoms at the least movement, while others were proceeding to acts ofviolence towards the females. With a voice of thunder, he commanded them todesist, and, seizing the officer, hurled him from the terrified andfainting daughter of the farmer. The Dutchman, in rage, drew and made afurious lounge at him, which he parried; and his men entering at the sametime, they drove the others out of the house. My friend, in French, requested the Dutchman to follow his men; but he refused, and challengedhim to single combat, for the insult he said he had received at hishands--adding some opprobrious epithets, which roused the choler of thebrave Englishman. In an instant, they were engaged hand to hand; but shortwas the strife--the Dutchman fell dead on the scene of his violence, andhis men returned to the camp, and made a complaint against Monro'sregiment, which was like to have led to some serious consequences; but, after your father stating the circumstances to the colonel, the latterwaited upon the Duke of Marlborough, and we heard no more of the affair. 

"The last action we were in together, we both escaped unhurt; yet it wasthe bloodiest one we had ever been in. Of all the honours of Malplaquet, the Monroes had their full share; for, although the Duke did not like theScots, and used at times to throw a sarcasm at their country, he alwaysgave them a situation of danger, either from dislike or a reliance on theircourage. About twelve months after Malplaquet, your father left the serviceand retired into France. Peace was now evidently at hand, and an armisticehad been agreed upon and signed by several of the allies of the English;and our gallant leader was now in disgrace. Much as Henry Seaton and Iesteemed each other in all other points, we had no fellowship in politics. I was and am a Whig; he, a Tory of the first water--a devoted adherent ofthe exiled family; yet, high as parties ran at this time in cities, we hadno differences in the camp, where each respected his neighbour's opinion, nor overvalued his own. The last letter I received from him was abouttwelve months after we parted. It was dated St Germain's. He said, and in amysterious sort of way, half-earnest, half-jest, that, in a short time, wemight meet, to try the force of our different opinions. I, at the time, only laughed at it, and returned, for answer, that I had no doubt we wouldboth do our best, and leave the issue to the Disposer of events. Soonafter, Mar's ill-concerted rebellion took place, in which I have no doubtyour father was an active agent; but I have, since this last letter, lostall trace of him. Your being born in the year '16 would lead me to supposethat he must have married your mother about the time of the Rebellion, either in Scotland or France. "

That Henry Seaton was his father, William earnestly prayed; but how was heto ascertain this fact? He knew not; neither could his kind host assisthim. The lapse of time was so great, that, in all probability, he was dead;and, with a mind worse at ease than it had ever been, he took leave of theColonel, promising to call again in the forenoon of the following day, toconsult what steps he should take to follow out the information he had sounexpectedly acquired. He reached the inn, and retired to rest; but sleephad fled his pillow. A thousand ideas crowded his mind; method after methodwas canvassed, each for a time offering assured success, but, upon moremature consideration, being rejected. Day dawned, and found him asunresolved as when he left Colonel Gordon. As soon as it was consistentwith propriety, he waited upon the Colonel, by whom he was greetedheartily. 

"Well, tell me, " said he, "the fruit of your invention for tracing out yourfather, and I will tell you what has occurred to me as the best mode ofprocedure. "

William, without hesitation, told the state of his mind, and his utterinability to think of any feasible plan, from his ignorance of the worldand its ways. 

"Poor fellow! I do not wonder at what you tell me, " replied the Colonel. "Before many years go over your head, you and the world will be betteracquainted. My own opinion is, that you must forthwith proceed to France, where you will find many of the adherents of the Stuarts. The young CharlesEdward is easy of access to Scotchmen, for he is anxious to make adherents;and I have no doubt that he, or others of his followers, will be able togive you every information about Henry Seaton. But you must beware how youacquit yourself, lest they cajole you into their party; for, if your fatherbe alive and acknowledge you, the trial will be greater than you are aware, to resist him. "

"I will at once follow your wise counsel, " replied William. "I trust--nay, my heart tells me I shall be successful. Of my ever being an adherent ofthe Stuart family, I have no fears. Before that can happen, I must firstforget all I have ever learned, from my first dawn of reason up to thispresent moment. The first tears of sorrow I ever shed were for the woes ofothers, drawn forth by the tale of the sufferings of my foster parent'sfather, who suffered for the cause of truth, near the very spot where I nowlodge. The worthy minister, to whom I am indebted for all the learning Ipossess, had also some share in my politics. Nay, do not smile, when I sayhe had political opinions. He spiritualized everything. Nebuchadnezzar wasa type of the Stuart family. The Babylonish king, driven out from men, wasonly an emblem of their expulsion, during the time of the Commonwealth, andhis being restored was only the fortune of Charles II. ; but, as hecontinued in idolatry after his restoration, so did Charles, after hissubscribing the Covenant at Scone; and, as Nebuchadnezzar's family weredestroyed, so are the Stuarts cut off from the throne for ever. To thewhole of this I do not subscribe; but my aversion to the family of theStuarts, I can never overcome. "

"My young friend, " replied the Colonel, "I am not one to quarrel with anyone for his opinion; but I rejoice to find we are of one mind. I willaccompany you to Leith, and we will make inquiries if there is any vesselthere likely soon to sail for France. "

They accordingly proceeded to Leith, where they found there was a brig tosail in the course of a week or two for Bourdeaux, to bring home a cargo ofwine. There were also several vessels to sail in a few days, for differentports in Holland; but the Colonel advised William to agree with the captainof the vessel for Bourdeaux--which, he did; and, having never seen the seabut at a distance, nor a vessel in his life, his friend, to oblige him, lingered on the shore, and examined them with him. In this manner the timepassed. They dined in Leith, and again walked about the shore, enjoying thedelightful scene. The shades of evening were beginning to approach, whenthey resumed their way back to the city. They had reached about half-way tothe Abbey-Hill, when two men rushed from behind the fence, and, presentingpistols to their breasts, demanded their money or their lives. 

"Ho, my good fellows, not so fast!" exclaimed the Colonel, and drew hissword. William did the same. One of the villains fired, and wounded theColonel in the right shoulder. William, at the same moment, plunged hissword into his side, and he fell. The other ruffian fled, pursued byWilliam; but he escaped. He then hastened to his friend, who stood leaningagainst the wall, with the wounded robber beside him. William inquired ifhe was much injured. 

"No, Seaton, " he said. "I believe it is only a flesh wound, for I can wieldmy sword yet. " And he raised it up, and pointing it at the breast of thefallen wretch, who lay groaning at his feet--"We must secure him, " said theColonel; "and, at the same time, be on our guard against his cowardlyassociate. If he could walk, I would know how to act with him; but I am notgoing to carry the base carrion. Indeed, my arm bleeds, and is gettingstiff; otherwise I would dispatch him where he lies, and save the hangmanhis labour. "

"For the love of God, do not despatch me!" cried the man. "I will try towalk; I would not be cut off so suddenly. In mercy, spare me, even for afew hours. I am unfit to die; yet I feel life ebbing fast. "

He rose to his feet, but was sinking again, when William's pity overcominghis anger, he supported him. The wretch looked in his face, uttered ascream of horror, and sank senseless in his arms. He looked to the Colonelin astonishment. The latter looked narrowly into the face of the robber, passed his hand across his forehead, and mused, as if recalling somethingto his memory, but spake not. 

Two men now came up to them, and assisted them to carry the body to thenearest house, where a surgeon was sent for, and intimation given to theauthorities, who were all in a state of the greatest alacrity--stimulated, doubtless, by the Porteous mob, which had taken place only a few monthsbefore. Until the surgeon arrived, William, by the directions of theColonel, bound up his shoulder. What the Colonel called a scratch, appearedto him a serious wound; for the ball had passed through the muscle of hisarm. They proceeded to stanch the blood which flowed from the side of theirprisoner, when the surgeon arrived; who, after having examined it, at oncedeclared it mortal, and that the man had not many hours to live. After sometime, he succeeded in restoring sensibility to the sufferer. He opened hiseyes--fixed them on William, who was assisting the surgeon in hisefforts--a fearful change came over him--he groaned, and, clasping hishands, shrieked, and closed them again. A sudden recollection had come overthe Colonel. 

"I cannot be mistaken, " said he; "I have seen him before; but when or whereI cannot say, unless he was one of my company in Monro's regiment. "

At the mention of Monro's regiment, the wretched man shuddered--his eyefell upon the ring upon William's hand, as he held up the candle by thebedside--the sweat stood in large drops upon his forehead--he would havestarted up, but was restrained. 

"Nay, then, since I am discovered, " he cried, "I will confess all to you, my injured and betrayed master. I see the Colonel recollects me; but I amsurprised you do not remember your old servant, Alick Brown. "

"Who was your master?" exclaimed William, in surprise. 

"Captain Henry Seaton--yourself, " said the man. "I cannot be mistaken. Thatring--your height and countenance. You are, I am happy to see, muchimproved since I last saw you--time appears to have made no change. "

"Know you aught of Henry Seaton?" demanded the Colonel; while William stoodmute in astonishment and surprise. 

"If this is not my old master whom I see, " said the man, "who can he be? Mymind is filled with guilt and remorse. Die I must, either of this wound, orby the law--for me there is no hope here or hereafter. " And he groaned andground his teeth in despair, while the surgeon bade him prepare for death, as he had but a few hours to live. The officers entered, and claimed him astheir prisoner. The villain once more arose in his mind. "Ha!" heexclaimed, "I have bilked you yet. I have a sufficient bail in my side torescue me out of your hands. " The effort to speak now became moredifficult; his voice sank into whispers; he appeared to be dying. Remorseagain roused him; and, turning his head, he inquired who William was? TheColonel told him. He became more dreadfully agitated, and groaned inanguish, till the officers of justice looked upon him in horror. 

"I can doubt no longer, " he cried. "It is too true. There is a God thatgoverns all! Mercy, mercy! How shall I appear before Him, covered with theblood of his creatures? Let me perform the only act now in my power--toatone for the past. Young man, you are the son of my noble and injuredmaster. After he left the army in Flanders, I accompanied him to France, where he lived on terms of great intimacy with the royal exiles and theirfollowers for several months; at the end of which time, he and two othergentlemen, accompanied by me, set out for Scotland on a secret mission tothe disaffected, preparatory to the preconcerted rising. We remainedconcealed for several months, in the houses of those whom we knew to beadherents to the cause we were embarked in. At the house of Lord Somervillewe remained for a long time, where my master won the affections of hisdaughter, and proposed for her; but his Lordship objected to their union atthat time, on account of the unsettled state of affairs. With the consentof Helen, they were, however, privately married; and soon after we set outfor Aboyne, and joined in the unfortunate affair. He was slightly woundedat Sheriff-muir, but escaped by my assistance, and got safe to our camp. The Prince and the Earl of Mar embarked when all hopes of success were cutoff, and I was sent back to the house of his wife's father, to bring her toher husband, who had remained concealed in the Highlands, during theseverity of the winter. It was arranged, through me, that, as soon as hehad received remittances from France, I was to conduct her to the coast ofArgyle, by Glasgow and the Clyde. It was far on in the summer before hecould get all the arrangements made. His wife, who expected in a few weeksto be confined, and concealed her situation with difficulty, became mosturgent. Early in the month of September, she escaped unseen from herfather's house, and joined me at the appointed place, accompanied by afiend in woman's shape, the agent whom I had employed to carry on ourintercourse. She had been a follower of the camp, and, by the littleservice for which I paid her well, had won the confidence of the simpleHelen. We rode as fast as the lady's circumstances would admit, onlyhalting twice for a short time, in secret places. It was then that thedevil first assailed me in the person of this woman. She told me what aquantity of money and jewels the lady had in her valise, and how easy itwould be to get all into our possession. I shuddered at the very idea, andthreatened to shoot her upon the spot. She laughed, and said it was all ajest; but it took hold of my mind during the course of our journey, and shejudged by my looks, I suppose, that I was now more fit for her purpose. Weconversed about it; the idea became familiar; but I shuddered at blood. Shesaid there would be none shed. Still I could not consent--neither was Isufficiently averse. The poor lady was taken ill as we passed through themoor. You know the rest. As we stood at the cottage door, the piousdiscourse of the farmer tortured me past endurance. I was several times onthe point of rushing into the cottage, and guarding my lady from the fiend;but my evil genius prevailed. When we entered and got the unsuspectingcouple to their bed, my tempter smiled, and whispered 'All is safe. ' Ishuddered, and inquired what she meant. 

"'Oh, nothing, ' she replied. 'The lady cannot recover; the woman of thehouse has given her a composing draught. She will never awake. The moneyand jewels are our own. '

"And cautiously she displayed before me more gold than I had ever seen. Icould not think of parting with it. We carried off all that had belonged tomy mistress, even her body-clothes and the body of the dead babe, resolvedto shew it to my master, and impose upon him by saying that his wife haddied in childbed, and that we had left her to be buried by the clergyman. Our object in this was to do away all suspicion of unfair play. Our excusefor not seeing the body interred was haste to inform him, and preventinquiries that might lead to his discovery. On the day after we left thecabin, I found my master at the appointed place, in the utmost anxiety forthe arrival of his wife. Every hour of delay was attended by the utmostdanger. A government cruiser had been seen on the coast; and there werefears that the small vessel might be discovered. Oh, moment that has eversince embittered my life! The agony he endured no human tongue candescribe. He was in a state of distraction. I, with a guilty officiousness, displayed her wardrobe. He turned from it in an agony. The dead body of thebabe he kissed and pressed to his bosom. Low groans had as yet only escapedhim; but suddenly, to my alarm, he resolved to go with me and die on hergrave. I trembled and felt a faintness come over me--for I was then youngin guilt. My associate, hardened and inventive, began to urge the folly ofthe attempt. He pushed her from him with violence, and would have set out;but at that moment word was given that the cruiser was in sight, as ifbearing for the land. Two friends and some of the crew seized him, and byforce hurried him on board the vessel, and set sail. I felt as if reprievedfrom death, and did not go on board; for I dreaded the presence of myinjured master. We returned to Glasgow, where we remained for a few weeks, rioting on the fruits of our guilt. One morning when I awoke after adebauch, I found my companion fled, and all the gold and valuables gone. Iarose in a state of distraction, ran to the port in quest of her; but invain--no vessel had sailed. I proceeded to Greenock; on the way I gottraces of her, and dogged her at every turn. My mind took a new directionas I followed her. I looked upon her now as a fiend that had led me toruin, and left me, loaded with guilt, to die under the pangs of poverty andan awakened conscience. My mind was distracted. Holding up my hands toheaven, I vowed vengeance, and cursed and swore in such a manner thatpeople on the road turned and looked at me, and thought me mad. I was mad;but it was the madness of passion that burned in my brain, and the stingsof conscience that pierced my heart. I paused several times in my pursuit. I was told by one traveller that the woman I sought was not a mile from me, that she was sitting by the road-side drinking ardent spirits alone, andmuttering strange words to herself. Ha! thought I, conscience is busy withher too, and she drinks to drown its dreadful voice. 'Shall I kill her?' Isaid to myself. My heart yearned for her blood. Why should I deny it? Ifelt that I required that satisfaction to enable me to live a little longerupon earth. So much was my frenzy roused, that I pictured to myself a totalimpossibility to live and breathe if I did not feel the satisfaction ofhaving visited on that woman's head the evil she brought on that sweet ladywho died by her hands. Then did her beautiful face beam before me in fullcontrast with that of the hag who had led me to ruin, to misery, to hell. Every thought inflamed me more and more, and on I flew to the relief of myburning brain. Wretch! How little did I think that, even in meditating herdeath, who deserved that punishment, I was only adding more and more powerto my burning conscience? But all calculation of future accidents diedamidst my thirst of vengeance. Breathless I hurried on. I had a dagger inmy hand ready for the work of death. At a turn of a beech wood, I saw hersitting by the road-side. She was drinking spirits; and, as I approached, Iheard her muttering strange words--yet she was not intoxicated. She wasonly under the power of the demons that ruled her. Her back was to me, andshe knew not of my approach. I saw her take out the money and jewels shehad stolen from me, and for which, by her advice, I had sold my soul toSatan. The sight again brought before me the horrid crime I had committed. I saw the sweet lady before me, extended in the grasp of death; andconscience, with a thousand fangs, tore at my heart. I grasped the daggerfirmer and firmer as she counted the money, and wrought myself up to thepitch of a demon's fury. I advanced quietly. She burst into a loud laugh asshe finished the counting of the gold. 'Ha, ha, ha!' she cried--'Ihave'--she would have said 'outwitted him, ' but my dagger fixed the word inher death-closed jaws. I struck her to the heart through her back, and theword 'outwitted' died in her throat. She lay at my feet a corpse. I threwthe body in a ditch, and took up the money and jewels for which I had soldmy soul. I would have cast them away; but the devil again danced in thefaces of the gold coins. I put them in my pocket. The gold again corruptedme. I drowned my conscience in drink at the next inn. I fled into England, where I have lived by rapine ever since, until the other day, when Ireturned to Scotland to meet the fate I so well deserve, from the hands ofthe son of those I had injured. Of my old master I have never heardanything. If he is alive, he is still in France. "

Life seemed only to have been prolonged until he had made the horriddisclosure; for he fell into convulsions and expired, soon after theColonel, whose wound had become stiff and painful, had left the house. Nextmorning, William visited his friend, and was grieved to find that he wasrather feverish. His wound was still painful. The occurrence of thepreceding evening occupied both their minds. William had no doubt of hisbeing the lawful son of Henry Seaton by Miss Somerville; but was as much indoubt as to whether his father was alive as ever. In a few days, theColonel was enabled to leave his bed-room, and became convalescent. Heurged the propriety of William's proceeding to France in quest of hisfather; and, as the vessel was not yet to sail for a few days, he resolvedto pay a visit to his friend, the minister, to inform him of hisintentions, and relate the history of his mother's murderers. The Colonelwould have accompanied him; but he could not ride. He rode along to themanse, with feelings very different from those with which he had left it. The worthy minister rejoiced to see him, and held up his pious hands atthe horrid recital. He approved of William's determination of going inquest of his father, and, after paying a visit to his mother's and fosterparents' graves, he once more mounted to return to Edinburgh. As he rodeslowly along, musing upon the wayward fate of his parents unconscious ofall around, he was roused by the tread of horses' feet behind him. Helooked back, and saw a gentleman, attended by a servant in livery, approaching. He roused himself, and put his horse off the slow pace atwhich he had been going. The stranger and he saluted each other, andentered into conversation upon indifferent subjects. At length they becameinterested in each other, and found that they were both on the eve ofsailing for France in the same vessel. The stranger requested to have thepleasure of knowing the name of his fellow-traveller. 

"Seaton, " said William, "is my name. "

"Seaton, Seaton, " said the other--"I am surprised I did not recognise youbefore. I thought we had met before; but your youth made me always doubtthe truth of my surmises. Colonel Henry Seaton was an intimate acquaintanceof mine--have I the pleasure of seeing his son?"

"I hope you have, " replied William. "Pray, sir, when saw you him last? Washe in good health?"

"It is some time since I left France, " said the other. "At that time he wasin his ordinary health; but not more cheerful than usual--always grave andsad as ever. "

"Thank God!" cried William; "he is, I trust, then, still alive. " And hepressed the stranger's hand with a warmth that surprised him. "Where do youmean to stay, " resumed William, "until the vessel sails?"

"I have no relations, " replied he, "in Edinburgh. I meant to stay at an innin the Canongate, where I have lived before; but it is all one to me--I mayas well tarry in the White Hart with you. "

When they arrived, William sent a cadie to give notice to Colonel Gordonthat he was arrived in town; but was detained upon business with astranger, to whom he would be happy to introduce him, as he was anacquaintance of his father's, and had seen him within the last few years. Soon after dinner, they were all seated at their wine, and deep inconversation. The stranger had been, from what he said, well acquaintedwith the exiled party in France, and, more particularly, with ColonelSeaton; but he knew nothing of his history, further than that he had lost abeloved wife and child at the time of his expatriation, and had, both byfriends here and every other means, endeavoured in vain to get anyinformation of where she was buried, or what had become of a faithfulservant who had not embarked with him in the confusion of his flight--thaton this account he was often oppressed by a lowness of spirits, and hadmany suspicions that all had not been as it ought to have been. Thissubject discussed, they would have had recourse to politics; but eachseemed cautious of betraying his opinions, and the stranger, who did notseem to relish much some of the sentiments that occasionally escaped theColonel, appeared to be a Tory. After the Colonel departed, theconversation of William and Mr Graham--for this was the gentleman'sname--became more pointed, and it appeared that he was on businessconnected with the exiles. He had assumed that William was of his own wayof thinking in politics, and was evidently much disappointed when hediscovered that he was not. He became much more reserved, but not lessattached to him; for William gave him a general outline of his misfortunesand early education, and they parted for the night with the best opinion ofeach other. Next morning both proceeded to Leith, where Graham expected tofind a messenger from the north with a packet of letters for him. When theyreached Leith, they found that the messenger had arrived on the previousday, and was waiting for Mr Graham, who, having several persons to visit inthe neighbourhood, William and he parted, agreeing to meet in the Colonel'sto supper. They met in the evening. 

"I have been making some inquiries, " said Mr Graham, "about Colonel HenrySeaton, on your account, and am happy to say that he is well. I fear Ishall not have the pleasure of your company to France. I have every reasonto believe that he is now in Scotland, or will be very soon. Excuse me if Iam not more particular. I shall, I hope, to-morrow, or at least before thevessel sails, be able to give you more particular information. I can rely, I think, upon your honour, that no harm shall come from my confidence. "

Both thanked him for the interest he took, and the good news he hadcommunicated. They parted for the night, all in the best spirits--Williamanticipating the joy he should feel at the sight of his parent, and theColonel anxious to see his old friend. Afterwards Mr Graham and Williamoccasionally met. Their evenings were spent with the Colonel, and all partydiscussion carefully avoided. On the evening of the fourth day after MrGraham's last information, William had begun to fear that the vessel mightsail before any certainty could be obtained; and he was in doubt whether toproceed with her or remain. Upon Mr Graham's arrival, which was later thanusual, he went directly up to William--

"I have good news for you, " said he. "Colonel Seaton is at present inScotland--somewhere in Inverness-shire. He is the bearer of intelligencethat will render it unnecessary for me to proceed at present to France. Iam, I confess, much disappointed; but you, I perceive, are not. "

"From my soul I thank you, " said William. "Where shall I find my father?"

"That is more than I can tell you, " answered the other--"I cannot even tellthe name he has at present assumed; all I know is, that he is the bearer ofintelligence from the Prince that crushes for a time our sanguine hopes. The fickle and promise-breaking Louis has again deceived us. The Prince, and the lukewarm, timid part of his adherents, the worshippers of theascendant, refuse to act without his powerful aid. His concurrence we have, and a prospect of future aid at a more convenient season; but, bah! for aFrenchman's promise! I am off from ever taking a leading part again. I willwait the convenient season. I may be led, but shall never lead again. Hedoes not deserve a crown that will not dare for it; nor does he deserve thehearts of a generous people that would not dare everything to free themfrom the yoke of a foreign tyrant. Excuse me, gentlemen, --I go too far, andam giving you offence; but I assure you it is not meant. My heart is fullof bitterness, and I forget what I say. "

The Colonel, whose blood had begun to inflame when Graham checked himself, cooled and felt rather gratified at the intelligence thus so unexpectedlycommunicated. He felt for a generous mind crossed in its favourite object, however much he thought that mind misled, from education and earlyprejudice, and assured him he had already forgot his expressions. Adifferent turn was given to the conversation, by William's continuedinquiries after his father. Graham meant to set off for the north in a fewdays, for a secret meeting of the heads of the disaffected, at whichColonel Seaton was to communicate the message he had to them from France. He offered to be William's guide. The Colonel, whose shoulder was now quitewell, requested to accompany them; and on the Monday morning after, theycrossed at Kinghorn, and proceeded by the most direct route, passingthrough Perthshire to the Highlands. They arrived at Glengarry, and foundthat Colonel Seaton was at the time on a visit, with the chief, to Glenelg, but would be back on the following day. There were a number of visiters atthe castle, with all whom Graham was on the most intimate terms. Gordon andWilliam were introduced, and the latter was most cordially received, fromthe strong resemblance he bore to his father. They got a guide to conductthem to see the beautiful scenery around the house, and they were amusingthemselves admiring the grandeur of the mountain scenes, when the guidesaid, pointing to a bend in the road--

"Gentlemen, there is Glengarry. "

They looked towards the spot, and could perceive two persons on horseback, approaching in earnest conversation. William's heart beat quick--the reinsalmost dropped from his hand--he felt giddy, and his temples throbbed as ifthey would have burst. They approached--they bowed to each other--William'seyes were fixed upon the countenance of his father, who returned his gaze, but neither spoke a word. The Colonel said, in answer to the politesalutation, that he and his young friend had had the honour to accompany MrGraham on a visit. 

"Has Graham come back so soon?" he said, with surprise, "I feared as much;but, gentlemen, you are kindly welcome. " And he shook hands with them. 

"Macdonald, what is this?" he said, turning to Seaton, who was absorbed inthought. "Here is a youthful counterpart of yourself!"

"My father!" exclaimed William, as he leaped from his horse, and claspedhis leg, leaning his face upon it, and bedewing it with his tears. 

"Young man, " said Seaton, coldly, "you are mistaken; I have no son. "William lifted his hands in an imploring manner, and the ring met hisfather's eye. "Good heavens! what do I see!" he exclaimed, and sankforward, overpowered by his feelings, upon his horse's neck. The chief andthe Colonel raised him up--the tears were streaming from his eyes. "Athousand painful remembrances, " said he, "have quite unmanned me. Youngman, you just now called me father--where, for mercy's sake tell me, didyou get that ring?"

"It was found on the bosom of my dead mother, " faltered William. 

"Then you are my son!"

And the next moment they were locked in each other's embrace. The chief andGordon were moved. They passed their hands hastily across their eyes. 

"Dear father, " said William, "have you forgot your old friend and associatein arms--my best of friends?"

Seaton for the first time looked to him, and, extending his disengagedhand, grasped the Colonel's, saying--

"Excuse me, Gordon--I am now too happy. I have found a son and a brother. "

They walked to the castle, and William detailed to his father his mournfulstory. Often had he to stop, to allow his father to give vent to hisanguish. 

"Ah, I often feared, " said he, "that my Helen had been hardly dealt with;but this I never did suspect. Cursed villain! and, oh! my poor murderedHelen!"

They returned to the castle. It was agreed that Seaton should still retainthe name of Macdonald, until the Colonel should obtain, through theinfluence of his friends, a pardon for him. He also had lost all hopes ofsuccess for the Prince, and wished to enjoy the company of his son, visitthe grave of his beloved wife, and, at death, be buried by her side. Allwas obtained; and Henry Seaton lived for many years, blessed in the societyof his son, who studied the law, at the suggestion of the Colonel, andbecame distinguished in his profession. 

HUME AND THE GOVERNOR OF BERWICK. 

It has been asserted by at least one historian, that it has been observed, that the inhabitants of towns which have undergone a cruel siege, andexperienced all the horrors of storm and pillage, have retained for agesthe traces of the effects of their sufferings, in a detestation of war, indications of pusillanimity, and decline of trade. If there be any truthin this observation, what caitiffs must the inhabitants of Berwick be! Notown in the world has been so often exposed to the "ills that wait on thered chariot of war;" for Picts, Romans, Danes, Saxons, English, and Scotchhave, in their turn, wasted their rage and their strength upon her brokenribs. Her boasted "barre, " (barrier, ) from which her name, Barrewick, isderived, has never been able to save her effectually, either from herenemies of land or water. From the reign of Osbert, the king ofNorthumberland, down to the time when Lord Sidmouth saw treason in her bigguns, she has been devoted to the harpies of foreign and intestine war anddiscord. Yet who shall say, that the hearts or spirits of the inhabitantsof this extraordinary town lost either blood or buoyancy from theirmisfortunes? No sooner were her bulwarks raised than they appearedrenascent; the inhabitants defended the new fortifications with a spiritthat received a salient power from the depression produced by thedemolition of the old; and her ships, that one day were shattered byengines of war, sailed in a state of repair with the next fair wind, tofetch from distant ports articles of merchandise, not seldom for those whowere fighting or had fought against her liberties. Such was Berwick; andher sons of to-day inherit too much of the nobility and generosity of herold children, to find fault with us for telling them a tale which, while itexhibits some shades of the warlike spirit of their ancestors, shews alsothat war and citizen warriors have their foibles, and are not always exemptfrom the harmless laugh that does the heart more good than the touch of anold spear. 

The Lord Hume of the latter period of the seventeenth century, had anatural son, Patrick, an arch rogue, inheriting the fire of the blood ofthe Humes, along with that which burnt in the black eyes of the gipsies ofYetholm. He was brought up by his father; and, true to the principles ofhis education, would acknowledge no patrons of the heart, save the threeruling powers of love, laughter, and war--Cupid, Momus, and Mars--a triochosen from all the gods, (the remainder being sent to Hades, ) as beingalone worthy of the worship of a gentleman. How Patrick got acquainted, and, far less, how he got in love with the Mayor of Berwick's daughter, Isabella, we cannot say, nor need antiquarians try to discover; for wherethere was a Southron to be slain or a lady to be won, Patrick Hume cared nomore for bar, buttress, battlement, fire, or water, than did Jove for hisown thunder-cloud, under the shade of which he courted the daughter ofInachus. Letting alone the recondite subject of "love's beginning, " weshall tread safer ground in stating, that the affection had been verymaterially increased on both sides by the walls of Berwick; for, althoughPatrick was a great despiser of fortifications, he had felt, in the affairof his love for Isabella, the fair daughter of the Mayor of Berwick, thatthere is no getting a damsel through a _loop-hole_, though there might bepoured as much sentimental and pathetic speech and sigh-breath through theinvidious opening, as ever passed through the free air that fills thebreeze under the trysting thorn. 

What we have now said requires the explanation, that at the period of ourstory, the town of Berwick belonged to the English; and the Mayor, beinghimself either an Englishman, or connected by strong ties of relationshipwith the English, had a strong antipathy towards the Scottish Borderraiders, whom he denominated as gentlemen-robbers, headed by the noblerobber Hume. But, above all, he hated young Patrick--into whose veins, hesaid, there had been poured the distilled raid-venom and love-poison of allthe gentlemen-scaumers that ever infested the Borders. The origin of thishatred had some connection with an affair of the Newmilne, belonging toBerwick; the dam-dike of which, Patrick alleged, prevented the salmon fromgetting up the river, and hence destroyed all his angling sport, as well asthat of all the noblemen and gentlemen that resorted to the river for thepurpose of practising the "gentle art. " He had therefore threatened to pullit down, to let up the fish; and sounded his threat in the ears of theindignant Mayor, in terms that were, peradventure, made stronger andbitterer by the thought that dikes and walls were his greatest bane uponearth: by the walls of Berwick the Mayor kept from his arms the fairIsabella, and by the dam-dike of Newmilne the same Mayor deprived him ofthe pleasure of angling. Was such power on the part of a Mayor to be borneby the high-spirited youth who had been trained to look upon mason-work asa mere stimulant to love or war--a thing that raised the value of what itenclosed by the opposition it offered to the young blood that raged forentrance? The youth thought not. He vowed that he would neither lose hisIsabella nor his salmon; and, as fate would have it, the old Mayor hadheard the vow, and vowed also that young Patrick should lose both. 

Having fished one day to no purpose, in consequence of the obstruction of"that most accursed of all dam-dikes, the Newmilne dike, " as Patrick styledit, he threw down his rod, and lay down upon the bank of the river, to waitthe hour when the moon should summon and lighten him to the loop-hole inthe other of his hated obstructions, the walls of Berwick--where thatevening he expected to meet his beloved Isabella, and commune with her inthe eloquent language of their mutual passion. The bright luminary burst inthe midst of his reveries from behind an autumn cloud, and flashed a longsilver beam upon the rolling waters. He started to his feet. 

"It is beyond my time, " he said, self-accusingly. "My Isabella is onBerwick Wall, and I am still lingering here by the banks of the river, three miles from where my love and honour require me to be. The loiterer inlove is a laggard in war; and shame on the Hume who is either!"

In a short time the young Hume was standing beneath a buttress of the oldwalls of the town, looking earnestly through a small opening, in which heexpected to see the face of the fair daughter of the Mayor. 

"Art there at last, love?" said he, in a soft voice, as he saw, withpalpitating heart, the pretty but arch face of the bewitching heiress ofall the wealth of the old burgher lord peering through the aperture. "What, in the name of him who got his wings in the lap of Venus, and useth them tothis hour as cleverly as doth our pretty messenger of Spring, hath keptthee, wench?"

"Ha! ha! hush! hush, man!" responded she, whose spirit equalled that of theboldest Hume that ever headed a raid. "Thou'rt the laggard. I've waited forthee an hour, until I've sighed this little love-hole into an oven-heat, waiting thee, thou lover of broken troth! Some gipsy queen in Haugh of theTweed hath wooed thee out of thy affection for thy Isabel; and now thouaskest what hath kept me. Ha! ha! Good--for a Hume. "

"The moon cheated me, and went skulking under a cloud, " responded Hume. 

"And the cloud threw thy love in the shade, " added quickly the gay girl. "Methought love kept his own dial, and was independent of sun or moon. Whatif a rebel vapour cometh over the queen of heaven that night thou art tomake me free? My hope of liberty, I fancy, would be clouded; and I would beremitted again to the care of Captain Wallace, who keepeth the town and theMayor's daughter from the spoiling arms of the robber Humes. "

"Ha! ha!" replied he--"thy father wanteth not a Mayor's wits, Isabella, inoffering thee as a prize to the Governor of the town. Excellent device, i'faith! The old burgher lord knew he could not keep thee, mad-cap wench asthou art, from a hated Hume's arms, unless he gave the Captain an interestas a _lover_ in guarding thee, like a piece of the old wall of Berwick. "

"And therein thou'rt well complimented, " replied she; "for my father couldnot get, in all Berwick, a man that could keep me from thee, but he whoguardeth town, and Mayor, and maiden together. Since the Governor, as alover, got charge of me, I am more firmly caged than ever was the oldcountess, who was so long confined in the grated wing-cage of the oldcastle. When art thou to free me from the Governor's love and surveillance, good Patrick? If what I have now to tell thee hath no power to quicken thywits and nerve thine arm, thou art indeed thyself no better than one ofthose stones, to which, in thy wit, thou hast likened me. Knowest that aday is fixed for Captain Wallace being my _legal_ governor?"

"Ha!" cried Hume, in agitation. "This soundeth differently from the playfulhammer of thy wit, Bell. What day is fixed? Thou hast fired me with highpurposes. "

"How high tower they?" cried the maiden, laughing. "Do they reach thyformer threat, to pull down the Newmilne dam-dike, and let _up_ the salmon, in revenge for the letting _down_ of the Mayor's daughter?"

"Another time for thy wit, Bell, " replied Patrick, in a more serious tone. "Thou hast put to flight my spirits. The grey owl Meditation is flappinghis dingy wing over my heart. The time--the time--when is the day?"

"This day se'ennight, " answered Isabel. "Hush! hush! here cometh theGovernor, blowing like a Tweedmouth grampus, fresh from the German Sea, infull run after a lady-fish of the queen of rivers. "

And now Hume heard the hoarse voice of the redoubted Governor, CaptainWallace--that fat overgrown _bellygerent_ son of Mars, so famous, in hisday, for vaunting of feats of arms, at Bothwell, (where he never was, ) overthe Mayor's wine, and in presence of his fair daughter, whom he thuscourted after the manner of the noble Moor, with a slight difference as tothe truth of his feats scarce worth mentioning. It appeared to Hume, as helistened, that Wallace, and the Mayor, who was with him, had sallied out, after the fourth bottle, in search of Isabel--a suspicion verified by thespeech of the warlike Captain. 

"Did I not tell thee, Mr Mayor, " said the Governor, in a voice thatreverberated among the walls, and fell distinctly on Hume's ear, "that shewould be about the fortifications? Ha!--anything appertaining to wardelighteth the fair creature as much as it did that rare author, WillShakspeare's Desdemona. If I had been as black as the Moor--ay, or as thedevil himself--my prowess at Bothwell would have given this person of mine, albeit somewhat enlarged, the properties of beauty in the eyes ofnoble-spirited women--so much do our bodies borrow from the qualities ofour souls. "

"Where is she?" rejoined the Mayor. "I like not that love of thefortifications. It is the outside of the walls she loves. See, she flies, conscience-smitten. I like not this, my noble Captain--see, there isPatrick Hume beyond the wall, if thou hast courage, drive thy pike throughthat loop, and, peradventure, ye may blind a Hume for life. "

"I like to strike a man fair--body to body--as we did on the Bridge ofBothwell, " responded the Captain. "Ha! ha! Give me the loop-hole of a goodbilbo-thrust, out of which the soul wings its flight in a comfortablemanner. Nevertheless, to please my noble friend the mayor, and to get quitof a rival, I may" (lowering his voice to a whisper) "as well kill him inthe way thou hast propounded; but I assure thee, upon my honour, I wouldmuch rather have the fellow before me, without the intervention of theseplaguey walls, that come thus in the way and march of one's valour. Theregoes!"

On looking-up, Hume saw the Captain's bilbo thrusting manfully through thenight air, as if it would pierce the night gnomes and spirits that love tohang over old battlements. Taking out his handkerchief, he wrapped it roundhis hand, and seizing the point of the sword, gave it a jerk, which (andthe consequent terror) disengaged it from the hand of the pot-valiant heroof Bothwell. A shout of fear was heard from within. 

"Stop! stop! mine good Mr Mayor!" cried the Captain to the Mayor, who hadbegun to fly; "I do not see, as yet, any very great, that is, serious causeof apprehension; but, I forget, thou wert not at Bothwell. By my honour, I've done for him! He hath carried off my sword in his body. Was it PatrickHume, saidst thou? Then is he dead as my grandmother, and no more shall hefollow after my betrothed, or threaten thee with the downfall of theNewmilne dam-dike. All I sorrow for is my good sword, which, but for thataccursed loop, I might have redrawn from his vile carcass, and thus savedmy property at the same time that I gave the carrion crows of old Berwick adinner. "

"Ah! but he's a devil that Hume, " responded the Mayor. "Long has he houndedafter my daughter Bell; and though it is now likely near an end with him, Ishould not like to come in the way of the dying tiger. Let us home. "

The sound of the retreating warriors brought back Hume to the loop-hole, tosee if Isabel was still there, to whom he was anxious to propose a plan, whereby he might (with the gay romp's most cheerful good-will and heartyco-operation) carry her off from the contaminating embrace of thepot-valiant Governor, with whom she was to be wed on that day se'ennight. He waited a long time, but no Isabel came. He suspected that the Mayor, after having caught her speaking to him, (Hume, ) his most inveterate foe, would, as he had often done before, lock her up, and set the noble Captainas a guard upon his lady-love. Cursing his unlucky fate, that brought themout to interrupt his converse with the mistress of his heart, and preventthe arrangement of an elopement, he bent the Captain's bilbo hilt to pointtill it rebounded with a loud twang, and stepping away up the Tweed, fellinto a deep meditation as to the manner by which he should secure Isabel. As he went along, his eye fell upon that source of so much contentionbetween the men of Berwick and the border barons, the dam-dike of theNewmilne, and against which the Lord Hume, as well as himself and many ofthe neighbouring knights and lairds, had vowed destruction. A thoughtflashed across his mind, and his eye sparkled in the moonbeam, as brightlyas did the Captain's sword, which he still held in his hand. 

"I have hit it!" he cried, as he clapped his hand on his limb, and thesound echoed back from the mill-walls. "For spearing a salmon or aSouthron, dissolving that old foolish tenure between a proprietor and hiscattle, or cutting the tie of forced duty between a rich old Mayor and hisdaughter, where shall the bastard of Hume be equalled on the Borders? Myfair Bell, thou wouldst spring with the elasticity of this bent blade, anddance like these moonbeams in the Tweed, if thou wert in the knowledge ofthis thought that now tickles the wild fancy of thy lover, whom thouequallest in all that belongest to the gay heart and the bounding spirit. "

Occupied with these thoughts, Patrick went home to the castle of the Humes;and, next morning, he bent his way to Foulden, where he sought Lord Ross'sbaillie, James Sinclair, a man who had a very hearty spite against theobstruction to the passage of the Tweed salmon. With him he communed for aconsiderable time, and thereafter he proceeded to Paxton and to others ofthe gentlemen in the vicinity. The subject of these interviews will perhapsbest be explained by the following placard, which appeared in various partsof Berwick in two days thereafter:--

"On Friday last, the tenant of Newmilne, belonging to the toun of Baricke, gave information to our honourable Mayor, who has communicated the same toour gallant Governor, Captain Wallace, that the Lord Hume and other theScotch gentlemen, our neighbours, do, on Monday next, intend to be at theNewmilne aforesaid, by tenn of the clock of the morninge; and that they hadsummoned their tenants to be then and there present, alsoe, to assist inthe breaking downe and demolishing the dam of the said Newmilne; and thatthe Lord Ross his bailiffe of Foulden had given out in speeches, that hewas desired to summon the said Lord Ross, his tenants, and inhabitants ofFoulden barronry, to be then and there aiding and assisting them, alsoe, for better effecting the same: Whereupon, it is necessary, that, at aringing of a belle, our tounsmen, headed by our Mayor, and directed by thewarlike genius of Captain Wallace, should proceed to the said Newmilne, andgive battle in defence of the said dike, which is indispensable to theexistence of the toun's property. God save the Mayor!"

The effect produced by this proclamation was rapid and stirring. TheEnglish, at that period, had contrived to raise a strong prejudice in theminds of the Berwick burghers against the Border Scots; and theintelligence that the daring robbers intended to demolish their property, inflamed them to the high point of resolution to fight under their valorousCaptain, while one stone of the dike remained on another, and one drop ofblood was left in their bodies. Hume, who had a greater part in theoccasion of these preparations than had been made apparent, got secretintelligence, on all that was going on within the town; but none of hisvigils at the loop-hole were rewarded with a sight of his spirited Isabel, who, he understood, had been confined in her father's house since the nighton which she had been discovered upon the wall. Meanwhile, the preparationsfor the defence of the town's property proceeded; and, on the Mondaymorning, a bell, whose loud tongue spoke "war's alarums, " sounded over townand walls, spreading fear among the timid, and rousing in the noble breastsof the valorous proud and swelling resolutions to give battle to the Borderrobbers, in the style of their ancestors. Ever since the firstannouncement, they had been drilled by the Captain, whose loud command ofvoice, proud bearing, bent back (bent in self-defence against thecounterpoise of his stomach), and martial strut, filled them with great aweof his power, and great confidence in his abilities. Many hundred people, "on horse and foote, " (we use the language of our old chronicle), "weregathered together, considerably armed with swordes, pistolles, firelocks, blunderbushes, foalingpieces, bowes and arrowes of the tyme of the firstEdward, and uther powerful ammunition, fit to resist the ryot of theScotch; and away they marched to the newe miln, with Mr Mayor and theGovernor (a verrie terrible man of war--to be married the morn to theMayor's dochter Isabel, if he come back with lyffe), and the sergeants withtheir halberts, and constables with their staves, going before them. " Infront, there was beat some thundering engines of warlike music, which wascut occasionally by sharp screams of small fifes, blown into by the burgheramateurs of that lively musical machine. Altogether, the cavalcadepresented many appearances of a stern and warlike nature, which might wellhave prevented the Scotch raiders from proceeding with their feloniousintention of driving down the obstruction to the salmon, and forced them toremain content with the angling of trout and parr. The "verrie sight" ofthe brave Wallace was deemed sufficient by those who followed him, "to putan end to the fraye before it was begunne. "

This extraordinary cavalcade was seen passing along the road by PatrickHume, who had, with his companions, retired behind some brushwood, thebetter to enjoy the sight. The warriors passed on, and every now and thenthe loud voice of the captain was heard commanding and exhorting his troopsto keep up their courage for the coming strife. When the last file wasdisappearing, Hume and his companions made the woods resound with a loudlaugh, and, starting up, and crying, "For Berwick, ho!" they hurried awayin the direction of the town, which the Governor, in his anxiety to form alarge assemblage, had left without a guard. Meanwhile the burgher armypushed on for Newmilne; "and, when they came there, " (says the chronicle), "they pitched their camp; and nae doubt butt they were well disciplined, seeing theye had the advantage of the Captain's training, with the greatblessing attour of weapons suitable--viz. , rusty ould swords and pistolles;and they continued about three or foure houres on the bankes and about themilne: still there was nae appearance of the Scotch coming to fecht withthem. " For a long time the Captain was solemn and quiet; but when itappeared that the Scots "were not to come to show fecht, " he got as wordyas a blank-verse poet, and stood up in the face of a neighbouring wood, from which it was expected the enemy would emanate, and called upon thecowards (as he styled them) to come out "and dare to touche one stone ofthe milne dam-dike. "

"Did I not tell thee, Mr Mayor, " he cried, "that I killed Patrick Hume? Ifnot, where is he now, and he the Lord Ross of Foulden, and he of Paxton, and all the rest of the Border heroes? Come forth from thy wood recesses, if there be as much pluck in thee as will enable thee to meet the fire ofthe eye of the Governor of Berwick! Ha! ha! The rascals must have been atBothwell, where, doubtless, they felt the pith of this arm. There goeth thedisadvantage of bravery! The devil a man will encounter one whose name isterrible, and I fear I may never have the luxury of a good fight again. This day I expected to have fleshed my good sword. To-morrow is mywedding-day. How glorious would it have been to have made it also a day ofvictory! I could almost hack these unconscious trees for very spite, and togive my sword the exercise it lacketh. "

And he swung his falchion from side to side, cutting off the tops of theyoung firs, just as if they had been men's heads; but no Scotchman made hisappearance. The whole bells of Berwick now began to swing and ring as ifthe town had been invaded; and messengers, breathless and panting, arrivedat the camp, and communicated the intelligence that the Bastard of Humehad, with a body of men, got entrance to the Mayor's house, by shewing theguard the Governor's sword, and carried off Isabel, the Mayor's daughter, who was more willing to go than to stay. The route of the fugitives wasdistinctly laid down, and it was represented by the messengers that, bycrossing over a couple of miles, they had every chance of overtaking themand reclaiming the disobedient maid. The recommendation was instantlyseized by the distracted Mayor, and a shout of the burgher forces, and anaccompanying peal from the drums and fifes, shewed the desire of the men tofulfil the wish of their master. The captain's spirit was changed. Heburned to reclaim his bride; but he feared the Bastard of Hume, whoseprowess was acknowledged far and wide from the Borders. Shame did whatcould not have been accomplished by love; and, putting himself, with a mockwarlike air, at the head of the troops, away he posted as fast as sixteenstone of beef, penetrated by alternate currents of fear, shame, and valour, would permit. The musical instruments of war were hushed; and as the forceshurried on, panting and breathing, not a voice was heard but the occasionalvaunts of the captain, who found it necessary to conceal his fear by theserunning shots of assumed valour. As fate would have it, the Berwickers cameup with the Bastard's party, who, with the gay and laughing Isabel in themidst of them, were seated, as they thought securely, in the old Berwickwood, enjoying some wine, which she, with wise providence, had handed toone of the men as a refreshment when they should be beyond danger. Thesounds of merriment struck on the ear of the invaders; they stopped, andthought it safer, in the first instance, to reconnoitre--a step highlyeulogized by the Captain, who seemed to want breath as well from the toilof the chase as from some misgivings of his valour, which had come, likequalms of sickness, over his stout heart. 

"Ha! traitor!" cried the Mayor, "the device of sending us to Newmilne willnot avail thee. Give me my daughter, traitor!" addressing himself to theBastard, who stood now in the front of the party, all prepared for a toughdefence. 

"In either of two events thou shalt have her, " cried Hume--"if thou cansttake her, or if she is willing to go with thee. "

"No, no!" cried the sprightly maid herself, coming boldly forward. "I lovemy father and the good citizens of Berwick, and none of them shall lose adrop of their blood for Isabel. If we are to have battle, let it be betweenthe two lovers who claim my hand. By the honour of a Mayor's daughter, Ishall be his who gaineth the day! Stand forward, Patrick Hume and GovernorWallace. "

"Bravo!" shouted the burghers, delighted with a scheme that smacked sosweetly of justice and safety. 

All eyes were now turned on the Captain; and Isabel, delighted with herscheme, was seen concealing her face with the corner of her cloak, tosuppress her laughter. The Captain saw, however, neither justice nor safetyin the scheme, and, edging near the Mayor, whispered into his ear hisintention not to fight. Palpable indications of fear were escaping from histrembling limbs, and the hero of Bothwell was on the eve of beingdiscovered. Hume was prepared--he stood, sword in hand, ready for thecombat. 

"Come forward, Captain!" cried the Bastard. 

"Come forward!" resounded from Isabel, and a hundred voices of theburghers. 

"I am the Governor of Berwick, " answered the hero, in a trembling voice, keeping the body of the Mayor between him and Hume. "As the servant of theKing, I dare not" (panting) "run the risk of reducing myauthority--by--by--engaging, I say, by committing myself in single combat, like a knight errant, for a runaway damsel. It comporteth not with mydignity--hegh--hegh--I say, I cannot come down from the height of my gloryat Bothwell, by committing myself in a love brawl. But ye are mymen--hegh--hegh--ye are bound to fight when I command. Do your duty--on, on, I say, to the rescue. "

"We want not the wench, " responded many voices. "He that will not fight forhis love, deserves to lose her for his cowardice. " "Resign her, goodMayor, " cried others. "Give the damsel her choice, " added others. "Bravo, good fellows!" cried Bell, in the midst of her laughter; and a shout fromHume's men rewarded her spirit. The enthusiasm was caught by theBerwickers, some of whom, observing certain indications thrown out byIsabel, ran forward and got from her a flagon of good wine. The vessel washanded from one to another. "Hurra for Hume!" shouted the Berwickers. Thetables were turned. All, to a man, were with Isabel and her partner. TheMayor had sense enough to see his position. In any way he was to lose hisdaughter, and he heartily despised the coward that would not fight for hislove. 

"Hume, " he cried, standing forward, "come hither; and, Isabel, approach theside of thy father. "

The laughing damsel ran forward, and, perceiving her absolute safety, flungherself on her father's neck, and hung there, amidst the continued shoutsof the men. 

"Forgive me, forgive me, father!" cried she. "My choice is justified by mylove, and the characters of my lovers. The one is a coward, the other abrave youth. Hume's intentions are honourable, and I may be the respectedwife of one of noble blood. "

"I forgive thee, Bell, " answered the father. And he took her hand andplaced it in Hume's. "Come, Captain, forgive her too, and let us all befriends. "

He looked round for the Captain, and all the party looked also; but thehero was gone. He had mounted a white Rosinante, as thin as he was fat, andwas busy striking her protruding bones with his sword, to propel her on toBerwick, where he thought he would be more safe than where he was. Thefigure he made in his retreat--his large swelled body on the lean jade, like a tun of wine on a gantress--his anxiety to get off--his recedingposition--his flight after such a day of vaunting--all conspired to renderthe sight ludicrous in the extreme. One general burst of laughter filledthe air; but the Captain held on his course, and never stopped till hearrived at Berwick. That day Hume and Isabel were wed--and a happy day itwas for the Berwickers; who, in place of fighting, were occupied indrinking the healths of the couple. The device of Hume, in sending them tothe Newmilne, was admired for its ingenuity; and all Berwick rung with thepraises of Hume and his fair spouse. Regular entries were made in thecouncil books, of the expedition to the Newmilne, "where they braived theScottes to come and fecht them, butte the cowardes never appeared. " But itwas deemed prudent to say nothing therein of Hume's trick, which, doubtless, might have reduced the amount of bravery which it was necessaryshould appear, for the honour of the town. 

END OF VOL. XVII. 

_Tubbs & Brook, Printers, Manchester. _

 +----------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistencies and unexpected spelling, punctuation and | | hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the | | original book except: | | | | Page 31 through the intrumentality has been changed to | | through the instrumentality | | | | Page 43 and and unflinching opinion has been changed to | | and an unflinching opinion | | | +----------------------------------------------------------+